#if its not agonizing over the void in my memory where i know Something happened

[angelvolks]

If i had to make a guess I'd say im probably going to be at Very least stopped from fronting soon

[lyallblacklupin]

Don’t miss the Yule Ball.

Sirius and Remus relives their favorite memory together, and reconcile their relationship.

Tags: Post-Incident with Severus Snape, Angst with Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Trust Issues.

Chapter 5

There he was, standing by the doorway with his hand still clutching the doorknob, his amber eyes glistening, blotchy and scarlet face at a brink of erupting everything that had been lying agonizingly beneath his chest. Sirius could feel it. He could feel it radiating off him, seeping into the crimson walls of their dorm, making them dull and blue. Sirius could easily recall that particular day when Remus had entered the common room with a face that had been the facsimiled version of the one that he was currently staring at. It was one of his favorite nights with Remus. 

They were staring at each other, both waiting, hoping, and begging.

And then Sirius tentatively held out his arms just like he had, always. He didn’t get to wait because Remus had already shoved himself into his body so forcefully that Sirius had to keep his feet hard on the ground from stumbling backwards. The moment his body was harshly hit with his, he knew. He knew the scent, the touch, and the curves of the body that was plastered with him. It was hard to believe. Considering their current relationship, he was hard to even dream. But now, it was happening so vividly that he had to pinch himself to detect the line between dream and reality. And he did, and the distinction was clear. Tears pooled into his eyes when all of his senses were soundly aware. His heart was singing the name like his very own mantra.

Remus Lupin. Remus. Remus. Moony. My Moony. My Remus. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Remus was wrapped around him like trailing plant. His limbs were all over Sirius’ body. He was shaking, and so was Sirius’ body. He was sobbing, and so was Sirius’ heart. Hard. His howls were raggedy and too painful to hear. Sirius thought he was hit by a stunning charm that his feet stood by the ground, but his knees were turning rickety. Remus didn’t stop. His face was buried in Sirius’ neck. Sirius could feel that the dampness was not just his dripping hair but the endless tears of Remus as they trickled down his neck, and soaked the cotton maroon shit he was wearing.

James and Peter emerged from the bathroom, wearing their robes for the Ball that was starting in few hours, with their mouths hanging open. They had never seen Remus like that. The Remus they knew was the one who squirmed away from group hugs, the one who never cried from any pain—either physical or emotional—the one who was expressionless when angry, and the one who coped with everything without fussing or weeping. However, the Remus Sirius knew was the opposite version of his public display, and secretly Sirius was proud of this intimately celestial relationship between them.

“Moons—“ James had almost called Remus out before Sirius slightly shook his head to him in a gesture that said ‘I will handle this, not any of you.’ James had never been the one to take or assume any offence so he took this as his and Peter’s queue to leave the dorm for a while. “We’ll come later, okay?” Peter gave a small smile to Sirius before exiting.

He did everything. He didn’t stop rubbing his back, he didn’t stop squeezing his arms, and he didn’t stop pressing his head against his. But Remus didn’t budge. The sobs had turned into whimpering. Sirius untangled himself from him and held his burning face that was stained with tears and snots. He wiped his face with his hands. Remus scrunched his nose in a grimace. Little did he knew, Sirius loved this facial expression of him. It made him look very innocent. Sirius dared to lean in and kissed his nose. He witnessed the relaxation spreading on Remus’ face. He leaned again to shower all of the kisses he had wanted to, and Remus let him. On the wet eyelids, forehead, cheeks, temples and anywhere where his lips could reach.

“Had a bad day, Moony?” Sirius asked him gently.

“I’m sorry…” It broke his heart because Remus was not supposed to apologize. He didn’t do anything wrong. If there was someone who deserved to apologize for the rest of his life, it was Sirius. He breached his trust, and he didn’t know if he could ever reconcile his mistakes, his bad traits and hid darkness that came along with his surname.

Sirius couldn’t bring himself to utter a word of disagreement, so he kept shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, Sirius.” He said it again. And it hurt again, “I should have never pushed you away…I mean what was I thinking? That I will be able to free myself from this desire that looms around me like a shadow. This longing to have you by my side, all the time. I thought I would win this tug of war. But I didn’t...Having you…here, around me and yet so far…No, Sirius. I can’t do that for much longer because sooner or later I’ll be falling into your arms again. You are this piece of my puzzle. My missing piece of life. And this void needs to be filled! It is just too agonizing. I miss you. I miss you so much.”

Every syllable was coherent and intense. They were causing a havoc inside Sirius. It all seemed like another dream. And then he looked around. It was all real. He looked into Remus’ watery eyes. It was all real. But he was trying to look for something that could liberate him from this beautiful deception. He didn’t want to stay in oblivion.

“I know it's selfish-” 

“it’s not selfish... Sirius replied anyway, “I don’t believe all of this…” He whispered. Remus was smiling at him so peaceful at him. It was certainly going to be a dream. He saw him leaning closer. He closed his eyes when his forehead was pressed with his.

“I cry to you, I laugh openly to you. You know the things that matters to me the most. And you should know that you are the first and foremost on that list of mine.” Remus’ voice was so soft. The small puffs of breath against Sirius’ cheek was causing a tingling sensation all over his body.

“Do you trust me?” He couldn’t recognize his own voice, and Remus was taken aback. His lips were parted, puffy eyes, and disheveled hair.

“I trust you.” He leaned more closer, nodding his head.

“How?” It came out like a whine. He felt Remus’ arms encircled his waist.

“Because you are loyal. You never meant me harm, I know it. I believe you, Padfoot...Tell me if you still don’t believe it’s all true.” He heard him say again. And then he felt the warmth of mouth capturing his lips. When Remus’ mouth moved against his, Sirius wanted to cry. His mouth was stiffening. His eyes were stinging, even when they were closed. The stubborn tears did fell because Remus was wiping them with the pad of his thumbs. In between the tiny pauses for breath, Remus was shushing him. He felt like he was shivering internally. Suddenly, he was feeling vulnerable. He could feel Remus’ slender hands travelling to his neck. His fingers sliding up from his nape into his hair. It didn’t fail to make him shiver for real, this time. He did, and a smirk crossed Remus’ mouth.

“It’s real.” Sirius whispered against Remus’ lips, and then captured them again. The kiss was making him lightheaded as he deepened it. His hands were still clutching Remus’ face as if they were the most ethereal treasure to hold. It was, it really was, for Sirius. They both parted to gaze into each other’s eyes. Amber met Silver. “Remus, I love you.” And Remus kissed him again, despite of all the mess they had become with the wetness of tears rubbing each other’s skins.

“I love you, too, Sirius.” The words made him smile. He didn’t know if he was crying or laughing, but it was something in between that. The tears were not stopping but he was happy a little too much.

“Ah! I thought I was going to be the one to comfort you here.” He let out a watery chuckle, wiping his face, “Look at that, I’m a mess here.”

“We both are.”  Remus batted away his hands to wipe Sirius’ face with his own hands. The both of them were standing there in the middle of the dorm, cozying up in each other’s balminess. Sirius’ hands were playing with the hem of Remus’ sweater, while Remus’ hands were untangling the loose knots of Sirius’ slightly damp hair.

“You forgot to cast a drying spell on your hair after shower because of me.”

“This is how much I love you.”

They laughed again. Everything was beautifully back to its rightful places. 

“Moony?”

“Padfoot?”

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Remus narrowed his eyes, squinted to come at eye-level with Sirius, a smirk trying hard to break his glare.

“You love dancing.”

“I love dancing with you.”

 _____________________________________________________________

They were in their robes, thrilled to go to the Yule Ball, as they descended the stairs of dormitory. They both came to a halt at the same time when they stepped into the common room. James and Lily were sitting on the couch, and Peter was lying on the carpeted floor before the fire-escape.

“What are you guys doing here? You left an hour ago.” Sirius said.

“Oh thank Merlin!” James jumped up and rushed to embrace him and Remus, “You guys made up! You guys are reunited! We’ve been waiting for you lot! I’m so happy! I love you! I love you both!”

Remus squirmed away hesitantly, letting James and Sirius alone to suffocate themselves in hugging and jumping. He met Lily beaming at him.

“Look at you, handsome.” She kissed him on the cheek, “I’m happy for you, Remus.”

“Oi! Evans!” Sirius and James said in unison, causing all of them to laugh into hysterics.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

[romanceforransom]

Are you possibly taking writing prompts? I would love to read about Sanders POV during ep 9 when stays at the mental health centre after his episode

Hi! Nobody has ever given me a prompt before 🥺 but yes I would absolutely love to take them! 

I hope this is close to what you wanted ❤

White walls… so crisp… so clear. Almost like they were trying too hard to make the place welcoming. The only thing that I could think of when I looked around the room was that it felt cold. Not only a light breeze but a feeling inside of me. I was used to the warmth of my own room. The bright colours splattered over the walls and paintings haphazardly scattered around, creating an almost collage effect.

There was only a simple light in the ceiling. Nothing spectacular or eye catching. Just a simple bulb that cast out a dim yellow light across the room. Another colour that was supposed to radiate warmth and comfort. Ironic considering the only shades I would use to personify the location was dark tones of blue and black. A void that swallowed up my lasting feelings of happiness and joy. 

I knew that checking myself in was the right decision. After everything that happened, it was safer for me to be in an environment where I could get the help I needed. But that didn’t stop me from being depressed about the entire situation. The only thing I wanted to do was be curled up in my own bed, surrounded by things that are familiar and radiate a certain amount of solace. Even more than that, to be held in the arms of the sweetest boy that I had ever known. The feeling of his body against mine making me feel like nothing else before.

The night we had shared at the hotel… even though I could feel myself slipping away, the oncoming episode taking its toll on me, being wrapped up so tightly not just physically but also in the feeling of him. Getting drunk off our love.

I wanted to get back to that place so badly. Not the hotel room with the oddly patterned walls and clashing colours. Just the boy that I was falling for… fallen for. There was no use in trying to think I was anything other than head over heels for the small brunette. He was absolutely breath-taking. The most magnificent boy to walk the planet.

Being away from him was a torment like no other. The want to be near him again was almost unbearable. I had run away in the middle of the night and probably left him terrified… all I wanted to do was make sure he was alright and tell him that I was ok too.

But at the same time, sending him a message with so many emotions packed into it would probably just add to his stress. Sending him something more jokey, reassure him that I was still the person that I had always been before and that having a meltdown didn’t change that… it seemed more fitting.

I still had my phone for the time being, so after a while of agonizing over what to write, I settled for a short message.

Me: The last hotel was better

Short but sweet. Light-hearted. Hopefully enough for him to see that I hadn’t changed. And pray that his image of me remained the same as it had been before our picturesque relationship crumbled.

Of course, it was probably an exaggeration of how things had been previously. It had been a rocky start and things definitely were not perfect from an outsiders’ view… but to me, and I hoped to Robbe too, it felt unimaginably magical. Better than anything I had ever experienced in my life. When I was around him, my entire world just felt brighter and more full of light than any other time I could remember. It was like he was my own personal sun, chasing away all the storm clouds that tried to hang over my head.

That was why I needed him so badly. Although the people that worked in the institution tried to be as kind as possible, nobody could compare to the loving nature that my beautiful little Robin had. One flash of his doe eyes and everything inside me would feel so much better.

Even just a text would have sufficed.

But I had to wait for around three hours to get it.

When I heard the ping of the notification coming through, I almost jumped to open my phone and read it. It was the biggest burst of energy I had had since first entering the institution, all of the desire to speak to Robbe building up inside of me and spurring me on.

Yet, what I saw sent my heart plummeting. Like a weight had been dropped onto my chest from a great height.

Robbe: I don’t know what to think anymore. Maybe

we should put an end to this.

Me: To what?

I replied, hoping that it was all just some big misunderstanding. That my sleep-deprived brain was just joining dots together that weren’t actually there. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t happening… that it would never happen and the love we shared and the memories we had already created would be enough for him to stay.

Robbe: To us

Me: Why?

Robbe: Because there is no us

Clearly it wasn’t enough for him. The thing that I had done when the mania had taken over seemed to have tarnished the image he had of me – of us. It was something that I had been terrified of happening, that he would leave me just like everyone else had before. And I had foolishly hoped that, since we had become so close, he would stay by my side… it was not like I could blame him for wanting to distance himself and cut me out, though. Having someone like me in his life would only drag him down and he deserved to soar higher than anyone had before.

I didn’t reply to the last message. Instead, locking my phone and tossing it down beside me on the bed. White, like the rest of the room.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem like such an odd colour. I had been wrong in my thinking before. Blue and black was not nearly enough to represent my emotions… but white? The colour of blankness. The colour that in some places symbolised mourning.

Well, that is exactly what I did. I laid there on the slightly hard mattress, much like my heart had become, and mourned the death of my relationship with Robbe. I silently said goodbye to the beauty that had come of such a wonderous time in my life and accepted that my future would just be as I was at that moment. White. Colourless. Blank.

[ask-impure-vessel]

I don't know if this will reach you at the right moment in time Vessel but, peace friend, The Wyrm has already shown he cares for you greatly and you have done him no disservice or wrong. This may simply a matter too important to discuss elsewhere and His Majesty may be too caught up in his own troubles to understand the affect he has on you.

[Note: Frank discussion of anatomy, anxiety/panic attacks, unreality, post-traumatic stress, past abuse, suicide, disordered eating, self-harm, stuff about the Abyss with all that entails and other such unpleasantries. Strap in, folks!]

The vessel felt like their body was somewhere a few steps to the right and back of them. Their father said nothing as he led them down to the workshop.

You don’t understand. You don’t-

There’s a distant panic in Vessel’s voice. They still keep walking, they must. The order was given. Despite what happened in the Abyss, control still belongs to the Pale King.

It was as if nothing had changed at all.

For the first time, they begin to resent that. The workshop is the last place they want to be, for multiple reasons besides the temple that was to become their agonizing grave. This is not a place that holds any good memories for them, not a single one. 

They arrive in that darkened place, the birthplace of moulds, all thousand of them-700 kingsmoulds, 300 wingsmoulds-where Wyrm's research led to the vessels that rested in the infirmary and that walked into the room. The king shrugged off his silken robe, leaving on a shirt that still covered what was considered a decent amount in Hallownest, showing off the truth of his form; it had been a while and Vessel Hallow was shocked by the changes to his father's form.

He was a being of pure white carapace, plates with softer flesh between, especially around the joints; his skin was sunken, his belly not just thin but almost concave instead of convex. He looked a bit muscular, but mostly because he appeared to be starving. He was dull in color, the white often not as bright as it could be, looking almost dirty with a lack of nutrients to look glossy and nice. 

Wyrm could subsist on soul like a vessel, but that didn't mean it was pleasant for him to do so. He was much like other bugs in physicality, fueled by food, water and having to use the toilet to flush out what his body didn't use of those things. His genitals were internal, just like any bug, his shirt covered where that was hidden. 

His secondary set of arms were more visible now, as was the lower half he usually ambled upon: multiple legs and a long tail that terminated in a pointed end. His tail was thin, almost collapsed with the lack of care.

What was more alarming were the splotches of black. His hands were absolutely covered in it, just beyond the wrists but the lines that raced upwards were far more concerning. Void taint was a part of Hallow's body but for a pale being, such a sight promised long, lingering agony. The absolute rigid calm their father practiced suddenly became a lot more impressive.

It left Hallow in minor shock.

Father, are you dying? Have you already assured your death? Was it on purpose that you inflicted starvation and void poisoning upon yourself? I can think of few less painful, lingering deaths.

"Come. Please kneel so that I can more easily examine you and the changes to you." He activated the door seals and waited in a clear space.

<Father, I-> The vessel walked and knelt, words cutting off with anxiety.

Wyrm activated and checked on the seal on Hallow's mask. "Interesting, joining with the Lord of Shades didn't disengage this? I hadn't expected that. It must have been greatly weakened over the course of my rule and being forgotten. I had thought them already dead." He muttered and began to ghost fingers over the notches Hallow had. "Where did the Kingsoul go?"

That had been a question Hallow had been dreading.

A hand touched upon Hallow's chest. "There it is, if changed greatly at your breast. It became your core? Brace."

It was more warning than Hallow usually got; sharp pain radiated through their being, as something touched their heart.

<Father, it. It hurts.> The vessel gasped out. They were not words sufficient, but they were descriptive enough for their use.

"Please bear it a little longer. This is a very beautiful charm that has become your heart even if it is taboo to my being." 

The pain grew to shocking agony, then to a fading sensation, Hallow felt like their body was a distant, cut off thing.

<Father, please. Stop!> The vessel spoke in growing horror, fear and concern.

The Pale King was faced with a decision then-and let go of the charm. Sensation slowly returned and the vessel gasped on the floor, curling in on themself on the floor as mind and body reconnected. It was painful as the disruption the Pale King had inflicted and the vessel would have gagged if they could on the feelings of revulsion they now felt.

They instead wept on the floor, black tears falling onto the ground as they shivered and their mind turned to things they did there, the pale Wyrm unheeding to a child's pain in the terrible silence; the screams that echoed only through the void, the vessel capable only of displaying stiff trembling to their master. 

They recall the efforts to ensure they could learn magic. The painful process of 'installation' over being taught the theory that took place here. The studies that involved dying here and their shade. When the various seals were made on their shell and mask, the burning magic that had kept burning on their mask for days from them. They had done nothing but suffer in this room and this day had proven no different.

"Vessel, I. I'm sorry, that went too far." The king stroked their mask, making a soothing sound, a purr that Hallow hadn't heard before.

Hallow felt the dam burst and sat as they cried, for all the things they'd wanted and had never had. That Wyrm was holding them now, comforting them now, touching with loving intention rather than with cold intent of science or with violence. The feelings were somewhat positive, but many were bitter, some even bordered on hate and disgust that they didn't know what to do with. They had so many things to say, for themself, for the things that had been done to them and the things they'd missed out on. For the way their father had run away the moment their emotions had become known like a damnable coward. That had been a choice Hallow had been denied, they couldn't say no-yet this day, for the first time, they had asked for their father to stop.

And he had listened.

The Pale King let Hallow get out everything they'd needed to, to calm down and recover from… whatever it was that he'd been doing to them. <This one doesn't want to be experimented on again, or studied. This place, it brings back bad memories for it.> Hallow spoke, in a shaking mental voice. <It is painful for this vessel to be here.>

"Oh, Vessel. I had no idea it was that upsetting. Let's go to my study, then so you don't have to be here. You never have to come in here again." The King promised and led the shaking knight from that terrible place.

They settled down in a chair this time, the king likewise going seated. "I will apologize. That was too far, I needed to explain what I was doing and why-to ask for your permission. It's not easy to break old habits. I noticed you dropped first-person pronouns in your stress." He spoke frankly with sadness.

<This one supposes not. It felt like it was… dying.> Hallow shuddered. <Did you pull this vessel away to speak, or was it to satisfy that curiosity?> They asked tiredly.

"A bit of both, admittedly. To ask you how you're feeling, but that's… obvious, right now and is very much my doing." He sighed and leaned forward. "I'll have to be invasive one more time, I'm afraid but perhaps not this day, to let you recover. I need to set you free and I intend to."

<You'll… free this one from its bondage?> Hallow rephrased in mild disbelief. 

"Yes. As my final order in that bondage, for the rest of your life should something happen and I am unable to undo that binding-I order you to act of your own free will and feelings, as you see fit and judge is right. I relinquish control over your will and mind. There will need to be magic done to completely remove the binding, but it will no longer function."

<It will thank you, father once this one is wholly free.> Hallow spoke diplomatically. They couldn't exactly forgive him entirely yet if the harm was still there.

"I understand. You are a higher being now, truly. While you could read the language of the gods and make things function that are for gods, you didn't have a few aspects that would elevate you from a child of higher beings to purely one yourself. However, you do not have worshippers and as much distaste as I have for the god that was, that will need to change for your own health."

<That must be why the Lord of Shades said they were very, very starved. Speaking of, father. Why are you starved?> The vessel spoke pointedly. <This one believes they can ask some pointed questions and get answers in return. You owe it at least that much.>

"I. Eating is a currently disgusting endeavor to me. Certainly, I did like it once and ate but. Since the vessel project started, my. My enjoyment became nil." He replied honestly. "My shame steals the joy out of anything I do."

<You regret the choices you made?> 

"I do not regret having you for a child. I regret that I killed so many and the crimes committed against the siblings who didn't make it. I regret how I've treated you. I don't know if I could make it up to the survivors but I will at the least try for the time I have and make sure your siblings do not go through the struggles you did." The king chose his words carefully. "I believed I had no other recourse. No other choice that wouldn't see my people dead or entirely enslaved to the Old Light-but I do not think I deserve forgiveness for being a kinslayer, for my mistreatment of you. I have been something to you for sixteen years. Would have been that for two years more, so you could have your final moulting and complete your training. I would have nailed that armor to your carapace and left you to her tender mercies. In that, I was wrong. I intended to kill myself once I was sure my people were safe and could carry on in my absence."

<It knows. It realized that when it went down into the Abyss before becoming the Shade Lord.> The vessel spoke, voice thick with pain. <You're dying, aren't you father. That's why you don't mind sacrificing yourself to the Grimm Troupe either. You are dying and you want to die.>

"I've done too much to live or to allow myself the pleasures in living. The situation in Hallownest is my fault. Your pain is my fault. The many, many broken masks in the Abyss are my fault. I am a kinslayer, who committed infanticide of his own children. Even a god doesn't get forgiveness for those kinds of horrible actions. I deserve the suffering you children experienced. I deserve the deaths I visited upon the children I deemed not good enough. Yes. I am suffering void poisoning, it is an agony I bear constantly. My light holds it at bay enough that I can live five more years without drastic actions." He spoke bluntly.

<Did you poison yourself deliberately?>

"Exposure to void with proper protections isn't deadly. A bug can be scarred by void without dying, in fact the exposure can have beneficial effects such as on the ageless mask maker. Void poisoning in mild cases caught early enough is treatable. So I suppose yes. I did that to myself deliberately." He spoke numbly. "It's… actually a relief to admit that. I wasn't expecting that."

<It's not treatable now. You're dying. How long do you have left?> Hallow felt like the ground was opening beneath their feet.

"No, even I will succumb to a case this severe having gone on this long. Five to seven years, depending." Wyrm spoke clinically. "Your mother doesn't know, but she's not very curious and finds my company odious these days. I don't want her to know."

<You aren't the only one. Would you die as a member of the Grimm Troupe?> Hallow pondered.

"No, time is frozen in a sense for a member of the Troupe. As a sacrifice, my original body would likely be immolated, the presence of void cast out as anathema to it as well. It's not got a will of its own so expelling it for the Nightmare Heart would be doable. It's just not for me between having a corpus much closer to mortal form and my diminishment as a god." 

Hallow rubbed a hand over their chest. <Father, please free this vessel today. Now.> It was firm. <This vessel just wants to love you as themself. Not as your property, as your child. Whatever you have done, it does not know if it can forgive, but love. Love is something this vessel has always been able to give.>

The first time Hallow had ever demanded anything for themself and only themself.

Tears came from the king's eyes. "As you wish, Lord of Shades my child."

The bindings lit up as the king touched, claws digging into the mask with a strange sensation that felt like it should hurt but didn't. The light burned, the mark burned. But the claws were quick, chanting even and fast. Soul pooled around the king's hands. 

The chains broke and Hallow felt a weight come off, something they hadn't realized had been there for a very long time. The remnants would be there, like an invisible scar until they moulted, but then-then it would be gone.

It would take time for them to understand what they'd gained and lost at once. <Today I learned that this one's father is not brave. Please. Please live. Even if your crimes are too much for your heart to bear. Stop running away. Please. Face what you have done, face us who you have wronged. It's not too late.>

 "...I can try. I love you, my child." He touched foreheads with Hallow, a familial kiss. "For all you vessels, I will try. I don't know how anymore, but I can still learn."

Hallow is not an adult. They are, however, now free of their father's chains.

[atlascas]

DEANCAS FIC REC

(last updated 7/1)

FINALLY. this is like. just a place for me to rec and write excessively abt the fics i've been reading lately. it won't be organized but it WILL be very earnest and i'll keep it updated as i find/remember more. also i have obnoxiously high standards when it comes to fic so these ARE the cream of the crop, if u will. the god tier. the s tier. 

very loosely organized into "newer fic" and "classics." these are subjective categories. do what you will

✨ = new fic on the list

💖 = in my brain rent free!

CURRENTLY READING

these are the fics that i’m currently reading! may or may not get recced. usually i read the first couple paragraphs/lines and if i like the writing it gets bookmarked and put on this list.

lazarus needs a robe of scarlet thread by herrosesneverfall, 90k, canonverse au. dean starts getting stigmata. when i was getting back into spn there were a LOT of religious fics flying around bc that was the Hot Topic of Discussion. this was one of them

Three weeks ago, Dean woke up in a pine box. He thought dealing with the nightmares was going to be the most difficult part of his new life after Hell, but at least they were something he could understand. Something he could deal with. Something he deserved.

Then he began having agonizing visions of crucifixion. Wounds appeared on his body out of nowhere. Wounds that refused to heal and coated his skin with the sickly sweet smell of roses.

Stigmata are said to be the marks of saints, but Dean is not a saint and the wounds are only the beginning.

kingdom come by ahurston, 8.7k, coda to 15x18. cas gets to go home. im gathering all the s15 fix-its to my heart and holding them close

Cas wakes up on the coast of Maine. He makes his way home.

hunger by ellispark, 10.8k, s13 au. dean grieves cas, post s12 finale. perfect writing perfect awful heartwrenching characterization so far on dean’s end especially towards jack. nuanced emotional writing

Dean takes his meal and throws it away, plate and all. He's not hungry. How can he even begin to eat, knowing what he kept from Cas — what he kept from both of them?

They could have had something, and now all Dean has is this gaping, empty hole in his stomach, in his chest, and he has to learn to breathe and eat and move around it.

the law of equivalent exchange by awed_frog, 60.8k, canonverse. cas loving dean in all permutations of humanity, throughout time.

“And what’s the point of it?”

“Of love? There isn’t one. Loving is its own purpose.”

NEWER FIC

“newer” just means “i discovered it in 2020/2021 after coming back to spn fandom” so it very well could have been published before 2015 but really who’s checking. not me that’s for sure.

💖 so says the sword by komodobits, 85k, s4 au. cas guards the michael sword in the beautiful room. this is easily the MOST obvious rec on this entire list but it was the first fic i read when i got back into spn this year and jesus christ it set the bar sky fucking high. the way they create a coherent mythology out of the mess that is spn canon is incredible.

The briefing was simple: ‘Stand guard over the Michael Sword until the battle is ready to commence. Await further instructions.’

Castiel doesn’t mind working security duty; he was briefed shortly after the initial salvation of the Sword from the pit, and again before taking up his position. He knows what to do. However, it’s easy to forget that the green room isn’t real. Time moves differently there, the space ever-changing to make a prison of mountains, cathedrals, salt flats, orchards, and whatever Castiel was led to believe about Heaven’s greatest weapon—Dean Winchester is something entirely unexpected.

assimilation by komodobits, 5.6k, coda to 12x01. mary meets dean and cas and they go to find sam. such good character studies of all three of them. the best mary pov fic i’ve read

Mary always thought you were supposed to be able to tell. That you could just look at someone and know they were – you know. One of that sort. It’s not supposed to happen to her son.

cuckoo and nest by komodobits, 10k, ambiguously canonverse. dean and cas navigate relationship anxiety. cute, in character, and their relationship is realistic and the conflict well-written and emotionally nuanced and really really really good. 

For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental.

It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless.

💖 one white lie by komodobits, 11k, au. cas panics when trying to ask dean out and has to fake being a jehovah’s witness. it’s adorable and hilarious and it’s been ages since i actually got butterflies at a kiss in a fic but this did it. it did it. it felt like someone swaddled my soul in a cashmere blanket and kissed me on the forehead

Castiel takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. He doesn’t need to run through what he’s going to say – he’s already planned and edited and rehearsed it a thousand times. He is going to ask Dean Winchester out to dinner. If it’s not too forward, he’ll say, perfectly charming. You see, I’ve seen you around the neighbourhood and you always seem so earnest and I’d really like to get to know you bette— The door swings open, and Castiel panics.

He intends to excuse himself. He means to apologise and come back some other time. However, in a moment of blind fear, what comes out of his mouth instead are the words, “Could you spare a moment for Jesus Christ?”

a crash course in someone else’s history by annie d (scaramouche), 11.5k, set during s6. cas comes to as his s4 self without any memories of the past two years and has to figure out what the fuck is going on. it’s kind of like so says the sword. you’ll know it when you get to it.

Castiel is captured inside a trapping circle of holy oil set by Dean and Sam Winchester. The brothers call him "Cas", claiming that he has amnesia and that he is obligated to help them take down Crowley to atone for his betrayal of them. It's the strangest story Castiel's ever heard, and one he doesn't have time for because he's only just raised Dean from Hell and has work to get back to.

💖 cas and dean’s adventures in gardening by ahurston, 19k, post-canon au. a series featuring dean and cas living in the bunker, human. cas is very into plants. i read this yesterday actually and it made me smile SO much it’s just so lovely and sweet. i’m also a sucker for any fic where cas has a garden. he deserves a fucking garden okay

In this post-God world, everything is different. A little quieter, a little softer. Cas grows a garden, Dean cooks, and they take care of each other.

tall grass by aeli_kindara, 57k, post-s12. dean and cas live in the bunker on their own, and cas grows a garden. i did say i love fics where cas has a garden. plus domesticity, plus some good case fic, PLUS dean and cas’ relationship is so gentle and good

“I think we should have a garden,” Cas says.

Dean looks up from his beer. He hasn’t had that much to drink, but Cas still has a vague look of unreality about him, a splash of living color that doesn’t fit in the bunker’s echoing stillness. Dean didn’t hear him coming. A lot of the time, Cas is so unobtrusive it feels like Dean has the bunker to himself, with Sam away.

Dean shakes his head to clear it. “A — garden?” he repeats.

in a week by renrub, 2.3k, post 15x18. cas is in the empty. dean saves him. this is genuinely the best “dean pulls cas out of the empty” fic i’ve read so far like conceptually this entire thing just fucks. when cas is cycling through the barn scene. god. SO well written

Castiel is outside a barn covered in sigils. He frowns. This isn’t right. This has never been something he repented for.

i won’t even wish for snow by annie d (scaramouche), 5.6k, college au. cas goes to the winchesters’ for christmas. honestly scaramouche fics belong in the classics section bc she’s like an og deancas writer but whatever. mistletoe! banter! good in-character au! this fic’s got it all

It’s the third year that Castiel’s spending Christmas with his best friend’s family, and he expects it to be much like the previous two. Then mistletoe happens.

convenient husbands by annie d (scaramouche), 39k, canonverse au. cas is a phoenix, dean is a hunter. they get married and have a sick psychic bond. unexpectedly fluffy considering how the fic starts and i love the banter so much and dean/cas’ relationship gets fleshed out and organically developed it’s very cute

"It's only temporary, right?" Dean says. "Just until you're healed up, and then we'll never have to see each other again. So what do you say, Castiel, do you want to marry me or not?"

cinderwings by bendingsignpost, 181k, cinderella au. cas goes to a masquerade ball to save his people from an eternity trapped in a void. he meets prince dean. i can’t tell u how much this fic drew me in - thru good worldbuilding, but mostly thru cas’ social awkwardness. like it works PERFECTLY to his advantage in this fic and reading how expertly he manipulates social situations w/o any fucking idea what he’s doing is both hilarious and inspiring

Under the cover of a masquerade ball, Castiel has five nights to recover the key to his people's freedom. The world has changed greatly in the six centuries since their banishment into the void, but the task isn't impossible. Unfortunately for Castiel, this is going to involve talking to people - especially the Knight Prince who has taken an interest in Castiel and his "costume" wings.

as the crow flies by bendingsignpost, 3.4k, au. dean and cas go on a roadtrip. cas has wings! it’s so dreamlike and meandering and the slowburn is so good. honestly it reminds me of stevebucky/stevesam post tws era roadtrip fics if ur hip LMAO

Cross country road trips with Cas are the best.

long-term relationship by bendingsignpost, 2.7k, au. dean and cas have a Serious Conversation about their relationship.

Castiel says, budging over to make room for Dean on the couch, “I thought we should have a serious talk about our relationship.”

Reflexively, Dean laughs.

Castiel does not.

“Uh, Cas... you know we’re not dating, right?”

all this and heaven too by ftmsteverogers, 7k, ambiguously canonverse. dean is trans. dean and cas are fucking and lowkey hiding it from sam. perfect character study PERFECT trans dean fic it’s so fucking well-written 

“Hey,” Dean said. “I’m not ashamed of you, okay?”

Cas raised skeptical eyes to meet his.

“I mean it,” Dean insisted.

“I understand you mean it,” Cas said. “But I don’t think it’s any better if you’re only ashamed of yourself.”

💖 the love story of the runner up by margo_kim, 4.7k, ambiguously canonverse. cas tries dating other men. bear with me here. this is an outside pov fic from an oc named miguel who is WONDERFULLY characterized and very endearing like i find outsider/oc pov to be on Thin Fucking Ice bc it always ends up as fandom/author self-insert but miguel is his OWN MAN. he gets his own lil arc and everything. dean and cas are concentrated perfectly crystallized versions of themselves and the little glimpses we get of them are amazing. ALSO i wrote like 9k of an spn vent fic (basically the same premise but w an oc named marcus) back in like. freshman yr of hs. so when i first opened this fic i was like what the fuck someone’s been in my google docs. very weird experience 10/10 regardless

“So you saw a white man in a trench coat pop out in an alley,” Paul says, “and you thought, what, ‘I want to see where this is going’?”

“If you get hung up on details like that,” Miguel says, “it will take a very long time to get through this story.”

For a very weird era in his life, Miguel dates an angel who is in love with another man.

sunshine by northernsparrow, 8k, set during s13. dean and cas have a long conversation about their Profound Bond. the description left me off-balance (it really. really truly says “dean is straight in this fic” like okay bro WEIRD hill to die on) but it pulled through w the relationship study and reassurance and snuggles. a sweet fic

One-shot with a single conversation between Dean and Castiel, set in a late-S13-ish world. Gabriel, Cas, Sam & Dean are all living in the bunker together, Gabe's been cracking certain jokes, Sam's found a certain book, Cas is injured and isn’t healing... and it's all making Dean wonder if his angel friend might have some sort of a "bond" with... somebody? Whatever that means.

Maybe it's time for a talk.

💖 still life by catchclaw, 16.5k, post-s8. cas, newly human, goes to live on his own for a while. he and dean maintain a relationship thru the phone. this is LITERALLY the only first person fic i fucking respect okay like i was skeptical! i really was! but the pov is PERFECT and also my man kevin tran is in this fic and i love him and miss him very much. oh and cas going off to explore humanity on his own..............perfect arc. very much in character we love that for him

Dean'd always thought that falling in love was a capital letter kind of thing, an Important Event you carved into the calendar of your life and never, ever forgot. But with he and Cas, it wasn't that simple.

it’s mostly cowardice, and bad timing by ferritin4, 1.6k, pre-canon. actually this one is just a dean study it’s not deancas but i spent an entire night looking for it and i need someone else to read it too. dean is smart!!! SAY THAT

Dean gets his GED.

a list of reasons the bunker shouldn’t get a sofa by lizbobjones, 5.6k, set during s12. sam and dean and mary and cas haul a sofa back to the bunker. cute domesticity and fluff

Let me count the ways that this is a terrible idea.

no kingdom to come by domesticadventures, 16.8k, canonverse. dean and cas deal with being stuck in quarantine in different ways. this is the one and only quarantine fic i’ve read and it’s really good lmao. dean and cas’ relationship is so organic and tentative in this one

“We should fuck,” Dean says.

Cas looks up from where he sits on his bed, hair still damp from the shower, frowning as he places a finger on the page of his book to mark where he left off.

There are a million things Cas could say here; Dean has rehearsed them. After lunch, his restlessness had given way to a vague panic, a dread that matched his every step and crept along with him from room to room. Eventually, he had returned to his bedroom and spent the rest of the afternoon pacing back and forth, playing out all the possible scenarios. When Cas asks him Why? or Are you being serious? or when he sighs and says, in that way he has, Dean, he knows exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to shrug casually, like he isn’t invested in the answer, like he isn’t desperate for an outlet, and say, Why not? He’s going to raise an eyebrow and say, What, are you not interested? He’s going to crowd into Cas’ personal space, he’s going to shove himself right up in there and whisper Cas against his ear.

Instead, Cas says, carefully, “Okay.”

till the juice runs by deathbanjo, 8.4k, canonverse. it’s like dean’s being cursed to have bad hookups with men. SUCH a funny fic and the deancas tension is so simple and sweet and GOOD. plus cas is so enjoyably characterized here he’s so human and worn in and experienced in his own unique way. perfect use of rowena too

Apparently whoever drew up the venn diagram of Dean’s sex life decided the circle labelled ‘good sex’ and the one labelled ‘sex with men’ should be kept far apart.

turn of the year by kototyph, 3.9k, canonverse au. sam and dean get stuck out in the middle of nowhere on the winter solstice. what i wouldn’t give for a full 80k of this verse actually. also i went on a kototyph binge after reading shut up put your money where your mouth is and they have a SOLID spn repertoire

Fifteen minutes later, Dean gets back in the car with empty hands and ice in his fucking eyebrows. “Get the map out,” he says through chattering teeth, sticking numb fingers under his arms.

Sam holds up the battered 1995 Rand MacNally they keep in the side pocket, turned to a page of uninterrupted green. “We’re going to die,” he announces.

💖 bullets in the gun by kototyph, 4.9k, canonverse au. cas is a cop (i know. still) who gets kidnapped by dean in an unfortunate turn of events. GOD this fic is SO FUNNY. cas’ canny and strategic escape attempts render him a very active VERY funny pov character plus the hate attraction to dean is PERFECTLY WRITTEN VERY BELIEVABLE. dean’s kindness also shines thru even as he literally holds cas hostage like!!!! PERFECT characterization. both of them are so LIKABLE here. if you read anything on this list read this

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m going to need to borrow your car.”

as you will by kototyph, 1.8k, victorian au. cas endures a proposal mishap. it’s cute it’s funny it’s sweet!

"No?" Castiel echoes, dumbly.

and if i was looking too? by kototyph, 2.6k, au. cas is undercover where dean works. this fic is just so cute like. bird angels.................

There are some things Castiel hasn't told Dean, and there are some things he doesn't need to.

the most important thing by northernsparrow, 94.5k, s10 au. amnesiac cas raising claire until he comes across someone familiar. claire is so well characterized here i really loved her arc thruout this fic. she just wants her dad back and u can’t even blame her the author rlly does an amazing job creating realistic and heartbreaking motivations for her. oh and dean and cas (esp cas characterization!) are sweet in this but honestly the highlight IS claire for me

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

there’s only one sure thing that i know by blinkiesays, 20.3k, post-s5. dean goes to help cas out in ohio and they end up building a home together. i love the writing it’s rlly funny and sweet.

Dean doesn't even get halfway through explaining before Bobby starts laughing. When he lets himself think about it for more than five seconds, Dean can almost see Bobby's point: he's faced down demons, witches, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, angels, and Satan himself and now he's been defeated by the God damn Midwest.

💖 to an angel, love and worship are the same thing by geminisage, 10.3k, post s15 fix it. dean grieves cas - and then cas gets brought back back from the empty. i didn’t have this in my bookmarks so i MISSED it the first time around on this list but this was another one of the fics i came back to spn fandom to. it’s so fucking unique?? it actually reads like spn like i think fic tends to soften dean/cas up and makes them more emotional + emotionally intelligent than is ever shown in the show. here the dialogue/characterization adheres RIGOROUSLY to their communication in canon in that dean’s not overtly emotional, and cas is very reserved. they have to negotiate their relationship exactly like they would in the show. it’s all clipped conversation and anger and hurt and (warning btw) LOTS of internalized homophobia on dean’s end but it’s SO worth it. dean navigating his [GESTURES VAGUELY] everything is compellingly written, emotionally true, and PERFECTLY characterized. cas characterization also amazing like u rlly feel the quiet devoted bittersweet love. ok this was long clearly it’s a good fic go read it now

Just as Dean knew they would, the weeks do stretch into months, and then into a year. Grief never gets easier, Dean knows from experience, but you do get better at it. After all, you can get used to anything.

the violin house by teh_helenables, 8.5k, post-s5. dean and cas build a home after stull. so slow and lovely and sweet and gentle. i need to put this here so that i don’t forget it tbh. it’s very much dean as a war wife cas as the husband away on the front

The Apple Pie Life is a slow process, but Dean and Cas are getting there—until Cas is called for battle and Dean is forced to wait.

💖 muscle memory by komodobits, 18.9k, au. amnesiac cas wakes up three years in the future with dean in his kitchen. komodobits DOES NOT FUCKING MISS!!! i CRIED at the end of this i had NO INTENTION OF CRYING the rest of the fic isn’t even SAD i just had to sit there at the end of it w tears dribbling down my face. INSANE work of art

Dear Castiel,

Hello – it’s Castiel. This must all seem very confusing, and I’m sorry for that. Dean says to tell you that this isn’t some kind of ‘time-travel stunt’, although I’m sure that won’t be your first thought. I know it wasn’t mine. I’ve told Dean to leave now, as this is my notebook and I want everything in it to come from me – or rather, from you. I know you think it's the fifteenth of January, 2010, but it isn't. At the time of my writing this, the date is the fourth of October, 2013. Dean Winchester is your boyfriend of a year and a half, and you no longer work at the library, and in early 2010 you were hit by a car and hospitalised. I’m sorry.

a.k.a the 50 First Dates Dean/Cas AU where Castiel wakes up on a day just like any other, except that three years have passed without his knowing, and Dean Winchester is in the kitchen wanting to marry him.

don’t forget the experience points by annie d (scaramouche), 10.8k, au. cas is sam’s work friend, and he and dean get to know each other. genuinely an adorable fic. i adore cas’ characterization in this it’s snarky AND awkward AND confident in a way that i absolutely believe he would be if he had 30 yrs of human life under his belt

It's because Dean was an awesome brother than he took such an interest in Sam's new friend. No, really. What happened afterwards was mostly an accident.

actus fidei by manic_intent, 5.6k, canonverse au. dean’s a priest, cas is still his angel. i was HOOKED from the description alone like That’s Everything I Love in One Sentence. Cool!!!!!!!!!!!!

On the very first time that Castiel manifests in front of Father Dean Winchester, he gets as far as "Rejoice, for you are blessed-" before Dean shoots him with a salt-loaded shotgun.

not with a bang but a yelp by strange_estrangement, 1.4k, canonverse. team free will leave yelp reviews. this isn’t d/c actually it’s just a crack-ish fic but the formatting is cool and the references are SO funny and so well done

What happens when you visit dozens and dozens of motels every year? You leave Yelp reviews.

the courtship of combat by bendingsignpost, 18.2k, medieval a/b/o au. cas is politically coerced into fighting in a courtship melee for prince dean's hand, and he teams up with two unexpected allies to do it. I KNOW HOW THE ABO THING SOUNDS but i swear it's done well - it's by bendingsignpost so ofc he puts his own spin on the premise. im absurdly into it. PLUS jack is in it!!!!!!! it's technically an unfinished series but the first part is so good just on its own

When pressed upon to mate for a political alliance, Commander Castiel dares to refuse his king. As “I do not wish to mate at all” is clearly the wrong thing to say, Castiel takes the other path and lies. “You must know my affections lie elsewhere, my king.”

King Michael studies Castiel’s face long and hard. Then, with a nod, he snaps his fingers, pointing to Castiel. “The Winchester omega.”

“Yes,” Castiel says with no real recollection of who that is.

The ruse of an unavailable omega works well enough, right up until that omega is no longer unavailable. Then, with what seems to be his entire nation cheering him on toward victory, Castiel must enter the melee to win his mate. Backed by allies, training, and his own natural talents, the only question is how well he can contrive to fail.

four letter word for intercourse by bendingsignpost, 194.7k, au. dean calls a sex hotline. OH BOY solid characterization excellent plot/premise like bendingsignpost is so good at turning absurd premises into realistic, believable fiction. also sex hotline fic is usually a BIG turn-off bc of the power dynamics/one-sidedness of a relationship based on sex work but. BUT. bendingsignpost does it well! it’s not weird at ALL i started reading and was immediately reassured abt its intentions and its plot direction

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.

What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right?

(It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

the tunnel of love by xylodemon, 21.4k, post-canon. case fic! dean and cas have to kiss on a loveboat to solve a case >:)

"We might," Cas starts slowly, pausing like he's choosing his words. "We might have to kiss."

Dean just stares at him.

when you have a future. by firebog, 17.6k, post-s8. dean and sam and cas learning to be human post-apocalypse. reminds me of robotmango’s writing! it’s kind of eccentric and very very sweet and funny.

Sam closes Hell. Castiel closes Heaven. The heroes save the day. There's no Heaven or Hell waiting to cause the next big disaster. There's no more end of the world. There's only a squirmy feeling in his chest that feels a lot like freedom. So, now what?

(Things I promise you in this fic: dog poetry, rabbits, and fluff)

six inch heels by alitneroon, 2.3k, canonverse. dean does drag! excellent fucking character study. prose is fantastic

Dean does drag on a whim, and ends up in way over his head.

sharing is caring by gateskeeper, 2.5k, canonverse. five times dean and cas shared something and one time they didn’t. look. sometimes u just need some saccharine tropey fluff. it’s VERY well written

Sam knows that Dean and Cas have shared a lot together, but ever since Cas became human permanently, it seems like they've been sharing a lot more. 

Or: five times Dean and Cas shared something special and one time Dean refused to.

💖 empty spaces by schmerzerling, 60k, au. dean has to take care of his dying father, and takes up running to cope. that’s just the beginning. HEAVY trigger warnings for ED (specifically anorexia) and suicidal thoughts. there is a happy ending, but dean has to fight to make it there. god. okay. this is a dark fic. it’s also one of the most well-characterized fics i’ve ever read. dean’s spiral is excruciatingly accurate and written with the kind of wry compassion that comes from either extensive research or extensive experience. it’s also completely immersed in dean’s perspective - dean’s relationship w his dad, dean’s relationship w food scarcity, etc. it’s incredible. it’s kinda scary. it’s deeply sad. cas is explicitly autistic and it’s ALSO incredibly accurate and loving, and makes cas so true to his canon self. ugh. and i burst into TEARS at some of the accompanying art, which is so sparse and lonely and beautiful. 100/10 experience one of the best fics i’ve read this year

Dean is fine. The way he sees it, things are simple. He had a house and a family and food in his stomach, and now he doesn't. And yeah, that's a downer, but he's not going to let that stop him from being fine, because he's in control of the situation. He definitely doesn't need anyone to save him. And it's not like the weird guy with the nice butt from down the road is the knight-in-shining-armor type, anyway.

broken road by thegeminisage, 109.6k, 14x13 au. dean makes a wish and gets more than he bargained for. a lot of “john comes back” fics are kinda short on nuance, which this author has talked about a lot - and oh MAN does this fic deliver on nuance. john’s abuse is absolutely present, but his pov makes him a complex character instead of a flat caricature for dean to reject. and the way this fic resolves really makes it clear that the priority is dean’s emotional well-being over all else!!! this isn’t about dean taking the path fandom thinks he should take w his abuser (killing john, punching john in the face, etc), this is abt dean coming to terms w his abuse and finding his own emotionally satisfying way of resolving it. also dean and cas are in an established relationship and it’s very slow and sweet.

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end. 

home is not a place by imogenbynight, 6.8k, post-s11. human cas struggles with belonging, and dean struggles with their relationship. this reads a lot like komodobits’ cuckoo and nest, but it’s its own sweet little thing. they watch movies!!! very cute 

In which Dean is the oblivious one for a change.

love: a retrospective by xylodemon, 40.7k, post-s12. dean tries to deal w cas’ absence after s12 and reflects on their relationship thru the years. this was written before s13 aired, so - no spoilers - but jack plays a different role than he ends up playing in canon. it’s kinda fun seeing ppl’s theories pre-s13 tbh. makes me VERY glad that they took jack in the direction they did in show. anyway this is THEE definitive “they’ve been fucking all along” fic

Pretending Cas is just his friend has been the only thing keeping Dean's head on straight for years. He never realized how much doing that depended on him making himself scarce in the morning ─ not until Cas came back and moved into the bunker.

✨💖 if it all fell to pieces tomorrow by spocklee, 37k, post-s15 fix-it. cas gets broken out of the empty - and he immediately makes a break for it. new fave fix-it!!!! the writing is so understated and so straightforward - SO in character for cas tbh - that every single emotional beat feels like a PUNCH. and there are so many amazing character moments it made my chest seize the fuck up!!!!! perfect characterization perfect relationship moments perfect cas/jack parenting moments. the yearning over the phone is OFF THE CHARTS and spocklee makes the most of that tension!!!! PLUS old canon characters get to make fun appearances!!!!! i cannot recommend this shit enough

After the Empty, Cas has to spend some time alone. Orpheus tries to convince Eurydice over the phone that it’s okay to turn around now.

✨ before and after breakfast by spocklee, 10.5k, post-canon. dean and sam and cas tackle a monster of the week case with unexpected consequences. perfect pov perfect relationship moments SUCH GOOD TENSION. again this writing style just lets the tension dial up to 1000% every word is meaningful and it makes my chest hurt!!! spocklee SHOULD have blown up during the spn renaissance and i STAND by that

The monster of the week is a ghost who hates meat, alcohol, and feeling yourself. Guess who it is during the commercials.

CLASSICS

isn't it cool how every person has diff fics they consider "classics?" anyway these are required fucking reading. if u've been around these will prob be old news.

💖 asunder by rageprufrock, 23k, au. dean and cas go to sam's wedding. i reread this once a year like a religious ritual.

Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. (Matthew 19:6)

💖 the girlfriend experience by rageprufrock, 15k, set during s5. dean teaches cas how to be human. mostly the sex part. literally the gold fucking standard of s4-5 era deancas fic and for deancas fic in general, personally

While it's not like Dean hasn't had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

okay, cupid. by orange_crushed, 4.5k, au. dean tries to sign up for an ok cupid profile and has a revelation. as soon as i put this entry down i realized this entire fic rec was an exercise in futility, because if i could i'd literally just rec everything orange_crushed/robotmango has ever written. still one of THEE best authors in this fandom. go read all her fics. i’ll put the highlights here

"The dating thing?" Dean frowns. "Online dating is for weirdos. Robots. Dudes hanging out in their basements."

"You hang out in your basement."

"I have an air hockey table down there,” Dean says, icily.

💖 pwp: pie without plot by orange_crushed and majorenglishesquire, 82k, post-s8. sam and dean and cas quit hunting for a little bit to open a bakery. this is my comfort fic. i love it so so much.

he is in the kitchen with flour on his hands and an apron and there is flour on his forehead and cas leans across the counter and wipes it off with his thumb and dean says "thank you" and cas says "you’re welcome" very seriously and later dean makes apple turnovers and he only ruins them a little and sam realizes it’s not a real hunt like four days into it and he lets dean stay undercover for like a week and a half or longer maybe way longer because he is such a good everything

💖 la cucina by orange_crushed, 4k, post-s8. dean gets into cooking for a newly human cas. it's so gentle and loving and kind and makes me tear up every time. YES food is a comfort item and expression of love for dean. no i don't want to talk about it

Dean turns around and Castiel is picking through the jars, turning them over carefully to read the labels, totally engrossed. Dean watches him.

"Is there," Dean says, "uh, anything in there you like?" Castiel looks up at him and then back at the apples, sitting in a basket on the counter in their golden skins, ripe and pretty. Castiel smiles up at Dean.

"I don’t know yet," he says.

today, your barista verse by orange_crushed, 13.6k, coffeeshop au. a series of short sweet lovely fics where cas is a barista and dean is a smitten customer. literally the only coffeeshop au i respect

"Is that-"

"My number," says Dean, because he's a fucking champion, he's cool, he's collected, he's Captain Smooth of the USS Smoothtania, that's right. He is definitely not leaning against the counter for moral support. Cas doesn't looked seduced or impressed, though. He does not look like a dude who just met Captain Smooth and wants to ride the loveboat. He looks puzzled.

fata morgana. by orange_crushed, 6.6k, post-s9. dean is the king of hell. bela and cas team up to find him. bela pov. yeah you fucking heard that right BELA POV. BELA AND CAS!!!!!!!!!! makes me lose my mind i love everyone in this stupid desolate fucking hell wasteland.

The endless asphalt and broken road, the empty land and piles of human garbage, the unwanted ends of life, the cracked toys and broken screens and burning cars and gravel. Dean Winchester is the king of hell.

"Oh," says Bela.

That changes certain things.

💖 gran fury. by orange_crushed, 5k, pacific rim au. sam and cas pair up in a last ditch mission to save the world. permanently damaged me at age 15 and i've never recovered. major fucking angst warning.

They sit in silence and Castiel passes him the bottle. There’s not much left to say. Sam takes a gulp and it burns going down, like the cheap shit it is. He holds the bottle up against the light. He can see the Fury through it, distorted like a funhouse mirror. She’s a tomb but Sam loves her. Loves everything that’s left.

"To the end of the world," he says.

"To the end of the world," says Castiel.

💖 shut up (put your money where your mouth is) by kototyph, 24k, au. dean and cas get drunk married in vegas. dean renovates cas' house. this fic is SO MUCH BETTER than i remembered/expected and the entire series is fucking adorable go read it RIGHT now

Dean's done some pretty stupid things, but getting drunk-hitched in Vegas to a colleague he barely knows might just take the cake. His surprise husband, Castiel, is a little weird but likable despite that, and Dean figures they’ll go back to Boston, get a quiet annulment, and go their separate ways. Six weeks later, he’s still married to one of the strangest, most genuine and definitely most dangerously lov-- likable guys he's ever known. Dean doesn't know why or really even how it’s happening, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember that he has divorce papers to file.

not part of the plan by annie d (scaramouche), 338k, arranged marriage au. cas is slated to marry a noble from the winchester house. things spiral out of control. if you’re looking for an extensive well-developed political au, this is fucking it. i love reading about political machinations so this was FASCINATING to me. 

Castiel's spent most of his adult life keeping his head down and staying out of trouble. This is a deliberate choice on his part, because as a cousin of the King, he'd rather stay unimportant and forgotten. This changes abruptly when King Michael decides that he has a better use for Castiel: he is to be wed to a noble member of the neighboring Republic, as part of an agreement between their two nations.

Castiel knows he has to obey, but that doesn't mean he won't rebel in what small ways he can. Unexpectedly, his actions end up having far-reaching consequences.

💖 all things shining by askance and standbyme, 142k, au. sam and dean and cas go on a hunt that's not really a hunt, and against all odds good things happen. it's beautifully written and has scenes that literally make my heart leap out of my chest with joy and awe it's just WONDERFUL it's a wonderful fic. incredible mythology too omg i found that the authors actually created the myth the entire story is based on - like they don’t pull a random one from history, they made one up THEMSELVES. they even self-published it on amazon if ur curious

Something in the world is waking up.

It isn’t long before it’s brought to the attention of the Winchesters and Castiel: miracles are spreading across the country, the paranormal seems to be shrinking back on itself—and it all has something to do with the missing prayer book of a traveling preacher who died over a century ago.

Dean is convinced it’s all the lead-up to another Apocalypse; Sam and Castiel aren’t so sure. Regardless, it sends them out on a less-than-typical road-trip, following the Mississippi and remnants of a very old story that seems increasingly to call to them. And along the way the trio learn much more about themselves—and the consequences and origins of love—than they’d ever have anticipated.

💖 broadway musical by griftings, 12.4k, crack. romcom where cas is supposed to play matchmaker to dean and jo and well. you know. it actually made me cackle out loud when i read it again so you know it's still good. absolutely one of the funniest fics i’ve read

This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.

Or, the romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.

the five people you meet in heaven by chevrolangels, 22k, ambiguously canonverse. dean dies and goes to heaven and meets five people from his life. NOT a post-finale fic but still horrifically sad. i remember sobbing hysterically when i first read this so

Heaven is white.

Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.

Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.

There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.

They are the five people you meet in heaven.

any port in a storm by microcomets, 53k, post-s8. dean and cas go on a haunted cruise for a case. you know what happens next. also the art is by anobviousaside and it's gorgeous

The angels have fallen, leaving Castiel graceless and Dean with, well, more of other people’s problems. When a string of couples goes missing on the east coast, Dean and Cas decide to investigate—and find themselves trapped and hunted on a couples’ counseling cruise. Although battling monsters at sea is dangerous enough, sorting through emotional baggage proves to be far more deadly. (And, in which Cas embarks to find his missing grace and Dean is put out. Not necessarily in that order.)

a turn of the earth by microcomets, 95k, pre-canon au. cas is on the run from the empty and crash lands in dean's life. at one point he punches john in the face. a fucking beautifully written character study of pre-canon dean, honestly.

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

unfinished duet by microcomets, 5.8k, canonverse. sam observes dean and cas throughout the years. i remember this breaking my heart back in 2013!

Sam watches Dean and Cas over the years and notices a few things. (Or, Dean and Cas unscripted.)

💖 ergative/absolutive by glassedplanets, 8k, college au. dean and cas are best friends who meet in an astronomy class. i'm never not thinking about this fic it's so sweet and the friends to lovers is so soft and believable

He really shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like this about his best friend who literally just broke up with his girlfriend, but he knows he’ll blame it on sleepiness in the morning. He always does.

a certain light by flightagain, 24k, au. cas works at the gas n sip. dean is a customer. this author’s writing style is so lonely and heavy but it’s very lovely

Castiel works at the Gas-n-Sip. There are half-price nachos and flickering lights, there are office-workers and werewolves stopping by for snacks. Dean is a frequent customer, and his office might be haunted.

the one thing you can’t lose by majorenglishesquire, 5k, ambiguously canonverse. dean can pull cas around and it’s adorable. character study-ish. very sweet.

You know what I like a lot? The thought that Dean can just tug Cas anywhere at any time and Cas, who can lift tons without effort, who can demolish things with the light of his grace, who has battled and gone to war, has defended and broken, will just let Dean do it.

brother lover by twentysomething, 4k, set during s4/s5. dean’s jealous of sam and cas’ budding relationship. this fic is so tropey but it does it well and it’s funny as fuck

However- and it doesn't happen a lot- they have to invoke 'I saw her first.’

his fucking kids by 8sword, 3k, canonverse au. dean and cas raise claire and emma together. yes, claire novak. yes, emma of 7x13 spice girls fame. this was the first kidfic i read for spn i think. obvs written before jack or claire actually came back into the picture but it was the TEMPLATE of kidfic for me for ages

Jesus, the school should just have a parking spot labeled, “Reserved for the Novak-Winchesters,” because Dean’s getting sick of having to cruise around the parking lot looking for a spot every time he gets a call from the principal about Emma.

💖 what has eight tentacles and isn’t allowed to eat pie? by annie d (scaramouche), 16k, post s8. dean gets turned into an octopus. another fic that was SO MUCH BETTER than i remembered i fucking love when that happens. it isn’t even about dean being an OCTOPUS like NO. NOT EVEN. it’s ACTUALLY about the bunker and building a home and a community and a family and about PHYSICAL COMFORT and you can actually feel the world expanding at the end of this fic like a gusty sigh of relief it’s SO WONDERFUL. kevin is in this fic. ellie is too and i had to look her up but THIS is her!!!! danay garcia u were too hot to stay on this show but i love you and miss u

Dean watched an anime porn about this once, but real life turns out to be way less interesting.

Or, the one where Dean gets turned into an octopus.

💖 a beginner’s guide to communing with the dead by suspiciousflashlight, 77k, canonverse au. dean is a cop who summons a powerful entity to help him solve a cold case. oh my god i can’t believe i didn’t put this on here i love this one so much. the writing bowls me over it’s so confident in its worldbuilding like you’re IMMEDIATELY plunged into dean’s pov (FLAWLESSLY executed throughout the fic btw) and you just learn about the world as you go!! and it’s such a fascinating world!!! i love the magic i love the typical bureaucratic red tape procedures i love normalizing the supernatural. i ESPECIALLY love monsters as normal people in a society. at one point there’s this exchange

“Monsters,” says Cas finally. “Beyond the Wall there are monsters.” “You mean, like, vampires and djinn and stuff?” Cas shakes his head. “Those aren’t monsters, those are just people.”

those lines have stayed with me for years. i think about them every time i rewatch an episode of spn.

Maybe it's the little girl whose disappearance turned into a murder, and whose murder turned into a cold case, and who has now apparently decided to move in with him. Maybe it's the unacceptable hole left in his life when his dumb best friend and partner in (the prevention of) crime decided to go and get himself killed. Maybe it's his brother, whose high-profile career and fantastic girlfriend and first-child-on-the-way are steadily leaving Dean in the dust. Pick one. Pick all of them. The why doesn't matter so much as the what, and the what is this: Dean is pretty sure he's going completely, certifiably insane. Sure, he hasn't started wearing all his clothes inside out, and he still showers on a regular basis (anyways, that's not crazy, just a little eccentric); but there's no getting around the fact that he just threw away his life, his career, and his reputation by dragging out his mom's old necromancy book and summoning a Class A Forbidden Entity to his attic. A cranky one, too. With horrendous bed-head.

dean’s list by almaasi, 3k, canonverse. dean makes a list. short and sweet. i read this so much in 2015 that it literally got engraved into my brain line by line and rereading it caused synapses to fire that havent felt anything in years

Dean writes out a list of men he would go gay for. Sam has a suggestion to make.

💖 the path of fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, post-s8. dean and cas open a charming bed and breakfast in vermont. no, literally. another CLASSIC. i think about the food in this fic all the time...........maple bacon baked french toast......the cinnamon rolls.....it literally sounds so good

After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

long nights in cold months by pyrebi, 2.3k, au. dean’s an insomniac and cas works at walmart. i forgot i had this fic ALSO basically memorized. holy shit. pineapple in the fruit aisle.....................anyway it’s short and sweet and the “plot” resolves in such a satisfying way

When you're an insomniac, you get used to the "what the hell are you doing up, man?" look. Dean just hopes the guy who's stocking the shelves will stop giving it to him long enough to help him find some damn pineapple.

incredibly single & ready to mingle by imogenbynight, 3.6k, au. dean and cas meet on facebook. short cute au!!!!!!

Sam uses Facebook like the social media junkie he is. He's befriended literally every person he's ever had a conversation with since he got an account, which means that approximately—Dean checks—eight hours ago, he shared this horrible photo with something in the vicinity of nine hundred people. The caption below the picture reads “incredibly single & ready to mingle ;)” and roughly half of them have liked it.

Dean has never been so embarrassed in his life.

💖 unknown quantities by xylodemon, 8.5k, post-s8. after a post-case tryst, dean has to figure out his and cas’ relationship. human cas fics hold a special place in my heart. funny AND good dean pov AND a misunderstanding that i actually think works!!!!!

No one ever tells Dean anything.

(or: Dean Winchester and the not-relationship crisis of 2014)

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

The Color of my Soul(mates) [2]

[First oneshot]

[AO3 link]

Kanene’s Notes:

Nope, I do not regret the pun. New oneshot yaaaay!! Just a quick reminder that both Virgil and Patton’s mindsets are bad. They can work, of course, but only for a certain expense. Worry not. They will both start to go to a therapist and take care of themselves, even though this will not be heavily shown in the oneshots.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Moxiety and Past Moceit and Past Virgil/Remus (no idea how it’s called dfghjdfghj) in a platonic relationship (yet), but it can be viewed as romantic, if you wish.

* Swearing, depreciative thoughts, losing someone (not death, just stopping to be soulmate), anger issues, anxious thoughts and nightmares. It’s hurt/comfort.

* [~*~]  Means passage of time

* [...] Means change in the focus of the narrative 

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 5.300 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Say to someone important how much you love them, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

                          [~*~]

Loneliness is an island with missing boats.

Missing is when the moment tries to run away from the memories to happen again and can’t do it.

Memories are when, even without authorization your thinking re-presents a chapter.

-       Adriana Falcão - Meanings

[~*~]

Hey, Dee! It’s been some time, huh? Nothing really happened around here, so I have no interesting news to share today. Buut, I learned a new knock knock joke! I would finally get you to laugh with this one! It’s like that:

Me: Knock, knock.  

U: Who’s there?  

Me: Ice cream.  

U: Ice cream who?  

Me: Ice cream if you don’t let me in!

Funny, right?!

… It feels silly to continue to talk with you through those letters. I can’t-

I don’t even know where to send them! That is stup- not great.

I just… I just miss you, Dee. A lot. My uncle says that I should get your old representation out of the bed and hide it so I can start moving on, but… It feels empty, you know? Everything.

I really miss you.

Love, Heart.

[…]

“No.” 

His words echoed in his mind, the strap of his backpack slipping from his grip, his body throwing itself forward, heart jumping in the back of his throat as his steps inevitably brought him even closer to the faded green, almost white, shark plushie in front of him. 

“No.” 

He repeated, as if this was a spell able to make the scene before him change. His hands trembled and failed in touching the so loved object, a silent scream slipping from his slightly parted lips. Yet, he still tried to think of something. Anything that would erase his choices. He knew it.

He should have known. He read about it before, the butterfly effect. Any choice, any movement, any little thing you did could change drastically your future. It could make events – people – which would happen in your life just…

Disappear. 

[The stuffed animal remained quiet on his hands, it’s blank face staring superficially, not really seeing him. Not like before.]

He knew it. 

“Rat?” He knew it. He knew it. He knew, knew, knewknewknew it! “Ree?” His soul searched desperate for an answer. But he got none. No thoughts, no feelings, no small touches, no acknowledging sparks, nothing. 

That word seemed to ring unbearably in his ears. There was nothing there. Nothing except for the silence and the void which filled itself with despair at every that went by.

“This better not be a prank or this time I will throw you in the washing machine for real!” Virgil’s eyes were stinging. He should have done better, should have thought in another way or another anything. He shouldn’t have done that, he shouldn’t! 

“Ree, stop. That is not funny.” Ree actually preferred when Virgil called him Rat, and as his chest was scratched by an agonizing, crescent fear, deep down the young boy wished his soulmate would jump – his thoughts always felt like that, excited, uncontrollable jumpy frogs just playing around – from somewhere and demands Virgil called him by it. “Answer me!!”

His fingers squished the soft fabric, a short, unexpected wave of anger pleading for at least a shout of pain before Virgil realized what he was doing, immediately lighting his touch, tears shining in a sad gloom in the corner of his eyes. His breathing started to hurt.

He needed to do something.

“MOM!!”

Virgil opened his door with a strong slam, running through the wooded floor of the corridor, stumbling his way to the stairs, coming down at the highest speed he could muster. The adult figure was already standing in the living room, the Tv blasting a show in the background, probably the activity his mother was concentrating on before his cry. A frown painted her face and her dark eyes stared at the boy when he stood in front of her, holding his stuffed shark in her direction.

“Fix him!” 

[‘it’ a quiet whisper from his brain corrected his sentence.]

Her analytical eyes danced around the toy in front of her, looking for any teared fabric, any stain or hint of what happened to it, the confusion in her actions becoming more and more prominent as no visible result was found.

[And, as her analysis occurred, the quiet whisper in the back of his mind wondered if this was the original color of the shark before it became a representation of his soulmate. They were together for so long Virgil didn’t even remember what it used to look like.]

No! The boy with heterochromatic eyes firmly gritted his teeth, head shaking. This was NOT the shark’s real color. Its real color was a dark, deep, enthusiastic green full of chaotic ideas and dumb jokes and sparks and grins.

He refused to let everything end in this way.

Realization fell in her face, a soft gasp coming from her open mouth. “Oh, Virgil…”

“No, no, no! You- You need to fix him!” But her eyes… “Mom, please,” the way her arms opened to involve his small, trembling form… 

“Please, he is my best friend.”

[‘Was’]

She hugged him, cradling her fingers in his hair and lightly rocking Virgil and his sobs, her sweet words muffled by his cry. Then the younger one wiggled out of her touch, getting the plushie and running back to his room, the door slamming one more time.

He refused.

“No! No!!” He kicked his backpack, its content spreading across his carpeted floor. The shark was placed in his desk seconds before the Virgil focused his anger on his bed, throwing everything on the floor. His pillows hit the walls and the toys on his shelves. The cacophony of sounds made his head hurt, but he ignored this in order to kick and throw more things. 

Seconds, minutes, countless pieces of time passed before he stopped, panting and with stinging eyes in the middle of the room, his only possessions left untouched was his guitar and Ra- His shark stuffed animal.

Because he loves playing guitar. Because he loves Ree.

His fingers pet its soft fur, wandering in every detail, trying to burn in his soul how alive and colored it used to be before today.

Virgil felt like crying, felt like hugging his old-representation with all his might and just spent the rest of the day like this, pleading that Ree would come back and Virgil would do better and everything could be back to normal again.

But he refused.

He refused to cry like a baby. He refused to let this happen to him. He refused to be made a fool by the Soulmate System or whatever sadistic creature that observed him right now. He refused to go through all of this again. 

Ever again.

Virgil opened his closet and got up on his chair, hiding the shark on the highest shelf under a bunch of old comforts he never got to use.

They wanted him to be a Colorless? Very well, then.

[~*~]

Anger is when the dog who lives in you shows its teeth.

Sadness is a gigantic hand that squeezes your heart.

-       Adriana Falcão - Meanings

[~*~]

Hiya, Dee.

Some days are better, some are worse. 

It hurts.

But, hm, good things, right? Today was sunny and refreshing, I love when this happens. A ladybug landed in my hand yesterday, it was so small… I also found another beautiful feather when I went to the park last weekend, very fluffy and a baby on the bus smiled at me after I made some funny faces.

I hope you’re also receiving and giving some beautiful smiles there. Aunt just called me for the movie night so… See you later!

I miss-

Love, Heart.

[…]

Virgil woke up sweating. A tight feeling clutching the back of his mind. However, he managed to catch himself before his eyes opened, the back of his hand pressing them, as if to make sure they wouldn’t open against his will.

Urg… Not this again…

Virgil pressed harder the pillow curling around his head, the pressure easing the irritation as he groaned in protest, wondering how much more time it would take before he finally grew used to this routine. An annoying sensation banged rhythmically on his chest, hammering together with his heart and flying along with the butterflies on his stomach over and over again until a slightly nausea almost leaded the one in pajamas to give up and just find the nearest stuffed animal so his soulmate’s bond could finally be initiated, his representation showed up and then the exhausted teen could finally get some freaking rest  and then proceed to turn a blind eye to his soulmate for the rest of their lives.

Who would say that ignoring the Soulmate System would be so hard?

But, damn, even if this shit always came back at the right moment when the first ray of sunshine hit his face, usually Virgil had at least the freedom of the night to sleep!

His hand wandered clumsily, hitting the bean bag next to his bed and looking for the small device he always left there for the night. He sighs when his fingers make contact with the cold of his phone, quickly bringing it up to his face and making sure nothing else could get in his eye field. On the third try he succeeded to put the right password, ignoring the video shining on it and quickly lowering the brightness of his screen until it was almost nonexistent. 

Four in the morning. What the heck was his not-for-much-longer-soulmate doing up at this hour??

Ok. It didn’t matter, Virgil murmured to himself, his words slurring, completely engulfed by the fog of sleepiness which continued to involve him. It didn’t matter because Virgil was sure he would manage to win that battle, just like he did on every other occasion since Ree. Of course, he never had a perfect receipt for this, only a group of superficial orientations as focusing on something else, tossing around the mattress until the exhaustion took over his body or doing anything that guaranteed his suborn nature to fight until the bond faded away with some hours, maybe one or two days. 

However, this one was about to complete a whole week and his resolution was beginning to weaken, escaping between his fingers regardless of how much he fought to hold it with tooth and nails. The mild headache growing on him was the proof of this.

He flipped his pillow, letting its cold surface rest on his face, adjusting himself to lay starfished onto the bed. 

He needed distractions. 

Songs. He liked to listen to music a lot, something he would be very much inclined to do now if it wasn’t so late and his earphones were so far away. But, stopping to think about it, it was crazy how sounds work, like, even if they’re far away they manage to be heard. Pretty much like that weird sound captured by that boat who was only minding its business… The Bloop. Heh. The Bloop. Such a stupid name… He wondered if it was a Jurassic animal doing that and when humanity would be finally able to answer his question. If it is really an animal will they call him Bloop? That is a horrible name to give to something probably gigantic and scary… Bloop… Bloopers… blooo...

His muscles from his toes to the tip of his fingers began to relax, his breathing becoming more erratic as the trail of nonsense thoughts led him away from reality and straight to the cloak of Morpheus. Bit by bit he started to be unaware of his room. First the faint sound of his spider quietly scraping the sand on her terrarium, second the sensation of the pillow on his face, then the cold of his phone as it slipped away from his hand…

And, unsupervised by the teenager's eyes, his index finger hit the ‘play’ button on the video, and the blasting of Aquiles Priester’s drums filled the room in a hot shot, followed in the same second by Virgil’s hoarse scream. The confusion and sound making the one with heterochromatic eyes stumble to a sit position, blankets and pillows falling from him as his astonished movements tried to be coordinated enough to turn off his phone before his mother woke up and decided to know why and what her son was doing up at four-darn-morning. 

The button was hit and the silence was faster in cover the room all over again, being only broken by Virgil’s shaken gasps, his trembling fingers laying on his adulterated heartbeats, taking large, wobbly deep breaths in order to normalize it, his attention entirely focused on hearing any hint of muffled step outside his room.

In. Hold. Out.

In. Hold. Out.

He was fine. Everything was fine. 

This was only a scare.

In. Hold. Out.

In. Hold. Out.

Okay. No sound. Virgil allowed himself to fall on his bed, stretching and humming in attempts to ground him to reality, not taking too long to let the sleepiness begin to slowly crawl to his mind again, his body feeling surprisingly much lighter than it had been in days. A yawn escaped from his lips. What the hell he was doing with his cell phone anyway?

For the second time in the night his body fled to a sitting position, the sudden calm and coziness which hit his senses now having a slightly sour taste on his mouth as the teenager realized what it meant.

His soulmate bond was complete.

His gaze flew to the small pile of fabric on the floor, a glint of a sky-blue color shining amidst it. He pushed his blankets away and his breath hitched when the full form of his soulmate’s representation was shown.

Oh no. Nononono. That was- 

That wasn’t normal. Nor supposed to happen. Oh shit. Shitshitshitshit. What could he do?

Virgil dropped – carefully, even if the cold on the bottom of his stomach screamed for him to run! – the object on his bed, getting across the room and right in front of his closet in a blink of an eye. The door flung open, his gaze scrambling through all his possessions in search of that specific teddy bear his mother gave him a year ago, telling it was going to help him to heal, grabbing it firmly and plopping it next to the blue fabric calmly laying on his mattress. He bit his nails while his eyes ran from an object to another, waiting for the color to somewhat jump on the plushie, where it was supposed to go in the first place.

Virgil stared inquisitively at his pillow- no, his soulmate’s representation, as if he could scare the reality into changing itself. His fingers ran through his hair, feet pacing on the floor.

 Ok. His soulmate was a pillow. A literal pillow. That was not good.

Before he could fall on his parasitizing thoughts or hide the pillow and pretend nothing had happened, a badly muffled sound reached him, making his body freeze as his brain immediately recognized what it was:

Crying.

[...]

Before is a caterpillar who didn’t become a butterfly, yet.

Indecision is when you know very well what you want, but you think you should want another thing.

-       Adriana Falcão - Meanings

[...]

Hey, dear! Heart here again! It’s been a time, huh? I discovered a new Pet Shop nearby and a very nice old lady let me play with the puppies after school. You really should see the hamsters there! They’re the cutest, most precious soft things!!

They don’t have any snakes, sadly.

I… I hid your teddy bear and I’m getting used to not stare at the right corner of the mattress, looking for you. 

I still miss your smooth thoughts, your warmth, your advice and receipts and… you.

I think I’m getting better. The sensation is starting to feel… normal.

Remember we-

I used to-

I know you won’t really read this, but I’m trying to keep taking care of myself. 

Hooray?

Love, Heart.

[…]

Patton loved stuffed animals and this was a fact that anyone who got into his room for barely two seconds would realize. Small plushies of multicolored frogs rested on his shelves. A big polite giraffe sat on his desk, proudly showing off her new necktie and his older ones were in the closet, guarding his favorites clothes. His soulmates, of course, had a special treatment, receiving a seat on his bed, closer to him and within his research at any occasion, emergency or not.

And that was an emergency. Well…technically. 

Maybe…

Perhaps not. 

The teenager changed to a sitting position, his fingers trapping the mattress in a deadly grip, tears falling from his eyes, which was firmly focused on the moon shaped night light across his room, trying to kick out the too cold, too hot feeling the nightmare left on his skin. 

His brain felt fuzzy and his thoughts were all mushed together, way too messy to properly fight against the memories of his dream replaying on his head. The sensation of pure despair still running on his veins as the monster – tall, fast, its shadow hovering over his small form – chased him and his friends. Patton still felt his throat dry after running for what seemed hours, and for when he realized they would never manage to actually escape from it. He could feel the betrayed eyes of his loved ones as he made each one of them trip, the small period when the monster got them giving him enough time to escape, the screams ringing on his ears.

He muffled his sobs, slapping his hand on his mouth and getting up, going to his closet and grabbing his panda. It was one of the fluffiest stuffed animals he had and he could use a bit of softness right now. His steps were tired and he hid his face on the plushie even before laying on his bed again, curling around the bear as if it was the core of safeness, as if it would make all the bad thoughts and feelings go away.

As if it could erase all the nightmare and convince the part of his mind which said that if it was real life, that would be exactly what he would do, that it was wrong.

It was! It was completely wrong! Patton would never, ever, betray his friends, or hurt them, or go away when they needed most! He wouldn’t. He would fight, if it was needed. He would do his best every single time to help them! To be there. He wouldn’t just run away. He couldn’t. He couldn’t be alone. He didn’t even bear that thought.

[A part of his soul struggled, firm on its position. It kept holding into a bond that directed to another soul who kept pushing him away, both refusing to change their mind.]

Bear. Patton let go of a weak, barely audible, forced giggle, squeezing the panda on his touch tighter. Panda was a bear. Heh. His tears began to calm themselves, falling slower from the corner of his eyes, a strange and sudden wave of strange, but welcomed calmness hitting him.

A sudden warm touch laid on his forehead.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Patton gasped, his wide eyes flying open to stare at the now purple plushie on his grip.

Purple. Pandas weren’t purple. He was sure this one was always white with black dots and tiny glasses on it. Definitely not purple. Not unless it was-

Oh. 

Ohhh.

Oh no.

For a moment his breath was taken, adrenaline exploded across his body and his mind went blank, his face stumbling forward to press his lips on the panda’s forehead, a completely lack of words, especially when a flow of sentences began to appear running over themselves and leading to his very tired brain to struggle in order to try to grasp their meaning before another phrase came and took its place.

[His body seemed to relax, letting go of a ball of tension Patton didn’t even realize he had in the first place.]

“Fuck, sorry, that was pretty dumb. Of course you’re not fine, why else would you be crying? What I was trying to say is: Can you get better? No, wait! That sounded harsh and it’s definitely not what I meant- wanted to say. Ehh, shit. Okay. Uhh. Breath, okay? Breathing is a good thing. You have to breathe to stay alive so I think it’s already a good start. Keep breathing, please do not die. Oh god, wait, that is not a dangerous situation, is it? Are you in danger? Are you dying? Oh, fuck I can’t hear-”

A startled giggle made a run from Patton’s lips, making his new soulmate to be quiet.

“Urg, sorry.”

“No, no. I was not laughing at you!” He adjusted his grip so the only part touching the purple bear would be him holding one of his paws, realizing he forgot to stop hugging him earlier. “I am okay. I just… didn’t want to cry on you, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t, huh, care.”

“Crazy how bonds happen nowadays.” Patton attempted a joke, feeling suddenly a bit vulnerable, internally wishing the other wouldn’t ask about the reason for his tears. “It-It’s hot today, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, with the Sun and everything.”

“Yeepp.” Patton sniffed, cleaning the tear track left on his cheeks before resting his back on the bed’s headboard, a beginning of a headache after that waterfall of emotions shining in the horizon.

“...Do you want to listen to a song? It helps me to calm down when I’m, ya know.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m already a bit better.”

“Ok, sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Maybe it was sleepiness or the excitement of having a new soulmate, but before he could think much more about it the hidden truth was slipping from his mouth, “I’m grounded. No phone for the week.”

“That sucks.” The teenager just shrugged, hoping his soulmate would understand the action by his movement. 

Silence impregnated the room, spreading and filling his system, his eyelashes closing bit by bit.

“I know how to play guitar. I can… play a song for you. Onlyifyouwantofcourse.” The thought was quick, quiet and disappeared as soon as it arrived, leading Patton to almost believe he imagined it.

A good feeling bloomed in his chest, a smile flourishing on his face as he held his soulmate’s free hand, carefully squeezing them in what he hoped it showed his gratitude.

“I would love to.”

“’Kay. Uh, cool. Give me a second.”

And then a few minutes later his form was engulfed by warmth. Patton let go a sigh of relief, basically melting in the so caring touch, don't having the heart - that word gave a hurtful tug in his chest - to remember his new soulmate he couldn't really hear the accords, only the shy, calming humming rumbling on his chest and lullabying them to a peaceful sleep.

[~*~]

Feeling is the language the heart uses when it needs to send a message.

-       Adriana Falcão - Meanings.

[~*~]

"How can I call you?" 

Patton stopped his voice before that old nickname got out, scratching his throat. He should try to move on, right? 

Baby steps. 

"Pat." 

"Pat?" 

"Pat-Pat!" 

Virgil rolled his eyes, denying the small smile which appeared on the corner of his mouth.

“You can call me V.”

[…]

“So, you’re a pillow.”

Patton blinked, a surprised snort filling the room. “V, I know I often say I’m soft but if you wanted to rest on me all you needed to do was ask!” He added some shadowing on some feathers, giving the drawing of the Bem-te-Vi more profundity. He was really happy he found that site about the birds of America. 

“No, I mean literally. Like… your representation is not a stuffed animal, it’s a pillow.”

“Oooh…” He blinked a few times. “I didn’t know that still happens.”

“What do you mean with ‘still happens’? This happened to you before?”

“Not with me, but I saw a video about this! Before the plushies became famous due their shape being easier to be seen as human-like, the bond would form in anything that could be quickly dyed, just like clothes, pieces of fabric, pillows… I think if they showed it to a doctor, he would describe their condition as ‘comfortable!’” Patton shook lightly the panda’s shoulder, smiling. “Uh? Got it? Comfortable? Because they’re soft?”

“Pat, that was horrible.”

“Awww, come oon.” Patton rested his chin on V’s head, forgetting his drawing for a while. “Puns are harder than knock knock jokes! You have to wait for the perfect timing to make them.” Virgil huffed. “Not even an itsy bitsy giggle?”

“Nope.”

Silence.

“Pat?”

“No. I am pouting.”

He felt a couple of pats (ha-) on his head, the touching going away in a few seconds. “You will get there some day.” The other answered his soulmate with a raspberry, giggling a bit of his own silliness before going back to his hobby. He really was planning to finish this bird today.

“The thing is… Since you’re, ya know, a pillow. I was thinking… okay, I know that this will sound weird but… I was thinking of putting some clothes on your representation so I can… try to see you better.” 

“Ah.”

“Only if you’re comfortable, sure!”

“No, no. I am! It’s just…” Patton bit his lips, lightly squeezing the shell of his ear with the hand that wasn’t holding the pencil, adjusting his body to a better sitting position. “What clothes do you have in mind? Not that I think your taste is bad or you don’t know how to choose good clothes or something like that!”

“No, it’s cool!” The thought came in the moment Patton forced himself to stop his nervous talking. “I wanted to ask you because of that, I, uh, have black t-shirts, jeans, an old grey hoodie, PJs, clothes when I was a kid, onesies, maybe I can get a dress?”

“Gasp. Do you have onesies?? Aww, I want!”

“Everyone has a onesie.” Virgil mumbled in defense, feeling his cheeks getting hot. “I have a skeleton one, a raccoon and the Toothless from How to Tra-”

“OHMYGOSH YOU HAVE TOOTHLESS!” Virgil had absolutely no idea how Pat managed to make a thought so high pitched and excited to the point the words themselves were barely understandable. “HE IS THE MOST PRECIOUS, CUTE LIL DRAGON…” and then a bunch of squeaks and mumbling took over his brain just as he has hugged and then lightly bounced before suddenly everything disappeared.

He decided it was safer to let the silence prolong itself a bit longer.

…

“Pat?”

“You might need to give me a few more minutes, kiddo.”

“You need to chill, dude.” Virgil remarked, a ray of fondness shining in his words. He gathered his onesie. It was his favorite one when he was fourteen, now it didn’t even fit on him anymore and it clearly wasn’t made to be used by a pillow, as well, but it would suffice until he thought of a better solution. “Ok. Got it, you might want to use your Blocker now.”

“Okayy, it’s somewhereeeeee...” Patton rummaged the content of his backpack, looking for the earphone-shaped object. He hadn’t the chance to buy the wireless prototype, so he struggled a few seconds to untangle the cables. “Here! So, see you in fifteen minutes?”

“Ok. If you hear or feel something just touch my arm and I will immediately stop.” 

“Right!! Bye!” Patton waved, more a habit than anything else, plugging the Blocker on his ears and the cluing its ventosa behind his head, right where his cerebellum was. A few pieces of time went by before his head became partially empty, only his thoughts filling it. He put the panda away. 

It was a strange feeling, to use this outside his school, nor parallel conversation of his classmates or a teacher’s voice filling the air to distract his attention for the fact that he couldn’t hear or feel his soulmates anymore. He hummed, wondering how Lo was and writing a self note on the corner of his paper that he should check on him later, ask for him to finish that story with the smart detective he was telling him on Sunday before Patton fell asleep due the other’s habit to keep petting his hair, probably a revenge for Patton’s constant need to hugging, holding or actively interacting with his serious soulmate’s representation, more often than not receiving fond-exasperate pokes in return.

He looked through the window, mind wandering as the wind hit the tree in his neighbor’s yard, messing with its leaves. It was a bit lonely to have your thoughts all to yourself…

But not entirely bad.

[…]

“Sooo, howz does it looks like?” The naturally excited voice asked. Virgil just pressed his hand firmer on his lips, his other arm hugging his middle. His gaze fell for what it felt the umpteen time in the blue dyed pillow before him, the sleeves of  his onesie folded inwards in a poor attempt to cut half of its original length, the ‘legs’ were criss crossed and all of this ignoring, of course, the unnatural rectangular shape of the whole thing.   

‘Like shit.’ It was his first thought, but he decided to not send it to Pat.

“Weird.”

“I am looking at my pillows right now and-” giggles, “but come ooon, it’s Toothless! There is no way it isn’t at least a bit cute!”

‘You have no neck.’ He internally panicked, looking at the few, sporadic tiny blue hearts appearing amidst the black onesie, showing the representation was getting used to the new fabric attached to it. ‘A probably-head, shoulders but no neck. It’s like a reverse freaking giraffe!’

However, Virgil decided against sharing this particular vision with the other. 

“I guess. Are you… breathing well or whatever?” His tune was a mix of nonchalant and nervous, the choice of words making him wince.

“I am. Why?”

“No. Nothing. No reason.”

“Oookay.” The teenage signed at the confusion on his soulmate’s tune, why did he had to talk in the first place or be so weird making a such big deal of something stupid like that? Urg. He stared at the blue object one more time. Damn Soulmate System. Damn destiny. Damn lack of socialization skills.

…………

But, dude, really, the guy has literally no neck here, there is NO WAY he isn’t feeling nothing because of that. Pat is probably lying because he pities him after a so horrible, futile attempt of fixing what he caused. No. Wait. He can’t just assume his soulmate is lying because of his overthinking, the other part of his brain retorted. Was he overthinking? He probably was. He always did it. Or perhaps this was a correct inkling of Pat. Soulmates were supposed to do that sort of thing after some time, right? One week was enough time? What he-

“Hey!” Pat’s thought cut his own. “Sooo, now that you can ‘see’ me a bit better… hug? You can say no if you want, sure!”

Virgil blinked one, two, three times.

“Ok. But you let go when I let go, got it?”

“Sure thing, V!” Warmth bloomed in his chest when he heard his nickname, Virgil wasn’t sure why.

He embraced the representation, feeling a bit silly, the same feeling that was fast to go away as Pat hugged him as well, firm but careful. The sensation overwhelmed his senses, but in a good way, leading the one who loved guitars and got a strange hyper fixation on drums to let go a sigh, body relaxing.

He patted Pat’s back two times before finishing the touch. “There you go.”

“Thanks! Sooo, see you later.”

“Sure thing.” He agreed, wanting nothing more than a good hot bath after so many feelings in such a small period of time. 

“uwu”

“How the fu-” 

“NO SWEARING!”

“-did you do that?”

Virgil snorted, the warmth still spreading on his chest and maybe - only maybe, - having a new soulmate wasn’t an entire bad thing.

[quarantineddreamer]

@zutaraweek 2020 Day 1: Reunion

This is my first Zutara week since I am new to the ATLA fandom. For some reason I am very nervous to post this (I think because I spent my morning scrolling through the tag and OMG THE TALENT!!) but anyways, here it is! 

Also posted on my AO3

Rating: G

Summary: “I’ll save you from the pirates” -Zuko Katara

Katara picked nervously at the corner of the scroll she bent over, eyes passing over the familiar handwriting for the hundredth time in the past hour alone. We’re boarding the ship shortly… meeting went really well, I think that any additional negotiations will… I’ve been counting down the days till I get to hold you in my arms again... by the time this messenger hawk reaches you it should only be two more nights spent apart... Love always, Zuko. The letter, detailing the success of the Fire Lord’s diplomatic visit to the city of Omashu where a few restless rebellions had arisen had reached Katara over a week ago.

The waterbender frowned as she reached for her tea -a soothing blend that Iroh had promised would help her sleep despite her worry. Still squinting at Zuko’s hurried penmanship, Katara’s fingertips found the steaming liquid instead of the sides of the porcelain teacup, and she cursed as she flinched, knocking the beverage all over her reading material.

“No, no, no!” she cried, waving her hands, pulling the water from the page rapidly so as to keep the ink from running. When at last she was certain she had managed to save the precious material, she collapsed into her chair with a heavy sigh. As she watched the shadows from the candle on her desk play across the walls of her office, she tried desperately to calm herself.

He’s probably just hit bad weather. An image of Zuko thrashing about in the merciless waves of a storm flashed in her mind. Nope! Nope! He’s, uh, just not caught the right wind. But of course, the Fire Nation vessel Zuko had boarded did not rely on a breeze and they couldn’t have run out of power, not with firebenders like Zuko to provide fuel. Not for the first time, she wished that her friends were not scattered across the globe -wished that, at minimum, Aang had been traveling with Zuko, both of them flying safely on Appa’s soft back. But Aang was with Sokka and Suki in the South Pole at the moment helping with restoration work, and Toph was in Ba Sing Se training a special force of Earth Benders to help take down the remnants of the Dai Li.

The last time Katara had felt anything close to this level of worry for Zuko, he had been lying on the ground motionless, remnants of his sister’s lightning dancing across his body. At least she had been with him then, to look after him. Now, she didn’t know where he was or what condition he was in, but she knew him, and she knew it was not nothing that would keep him from her -not with all they had fought through before...

Katara had never felt so alone, but it was Zuko who had asked that she remain behind. “It’ll only be a month!” She remembered his hand on her shoulder as he gave her a pleading look. “Please... While I am gone Uncle will need help keeping everything in check here. You’re the only person in the world I would trust.” When she had finally reluctantly agreed, the kiss he had given her had banished all sadness at the thought of his absence. What was a month apart when they had a lifetime to look forward to now that the war was over? But he was not here now to erase her fear and dispel the hard knot lodged in her stomach.

The month had gone by fast with plenty of ‘Fire Lady’ duties to take care of, but the days that had passed since his estimated date of arrival had dragged with agonizing slowness as though time itself were taunting her… Her fingers itched to drag the scroll towards her again, to scour its surface for clues. He wouldn’t just disappear, he would tell them if he was going to be late.

A soft knock on the door broke the typhoon of anxiousness tearing through her mind. “Yes?” she called.

Iroh’s face, normally so jovial, was grave as it peered into the room. “A soldier from Zuko’s guard just arrived at the palace.”

“Where is he?” She nearly choked on the question, sensing her worst fears were about to be confirmed.

“Their ship was ambushed by a group of pirates. Zuko has been taken hostage and is being held unless the Fire Nation delivers a significant sum to his captors.”

She barely heard the rest, the where, when, and how. All she knew was she was done waiting, fussing over words on paper as though that could bring him back. She should have trusted her instinct, the tightness in her chest, that had told her something was wrong. Should’ve gone with him to Omashu to begin with... She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m going after him.”

“Katara, please, we have identified the particular ship that has him, we can send a fleet after him.” Iroh fiddled with the teacup and papers on her desk nervously.

“I can handle some lousy pirates. He’s been gone too long, Iroh! And we can’t have the Fire Nation knowing their ruler has been taken...” Already her heart was racing. She’d never admit it, but a dangerous, secretive, part of her missed this. The raw rush of adrenaline from imminent conflict was intoxicating, addictive. Diplomatic meetings had taken her all over the world, but paperwork and debate had nothing on this.

Iroh hung his head. “Peace is fragile. I am aware…” He hesitated, observing her expression intently before saying, “I suppose no one is better suited to chase down pirates, than the greatest Master Water Bender…”

“Hardly,” she quipped humbly, but he always knew how to make her smile. “I appreciate the compliment.” Already at the door she turned to ask, “May I borrow a small ship from the Fire Nation Fleet?”

“The girlfriend of the Fire Lord can have whatever she wishes.” His tone managed to be light, joking, but his eyes still held great sadness and concern.

Katara stepped towards the older man to give him a brief, strong hug, leaning back afterwards to fix him with an earnest gaze. “I promise I’ll bring him home.”

“Stay safe, brave, Katara. I will handle things here.”

“I know you will.”

Moments later she raced through the palace out into the humid night. She did not stop to catch her breath even as she stole past the guards onto the docks and untied the first boat she saw with sails -one she knew she could manage alone.

Yue watched over her and gave her strength as she furiously bent the ocean around her. Spirits help those damn pirates if they’ve so much as given him a papercut...

-----

Zuko groaned as he came to, vaguely aware of a swaying sensation as though he were about to fall, which he figured had something to do with the massive lump at the back of his head. Or maybe it was the movement of the ship he was on. He blinked, his mind slowly focusing and gaining awareness -and along with it an awful dose of pain. How long had he been out? A fog was beginning to lift inside him, but the lingering grogginess suggested he had potentially been drugged for quite some time.

His most recent memories were of chaos, arrows whistling through the air, latching onto the deck of their ship. He had tried to incinerate most of them, and had been successful, until something had struck him hard across the back and sent him instantly into the void.  

Rope rubbed at his wrists and clutched at his chest as he struggled. He tried to bend, but found his movement to be too restricted and clumsy -disoriented as he was. A string of curses tumbled from his lips.

“Tsk, tsk. Not language very fitting of His Highness is it?” a voice called from the shadows of the ship’s hold.

Zuko recognized the voice… One of the advisors that had been traveling with him, Jian… Despite the remnants of drugs in his system it was beginning to become clear how their ship had just happened to fall victim to pirates and who had managed to catch Zuko from behind unexpectedly. “What do you want, Jian?” he asked sharply, glaring as the advisor drew closer.

“You are the last person our great nation should be led by,” he hissed.

Zuko’s lips curled in disgust at the man’s hot breath on his face, his nostrils flared as he exhaled smoke and frustration, pleased when Jian backed away, clearly fighting an undignified cough. “I trusted you. I thought you were helping us work to rebuild… The past year… and last week in Omashu. What changed?”

Jian laughed coldly. “This was always the plan. Your naivety will be the end of you young Fire Lord.”

“To hope for something better is not naive,” Zuko replied fiercely.

The former advisor scanned him for a moment then smirked, eyes shining with mania. “Look at where you are.” He lifted arms clad in elegant red silk to gesture at their dingy surroundings. “You will either die here, or in a cell in a Fire Nation prison unless a ransom is paid.”

Zuko snorted, a small flame escaping his nose. He wished, not for the first time in his life, that he had managed to master more fire breathing than that -something that would be useful in his current predicament- but that had always been more Azula’s specialty despite all of Uncle’s efforts. “Money? That’s what this is about?”

“That is only the beginning,” he whispered conspiratorially. Beady black eyes danced in lantern light as he regarded Zuko with intense hatred. “One day soon, the rightful Fire Lord will return to the Fire Nation throne and he will make you pay for your treasonous actions.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. Great, another Ozai loyalist. Just his luck that one had been insidious enough to work his way to this point. Maybe he was naive, though if Katara and the rest of his friends had taught him anything, it was that trying to find the good in others would never be a bad thing. He had everything to thank for their belief in that. Katara… He shut his eyes for a moment as a wave of longing washed over him. Arguably he had been in worse situations than this, but it had been years since he had faced them without her by his side. If only he had let her come along…but he had been so afraid to leave the Fire Nation unattended with all its troubles placed solely on his uncle’s shoulders.

A knock at the door interrupted Zuko’s thoughts of the Water Bender and the ache that he felt burying itself in his chest knowing she would be worried at his delay. He regretted the stress he would put her through. While Jian went to open the door Zuko tried to subtly tug at his bindings again. If he could just get enough motion in his fingers to firebend and weaken the rope… With Jian distracted he frantically tried to summon enough of the element, fighting the last of the drug’s haze...

“Yes?” Jian asked impatiently of the visitor to the hold, a short, skinny pirate with a large, floppy hat that Zuko could see extended beyond even the width of Jian’s frame that blocked the doorway.

Almost there… Zuko wiggled his wrists in small circles, wincing when a small jet of fire nearly set his pants aflame, missing the ropes entirely. Fortunately the hold’s wood was damp enough that the floor remained unlit. The firebender took a deep breath and tried again, thankful that Jian was still busy discussing something with the pirate at the door.

An image of Katara practicing her bending came to mind. He recalled the graceful, delicate, intention with which she waved every muscle in her hands. On his second attempt to burn the ropes he was careful to control his digits more precisely, and his efforts were rewarded when he felt a small heat pass along his palms and hit the rope.

The sounds of Jian bidding the pirate farewell and closing the door encouraged Zuko to rush his final pass at burning the ropes off. He fought back a hiss of pain as he felt flame pass over the delicate flesh on the inside of his lower arms. Seconds later when he gave the bonds one last tug and felt them fall away his injury was forgotten. He remained carefully still as Jian turned back to him, waiting for the perfect moment.

When the advisor strayed within arm’s reach Zuko suddenly lunged, seizing him by the shoulders and spinning the man, head-first, into the nearest wall. Jian collapsed with a soft, surprised exclamation and a solid thunk of skull colliding with wood, and Zuko, breathed a sigh of relief.

Wasting no time he rushed for the door, throwing himself through the opening and shooting glances down the short hallway. Luckily, it was clear. Quietly, he sealed Jian in the cell and padded softly towards a set of stairs illuminated with pale moonlight. He had no idea what awaited him on the deck. Whatever it was he would handle it then, though he had to shake Iroh’s admonishing tone from his head, ‘You never think these things through!’

When he emerged from the belly of the ship he was prepared for an immediate onslaught of pirate swords and other weaponry, but despite what he was sure were Jian’s desires, these were not Fire Nation soldiers. The crew was gathered around a makeshift table and their drunken cackles and bickering carried loudly above even the sea breeze and persistent slapping of water against the hull.

Zuko crouched behind a wooden crate and scanned the deck. There were more than a dozen pirates playing cards in the moonlight and who knew how many more aboard the ship. With the moon shining brightly in the sky Zuko knew Katara would have been a force to be reckoned with, but he could not say the same for his firebending, and he was disappointed in how weak he felt -from hunger, thirst, likely concussion, and not to mention residual effects of whatever Jian had been using to keep him unconscious.

He was contemplating the slim likelihood of stealing away unnoticed with one of the small boats tied to the side of the ship when the gull-rat squawked at him. At first, he ignored it -at any given moment any seaside town or boat was always under the assault of the persistent creature and its horrible fecal habits- but when it continued to tilt its head at him in curiosity he recalled the companions the pirates he had met several years ago kept…The gull-rat’s call was louder the second time and Zuko swore as its owner, walking away from the card table with a fistful of coins and a drunken grin, blinked at the sight of the prisoner wandering freely.

It was really not his day. Zuko sprinted for the boat he had been eyeing early, bending a blast of flame at the ropes that held it to the main ship and hoping he would not be far behind the vessel as it crashed loudly into the ocean below. The gambling crew were all armed now, and though a few teetered from the effects of what was decidedly not the calming tea Iroh was always drinking, many looked formidable opponents. A circle was already closing around Zuko who searched desperately for an opening.

The Fire Lord managed to dodge two pirates who swung rusty blades at him and pushed back three more with a ball of flame. Seeing an opening in the ranks, he dashed wildly for the side of the ship, glancing back only once when an arrow whizzed past his shoulder.

Once was one time too many. He crashed right into the short, skinny pirate that had stopped by his cell to speak with Jian and they collapsed to the deck in a painful twist of limbs. Before Zuko could roll away the short pirate had pinned him and grabbed both his wrists.

-----

“I’ll save you from the pirates,” she whispered, grinning as the confusion on his handsome face turned to joy when she removed the ridiculous hat she wore so he could see her. His smile was everything, she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed it -instantly warming her from the inside out.  

“Katara!” He sat up and pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head and breathing in the smell of her hair.

She was disappointed when he broke away to stand. It was understandable though. The pirates were racing towards them -even the gull-rat was giving chase.

“I knocked a boat into the water, if we can just swim to it…” Zuko eyed the railings of the ship unhappily, no doubt imagining the long drop.

“And then what?” Katara asked, drawing water from the ocean and forming two whips over both her arms.

“We, uh, we go?” Zuko offered.

She fought back a bubble of laughter. “You really don’t think things through. Zuko, they can just chase us! They’d catch us in no time in this larger ship. Was that really your plan?”

He fumbled for words, cheeks flushing furiously with embarrassment.

Katara lashed out at the first wave of pirates, tripping them with one long tendril of water. “Zuko, you’re a firebender, set the ship on fire!” She looked away as a stray pirate broke rank to try and shoot them with his bow. A jet of water aimed sharply by Katara eliminated that immediate problem. “You are the Fire Lord, how did you not think of this?” This time the laughter escaped her, his befuddled expression too cute to take.

“I, uh.. Okay, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion... and potentially still some drugs in my system?” he admitted, punching the air with his fists, sending fire at the pirates and the sails of the ship. Soon the entire deck was dancing with the dangerous orange glow.

“That’s our cue!” Katara declared, and grabbed his hand. “Ready?” She stepped up onto the railing of the ship and he followed.

They balanced precariously for a moment, her hair spinning wildly in the wind, before jumping into the air, stomachs dropping for a brief exhilarating second before Katara froze a wave to slide them towards the empty boat bobbing in the waves. A miscalculation on her part landed them in frigid ocean water that stole both their breaths away.

Katara was first to pull herself into the boat, flopping wetly into the wooden hull. She giggled at the sight of Zuko, hair spiked every which way by the ocean, arms flung desperately over the side of the boat kicking furiously to pull himself into the raft. Taking mercy on a Fire Bender out of his element, she helped him aboard. Together they looked back at the burning pirate ship, observing the frantic shadows of the crew moving about with buckets of water. Still, Katara did not wait long to begin moving their vessel to the small cove nearby where she had anchored her Fire Nation ship.

Only when they were confident that no one had pursued them to the sandy shores and were safely sailing towards home aboard her borrowed ship did they rest, allowing the wind to do the work for them. They collapsed, laying on the deck, staring skyward at a ceiling of stars, and Zuko gently pulled Katara against him. She reveled in the familiar beat of his heart beneath her as she settled her head on his chest.

She felt him shake as he laughed quietly. “I still can’t believe I didn’t think, to... Burn the ship?”

Katara reached for a small bit of water and it glowed as she reached a hand back to touch the side of his head. “Better?” she asked after a moment.

“Yeah, much. Thank you…” he sighed and leaned his scarred face into her healing palm. “I can’t say this was the reunion I was imagining.”

“I don’t know…” She looked up at him, the beginnings of a soft smile tugging at her lips. “We’re even now,” she teased, bumping him playfully. “And it was kind of fun... Reminds me of how far we’ve come.” How different things were since the last time they had encountered pirates -and not just his hair, though thank the spirits for that.

“Just another day in the life of the Fire Lord I guess,” Zuko replied wistfully, a hand playing with the end of one of her curls.

“I mean, I’m not saying you should do it again… ”

“Not without you... “Never without you,” he promised -and to Katara’s delight, sealed the oath by placing his lips against hers.

[avian-writes]

The day we found solitude

The Days: Part 2

Content warnings: anxiety

words: 2,026

You would think after what happened last time, Darian and I would never open that damn Randonautica app again. That we would delete it from his phone, block any website with articles on it, turn off app location completely. That we would suppress that memory deep, deep down until brought up years later in therapy. You would also think wrong.

    Did we want something similar to happen? Proof that what we experienced was real and not just a dual hallucination? Or maybe we wanted a normal experience as proof that it wasn’t real. Or maybe we were just idiots with not enough time on our hands and desperate for something more stimulating than sleeping all day.

    We chose attractor this time. A more dense area should mean not in the middle of the woods again which was honestly our main priority. What could go wrong in a more localized place?

    Well, what could go worse?

    Manifest what you want

What did we want this time? We glanced at each other and didn’t say a word. I don’t even believe I thought of anything. Just complete blankness, manifesting the void dwelling over our space.

Before we could react, it dinged and a map pulled up. A red flag pinpointed a location neither of us recognized. We took the coordinates to Google maps and waited.

  One of the local high schools. Thankfully the nearest one. As much as I loved driving normally, lately all it did was tire me out. But Darian did it last time so it was my turn. We grabbed our bags, now more fully stocked than normal complete with pocket knives and pepper spray, and jumped into my debilitating car.

   The sun started to set during the 20 minute drive there, casting an orange glow across the dashboard where Darian laid his head. Just like I wanted to, but I kept my eyes on the road and ears open for any suspicious sounds my car made, a constant and nerve wracking weight on my chest.

   “What do you think we’ll find?” Darian asked, eyes moving from staring out the window at the dwindling sun to me.

   I shrugged. “This time? Hopefully not a dead animal on school grounds.”

   “I’m not the one calling the police if we do.”

   “Eh, we can just leave it for the seniors to find in the morning.”   Darian chuckled but there was something heavy behind it. I waited a moment but when he didn’t elaborate on his undertoning misery, I reached over and poked his arm. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

   He was quiet for a few more seconds, staring down at his lap. “Should we have a plan? Or...something grounding? Just in case something happens again?”

   I looked over at him. His small eyes were now wide with what I recognized as potential worry and fear. Did I feel it as well? It was hard to tell past all the nerves running me down. “We do have something grounding: each other.” I held the gruff of his sleeve and shook it, not taking my own eyes off the road. “We’ll be fine as long as we don’t lose track of each other again.”

   Darian smiled weakly and laughed. “Sappy but yeah, alright. Whatever you say.”

  The gate into the parking lot was left open, probably by a school cop who wasn’t paid enough to care. We easily drove in and around the cracked, gray top pavement to the senior lot. Neither of us went to that school; we were both from out of town. But the lot was fairly easy to navigate.

   After parking where we hoped was out of sight of the cameras, we got out and stared down at my phone where the map blinked back up at us. We looked at each other and he gestured for me to go first. Traitor.

   Following the small dot on the screen, we vultured out of the lot and down the grassy hill towards the stadium. It was completely surrounded by a chain link fence. I looped my frail fingers through the metal bearings and pushed myself up, vaulting over the top and carefully avoiding the circlets at the top. Darian, a known climber of school buildings, easily got up and over. We dropped down on the other side and continued skirting around the hill.

   We ended up at the top, hoping over the knee-high bar that was poorly meant to keep kids off the grass during games. The ticket entrances were just holes in the cement walls for people to come and go. The snack bar was in the middle of them. We wandered over and Darian said nothing as I hoisted myself up onto the counter.

   I leaned back so I could look at the inside in all its upside down glory. Nothing there. Why would there be in Spring?

   I heaved back up, grunting as I did so. “Wanna see if there’s anything in the storage room?”

  But Darian wasn’t paying attention to me. He was staring towards a concrete box standing above the seats, two doors leading no doubt to stairs going up. The announcer’s box.

   “Darian?” I lightly kicked his leg and he jumped. “You okay there?”

   He waved me off. “Yeah, just fazed out there for a moment. What’s back there?”

   I swiveled around and hopped off the counter. “Nothing at all. They must’ve cleared it out once football season was over.”

   “Were you hoping for some months old candy or something?”

  “Candy never goes bad, Darian! We’ve been over this!” We started to laugh but it quickly dimmed to light huffs of breath. The atmosphere was something odd, breaking it seemed like hammering down a barrier to somewhere we didn’t know. Like we were doing something incredibly wrong by even speaking, much less laughing.

   We headed down towards the football field, taking the large stone steps two at a time. Jumping down and giving the illusion of shattering our ankles in the process. We ended up at the 50 yard line. Right in the middle.

   I turned in circles, gazing in confused wonder at the empty concrete seats on one side and the bleachers on the other, designated home and visitor sides respectfully. I had never gone there before, but I felt a strange sense of nostalgia nevertheless. It was like any other high school stadium.

  I would always sit with my family at football games, subtly curling up against the nearest family member as we were surrounded by hundreds of strangers yelling, either cheering happily or screaming in anger.

  Either way, it was overwhelming. I could still feel the cold breath of every surrounding person dragging down my back, their eyes darting to me with every small movement I made. Scrutinizing and judging a life they didn’t know and motives they couldn’t understand.

   That’s when a high-pitched shriek broke through the air.

  The sound pierced my eardrums, shaking my head, brain, mind, everything. I collapsed to my knees and held my hands over my ears in a poor attempt to block out the skull shattering screeching. Nails dug into my hair follicles to rip them from my bare head to overrun the pain searing through my body right then.

   My chest didn’t hurt. It was burning. Fire was trekking its way down my throat, chest cavity, all the way until its journey ended in my legs that were tucked underneath me in a tight ball.

   Then started the roaring sounds, a rumbling scan over the field and steamrolling right over me into the freshly mowed grass. All the wind was knocked out of me and I coughed and choked on purely nothing. My throat hurt but I didn’t dare remove my hands in favor of holding it. I forced myself to look up and nearly passed out.

The previously empty stands were filled with spectators. I turned around, still pressing my hands over my ears as the piercing sound was gradually replaced with roaring voices. Thunderous speaking over one another as if every person was right next to me, each attempting to be heard over everyone else.

   Something covered my hands and I jumped before realizing they were just Darian. I turned my head to see him staring at me confused but alarmed. “Don’t you hear them?” I shouted.

   He shook his head and pressed his hands tighter to my head. My cheeks were hot, my face was hot, every muscle in my body was heat running over deep coals. It was agonizing and all I wanted was for it to stop.

   “Jake!” Darian moved his hands to my face and forced me to look at him. “Just focus on me, okay?”

  I could feel something wet running down my cheeks and I shut my eyes. Shaking my head back and forth, side to side, trying to shake out the spectators’ voice drilling their way into me. The shrieking merged with theirs and everything became a bubble of sound, bouncing off the outside and growing louder.

   Darian suddenly took hold of my hand and started running. I was forced to take it off my ear and the sounds grew louder in my head as they took advantage of the entryway into my mind. We ran across the grass and up the concrete steps amongst the spectators. As we climbed past, they reached out almost skeletal like arms at us, grabbing at our legs.

   One successfully nabbed my ankle and I tripped on the stairs, banging my knee into the solid stone. Sharp pain erupted in my shin and more tears threatened to prick at my eyes. The hand tugged on my ankle and I started to slide down towards the sourced man.

   “Jake!” Darian pulled on my hand but it did little to nothing as I slid down the step, harshly scraping my knee against the concrete. He leapt down next to me and wrapped an arm behind and under my shoulders. “Let him go!”

   He yanked and this time, the skeletal hand let go. He got me to my feet and we ran the rest of the way to the top. As soon as we hit the flat landing, the cheering for our demise got louder.

   I staggered to my knees under the sheer weight of their chaos, but Darian shook his head. “Nope, nope. It’s not doing this again!” He pulled me back up and looked around feverishly. Eyes landing on the announcer’s box, he dragged me along to one of the doors and threw it open.

   He shoved me through and the door slammed shut behind us. The sound dulled but the ringing didn’t. It throbbed my brain cells to smithereens, sending them to combustion inside my small skull.

   “How are you feeling? Can you still hear...whatever it is?”

  He couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t in extreme mental pain from the phantom spectators. But he did believe me and that was all I needed to know. “I can hear them, but not as bad. It just hurts, so much.” I groaned and held my head in my hands, closing my eyes and trying to block out my own pain receptors.

   Darian nodded but judging from his face, he far from understood what was happening. I knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t really registering anything going on, just going through the motions to get out on the other side somewhat intact.

   Diluted and weak, we trudged up the stairs further into the actual announcer’s box. It was a small room with a board nailed to either side up against the far wall to act as a desk. Windows were on all the other three walls and I could see clearly through them that the stands were completely empty.

   My sore knees buckled underneath me and I collapsed to the ground. Darian was at my side instantly and instead of forcing me to stand up again, he helped me lean against the wall and sat down next to me. “Let’s just, stay here for a little while. Then we’ll get out of here.”

   I nodded. “Sounds like a good idea….wanna play sticks?”

   “Sure.”

[cno-inbminor]

adsentio - stagnation

a/n: we’re back with prince!akaashi, royalty!au, extra part. i promise i was writing the wedding scene, but then it started storming pretty heavily...and my brain said, “no, Kay. it’s rainy hours. write angst. you know you want to.” and...this happened.

NOTE: for this specific scenario, it’s not 100% necessary to read ‘adsentio’, the main story. however, there are details that reference it and subsequent parts. the basic idea is: you and prince akaashi had been set up to marry since you were children, and while the both of you were against it for a while, feelings changed for the better.

summary: after a few years of being married, you find yourself firmly concluding that indeed, akaashi no longer loves you.  

genre: angst!! with happy ending though. wc: ~2.9k

main story: adsentio (pt. 1) | bonus letters (pt. 1.5) | the masque (pt. 2)

Whenever torrents of rain cascade over the kingdom, down the vine-ridden castle walls and pattering upon the lake, many will pause in their tasks and gaze out the nearest windowpane. Thunder may rumble and lightning may strike, yet everyone registers the same twist in their stomachs. An unease lies beneath their skin; a chill that wickedly summons horripilation. In an effort to battle the shadows, fires begin to roar, one by one through the castle. Aches and pains arise in bodies as the masses wait with bated breath for the rainbow to appear as it always does.

Smoke floats through the chimneys and taints the air, evident by the wisps of gray and onyx. Yet they are unnoticed and in stealth on this dreary night where everyone must succumb to the understanding that there will be no rainbow. The controller of the tides will peak above the midnight clouds and attempt to shine, but never strong enough to guide the nightly travelers.

Even with the tamed inferno in the chambers, a puff of visible air leaves your lips. Your hands clasp tightly together, your fingers intertwining with each other in your lap as you sit in front of your vanity. Raindrops beat against the glass of the balcony doors, glistening in their trail towards the ground. Yet as soon as they fall onto stone, the drop shatters and colors the surface. It paints and paints until the blemishes appear and the imperfections glare towards the skies.

Jewels sit heavy on your figure, your crown resting on a cushion atop your vanity. But in this moment, nothing weighs more than the wedding ring on your left hand. It’s crushing, suffocating; it burns a print and imprisons your appendage, reminding you of unspoken promises ghosted against your ear. The gems hold decades of memories, being passed down from queen to future queen, and you wonder if any of them proceeded with what you plan on doing.

Akaashi had entered the room as smooth as a serpent, silent like a zephyr. Your only warning of his presence is the raised hairs on the back of your neck, your body tensing just as his hands placed themselves on your shoulders from behind. Another breath is drawn from your lungs as he peers into the mirror at you, the faintest expression of happiness drawn from his lips. But it’s lifeless. It’s the one he reserves for meetings and pleasantries, for when he disagrees with his father but has no choice to comply. His eyes are darkened with death and dissatisfaction, and has been for almost two weeks now.

His brows only marginally furrow with concern at your lack of reaction, how you seem to be looking past him. Your own expression comes off as solemn yet nervous, as if you’ve committed a grave sin.

“Is anything wrong, my dear?” He asks gently, watching carefully.

Your lips purse as you turn your head towards the hand on your right shoulder. They no longer provide the warmth and comfort that they did so many years ago, but only serve to freeze your soul and weave together the insecurities that you had painstakingly unraveled. Akaashi continues to gaze at you in silence as you stand from your seat, wordlessly beckoning for him to take your place. With guarded hesitation, he does as you say. Instead of standing behind him as he did you, you instead take the space on his right, facing his side profile. Feeling unnerved, he turns to face you rather than his own reflection.

In times of vulnerability, you have always struggled to find your footing, to feel that you are powerful. You believe there is a strength in possessing self-awareness and having the ability to convey those thoughts to someone who cares and knows. Just because you feel small in the moment does not mean you must be small. You can tower over the other person as you do now, forcing your prince to lift his chin to speak to you.

“You are unhappy,” you whisper ruefully.

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” he fibs, his eyes wavering as he directs his gaze away from yours. In that brief moment of eye contact, you had seen the show end, but the curtains lifted, the gears turning and unveiling his chaotic despair.

“You cannot lie to me, milord. And only you are incapable of doing so with me.”

He lets out an arduous sigh and slouches his back, a pose of defeat and exhaustion. A dagger twists his heart at the title, but his reticence allows you to continue.

“I can only imagine that there have been many women in my position before, where they must continue to rule with locked lips and the key thrown. There must have been many who were as hopeful as me, and yet as time aged us, we had to turn the other way and simply learn to accustom ourselves to the new surroundings. With how long we have known each other, I know almost everything about you. To most, you may only have a few sitting postures. But to me, you have tens. Each little movement indicates something different, something you happen to be thinking or feeling at that moment. It’s ingrained into my brain by sheer force and repetition, and I’m beginning to wish I was more oblivious. Perhaps, then, I would at least have been a happy fool, content with my misguided beliefs.”

“What are you trying to say?” He enquires as he dares to face you again. With regret, loss, and grief, he watches as your eyes begin to shine with tears and the most bittersweet smile on your face begin to form.

“You no longer love me.

“And I have no objection to that,” you continue, raising a hand to stop any of his interjections. “I should have known that you would eventually tire and wish for what I had voiced all those years ago: some freedom, some choice. As much as you had convinced yourself that marrying me was unequivocally your free will, you no longer believe it. All of your interactions with me scream so, and I have no intentions to attempt to convince you otherwise. Doing so would be hypocritical of me. So for now,” you pause, looking down at your hands while catching your breath.

Akaashi can hear the tremble of your lungs over the crack of thunder and the beating of the heavens. But everything deafens when your right hand hovers over your left ring finger. They hesitate and shake, reaching then reclining, before grasping the ornate band and slowly, lamentably removing it. You then extend a hand to gently grasp one of his, placing the piece of jewelry in his open palm, then curling his fingers closed around it.

“For now, I shall return this to you. You may do as you wish, as I will not stop you. Perhaps…we were not lucky enough for love.”

You sleep with your back to him that night, unwilling to face him when only mere inches exist between you two. You miss how Akaashi turns to face your back, how his arm tentatively reaches to wrap around your waist before pulling back, and can only slip into his dreams when counting the strands of your hair.

-

“The Prince urgently requests that you meet him in the library, Your Highness.”

“Now?”

“Preferably, yes.”

“Very well, I shall be there shortly,” you sigh, your turning away signaling the messenger’s dismissal. Your head bends down to take one last look at the embroidery in your lap, your fingers finishing some last few stitches for an appropriate stopping point. Fingers cautiously smooth the wrinkles of your day dress, and you take one last deep breath.

The journey to the library is painstakingly laborious, as though each step you made had been done with shackles around your ankles. There is a weight to the sound of your heels clicking against the ground. Maids and butlers shuffle past you with heads bowed, though you seem to deep in a trance to observe.

Much of the energy and power that you felt you had exuded those nights ago had soon dissipated from your body. Your body resembles an empty shell, devoid of a plan to stand on your feet and continue with your normal activities. Your left ring finger screams into the numbing void, the missing weight almost bearing its own scarlet letter. You stayed in your room as much as possible, requesting meals to be delivered to the chambers. Akaashi nearly always needed to be away, taking care of kingdom affairs in preparation for his inevitable ascension to the throne. The only times you were ever near him were in the mornings and nights. You understood he was allowing some space for you, yet to request your presence…

Soon, you stand in the doorway of the royal library, the wooden entrance left ajar. The space acts as a safe haven for anyone in the castle; you gently press it open with the pad of your fingers. Hundreds of books on shelves line the walls with a few tables and lounging couches, yet it is eerily empty. Typically, there would be another person climbing one of the ladders to reach a high book, but even those are gathering dust for now.

Akaashi is in the farthest corner by the window, small stacks of bound journals and novels on almost every available space of the surface. He stands tall by the glass, looking out towards the gardens with his hands clasped behind his back. You take this moment of his oblivion to appreciate the back of the man before you, choking back and battling the agonizing twist of your heart. It is a moment you feel that you no longer deserve, but whatever it may be, the matter seems far less urgent than what the butler had told you.

You near him and clear your throat, the noise causing him to spin on his heels. He looks somewhat taken aback, but quickly composes himself as you curtsy. “I am here, Your Highness. I was told you had urgent matters to discuss.”

Akaashi sighs somewhat before sitting in the chair, beckoning you to come closer to the desk. His complexion seems pale and almost gaunt, and in turn, you frown. Was he not sleeping? Or eating? Has his father been putting too much pressure on his shoulders?

“I must confess,” he begins softly and refuses to meet your eyes. “The matter isn’t as urgent as I made it out to be. But I wanted to see you as soon as possible as it is still important and does concern you.”

“Did I…do something wrong?”

“Of course not,” he immediately denies, taking a hasty glance towards you before turning back to the books on the desk. “If anything…I am the one who has wronged you, and I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me,” he continues, his voice trailing towards the end of his confession. The desperation for forgiveness and repentance drown his words until they are all you can feel, yet you were so unsure of why he was seeking those. Did he pity you? Your emotions?

“I believe there is no reason to forgive you, as there is nothing you should feel sorry for,” you say stiffly, hands subtly wringing together.

“I must concur,” he kindly retorts. “Here, please have a look at this.”

He hands you a journal from the top of a stack, encouraging for you to take it. The leather feels aged and worn, but it is one you recognize from many, many years ago.

‘You could consider it a memoir.’

“Open it, please. And read what’s inside it.”

With a curious look, you unwind the ties and peel back the cover. The first page holds nothing, but when you turn the yellowing parchment, familiar handwriting greets you. A date sits in the top right corner, marking it a little less than a year before your eighteenth birthday.

‘I must say, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from the princess. In my mind, she would have better things to attend to than to reply to me. After all, we both have our own duties, and in addition to hers, she must be attending some of her father’s meetings. I cannot deny the fact that my heart began to race swiftly when I saw her signature at the bottom of the letter. Even in her writing, I could hear her voice in my head, reading it the same way as if she were speaking to me. How I long for the summer months to quickly come.’

The beginning entry ends there, but as you thumb through the other pages rapidly, they are filled with his writing in neat, onyx ink. You begin to recall the days when you both were here in this very room, him scribbling away as you read your subject of interest. Your eye the other similar-looking journals and he confirms your unspoken questions.

“They’re all about you,” he smiles, though it seems sad and apologetic. “As you can see, I filled quite a few journals over the many years, but…unfortunately, as I grew busier, I was unable to write as much. When you said those words to me that night,” – a grimace on his complexion – “I couldn’t believe myself. Did I truly not love you anymore? At first, I struggled to find an answer…until a few days ago. I have spent much of my time reading through these pages, seeing what I have written.”

“You read…all of these? There must be almost twenty journals here,” you say in a mixture of disbelief and awe.

“I couldn’t quite put them down, I must admit. Some of my best work, perhaps.”

He stands from his seat and walks around the desk until he’s in front of you. Those pools of cobalt blue still find it difficult to meet your own eyes – they swim with contemplation and hesitation, but a sheet of determination soon clouds them. After you recognize that, he grasps your left hand with both of his and kneels on one knee, his forehead bowed down onto your knuckles either out of embarrassment or absolute respect.

“Keiji, what are you—”

“I was wrong. I had been so wrapped up in my own affairs that I failed to look after you as I had promised at the altar. I neglected you and unwittingly led you to believe that I no longer loved you. You do not deserve such a foolish man, so ignorant to forget how good you are to me, how there can be no other woman because you are my perfect match. I have been reminded of all the reasons of why I love you, and I swear on my existence that I love you more than I ever have.

Yet the truth is, I shouldn’t need to be reminded. You should never need to question my loyalty to you, and for that…I can only give my deepest apologies,” his voice trails to a volume so soft, yet so shaky with remorse. “The regret that I feel can’t even begin to hold a light to the pain that you must have kept bottled inside you, where you kept the cork in for as long as possible as to not burden me. I have failed you, and I will spend the rest of our days correcting my wrongs. In this very moment,” he pauses, inhaling a deep but quivering breath.

“I desperately and humbly request of you to give me this one last chance, to prove that I can be the man you deserve. I am begging you, my future queen, to forgive me.”

Your breath hitches with the last statement.

A prince never begs.

Yet he was here to lay it all out for you, imploring that you stand by his side, again, in more ways than one.  

“Please rise, Your Highness,” you call out softly, your hand reaching out to try lifting his chin and meet his gaze.

He stubbornly shakes his head. “Not unless you give me your answer.”

“Keiji, you don’t need—”

“Your answer. Please,” he beseeches with the last word, breath held. You know that when Akaashi becomes insistent, he never backs down yet somehow still allowing the other person to have a choice in the say. No thinking needed to be done, as your answer should be quite obvious.

“How could I ever refuse you, Keiji?” You tease softly with a smile.

Since the first moment he had kneeled before you, he looks up to see your face. Unshed tears glisten from the sun’s rays streaming through the glass. Your words are more than enough for him to stand on both feet again, soon wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head into your shoulder. These acts of affection are only a small portion of what you had sorely missed, and you were counting on Akaashi to fulfill his vow.

“You are everything to me,” he breathes unsteadily into your neck. “And I will make certain that you never forget this, even after we pass.”

“I can trust you?”

“Yes. I promise.”

[featherwriter]

<< Read from the beginning! >>

In the weeks to follow, Sylvanni’s captivity started to fall into a kind of routine. Not a good routine, but at least predictable. Erxaris’ deal held: so long as Silveks remained obedient, she was no longer subjected to the torturous experiments she’d initially endured. It wasn’t much of a reprieve, but it was better than nothing.

As Uldren had predicted, the shining stay and her new station afforded her a strange kind of status within House Kings. Most of the days, she was requested to be at the Baroness’ side as she held audience with other members of the House. Sylvanni was to be a silent but eye-catching trophy, the Guardian brought to heel. She was a quiet piece of furniture, staying near proceedings so that all present could be reminded that House Kings was powerful enough to accomplish such a feat. Or perhaps, seemingly powerful. The longer Sylvanni observed, the more she began to see just how much pageantry went into propping up a House of ailing numbers and the part she herself was made to play in that act.

On some occasions, when the Baroness truly wished to show off the command she wielded, Sylvanni would be commanded to make another bloody showing of loyalty. Just another death, she’d tell herself when handed a weapon for the deed. That it was by her own hand made no difference, other than that she learned how to do the deed quickly and cleanly. On the other side of the resurrection, she would kneel and hand back her Ghost silently to be contained once more, trying to empty herself of thoughts and emotions as she did so. 

He was there in the audience room with her most of the time, locked away in the containment canister. The Baroness liked to keep the little prison under-claw, tapping it in a clicking wave every so often to draw attention to her prize. Sylvanni tried her best not to look, not to think about him. Sentiment was a distraction she could ill afford before an opportunity to escape came. At this point, keeping herself fully blank was an almost meditative process. There was a strange kind of comfort in it, in the nothingness of it all. 

She watched days of the Baroness’ proceedings without speaking, without reaction, keeping the loose attention pose Erxaris had taught her. The Fallen of the House seemed to find her empty stare intimidating, and she took comfort in that even in this humiliated state, she could still inspire fear. In fact, those who bore witness to her acts of forced self-sacrifice often seemed even more nervous around her than before. She took satisfaction in that as well.

Her silent observations gave her plenty of time to try to decipher the Eliksni conversations which took place around her. Between her appearances in the Baroness’ chamber, when there was no need of her decorative function, she was returned to her cell. Whenever she wasn’t sleeping, she worked with Uldren to study the language, committing the alien sounds and overly intricate grammar to memory with practice and repetition. The lessons gave both of them something to work on, something to focus on other than the circumstances of their captivity. 

During one such lesson, Uldren paused to give her a long look. “May I ask where you were raised, Duv?”

She shifted her posture, trying to find a different position where the metal edges of the stay would dig in at least somewhere else from where they had been. There was never a comfortable position for the ill-fitting contraption, but she’d grown used to shifting it periodically to spread the discomfort out. “You know I have no childhood to remember, so when you say ‘raised’ you mean…?”

“Your first time, back from the dead.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this somehow relevant to the usage of the neutral-tone interrogative?”

He gave her a stern smile at the cheeky response. “Indulge me, if you would.”

She let out a long sigh, shaking her head. “It’s not exactly a pleasant story, Uldren.” She looked at him for a long pause, hoping he might let her out of the question, but he simply stared back, expectant of her answer. 

“Do go on.”

“Fine. My Ghost, M-Mandala–” It was still difficult to say his name down here, too present a reminder of his absence from her. “–he found me floating in ship wreckage, 83rd sector on the inner edge of the Reef. Most Guardians would tell you their first resurrection was a difficult, shocking experience. But I can say with certainty that the experience is even less enjoyable when done in the void of space with nothing to breathe.”

Uldren sat up a little more, leaning forward. “What happens in a situation like that? Do you just immediately decompress and die again?”

“No, not exactly.” Sylvanni rubbed a hand over her upper arm, finding the memories difficult to recount. “With the Light, we’re… we’re more resilient than you are. A Guardian doesn’t technically need air to continue living. The Light alone can sustain us, can heal the damage to our bodies constantly enough that we don’t pass away. There was no decompression because there was no air in my lungs to begin with. My corpse was as pressureless as it could be, and so too was I, once I was returned.

“But even if we can survive in the vacuum, it isn’t pleasant. The… the body remembers its former need to breathe, your instincts scream that you’re choking, suffocating, dying. But it doesn’t actually end. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t know how to make it stop. Just… trying to gasp for air that wasn’t there, everything empty and silent and agonizing.”

Uldren made a small hum, considering. “I’m surprised a Ghost would do such a thing to his Guardian, especially upon her first resurrection. Would it not have been possible to bring you somewhere with atmosphere before waking you for the first time?”

Sylvanni looked away, her shoulders curling forward slightly. This was a difficult thing to talk about. As terrible as it had been, she couldn’t blame her Ghost for it. She couldn’t. “It… It wasn’t his fault.” She forces firmness into the words, trying to reinforce them for herself as well. “He’s just a little machine; floating through the vacuum of space is no different from him than strolling the streets of the Last City. When he finally found me, after so long searching, he was just so excited to meet me, and Guardians can survive in such conditions. He just… He wasn’t thinking about what it would feel like.

“When he realized what was happening, realized I couldn’t even hear him to explain what was going on, he immediately put out an urgent distress call for ships in the sector. Another Guardian found us eventually, took us both into their ship and ferried me to the Last City. My first real breath in, well, I don’t even know how long it was, it was the most wonderful thing I could imagine. 

“Mandala felt terrible about the whole thing. My first few moments in that ship, catching my first new breaths, were such a mixed jumble of apologies and introductions and explanations about being a Guardian. I don’t like to bring it up, at least not around him. He still feels guilty that my earliest experience as a Guardian was so distressing. Like I said, it wasn’t his fault.”

“That’s quite forgiving of you, Duv. I didn’t realize your resurrection was so… unpleasant.” 

“I did tell you so at the start.” She bristled slightly, wondering if he was mocking her somehow. “Are you satisfied? Have I indulged you well enough, Your Highness?”

He ducked his head. “I’m sorry to have made you recount it then. Though it does offer me some insight. The reason I asked in the first place.”

“And that reason was…?”

“I have a theory,” Uldren said, a touch of his humor returning, “which I believe your experience may corroborate. I think you may have been Reef Awoken before your death.”

Sylvanni stiffened. Given the location of her death, she’d thought along the same lines herself, but never for very long. Seeking out information about one’s life before was forbidden. “Guardians aren’t meant to know our pasts or question what our lives were before. Whatever we once were does not matter. It’s not a topic to speculate upon.”

“Oh, come on, Guardian. You can’t tell me you aren’t even mildly curious about who you once were. I’m certain I would be, if our positions were switched. It’s certainly not impossible to figure some things out.”

“What?” she asked, lifting her chin in a challenge. “Are you saying you think you knew me before I died? Is that it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Nothing so specific. I very well may have, but no, you aren’t particularly familiar to me in that way. I simply have a theory that you may have been fluent in Eliksni in your former life. Many Reef Awoken are. I’ve been suspicious of how quickly you seem to be picking up what is, at its heart, a very complicated alien language. We can’t have been down here much more than a month and I’d say you’re at basic fluency, Duv.”

“I, well… I had previously studied some of the written glyph structures. That’s probably what it is.” Sylvanni’s brow furrowed, unnerved by the idea that she might have retained skills from her previous life to such a degree that they would be noticeable to someone else. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“Studying glyphs wouldn’t explain how you learn to pronounce things so well so quickly.” He narrowed his eyes at her, smiling as though pleased to think he might have struck a nerve again. “You seem offended by the implication that you might be Reefborn. Would it really be so bad if it were true?”

Sylvanni took a moment to stand up, pacing a little bit to try to get her blood moving again. Constantly sitting in the cell was terribly stifling. “I simply prefer not to think about it at all. The past is the past, it doesn’t concern me. We should continue the lesson.”

He chuckled, much to her annoyance. “As you wish, Guardian. I believe you were asking about the neutral interrogative?”

The lessons were useful when surrounded constantly by Fallen and their chatter. Clearly, Sylvanni learned, those guarding their cells didn’t care to pay attention to the fact that their prisoners were practicing their language and many in the House seemed to believe she couldn’t understand anything they discussed in front of her. To their detriment, as steadily, more and more, that was becoming no longer the case. She wasn’t by any means a highly proficient speaker, but as Uldren had noticed, her comprehension had come a long way in their short time taking lessons, and she listened in Eliksni better than she spoke. She could grasp the overall meanings of most conversations, and she often kept note of any wholly unfamiliar terms or phrases to later ask Uldren what they meant. 

Between the time in her cell learning with Uldren and her time as an intimidating decoration for the Baroness, only one other assignment was routinely given to her: participation in the arena for the House’s entertainment. These occurrences weren’t frequent, but Sylvanni savored whenever they were given. Against the emotional blankness of most of her days, a chance to fight, to feel even her meager trickle of Light sing to her in the contest, it was the only time she ever felt like herself again. 

It always seemed a tossup whether or not they would give her a weapon before sending her out, but she learned to be just as ruthlessly efficient with only her hands as when armed. Even small amounts of Light, it turned out, could be put to devastating use when employed with precision. Against these hapless foes they sent to die before her, she was wrath unbridled, destruction unchained, and she relished that. She didn’t always win; sometimes the groups she faced managed to rally enough coordination to overwhelm her, but she usually emerged victorious. These days, there were no stealthed swordsmen waiting for her in the wings of the arena. If she made it through alive, she was expected to bow and then make another ‘show of loyalty’ for the audience’s amusement. In those cases, she was always raised again in the preparation room, away from the eyes of all. 

The one true constant of her new life’s routine was that terrible, accursed servitor. Every few hours, she would be subjected to its influence again, draining her reserves of Light before they could get high enough to be dangerous to her captors. Always immediately after her times fighting in the arena, the servitor was ready to catch her in its grasp as soon as she was back to life. This was another detail she wouldn’t have expected the Fallen to know about Guardians: how her Light flourished within her more quickly when she fought and killed enemies. Yet somehow this secret too was known to them, and they were always prepared to ensure she couldn’t use that Light against them after a fight. 

That moment, she realized, was likely her best chance at escape. She could gather Light in Erxaris’ makeshift Prison of Elders, sparingly using her voidlight to pull as much life as she could from those she slayed. She would have her Ghost back after the resurrection, and assuming she fought wisely, she might have enough Light to fully unleash her abilities on her guards and make a break for it. All it would take was a bit of sloppiness in the transition from raising her to the servitor drain, enough of a pause for her to make her move. Their greed for the Light-derived ether they synthesized from her would be their undoing. It would just take one mistake. 

She watched carefully for an opening, but despite her vigilance, time and again it failed to manifest. Over and over, with terrible efficiency, they bade her fight, resurrected her, and then drained her Light away immediately, before it could be useful. 

As these weeks passed, Sylvanni learned of House Kings, all the important conversations she bore witness to, quietly putting these scraps of information together into a picture of what her captors were really like. The House of Kings, despite the Baroness’ showy displays of power and spectacle, was struggling. Its most important members had almost completely retreated down into these warrens to try to escape the scrutiny and scavenging of the other Houses. The crowds Sylvanni saw in the broken arena were apparently almost the entirety of the House, its membership having dwindled to only a few hundred fighting soldiers and half that of untrained civilians.

The Baroness was the only Fallen of her size in the House—aside from their reclusive Kell, of course—and she hoarded their scant ether rations, raising none any higher than captaincy. One of the Kings priests had recently been named an Archon, but had not had his rations increased in measure with his new station. The Baroness herself was greedy, paranoid, and ambitious. She distrusted most of her advisors, aside from the unwavering Erxaris, who apparently was spared suspicion by virtue of technically not being a member of the Kings. House Judgment’s claims to service through neutrality towards the other Houses was a powerful tool in politics, it turned out. The Baroness, meanwhile, saw Sylvanni’s Light-ether as a final opportunity, perhaps, to get out of this mess. It was clear she hoped to glut herself and grow strong enough to supplant the Kell and take his place, whenever he deigned to return. 

Sylvanni thought it clear that the House’s problems almost certainly stemmed from such selfish, short-sighted leadership, but of course made no comment to anyone. She had no desire to see the Kings’ fortunes reversed, after all. She didn’t know whether or not to feel insulted to have been captured by such a weak House, or grateful that their crumbling hierarchy would hopefully lend her greater opportunity to get away. She suspected Uldren had guessed some of the internal political problems here as well, even though he didn’t have nearly the same level of access she did. She never missed how his eyes tracked every exchange from their cells, every expression, every morsel of gossip passed between bored guards that he could witness. He often asked her if she’d heard any valuable information during her time in the audience room, and she shared what she’d learned with him as she could. He turned out to be right after all: down here, they were all each other had. House Kings thought the Prince as beaten down and broken of will as their pet Guardian, but Sylvanni knew he yet had some kind of scheme he hoped to undertake. 

One of them would make it out of this hellish nightmare, of that she was certain. And after months of patience, waiting for something to change, some opportunity to make an attempt at freedom, a whispered rumor brought hope. The message spread quickly through the ranks of the once great House, from the official scout report to the Baroness, overheard by Sylvanni listening blankly at her side, to chatter among the lowest dregs as she was walked back to her cell. The same news was on every alien tongue she passed:  

The House of Kings was to make its highest preparations. The Kell was coming home.

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[real-fanta-sea]

MICHAEL APPRECIATION WEEK Day 7: Free choice

For this day, I have prepared something special - this fic was laying around in my drafts for almost a year and I’m so happy to finish and publish it!

The name is The leap of faith and happens after Michael falls to his dead during ending B. It is rather heavy and lacks happy ending + there is a mention of attempted suicide and canon death. It is not graphic, but some of you might prefer not to read about it and I think it’s fair to warn you. Oh, and the pairing mentioned is Trikey. For those of you who prefer AO3, click here to get redirected to the work. For the rest of you guys, just click on “keep reading”. Hope you’ll like it! 😊

The thunder rumbles through the air, vibrating everything in a deep and untamed matter.

“Michael! Let’s just-” 

Michael looks up, trying his best to look tough while somewhere deep inside, he is scared shitless as the same thunder echoes through him. He’s holding desperately, palms sweaty, onto his life. Franklin, holding his forearm as hard as he can, let his mouth gape open in a shock. Finally, a true, fucking human emotion.

A few heavy, ice-cold raindrops dampen Michael’s forehead. This all feels too familiar, he thinks to himself. This time, though, he won’t wake up with a jerk, sweat pearling up on his back. This time, there won’t be anything else than a void, sucking him in. He won’t stare back at steel grey sky as it dissolves into his perfect white bedroom ceiling. Not this time.

Another lightning illuminates his final scenery. Michael peers at depth down below his feet and then back up to a familiar face. Franklin fights with himself - he can see it in his sharp sculpted face. The rain falls heavily now and drenches his cheeks, and the moist reflects red and white signal light high above their heads. How the hell did he end up this way? Here, up above his concrete grave? Up here, hanging down the chimney railing, with this snake of a friend being his last straw between life and death? And then, the sudden realisation washed over him like a cold tide. And then, without a blink or a second thought, he lets go. A pair of hazel eyes, troubled, terrified, torn and lost, sink down into darkness. “I won’t leave you, Mikey!” is a distant echo of a raspy, terrified voice in between the rain and thunder. “I won’t leave you, Mikey!” A fraction of a grin passes Michael’s lips “But hell was I more than ready to leave you…” is his last thought as he lets go and let the gravity pull him down.

“MICHAEL!”

The world slows down with the first agonizing beat of his heart. Raindrops around him freeze in place, fire red and shiny like a scattered bloody diamonds carrying his weight. A flash of lightning illuminates the terrified face above him, hand outstretched, desperately trying to reach for him but also knowing damn well it’s too late. Michael looks around him. Everything perfectly sharp and visible, tinted scarlet and blue, with every edge glowing wildly. The weightless eternity of his existence, just hanging above the ground in between his heartbeats.

Ba-dum

A flash of bright white light blinds him for a second before he realizes where he is. The smell of an old truck, speeding on a dirt road is something hard to forget, especially when the smell attacks his nostrils so violently through an open window. Michael looks around him. The insides of the truck are darkened against the painfully bright sun reflecting the crisp green and warm ochre outside. The fuel tank is almost empty, the gas pedal glued to the floor. A photo of a nameless naked girl printed on a car scent card, swaying in a breeze under the passenger seat. Plush dice furiously swinging from side to side on the rearview mirror. All of this is oddly familiar.

Michael dares a look in the rearview mirror. He stares into a pair of bright blue eyes, full of determination and perhaps a bit of fear. He could swear he knows them too. A strand of dark hair combed back neatly, falls down to them, making him blink and swing it right back. He looks at his hands and sees no ring, only a rim of the leather sleeve of his jacket. Inspecting it further, he sees a couple of sewn symbols as it hangs nonchalantly by the sides of his muscular torso. He grins stupidly as his eyes follow lines of muscles sticking up against a tight white fabric of his tank top. He continues to check himself as the engine roars and hot air breaks apart on his windshield. His jeans are as tight as his top, and sneakers just as worn out as they should be to still be called fashionable. “Wow, this can’t be me” he grins as he checks his face in the mirror again. No wrinkles. No worries. No assassins after his ass. Just a pair of bright, ocean blue eyes and a cocky smile of a kid who hardly knows what future lays ahead.

Michael laughs as he pushes the gas even further, stomping on it like a fucking maniac. The engine groans with pain but accelerates anyway. Suddenly, there is a horn ripping apart the perfect memory. Michael looks into a mirror curiously, frowning his perfect eyebrows, a faint wrinkle haunting his forehead. A second truck, with the same roar and even greater speed, emerges from the turn behind him and by the looks of it, the driver is furious with him.

“Oh shit, here we go again… Just perfect!” he swears below his breath and takes a sharp turn right just as the truck reaches the back of his own vehicle. There is a high pitched screech as the truck turn in top speed, trying it’s best not to fall oven, rolling on only one set of wheels before falling back on all six with an angry thud sound. “I must find the damn plane, it should be around here somewhere, fuck” Michael swears and feels a couple of sweats drops pearl on his forehead. He looks back into the mirror. The truck is behind him. Closing in. There is a familiar shine of a gun in the dark behind the windshield. “FUCK!”

Another turn. Another screech. Sweat. Curse. Heart racing. Heat. Engine roaring. Plane. Where is the fucking plane?

Michael literally flies over the top of a ditch as he desperately tries to land the truck on wheels and not on its side. There is a glimpse of shiny metal in the distance suddenly and his heart races. This is it. Just to get there before the jerk gets him. He bites his lip and stomps on the gas again, furiously, desperately. The metal of the plane shines again as he gets closer and he looks for a man he was supposed to meet. Somewhere down in his guts, there is a fear mixing with anticipation and stirring his insides like a bloody blender. He can’t wait to see him and be saved.

A pair of slender jeans-clad legs twitch impatiently in the shadow of the plane. There he is.

If it wasn’t for a fact he could destroy the plane, he would have never braked so hard and just circle around to get the look again and again forever. He could, in fact, do it - this is his memory so he could do whatever he fucking please - but everything feels too real, including the young man leaned back on the wing of the plane.

Something in his pose is so captivating Michael can not quite put his head around it. The man’s elbows are supporting him, placed on a grey painted wing. Leather aviation jacket with a maple leaf sewn on it, wrinkled on his shoulders which were as wide and strong as his chest showing below his a worn-out t-shirt, yet slender and elegant as the line of his body run down to a perfect waist, accented by a belt of his jeans. One hip slightly raised as he relaxed one of his long legs, probably to even the weight of his heavy boots. Michael inhales deeply and gulped down something that feels almost like… Well, he can’t name it, but the look is captivating. The man looks in direction of the other truck, so Michael has a couple of seconds to study his face. It is framed by a thick mane of brown hair, and aviator shades, too big and dark to see his eyes properly. His nose as sharp as his cheekbones and jawline, with a trace of baby fat still there, giving him a dangerously adorable look. Where Michael loses it are his lips - full and with cupid’s bow curved in a perfectly kissable way, almost unreal for a man to have. Compared to his thin line of a mouth, these lips are angelic. Something deep inside of him awakens with a roar and the feeling of warmth fills him up completely, as he looks at the young man’s face again.

“Trevor…” he hears himself whisper. “T…” as tender as the letter can be, escaping his lips all over again to numb the sharp pain in his chest. What exactly is this feeling? Did he always feel this way about Trevor? Is his dying mind playing tricks on him?

He loses himself in a plump curve of Trevor’s lips for a moment once again before he’s torn from this perfect world with a wild screech of brakes and violent blow of a horn.

“Come out right NOW!” A hoarse voice calls from the other truck as a middle-aged man does his best to get out of the driver’s seat. Michael caught the sight in the mirror. While he takes a deep breath he kicks the door open and jumps out of the truck. 

“What’s your problem, old fart?” he yells, as cocky as he possibly can to cover how fucking frightened he really is, puffing up his chest, putting up a toothy grin and holding onto his hips to appear larger. “Can’t get it up so you drive all the way here to beat my ass for fun?”. The old man clenches his fists, squaring up his shoulders and cracking his neck. Michael blinks a couple of times as he watches the familiar figure step out of the shadow of the truck. As the man moves closer, Michael’s cocky grin freezes and slowly twists into pure horror. The man raises his head and if there ever was a bit of doubt in who it was, it vanished right into a face of the impaling summer sun.

It’s the older version of him. De Santa part of his soul, peering right back at him through a familiar frown with all the self-hate and beast-like cruelty written all over his wrinkled face. Michael’s mouth opens and closes in a shock. Is this who he has become? He can still remember all the things he did in his life as if his old self got caught up in the young body. He remembers, gets glimpses of memories, but it’s not the same thing as to face who he inevitably grows to be. De Santa looks him in the eyes as if he knows exactly what he is thinking about with an evil grin. As fast as he can, without blinking, De Santa raises his gun and points it right at Trevor.

Michael gasps. “What the fuck are you doing, you prick?”

Trevor flinches and presses his back against the plane with a deep growl.

“Put that down or I’ll make a pudding out of your brain right fucking now!”, Trevor utters with the only gun he could retrieve from the plane in a second, which, to Michael’s eternal amusement, is a fucking flare gun. De Santa shows a couple of teeth as he grins at Trevor. “The only thing I want is a second to talk to my little friend here. Don’t be stupid, Trevor, and give me a chance to make things right for both of us” The man with a flare gun raises his eyebrows and lowers the gun a few millimetres before raising it again. “Fuck, I don’t know where you heard my name or who snitched it but I swear to god if you botch this job you won’t see the sun up tomorrow you cake filled fuck face!”

Michael chuckled as he heard Trevor give his older self familiar names. He really let himself go too far to be called fit and made a mental note not to waste his second chance in life to eat the hate away. De Santa seems pleased as well, a heartwarming smile crossing his lips before they are solid and serious again. “Michael, I know what you felt back then, and what you feel now. I know you are going to chase it until you lose interest and leave a broken shell. Wasn’t it your... our favourite pastime after every game? Get a girl, get the most of it for a week and then ditch her without a second thought?” Michael blinks and searches for rusty memories. With eyes wide and lips pursued, he nods. “You see Trevor there? He’s not a stupid cheerleader you can play like a fiddle. Even now, with this badass facade of his, he feels something for you.” Trevor fidgets uncomfortably and Michael catches with a corner of his eye how Trevor swallows and lets his lips part for a second. Fucking Bingo.

“And you feel it too. That is a serious business, Michael.” De Santa pauses to raise his gun again. “You know what happens in future, don’t you? Say a word and decide - should I kill him and let you forget, get a normal life with normal wife and normal kids, the one you’ve always wanted…” he pauses to turn to Michael now, who instinctively raises his hands and stumbles a couple of steps back with a gun pointed at him “or should I kill you both to get this Shakespearean shit over with before it even begins? We both know too well what he means to..to us.” Michael exhales and feels the world slow down once more as he watches a tear roll down De Santas expressionless cheek and turns to Trevor. The wind plays with Trevor’s hair and his hands shake as he throws down his shades. A pair of amber eyes, wide with awe, pierce him with the same question. Growing old with or without him? Can he bear living without his precious punk? Can he let all the memories slip right out of his mind and fill it in with a long line of one night stands and even longer lines of coke? Oh, and why does his chest clench so much? Could it be...love?

Michael inhales carefully and turns back to De Santa, with time raging in the normal speed now. “Kill me. You know too well I could never live without him by my side.” A hot blow of wind carries a sound of a trigger, sudden and unforgiving. Michael blinks and watches a flare screw into De Santa’s eye, as he pulls the trigger too. The bullet licks his ear and jams with a hiss into the truck behind him. A high, blood-chilling scream pierce his ears and adds to wild pounding in his ears. Right before his wide eyes, De Santa’s body is fighting inevitable, hands trying to pull the flare out, only to help it dig deeper. Burned flesh and skin shed dreadful black shreds onto the dirt below their feet. Deep grey smoke fills the air with sweet stench and cries right out of hell. And then, silence and a pair of terrified amber eyes, vanishing into another flash of light.

Ba-dum

Michael opens his eyes to see a mouldy ceiling of a random motel, illuminated with a mix of orange, pink and blue neon light splattered across the room. His body feels hot but exhausted at the same time, gradually allowing him to sink back to full consciousness. He looks around, blinking to get rid of heaviness on his eyelids. Stark naked, his skin shiny with sweat, brilliantly white, glowing with reflections of light as a perfect opposite of the damp dark sheets.

Michael turns to his side, instinctively looking for a pack of cigarettes. He has always had one ready on a nightstand wherever he went and remembers this too well. He has always smoked after sex, he realises with a smug smirk and almost makes it to the pack before a pair of tanned arms wrap around him. A deep “Mikey...don’t leave me” comes from behind him, half snore, half sleep talk. Michael freezes for a second before turning around to make sure the deep, smooth voice belongs to the man he thinks it does.

Just as he remembered, Trevor stretched his arms in his sleep, for once looking peaceful and even angelic in all his content and innocence. He looks like a child, curled up on his side, hair in his mouth, stuck to open lips with a string of saliva. Eyes shut, barely moving, eyelashes long and shaking to the rhythm of his own light snores. “Mikey” Trevor whimpers again and curls even more, clutching the blanket, brows knotting. “Shh… I am right here,T” Michael whispers, and as gently as he can, brushes the lock of hair out of Trevor’s mouth. Trevor smacks his lips and smiles sincerely from his sleep. “I love you, Mikey...”. Michael jolts a bit but tries his best not to wake his sleeping companion. Was this even the same memory, or is his dying mind making a damn fool of him? Has Trevor actually said that? He blinks a couple of times, supporting himself with his elbow on his side as he brushes Trevor’s cheek absentmindedly with his fingers. With wide, serious eyes, Michael observes the goosebumps on Trevor’s arm, showing with each end every careful stroke of his fingers. Trevor’s snores and low mumble gives him the strength to continue down his neck, fingers outstretched, tracing smooth skin below his fingertips. Trevor moans from his sleep when Michael’s fingers gently brushed past his nipple. “You always had a soft spot here, T” Michael whispers under his breath and let his aching heart rule him for once. All the uneasiness and tense are suddenly gone as his tongue circles around his lover’s chest. The skin below him is salty and hot, and the taste lingers on his tongue, driving him mad. His hand wanders down the outline of Trevor’s body, tracing down his abdomen to find what he is looking for. Trevor’s cock welcomes his hand with a jolly throb and fit into his palm much better than he would ever admit. “Mmm” Trevor moans and arches his back, biting his lower lip “so much for sleeping with a horny cupcake beside me, huh?” and greets Michael with a toothy grin “Ready for round two, pork chop?” Michael chuckles, stroking Trevor slowly but firmly “I was born ready, baby” and let himself be pulled into a kiss.

The room dissolves around them as Michael seals his lips with Trevors, and some kind of force pulls them both up, right into the star painted indigo sky. His lips desperately caress and sucks Trevor’s and his tongue explore and swirls with a hunger he has never felt before. Just the kiss, just the taste, just the sensation is enough for him to forget who he became, where he belongs and what he was about to do in a couple of years in this reality. It is just his lips and Trevor’s lips under the moonlight and everything feels right in the centre of this universe.

He pulls back eventually, gasping for air, licking his lips frantically not to waste a bit of the heavenly taste of his lover’s lips, fading back to the stained sheets. Trevor pants below him, lips curved into a toothy, genuine smile he has only seen once or twice before. Michael can not help but smile back, cupping Trevor’s cheek with one hand, running his thumb alongside Trevor’s lower lip. Trevor purrs deeply under his touch, staring right back to his eyes. Michael feels something building up around his heart - a heat that could only mean one thing. “I love you too, Trevor” he exhaled, voice deep with honesty. With a smile, he watches the change in Trevor’s expression, eyes dark and wide, mouth open in shock. “What did you just…” Trevor gulped, tears collecting in his eyes as he crawls away from Michael’s touch. Michael’s chest suddenly hurt as if someone squeezed it. “Shh, I mean it - trust me, Trevor. Just trust me, baby, ok?” Michael whispers with a smile still playing around corners of his mouth, but not as certain as it was a second ago. Trevor jerks and jumps of the bed, retrieving slowly towards the window.

“Why are you always like that, Michael? So fucking full of lies” His voice trembled as much as his knees. Michael’s eyes look his body up and down, and only welcoming part is his dick, twitching, helplessly calling for a fondling hand “Why do you do this to me?”

Michael blinks a couple of times, trying hard to remember what he did to earn this reaction. As far he knows, this was one of those nights they spent together, drinking or drugging, crawling on top of one or the other, riding the hell out of the high, bodies twisted into a hot, sweating mush. It won’t hurt to ask, right? 

“Trevor, calm down. What the hell happened to you?” his voice firm and certainly more annoyed than he had meant it to be. Trevor puffs up, clenching his fists. “What happened to me? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO ME?” Michael stiffens as a shockwave of Trevor’s angered roar washes over him, leaving him speechless.

“Are you serious? You have a fucking audacity to ask me what happened with that knocked up tramp waiting for you at the altar now? What the fuck am I to you then, huh? Am I just a fun old cheap bitch you fuck after a score? A toy you toss away when it doesn't comfort your taste anymore? Or.. or a dumbass to do all the dirty work for you just for a meaningless fuck?” Trevor’s voice trembles again, but only to gather enough strength to rumble through paper-thin walls again. “I am not stupid, Michael. I can see the pattern. You get high, you tell me you love me, fuck me and then you sober up and get on with your oh so great denial only to do it again and again. You dance around in your pathetic suit pants, killing anyone calling you a faggot! Oh, and while you are at it, you knock up a hooker and marry her just to show everybody you are a good old boobs’n’snatch family guy. Do you want your American dream family with a coke-snorting bitch and a batch of white trash bastards? Well then be my guest and get the fuck out of here, Michael”

Trevor kicks the door open, spitting his name out with a sting of disgust that lingers in the air long after it is said. A familiar blue haze of Michael’s anger pierces right through him and floods his system. With clenched fists, he springs up. “Okay, whatever, dipshit. Just make sure you are not late tomorrow” is what escapes Michael’s lips, without him even noticing. Something constricts his chest as he pulls up his jeans and throws his t-shirt over his head, facing Trevor. There are wet trails on his cheeks for sure, but something dark creeps behind them. Michael looks up to see two broken mirrors of amber eyes, staring back at him. For once, he feels the urge to fight the memory and stay. Stay a little longer. Cup Trevor’s face in his hands and tell him he won’t ever leave his side. Tell him he means what he said and they should elope, riding scooters hand in hand to the sunset. Trevor’s sob brings him back to reality as he approaches him carefully. “Trevor, I’m sorry…” is the last thing he utters before the memory fades in the familiar explosion of white light.

 Ba-dum

Michael blinks as he opens his eyes, looking around. He hardly recognizes the surroundings - judging by the scattered tombstones, people hunched down dressed in black and a thick layer of snow, he is somewhere up north, and on a goddamn cemetery. With all the white around him and heavy snowflakes falling down from a steel-grey sky, he should have been frozen solid at least 15 minutes ago, but somehow, he feels fine. Weightless even. There is something odd in a way people pass him by, without noticing him standing there, walking right onto him “Hey, watch it!” he hisses as an old lady walks right through him, leaving but a swirl of air where an outline of his torso was a second ago. Her sniffs and crunches of fresh snow under her shoes fade out into a deepening silence. She didn’t even notice, did she?

Michael looks at his hands, terrified. They are... translucent? What the hell happened to him? Is he a ghost? Michael’s eyes widen and his mouth fall open. Did he die already or what? With a deep breath of crisp air, he once again raises his head and scrutinizes his surroundings. His head feels like it might explode with all the wild ideas and questions swirling inside it. Has he ever been here before? The place seems familiar. Why is he here? Is it somehow significant? Michael inspects the closest tombstone on his right and chuckles lowly. Of fucking course. This was his grave. Michael fucking Townley’s grave.

This is where the boy from the nameless Canadian airfield lays along with his dreams and ambitions, dressed in his old football gear. What’s left is a ghost, a memory, levitating in the air, thinking about what went wrong with his life to end up like this. Hated, hunted, betrayed by a man he considered his son, left by the one he called brother. 

A muffled sob from behind him makes him jump and turn around. A tall man in a stained thick coat looks right trough him and brushes his nose with a hand dressed in an old fingerless glove. Michael stares at him in awe - what the hell is Trevor doing here? If he is right in his assumption and the grave is still too fresh, the place would be swarming with FIB agents, waiting for those stupid enough to come his grave. Michael raises his hands to place them on Trevor’s shaking shoulders, but in his new form, his palms go right trough them only to fall back to each of his side. “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, TREVOR!” He tries as a feeling of panic raises within him. The taller man not even flinch. “TREVOR!!!”

The only answer he gets is the sound of teardrop crash landing in the snow beneath his feet. It is the first time Michael notices the broken posture and his shaking chin, with a stream of tears flooding it. It is the first time he sees Trevor truly broken. It is the first time he sees what Trevor meant when he told him he loved him.

“I know you hate it when I’m crying Mikey, but I… I just can’t help it” Trevor uttered in a high, shaky voice. “I’m just so sorry!”. Michael instinctively jumped when Trevor fell to his knees where he would stay if he had a real body, not holding back anymore. “I’m so sorry Mikey! This is all my fault!”

Even in his current form, Michael’s chest tightened. He has never admitted he hated to see Trevor cry only because it hurts him a great deal, and now with his closest friend kneeling broken on his alleged grave, the pain comes uninvited and sits on his back as heavy as a fucking mountain. 

“If I… If I stayed... if I was the one who helped Brad you could…”

“No, Trevor. If you stayed, you would be dead. Don’t blame yourself for my fuck ups.”

“It’s funny, I can almost hear you now, you know?” 

Michael freezes on the spot. Could it be... “Trevor, T, can you hear me?”

A low chuckle escapes Trevor’s mouth before it is muffled by sobs once again.

“Yeah, I know, it’s bullshit. Of course, I cannot hear you. I am just imagining things, I guess... I just want to hear your voice once again. I want to hold you and kiss you one last time. Remember that time,” Trevor blows his nose and takes in a deep breath, finally getting a grip of his crying “Remember when we stopped by a lake in the middle of nowhere, and you wanted to go swimming? How we planned to stay for a night but ended up camping for a whole week? I’ve never told you how beautiful you are in the morning light - I just called you a fatso then and you smashed my head with a pan.” Corners of Trevor’s mouth twitch with a shy smile upon the memory. Michael just watches him, desperate to hold him close and never let him go. Of course, he remembers the summer of ‘89 and the glint in those amber eyes whenever they watched him. He remembers the bubbly laughter, flat beer and the smell of campfire in Trevor’s hair when they made love.

“Remember how we drank so much we started slow dancing at midnight and the sky reflected in your eyes? That was the first time I told you I love you. You laughed and shrugged it off. But I meant it then and I mean it forever.” Trevor’s tears easily tear down his weak self-control and make his fists hit the ground with crushing force. “You told me I had no idea what love is, but I do, Michael, I DO!” A sudden yell made a couple of other people increase their pace and turn around in fear. “AAAARGH, I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH MIKEY IT TEARS ME APART!! I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU!”

Only now that Trevor hunched over the grave has Michael noticed a rope, resting stuffed into one of Trevor’s coat pockets. Oh no. Oh fuck. What is he going to do? Is he really going to… “TREVOR!”

The man in question just let tremors run through his body, hunched over the grave.

“TREVOR! DON’T TELL ME YOU WANT TO HANG YOURSELF!”

The only answer is the man slowly rising to his feet, chin pressed to his chest, dirty hair falling to his eyes.

“T, PLEASE, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”

Trevor turns his gaze from the tombstone to an oak and its bare branches, standing mortified in the far end of the cemetery.

“NO, T, DON’T DO IT! I AM RIGHT HERE, PLEASE T!”

Corners of Trevor’s mouth twitch in what could be a smile, but Michael knows deep down it is relief. With the love of his life dead and gone, the world turning its back on him, with no future whatsoever, Trevor wants to go down the path of the last resort, the path Michael dreads.

“T, PLEASE!! I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU PLEASE DON’T!”

An easy, tired smile settles on Trevor’s lips. 

“Today is different, Mikey. I think I really hear you now - it is as if you said you loved me and wanted me to stay. But we both know I can’t love a whisper in the wind. You are here now and in a second you are gone. As always.”

Trevor takes a few steps, crunching of the fresh snow piercing the darkening sky.

“I want to be there with you, to see you and feel you the way you let me when we were young and high.”

Snow under Trevor’s feet listens in fear of what is it about to witness. Michael reaches out but fails to get hold of his friend once more. Trevor’s shoulders tense for a second before relaxing once again with a heavy sigh.

“Please don’t try to stop me, Michael. I have nowhere else to go. I need you.”

Trevor’s steps grow frequent as he inevitably approaches the tree and halts right in front of it, his fingers brushing over the smooth cold bark.

“Goodbye, Mikey. For now. I’ll see you in a few.”

Michael’s panic rises to levels he didn’t think were possible. He knows he can’t help Trevor, he knows he can’t reason with him but fuck him if he does not try to save him.

His eyes frantically search for someone, anyone he could call and alarm. The cemetery is almost empty. The only sound is the soft swish of snowflakes and screeching of Trevor’s boots as he climbs the tree to fasten the noose. There must be someone here - Michael knows his grave is the perfect moth trap - and fuck him if he’s wrong but there is a familiar figure leaning against the metal fence. “Oh shit, it can’t be…”

Dave Norton has just returned from his afternoon break with a cup of steaming coffee and a fresh issue of Los Santos Times when a strange touch of ice-cold air on the scruff of his neck makes him shiver. It’s not like he’s not used to long hours in freezing temperatures, but this one is oddly different. He puts down his cup and traces the back of his neck with hot fingers, but the snowflake he is searching for is nowhere to be found. “Oh well, whatever. Just a wind.” He thinks as he grabs for a cup when is suddenly tumbles over and spills all the coffee into the snow. In many years he has been an agent, Dave learned not to be surprised by a lot of things. Tax evasions, sex scandals, terrorist threats. It all shaped him in a twisted way and let him harden enough to act cold and precise in any situation he happened to be in. But this shit, it surprised the fuck out of him. He didn’t even touch the cup! There is absolutely no logical explanation of why it would bounce up and spill like that except for something grabbing it and letting go. Suddenly, the cold sensation was back and made little hair on his neck stand up in fright. Turn around. Look behind you. Turn around and look now. Those words bounce inside his head as if it was a pinball board and someone stubbornly added more and more balls to it. His head throbs, fighting the intrusion to no avail. In one bright flash of white light, a simple sentence appears right before his eyes: Turn around PLEASE!!

Ok ok, he’s turning NOW and… oh shit…

Michael has never felt this spend and tired in his life. He can barely see the outline of his own ghostly body now as it slowly dissolves into the void. Even if he wanted, he would barely give a fuck with the scene right before his eyes.

Dave stands below Trevor, forcing him up and back onto the branch. Trevor’s reddened face is damp with tears and his voice is hoarse when he shouts at Dave and begs him to let go, kicking a couple of times. Dave grabs for his gun and cuts the rope with a couple of shots that echo through the dark and bounce from one grave to another. Trevor falls into the abused snow below him with a loud thud and curls up in a fit of pained cry that makes Michael feel like shit. It is all his fault. The dark purple ligature mark in place of Trevor’s future “cut here” tattoo screams at him accusingly what his own mind has offered him so many times he stopped counting.  He always put himself first and made people who cared about him miserable. If only he could lay beside him if only he could comfort him, if only he was given a chance to tell him how much he loved him, how much he cared, how sorry he was for things to come to this end. His final thought before he dissolves in the crisp air is of a pair of warm amber eyes looking up at him with so much love and care it makes him shiver. “Please forgive me, T.”

 Ba-dum

A flash of bright white light led him back to his body this time. A roar of thunder kick-started the time. The shining diamonds of the raindrops hit the ground with a final splash before glazing the concrete with a red light covered wet coat. Up above him, Franklin curses. What a nice kid. “I forgive you,” he thinks as he braces himself for the impact. “I have the death I deserve” When Michael feels the cold touch of death on his back and draws in his lasts breath, the pure white light shines back in time with his racing heart, each flash brighter than the one before. All the pictures of his life run before his eyes - the first time he saw Trevor, the first time they kissed, the birth of Tracey, her first laugh and first uncertain steps, Jimmy’s first words, years of denial, broken promises drowned in whiskey and his recent flashbacks. He is about to die with a regret, Michael notes with a bitter taste on his palate - and that would be to make all of this right. If only he was strong enough to see past his beliefs and just let things happen as they were meant to be. If only he could turn back time, hug Franklin and let him handle things the way he wanted, call Amanda and let her go figure out her own happiness, give his children enough money to go to college and live on their own and then run into the pair of arms he sorely missed. If only he could tell him how sorry he was and how much he truly meant to him. He would hold Trevor close right there, in his ramshackle, grim-soaked trailer, stroke the summer heat out of his hair and whisper his feelings right into those beautiful ears. Yet another strike of thunder reminds him of what happened in the cemetery and the last teardrop escapes his eye and slips down his cooling cheek only to join millions of its kin on the ground as he exhaled one last time.

I love you, M. “I love you, T.”

[wiltingpierrot]

“No Peeking!” [Crona!Spinel AU]

So some of you actually wanted to read the writing I cut out from an ask and it really makes me happy that you do. But instead of posting what I cut out as is, I decided to lengthen it some more. It’s 1,800+ words long already but I feel I have to create a rift in between. This one is 1,600+ words long.

I am by no means a fanfic writer, and this is my first time writing something like this. So my er... style might be unsavory to some. This might feel rushed and you may find some mistakes here or there. Again, I’m not a literary type of artist.

Anyways, I wrote this while listening to Salve Maria from the Soul Eater OST on loop and I thought some background music helps.

Here’s a youtube link.

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

You’re in a dark room with no light present at all. You’re counting from one to a bajillion and you’re not sure where it ends. You keep losing count and have to start over again each time. “No peeking, we’re playing hide-and-seek,” she said.

“But Pink, that’s like a huuuuuuuge number! What if I lose count?”

“Oh silly Spinel, just start over.”

She closed the door in front of you.

...

You don’t know how much time has passed. The complete darkness has been hurting your eyes for so long, you can’t tell if they’re open or closed anymore. How’s the garden? At least there you have plant life to tend to.

You are so lonely, so very lonely. You only wanted someone to talk to. But you’re playing a game with your diamond. You have to follow the rules. Otherwise she’ll...

Your gem is starting to hurt. You’re starting to feel painful sensations, emotions. These emotions are not fun at all. You’re supposed to be happy that you’re playing a game with your Diamond. You wish, you really wish you could throw these feelings someplace else. You just don’t want to feel them right now.

Darn it! You lost count again. So you start over. Stupid sad feelings.

  You keep seeing her face in the black void, her annoyed face looking down at you. You keep seeing variations of these faces, even ones you never saw her make. You’re desperate to override them with happier memories of her. But each time you force yourself to conjure up her beautiful smiling face in your head, another frowning Diamond appears over it.

You frown as well.

 You’re starting to doubt your playmate. You’re starting to doubt yourself. You’re starting to hate yourself for how stupid and naive you are to believe you can actually count to an indefinite number before you can seek for your playmate. She doesn’t want you. She wants to get rid of you. You saw it on her face, how sick she was of you. That’s why she made you do this. She even locked you up in here. 

That can’t be right. These thoughts can’t be right. She said she’d be hiding somewhere and all you gotta do is count and then find her. And it’ll be the greatest hide-and-seek round in all of history. You wish you have a place to just dump all these thoughts when you don’t need them. You definitely don’t need them.

There’s only silence. There’s only darkness. You continue counting, reaching the 8th digit for the umpteenth time.

  You stretched your arm to have your hand feel around the walls, the ceiling, and the floors for the scratch marks you made. You really don’t want to lose count again. You wished you marked the first few hundred thousand a little smaller.

It really hurts your fingers. The fabric around the fingertips of your rubber gloves has been torn off from all the scratching. Well, it’s hard to scratch anything if your nails are covered in rubber anyways.

You just want to be done with counting so you can go out and find her. How much more should you count?

 ...

You lost all space eventually, and so is the hope you are ever getting out of here. You stopped counting. The silence only worsens the buzzing noise blasting in your ears. Your hands reached for your face, clutching the skin surrounding your eyes. They reached for your hair next and started tugging and pulling. Your face feels wet; something is flowing out of the corners of your eyes and onto the roughly scratched floor.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Stupid!” Your eyes widen just as you felt a sharp blow to the back of your head and fell flat on the floor. It didn’t stop there. What felt like a pair of fists continued pummeling at you. “Stupid, stupid, STUPID, MORON!” Each word punctuated at each punch. It hurts. “IDIOT, STUPID HEAD, what a FUCKING DUMBASS!”

It hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS. You beg for it to stop. Your hands desperately try to stop whatever is behind you, but you felt nothing. Finding the strength to turn around, you’re ready to face the meanie and- it stopped.

It’s silent again. No one’s here but you. You wondered if you’re just imagining things, but the damage dealt to you felt very real. It still hurts. The words the voice said skewered even deeper into your gem.

You fall to the ground, your back lay flat on the rough floor with arms resting lazily at your sides. Strangely, your arms feel tired and your knuckles are sore. You’re just… so very tired.

  You pondered about the voice you heard in the silence. She… she? She sounds like you. But it’s all rough and gruff, and the echoes they carry are pitched a tad lower. It growls and roars and screams in ways that sounds feral and monstrous. You’re scared. What if she comes back and hurts you more somehow?

  It happened again. And again, and again. You always end up a pained, crying, and quivering mess afterwards. She kept saying mean things to you and Pink. It’s not very nice. It bothers you however; how your hands always end up in places you don’t want them on after every beating. How they always feel sore when the silence comes back.

At times you find your hands gripping tightly around your neck, or clutching at your hair. At other times your fingers are dug into the edges of your gem, as if they were trying to pull it out. There are times where the pulling wouldn’t stop until you feel an electrifying sensation and your form glitches, forcing the hand to let go.

You wonder if it was all real or not. If the voice you’re hearing was your own all along. If the hands that harm you are the ones you possess.

  One more try. You started counting. Back to number one.

It’s better than this painful noise ringing in your head.

   ...

 “Listen ya dumb little sack of shit. When are ya gonna stop counting your stupid little numbers, and get your stupid little legs a MOVE ON!?” She’s gripping the top of your head and your chin so roughly it hurts. You still can’t see her. You still can’t feel at her, but she can definitely grab and hurt you. It’s not fair.

“But… but Pink said-“ a couple of fists grinds at the two sides of your cranium.

“Are ya fucking KIDDING ME? Ya always say the same thing EVERY TIME. Pink this, Pink that. GET IT THROUGH YOUR THICK HEAD dumbass, she DOESN’T CARE ABOUT YOU!” her voice changes volume at times that don’t make sense but it hurts your ears all the same.

She’s… not exactly wrong.

…

   You poofed somehow. All you remember is that you got so fed up with the terrible treatment and you reached into your gem. For the first time in millenniums your eyes caught a glimpse of a faint, pink light. Your hand was able to pull what felt like a short handle, smooth and glassy.

Extend.

A pink, glowing blade manifested from the end of the handle, all sharp and curved. A handy sickle. It brought good memories of the lovely garden. The garden. You imagine the place is no longer the beautiful little playground it used to be.

Your hand gripped tighter around the handle. What do you intend to use it for? Even with this faint light present you still couldn’t see her. The glow coming from the blade, while faint as it was hurts your unaccustomed eyes. Looking around the radius of the small glow you could finally see the scratch marks. How ugly… rough, and desperate looking they are. You don’t remember the details, but the way the scratches looked made an almost audible snap in your mind.

The curved end of the blade, while never hitting its intended target, had made its way deep into your shoulder.

...

 And now you’re back in the complete darkness. And you feel different. Your clothing feels different for sure. You put your hands onto your torso and felt something you can describe as “dark”, cool, and smooth. Your heels felt like there’s something hard and slightly heavy attached to them. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel… you.

…

You winced. Your eyes widened. A rapidly growing pain spreads around your back. You clutched tightly and desperately around yourself but it does nothing to stop the agonizing sensation. You felt thick liquid flowing beneath your skin. How is that possible?

What started from little whimpers and groans turned into an agonized, bone-chilling scream. You started writhing in place, your hands grabbed at your head. Your fingers dug into your scalp and pulled, causing your back to curl forwards.

It’s too much. It’s too much.

Suddenly, you felt something burst out of your back. No amount of words can explain the pain you feel at that moment. It’s that voice again. Her terrifying, bloodcurdling cry echoed loudly around the room. It was so loud, your ears could pop. She continued to scream, and it gradually turned into manic fits of boisterous laughter.

“FINALLY! HAHAHAHAAA!” A gleeful yell sounded from your back. You finally stopped screaming as the pain gradually goes away. You still feel very sore however.

 Trembling, you dared to turn your head to take a peek of-

Oh. If you are any organic being, you would’ve soiled your shorts already.

----------------BONUS-------------

-6,000 years ago-

“Apologies, my Diam- er, My Rose Quartz. I can’t help but notice that your Spinel is not with us. Is she alright?” 

“Oh, pffft, she’s fine. I have her play hide-and-seek to make her stay put for a while. She’s counting to like, a bajillion or something right now. Gives me plenty of time to visit the Kindergarten with just you by my side.” 

Pearl can’t help but blush slightly. It soon fades away when she had a little realization though.

“Umm, my Rose Quartz, I’m afraid “a bajillion” is not a definite number.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that… she could be counting forever.”

 Rose stared blankly at her Pearl. Her eyes widened. After what felt like a few minutes she finally waved it off. “She’ll figure it out. It’s not like I locked the door or anything. She’ll just get bored eventually and get out of there.”

“D-door?” 

“You know, the secret little bunker under the moon base?” 

“…My apologies, Rose Quartz, but I don’t recall hide-and-seek using-” 

Rose made an exasperated sigh. Pearl was starting to regret what she said until Rose Quartz spoke up again.

“I just… needed a break from her, you know? She can get a little… annoying.” The last word was said through gritted teeth. “Besides, I always wanted to spend the day with just the two of us this time.”

Pearl’s blush returned at full force and she couldn’t help but smile fondly at her Diamond in disguise.

When Rose Quartz urges her to follow her further into the Kindergarten, Pearl can’t help but move as if she has an extra spring in her step.

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

Umm, yes. This is my attempt at writing. 

This is like an alternative to the usual waiting game from the movie. That means how she will antagonize the Crystal Gems will be different from the usual injector+rejuvenator method as well.

Spinel will come to Earth a lot sooner, but will meet the Crystal Gems a bit later than the original timeline. Sometime after Connie comes back from her Space Camp.

[themurphyzone]

Nova Ch 3

Ch 3: Planet 

Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to Earth we go!

New Selenian Date 3015.4.13

After several months of grueling labor, the Conquistador is finally complete! We’re proud to consider it our magnum opus for now. Of course, taking over Terra will replace it as the crown jewel of our achievements later.

Currently, we’re in the process of loading the vessel with a two-week supply of sustenance. We won’t have to ration food, considering our projected route is only a one-week journey. I imagine we’ll get tired of canned maza pods rather quickly though. It’s nutritious, but the flavor is lacking.

Good riddance to this barren rock. Unlike the spineless, cowardly Selenians, we’re leaving for the right reasons and with an objective in our brilliant minds.

You won’t have to wait much longer, Terra. We’ll be arriving soon enough.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Despite the excitement of leaving behind his old life of a lowly mos on a failing colony, he also felt some unwanted trepidation at leaving Penumbra Lab completely. He wouldn’t have the thrum of the holographic projector under his fingertips, the hidden pathways he traversed to avoid the non-enhanced mos, and most importantly, the sight of Terra through the large, weakening glass windows.

Terra wouldn’t appear as a colorful marble in a black void once he was on the planet. He’d have an entirely new perspective.

Exciting, yet daunting.

There was also the small matter of domination, of course.

“My, somebody’s ready to depart from this miserable rock,” Snowball chuckled, flicking Brain’s ear. It twitched against his will and wrecked his concentration. Did Snowball really think the magnet gun was going to work on its own? Somebody had to keep a constant electromagnetic field going so they wouldn’t have to manually load the canned maza into the ship’s pantry!

Brain batted Snowball’s hand away with the handle of the magnet gun and ignored the reproachful glare he was given. “I’m always ready to depart from miserable rocks, condemned labs, and irritating aisam who can’t keep their hands to themselves,” he said, regaining control of the magnet gun and bringing the last of the canned maza into storage.

“You wound me, Brain.” Snowball clutched his chest with his non-bruised hand. “Your barbed words are tearing me apart from the inside. The internal bleeding is quite agonizing.”  

Brain rolled his eyes at the theatrics, turning the gun off and storing it inside a hidden panel on the wall. There were four similar panels with weapons aboard the Conquistador, courtesy of Snowball. He’d acquired the parts from other labs and cobbled them together in his spare time, much to Brain’s disapproval.

Snowball argued that they needed self-defense measures in case Terrans tried to attack as soon as the Conquistador landed. Brain had created a hypnotizing belt to cover that particular issue, but Snowball didn’t think it was effective enough.

There was a cold gleam in Snowball’s eyes when they had that particular argument. Brain relented because he’d assumed the constant solitude was affecting Snowball’s mind and he’d back to normal soon enough.

However, the normality was still missing.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. There were many preparations ahead, and he needed to focus.

“We have plenty of maza pods. The overabundance worked to our advantage,” Brain said. “And all important files have been transferred to the Conquistador for our perusal. There isn’t anything else we require, unless you believe we neglected something.”

“You’ve covered the essentials,” Snowball shrugged. “Sadly, I seem to lack…ah, how do you say it—a certain personal attachment to our current location.”

Brain bristled at the mere suggestion of having an attachment to this bleak prison. Terra just happened to be visible from his usual haunts and peripheral vision, and the holographic projector was an extremely useful device, but Snowball clicked his tongue before Brain could protest.

“If you’d allow me to finish, Brain. Penumbra Lab’s stocks of certain items were never replenished after its abandonment. I can’t blame you for being somewhat embittered about it. Rather a confusing paradox, don’t you think?”

“I’m above such pettiness, Snowball,” Brain scowled.

“Of course. I never meant to insinuate such a thing.” Snowball held his hands in what was meant to be a placating gesture, though it was more smug than true appeasement. “Now, while you were busy with the necessities, I took the liberty of leaving a surprise in your private room. I know, I’ve heard the ‘I hate surprises’ spiel a hundred times, but it wouldn’t hurt you to humor me every once in a while.”

“Forgive me for not indulging your odd sense of humor more often,” Brain said dryly, but he allowed Snowball to lead him through the corridor into Brain’s expanded room at the back of the Conquistador.

The door to his quarters automatically slid open as they approached, which Brain was grateful for. Brain expended far too much energy trying to crack open Penumbra’s heavy titanium doors. Motion detector lights illuminated the left, providing just enough light for his work without disrupting the sleeping area on the right. A monitor was linked to the systems in the control room, which would alert him if anything that required his urgent attention cropped up. The earpiece and filter for his transmissions rested on a computer that contained important files related to Terra.

But what really caught his eye were the ten packets of blue, star-shaped seeds on his bed. Brain picked the nearest one up, the seeds crunching against his hand as he thumbed the plastic lining. He hadn’t eaten these since he was a child, though his mind had retained the memory of a sweet flavor mixed in with the blandness of a lab creature’s usual fare.

He popped a seed in his mouth, the sweetness exploding across his palate and reminding him of a bygone time before his enhancements enabled him to recognize the lab for what it was truly was.

“Snowball, how did you find rusuphri?” Brain asked. He’d meant to demand, but his voice sounded more breathless instead, much to his dismay. “Penumbra doesn’t carry these anymore. I’ve searched.”

“Oh, just a chance finding during one of my supply runs to Eclipse,” Snowball replied. “Only the best for a dear friend. Wouldn’t you agree, Brain?”

But Brain’s antennae receptors only sensed cold electricity, and if there was an undercurrent of warm electrons flowing through Snowball’s neurons, it vanished before he could pick up on it. He was used to this sort of output from Snowball though.

Meddling receptors. Brain flicked them out of annoyance, the red orbs bobbing in and out of his vision. He loathed Eclipse Lab. It wasn’t a secret. Snowball must’ve known that his gift could’ve been rejected because of where it came from.

A risky gamble on Snowball’s part, but Brain couldn’t bring himself to hate the rusuphri at all.

He and Snowball had eaten these seeds all the time as children. Before everything became complicated and machinery and silence. Perhaps it was the nostalgia factor, but Brain only felt a rush of gratitude.

“Thank you, Snowball.” Brain held the rusuphri to his chest like a lifeline, unable to stop his lips from quirking up at the corners.  

If Snowball was surprised at the rare show of appreciation, his mask of nonchalance hid it well.

o-o-o-o-o

New Selenian Date 3015.4.14

Snowball and I are departing New Selene at last! We have no reasons that shall keep us from leaving this forsaken abyss!

I will continue sending transmissions from my private quarters on the Conquistador until our triumphant arrival on Terra.

Signing off for now, the Brain.  

o-o-o-o-o

“Thrusters are warming up. A little light on your feet today, Brain?” Snowball smirked as Brain buckled himself into his cushioned seat in the control room. He’d just finished securing his transmission equipment so they wouldn’t float away and accumulate damage. It took him several minutes longer than he would’ve liked since there weren’t many handholds available to keep himself from knocking into the ceiling.

Brain’s patience wore thin from all this disorienting levitation, and he punched the buttons on his side of the control panel to work off his frayed nerves. “Keep practicing and you’ll be a showstopper for comedy night.”

Every lab contained an artificial gravity field to counteract New Selene’s weak pull, which was child’s play to duplicate into the engineering of the Conquistador. It was necessary to disengage the fields for the ship and lab to avoid overworking the engines during departure.

Brain couldn’t wait to get out into space. The Conquistador would operate on autopilot for most of the journey, they’d have their artificial gravity back, and Terra beckoned for them to come and save it from slow-minded ignoramuses. His thoughts were much clearer when his two feet were firmly planted on the ground.

“Oh please. I wouldn’t provide nearly as much entertainment as those simpletons during a Lor Altal.” Snowball wrinkled his nose in disdain, mist trailing from his claws. He pulled a lever and brought the supporting systems online. “Swapping hearts indeed. Bah!”

“Yes. A true disappointment. We won’t ever have the pleasant sight of Selenians exchanging a dripping yellow mass of cardiac tissue with each other,” Brain said.

He kept his tone neutral, but Snowball was too preoccupied with inputting their takeoff trajectory into the computer to notice Brain’s ears and antennae falling limp. Brain was painfully aware of the sensation, how his appendages dangled uselessly, and the nonverbal signs of weakness they screamed to the world.

Lor Altal was an intriguing ritual, purely from a scientific standpoint. How Selenians valued science and discovery, yet held their sentimental stories in high esteem was beyond Brain.  

Hypocrites. They were hypocrites and if Brain had to listen to one more fictional sordid affair between royalty of warring planets...

Well, he could hardly share his opinion on how to improve those particular plotlines with Snowball. He’d believe Brain actually derived enjoyment from those sorry excuses of storytelling.

Brain punched a button with more force than necessary. A gauge flickered to life, signaling that all power was being diverted to the thrusters. The floor trembled, the engine’s roar overwhelming his eardrums.

Snowball bared his sharp teeth in determination, gripping the launch controller at his station with both hands. He made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, and Brain glared back. Abandoning a deserted colony wasn’t something a mos did in a typical day. Brain’s hands nearly slid off his own launch controller, his palms slick with a thin layer of sweat.

This wasn’t a crazy dream. It was reality, the payoff from months of backbreaking labor. Snowball’s salvaging trips provided the materials. Brain’s engineering skills transformed them into a vessel that would carry them beyond the confines of New Selene and into territories unknown.

With the Conquistador as their trusted ship, they would conquer Terra and raise humanity to new heights!

“NOW!” Snowball bellowed.

They yanked the controllers toward their bodies, their heads shoved against the backs of their seats as the thrusters propelled them into the black void above New Selene. For one brief moment, Brain thought his internal organs were being scrambled inside his body, and he was pretty sure his stomach had dropped to lower intestine level and his lungs had somehow taken up residence in his cranium. Snowball wasn’t faring much better, though he was obviously in denial about needing the vomit bag under his seat.

With one final boost, the Conquistador straightened out, Brain and Snowball sliding forward as much as their straps and buckles would allow. Then they were snapped back, and everything went still.

Leaving New Selene orbit. Engage artificial gravity? a program asked.  

“Still…catching my…breath…” Snowball wheezed. His limbs hung off each side of the seat, completely limp from the thrill. He slumped against the headrest, pink eyes wide and tilted to the ceiling. His chest heaved with every quick, frantic breath.

Brain’s throat was far too dry and tight to work properly. With some effort, he reached over and tapped a key, confirming the program’s request.

Artificial gravity engaged.

The weightless feeling vanished, and they sank into the cushions in relief. Brain undid his straps and slid to the edge of his seat, carefully testing his weight on one foot while gripping the chair.

Once he was sure he wasn’t in danger of floating away, he hurried to a side window. New Selene was just a dusty, barren pebble in the distance. Had New Selene truly been that small the entire time? The landscape seemed so endless on the surface.

But there was no use dwelling on it. Their life on New Selene was an artifact of the past.

Ahead of them stood Terra, welcoming and ripe for the taking.

Anticipation flooded through him, and his excitement was so overwhelming that he forgot himself entirely and embraced Snowball. The aisam pawed at Brain’s head in a vain attempt to get him off. But Snowball’s needlelike claws couldn’t pierce through Brain’s newfound sense of purpose.

“I hope you’re amused, Brain,” Snowball muttered. “This bombastic display is ridiculous for any rational being.”

But it was the liveliest electrical current Brain had ever picked from Snowball.  

Later on, Brain would agree with him. Yet they’d accomplished their daring escape together. Now they would achieve the impossible through their combined intellect.

And he let himself revel in the triumph.

o-o-o-o-o

New Selenian Date 3015.4.18

Four days since we’ve left New Selene. We’ve placed the Conquistador in autopilot mode for the most part, though Snowball and I take the helm every few hours to make sure everything’s in order.

The Selenians have plotted many theoretical routes to Terra, and our programs are currently synthesizing that information for the fastest path there.

In less than a week, it will be worth it.  

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Transmissions were easy to complete and send now that the lab’s structure wasn’t here to obstruct his frequencies. True, he’d never received a reply, and the vacuum of space was still a hindrance, but at least he didn’t have to cart his equipment around and hope the non-enhanced mos left him alone.

From the information he’d gathered about Terra, transmissions would be even simpler on the planet’s surface. An atmosphere composed of a mixture of gases would enable sound to carry without the need for a voice-to-radio-wave filter. Communication mediums that sent messages in the blink of an eye.

He was feeling generous enough to give credit to the Selenians. They selected their topics of study well.

The door opened as Brain secured his equipment to the floor. Snowball strolled in, helping himself to several rusuphri seeds and snacking on them while he skimmed over the file left open on Brain’s computer.

“Research going well, I presume?” Snowball asked. He clicked through the pictures of various Terran landmarks and surrounding areas from a satellite’s view. “Huh. Are we sure there’s no official authority in charge of the entire planet? These images are incredibly thorough.”

“Perhaps if you’d knock first and not touch my things, I’d be more inclined to share my findings,” Brain scowled. He was willing to let the rusuprhi slide because Snowball put in the effort to locate it, but Brain had been reviewing the images of a structure aptly named the Great Wall of China and he didn’t appreciate losing his place.

Snowball pouted. “Come now. Is that any way to treat your colleagues, Brain?”

“If they pride themselves on being a nuisance, then yes.” Brain shoved Snowball aside, then held down the arrow key until he found the number of the image he’d been on. “Now, if you’re finished being an irritating scrik, I might be willing to share some details.”

“Oh, alright,” Snowball sighed. “But if any of this involves locating precious metals for certain accessories…“

Brain minimized the satellite image and brought up a surveillance report on the Terran global structure. He held a preference towards this particular author, since she had the most useful information by far. Her coworkers only put in the bare minimum, which consisted of observations about shiny buildings and how colorful everything appeared.  

Selenians had low standards for scientist qualifications.  

“According to this report, there isn’t a formal power invested in any particular being or organization for authority on the entire world, but Terra is divided into many countries and territories with complex local and international political structures. Some areas have more land, resources, or people, which leads them into conflicts with others.”

“And what about this…Google?” Snowball’s brow furrowed at being forced to say an unfamiliar, nonsensical word. “I’ve seen that name on many of the images you’ve found.”

“A major corporation,” Brain replied. “They have considerable influence in Terran politics and communications, including surveillance.”

He scrolled the report, skipping over the sections about various affiliates. Snowball’s eyes darted back and forth, gleaming with interest.

“Technology capable of reading one’s mind in their own homes,” Snowball mused after reading through a section that outlined other forms of Google’s technology. “How fascinating.”

“If such speculation is true, it’s creepy and a complete invasion of privacy,” Brain retorted, shuddering at the mere idea of his thoughts being broadcasted with just the push of a button. “Terrans are not only squandering their potential, they’re also using it for sinister purposes.”

“It’s a resource. If it’s there, it’s beneficial to us,” Snowball said with a long-suffering expression, like he was explaining a basic addition problem. His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Don’t tell me you regret our little voyage, Brain?”

Brain hated the condescension. He wasn’t a child tottering around on unsteady legs. And his name seemed like an oxymoron whenever Snowball pronounced it.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Snowball,” Brain growled, pacing around the room and making his displeasure known with every step, “I spent many sleepless nights pondering, researching, and building. This vessel was built out of dedication to our goal. I want to rule Terra just as much as you, and I refuse to let my effort be wasted!”

Brain pounded the wall with his fist to emphasize his point, a strange, hollow clang echoing from the section he struck. Just to be sure he wasn’t hearing things, he gave it another experimental knock. Then he noticed the thin, rectangular lines indented in the wall that indicated a hidden panel, one that wasn’t accounted for in the blueprints.

Brain pushed the panel aside, revealing a green blaster strapped to the inside wall. Its yellow handle was polished, and the trigger invited any weapon enthusiast to give it a test run. The sleek design promised swift and deadly force, the barrel spiraling into two sharp, triangular points with a red plasma knob in the center to focus its threatening beams on anyone foolish enough to be on the receiving end.

The blaster was small, but that only meant its power was concentrated tenfold.

Several orange plasma cartridges laid underneath the weapon, the fluids swishing lazily in their containers as if they weren’t waiting to be loaded.

“Why?” Brain asked, his mouth dry.

While his mind struggled to process the plasma blaster’s existence, Snowball sauntered up to him, hands clasped behind his back while he awaited Brain’s judgment.

“Your counterarguments aren’t rooted in logic, Brain,” Snowball explained with that condescending patience Brain hated so much. “We have to be prepared to conquer through force if necessary. Or suppose we need to defend ourselves? If a Terran attempts to kill you, do you truly think asking nicely will convince them otherwise?”

“How naïve do you believe me to be?” Brain snapped. “I told you before that a hypnotizing belt will suit our purposes just fine. You underestimate the power of suggestion.”

Snowball jabbed a claw into Brain’s chest. He stumbled back as white mist coated Snowball’s claw and left spiraling trails of frost across Brain’s jumpsuit, its insulation doing nothing to stop the chill creeping through his body.

“I believe you are being so incredibly, foolishly naïve,” Snowball growled. Brain tried to look Snowball in the eye and challenge him back, but his receptors were numb and the electron current was frigid. “Suggestion won’t guarantee results.”

It felt wrong. Movement generated heat. It was a basic principle of science. But Snowball’s electrons were sluggish even though his neurons were always firing with new ideas and cold where they should be warm.

“You self-sabotage your desires with your burdening attachments.” Snowball’s pink eyes narrowed. “I’m only trying to help you overcome that weakness. Why can’t you understand that?”

Brain latched onto that tiny amount of heat in the current. Enough fuel to burn away the cold, enough outrage at the implied lack of comprehension to break free of his daze.  

“I have no want or need for your so-called help, Snowball!” Brain snarled, slapping Snowball’s hand away. A chill shot through Brain’s palm, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain as best he could. “If you have nothing remotely intelligent to contribute, then leave!”

Snowball’s face became an impassive mask.

“Very well, Brain,” he said with no inflection in his voice. He turned on his heel and walked out.

And Brain was left alone with the lingering frost, the blaster, and several packages of rusuphri that no longer tasted as sweet as they once did.

o-o-o-o-o

New Selenian Date 3015.4.21

Though our voyage through space was more volatile than I expected, we’ve successfully approached Terra’s exosphere. Under other circumstances, it would be cause for celebration, but…

Well, Snowball has only spoken to me for essentials during the past few days. Usually so he can update me while he raids the pantry for maza or to catch up on sleep.

Our argument has only served as a reminder that we’re not…as united in our mutual goal as much I want to believe.

It must the length of the journey. Access to only four rooms in a one week period can give anyone a serious case of cabin fever. He’ll get better once we land on Terra’s surface, I’m sure.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Terra was absolutely impressive up close. Long white swirls decorated the blue oceans and greenish-brown continents far below, and Brain committed the sight to his memory forever. On New Selene, Terra was just a strange marble floating in a dark abyss. Not even the only marble. Just one of billions of celestial bodies out there.

And it would soon be their world to rule, to mold, to improve.

Selenian files claimed that Terra had explored more of space than the depths of their own planet, and since Terra hadn’t progressed far enough to send humans past the moon, then that lack of drive to discover was something Brain sorely needed to fix.

“Are you seeing this, Snowball?” Brain asked, pressing himself up to the window so he could drink in the wonderful view surrounding them.

But Snowball only yawned without bothering to stifle it. Then he typed commands into a computer, only looking up to watch a satellite drift past the Conquistador.

Brain saw his reflection’s ears droop. Scowling, he reached over his shoulder and tugged his left ear up, holding it in place until it stayed upright. He looked ridiculous, but the only one who could take notice never said anything, not even a sarcastic quip.

Terra-gazing suddenly didn’t hold much appeal anymore.

Sighing, Brain shuffled over to his computer and brought up a program that would chart a landing course for them. The program locked onto their current position, somewhere above a continent called North America. Brain only tapped keys when a command prompt appeared, finding it difficult to concentrate on where they’d end up landing, but he quickly sat up and shook himself out of his stupor.

If he wasn’t careful, he could send them plunging straight into the depths of Ohio. Before the colony’s abandonment, some hapless sociologist in Zenith Lab went stir-crazy from being assigned Ohio for a research thesis. After that, he became the topic of all conversations after his little stunt with the maza can and screwdriver was recorded for all of New Selene’s viewing pleasure. Brain had no desire to end up like that poor sap.

So he typed away, flicking his left wrist to get rid of the cramping sensation that was starting to build up. Coordinates, relative position, and preferred angle of descent all factored in to selecting their destination. He inputted the numbers he’d memorized back in Penumbra, hit enter, and let the program do the rest of the work.

It would take several minutes to run the numbers and configure the best trajectory, so Brain reclined in his chair and watched Terra while he waited.

Funny how the planet appealed to him again after he’d finally turned his attention elsewhere. He just couldn’t stay away from its ethereal glow.

“Brain.”

Brain startled at the sound of his name. It had been a while since Snowball pronounced it without a sneer. Snowball approached, casually slinging an arm across the back of Brain’s chair as green slowly inched across the progress bar on the computer.

“You’ve been working,” Snowball said.

Short sentences were better than nothing. But even so, the obvious didn’t need to be stated.  

“Really? What gave it away?” Brain asked.

Snowball glanced at the ceiling and tapped his chin, taking his sweet time to voice his opinions.

“Consider it a hunch. I couldn’t help but notice that you appear a little…as they say, down.” Snowball put his hand against his large cranium, then let his hand hover an inch above Brain’s head, flattening his antennae. Sadly, antennae didn’t count in accurate measurements of height.

Brain scoffed. “You have a keen sense of observation, Snowball. As anyone with half a retina can see, I’m one of those unfortunate organisms without a genetic makeup that favors height.”

“Yes, that does seem to be a…small issue,” Snowball smirked at his own joke, and Brain buried his face in his hands. Being poached and experimented on wasn’t terrible enough for the universe.

Whoever was in charge of the place just had to torture him with a terrible comedian for a companion too.

Brain hit a key in rapid succession as if it would make the progress bar fill any faster. “Are you going to do something productive or do you still insist on tormenting me for your own amusement?”

Snowball glanced at the computer. The progress bar had been halfway filled with green for the past two minutes, with no signs of progression in the foreseeable future.

“We’ve made it, Brain,” Snowball declared. “Soon Terra shall have our names emblazoned on golden banners everywhere.”

Golden banners. Parades in their honor. People bowing for miles and miles as far as the eye could see.  

For such a grand vision, their arrival appeared rather lackluster.  

“I was expecting this to be the grandest moment of our lives,” Brain admitted. “Yet nobody’s responded to my transmissions, and our journey was spent flitting between controlling the ship and taking care of necessary functions for life. It’s rather underwhelming.”

“Yes, there does seem to be a certain lack of fanfare,” Snowball mused. “But who said we couldn’t add a little flair of our own?”

Brain shrugged, dragging his hands down his face when the progress bar halted yet again. “Depends on your idea of flair. We never packed materials to host our own welcome party.”

“Perhaps not. But moments of imminent triumph demand food consumption. Unless you couldn’t resist the allure of delicious rusuphri, of course. We should have some before making contact with the surface,” Snowball said, poking Brain’s stomach.

“It’s rude to comment on a mos’s weight, Snowball,” Brain muttered, pushing the aisam away so he had room to stand up. “But partaking in a victorious toast with rusuphri just before we begin our descent is not without merit.”

“All of my ideas have merit,” Snowball said, following Brain to the door. Snowball waved his paw near the motion sensor, the door opening with a pneumatic hiss. There was little point to chivalry when it came to advanced technology though. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Brain. I’m rather famished.”

Brain shook his head as he stepped into the corridor. “Yes, I’m sure you’ll be feeble and emaciated in the three minutes it’ll take me to retrieve a packet.”

Snowball only smiled in response, like he found starvation amusing. Then he sat in Brain’s chair, the door closing before Brain could yell at him to get out.

Resigned to having his designated spot occupied, Brain walked past the pantry and Snowball’s room, the latter only used for the bare essentials. After a week of limited accommodations, Brain would never again question the luxury of wide open spaces.

Once he got to his room, he dug the packets out from between the wall and his bed.

He didn’t tell Snowball that he’d only eaten two packets of rusuphri during their entire journey and left the rest untouched. The treat had become tainted after their argument, and the usual sweet flavor just hadn’t been there. Maza didn’t taste like anything, so he had to live with the lack of stimulation for his taste buds over the past few days.

As a test, he crunched one of the blue seeds between his teeth, and the sweetness coated his tongue once more.

The perfect treat for their victory.

Clutching the open packet to his chest, Brain rushed to the door, remembering belatedly that he should at least try to conduct himself with a dignity befitting a world emperor and-

He slammed into the door.

The impact left him seeing stars, and he shook his head to rid himself of the dizziness. Then he kicked it, but he was forced to abandon that after a few strikes because his heel began to throb.

It was automatic. If there had been an issue with the Selenian design for automatic doors, he would’ve caught it long before this point.

“Useless hunk of metalloids and wires,” Brain growled at the door, like it had emotions to hurt.

The lights flickered once, twice, then shut off completely, bathing the entire room in darkness. And while Terra was still visible from his small window, its azure glow only lit the window and two feet beyond that. Not nearly enough.

Clutching the packet of rusuphri to his chest, Brain hurried over to the monitor, his heart pounding wildly out of his chest.

He hadn’t come this far, spent months toiling on this project, just to succumb to a poorly timed malfunction!

Brain smacked the monitor with his palm, the screen refusing to display anything.

“Snowball!” Brain shouted. “Snowball, answer this instant! This blackout has caused our automated system to trap me in my room!”

He banged on several keys, in case there was an off-chance that audio still went through.

His channel wasn’t reaching its destination.

Snowball was still in the control room. Was their alert system for mechanical trouble still online? Was their main source of power breaking down?

This was impossible. They were destined to rule Terra. That dream had driven them through many hard nights, arguments, and impasses.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a mighty king someday? Why are you so afraid, Brain?”  

Whether it was Snowball or his own voice taunting him for cowardice, he didn’t know. But he was going to prove it wrong.

The walls creaked ominously.

The orbs on his tail and antennae vibrated with nervous kinetic energy, distracting him until every last thread of logic slipped through his fingers. Brain dropped the packet, and the seeds scattered across the floor.

“Snowball?” he called, trying to sound demanding, but his voice came out weak and tiny instead.

Then he remembered the blaster he’d been so insistent on not using. Well, he wouldn’t be using it for the purpose Snowball intended, but he didn’t have many options.

Brain’s trembling fingers couldn’t grasp the panel without sliding off, and it took him several tries before he was able to shove it aside.

Focus. Load the cartridge. Shoot door. Escape room. Check controls. Find Snowball.

Brain chanted his mental checklist over and over in his mind, his hands missing the blaster’s handle as he tried to tug it free from its secure position.

There were straps. He needed to unstrap it from the wall first.

The prospect of failing was causing him to lose concentration.

He was going to lose his opportunity to rule Terra. He was going to lose the vessel he’d toiled to build.

And he was going to lose Snowball.

While they’d had plenty of disagreements, Snowball was the only companion he’d ever known. Even if Snowball wasn’t always there to be a companion with how often he traversed New Selene.

No, he wouldn’t lose Snowball to some inopportune mechanical issue.

They would be crowned co-emperors, attach their names to major establishments, let their legacies be renowned for centuries after their inevitable deaths!

With that vision spurring him forth, he undid the straps of the blaster and pulled it free, snagging a plasma cartridge with his other hand.

The Conquistador jolted.

Thrown off-balance, the cartridge slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor, orange liquid and metal shards pooling around his feet. Brain took a step back in an attempt to right himself, crying out as a particularly sharp piece of metal cut into the sole of his right foot. He was lucky it didn’t go in all the way, his jumpsuit mitigating some of the damage, but it stung fiercely whenever he tried to move.

Outside the window, colorful Terra swallowed the black void of space. Then he was thrown against the ceiling, the metallic roof hot against his back.

Brain tried to peel himself off, but his energy was spent just trying to avoid the unsecured shards and turning his head so the plasma didn’t splash against his mouth. The blaster and rusuprhi seeds bounced uncontrollably against the monitors, his body, and the walls.

If panic hadn’t overtaken his intelligence, he might’ve remembered that the paneling was fortified to prevent them from burning up in Terra’s atmosphere.

His mind claimed otherwise.  

Here lies a mos from the dilapidated colony of New Selene, intelligence and the natural properties of his species enhanced by the so-called greatest scientific minds of the century. Burning in Terra’s atmosphere to follow a grandiose dream.

If some miracle allowed his charred body to crash into the surface, perhaps someone would find the ship and his cadaver inside.

Ha. His body oh-so generously donated to science after his death without his opinion factored into the matter as it had in life. How was that for poetic injustice?

Another jolt. A sudden pitch to the left.

Falling.

A three-ounce mos falls at the rate of Terran terminal velocity from a height of six thousand miles. Calculate the rate at which his failure to achieve anything worthwhile plummets into the planet’s surface.

Just like a quantum physics equation. Brain almost laughed. A weak, rueful laugh was all he was capable of producing.

It might’ve been an eternity. Or eighteen hours. Or just a few milliseconds.

One more plunge. The metal shrieked and groaned as it impacted something solid and immovable.

Brain tumbled to the ground, pain shooting through his foot when he smacked it against the unsecured bedframe.

The blaster rolled to a stop against his left hand. The seeds stilled. The walls fell silent.

Brain gasped and caught his breath, his heartbeat roaring loudly in his ears. He tried to stand, but his back was uncomfortably hot and he couldn’t bear weight on his right foot without the harsh sting, and he was forced to lay on his stomach so the pain didn’t become completely unbearable.

He wondered if Snowball had made it out unscathed.  

That was his last coherent thought before darkness crowded his vision.

AN: Brain. You’re extending the word count with your angst.

Oops. I’m sorry Brain. I love you I swear. Why doesn’t he believe me, guys?

Rusuphri: Sweet blue star-shaped seeds. 

Lor Altal: Literal translation-sharing hearts. Oral storytelling between Selenians. 

This chapter was a doozy. The first two were short just cause I was introducing everyone. Idk if they’re all going to be this long. I’m not aiming for word count here. They’re as long as they need to be.

[kathyprior4200]

Entertainment in Inferno! (Alastor Enters Hell)

Part 1: “Alastor enters Hell” 1933

  Hell: 1933

 Black empty space.

Complete silence.

He felt like he was floating in some kind of void. Where he was, he didn’t know.

 He had no form, no physical sensations of any kind.

For a moment he just…was.

 A small white light emerged from the dark above, and steadily grew. Though it was blinding, the light didn’t bother him.

“Alastor…Alastor…”

A choir of vocals were speaking the repeated word in the distance. The voices grew louder as he felt himself rising upward. The word felt comforting to him, and sounded strangely familiar.

“Alastor…”

 He suddenly stopped and saw a golden gate up ahead within white clouds. A winged figure puffed up his white wings and stared at him.

“I am Puriel,” the angel said. He had a white face with red blotches on his cheeks, yellow eyes and short bronze gold hair. He was dressed in white dress pants, a white shirt, a golden bowtie, and matching shoes.

“I am an examiner of souls and one of many who determine where one goes in the afterlife.”

He spoke an incantation.

“Alastor Roscoe Duvalier,” Puriel stated. “Here is your previous form.”

Alastor gasped as he suddenly remembered his name. A flood of memories of his past life rushed back to him.

Alastor stared down at himself and saw his human reflection in front of him. A thin man with a pointed chin stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes and small round glasses. His skin was a very light brown, looking almost white. His hair color was in-between brown and red, short with a bit of a wave pointing to one side. The longest parts of his hair were slightly past his ears, reaching toward his chin.

A large black bowtie was positioned below his neck. His undershirt was white with buttons and crisscrossing lines forming a few diamonds. The design resembled the structure of a radio tower. Along with tan pants and brown boots, he wore a candy red pinstriped coat with dark red stripes going vertically down toward his waist.

What was disturbing about his reflection was a small red x on his forehead between his eyes that seemed to be glowing. His clothes were stained with blood as was the side of his face.

Alastor sprouted a large grin and instantly felt better. He said his name out loud, surprised to hear his voice.

 The angel in front of him continued. “Alastor Roscoe Duvalier, born in New Orleans to French American Joseph Duvalier and Creole American Loretta Duvalier. Entered Earth January 24th, 1896 at 3:00AM. Died in 1933 in the woods via a gunshot to the head and mauling by dogs.”

A brief flashback of him running from the police, trying to hide in the woods. Hearing the growling of canines and being surrounded by sharp teeth. A loud gunshot and an exploding pain through his head. Briefly seeing a buck in the distance before things went black.

Puriel looked through an endless holographic list of souls. He turned to Alastor with a glare.

“Due to the endless number of people you killed, you are not fit to enter Heaven. You are to either enter Hell, purgatory, Tartarus…” he listed off dark places from other cultures…

“…or go back to the endless void, as those who die a second death are fated to go.”

Alastor could feel a strange sensation, like someone, or something was tugging at his chest. It seemed to come from far below. He suddenly felt the need to follow it.

Having read his mind, Puriel nodded, a look of disgust on his face. “Your fate has been decided. Suffering and death will be there to meet you, unless you can somehow redeem yourself. Farewell.”

 The angel and the golden gate vanished, the darkness filling in again. Like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, Alastor felt himself plummeting rapidly down through the dark.

He literally screamed into the void.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He thought he briefly saw a familiar blue and green planet out in space, but everything rushed by too quickly for him to comprehend.

Breaking through dark ground, falling further into hot magma, uncomfortable heat that was even hotter than the sun…

Falling ever so endlessly, until he rushed through an opening portal in a crimson sky, the rim surrounded by flames.

 Down below, a group of little red skinned imps were forcing enchanted voodoo dolls made of straw to dance on hot coals. Red glowing chains held the dolls in place around their necks, the magic coming from the lead imp’s claws. The lead imp cackled, wearing ringmaster’s clothing and a round hat while the other imps jeered. A few demons watched the show from a distance. Several circus tents were lined nearby. The lead imp looked up in horror as the yelling figure fell down…and crushed him, creating a giant crater in the ground. The chains disappeared and the dolls cheered. They jumped over the coals and chased away their tormentors with sizzling silver pins.

The imp and Alastor fell through another portal, this time into a dark void.  Alastor landed hard on his back despite no visible structure being there. He coughed and slowly stood up, brushing off dirt and ash from his hair and clothes. The imp rubbed his long horns in pain and stood up too. The imp glared at Alastor, baring his fangs, but was quickly held into place via black tentacles pinning down his arms and legs. The imp yelled before being consumed by rows of sharp white teeth that appeared in the dark.

Alastor remained perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. (Not that he really could, anymore.) The black space was nothing like the silent void of death. In fact, it was more like an ocean of dark matter, humid heat and…

…things that were alive.

 Shadow spirits ebbed and flowed through the endless space, some with glowing white eyes, others with horns, all of them blending in within the dark. Shrieks, moans, and the occasional cackle filled the air.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,” Alastor spoke to himself.

“Hello to you as well,” said a voice from behind him.

Alastor spun around and only saw darkness.

“Who’s there?”

“Over here,” said the voice, in a distorted eerie tone.

He looked to the side and nearly gasped. Surrounded by an aura of red was a shadow of what looked like a skeletal humanoid deer. The figure stood upright with large white holes for eyes and sharp teeth inside its mouth. A pair of large antlers sat around shadow deer ears and a mess of hair. A claw with four fingers gripped Alastor’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” Alastor asked.

The being morphed until it was a black copy of him.

“I am you,” the shadow replied. “You may call me… Rotsala. I was born from your deepest nightmares, nestled in your subconscious. All of your evil thoughts, your fear, your rage…and your desire for vengeance. Those thoughts nourished me. Every kill you made on Earth brought you one step closer to not only death, but also to the underground Loas, and myself. Once you died, I was born with this shadow vessel, and separated from your mind. I traveled down here, to my home, knowing you would come. Now we are reunited at last.”

“But you’re not a part of me anymore,” Alastor said.

“Yes and no,” the shadow said. “Though I have my own body, I am still a reflection of your true feelings, your true motivations. So, naturally, once we get to Hell I’ll be your…guide, as it were.”

“But we can’t go back to Hell. Aren’t we stuck down here?”

“Not for long,” said the shadow. He pointed down to Alastor’s arm. Alastor looked and saw three glowing red voodoo symbols etched onto it in blood.

Alastor could sense other ancient beings moving closer to him, speaking in ghostly whispers.

The shadow continued, “Your debt to the Loas and specifically to Lord Kalfu has been paid. A sacrifice of loved ones in addition to your own gruesome death…bestows upon you, neigh unlimited power.”

 It all happened before Alastor had the chance to blink. Shadow creatures rapidly circled around him and black tentacles enveloped his entire body like a macabre cocoon. Alastor yelled as his human skin cracked, and peeled off his body in fleshy chunks, which soon faded into dust. Muscle and bone also disintegrated rapidly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t agonizing. It was more like the natural process of a snake shedding its old skin to make way for something new.

He felt formless, naked and cold, but soon warmed up as new flesh formed where his old exterior shell once was.

 His new skin and face were grayish in color. Empty dark sockets took up much of his face, the home of his new demonic red eyes. Soon, other body features formed: thin gray arms, legs, four fingered hands and four-toed feet…an anatomy of a male human, though definitely not human at all.

Alastor opened his mouth and sharp yellow fangs slowly emerged from the top and bottom. They closed together to form a wide sinister smile.

Thick red hair grew on Alastor’s head, pointing out in a slight wave toward the right like his previous human form. Tuffs of hair ending slightly past his chin on either side completed the look, ending with black colored tips. Instead of round earlobes, thick fluffy deer-shaped ears grew from the sides of his head, ending in black furry tips. In addition, small black antlers stuck out in the middle of his head, along with a fluffy black and red deer tail that appeared near his tailbone.

Alastor waved his hand in front of his right eye, and an old fashioned monocle appeared under it, connected by a thin chain. A burgundy pinstriped dress coat and a red undershirt materialized and covered his body. The ends of the coat were filled with several holes, giving it a tattered feel. An upside down black cross lay under a large black bowtie in place under his chin and neck. He wore the same color pants, plus black shoes with red deer hoof prints on the soles. Black gloves with red tips covered his four-clawed hands.

With his new form complete, the tentacles released Alastor and parted away.

 Tingling hot red electricity spread into his head, then moved down his body, much of it resting in his hands and fingers. He snapped on instinct and a burst of red magic sparked to life like a firework.

Then knowledge of magic and voodoo spells entered into his brain. The new information faded into the back of his head, staying there like he had it within him all his life.

“HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”

Alastor let out a maniacal laugh that rose higher into hysterical giggles. All this supernatural power was coursing through his veins, and he loved every second of it.

Finally the magic quietly faded with a humming sound.

Two shadow demon figures approached with silent steps, eyes glowing red. Alastor could barely make out their forms in the blackness.

“One more thing,” said the shadow. “Demons make deals down here in Hell, and they are not to be taken lightly. These two are friends of mine. They are a few of the representatives of this world below Hell.”

The shadow creatures morphed into two alternate versions of Alastor. The one to the left had a red deer head with large antlers, radio dials for eyes and a dark blue suit. The other one had an old fashioned radio for a head, and wore a red suit with a black tie with crisscross lines on it like those of a radio tower.

“These two have taken forms suitable to your liking. They were the main ones who helped transform you…you may call them by their pseudonyms Cerf and Muse.”

The two shadows turned men awkwardly waved, feeling out of place in their temporary demon costumes.

“Since they used all their effort to craft you a suitable body to enter Hell…it only seems fitting that you could help them out as well.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. There was more to this. “A proposal?”

The shadow nodded. “Give some of your newfound power to them and a connection will be forged between you and my brethren. You will be able to summon imps, shadow spirits and even the darkest creatures of the underworld with just a snap of your fingers. Cerf and Muse can serve as your bodyguards.”

Cerf walked forward. “I will give you animal instincts like sharp hearing and fast reflexes.”

Muse elbowed Cerf’s side and pushed forward. “I can give you something even better…your own personal weapon!”

Alastor was intrigued. “What is it?”

Muse smirked and wagged his claw, “You’ll have to agree to the deal if you want to find out!”

Alastor kept his smile on his face, standing proud in the face of uncertainty and risk. “And what’s in it for you?”

Alastor’s shadow grinned. “Why, your power, of course! Your sins on Earth coupled with your granted powers have made you, perhaps the most powerful demon yet to be. It would be quite useful for us in the long run.”

“Yes, yes,” said Cerf, “You know, ‘cause we want to eventually be free to roam Hell…and feast on delicious souls…havoc on the house!”

Muse elbowed him hard and flashed a warning.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Idiot,” he muttered.

“Aw come on,” said Cerf. “We worked for that Dr. Facilier not too long ago, remember? His soul’s still in Hell and he still has his Eldritch powers. This guy can’t be that bad.”

Alastor grinned, getting an idea. “Hmm…how much power do you want from me?”

“50%,” said the shadow.

Alastor scoffed. “Ha! No. Way too much. After all that effort in giving it to me? No. I won’t relent that easily.”

“Well…if you don’t take the deal, we could always take some away…”

Alastor leaned in close and sneered, “Then I guess I’d be left with fighting myself for eternity then. I think we both know that it would get boring fast.”

The shadow nodded after a pause. “Touche. How about 30%?”

“Still too much. I could give you a wealthy 1%.”

“It’s gotta be above a single digit, or the exchange is off,” said the shadow. “25%.”

“Nonono. How about 10%. You tell me where I can find this Facilier guy…make him my slave…it’ll be all yours.”

Alastor’s shadow held out his hand, the other creatures looking on eagerly. “So, do we have a deal?”

Alastor grinned and put his hand into the shadowy digit. Green electricity sparked as they shook.

Cerf and Muse spiraled around him in circles. Cerf vanished into Alastor’s ears, awakening his senses. Muse turned into shadow once more…and began to change shape. The shadow transformed and Alastor felt something appear in his right hand.

 It was an old red vintage microphone staff. A glowing red eye appeared on the top, just below where the speaker was.

“About time you sealed that surreal deal,” came a voice from the device. It was a male voice with a radio filter over it. It sounded like an announcer on a broadcast.

“So this is my new weapon and accessory you were talking about.” Alastor said.

“Yes indeed,” the microphone replied. “Just turn me on and you can broadcast what’s going on around you, anytime, anywhere. I should say…your desire and love for telling dad jokes…I’ll help you go overboard with it.”

Alastor grinned again. He was already enjoying this opportunity.

“Enjoy yourself while you can, Radio Star,” said his shadow before disappearing behind him.

The microphone muttered something about already feeling trapped but Alastor didn’t listen.

He was already planning his next move.

“What am I waiting for?!” he asked out loud. He concentrated on the space in front of him and a portal opened back to Hell. He stepped through it and it closed behind him.

 This would be the beginning of Alastor’s many conquests of Hell…and his new title of The Radio Demon.

 The very first attack occurred in a dark forest in the moonlight (if there were even moons in Hell). Alastor discovered that when he concentrated and waved his hands over the ground, he could summon tentacles, shadow spirits and even voodoo imps from below.

If he was going to take over this peculiar place called Hell and be entertained, at least he would have help.

The demonic deer could hear the patter of footsteps and hid in the shadows, behind an old tree. Moving his head sideways, he peered to get a better look. Walking on the trail were two skeletal deer walking on two hooves. One of them was smoking a cigarette and the other was talking about “borrowing” coins from his ex-girlfriend. Behind them was a black minotaur in jeans and overalls. The first deer carelessly threw his used cigarette on the ground.

Alastor stared at it and the path ahead, getting an idea.

He picked up a rock and threw it in the distance. It crashed hard into the ground, causing the area to shake.

The two deer froze at the explosive noise and turned their heads around.

“What was that?” one asked.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” said the second.

“You boneheads be hearin’ things,” growled the minotaur. He unzipped his backpack and took out an axe. He swiped several times in front of him, causing the deer to duck. “I pay you to protect me. Your job’s to cut down these trees for wood. Our saloon’s not gonna warm itself up in the winter ya, know.”

He kicked one of the deer with his hoof, sending the creature forward in a pile of bones. “Hurry up, now!”

The deer got up and continued forward. Alastor stretched out his hand and a black tendril snaked in front of the path. Invisible and silent, the deer didn’t notice it until they tripped over it.

“Aurgh!” they yelled, face planting in the dirt.

“You’re good for nothin’ but shit!” chided the angry minotaur. “Get your fat bony asses up before…”

FWOOOSH!

The lone cigarette erupted into flames from behind them.

“Before…that happens?” asked one of the deer, pointing behind the minotaur.

The flames moved rapidly through the dried wood. The deer rattled as they ran but were blocked as sparks ignited in front of them, with a snap of Alastor’s fingers. The barrier of fire blocked their path. Soon, the trio of sinners were surrounded by the flames.

“Now what?” asked one of the deer.

“Run through it, imbecile!” yelled the minotaur. “Or you’ll be even deader than you already are!”

Chuckling, Alastor turned on his microphone and strode forward, the flames having no effect on him. A spotlight shone from the eye that appeared in the center of the microphone.

“I believe I can help with that.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” spat the minotaur.

“The end of your pathetic existence,” Alastor said. “I’d say your attitude is sheer bullcrap, but who am I to know for sure.” He laughed at his pun as sounds of a laughing audience emitted from the staff.

The minotaur bellowed in rage and charged forward. A hard slap on the face from Alastor sent the bull man to the ground. Alastor stomped his foot and the bone deer were sent down into the depths in pieces.

“I’ve never hunted a bull before,” Alastor said, walking up to the minotaur on the ground. Four black spirits with big white eyes appeared to restrain him. A hunting knife appeared in his gloved hand. “…But I look forward to the new experience.”

He wedged the blade under the bull’s horns and began to saw through the material. The minotaur couldn’t fight off the spirits holding him down. Taking his sweet time, Alastor cut off the bull’s other horn.

“I must say, your horns are exquisite,” Alastor mentioned. He examined one in his hands like it was an artifact.

“Stealing my horns for the black market, are ya?” asked the minotaur.

“Nope!” he said. “I’m just curious to see how useful these things can be. We’re about to find out, ladies and gents…”

He rushed forward and stabbed the minotaur with his own horn. The bull roared loudly and briefly gurgled before falling backward with a limp. The horn was removed and coated with dark red blood.

Sticking out his long purple tongue, Alastor licked off some of the blood from the horn’s surface. He bent down and began to skin the dead minotaur before enjoying his midnight meal. “In case you were wondering, folks, bull meat can be hearty and tasty. Venison is my favorite, though.”

He stood up and wiped off his mouth. With a wave of his hands, the flames disappeared as did the spirits. Clearing his throat, he said in his announcer voice, “Welcome to the first ever radio broadcast, hosted by me, Alastor. 66.6 FM. It has to be deeply embarrassing to get stabbed to death by your own horn. But I don’t have any horns except the severed ones in my hand. Honestly, seeing the life leave that sinner’s eyes got me…should I say…horny. Ha ha ha! Stay tuned for more broadcasts in the future. Ta-la for now!”

He turned off his microphone with a tap and hummed a happy tune as he walked through the woods.

 The second massacre was much more exciting for Alastor. It took place at an annual fair, which was jam packed with demons. Alastor casually walked toward the line of demons waiting to get in. He whacked one demon in the back with his cane. The demon toppled forward, ramming into another demon, who tumbled into the next one. In a comedic domino effect, all the demons crashed to the ground in yelps and grunts.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked a grumpy old demon with the face of a mosquito. The insect demon wore a white shirt with vertical black stripes.

“Why hello there, good sir!” said Alastor, walking up to the booth. “I felt that the line was going much too slow, so I decided to speed things up.”

“Get back in line, punk,” the mosquito spit. “Or I’ll suck up your blood and energy.”

“Oh no, how scary,” Alastor exclaimed in a mocking tone. Still, he kept a protective spirit in his pocket for powerful demons like the one in front of him.

“Just tell me how much it costs to get in,” said Alastor. “I have lots of dosh.”

“One thousand and ten souls,” the mosquito grunted.

“I believe the sign only says fifty souls,” Alastor mentioned.

“No, it says one thous…”

He glanced at the sign which read: “County Fair, best in Hell, fifty souls.”

“It said one thousand and ten a moment ago.”

“I don’t think so,” said Alastor, laughing inwardly.

“Enough of your games!” bellowed the mosquito. “Get back in line. You should have enough to pay for this.”

“I do have fifty souls,” Alastor replied.

“One hundred and ten, idiot,” said the mosquito.

“Fifty!” Alastor answered.

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!” yelled the mosquito.

“How about zero!”

“Zero?!” yelled the mosquito.

“Zero it is! Thank you, fine sir!” called Alastor, swatting the mosquito’s face with his staff. He vanished ahead into shadow, leaving the mosquito in disbelief.

 Alastor hummed happily as he walked among aisles of stands and booths. Children monsters threw bombs at a target, sending a sitting bat demon into a tub of acid below.

“Rotten candy!” called a pink dragon at a booth. “Freshly spun for everyone!” Blue and pink candy floss was being spun, and scooped up into a white cone. The dragon burped and the candy turned a sickly green.

A hydra at another stand was throwing darts at live suspended teddy bears covered with sores, some with eyes missing. Another demon with a TV for a head was riding a unicycle while twirling live wires in his hands.

Off in the distance, a family of brown Gollums were riding on a Ferris wheel. One of the parents got mad and threw a baby Gollum off into the air.

A roller coaster with zombies in the cars sent them upside down, then dropping them several feet to the ground on a mattress of metal spikes.

 Inside a red and black circus tent, a crowd of demons sat in the stands, watching some individuals perform tricks in the center. A sign nearby read: “The Amazing Imp Siblings! Blitzo, Tilla, and Barbie Wire!”

Another sign read “The Incredible Blitzo! Big top, tickets now! One night only!”

“Come one, come all!” came the announcer’s voice from a speaker. “Presenting your favorite trio of tricksters…”

Drums played rapidly in the background…

“The Imp Siblings!”

Blitzo and his sisters emerged from an opening in the wooden floor and posed on a podium. The crowd clapped.

“Hello, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent!” called the imp in the middle. He wore a navy blue sequined outfit with yellow eye decorations on the sleeves. His face was red and white and his horns long and curved.

“I’m Tilla,” said the older imp sister.

Tilla’s face was red and her hair was long and black. Her dress was pink with black dots along the front.

“And I’m Barbie Wire!” said the youngest sibling. Barbie Wire wore a black and white stripped dress, and her horns were curved in spirals around her head like a ram.

After a jingle about their new Immediate Murder Professional Company, Blitzo mentioned to his siblings, who both grinned. The imps took their places as their performance started. Circus music played nearby, one scrawny demon playing a rusted organ on wheels off to the side.

True to her name, Barbie Wire balanced on a tightrope made of razor thin wire. When flying bats surrounded her, she took out a spear and sliced them down when they flew close. She almost fell, but held out the spear in front of her, steading herself.

Tilla was busy doing flips as a giant manticore was released from a nearby cage. The beast had a lion’s head, black bat wings, and the tail of a scorpion. Tilla dodged the deadly tail and began to jump over it like she was doing jump-rope. With a mighty back-flip, she landed on the manticore’s back and rode the beast around the arena. The manticore roared and reared up, but Tilla brought the beast back down, taming it.

Meanwhile, Blitzo was singing a song about murder into a microphone while twirling a double-sided torch in his hand. The three siblings killed off more creatures before landing gracefully back in the center before taking a bow. The crowd stood up and applauded with hands, claws, fins, and other appendages.

  “Wow, what a performance!” exclaimed Alastor, his voice blending into the cheers. “Now this is what I call one hell of a show!”

 The Radio Demon filed out with the rest of the crowd. Feeling giddy, he played several of the games at the stands (and didn’t hesitate to cheat in order to win.) He ordered hot dogs (made from actual dog), blood punch, bird brains on a stick…and passed on the literal shit kababs.

A pleasant feeling of nostalgia came over him as he remembered the fun times going to the circus with his family as a kid. He loved playing the games and feeding the animals at the petting zoo. He was especially fascinated by the fortune tellers, who had used Tarot cards to predict people’s futures. The Fool card, representing curiosity and beginnings, was drawn as his card for his childhood. For his future teenager card, the Hermit was chosen, representing isolation. Justice was the chosen card for adulthood, adding to karma. Last of all, if he made it past 30, the Devil card was placed in front of him.

At the time, he didn’t know what they meant, but it was fascinating all the same.

Back in the present, a troll with three eyes was dragging a struggling buck toward a sitting group of spider demons waiting to ride it.

“Man, I’m still hungry,” he thought. “Haven’t had venison in forever.”

He summoned a rifle in his hands and proceeded to blast the deer’s head clean off.

“The fuck?!” bellowed the gray-skinned troll, stomping toward him. “That was my prized animal!”

“And that is my meal,” he replied.

The troll raised his fist and brought it down to where Alastor once stood. He materialized behind him.

“Stop trolling around and show me what you’ve got,” said Alastor.

The troll landed more punches, Alastor dodging every one.

“You’re no fun,” Alastor replied. He held out his hand and blasted a fireball straight into the troll’s face. The troll fell backwards to the ground, only a smoking hole of charred flesh where his face once was. Alastor picked up the deer head and smiled at the spider kids.

“You arachnids still want a ride?”

The spider kids scurried away, without saying a word.

 Later on, Alastor saw something that disturbed him inside for the first time. A group of four black reptile-like demons were huddled near a yellow and red striped circus tent. One held a whip in his hand and repeatedly slashed at a living voodoo horse made of straw. The creature was hauling a cart with a cage and was whining in pain.

“Get moving you bastard beast of burden!” sneered the snake demon.

The driver of the cart let out a hiss and a laugh. “Boy, we’re gonna be filthy rich by today’s end. Got lots of good victims to torture, it’ll make the boss happy.”

Alastor walked over toward the cage and saw several small voodoo dolls who were very much alive. A father and a mother doll were comforting little doll children who huddled into their cloth chests. The mother’s eyes were purple buttons and though her mouth was stitched shut, a voice still emerged.

“It’ll be okay, my son,” she said, soothingly.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to the spectacle,” cried the kid.

The father doll sighed. “I can see why. My mother was used by a demon to harm his rival in the Second Circle of Hell. The pins and needles stuck into her every day, hurt her as much as that poor demon. But we’re stuck as slaves. We have no choice. To the demons and imps, we’re nothing but tools to be used.”

“That is very true,” thought Alastor. “But what if they could be used in a good way?”

The father looked at a grisly array of straw voodoo heads sticking from long spikes in the ground. The dead heads were trophies for the snake monsters. One wrinkled head with white curly hair remained motionless on a bloodstained spike.

“That’s your grandmother over there,” said the father. The boy doll turned away.

“The voodoo dolls who don’t serve their purpose right…” added the mother doll. She mentioned outside to more reptile demons eating living dolls, burning others, tearing other dolls to shreds and sewing them back together, only to repeat the process.

Alastor snapped his fingers and the cage door opened. The dolls stared confused but soon ran out when they saw the demon’s face.

“Hey, get back here!” called a bipedal snake as his captives fled on their short stubby legs.

Radio noises rushed from his staff as Alastor spoke a Creole spell.

Other voodoo imps and creatures slowly turned their heads to look toward him. Round faced dolls who were originally tied by chains broke free. Many gathered nearby knives, pitchforks, and even torches.

“You inssssulent strawberry clown!” hissed the boss snake, slithering over, wearing a business suit of black. “You think you can get away with ssssetting my prizes free like that. I’ll bite you and make you wish you never died!”

A tentacle rose from the ground and constricted the snake’s neck. His yellow eyes bulged and he gasped for air through his fanged mouth. He was then tossed aside into a pit of flames. A nearby doll rebel mob stabbed the snake with sharp pins.

Casting another spell, Alastor grew taller until he towered above the circus tent. His dress coat merged with the tent and flaps. Black spikes jutted from out of the tent and other tents nearby, some with voodoo heads on them.

Telepathically using pins to hold open the flaps, Alastor pulled the rest of the snake-men in with several tentacles. A roaring fire blazed to life right where the demons were standing. The reptiles roared in agony as the flames consumed their bodies. One snake opened his mouth, wide, reaching out from the tent, trying to escape. Voodoo imps off to the side, held their little weapons in the air, attacking any other demons who wondered by. The voodoo minions now had mouths of sharp teeth, with blood around their mouths, eyes white. Alastor, meanwhile was enjoying the carnage below, now in full demon form. His hands were spread out wide, his eyes red radio dials, and his antlers jutting out from his head. All the while, his victory was broadcast yet again over the radio.

“Goood afternoon, you filthy sinners! It’s your favorite radio demon, Alastor coming in live! I am here at the annual county fair. Just listen to that cheerful circus music, and the joyful sounds of sinners on their days off. And best of all, the screams of those unfortunate enough to be trapped in my inferno! Chaos is still running rampant here as voodoo dolls strike down their former masters with every kind of weapon imaginable. You know what they say: “be careful what you wish for…you may soon be on fire, for better or worse!” Tickets are still on sale for those who’d like to experience the show. Well that’s all for now, folks. Stay tuned for more, next time on 66.6 FM.”

 Now in Alastor’s control, the doll citizens caused havoc around hell in the name of their new lord of chaos. They had aided him in his many other conquests, doing his bidding like the shadow spirits.

 During one particular conquest, the voodoo imps stood in a line beside Alastor as they overlooked a city in one of the Nine Circles. The sky on that day was red and cloudless, the color of fresh blood.

The demons who lived there had supported Sir Pentious, the evil snake overlord from the 1800s. The boastful villain himself was there, controlling a hulking machine with metal arms and legs…and lots of blasters, from the inside. His egg minion army stood at the ready, some of them running around the inside, others watching their leader in awe.

“Oh I really wish I could be shot with one of those amazingly crafted blasters,” said egg #66.

“Shut up!” hissed the overlord, his one-eyed top hat on his head. “I need to focus here! There’s a rogue army of…toys straight ahead trying to take over this turf. But several perfect shots from my blasters will do the trick.”

The snake pulled several levers and the blasters fired torpedoes that exploded off in the distance. Alastor had formed a red energy shield which protected him and the dolls.

“Hey, red reindeer man!” Sir Pentious called through a loudspeaker. “What are you doing on my turf?”

Alastor turned on his microphone. His voice echoed through the air, accompanied by radio noises.

“It’s Alastor to you, old serpent. And I believe this territory now belongs to me.”

“Well my cult of demons would disagree with you,” Sir Pentious retorted. The demons stood holding spears and barring their teeth.

“You still have a chance to surrender and run,” said Alastor. “If I were you, I’d take it.”

��Fool!” Sir Pentious hissed. “You’re not getting in my way of my domination goal! Now, prepare to be blasted to bits! Hahahaha! Attack!”

More blasts shot from the robot’s arms. The demons yelled as the eggs charged forward, wearing pinstriped suits and black top hats. Alastor pointed his claws forward and the voodoo imps rushed in. One imp with horns, a black hat, and sharp teeth held a butcher knife. Another imp with horns bit into an egg minion with a large bite. The egg yelled and cracked open in a yok mess.

The eye on Alastor’s microphone created a spotlight that temporarily blinded the approaching demon soldiers. Happy, jazz music poured from the staff, a contrast to the grisly battle occurring.

A wealthy demon wearing a white shirt and rings on two of his three fingers, fled when flames sparked in front of him. Another demon wearing a blue general’s uniform had large black eyes and horns with black and pink stripes. He tried to fight off the imps, but the creatures held onto his legs with their fangs.

Black tentacles emerged from an opening portal, grabbing onto demons and tossing them inside like rag dolls. A final blast fired from Sir Pentious’ machine. “You’re done for!” the snake declared.

The torpedo froze in mid-air after Alastor held out his hand. The missile then flew backwards, right into the heart of the machine. The hunk of metal exploded and Sir Pentious fell out with a scream. He quickly fled while his remaining egg army followed after him. “I’ll have my revenge, Alastor! It’s far from over!”

“I’d say it’s closed curtains for your show,” the radio demon replied. He cut into his hand with a fingernail and droplets of red blood glowed.

The demon general stood up on shaky legs…then was instantly crushed by a large metal pillar. The pillar along with two others held up a tall radio tower that had materialized out of nowhere. A red light blinked ominously at the top, an Illuminati eye, watching everything.

“Now there’s some technology I can truly appreciate!” Alastor exclaimed with a clap of his hands.

Whenever Alastor paid a visit to a city or town, the people would run for cover, shouting, “It’s the Radio Demon! Run for your afterlives!”

Their screams and terrified faces filled Alastor with glee and a sense of dominance. He hovered in the air, his eyes demonic red, antlers long and extending from his head. He was a figure of chaos and power, under the glowing pink Pentagram in the indigo sky. Voodoo imps carried animal skulls on spikes as they roamed the streets. They left several spikes in the ground with severed demon heads attached (and sometimes voodoo doll heads.) The spikes would often stand near piles of dead demons. Some dolls broke into stores and smashed TV screens with their spears and weapons. “VOX EATS SOCKS!” was spray painted in red by two dolls on the glass window of the trashed TV store. After they left, a lone voodoo minion replaced the red “S” with a black “C” and cackled out loud. Alastor’s deer shadow hovered nearby in the air, with red eyes, large antlers and a grinning mouth.

Radios of all shapes and sizes were soon for sale in many stores in Hell. One of Alastor’s favorite ones was an old fashioned one with three panels at the top, a dial, and a row of grinning teeth that was part of the design on the front. A friendly reminder for listeners to keep on smiling.

The voodoo imps evolved further, some growing horns of purple and bright pink. Others rode in battle on skeletal deer with glowing red horns in place of antlers. Those more inclined to water hitched rides from moving skeletons of sharks and underwater monsters.

Even poor Husk, the alcohol drinking gambler cat demon, was dragged into Alastor’s schemes several times. At one point, he was forced to do a tap dance on stage to distract a crowd of demons while Alastor razed the nearby town. It was embarrassing for the winged cat demon, but Alastor obviously got a kick out of it. Reluctantly, Husk continued to serve Alastor in exchange for booze and cigarettes. Meanwhile, Niffty gladly helped out the Radio Demon by making him meals and helping to keep his interdimensional home tidy. She was just glad to be out of the flames and to keep busy. Both Niffty and Husk’s auras briefly glowed red like Alastor’s, indicating they were associates of his. However, they had free will of their own…when they were not summoned by him on occasion.

At one point, Alastor posed with the rest of the villain overlords: Vox the TV demon, Velvet, Valentino the porn studio owner, Rosie, a skeletal deer surrounded by a halo of blue fire, a two-headed bird in a tuxedo, a bird overlord with yellow shades, a black spider demon, a thick haired lady who looked like Helsa, and another woman who may have been Lilith. Husk and Niffty stood as shadow silhouettes. Thirteen individuals in all.

 By the time Alastor heard of the Hazbin Hotel, he had performed eleven successful massacres, all throughout the Nine Circles of Hell. There were even fliers taped around, showing Alastor at the circus with his victims burning underneath him. “THE RADIO DEMON! BEWARE HIM! DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM!” the fliers read.

Alastor hummed a jolly tune as he observed the fruitful results of his carnage. He was one step closer to dominating all of Hell.

 Part 2: “Exterminations”

During one random day, the clock tower ringed twelve ominous tones. Alastor was strutting down the street when he heard the noise. He glanced up at the tower where a counter read “number of days till next purge: 0.”

“Purge?” he thought. “Sounds intriguing. Some kind of killing contest between overlords?”

Alastor soon got his answer when the center of the overhead neon pentagram in the sky tore open. Through a dark hole, dark flying creatures swarmed out and headed off in different directions. There were at least twenty of them, perhaps more.

Upon closer inspection, they were dark angels with black feathery wings, curved horns and bird-like feet clad in dark armor. They wore LED masks complete with creepy glowing grins, large x’s over their right eyes and curved horns off to the back, reaching past behind their heads. Each one also carried a harpoon spear in their hands.

One angel threw a spear that struck a flying demon square in the eye. The demon fell to the ground, lifeless. Another harpoon struck an orange horned demon in the neck, resulting in a gory death. A lone spear flew and lodged itself in the wall right above Alastor’s head.

All around the city, demons were screaming and scurrying frantically for cover. Several Exterminators circled over the cowering citizens of Hell with mechanical laughs.

“Cleanse Hell of the sinner scum!” rang out on of the angel’s voices.

With a spin and swipe of a harpoon from another angel, other demons dropped dead like bowling pins.

One of the angels glanced over to Alastor. Two other angels glanced over too, all turning their heads, grins glowing.

Alastor hid his shock with a sinister smile of his own. The shock quickly morphed into a new excitement.

“Prepare to meet your second death,” said the angel in the middle.

“Am I supposed to be sacred of you crows?” he asked.

Alastor was surrounded by the three angels hovering above him, spears raised.

His eyes turned into red radio dials and his black antlers grew slightly longer from his head.

“This is going to be quite entertaining!”

The three spears were thrown forward and black tentacles reached and slapped the weapons away.

Just as the harpoons appeared back in the Exterminator’s hands, shadow spirits with red auras circles around the angels, screeching, clawing and attacking them. One angel flapped and flailed, shaking off several spirits by striking them with a swipe of his spear. A tentacle impaled the angel through his gut from behind them. The second angel got his wings torn off by two other black tentacles emerging from portals in midair. A shadow spirit grabbed the angel’s spear and sliced off its owner’s head, falling into one of the portals.

The third angel began to flee, but Alastor grabbed hold of one of the angel’s dark arms. The Exterminator elbowed Alastor and scratched his chest with long nails. Alastor glanced down at the tears and new flowing blood soaking into his red pinstriped dress coat.

He growled darkly in a demonic voice. “That was my favorite suit.”

The Radio Demon soon had the angel in a chokehold with one of his four-fingered gloved hands.

“L-let go, filth!” the angel sputtered with a gasp.

Using his strength, Alastor bashed the angel down hard against the pavement several times.  He soon heard a satisfying crack as his victim’s head split open and the dark horns fell off. He tossed the angel’s body aside for the nearby voodoo imps to consume.

 Tom Trench, a white-haired guy with a facemask and a business suit appeared on screen. 666 News logo appeared in neon behind him.

“Breaking news! Exterminators have invaded Hell once again, with an even greater number than last year. Pandemonium is in the air as Heaven’s army slaughters citizens right and left at random, to reduce the population, as is tradition. Please, for your own safety, stay indoors and on lockdown. If you’re looking to take over new territory, please refrain from doing so during the rampage. It’ll be up for grabs after the purge…if you’re still alive, of course.”

There was a sound of glass breaking from the news room as a spear flew over Tom Trenches head.

“That’s all for today! This is Tom Trench, 666 News at 5. Until next time, have a great evening.”

Tom Trench fled the scene as an LED wearing angel eclipsed the careen and smashed it, causing static.

Alastor stood still for a moment…

“Who ho ho! What a great picture show. Wasn’t expecting that nice surprise during this time. Perhaps I should broadcast my acts of destruction on those Exterminators…”

More spears flew in the air, crackling with electricity. Alastor saw more angels fly through the overhead hole. Alastor glanced at his stinging chest.

“One more act it is then.”

 His vintage microphone staff appeared in his right hand and lit up to life. The eye in the center of the microphone moved from side to side.

“You want to take things even further, do you not?” asked a radio voice from the microphone.

“You know me too well,” he replied. “But then again, you are a part of me, so of course you would.”

Alastor lifted himself into the air with a large tentacle, red voodoo symbols surrounding him. He tapped the staff and it blinked on.

 “Well good evening, little sinners! It’s your one any only host, Alastor, the Radio Demon. Right now, I’m in the midst of a bloody battle between you citizens and the infamous Exterminators. It looks like several denizens of Hell have already fallen prey to the invaders. One angel’s beating up an imp pretty bad over there. Another demon with a spear through her mouth by the store window, doesn’t look too good for her…”

Four angels flew headfirst toward Alastor, only to be knocked back by red energy flowing from Alastor’s body. One unlucky angel got set on fire with a simple snap of the demon’s fingers. The angel let out a rather unholy yell before disintegrating.

Alastor’s hands and microphone were splattered with fresh blood. He fooled with the angels for several more minutes and spoke into his microphone. “Time for some jokes, my friends. What do you call a rejected do-gooder from Heaven?”

Alastor punched a charging angel in the face, sending him flying.

“A fallen angel! Ahhahahaha.”

Several exterminators down below were disintegrating Alastor’s shadow spirits with beams of light from their hands. One angel shot beams of light at the Radio Demon, who dodged each one. Her hair was long and blonde in the back. The angel roared in anger and shot light spears in every direction. Tentacles around Alastor blocked her attacks.

“Wow, that angel over there looks pretty mad…”

She looped and spun herself rapidly toward him, her hand in a fist. Her fist stopped right in front of Alastor’s face. He grabbed hold of her chest tight with one hand and karate-chopped her head off with his other hand.

“…I guess you could say she lost her head! Hahahaha!”

He dropped her headless body and continued swatting angels away like flies.

 After a few more moments, Alastor was getting bored. It was time for the grand finale. He stood on a platform of surrounding tentacles.

He curled his right hand into a fist, sharp pointed nails digging into his now-glowing palm. Several large drops of red blood rained down from his hand, falling to the ground.

Several flaming holes appeared in the air around the flying exterminators. Tentacles wrapped around each of their waists, binding their hands and pulling back their wings. Their harpoons were tossed into the portals by separate tentacles. At least a dozen angels were brought close together, each of them bond by tentacles.

Voodoo symbols surrounded Alastor and his eyes briefly turned dark, displaying radio waves sizzling across them. His black antlers now extended far beyond his head.

Long thick shadows rose from the ground until forming into two swirling shadows on either side of the tied up angels. The shadows slowed, and solidified into two large gray four-clawed hands. The pointed fingernails were yellow, the same color as a spot down the middle of each finger.

Indeed, the large hands were uncovered copies of Alastor’s real hands.

The staff vanished. From a distance, Alastor lined up his own hands with the giant ones, which copied his hand movements.

 Then, inch by inch, the hands closed in.

 The angels stared in fear behind their gruesome masks, struggling to free themselves from their bonds. The remaining angels outside looked on in worry. A few bowed their heads and mouthed silent prayers.

The large curved fingers overlapped seconds after Alastor slowly interlocked his own. An invisible force tried to push the palms of his hands apart. But his hands closed in more, like he was molding invisible clay to his liking.

 “For my final act of tonight, you shall witness…”

The last of the angel’s heads and struggling forms disappeared behind gray fingers and flesh.

With an evil grin and a glow of his eyes, Alastor pushed his own hands together.

The large hands closed with a shuddering shake. Muffled crunching and squelching came from inside. Alastor opened up his hand and the giant ones followed. A shower of blood, bits of body parts, and black feathers rained down to the street.

He finished in a low demonic voice, “…the Exterminators’ crushing defeat.”

Applause erupted from his microphone as the large hands deformed and sent out shadowy creatures which vanished through the last several portals before they closed. The remaining angels shivered and fled through the black hole overhead. Alastor’s antlers receded back to normal size.

 “Well, folks, that’s all for tonight. I hope you enjoyed this remarkable demonstration of my amazing power. This is Alastor, 66.6 FM. Until next time, have a splendid evening…and as always, stay tuned!”

No one said a word as the Radio Demon lowered himself to the ground. The tentacles and portals vanished behind him. He stared at his bleeding hand and wrist. Lightheadedness overtook him. He waved his hand one more time and stepped down into a portal, which soon closed above him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in his lair, a bizarre home-like hideout floating in a void dimension just underneath Hell. It was a place where the Loa and dark spirits roamed.

Using so much power and blood magic had taken a bit of a stretch on his body. Gray circles were under his eyes, barely noticeable. With a yawn, he went into a bathroom to clean his wounds. The two handled faucets were made of gold and shaped like miniature deer heads. A black clawed bathtub decorated with large eyes stood in the center of the room.

After washing up and changing into a red velvet night gown, Alastor wandered past the living room, a room with a blood red rug, a couch, comfy leather chairs, and a fireplace of black flames. Above the mantle on the wall were stuffed deer heads mounted on display of various colors and states of decay. Rifles and several collected angel weapons were displayed in a darker corner of the room. Walking into the kitchen, Alastor pulled out vension deer meat from the icebox and heated it up on the stove. He hummed “You’re Never Fully Dressed” as he cooked.

After he ate his meal, he made his way into his room down the hall. Inside his room was a large bed with a leather comforter and satin red pillows. An old fashioned TV with two antennae sticking out stood nearby. Several different radios were lined up on a polished wooden dresser with a vanity mirror framed with round lights around it. Inside his closet were his suits neatly hung and shoes in a holder. Voodoo dolls resembling himself, Husk, Charlie, Angel and others were lined up in a black cabinet.

Alastor yawned again and climbed up into his bed. He soon had a small relaxed grin on his face. The lights went off after he waved his hand. His eyes dimmed and turned into small red radio dials. The droning sound of a radio powering off briefly filled the room as Alastor slept with his eyes wide open.

    Part 3: “Killing Spree for Three”

 Several years had passed since the Radio Demon had terrorized tons of provinces in Hell. It had started in 1933 shortly after his mortal death, when he fell down into Hell and was granted his powers by the Loas, Voodoo shadow spirits. Alastor, of course, had taken advantage of his new demonic deer-like form and Eldritch abilities, using his vintage microphone staff to broadcast his victories and carnage wherever he went. His sentient shadow had hovered by his side with an ever-present smile on his face like his counterpart.

During his time in Hell, Alastor had conjured looming metal radio towers and stations in the areas he had claimed. Despite being new to Hell in 1933, he quickly figured out the functions of Hell’s hierarchy.

Lucifer and Lilith were the powerful King and Queen, not to be tested with nor disobeyed. It was safe to assume that they knew everything that went on throughout the fiery realm. This was why Alastor never revealed his plans out loud…or if he did, he morphed the meaning into something more superficial.

Sinners, or those that had previously been human, were considered the lowest of the low in terms of class. They were the majority in Hell but also faced various forms of discrimination. Without his powers and charisma, Alastor would’ve fit the lowest sinner category.

Alastor was already familiar with being a societal outcast. Back in New Orleans as a human, he had been mocked and jeered at for being part white and part Creole. It was a time when racism ran rampant and white elites got to enjoy the most luxuries. If it weren’t for is mother and radio career, he would’ve rotted away in jail or in poverty.

 But unlike his previous life, Alastor was much more prepared, and powerful. The Hellborns included imps, hellhounds and other creatures born in Hell, considered “superior” to sinners. However, even the Hellborn were nothing compared to the Overlords, powerful demon rulers with abilities beyond average. Alastor had become an overlord the moment he broadcast his first massacre in a dark gnarled wood.

 It was not uncommon for overlords to not get along and to fight over turf, slaves, drugs and other commodities. Vox, the TV demon, Valentino the Porn Studio owner, and Velvet the doll demon were sometimes called the Three V villains. Vox and Alastor did not get along, for Alastor despised post 30’s technology. Alastor had also defeated Sir Pentious, an inventor snake demon who was previously born during the Industrial Revolution. Though that was so long ago, that he had forgotten who he was fighting with.

 Currently, Alastor had control over a voodoo doll and imp army, could summon shadow spirits at will and create portals to the “other side.” He even created his own interdimensional lair underneath Hell.

 Alas, just those benefits weren’t good enough. Alastor was a man constantly on the lookout for other sources of influence and entertainment. Why would he settle for anything less in his second “life?” Being one of the most powerful demons in Hell was no small feat. He required other allies and servants… those who were citizens themselves. Humming happily with his usual smile on his face, Alastor made his way into the city.

 Under the red sky, monsters and demons of all shapes and sizes wondered the pot-hole covered streets of Pentagram City. A neon Pentagram hovered over in the sky, a symbolic reminder to those below where they were. However, the demons went about their ways like ordinary humans would on Earth. Teen Hellhound females smoked cigarettes while leaning against a wall. A black furry spider demon got into an argument with a zombie over a meth purchase. The zombie punched the spider in the gut and in turn, the spider knocked the zombie’s head clean off. The head yelled swear words as it plopped to the ground.

 From inside a strip club, Angel Dust, a white spider demon was spinning upside down on a pole onstage. He was dressed in nothing but red lacy underwear, his legs spread wide for the viewers to see. Techno music was muffled by the window. Two snakes chased each other loudly and bust into the club, briefly catching Alastor’s attention. One demon spotted the Radio Demon from outside and fainted from terror. Angel Dust puckered his mouth in a kiss and waved at Alastor. Alastor rolled his red eyes in disgust and walked on.

 A vertical neon sign on a street corner displayed a yellow saxophone with white musical notes coming out of it. The words along the side read “Mimzy’s Club and Bar.”

“Mimzy…” Alastor said out loud. “That name sounds very familiar.”

He went up to open the door and walked inside.

 He was greeted by the upbeat sounds of trumpets, drums, a saxophone and even a piano not too far away. Demons wearing cowboy hats and mustaches were playing pool far in the back. Against one wall was a pink neon sign which read “Drinking” over a display of bottles. A humanoid couple dressed in Day of the Dead outfits were smooching in a booth filled with cigarette smoke. A red horned ogre dressed in gray Viking armor was serving up mugs of beer and alcohol to customers sitting on stools at the tall obsidian counter.

 Just then, a short demon dressed like a jester with a stripped hat complete with bells stood up from his chair. He looked up and saw Alastor’s pale grayish face leering down at him. The jester gasped in fright and scurried backward. “It-it’s the Radio Demon!”

The music abruptly stopped and the chatter ceased. Everyone turned to stare at him, fear, anger, and for a few, excitement in their eyes. Alastor snapped his fingers and a spotlight appeared over him.

“Hello, there fellow sinners! How are you all doing this fine evening?”

Nobody said a word.

He chuckled and held out his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harm anyone. I’ve just come by to relax and have a drink. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Several demons quickly shook their heads and muttered affirmations. Alastor glanced at the jazz band on stage and tilted his head. “Aren’t you going to play some tunes for us?”

The band members started their next song, making sure it was loud and catchy.

Several other demons moved out of the way to let him pass.

Alastor tilted his hand toward his chest. “Ah, such pleasant company here!”

The spotlight faded as Alastor took a seat at the bar.

The Viking ogre turned to look at him.

“Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Surely you know who I am?”

The ogre shook his head, unfazed. The others turned to the bartender, with concerned looks.

“Well,” said Alastor, “It’s nice to meet you, good chap.”

The ogre just grunted in response.

“I’ll have a small black coffee and a glass of Sazerac liquor, please.” Sazerac was one of the first cocktails in New Orleans.

The ogre nodded. “7 souls each.”

Alastor placed 13 dark coins with a small eye on each one on the counter. The ogre scooped them up in his meaty hand and turned to get the drinks ready.

“Heh, heh, he forgot to count them,” Alastor thought.

 His black coffee was soon brought out in a small white mug on a white plate. Carefully picking up the mug by the round handle with several claws, Alastor softly blew over the cup before taking a sip. A satisfying bitter heat filled his mouth. It filled his core with warmth and made him feel more alert, just like it did every morning during his past life. He took more sips and closed his eyes in content. For a millisecond, unnoticed by anyone, his face briefly morphed into his human one: light brown skin, thin pointed chin, brown eyes and short brown hair with a wave off to one side. Small round glasses were placed over his nose. Then, just as quickly, his face returned to his current one: grayish pale, yellow teeth, red eyes, red and black hair, monocle under his right eye.

 After several musical numbers had played, Alastor’s next drink had arrived. Alastor noticed something was not right.

“Uh excuse me?” he asked.

“What?” asked the ogre.

“I asked for a glass of Sazerac. Why did you get me noodle juice?”

He stared at the cup of brown tea on the counter in disgust.

The ogre shrugged. “We ran out of that kind of liquor. That fellow over there ordered the last one.”

He pointed to a shark demon finishing up the rest of his liquor bottle before smashing it on the floor and pushing open the doors.

“Heheheheh…excuse me for a second,” Alastor said.

He stood up and followed the bipedal shark outside. The visitors sitting in booths and chairs could hear muffled pounding, grunts, and stomps coming from outside. At one point, a dark tentacle appeared out of nowhere and then vanished. The gray shark’s head was slammed against the window, slowly sliding down covered in red blood. The demons shrugged, turned back around and continued chatting.

The Radio Demon stomped back into the room, smile on his face but anger in his eyes. The ogre seemed to be whispering something to someone hidden in the back. Alastor spoke to the bartender, composed, hiding his frustration. “I believe we were at the part where I asked you…why did you serve me noodle juice?”

“I already told you, we were out of liquor.”

“How does a bar run out of liquor so suddenly?”

“How should I know?”

“Do you have anything else?”

The ogre occupied himself with cleaning a mug.

“Besides noodle juice?”

A muffled giggle came from behind a set of curtains. He waved his hand and the curtains pulled back. A demon with black wings, horns, and a hat with a domino on it was laying on the floor with several empty bottles of Sazerac around him. He whispered to the ogre who turned around, “You lost the bet, you fucking lard. I told you he’d say “noodle juice” when you gave him tea.”

“I ain’t giving you any money,” the ogre whispered. “I’m the one who pranked the prankster.”

The horned demon stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. “6.6 souls, hand them over.”

Radio static suddenly filled the air. “You think I’m a joke to you?”

The horned demon turned around and his eyes met Alastor’s before he was plunged down into a portal that appeared from underneath him. The black tentacle monster swallowed the prankster demon in one gulp. The portal closed and Alastor stared at the ogre. He sat down in his seat.

“Kindly fetch me a bottle of Sazerac before I hang you from the ceiling with your intestines.”

The ogre gulped and ran out of the room. He was stopped by a sharp tentacle slicing through his chest. His mutilated body crashed down a flight of stars in the back, starling a waitress who looked like an ostrich.

Alastor tossed the tea aside and summoned a bottle of Sazerac in front of them.

“Sometimes you gotta do things yourself,” he muttered before taking a big gulp from the bottle. Despite his powers, he enjoyed it when people did things for him, like bringing him drinks. The soul coins he had given to the ogre, flew back into his hand and vanished.

  From backstage, a woman was putting the finishing touches of makeup on her face while staring at herself in a large square mirror framed in round lights. She took a deep breath and stood up from her seat. The music stopped and shortly after, a green suit-wearing alien stepped up to the stage and announced, “Our next performer, the marvelous Mimzy!” A woman walked onto the stage. Alastor looked over and his red eyes widened. His smile grew an inch more. The woman was short and chubby, wearing a pink flapper dress and a headband with pink feathers on it. Her black heels tapped against the floor in a rhythmic pace. Her face was white and her large eyes were black with hot pink pupils. She strutted up to the microphone, proud and confident.

Mimzy fluffed her short blonde hair and waved at the audience. Then she sang a lovely catchy jazz song from the early 1900s. Then she finished off with “Down in New Orleans,” much to Alastor’s delight. What a lovely melodic voice she had!

 Alastor remembered Mimzy as a blonde-haired human, she had been a worker at a jazz club in New Orleans and she and Alastor had danced together on stage. He admired her then and still admired her now. They had shared a kiss as humans but Alastor thought of her as an affectionate friend.

That was all before he went insane and killed her in a frenzy.

Mimzy had been sent to Hell since she killed her husband in self-defense and was briefly a prostitute to make ends meet.

 After Mimzy sang and stepped off to the side, another demon came up to the stage. She was tall and slender with sharp teeth in a smile, black eyes, and a large round pink hat with skulls on it covering her head. Several other demons bowed as she walked up to the microphone. She took out her pink umbrella, spun it around in a twirl and did a song and dance number: “Practically Perfect in Every Way.”

 “By the time the fire has burned the restless souls down,

I’ll tell you, yes I can,

No matter the circumstance for one thing you shall know,

My character is spite, shine, spic and span,

I’m practically perfect in every way”

 “For demons say

Each sin and misdeed knows no bounds

To hate is great and patently sound

I’m practically perfect head to tail

If you found a fault, it would be to no avail

I’m so practically perfect in every way”

 “Both prim and proper, graceful and stern

So passive, at peace yet willing to TURN (briefly goes to demon form)

I’m clean and honest, my manner refined

And I wear hats of the sensible kind

I suffer no nonsense and whilst I remain

There’s nothing much else I need to explain”

 “I’m practically perfect in every way

Factually flawless, that’s my forte

Uncanny ladies are hard to find

Unique, not meek, great matters of mind

I’m practically perfect, and never soiled

Killing like a villain with victims freshly boiled

I’m so practically perfect in every way

Well those are my credentials

Perhaps you have a few questions?”

 “Yeah I have one!” called a boar demon. “Did you copy Mary Poppin’s song and just add your words to it?”

The crowd laughed and clapped.

Rosie took a bow. “Yes, so what if I did? I did it for my audience!”

 On Earth, Rosie had been the CEO of a clothing company. She had also danced and met with Alastor as a human. She went to Hell due to forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks. Stern, elegant and vain, she was a perfectionist and it showed at her job. She did well when it came to organization, dressing fancy…and killing those who stood in her way. In Hell, she was an overlord and owner of an emporium.

Like with Mimzy, she and Alastor enjoyed singing and dancing…and terrorizing others. However, they had only gotten a glimpse of each other during their individual conquests and work.  

But now was the chance for Alastor to warm up to his lovely lady friends.

 Rosie finished her song and took a bow. Alastor clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, bravo, what an outstanding performance!”

Alastor waved at the two performers who briefly glanced at him.

“Who’s that?” Mimzy asked, curiously.

“One of my fellow overlords. Haven’t interacted with him, though,” Rosie replied.

Alastor morphed into shadow and teleported onto the stage between them.

Both women gasped as Alastor appeared with either hand on their shoulders.

“Why hello, lovely ladies! Care if I join you?” He kissed Rosie’s hand, then Mimzy’s.

Rosie raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you that super-powered radio guy that terrorized half of Hell?”

“Yes indeedy. How do you do?”

“Be thankful that you’re a fellow overlord,” Rosie replied. She stared into his red eyes, “…and I’ll admit, devilishly charming. You name?”

“Alastor.”

“I’m Rosie.”

“Mimzy,” said the other lady, already blushing at the handsome stranger.

“Boo!” shouted a white demon shaped like a fox. “You’re interrupting the show!”

Alastor merely shrugged and laughed, the spotlight now on him. He conjured up his microphone staff in his right hand, which glowed red. “How about one joke before the next dance?”

“No dad jokes, get off the stage!” the fox yelled.

Alastor turned to the booing demon. “What time does my radio show start in Hell?”

“No one fucking cares!” the fox yelled.

“6:06…A-M. But thankfully, you won’t have to listen to it.”

He snapped his fingers and the fox demon exploded in a shower of guts and blood. The other demons stepped away from the mess.

Having the time of his afterlife, Alastor smiled even more and held Mimzy and Rosie’s hands. With a wave of his hand, his usual outfit turned into a red suit, and a white undershirt with a black bowtie. He now had black tap dancing shoes plus a top hat complete with stitches and two small pins sticking out.

“Embarrassing fact, I can’t tap dance,” Alastor said under his breath.

“I can teach you how,” Rosie said.

Alastor’s red eyes curved slightly into arches, his smile genuine. “I’d like that very much.”

The jazz band began to play a catchy tune. Alastor stood between the two women.

“I think you may have heard this song on the radio. Ready?”

Mimzy and Rosie nodded, already knowing the lyrics and familiar music.

 Together the trio danced and sang Alastor’s favorite song: “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile.”

 “Hey, hobo man, Hey Dapper Dan

You’ve both got your style

But Brother, you’ve never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But Brother you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Who cares what they’re wearing

On Main Street or Saville Row

It’s what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe that matters”

 “So, Senator, So Janitor

So long for a while

Remember you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

  After a standing ovation from the audience, Rosie, Mimzy and Alastor sat together in a both. The table in front of them had a white tablecloth over it, though it was smeared with bloodstains. A small vase of black roses was placed in the center of the table.

The brown-haired bipedal ostrich waitress came over and asked them what they’d like to order.

“Rare venison, a side of Jambalaya, and a glass of New Orleans whiskey, 1901,” said Alastor.

“Shrimp Creole with champagne,” Mimzy added.

“Bouillabaisse and a glass of red wine,” Rosie said.

 “Deer meat?” Mimzy asked curiously as the waitress walked away on her long yellow bird legs.  

“Yep. Still got the old hunter in me.”

Alastor mimicked gunshots with his hands and Mimzy giggled.

“I must say, you’re a really good singer, Alastor,” Rosie said, smiling.

“Why thank you kindly, dear.”

“Despite what many may say, even genocidal overlords need some time to unwind and relax.”

“I agree with you there. Say, how did you meet Miss. Mimzy?”

“Strangely enough, at Lilith’s Resist concert,” Mimzy replied. “Rosie wanted to sing a song for Lilith and needed a backup vocalist. Naturally enough, I volunteered.”

“Were you nervous?” Alastor asked.

“Nervous, terrified…and super excited! Me, singing with an overlord and beside the queen! It was too good of an opportunity to waste. Heh, I’m glad I did well on the stage, otherwise Rosie would’ve incinerated me on the spot. People soon heard about my performance and more sinners came over to my jazz club!”

“Oh how wonderful!” Rosie replied. She then sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary; still beating up my workers with my cattails made from hardened cat tails. (They feel like barbed steel, despite the appearance.) They still moan and complain but it seems to work. Business is business you know. There are those boring overlord meetings, occasionally discussing politics with the Magnes, the whole 66 yards. I bet that someday, my associate Franklin’s gonna get murdered and I’ll be the head of my emporium.”

Alastor laughed. “Oh my, how intriguing. You plan to kill him?”

“No, I’ll let mother nature do the rest.”

“Don’t you mean…stepmother inferno?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Puns are not funny.”

“They’re punny to me,” Alastor added. “Such great classics.”

Rosie cleared her throat, “No dad jokes. Please.”

“Aw come on,” Alastor teased in a mocking tone, “I was about to do my “Radio not, here I come” knock knock joke.”

Mimzy crossed her arms. “Spoilers, much?”

 The trio’s dinners had arrived: a large rotten shrimp and clams for Rosie, Creole shrimp with demon bones for Mimzy and a fresh deer head over shrimp, rice, sausage and vegetables for Alastor.

“This is such a splendid meal,” Rosie said, satisfied.

Alastor whipped his face with his napkin. “I agree. Just as tasty as my human victims I ate on Earth. Though I will say, in regards to my…ignorant father, nothing beats the sweet taste of vengeance!”

Mimicking a choking sound, he leaned his entire head backwards with a loud crack and the others laughed.

He repositioned his head back to the front.

  Alastor raised his bottle of whisky as Mimzy and Rosie lifted their drinks.

“To eternal chaos and happiness for us,” said Alastor, “and eternal damnation to our enemies.”

“Here, here!” they all said as their glasses clinked.

 Soon, they had all finished their meals.

Mimzy then took a closer look at Alastor. “You…act familiar. It’s like I’ve known you before.”

Alastor tilted his head slightly. “You don’t say? Because I can say the same about you. I remember this beautiful singer I encountered at a bar in New Orleans. She was confident in her singing and loved doughnuts and desserts?”

“Yes…yes that was me!” she exclaimed. “Heh, being busy in Hell doesn’t give you much time to think about your past life.”

Then her eyes grew wide, suddenly fearful. “You…did you…”

“What?” Alastor asked.

“You were the one will killed me!”

Alastor’s eyes moved off to the side. “No, that was a different Alastor.”

“Phonus balonus!” Mimzy exclaimed in anger. “How many people in New Orleans have such a unique name?”

Alastor shrugged. “A lot, I imagine.”

Mimzy shoved Alastor off to the side and grabbed hold of his fancy red outfit. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“You know… I don’t like…to be touched,” Alastor seethed.

“Answer me!”

Alastor took a breath and removed her hands from his shirt. Memories came flashing back to him. “You were about to call the coppers on me. I knew I’d be caught and my life would be over. I wasn’t in my right state of mind and...”

Alastor stared down at his hands. He hadn’t felt this kind of regret and numbness since he watched his mother die and eat her remains. “Ending people’s lives…it was my only purpose…the one thing I could control besides broadcasting on the radio. I could lash out my frustrations and see results…I felt powerful when I did it, and I still do.”

He paused, unsure of what to say next. He held in his oncoming tears. “I…was holding your body, feeling regret at what I had done…”

Mimzy slowly backed away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracked slightly, despite his smile.

“You just ended my life because you could! I tried to stop you.”

“Sometimes, I wish you would have,” Alastor said softly. Then his regular voice came back, though it didn’t display the usual showiness in it.

“But look at you know. You have a new life here. It’s in Hell, but you’ve made the most of it. You’re a star and everyone knows it. Aren’t you happy with your life here?”

Mimzy shrugged. “It’s still better than death.”

“I didn’t really know if there was going to be an afterlife or not. I…I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.” Mimzy replied. “I lost the Alastor I knew, that day, and…and now he’s gone.”

Tears fell freely from her black eyes. Alastor wiped away her tears with his finger. “I might not be human anymore, but I’m still here. Deep down, I’m still the same entertainer, but more than that, your close friend. I swear by Lucifer that I’ll never harm you again.” He held her hands and she sniffed.

“A-apology accepted.”

Alastor lifted up the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget to smile, my dear. You’re never dressed without one.”

Mimzy leaned her head into Alastor’s chest, then abruptly sat up, hands on her hips.

“But you owe me…big time. 666 souls, daily groin kicks, plus swimming in the lake of fire.”

Alastor grinned.

“…without extra powers.”

Alastor’s grin shortened.

“So… it’s a deal then?” Alastor asked with a smirk.

She slapped his hand away. “No deals, jackass!”

Rosie’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Okay, this is awkward. Should I leave you two alone?”

“No no no, sweetheart, it’s fine,” Alastor reassured her.

“Don’t forget the midnight overlord meeting tomorrow. Lord Lucifer’s orders,” Rosie mentioned.

“Ugh how boring,” Alastor scoffed. “One of the bad things about my status.”

Alastor and his lady friends talked and enjoyed themselves throughout the night. It was a “dinner date” but it was also a “hanging hang out.” Afterwards. Rosie came up with the name after dinner when the three of them hung other demons from trees.

Soon the three friends embraced (Alastor hugged them, then stood back) and they said their farewells. Although Alastor was tempted to turn them into his slaves, he decided against it. Using his powers on another overlord could prove tricky. And he already made a promise not to hurt Mimzy.

Alastor glanced over at a casino and noticed a black and white cat winning a gambling tournament for the third time in a row. The way the cat moved and gulped down bottle after bottle of booze seemed familiar. A cyclops demon was sitting within the flames of a fireplace inside the building, sewing a quilt.

“Hmm,” Alastor thought. “A Niffty darling…and a Husk of a gambling guy…this should be quite entertaining…”

He finished with a low laugh.

 Next time… “Shady Deals” 1973

 Next time... “Daddy Dearest”

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello. For your 500 followers Prompt-A-Thon request, how about Death/Jason. Honestly, I'm just wondering what the batfam's reaction would be to finding out Jason is dating death. Like their reaction whenever there's a near death experience and Jason is talking to thin air (because only he can see him/her). Then one day Jason is the one having a near death experience and Death comes physically to talk to him. Congratulations, BTW!!

Ok. So. Once I got going, this turned out a little differently than I expected. I hope you still like it. And thank you for the congratulations!

Matter of Life and Death - Read on Ao3!

Rating: Mature (a teeny bit of mostly glossed over smut)Warnings: Lots of talk about death. Kinda sorta suicide discussion...Words: 3161 

Pairing is Jason Todd/ Death of the Endless, btw 

(And while I did read some stuff, I’m not super familiar with the Sandman universe so if anyone out there thinks I wrote Death wrong you’re probably right so no need to bite my head off ;) )

___________________________________________

He’s not supposed to be there. So she says as much.

“Look lady, I… I don’t even know where here is. So… uh…” theboy trails off.

She can’t blame him. If she doesn’t know what’s happening,she can’t expect the maybe-sorta-dead human youth to know.

He’s dressed absurdly in what would be green texturedshorts, a red tunic, and a yellow cape, complete horrendous green pixie boots,if it weren’t for the way color was leeched from all things in this place. Ithelps fill in some of the gaps. But certainly not all of them.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” She asks, taking asmall step toward him. He’s obviously frightened and even though he’ll neveroutrun her, she doesn’t want to chase him down. “Then we can figure out—”

“No offense,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over hischest, “but I don’t know you and the last thing I remember was getting beatento gory mess, blown up, and gasping for air in a grimy warehouse. Now,suddenly, I’m—” he looks around at the black void and shivers, “—here, with akinda-hot-kinda-creepy lady who is… unnaturally white. So why don’t westart with who you are, and then go from there.”

She just gazes at him for a moment. The situation isunprecedented and for once in her extremely long life she is genuinely… surprised.Not just because he’s there. Even if that is the primary concern. Humans, orrather their souls, aren’t meant to see this place. It’s just… connectivetissue—a pass through. No one has ever just… stopped. But it’s clear he alsodoesn’t recognize her.

Stretching her memory back to the beginning, she can’trecall a single soul, separated from its physical shell, not recognizing her onsight. As such, she is certainly used to a much more… respectful tone.

It’s both insulting and refreshing.

“Am I… am I… dead?” The oddly dressed boy asks softly.There’s a tremble in his voice and he’s gripping the hem of the cape tightly.

If he was dead, he wouldn’t be here. If he was dead, hewould know her. But if he was alive, he wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t seeher at all. It feels extremely disconcerting to be unable to answer.

And yet, a part of her is thrilled. She doesn’t think she’sever just… not known something before.

“I can’t be dead,” the boy mutters, more to himself than toher, as he drops to sit on the inky void that surrounds them. “He needs me. Ijust… I made a mistake. I need him to know… to know that it wasn’t him. Notreally. I wasn’t trying to… to replace him. I just needed to know.”

She watches his shoulders shake when he drops his forehead tohis knees, unsure how to respond.

Finally, she sits at his side.

“You are… you seem to be caught in limbo,” she answersfinally, gently as she is able. “You are not alive, but your soul has… taken anuncommon detour and you have not actually died. If you had, you would know me.”

There is no recognition in his eyes when they rise to meethers. But the blue of his irises somehow manages to burn through the void. Theonly color that exist in this place.

“I am Death,” she continues, surprised and intrigued whenthe only reaction the revelation receives is slight widening of his eyes. Whichshe can’t stop looking at. She can perceive the colors things were supposed tobe in this realm but there shouldn’t be any actual pigment here. “You are…something entirely unique.”

He tears his gaze away from hers and actual color, a softrosy pink, rises in his cheeks.

His name is Jason. The young protégé of one of the manysuperheroes on one of the many worlds in one or the many universes.

She spends a great deal of time with him over the nextmonths or years, time means very little to her. It does, however, still mean agreat deal to Jason. She can move between the realms, but he is stuck in thevoid. She was away for a week the first and only time she left him and returnedto find him distraught and inconsolable after being alone in the still, silent,nothing.

The best she can guess, after discussing the mystery with aless than helpful Destiny, is that he isn’t meant to die permanently. He can’tmove on because he’s destined to return to his flesh.

It is, in her opinion, a particularly grisly thought. Butone that proves accurate when he is suddenly ripped from her side in the middleof a conversation and when she checks on him, finds him desperately strugglingto escape his airless coffin buried deep under the earth.

She shouldn’t interfere but she can’t help it. It’s a simplethink to crack the wood, to move the dirt more than he should be able to.

He’s not himself when he emerges, face wet with tears andgasping for air. She can tell. The young man she spent so much time getting toknow needs healing she can’t offer.

But she resolves to keep an eye on him.

_______________________________________________

The next time they meet would feel like a coincidence ifDeath didn’t know better than to believe is such a thing.

She doesn’t know why she still bothers to come for the Demonwhen he’s on her doorstep, when so often he laughs and runs away. Perhaps it’scuriosity. Will this be the time he can’t quite manage to evade her?

It’s a different kind of void this time. Acid green andviolent, burning, agony. Death is not meant to be circumvented, she thinks, itis not natural to outlive ones’ welcome.

But then she sees Jason in the thick color and allows thatit is not her will the universe follows. That she is a just another mechanic,keeping everything in working order. That perhaps there is a future purpose forthose who are fated to evade Death.

Except that Jason is different, she thinks, watching hisface twist in pain as he’s stitched back together.

The Demon has been on her list for centuries, rising to thetop, just to drop back down again.

Jason was never fated to die.

She reaches out and touches his face. When his eyes open, heknows her. He knows her even though he’s never known true death.

His pinched, agonized expression smooths out at her touch.His eyes soften when they find hers.

She is unused to the reaction. Most people feel fear orsadness or anger when they see her and know.

But Jason finds comfort in the presence of Death.

_____________________________________________________

“You’re asking if I can bring someone back from the dead?”

He's not entirely wrong but even she doesn't know the rulesthat allow her to do it and when. So she doesn’t know what makes him think thatshe can.

“I know you can.” Jason’s voice cracks on the words. “Ididn’t tell him because I didn’t know how to find you again. Then it just cameto me and I… I had to try…”

He’s shaking like a leaf behind the steering-wheel of anautomobile that isn’t his and doesn’t suit him. All black and mean looking withtoo many lights on the dash and too many buttons. The front is smashed andsmoking and there’s a cut on Jason’s forehead from where he smacked into thewheel in front of him. The broken, bloodied skin of his knuckles aren’t fromthe “accident” though and she suspects his tears have more to do with theprevious fight than any physical pain from the wreck.

“You did it for me,” he sobs, choking on the lump in histhroat, “you can do it for my little brother.”

Ah. She supposes that from his perspective, that is the onlything that makes any kind of sense.

She rests her hand on his shoulder and wonders if he canfeel it when he doesn’t react.

“I can’t raise the dead, Jason," she explains, even ifit's not entirely true. She doesn't want to get his hopes up. "As much asI wish I was responsible for your second life, I’m not. And I can’t bring backyour brother.”

He is an al Ghul though, she thinks to herself, and one ofJason’s beloved Bats. His name was on her list. But she wouldn’t be surprisedto find it there yet again.

He cries quietly in the seat next to her for a long minute.She doesn’t like to see him in pain. It… it stirs something in her that shedoesn’t recognize. The fact that she hasn’t seen Jason free from his tormentsince he was pulled from her side only makes that thing inside her more…passionate.

“I can’t stay long,” she finally says into the near silence,“A sudden, near death experience may bring me to your side. But it can’t keepme here for more than a couple minutes.”

Jason swallows loudly and finally turns to look at her. TheDemon’s green has tainted his eyes, but she sees the fiery blue much moreclearly. Even despite the redness and swelling. She hasn’t missed the how muchtaller and bigger he is now. How handsome he’s grown.

“I miss you,” he all but whispers. “Sometimes I wish I’dnever come back. Being in the empty void with you was better than being alone inan ocean of people.”

If she had a heart, she’s sure it would break.

She takes his face in her hands and the surprise in his eyestells her that yes, he can feel it. Then she leans in and brushes her lipsagainst his.

There’s a spark of warmth on her mouth and it tingles as ittravels all the way down her spine to settle somewhere in her belly.

She knows her own eyes are as black and empty as the void;most souls won’t meet them.

But he does. And it’s not fear or sadness or anger in hisgaze.

It’s longing.

_______________________________________________________

The nature of his life means she sees him often.

Or… ‘often’ relative to how ‘often’ she sees other humans.Which is not. Ever. Not like this.

A death in his vicinity will allow her to see him for a fewminutes. One of his own near-death experiences tugs at her and she spares aminute to make sure he’s alright. But otherwise, she has too much work to do.

“You should be more careful,” she scolds him on oneoccasion. One when he actually ‘died’ again for a minute. He wasn’t one of herappointments then either. But that’s not unusual. Momentary heart failuresaren’t enough to bring her around. Unless it’s him. “One of these days, you’llforce me to escort you over.”

“Please,” he laughs, even though he’s clearly still a littleshaken from the demon possession. “You’re my get-out-Death free card.”

She smiles at him because he knows that it doesn’t work likethat. But he doesn’t know that he’s not listed. Ever. She needled Destiny intolooking him up in the Book of Souls.

Jason Todd. Born. Meets Batman.

Then nothing. Just swirls of ink that won’t settle.

She doesn’t know how to tell. Doesn’t really know what totell him, even if she knew how. It’s a strange feeling, not knowing.

“How much longer can you stay?” he asks, sounding hopefulbut resigned.

“I don’t have any souls who need me here,” she answers,reaching up to tame a wild strand of hair. “I am needed elsewhere.”

“I just wish you could stay once in a while, you know? Thisis… this is ha—”

“Jason?”

They both turn to look at Batman. Death smirks when Jasonflushes pink at the look of wary confusion on his mentor’s face.

“Kinda in the middle of something, B,” Jason barks, tryingfor and failing to find his usual façade of bravado.

“He can’t see me,” she reminds him.

“He could if you’d let him.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Jason? You’re acting strange after being possessed bydemons,” the Bat tries again, “I’m going to need you to say something to me orI’m calling Constantine back.”

“Just what I need,” Jason groans.

“John’s not so bad,” Death responds with a smile.

Jason makes a face at her and she kisses his lips just towatch him turn a darker shade of red.

“What the hell is going on, Jason?” Bruce snaps.

“Have fun explaining that,” she says as she pats Jason’scheek, just to the right of his scowl, and disappears.

________________________________________________

This is her chance.

She has all day and she knows exactly how to spend it.

She puts herself in his path. It’s a test and it isn’treally fair because he doesn’t know anything about it. Her siblings say she’slost it and about time. It’s her turn, they said, and falling for a weirdmortal ranks.

He brushes past her in the aisle. Offers a distracted butpolite ‘excuse me’. Then steps away.

But before she has time to be disappointed he turns back toher, taps her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I swear this isn’t a line but… do I know you?I mean, do we know each other?”

She smiles sweetly. “I don’t think so.”

It isn’t enough. He needs to say it. He needs to knowher.

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. His expression falls a little.“Sorry. You’re just very familiar… to…”

He’s searching her face and she searches his. When theireyes meet—his supernatural teal, her very human hazel—his brows go fromfurrowed to wide in recognition.

“Death?”

Stepping back in surprise he looks her up and down. Her skinis much darker than it usually is, her hair a soft brown and curly.

There’s no reason he should recognize her. There’s no explanation.

Other than: Jason Todd knows Death.

They spend the whole day together.

Jason promptly discards his plans, puts what he had in hiscart back, and starts gathering a whole different list of ingredients.

Then they return to his apartment, a small but comfortable placekept immaculate and tidy.

They make idle chit-chat while he cooks for her. Somethingcomplicated that she’s never had before because she never wanted to waste heone day a century in a restaurant. But time spent with Jason is easy andpleasant.

They eat. Beef Wellington, his grandfather’s recipeapparently. Pistachio soufflés for desert.

He wants to watch Casablanca, she wants to watch MaryPoppins. So they meet in the middle and pretend to watch High Societywhile they finish off the second bottle of excellent wine and make out.

It was a quiet, beautiful day.

And it’s a soft, lovely night.

Despite his brash, sarcastic exterior, Jason is kind and givingand… eager to please.

She spends an hour with his head buried between her legs andcomes twice. Then he lifts her off the sofa, her legs wrapped around his waist,and she kisses him as he carries her to his bed.

They fall into it together. She threads her fingers throughhis hair as he kisses his way down her neck, between her breasts, across herbelly. He pauses on his way back up to suck gently at her nipples, scraping histeeth over them lightly before moving back to her lips.

“May I?” he asks as he rolls his hips gracefully againsther.

She chuckles. “You better or next century we won’t get outof bed at all.”

He’s frowning when he looks up at her. “Next century?”

“I only do this once every hundred years. And it only lastfor a day.”

His face falls even further. “I… I don’t think I’ll bearound next century.” He tries for a smile but it’s weak. “Not all of us areimmortal personifications of cosmic forces.”

“Hmmm, we’ll see,” she hums. Then she pulls him into a kissbefore he can ask for clarification she doesn’t have, and flips them.

He’s breathless and flushed beneath her and she thinks that’sonly fair considering he had her the same way.

Closing the space between them, she takes his lips again andsinks down onto him. They both sigh happily at the same moment.

It might be the best day she’s ever spent as a mortal.

_____________________________________________

Jason Todd is still around the next century.

And the one after that.

And the next.

The first one wasn’t so bad.

But the ones beyond…

It’s after his great-grand nieces and nephews have gone,when that link to family, to the past, becomes so tenuous it just dissolves.

It’s when his strongest link to existence is an immortalpersonification of a cosmic force who he can only really be with once every 36,500days.

It’s when he stands alone, in a sea of people, tired, beatendown, ready to go and move on but unable.

“Why?” he asks, not for the first time.

“I don’t know,” she answers again and she knows it won’t bethe last time she has to say it. “I wish I did.”

He can’t meet her eyes. He hasn’t looked at her in decades.She knows he doesn’t blame her. But she also knows sometimes he has to remindhimself that it’s not her fault.

She’s not sure if that’s true. And she hates not knowing.

“I don’t know how much longer I can stand this,” he says,tears dripping down his cheeks because even if he can’t there’s nothing he cando about it. “It feels like that time you left and I was alone in the emptinessonly this time it won’t end. I can’t leave and… and no one is coming back.”

“You still have me,” she offers, nudging him with hershoulder.

It’s not enough and she knows it. Especially since…

“No I don’t,” he mutters even as he leans into her all tooinfrequent touch. “I never really had you. Not anymore than you ever really hadme.”

Death sits with him as long as she can. Which is justanother couple minutes.

“It’s only a few more years before my day.”

“Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven years, four months, seventeendays, and three hours, before your next mortal day.”

“What? No minutes? Seconds?”

He does her the kindness of forcing a smile before nudgingher back and saying, “You have to go.”

“I can stay a little longer.”

He sighs, a shaky, broken thing. “No you can’t.”

She leans over and presses a reassuring kiss to his cheek.Knowing it won’t work. Wishing she could do more.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I know.”

Because he does. He knows her.

And she knows him.

The curse of life is knowing that there is peace only indeath.

[nexstage]

LIMBO SILVAM - PART 6

Peridot's legs didn't feel like her own while running for her life. Her mind was in utter disarray: one half was yelling at her to accelerate unless she wanted to die; the other half was a mass of curses and regrets for leaving Lapis behind and in the hands of that thing.

She wanted to stop. Heck, her unmaterial heart was trying to stop her whole body, but the more effort Peridot put into it, the more her legs got her away from Lapis. She didn't know what to do even when she knew what was the right thing to do, and it was so frustrating!

'What the hell are you doing you clod?! Come back!', 'I can't! Lapis told me to run away!', 'You can't just leave her like that! You must fight!', 'And getting myself killed?! What about Lapis' sacrifice?!', 'You have to do something!', 'WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING?!'

The green gem pulled at her hair, gritting her teeth while the tears ran through her cheeks. She needed to go back, but without powers what was she going to do?

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" a shriek of pure agony interrupted her train of thought. Peridot finally stopped and looked behind her, she was many kilometers far away from Lapis, but that shout seemed to be very close to her no matter how much she had ran.

Another shriek scared Peridot deeply. Her overreactive imagination started conjuring horrible images of torture. That mysterious figure using whatever powers it had to play with her friend's life until getting bored and shatter her.

"No! Don't think about those things, you clod! Keep running!" Peridot turned back and made a step, then two, then she stopped. Again the conflictive feelings roared in her mind: getting the hell away from that monster or helping Lapis.

'But... What if she's dead already? What if it's for nothing in the end?'

Then the yelling stopped, though that didn't mean Peridot's worries did too. In fact, the silence only aggravated her anxiety.

"Screw it! Lapis can hate me all she wants, but we're going to survive or going down together!" the former technician held the shovel with a vice grip and went back to where she left Lapis, praying that it wasn't too late to save her.

Her legs, however, for some unkown reason felt heavy and sore, like she was carrying pounds of lead on them. Whatever, that didn't matter, Lapis' life was on the line.

Peridot accelerated with all her might, the trees becoming a dark blur that confused her, there were so many and she could potentially get lost or fall into a trap. But her resolution moved her forward, towards she believed the creature and Lapis were; the green gem didn't have a plan to fight the figure except throwing the shovel at its face, 'I will use a distraction. I will use ANYTHING! And Lapis and I will get out of here!'

Minutes passed but Peridot felt like she wasn't getting any closer to Lapis. Then, between the roots of a tree she saw a body. The appearence modiffiers were recognizable even from kilometers. "Lapis!!" Peridot ran faster and inspected her friend's condition.

The ocean gem was unconscious, but she didn't look like she was breathing, though gems didn't need it. And her blue skin had many gray spots as if she had played with gray paint. Was that some symptom of corruption or weird impurities? No, wait, Lapis could only have golden freckles as impurities not those splashes.

"Lapis, hey, Lapis! Come on, wake up!" she didn't respond. Peridot took a look at her gemstone and could barely believe it. There were big dark spots that were expanding and taking over the color blue of Lapis' gemstone. Was that the work of that monster that was chasing them?

"Lapis, please! Wake up! We have to keep going! Please, Lapis! Don't leave me hanging!" the former technician shook her body while holding back tears. What was going on?!

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

Darkness. Around her everything was just that, an immense ocean of silence and darkness. Her limbs felt like ice, cold and hard, and her head was a cacophony of shouts, explosions and falling debris.

Uh... What a curious way to describe her mind.

"Uh? W-Where am--?" the blue gem's eyes opened suddenly, her gaze directed to different angles. There was nothing to see but blackness.

"What is this place? Am-Am I dead?" that might be, right? Though she couldn't quiet remember. She screwed her eyes shut trying to make sense of what was happening.

'That thing was in front of me. It extended its hand towards me... I can't remember more' It wasn't right. She should remember!

Willing her body to move, she...floated? Levitated? How could Lapis know? In a dimension where color black was the only thing surrounding you, it was impossible to distinguish up from down.

"Hello? Hello?! Is anybody here?" She was answered with silence. It was eerie. Her arms wrapped around herself in a way to bring some comfort, though the shivers running through her spine didn't stop.

"Is this really what humans calls Afterlife? Or is it the end of existence?"

"--ou... --eat --e"

"Uh?" what was that? "Is someone there?"

"--or...! --e --t --k!"

So, she wasn't alone in that void. That was a good sign, she guessed. Now the question was what the hell was that voice saying. It sounded distorted, fragmented and very far away from where Lapis was. Was it a foe? A friend? Maybe neutral? 'Focus, Lapis. Listen closely!' she admonished herself, not thinking in anything while waiting for the strange voice to talk again.

"--s... --ge!" there it was! But she couldn't understand that either, and responding to that voice without knowing if it was a foe or an ally didn't seem a good idea. 'But what other options do I have?' Zero. That's the number. So, going against her best judgement she shouted to wherever the voice was.

"Please, tell me who you are! Where are you?! Please!"

"... --ols! ...--nk's --ds!" the voice wasn't still making sense, but it sounded clearer now. Suddenly, Lapis noticed from meter away from her a round, silver surface that looked -much to her wariness- like a mirror. Was she... No, impossible! She wasn't stuck again in that goddamn object like thousands of years ago!

"Calm down, Lazuli. Just calm down and find a way to get out of here". Hugging herself, she amounted enough courage to go check on the silver surface and heard a strangely familiar sound: static. Like the one coming from a TV. And the more she approached the surface-like mirror, the louder she could hear it. And what big her surprise was at seeing that the mysterious mirror was like a broken TV, with its static sound and nothing but a sea of infinite white, black and gray little dots moving.

What if by breaking the static-like mirror she got free? That was a good question she needed to answer for herself, so Lapis put into a fighting position and with all her might punched the mirror. The outcome wasn't what she expected, if she was honest.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!" she covered her ears as a wave of war screams, panicked cries and high-pitched mocking laughter crashed with her. The pieces of glass from the mirror levitated and got bigger, becoming static-y screens that showed moving pictures, poorly drawn like if they were a toddler's creation.

Lapis looked at every scene they showed. Some were of landscapes divided by deeps rifts made by earthquakes, a blue sea turning sickeningly red-pink, people screaming for help on the streets, a giant something looming over some people. 'What are those images? Are they my memories?' Lapis surprised herself at that realization, yeah, maybe they were! She could get her answers!

She ran, no caring how the wave of madenning sounds overwhelmed her ears, and touched one of the fragmented screens.

In hindsight, she should've thought a bit better about that plan.

The moving images froze and the screen shapeshifted into a sharp, elastic spike that stabbed her in the stomach. And not only that one, the others too. One by one, the rest became deadly spikes attacked her, and then hell began.

Excruciating, crazy pain exploded inside her body, her shouts becoming part of the sea of noise. The blue gem could feel everything and anything, it was so numbing and agonizing that she couldn't get it. It was like being hit by incredibly fast asteroids that came back to tackle you again and again; crashing to earth thousands of times and being scrubbed on the ground violently as if you were sandpaper by a giant; falling apart from the inside in the most terrifying way.

But the worst part was her gemstone. It was burning her, kind of ironic because her element was water, but still. Having the sun on her back was nothing compared to that sensation, it couldn't even be labeled as pain.

She wanted it to stop! She wanted the pain of the stabs, the fire in her gemstone, and even the mocking laughter that was sinking her mind to FUCKING get lost!!

Her whole body was losing its own grip. Glitching madly, distorting, twisting. The terror she felt in the Gem War or knowing the Diamonds were coming back to Earth paled in comparison with that nightmarish experience.

'WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?! SOMEONE, HELP ME!!!' And when it couldn't get worse, she exploded. Blinding light taking over the dark void.

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

"Blaaaaaarrrrgghh!" the sound of vomiting woke up Peridot immediately from her nap. She looked to her friend and was shocked with horror at what Lapis was expulsing from her body. A night-black, oozing substance that looked like a mix of brea and acid made a disgusting poodle in the snow.

After some minutes vomiting, Lapis shivered exhausted. Her tear-filled eyes opened and looked desperately for some help until she felt gentle hands rubbing circles in her back and wrapped her in a kind hug.

"It's ok, Laz. I'm here. I-I'm here" Peridot tried to not let the crack in her voice be noticeable and inhaled a big gulp of air to calm herself down. "I was so sick worried about you. I-I thought you would never wake up". Some tears ran through her green cheeks which Lapis' trembling, weak hand dried lovingly.

"It's good to...see you again..." the blue gem was between falling unconscious again and stay awake. She was so tired. She wanted to sleep. Wait, no! No sleeping! What if she was back to that void full of noises and hellish pain. The svelte gem'd rather die than go through that again.

With all the strength she could muster, Lapis sat, Peridot helped her support her back on a tree trunk while looking at her worriedly, anxiously. "Hey, change...that face, you d-dork. I'm ok" the ocean gem caressed Peridot's cheek, smiling at her to relieve the tension.

The former technician grabbed her hand like it was a lifeline and sniffed a bit. "Don't you dare to do that again, you clod! If we're going to get out of this stupid forest, it will be together, got it?" Lapis snorted but nodded nontheless. She didn't know in which part of the forest they were or why Peridot decided to come back for her, but she didn't care at all. She was happy to have her green companion at her side.

However, her relief was short-lived at seeing the condition in which Peridot was. Her gemstone had black spots that were spreading, slowly but spreading. Her body had grey splotches in many zones and in the center of them, dark cracks-like veins growing larger.

"P-Peridot, y-your body! Your gemstone! W-What happened?!"

"Oh! Oh..." the green gem grimaced, not knowing how to explain what had happened while Lapis was unconscious. She laughed nervously and then closed her eyes, gritting her teeth due to a sudden migraine.

"Peridot!" Lapis tried to tend to her but her body was so sore for the pain that there was no energy left to move, that and the former technician stopped her from doing something. "It's alright, just an annoying headache"

"What happened?"

Peridot sighed, massaging her temples a bit to alleviate the pain. "I was against the idea of leaving you behind, even when you told me to. I ran as fast as I could to save you from that thing. But when I found you..."