#kane will bury him alive

[brothersgrim]

Help im sad about the undertaker

[lindseymcdonaldseyelashes]

Leverage 4x7- "The Grave Danger Job"

[bruciemilf]

Thinking about Bruce after the Wayne murder. The Wayne murder? His parents’ murder. His mama’s murder, his daddy’s murder. How it divided both Kane and Wayne clans.

Can you imagine that? You bury your parents when you’re 8 years old. You’re survived by a man who loves you so much. That man doesn’t know what to do with you.

The funeral is angry and quiet, and no one fights for you. No one wants to keep you. You’re too much your mother, and too much your father. They can’t bear it.

Your uncle Philip— and you love your uncle Philip, even if you have no idea who he is, — cries to your father butler. “Sometimes I just wish it was him. She’d be here. I can’t take him Alfred, I can’t.”

Your uncle Jacob is winter embodied. He doesn’t take you either. You can be a son, but you can’t be a soldier. He tells you to come to him when you’re ready for blood, and you know you’ll accept.

Thinking about Bruce, who doesn’t lose as Batman, but loses as a father. Bruce, who loses child after child, alive or not, and keeps opening his heart anyway. Even if he knows it’s a losing game for all of them.

Primarily, thinking about Waynes, their one golden rule. That you can hurt and destroy and fight eachother, but you’ll never walk away.

[gothamite-rambler]

Dimensional Crossroads: Martha

Context: Portals from a mysterious source have been opening up around the world. Recently, Jason made the mistake of falling through one, along with a version of himself that didn’t die horribly. But it doesn’t stop there. In another dimension, Martha Wayne survived the robbery, while her husband and son fell victim to the mugger.

In her world, her Robins are called Doves—comprised of Kate Kane, Beth Kane, Barbara Gordon, and Stephanie Brown. Martha has been through a lot: dealing with creepy stalkers, facing a Joker-like Selina Kyle, and burying her grief. Now, she and Bruce are about to be surprised to see each other, even if they aren’t their versions.

Batwoman, aka Martha Wayne, landed effortlessly from the portal above, her feet touching down silently. She smiled, feeling satisfied with her graceful entrance.

Batwoman!Martha (age unknown): I still got it.

She surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings, taken aback by the array of heroes and villains that surrounded her, but she steeled her focus.

Batwoman!Martha: Hm, Giovanni mentioned I’d land in places different from my own. But this place is really something… a gender-swapped version of my world?

She groaned after using that word, realizing it was a term Barbara had recently become obsessed with as she delved into fan culture. Barbara had been sharing all sorts of things with her, and "gender swap" popped up frequently in those discussions.

Batwoman!Martha: I’ve been around Barbara for too long if I’m referencing her.

With a sigh, Batwoman retrieved a device given to her by her version of Oracle, designed for navigating these dimensions. It blinked with data about her new environment.

Batwoman!Martha (fascinated): Huh, I was somewhat right. This place has a… Batman? Where is he? I hope he’s not my husband, driven mad by some dark fate… I can’t deal with that again.

As she hummed to herself, Batwoman wandered through the chaos until she spotted a man in a blue-and-black spandex suit and a young blonde woman in a purple spandex outfit. She then stepped forward to the figure of Batman, who was assessing the pandemonium before him. She tapped his shoulder gently.

Batman turned around and saw the strange woman in a batsuit that closely resembled his own.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh my... God.

Martha instinctively covered her mouth in shock. Behind the cowl and suit, she recognized him—her Bruce, now all grown up.

Batwoman!Martha (whispering): You’re here and… alive?

Batman (monotone): I’m assuming I died in your dimension. Are you my cousin, Kate? If so, I hope you’re not as aggravating. And please, don’t be a stalker.

Martha sniffled as her tough exterior began to crumble, and she pulled him into a warm embrace. Nightwing and Spoiler exchanged shocked glances, concern etched on their faces. Batman, on the other hand, was bewildered by the sudden hug.

Batman: Ma’am, whoever you are, let go.

Spoiler (shouting): Yeah, he’s not a hugger!

Batman (annoyed): Spoiler!

Spoiler (shrugging): You’re not!

Martha’s eyes widened in realization, and she quickly pulled away, embarrassed by how she must have looked to these strangers... with the exception of Bruce.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh dear, sorry! I’m making assumptions, young man.

Batman (in his 40s): Young man?

Nightwing: Ha, he's old as hell!

Batman groaned, covering his eyes in annoyance. Batwoman, still in shock, could only smile at the potential adult version of her son. She had so many questions but knew she couldn't reveal them in a public area where people were running around in a frenzy.

Batwoman!Martha: I mean, uh… adult man. You are an adult man! Tax filing age. Nice suit, very well made. It’s loud here. How about you and I—just us—head to your Batcave to discuss all this?

Batman (suspicious): Um, sure, but in a few minutes. I need to handle this situation first before it escalates.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh, right! I almost forgot the intensity of what we’re facing. I admire your focus on the task at hand. Mind if I lend a hand?

Batman (confused): Sure. If you’re a version of me, I assume you’re a hero.

Batwoman!Martha (pulling out a sleek red and black gun): All right! Let me get my proper weapon—Batgun. Who should I aim for?

Batman swiped the gun from her grasp, walking away while gesturing for Martha to follow.

Batman: I don’t know what the rules are in your dimension, but here, I don’t use guns and I don’t kill. I hope you can respect that while you’re here.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh, of course... of course.

Batwoman!Martha (in her head): Poor Brucie must have been traumatized after losing… me. Is Thomas alive? I’ll ask about him later. For now, I can fight alongside my son!

Batwoman!Martha (speaking out loud): Lead the way, sonny, and we can catch up afterward.

Batman (finding her odd): Honestly, you’re very strange to me right now and I'm not sure what catching up means in this context.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh, don’t worry! You’ll understand at the Batcave.

Batman rolled his eyes, still unaware of the true identity of this version of Batwoman. All he wanted was to resolve the chaos of the night.

To be continued...

[whumpsday]

I bury Kane, restrained, somewhere in Jim’s front yard. He’s got a silver gag in his mouth and a sack over his head so there’s as little noise as possible.

There’s a shovel left on the mound of dirt, however, for jim to dig him up the following morning:) and if he looks real close, he can see kane’s name carved into the dirt as a hint of what’s inside. Does he dig it up as soon as possible? Call for help?

Kane is even more distressed about the silver gag than he is about being buried alive. He screams through it as it burns his mouth, begging you with his eyes to take it out. Honestly, there probably would have been less noise without it.

When Jim finds him, the first thing he does is pitch something to shade the spot so Kane won't get hit by the sun. He digs Kane up right after that and takes the gag out, horrified. Kane's mouth has been mangled enough that he cannot speak, and he cowers away from the sun. Jim does his best to comfort him as he wraps him up in a blanket, ushering him inside.

[oinky-spoinky]

Circus of the Dead Session 2 (briefly told)

Session two is probably my favorite thus far (details may be off cause it's been a while). They started their day pretty normally despite the murder. They go and get their breakfast and go to bother some employees and Jingles and Luigi earn money by performing, however, they are interrupted by Arbor coming to give them a task. Hide the body. So they have to figure out how to drag this guy that they killed off to the woods to bury him. Jingles is the one that ends up going to bury him and manages to get lost in the deep, unfamiliar woods. Luckily, Derwin manages to help him get out. After this it's nighttime so they go to bed. They wake up in the morning to find out that Harlow, one of the carnies, has been murdered. They immediately go to look at the scene of the crime and find two royal guardsmen there investigating, Roscoe and Burke. They talk with them for a bit and manage to get them to leave. However, Roscoe comes back very soon and gives them a suspect list and a little bit of information about the murder. Suspect list: Devereaux (the puppeteer)- overall just creepy Dizzy (a clown)-last person seen with Harlow Kane (ticket guy)- has beef with Harlow River (a carnie, runs the games)-Harlow's boyfriend, always suspect the lover Jingles- Has a reputation The party ignores the fact that their friend is a suspect and goes on to interrogate River, who is in shambles. He tells them that he had went to go see Harlow the night before but that he left before Harlow died. Harlow had seemed uneasy and he had stayed and talked to him and gotten him a drink before heading to bed for the night.

After this they go to talk to Dizzy, who simply informs them that he was blackout drunk for like the entire night. They press him no further. They go talk to Kane afterwards, only to find out that he doesn't like Harlow simply because he finds him annoying, but wouldn't want to kill him. They eventually mosey on over to go talk to Devereaux, but he's busy doing a show. They end up going through Devereux's tent and find three dolls. Two of which look like his puppets and one of which looks like Arbor. They steal the Arbor doll and his lipstick(?) and go to confront him. However, he storms off, frustrated about something. They end up going back to the scene of the crime and find that there was something put into the drink that was found near Harlow's body. They soon find out that it was poison hemlock. Jingles then devises a plan to bring in the suspects and give them a drink out of the bottle that Harlow was last seen drinking out of with a Hemlock plant in the middle of the table. They suspect that whoever hesitates is the killer. River is the one that hesitates and they end up interrogating him further. He won't admit to the murder so they go and search his and Harlow's tent. In the tent they find a letter under Harlow's bed that reads "I can't do this" and is otherwise illegible. They find out that the letter was written to the fortune teller, Meritt and she tells them that he was planning on killing River that night. River admits that he was also coming in to kill Harlow that night as he was put up to it but that he switched their drinks that Harlow ended up poisoning himself on accident. River simply mercy killed him as he was slowly dying from the poison. After solving the murder, the party confronts Devereaux about the dolls and he gets angry, causing them to go into initiative. They end up "killing" him and leave for the night to go do their own thing. However, after the events of the session, Jingles goes back to see the scene of the crime to find Devereaux alive, feeling pity, he goes and helps him dress his wounds and get cleaned up. Devereaux now feels indebted to him and this is where the events of this session end.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 17

Warnings: 18+ readers only, smut, sir kink

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

I blinked my eyes open, seeing both Harry and Hermione leaning over me. "You alright?" Hermione asked fretfully. 

"Ow, yeah." I mumbled, slowly pushing myself into a sitting position. "Where are we?" 

"Safe place. C'mon, let's get into the tent." Harry said, helping me up. I gently placed a hand on my stomach, feeling little kicks. They were unhappy with me, but at least I knew they were both alive and well. 

"So," Ron started immediately, showing that I had missed a bit of their conversation, "that Peverell bloke who's buried in Godric's Hollow, you don't know anything about him, then?" 

"No, I looked him up after I saw the mark on his grave; if he'd been anyone famous or done anything important, I'm sure he'd be in one of our books. The only place I've managed to find the name 'Peverell' is Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. I borrowed it from Kreacher. It lists the pure-blood families that are now extinct in the male line. Apparently the Peverells were one of the earliest families to vanish." 

"Extinct in the male line?" Ron asked. 

"It means the name's died out. . . centuries ago, in the case of the Peverells. They could still have descendants, though, they'd just be called something different." 

"Marvolo Gaunt!" Harry suddenly shouted. 

"What?" I asked. 

"Sorry?" Ron and Hermione asked together. 

"Marvolo Gaunt! You-Know-Who's grandfather! In the pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!" 

I had forgotten about that and was impressed that Harry had. 

"The ring, the ring that became the Horcrux, Marvolo Gaunt said it had the Peverell coat of arms on it! I saw him waving it in the bloke from the Ministry's face, he nearly shoved it up his nose!" 

"the Peverell coat of arms? Could you see what it looked like?" Hermione asked sharply. 

"Not really. There was something fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open." 

"Blimey. . . you reckon it was this sign again? the sign of the Hallows?" Ron asked. 

"Why not? Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through generations, he might not have know what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn't the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He'd have loved to think the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal." 

"Yes. . . and that's all very interesting, but Harry, if you're thinking what I think you're think-" 

"Well, why not? Why not? It was a stone wasn't it? What if it was the Resurrection stone?" Harry asked. 

"Blimey-  but would it still work if Dumbledore broke-" Ron gasped. 

"Work? Work?" Hermiones' voice was going up in octaves, making little pricks against my brain and I closed my eyes, laying on the cot. "Ron, it never worked! There's no such thing as a Resurrection Stone! Harry, you're trying to fit everything into the Hallows story-" 

"Fit everything in? Hermione, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hallows was on that stone! Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverell's!" 

"A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!" 

"Where d'you reckon the ring is now? What did Dumbledore do with it after he broke it open?" Ron asked frantically. 

Harry didn't answer however. He was looking off into the distance, a faint look of concentration on his face. His black hair had fallen into his green eyes, boring holes into the tent wall. 

"Harry?" Hermione asked after a few seconds. 

Suddenly, Harry let out a dramatic gasp. "Dumbledore had my Cloak the night my parents died!" 

I felt that twinge of sadness, whenever he called our parents 'his' or 'my'. I knew it was not his fault, I knew it was what he believed. And I knew that was my fault, because I had made sure it was that way. 

His voice was shaking as he continued, "My mum told Sirius that Dumbledore borrowed the cloak! This is why! He wanted to examine it, because he thought it was the third Hallow! Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric's Hollow. . .He's my ancestor! I'm descended from the third brother! It all makes sense!"

"Harry." Hermione tried again. 

"Read it," Harry pushed a piece of parchment in Hermiones' hand. "Read it! Dumbledore had the Cloak, Hermione! Why else would he want it? He didn't need a Cloak, he could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that he made himself completely invisible without one!" 

"That's true." I murmured, frowning a little. I hadn't even thought of that. 

I heard something clink, rolling on the ground and then Harry shouted so loud I winced, "IT'S IN HERE! He left me the ring- it's in the snitch!" 

"You- you reckon?" Ron asked. 

Harry looked between me, Ron, and Hermione. Ron looked taken aback and Hermione was obviously unbelieving. I hoped I mostly just looked like I was in pain, fingers pressed against my head like that would get rid of the headache. 

"That's what he's after." Harry whispered. "You-Know-Who's after the Elder Wand." 

I sat up, motioning to Hermione that I wanted the letter. Hermione handed it over without a word. 

I unfolded the letter, taking in a deep breath as I saw Lily Potters' handwriting. 

Dear Padfoot,      Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only  rises about two feet off the ground, but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for  Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James though it was so funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going.      Lizzy just absolutely loves the Muggle dolls. I don't think  she's stopped playing with them ever since she got them. She's so serious about making sure they're wearing appropriate attire before bed and she doesn't dress herself until they're dressed in day clothes. It's adorable. I would enclose a picture, but you know she's camera shy.       We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who has always been sweet to us, and who dotes on  Harry and Lizzy. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first, and they're not old enough to know it's their birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell- also,  Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I though he  seemed down, but that was probably the news about the  McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard.      Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore, I'm not  sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore

The letter cut off, but I wasn't focused on that, especially since I knew how it finished. I had found the scrap of letter and half a picture in Severus' top drawer months ago. Despite me being camera shy, it was clear a picture had been snuck with me holding my mother's hand, a doll in my other hand. I knew it had originally connected to a photo of Harry riding along on a broom, our father diving after him, just a pair of legs. 

The part I was focused on were the small tidbits about me. Muggle dolls. I had gotten muggle dolls and I liked to dress them, even at a year old. I knew which clothes should've gone on them and I dressed them like they were my children. 

It took all of my willpower not to cry, especially knowing Hermione  was looking at me, seeing as Harry was still lost in thought. 

"I don't suppose you know what the last bit is supposed to say?" Hermione asked quietly. 

"Oh." I looked up and said after a moment. "'because it seems incredible that Dumbledore could ever have been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. I think her mind's going, personally! Lots of love, Lily.'" 

"You know," Hermione said quieter, "There's something that doesn't quite make sense." 

"What?" I asked. 

"Harry said he did have a sister, but that Barty Crouch Jr. said she died in April. But if she's celebrating her birthday in July. . . how could she have died in April?" Her eyes were holding mine and I just knew that she knew. 

"Maybe she's still out there. Maybe she doesn't want people to know who she is." I answered. "Maybe she wants to reveal herself at the right time." I went silent and then said, "Or maybe she doesn't know who she is." 

"This is it." Harry suddenly said, not having paid attention to a word we had said. Ron looked away from us slowly. Hermione and I stared at each other for a moment longer and I shook my head an inch. "This explains everything. The Deathly Hallows are real, and I've got one- maybe two- and You-Know-Who's chasing the third, but he doesn't realize. . . he just thinks it's a powerful wand-" 

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I think you've got this wrong, all wrong." 

"But don't you see? It all fits-" 

"No, it doesn't. It doesn't, Harry, you're just getting carried away. Please, please just answer me this: If the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all three of them would be master of Death- Harry, why wouldn't he have told you? Why?" 

"But you said it, Hermione! You've got to find out about them for yourself! It's a Quest!" 

Hermione was going to hate herself for that one later probably. "But I only said that to try and persuade you to come to the Lovegoods'! I didn't really believe it!" 

"Dumbledore usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing he'd do." 

"Harry, this isn't a game, this isn't practice! This is the real thing, and Dumbledore left you very clear instructions: Find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn't mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can't afford to get sidetracked- You don't believe in this, do you?" 

I glanced up, finally handing the letter over to Harry. 

"I dunno. . . I mean. . . bits of it sort of fit together," Ron said very awkwardly, looking like he wanted to placate both of them. "But when you look at the whole thing. . . I think we're supposed to get rid of Horcruxes, Harry. That's what Dumbledore told us to do. Maybe. . . maybe we should forget about this Hallows business." 

"Thank you Ron, I'll take first watch." Hermione said, walking off. 

Harry looked at me. "What about you?" 

"I don't know Harry." I said softly, standing. "I know that's a rare answer from me but, I just don't know. I'd listen to Ron." I pulled him into a hug, letting out a sigh. "I'll see you later, I need to get back." 

"Back to Snape?" Harry asked, a dangerous note in his voice. 

"Back to my son." I said, my voice equally dangerous now. I squeezed his arm and stepped out of the tent without another word. I smiled at Hermione but made it clear I wasn't staying for a word, moving far away into the forest before closing my eyes and apparating. 

I turned into my normal black cat form, padding through Hogsmeade before making my way up to the castle once more. Severus was laying on the bed with Remus, fast asleep until the door opened, his wand pointed at me until he saw who it was. 

"You know you shouldn't relax so easily." I teased, taking my cloak off, laying it on the back of the chair, locking the door behind me. I sauntered over to the bed, climbing up awkwardly onto the piece of furniture, straddling Severus' lap. "What if I was a Death Eater." 

"What if I was a Death Eater?" Severus asked lowly, nose skimming my neck. 

"You are a Death Eater." I giggled, before pressing my lips to his. "I'm all yours sir. How do you want me to serve?" I was desperate to lose myself in him after the rough afternoon and the near miss with Hermione discovering I was his sister. Well, knowing, I suppose. 

"Hmm, tempting." Severus rolled over, pinning me underneath him. "However, our son is in bed with us so I think we need to behave." 

I kissed him again and then wiggled upwards. "That's not fun at all." 

"You're a terrible influence." Severus groaned, before rolling out of bed to pick up Remus and lay him down in his crib, tapping it with his wand so that Remus could not hear certain noises that would be going on in the room. Severus crawled back up on the bed, hovering over me, before kissing down my neck. "Now then, I believe you said you were going to serve me?" 

"Yes Sir." I replied coyly, letting my hands wander south on him, until they were undoing the buttons on his pants. He rolled off of me, landing on his back as I helped him lose his trousers and boxers. "You look delicious sir." 

"You're such a tease." Severus moaned through gritted teeth as I licked up the underside of his shaft. His hand grabbed me by the hair, pulling me towards him. I went with it till I was straddling him, his cock rubbing against my folds. 

Our breathing grew heavy as I sank down on him, riding him slowly, his hands moving to my hips, helping me ride him. 

"Merlin, you feel amazing." Severus moaned out, fingers digging softly into my hips. 

"My name is Elizabeth." I teased lightly, rolling so that we were both on our sides as we made love now. I captured his lips with mine, nipping at his bottom lip. 

"My apologies." Severus teased and then gritted his teeth as he moaned lowly again. "Cum, Elizabeth." 

It was instantaneous as I released, feeling him release inside of me at the same time. I sighed in content, relaxing into his arms. 

We laid there for a moment before Severus slowly started to kiss my skin. Then he lightly murmured, "I'll go run the bath." 

I hummed as he got up off the bed, watching him disappear butt naked into the bathroom, before he came back out to get me. I padded out to the bathroom, my legs shaking only a little bit and he helped me into the bath. 

We took turns washing each other, soaking in the hot water until it cooled, before heading back out to bed. Severus climbed into bed, helping me up onto the raised furniture, before pulling me against him, cuddling me as the both of us drifted off to sleep. 

⬅️➡️

[ladyeckland28]

Echoes From The Abyss

A science fiction story by Ecky

The winds howled across the barren landscape, kicking up clouds of fine grey dust that obscured the horizon. Captain Jareth Kane squinted against the relentless glare, his weathered features etched in a perpetual scowl as he surveyed the twisted, half-buried wreckage of the massive starship before them.

"Well, this is it," he growled, his voice crackling through the comm system. "The *Argonaut*. Looks like it's been here a while."

In the cramped confines of the bridge, his ragtag crew peered out at the scene, their expressions a mix of anticipation and unease. Kane had led them to many a lucrative salvage operation over the years, but there was something about this particular wreck that set their nerves on edge.

"I don't like the look of this place, Cap," Deckard, the ship's chief engineer, murmured. "Feels wrong, somehow. Not natural."

Kane grunted. "Maybe. But we didn't come all this way to turn back now. We're sitting on a fortune's worth of tech and parts in that wreck. We move fast, grab what we can, and get the hell out of here. Understood?"

The crew voiced their reluctant agreement, and Kane turned to his second-in-command, a grizzled veteran named Mara. "Assemble the scavenge teams. I want a full survey of the wreck's condition before we start cutting into her."

Mara nodded and began barking orders, her voice clipped and efficient. Within minutes, the airlock hatch irised open, and a small team of scavengers in bulky environmental suits stepped out onto the alien soil, their magnetic boots clanking against the rocky surface.

Kane watched them fan out, their lights cutting through the gloom as they approached the hulking wreck. He let out a slow, weary sigh, already feeling the familiar prickle of unease that always accompanied these salvage missions. Something about this place just didn't sit right with him.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, turning to follow his crew.

***

The inside of the *Argonaut* was a maze of twisted, broken corridors, the once-pristine metal surfaces now warped and scarred by years of neglect and the brutal impact of the crash. Gaping holes in the hull let in the eerie red-tinged light of the planet's strange sky, casting long shadows that seemed to shift and dance as the scavengers moved through the wreckage.

Deckard moved cautiously, his hands gripping the rifle he carried as a precaution. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the shadows, but when he blinked, it was gone.

"Probably just my imagination," he muttered, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. They were here to salvage, not get spooked by ghosts.

Ahead, he could see the rest of the scavenge team fanning out, their lights sweeping over the debris-strewn floors and mangled bulkheads. Mara was barking orders, directing them to the most promising-looking areas.

Deckard took a deep breath and pressed on, his boots crunching on the scattered fragments of broken glass and twisted metal. As he rounded a corner, he froze, his eyes widening behind the visor of his suit.

"What the...?"

Before him, a strange, pulsing growth clung to the walls, its surface writhing with an alien, unnatural rhythm. Deckard stared at it, transfixed, as the substance seemed to shift and change, as if it were alive.

"Mara? You seeing this?" he called out, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was a crackle of static, then Mara's voice in his ear. "Yeah, I see it. Don't touch it. Looks like some kind of organic compound. Might be hazardous. Keep your distance and keep moving."

Deckard swallowed hard and nodded, even though Mara couldn't see him. "Roger that." He quickly continued on, putting as much distance between himself and the strange, pulsing growth as possible.

As he moved deeper into the wreck, the air grew thicker, the shadows more pronounced. Deckard couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, that there were unseen eyes tracking his every move. He found himself glancing over his shoulder more and more, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Come on, Deckard, pull it together," he muttered to himself, forcing his focus back to the task at hand. "It's just your imagination. Nothing out here but a few mutant plants and a whole lot of nothing."

But as he rounded another corner, he froze, his blood running cold. There, in the dim light, was a twisted, distorted shape, moving with a disturbing, unnatural fluidity.

Deckard's breath caught in his throat as the creature turned towards him, its features indistinct and warped, like something from a nightmare. He tried to raise his rifle, but his hands were shaking, and the weapon slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

The creature let out a guttural, inhuman shriek, and Deckard felt a wave of pure terror wash over him. He turned and ran, his boots pounding against the metal floor as he desperately sought the exit, his mind consumed by a primal fear.

***

Kane jerked his head up at the sound of the scream, his eyes narrowing.

"What the hell was that?"

Mara's voice crackled over the comm, tinged with a rare note of alarm. "Deckard, report! What's your status?"

There was a long, tense silence, then a panicked response. "Something... something's in here! Mara, it's not right, it's not human! I've lost my weapon, I'm heading back to the airlock!"

Kane felt a chill run down his spine. "Mara, get a team together. We're going in after him."

Mara's reply was grim. "Copy that, Cap. Move fast."

Kane turned to the remaining crew members, his expression stern. "You heard the man. Gear up and move out. We're not leaving anyone behind."

The crew scrambled to obey, their faces etched with a mix of fear and determination. Kane led the way, his own weapon held at the ready as they made their way into the twisted, shadowy wreck.

***

Deckard's lungs burned as he raced through the corridors, his heart pounding in his ears. He could still hear the creature's unearthly shriek echoing behind him, spurring him on.

"Gotta get out of here, gotta get out of here," he chanted under his breath, his vision blurring with panic.

He rounded a corner and nearly collided with one of the scavenge team members, who grabbed him by the arms, steadying him.

"Whoa, Deckard, what's going on? Where's your rifle?"

Deckard's eyes were wild, his voice shaking. "It's... it's not human, man. Something's in here, something's wrong with this place. We gotta get out, now!"

The other scavenger's eyes widened, and he quickly activated his comm. "Mara, I've got Deckard. He's spooked, says there's something in here that's not human. Request immediate extraction, over."

Mara's response was terse. "Copy that. We're on our way. Hold your position and keep an eye out."

The scavenger turned back to Deckard, his grip tightening. "You heard the lady. We're getting out of here, but you gotta keep it together, alright? Can you do that?"

Deckard nodded shakily, his gaze darting around the dimly lit corridor. "Y-yeah, yeah, I can do that. Just... get me out of here, please."

The sound of running footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Deckard felt a surge of relief as he saw Kane and the rest of the crew approaching, their weapons at the ready.

"Deckard, report," Kane barked, his eyes scanning the area.

"Something... something's in here, Cap," Deckard stammered. "I don't know what it is, but it's not human. It's not right."

Kane's expression darkened, and he turned to the rest of the crew. "Alright, listen up. We're getting out of here, but we do it together. Stick close, keep your eyes peeled, and if you see anything, shoot first and ask questions later. Understood?"

The crew voiced their agreement, and they began to make their way back towards the airlock, their footsteps echoing in the eerie silence.

As they moved, Deckard couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that the very shadows seemed to shift and move with a malevolent intelligence. He tightened his grip on his weapon, his heart pounding in his chest.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air, and Deckard whirled around to see one of the scavengers being dragged into the darkness, his terrified cries abruptly cut off.

"No!" Deckard raised his weapon, firing wildly into the shadows, his aim erratic with fear.

Kane grabbed him, yanking him back. "Hold your fire, you idiot! You'll hit one of us!"

Mara's voice crackled over the comm, laced with panic. "We're under attack! Fall back to the airlock, now!"

The crew turned and ran, their boots pounding against the metal floor as they desperately sought the exit. Deckard could hear the sounds of more inhuman shrieks echoing behind them, spurring them on.

Finally, they burst out into the blinding glare of the planet's surface, the airlock hatch slamming shut behind them. Deckard collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving, as the rest of the crew gathered around, their faces pale and shaken.

Kane stepped forward, his expression grim. "What the hell happened in there?"

Deckard shook his head, his voice trembling. "I... I don't know, Cap. It wasn't human, I swear. It was... it was *wrong*, somehow. Twisted, like it wasn't even real."

Mara's brow furrowed. "Deckard, where's your rifle?"

"I... I dropped it. When I saw that *thing*, I just... I panicked." Deckard hung his head, his cheeks burning with shame.

Kane let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his graying hair. "Alright, everyone back inside. We need to regroup and figure out what the hell is going on."

As they filed back into the ship, Deckard couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them, the shadows seeming to press in from all sides. He swallowed hard, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

***

Back on the bridge, the crew huddled around the central console, their faces etched with a mix of fear and uncertainty.

"Alright, let's go over what we know," Kane said, his voice low and serious. "Deckard, you said you saw... something in there. Something that wasn't human. Can you describe it?"

Deckard shook his head, his hands trembling. "I... I don't even know how to describe it, Cap. It was *wrong*, twisted and distorted, like it wasn't even real. And the way it moved, it was..." He shuddered, the memory of that guttural, inhuman shriek sending a chill down his spine.

Mara spoke up, her brow furrowed. "Could it have been some kind of mutated animal? Or maybe a malfunctioning android?"

Deckard shook his head again. "No, it wasn't like anything I've ever seen before. It was..." He paused, searching for the right words. "It was *alive*, but not like any living thing I know."

Kane's expression grew darker. "And this thing, it attacked one of the scavenge team? Dragged him off?"

"Y-yeah, that's right. Just... grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows. We couldn't do anything to stop it." Deckard's voice cracked, the guilt and fear evident in his tone.

Kane let out a heavy sigh, his jaw clenching. "Alright. So we've got some kind of unknown threat in there, and one of our people is missing." He turned to the rest of the crew, his gaze hardening. "We can't leave him behind. We're going back in, but this time, we do it properly. Everyone suits up, grabs their best gear, and we move in as a team. No heroics, no getting separated. We find our man, and we get the hell out of here. Understood?"

The crew voiced their agreement, and they quickly set about preparing for their return to the wreck. Deckard watched them, his stomach twisting with dread. He knew they were walking into the unknown, facing something that defied all logic and reason. But he also knew that they couldn't abandon their own, not when there was still a chance to save him.

As the airlock hatch cycled open once more, Deckard took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever horrors might lie ahead. He gripped his weapon tightly, his knuckles white, and followed his crewmates back into the twisted, shadowy depths of the *Argonaut*.

***

The corridors of the *Argonaut* seemed to have grown even darker and more twisted since their last venture, the shadows pressing in from all sides. Deckard felt a shiver run down his spine, the air thick with an unsettling, charged energy.

Kane led the way, his eyes scanning the environment warily. "Stay alert, everyone. Keep your lights on and your weapons ready. We don't know what we're dealing with, so be prepared for anything."

The crew moved with a grim determination, their boots clanking against the metal floor as they made their way deeper into the wreck. Deckard couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that the very shadows seemed to shift and move with a malevolent intelligence.

Suddenly, a scream echoed through the corridor, and Deckard felt his heart leap into his throat. "That sounded like-"

"Move, move!" Kane barked, leading the charge towards the source of the sound.

They rounded a corner to find one of the scavengers, his environmental suit torn and his limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Deckard felt bile rise in his throat as he caught a glimpse of the man's terrified, contorted face.

"What the hell happened?" Mara demanded, her weapon raised and ready.

The scavenger let out a gurgling, agonized cry. "It... it's alive. The walls, the floor, it's all alive. It's-"

His words were cut off as a horrifying, writhing mass erupted from the floor, enveloping him in a tangle of thick, pulsing tendrils. Deckard watched in horror as the scavenger's struggles grew weaker, his cries muffled by the alien substance.

"Open fire!" Kane roared, his own weapon spitting a hail of bullets into the viscous, shifting mass.

The rest of the crew followed suit, the corridor erupting in a cacophony of gunfire and the agonized shrieks of the creature. But as they fired, Deckard noticed that the substance seemed to simply flow around the bullets, as if it were alive and aware of their attack.

"It's not working!" he cried out, his voice laced with panic. "The bullets, they're just-"

His words were cut off as the creature suddenly lashed out, a tendril whipping towards him with blinding speed. Deckard barely had time to react before the appendage wrapped around his leg, yanking him off his feet.

He cried out in terror as he was dragged across the floor, the creature's grip unyielding. "Help! Somebody, help me!"

Kane and the others opened fire, but their weapons seemed to have little effect. Deckard could feel the tendril tightening around his leg, the pressure building until it felt as if his bones might shatter.

Suddenly, a blast of searing heat pierced the air, and the tendril abruptly released its grip, recoiling as if in pain. Deckard looked up to see Mara, her flamethrower blazing, driving the creature back with a wall of fire.

"Move, Deckard!" she shouted, her voice muffled by her suit. "Get to the airlock, now!"

Deckard didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and ran, his heart pounding in his chest. The rest of the crew followed close behind, firing their weapons as they ran.

Deckard raced through the twisting corridors, his boots pounding against the metal floor as he fled from the horror behind them. The creature's inhuman shrieks echoed in his ears, spurring him on.

Up ahead, he could see the faint glow of the airlock hatch, a beacon of hope in the twisted, shadowy wreck. He pushed himself harder, his lungs burning, desperate to reach the safety of the *Wraith*.

As he burst through the hatch, the rest of the crew right on his heels, he turned and slammed the controls, sealing the airlock shut with a hiss of pressurized air. For a moment, there was silence, save for the ragged sound of their labored breathing.

Kane was the first to speak, his voice gruff but tinged with a rare note of concern. "Everyone alright?"

Mara nodded, her helmet obscuring her expression. "We're all here. But... we lost Jax."

Deckard felt a pang of grief and guilt. Jax had been a good man, a valued member of their crew. And now he was gone, consumed by the nightmare that lurked within the *Argonaut*.

Kane's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening. "We'll mourn him later. Right now, we need to figure out what the hell is going on and how to get off this goddamn rock."

He turned to Deckard, his gaze piercing. "You said that thing wasn't human. What did you mean by that?"

Deckard swallowed hard, his mind racing. "I... I don't know, Cap. It wasn't like any living thing I've ever seen before. It was *alive*, but not in a way that makes sense. And the way it moved, the way it attacked... it was almost *intelligent*, like it was *aware* of us."

Kane's brow furrowed. "Intelligent? You mean it was *thinking*?"

Deckard nodded shakily. "I... I think so. God, I don't know, but it wasn't just some mindless creature. There was something *wrong* with it, something *unnatural*."

Mara spoke up, her voice tense. "Could it be some kind of advanced lifeform? Maybe something the *Argonaut* was transporting?"

Kane's expression darkened. "That's what I'm worried about. If this thing is as advanced as you say, then it could be *dangerous*. We need to find out what the hell it is and how to stop it before it kills us all."

He turned to the rest of the crew, his gaze stern. "Alright, listen up. We're going to do a full sweep of the *Argonaut*, starting from the bridge and working our way down. I want to know everything there is to know about this ship, its cargo, and whatever the hell is infesting it. And for God's sake, keep your eyes peeled and your weapons ready. That *thing* is still out there, and it's not going to just let us walk away."

The crew nodded grimly, the fear palpable in the cramped confines of the airlock. Deckard felt a chill run down his spine, the memory of the creature's twisted, inhuman form seared into his mind.

As they stepped back out onto the barren, alien landscape, Deckard couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that the very air itself seemed to thrum with a malevolent energy. He tightened his grip on his weapon, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

***

The *Argonaut*'s bridge was in shambles, the once-pristine consoles and displays now twisted and broken, their screens flickering with static. Deckard moved cautiously, his weapon raised and ready, his heart pounding in his chest.

Kane was deep in concentration, his fingers flying across the keyboard of a still-functioning console. "Alright, let's see what we can find. Mara, you and the others do a full sweep of the bridge, see if you can find anything useful."

Mara nodded, her own weapon at the ready as she led the rest of the crew in a systematic search of the room. Deckard followed, his gaze darting from one shadowy corner to the next, waiting for the slightest hint of movement.

Suddenly, a faint flickering caught his eye, and he turned to see a damaged display screen flickering to life. Curious, he moved closer, peering at the garbled, indecipherable data scrolling across the surface.

"Cap, I think I found something," he called out, his voice hushed.

Kane glanced up from the console, his brow furrowed. "What is it?"

Deckard shook his head, his expression troubled. "I'm not sure. It looks like some kind of... I don't know, *manifest* or something. But the data's all corrupted, I can't make heads or tails of it."

Kane moved to Deckard's side, his eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. "Hmm, let me take a look."

He began typing commands, his fingers swift and precise, and slowly, the jumbled data began to coalesce into a more coherent form. Deckard watched, his breath catching in his throat as the nature of the *Argonaut*'s cargo became clear.

"Oh, God..." Kane's voice was barely above a whisper, his face pale. "This... this isn't good."

Deckard felt a sense of dread wash over him. "What is it, Cap? What did you find?"

Kane turned to him, his expression grim. "According to this, the *Argonaut* was transporting some kind of experimental compound. Some sort of... *living* substance, harvested from the edge of known space."

Deckard's eyes widened. "Living? You mean, like... like what we saw in the corridors?"

Kane nodded, his jaw clenching. "Exactly. And it looks like the containment protocols failed during the crash. The substance, it... it *escaped*."

Mara, who had been listening in, let out a low, tense whistle. "So, we're dealing with some kind of alien *parasite*, then? One that's taken over this entire planet?"

Kane's gaze hardened. "Worse than that. According to these logs, the substance is *sentient*. It's not just some mindless creature, it's *intelligent*. And it's-"

He was cut off by a sudden, ear-splitting shriek that echoed through the bridge, the very walls seeming to tremble with the force of it. Deckard felt a chill run down his spine, his grip tightening on his weapon.

"Brace yourselves!" Kane yelled, his own weapon raised and ready.

The crew scattered, taking cover behind the twisted, broken consoles as the floor began to *shift*, the metal surface rippling and pulsing with an unnatural, alien rhythm.

Deckard watched in horror as a massive, writhing tendril erupted from the ground, its tip glistening with a viscous, oozing substance. The creature let out another bone-chilling shriek, and Deckard felt a wave of pure terror wash over him.

"Shoot, damn it!" Kane roared, his weapon spitting a hail of bullets at the monstrous appendage.

The rest of the crew opened fire, their weapons blazing, but the creature seemed impervious to their attacks, the bullets sinking into its flesh only to be immediately expelled.

Deckard's hands shook as he squeezed the trigger, his mind reeling with the knowledge that they were facing something far beyond their comprehension. This wasn't just some mindless beast, it was *intelligent*, *aware*, and it wanted them *dead*.

As the creature lashed out, its tendril whipping through the air with blinding speed, Deckard knew they were outmatched. They needed to get out of here, to find a way to escape this *nightmare* before it consumed them all.

"Cap, we need to go!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with fear. "We can't fight this thing, we have to-"

His words were cut off as the tendril suddenly wrapped around his leg, the grip crushing and unyielding. He cried out in pain, his weapon clattering to the floor as he was yanked off his feet.

"Deckard!" Mara's voice rang out, tinged with panic, as she opened fire on the creature, her flamethrower blazing.

But the creature seemed undeterred, its grip only tightening as it began to *pull*, dragging Deckard towards the pulsing, alien mass that had once been the floor.

Deckard struggled, his fingers clawing at the metal surface as he desperately sought to free himself. "Help me! Somebody, *please*!"

Kane was at his side in an instant, his face contorted with a fierce determination. "Hold on, Deckard!" he growled, gripping the younger man's arms and *pulling*.

The rest of the crew joined in, their combined strength straining against the creature's relentless grip. Deckard felt the pressure around his leg begin to ease, and he let out a ragged, desperate gasp.

"Almost... almost there!" Kane grunted, his muscles bulging with the effort.

But just as they were about to break free, the creature let out a *deafening* shriek, and the floor *erupted* in a surge of writhing, pulsing tendrils. Deckard watched in horror as they surged towards the crew, moving with a terrifying, unnatural fluidity.

"Get back!" Kane yelled, his grip on Deckard slipping as he and the others scrambled for cover.

Deckard felt the creature's grip tighten once more, and he let out a desperate, agonized scream as he was *dragged* into the alien mass, the world around him dissolving into a nightmare of twisting, pulsing *wrongness*.

***

Kane watched in horror as Deckard vanished into the seething, alien mass, the younger man's anguished cries echoing in his ears. He opened fire, his weapon blazing, but the bullets seemed to have no effect, the creature simply *absorbing* them.

"Mara, get the *Wraith* prepped for launch!" he yelled, his voice laced with a desperation he hadn't felt in years. "We need to get the *hell* out of here!"

Mara hesitated, her gaze darting between Kane and the swirling, pulsing mass that had once been the bridge floor. "But... Deckard-"

"There's nothing we can do for him now!" Kane snapped, his eyes wild. "We stay, we *die*. Now move, damn it!"

Mara nodded, her expression grim, and she turned to the remaining crew. "You heard the captain. Let's go!"

As they retreated, Kane spared one last, anguished look at the spot where Deckard had vanished, his heart heavy with the weight of another lost crewmate. But he knew they had no choice – they needed to escape, to get as far away from this *nightmare* as possible.

The *Wraith*'s engines roared to life, and Kane felt the familiar sensation of the ship lifting off, leaving the twisted, alien landscape behind. But as the *Argonaut* and the *echoes of the abyss* that had consumed it faded into the distance, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was far from over.

Whatever that *thing* was, it was *intelligent*, *aware*, and it had a *hunger* that could never be satisfied. And he knew, deep in his bones, that it would only be a matter of time before it came *looking* for them.

*****

The *Wraith* tore through the void of space, its engines straining as Kane pushed the ship to its limits. Behind them, the twisted, alien landscape of the planet they had so narrowly escaped receded into the distance, but the memory of the horrors they had faced there still lingered, a cold, foreboding presence in the back of their minds.

Mara stood beside Kane, her expression grim. "What the hell was that thing, Jareth?"

Kane's jaw was set, his eyes fixed on the stars streaking by. "Something... *unnatural*. Sentient, like Deckard said, and *hungry*. It wasn't just some mindless creature, it was *aware*, *intelligent*."

Mara's brow furrowed. "You think it's going to come after us?"

Kane let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know, Mara. But I'm not willing to take that chance. That *thing* nearly got us all, and it took Deckard..." His voice trailed off, the weight of their loss evident in his tone.

Mara reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find a way to stop it, Jareth. We have to."

Kane nodded, his gaze hardening. "Damn right we will. But first, we need to figure out what the hell that *thing* was, and where it came from. And I have a feeling the key to that is back on the *Argonaut*."

He turned to the rest of the crew, his expression stern. "Alright, listen up. We're heading back to the *Argonaut*, but this time, we're going in prepared. I want a full systems diagnostic, and I want to know everything there is to know about that *cargo* the ship was transporting. We need to understand what we're dealing with if we're going to have any chance of stopping it."

The crew voiced their agreement, their faces etched with a grim determination. They had faced horrors beyond their comprehension, but they were survivors, and they weren't about to let some *alien abomination* take them down without a fight.

As the *Wraith* turned and began its approach back towards the twisted, half-buried wreck of the *Argonaut*, Kane felt a chill run down his spine. He knew they were walking into the unknown, that they were facing something that defied all logic and reason. But he also knew that they had no choice.

They had to stop this *thing*, whatever the cost. For Deckard, and for the sake of their own survival.

***

The interior of the *Argonaut* was even more unsettling the second time around, the shadows seeming to press in from all sides, the air thick with an oppressive, unnatural energy. Deckard's fate still weighed heavily on the crew's minds, their footsteps cautious and their weapons at the ready.

Kane led the way, his eyes scanning the environment for any sign of the creature. "Alright, let's split up and cover as much ground as we can. I want eyes and ears on everything – any sign of that *thing*, you radio it in immediately. And for God's sake, watch each other's backs."

The crew nodded, and they fanned out, their lights cutting through the gloom as they delved deeper into the twisted, broken wreck. Mara followed close behind Kane, her expression tense.

"You really think we can stop this thing, Jareth?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kane's jaw tightened. "I don't know, Mara. But we have to try. We can't just let that *thing* roam free, not after what it did to Deckard."

Mara fell silent, her gaze downcast. She knew as well as Kane that their chances of survival were slim, that they were facing something far beyond their ability to comprehend. But she also knew that they couldn't turn back, not now.

As they rounded a corner, a flicker of movement in the shadows caught their attention, and they froze, their weapons raised and ready. Slowly, a figure emerged, its form twisted and distorted, the air around it shimmering with an unnatural energy.

Kane felt his heart leap into his throat as he recognized the creature, its features a nightmarish amalgamation of organic and inorganic elements. "Open fire!" he roared, his weapon spitting a hail of bullets at the advancing monstrosity.

Mara was right beside him, her flamethrower blazing, but the creature seemed unfazed, its movements fluid and almost *graceful* as it dodged and weaved, its very flesh rippling and shifting in response to their attacks.

"It's not working!" Mara cried, her voice laced with desperation. "We need to fall back, Jareth!"

Kane gritted his teeth, his finger tightening on the trigger. "No! We can't let this *thing* get away, not after what it did to Deckard!"

The creature let out a bone-chilling *shriek*, and suddenly, the very walls around them seemed to *come alive*, tendrils erupting from the metal surfaces and lashing out with blinding speed. Kane and Mara were forced to dive for cover, their weapons clattering to the floor as they found themselves surrounded by the pulsing, writhing mass.

"Shit!" Kane cursed, his mind racing as he searched for a way out. "Mara, we need to-"

His words were cut off as a tendril suddenly *wrapped* around his leg, the grip crushing and unyielding. He cried out in pain as he was yanked off his feet, his body slamming against the floor with a sickening *crack*.

Mara's anguished scream rang out as she watched her captain being *dragged* into the alien mass, her own weapon blazing as she fought to free him. But the creature was relentless, its tendrils spreading out, *enveloping* them both in a horrifying, pulsing cocoon.

As the world around them faded to black, Kane could feel a strange, *alien* presence in his mind, a malevolent consciousness that seemed to *burrow* into the very depths of his being. He fought against it, his mind reeling, but the creature's grip was unyielding, its hunger insatiable.

"No..." he whispered, his voice hoarse with despair. "Not... not like this..."

The darkness closed in, and Kane felt himself slipping away, his consciousness fading as the *echoes of the abyss* consumed him.

***

The *Wraith* drifted silently through the void, its engines powered down as the remaining crew huddled in the dimly lit confines of the bridge, their faces etched with a mix of fear and grim determination.

Deckard was gone, taken by the *thing* that had infested the *Argonaut*. And now, Kane and Mara had met the same fate, leaving the rest of the crew to face the horrors alone.

The young engineer, Talia, spoke up, her voice shaking. "What... what are we going to do? That *thing*, it's still out there, and it's-"

She was cut off by a sudden, faint *pulsing* sound, a rhythmic throbbing that seemed to reverberate through the very *fabric* of the ship. The crew fell silent, their eyes widening as they realized that the *thing* had followed them.

Talia's face went pale. "Oh, God... it's *tracking* us. It *knows* we're here."

The pulsing grew louder, more insistent, and the crew instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons, their hearts pounding in their chests.

"We need to get out of here, *now*," one of the other crewmen, a grizzled veteran named Briggs, growled. "Start the engines, get us as far away from this *nightmare* as possible."

Talia hesitated, her gaze darting around the bridge. "But... what about the captain? And Mara? We can't just-"

Briggs cut her off, his voice hard. "They're *gone*, Talia. And if we don't get out of here, we'll be joining them. Now start the damn engines!"

Talia swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she activated the *Wraith*'s controls. The engines roared to life, the ship lurching forward as it began to push its way through the void.

But as they fled, the pulsing *throb* grew louder, closer, and the crew could *feel* the presence of the creature, its malevolent consciousness pressing in on them from all sides.

Briggs gripped his weapon tighter, his knuckles white. "It's coming. *Get us out of here!*"

Talia's face was a mask of terror as she pushed the *Wraith* to its limits, the stars streaking by in a blur. But no matter how fast they fled, the *pulsing* was relentless, a constant, unsettling reminder that the *thing* was still *there*, still *hungry*, and it would never stop *hunting* them.

As the *Wraith* hurtled through the darkness of space, the remaining crew members huddled together, their faces etched with a fear they had never known. They had escaped the *Argonaut*, but the *echoes of the abyss* had followed them, and now, there was nowhere left to run.

*****

The *Wraith* raced through the void, its engines straining under the relentless pursuit of the entity that had infested the *Argonaut*. The pulsing, rhythmic throb that echoed through the ship's hull was a constant, unsettling reminder of the creature's presence, a malevolent consciousness that refused to be shaken.

Talia's fingers flew across the console, her face a mask of fear and determination as she pushed the ship to its limits. "It's not working, it's still gaining on us!"

Briggs gripped his weapon tightly, his knuckles white. "We need to fight back, damn it. We can't just run forever."

The other crewmembers murmured their agreement, their own weapons at the ready. They had seen the horrors that the creature was capable of, the twisted, unnatural power it wielded. But they also knew that they couldn't keep running, not if they wanted to survive.

Talia glanced back, her eyes wide. "But what can we do? Our weapons barely slowed it down back on the *Argonaut*. How are we supposed to stop something like *that*?"

Briggs' expression hardened. "We don't stop it. We *destroy* it. Whatever it takes."

He turned to the others, his voice steady and commanding. "Alright, listen up. We're going to set a trap – lure that *thing* in close, then hit it with everything we've got. Talia, you keep the engines running, be ready to get us the hell out of here the second we've got an opening."

The crew nodded, a grim determination etched on their faces. They knew the risks, the sheer *impossibility* of what they were about to attempt. But they also knew that they had no choice. It was either fight or die, and they weren't about to go down without a fight.

As Talia maneuvered the *Wraith* into position, the pulsing throb grew ever louder, the very walls of the ship seeming to *vibrate* with the creature's presence. The crew braced themselves, their weapons trained on the darkened corridors, waiting with bated breath.

Suddenly, a massive tendril *erupted* from the shadows, its glistening, oozing surface writhing with an unnatural, alien life. The crew opened fire, their weapons blazing, but the creature seemed to simply *absorb* the hail of bullets, its movements fluid and *purposeful*.

Briggs gritted his teeth, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Keep firing, damn it! Don't let up!"

The corridor erupted in a cacophony of gunfire and the creature's bone-chilling shrieks, the very air crackling with an energy that seemed to defy all logic and reason. Talia watched in horror from the bridge, her hands gripping the controls, ready to pull them to safety the moment the opportunity presented itself.

But as the crew continued their relentless assault, the creature *retaliated*, its tendrils lashing out with blinding speed. One by one, the crewmembers were *enveloped*, their anguished cries echoing through the ship before they were silenced, their very existence absorbed into the alien mass.

Briggs stood alone, his weapon empty, his face a mask of defiant rage. "You won't take me, you *bastard*!" he roared, hurling the useless weapon at the creature.

The tendril struck him with the force of a battering ram, crushing the life from his body in an instant. Talia watched, her heart pounding, as the creature *consumed* the last of her crew, the pulsing throb now a deafening, triumphant *song*.

Tears streaming down her face, Talia knew that she had no choice. She had to *run*, had to get as far away from this *nightmare* as possible. With a trembling hand, she activated the *Wraith*'s emergency thrusters, the ship lurching forward in a desperate burst of speed.

As the *Wraith* fled into the void, Talia spared one last, anguished glance at the *Argonaut*, now a distant, twisted speck in the inky blackness. The pulsing throb had faded, but she knew that the creature was still *there*, still *hungry*, its malevolent presence etched into the very fabric of the ship.

She closed her eyes, her hands gripping the controls with white-knuckled intensity. She didn't know where she was going, or if she would even make it. All she knew was that she had to *escape*, to put as much distance between herself and the *echoes of the abyss* as possible.

As the *Wraith* hurtled through the darkness, Talia felt a chill run down her spine, the memory of the creature's twisted, alien form forever seared into her mind. She knew that it would never stop *hunting*, that it would continue to *spread*, devouring everything in its path.

And as the ship sailed on, Talia couldn't help but wonder if she was the only one left, the sole survivor of a nightmare that had consumed her friends, her comrades, and her very way of life.

The *echoes of the abyss* had claimed them all, and now, she was all that remained. Alone, adrift in the vast, unforgiving expanse of space, with no safe harbor in sight.

[lunarwritesthings]

here's a fic idea(kinda) that I had

We know Kane can switch between "normal" Kane and demon Kane. What if Kane can truly feel other than those shows with the demon. For example, feeling like guilt, happiness, sadness, and more. Like what if young Kane, the one before the fire, the one that loved his family is still alive but has just been buried so deep within Kane that it's locked away with most if not all the memories from that time because of all the trauma that happened during and after the fire, but that part still knows normal feeling that are anything but normal to Kane so he's confused by the feeling that can sneak through the walls and affect him but there someone that can unlock that part of him with the help of his brother.

That's all I came up with mainly because it was multiple thoughts that came together. Tbh, anyone can use this. Just give credit, I probably wouldn't write this very well.

[westeroslive]

when the sun rises in the west,   the  gods  eyes  are  drawn.  may  the  seven  have  mercy  upon  you  as  we  welcome  you  to  court,  lady aryanne cerwyn, lady iliana baratheon, lord cedric manderly, lady samorn westerling !  now  a  victim  of  the  court,  the  bards  compare  your beauty  to  adelaide kane, esther yu, oliver jackson cohen, prang kannarun as  you  play  the  game  in  the  midst  of  seasoned  nobles.

behave  and  follow  the  queen's  word  written  in  our  checklist  and  submit  your  account  within  24 hours.  

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         adelaide kane,  30,  cisfemale,  she/her.    announcing  the  arrival  of  ARYANNE  of  house  CERWYN,  the  LADY  of  CERWYN.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  LOYAL  and  SUSPICIOUS  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  metalwork  &  embroidery.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  the  brightest  sun  burning  in  smelted  steel,  its  silvered  impurities  battered  and  forged  to  make  anew,  a  kind  of  religious  penance  —  what  are  you  atoning  for?  delicate  hands  bloodied  in  needlework,  a  broken  blade  buried  in  the  snow  &  a  warm  hearth  that  sings  of  a  winter  so  dark  and  cold  beyond  the  reach  of  the  white  knife.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  THE  NORTH.          (  ooc  :  nara,  24,  she/her,  nzdt  )

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         esther yu,  28,  cis  woman,  she  +  her.    announcing  the  arrival  of  ILIANA  of  house  BARATHEON,  the  LADY  of  STORM'S  END.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  DEMURE  and  STARRY  -  EYED  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  music  and  reading.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  dark  lashes  fluttered  against  porcelain  skin  -  text  splayed  beneath  a  soft  cheek  as  though  it  was  the  finest  of  feathered  down  stuffed  silk  ;  fingertips  dancing  across  the  strings  of  a  harp  ,  melodic  notes  falling  in  harmony  from  rose  coloured  lips  -  music  hidden  in  the  depths  of  ones  chambers  ;  riding  a  gentle  mare  through  verdant  forests  -  birdsong  leading  the  way.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  HOUSE  BARATHEON.          (  ooc  :  nakita,  29,  she + her,  mst  )

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         oliver  jackson  cohen,  38,  cis man,  he / him.    announcing  the  arrival  of  CEDRIC  of  house  MANDERLY,  the  RULING LORD  of  WHITE  HARBOUR.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  JUDICIOUS  and  BESIEGED  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  history.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  how no  one  mentions  the  lengths  you'll  go  -  the  darkness  you'll  be  willing  to  submit  to  -  in  order  to  keep  your  children  prospering / how  all  the  things  you  did  not  say  -  they'll  forever  eat  you  alive  /  how  zeus  ruled  over  the  skies,  and  hades  the  earth  -  and  you,  poseidon,  were  left  to  find  your  place  between  /  sinking  into  that  stone  chair  when  the  day  is  done  and  praying  to  your  gods  to  see  it  all  turn  out  alright.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  HIMSELF.  

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         prang  kannarun,  thirty  three,  demi  woman,  she  and  they.    announcing  the  arrival  of  SAMORN  of  house  WESTERLING,  the  LADY  of  THE  CRAG.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  PRAGMATIC  and  OPPORTUNISTIC  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  star  reading.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  golden  fingertips  that  once  held  midas'  touch,  star  littered  gowns  and  wrists,  words  made  of  poison  and  candy,  my  father  is  the  worst  man  alive  /  and  i  am  his  favorite  daughter.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  THEMSELVES.          (  love  )    *   helaena  zalyne's  pen  pal  /  subplot  for  house  j.

[indie-bard-maiden]

~The Depths~

(the siren/mermaid/pirate descendent story, apart of my short story collection 'The Ballad of Hollowfaye' also available to read on wattpad)

A siren must save a mortal from revenge. Again and again.

Genre: YA Fantasy

Word Count: (to be determined)

(PT 1)

YESTERYEAR:

ALIX KANE

Maioni was pissed. She thought the mortals should die. She thought it was our birthright to kill them. She thought it was our place to avenge our ancestors, our mermothers who came before us and were killed at his Grandfather's Grandfather's hand hundreds of years ago.

I beat her to her revenge. I didn't WANT to kill Patty. He was just a kid. He hadn't a single clue what his Pirate Grandfather's legacy was. It wasn't an easily digestible one to those who knew:

Kidnapping mermaids and sirens; raping them; letting his shipmates do what they wished with them; ripping their scales off one by one before coming up with the easier technique of just skinning them alive; cooking their flesh for meat; selling their fins to witches or to the first merchants he came across; stewing their half-mortal, half-mer embryos in a pot for soup; scalping them and selling their hair to wigmakers; carving their bones into swords and knives; tossing what very little was left of their corpses overboard for their families to find and bury what they could. 

After our ancestors exacted their revenge by eating his damn legs off, I thought the horrid history would finally end. I didn't want shit all to do with the mortals. I wanted to go about my peaceful existence of floating through currents, resting on a rock, combing my hair, singing the loveliest of songs, and luring some sailors to a blissful night among the coral. 

I could tell Maioni wasn't going to swim off about it though. And Elspeth was too guppy to repay a debt to Elliott. That was Patty's brother. She spent many nights retelling me the story. He'd thrown a party on his boat. The last he'd throw before he went off to school and started prioritizing his studies over fun.

She held herself up on the bow, listening to him sing as he cleaned up the mess his friends left behind. A pretty voice he must've had to entrance a siren. She beamed up at him with her worldful black eyes, the stars reflecting in them; her blue lips begging for a taste of his tongue, of his throat. Not like a vampyre's bite, but a siren's kiss. Just to feel where his enthralling voice vibrated from. Just to savor the harmony in his larynx.

He found her there and was too drunk to feel any fear. He couldn't see her tail, but he could tell just from her globe-like eyes and fish fangs that she wasn't human. He helped her up. Admired her teal green tail, her baby pink fins, her luminescent scales in the moonlight. She let him trace his fingers along them, the ultimate sign of trust--the ultimate intimacy--and even laughed when he flinched back at the sliminess. 

Then she revealed to him a secret kept from mortalkind. Sirens can transform at will, with great strength and control; an ability not possessed by mermaids. Mermaids can't possess legs at all. Not without a price. Not without a curse placed. 

She sang for him. They sang together. She refused to lure him. She wanted him to want her naturally, the way she wanted him. With a need that possessed her completely. And so on that boat and all night under the full moon, he had her. She gave herself to him completely. She loved him at first sight, and by morning, she was his. Only his forever.

She knew Elliott wasn't in town this very night. It was his brother who needed protection from Maioni's wrath. 

"Please, Alix," she wrapped her tail around mine, buried her head desperately in my shoulder as we road under the waves, just before the shoreline, "Protect him from her. I owe him that much."

And so I promised I would. I showed up at his party. I gave him a Siren's Kiss, a blessing of protection, and I pushed him into the water. He could breathe there, I was quite sure. I knew Maioni would try to reach him. She would sense I'd saved him. He couldn't be killed, not unless he willed himself to accept her offering. 

He wouldn't. And his friend saved him. The boy with dead blood circulating through his veins. Who would've thought? 

That was the last I saw of him. I jumped off the dock while everyone was distracted. Nobody would remember me. I'd made sure. I was an illusion. I wasn't real here.

Maioni was only partially livid with my heroism.

"Well, it's a job half-done." She smirked, swimming around me in circles before making a quick departure. 

I followed her current, my indigo-black tail was just as powerful as her lava red one. The only difference was in our fins, her rounded orange tail fin was no match for my forked ice blue tail fin. I caught up with her in seconds. I grabbed her by her long black braid and pulled her back.

"What are you talking about? He's safe. Nearly killed him, but I saved him." I crossed my arms. It was a brag. He'd thank me for the hypothermia, as long as he was still alive.

She pulled my hair back, barely. Just to get even. "Oh, you saved him alright. Can't say the same for the other murderer in his bloodline."

I was confused. Elliott was in college, and their only cousin was a maternal cousin. She could only be held accountable by the worshippers of the moon. I could smell that on her. The dog needed a bath. Only, a dry one. Water somehow brings their stink out more.

I didn't get the chance to ask. Elspeth's heart was shattered. Her pain was in the waves all around us, it dropped the entire bay by a couple of degrees; her cries wrought blood from my gills.

"What did you do?" I shoved her back.

She smirked, "I didn't do anything. The gods must've exacted their revenge. Can't say it wasn't just in time. And there's always next year for the other one. One more life extracted and there will finally be justice for our mermothers."

NEXT PART AVAILABLE╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ HERE

BACK TO MASTERLIST? CLICK ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ HERE

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you liked or hated it. Spill the tea. Share your thoughts directly with the source (me.)

[harmonyhealinghub]

The Enchanted Typewriter Shaina Tranquilino September 23, 2024

It was an unassuming afternoon when Ryan Kane found the typewriter. The air in the old shop was thick with dust, cobwebs clinging to the edges of forgotten shelves, but the antique store had always been his retreat from the world. It was tucked away at the end of Willow Street, one of the last places in town where time seemed to stand still.

Ryan was a writer. Or, at least, he was trying to be. His ideas had dried up months ago, and the blank pages of his manuscript taunted him daily. He was supposed to be working on a novel, but inspiration had evaded him like a distant echo. That's why he was here, searching for something—anything—to spark his creativity.

The typewriter sat near the back of the shop, nestled between an old brass lamp and a set of dusty novels. It was a faded Remington, the kind that would have been the pinnacle of modern technology in the 1920s. The keys were tarnished, but the machine had an odd gleam to it, as though it had been waiting for someone to notice it.

"How much for the typewriter?" Ryan asked the shopkeeper, an elderly man named Amos with a penchant for tall tales.

Amos raised a bushy eyebrow. "That old thing? Found it in a basement after a flood. Not sure it even works."

Ryan felt a strange pull toward it, though he couldn't explain why. "I'll take it."

Amos chuckled. "If you're looking for stories, maybe that old typewriter will give you one. Just be careful. It has a mind of its own, they say."

Ryan smiled politely at the odd remark and left the shop with the typewriter under his arm, feeling a glimmer of excitement for the first time in weeks. He placed it on the worn desk in his study, the keys gleaming under the soft lamp light. Something about it felt... alive, almost.

That evening, Ryan decided to test it out. He slid a piece of paper into the machine and began to type. The keys were stiff under his fingers, but as he pressed each one, a satisfying clack echoed through the room. However, no words came to mind. Frustrated, he stepped away to make himself a cup of tea, hoping a break might stir his imagination.

When he returned, the typewriter had typed a full line.

"They buried him in the woods, where no one would find him."

Ryan froze, staring at the sentence. He hadn’t typed that. The room was empty, and the door to the study was closed. He glanced at the window. It was shut too, not a breath of wind stirring inside.

Tentatively, he touched the keys again. Nothing happened. He sat back down and tried typing the words, but as soon as his fingers rested on the keys, the machine seemed to resist his touch.

And then it typed on its own.

"The truth lies beneath the willow tree, hidden by those who fear it."

His heart pounded as he read the words. It was as though the typewriter had a story to tell—a story it was determined to share with him. Ryan, both unnerved and intrigued, grabbed his notebook and jotted down the lines.

That night, the typewriter continued to reveal more cryptic sentences, each more puzzling than the last.

"They called it an accident, but the town knows better."

"The storm washed away the evidence, but not the guilt."

As the words unfolded, Ryan realized the typewriter was revealing something dark, something the town had long buried. He had grown up in Bramblewood, a sleepy place where nothing much happened. But this... this was a secret history, one that no one had ever spoken of.

He returned to the shop the next morning, the unease gnawing at him. Amos was behind the counter, polishing a glass with a rag. "Back already?" the old man asked, eyeing Ryan with curiosity.

"The typewriter..." Ryan hesitated. "It’s... it’s writing things on its own."

Amos chuckled. "Told you it had a mind of its own. Figured you’d like that, being a writer and all."

"But these are not just random words. It’s... it’s telling a story. A story about this town. About something hidden." Ryan leaned forward, lowering his voice. "About a murder."

Amos’ face darkened, and he set the glass down slowly. "What did it say?"

Ryan recounted the sentences, watching as the shopkeeper’s expression grew more guarded with each line.

"I don’t know about any of that," Amos said quietly, though his tone lacked conviction. "Old towns like this, they have their share of ghost stories. You’d do well to leave them be."

"Amos, I need to know if this is real. Is there something you’re not telling me?"

The old man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "There’s an old story, from way back before the flood. A man named Charles Mason went missing. Some folks said he left town, others said he drowned in the river. But there were whispers... rumors that he’d been killed. Buried somewhere out in the woods."

Ryan felt a chill crawl up his spine. The typewriter had mentioned a burial in the woods.

"And no one ever looked into it?"

Amos shook his head. "Back then, folks didn’t ask too many questions. They preferred things to stay quiet."

Ryan returned home, the weight of the mystery pressing down on him. That night, as the wind howled outside, he sat at the typewriter again, staring at the blank page. He didn’t even touch the keys before the machine began to type.

"He waits beneath the willow tree, his bones washed clean by the rain. The truth is there, but so is the danger. Some secrets are meant to stay buried."

Ryan's hands trembled. The willow tree. There was only one place in town with a tree like that—Willow Grove, an overgrown patch of land just outside town. No one went there anymore, not since the flood had turned it into a swampy ruin.

The next morning, Ryan made his way to the grove. The ground was soft beneath his feet, the smell of damp earth filling the air. He found the willow tree easily, its branches hanging low, brushing the ground like a shroud. His heart raced as he began to dig, his hands sinking into the wet soil.

After what felt like hours, his fingers brushed something hard. He pulled it out—an old, rusted box. Inside, wrapped in rotting cloth, was a skeleton, fragile bones stained by time and mud.

And there, at the bottom of the box, was a small, weathered notebook. Flipping through its brittle pages, Ryan found the final piece of the puzzle.

It was a confession, written by the town’s former mayor, detailing how Charles Mason had been killed to cover up a land deal that had gone wrong. The town had known. They had all known, and they had all stayed silent.

The typewriter had told him the truth. But as he stood there, staring down at the uncovered grave, Ryan knew one thing for certain—some secrets were not meant to be unearthed.

And as if in agreement, the wind whispered through the branches of the willow tree, carrying with it the faint echo of a typewriter's clacking keys.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Midnight Swan

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Jason doesn't die in the explosion in this AU, BUT he does team up with Kate Kane in this.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Kate Kane, Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Jason Todd Survives The Explosion, POV Jason Todd, Angst, Secrets

Chapter Three: Rubble

After spending most of the weekend with Kate, I was ready to go home and lie down, but as soon as I got home, Bruce wanted to go out to brunch. “Can we make it dinner? I’m a little tired,” I mumbled. He solemnly nodded as I went upstairs to shower and tried to go to sleep afterward. Alfred must have changed out my pillows because they seemed softer and fuller than the last time I slept in my bed. It didn’t take me long to nod off. I slept peacefully at first, dreaming of family, but I was no stranger to what happened next. That laugh. It pierced through even the happiest of dreams, leaving me in darkness. I’d end up back underneath the rubble, buried almost entirely. I could feel the rocks shifting as I stared at the last sliver of sunlight peeking through. My ears rang from the blast as I lay there, struggling to stay awake. “Jason,” the voice came through, muffled at first, and still it called. “Jason, can you hear me?” I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t move. All I could do was lie there as I was buried alive. I couldn’t even cry. I lay there, completely still in the dark, and closed my eyes. Usually, by this time, Bruce would come upstairs and wake me up, but he didn’t, and I found myself struggling to catch my breath. The rubble shifted again, and instead of being freed by Bruce, it was my dad. I closed my eyes as I could feel him hit me over and over and over again until Alfred woke me up. “Master Jas—.” I hugged him, and he hugged me back. “Are you alright?” I let go and nodded. “Would you like to come downstairs for dinner?” “I’ll be right down… And Alfred, I’m okay,” I smiled. He flashed me a smile and went on his way. I just hoped he wouldn’t tell Bruce that my nightmares were worse. I cleaned up a little and came downstairs for dinner. Alfred made pot pies, and Bruce smiled and dug right in. “Jason, how was your weekend?” I finished chewing, and at that time, I remembered my lie.

“We were up all weekend, but we went to the beach for a little bit yesterday,” I replied. I tried to keep things as simple as possible, so I wouldn’t forget my lies. I told Bruce I was at a friend's house for the weekend. Bruce seemed like he bought it, but something about him seemed sad. “Jason,” Bruce looked me in the eyes, “To be honest, I was worried about how you were adjusting, but I want to tell you that I’m proud of you.” I felt awful. "How was your weekend?" I asked. Talking about myself hurt too much. All I could do to keep from lying to him. "I got a letter from your English teacher," Bruce whispered. I took a sip of water and glanced up at him. "Jason, are you alright?" "What did she say?" I asked. I was cold when I said it, and I hoped it would deter him from asking. English was one of my best subjects. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jason, it's not about what she said. It's about how you feel," Bruce replied. I shrugged. "Can we talk about something else if you're not gonna punish me?" I asked. Bruce chewed his lip. "She said your last few short stories were... Disturbing," Bruce replied. Disturbing. The word made me want to be cruel. "Ouch! I guess twenty-two and a half hours of therapy... Just isn't enough," I sniped. I stood up and forced a smile. "I'll be upstairs if anyone needs me... So, I assume I won't be bothered," I added. Bruce didn't stop me. I hated being cruel to him, but it was all I could do to keep from crying sometimes. My English teacher wasn't exaggerating, though. All my short stories were gory and gruesome. I wrote about things I never wanted Bruce to see, but I had to write them. I had to write what I knew. I knew pain.

I lay in bed, typing another story for class. I received a video call from an unknown person. I put in my headphones and answered. "Hello?" I asked. Kate turned her camera on.

"I'm headed over there—." "No, don't come here. It's a bad time," I replied. "Even better. Act like you didn't expect me," Kate replied before hanging up. "I didn't expect you," I mumbled to myself. I groaned as I mentally prepared to put on an Oscar-winning performance. Bruce came upstairs and stood in my open doorway. "I pushed you," Bruce whispered. I sat up and nodded. "I don't mean to push you... Jason, sometimes I have no idea if you're okay—." "I'm not okay. Did you see the stuff I wrote?" I asked. Bruce nodded. I lay back and covered my face with my pillows. "I don't care that it's gruesome... I care that you felt like you had to hide it from me. It makes me worry that you're hiding other things from me," Bruce explained. I sat up and nodded. "Is there anything you're hiding from me that I should be worried about?" I wanted to confess to everything and get it off my chest, but all I could manage to divulge was one thing. "I don't think therapy is helping right now," I admitted. Bruce nodded. "Do you wanna stop for a while?" Bruce suggested. "Yeah... Can I stop?" I asked. I couldn't cry anymore, but I knew Bruce could tell it was hard for me to ask. Bruce embraced me. "Of course, you can. I only ask that you speak to me if you start feeling like taking risks or hurting yourself... Or others." "I will. I promise," I lied. I lied through my teeth, and it hurt me to do it. Bruce didn't understand what I had to do. Kate did. Kate understood that I couldn't walk away from the life or the risks that came with it. I had nothing else worth losing.

[rainbows-fanfics]

Help Unwanted (Chapter 18)

Summary: After losing the Pirate, Deacon is unwillingly paired with a partner to help with his job. The only problem is - they can't stand each other, and time is dwindling until he can re-capture all his lost prisoners.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101.

Pairings: Deacon/Queen!Deacon, Deacon/OC

--

Deacon grunted while he paddled their boat away from the large presence of The Executioner. It was painful for Dea to watch them leaving their temporary-home, but with the Pirates currently onboard it, they had no other choice. She watched it get smaller as time went on, then looked at the man she was currently handcuffed to. He was finally taking a break, tossing the oar aside and burying his head into his free hand. 

Dea reached out to touch him, getting a good look at him after all the fighting. He had suffered more than her, physically. “How are you doing?” 

“I’ve been through worse.” He gasped at the end of his sentence. He cleared his throat - it was coarse and tasted heavily of blood. His head was pounding from that blow he landed on the man…he wished he could lie down right now.

“How..are you ?” He managed weakly, giving her a once-over himself.

Her hand unconsciously went over his chest - feeling his ragged breathing and splaying her fingertips over where his heart was. She was worried about him. “Besides a swollen knee, I’m alright.” 

He nodded before looking around. There were no islands nor other vessels in view. They’d been sailing in a rather desolate part of the sea at the time, still on trail to their next destination, but nowhere officially marked on Armada logs. He intended on communicating with his officers a couple hours from now, when they arrived for their final target…

He pulled back his sleeve to access the communicator on his wrist. It was hard to reach under the metal cuff, but he just barely managed to press its button. Dea watched in silence as it beeped once, then proceeded to run out of battery life before their eyes. 

“Great.” He commented dryly, letting his hand fall along with Dea’s. 

“..Was that our last source of communication?” Dea asked with a wince, somehow already knowing the answer.

“It was. But it’s my fault. I should have known better and charged it when we were back on land.” 

“Don’t blame yourself. There was no way we could have seen this happening.” 

He hung his head down and slumped on the board of wood he was sitting on. She was currently sitting across from him - having to hunch over due to the short amount of chain on the cuffs between them. Her back was starting to hurt, so she had been thinking of moving to the same seat as him. When she noticed he wasn’t making a single noise, she moved to console him. 

“ Espía . It’s alright. We made it out of there together, didn’t we?”

“Dea,” He choked out. It sounded like he was on the brink of crying, and it pained her to hear him this way. “We just lost our ship. Our crewmembers. Each and every one of those prisoners we’d been capturing for months.” 

She tensed, not knowing exactly what to say. 

“... I lost my ship and my prisoners. Twice .” He removed his hands from his mask. His eyes were watery. “There is no way I am not losing my job.” 

“I’m sure all Armada vessels get plundered by Pirates. That’s the norm, isn’t it? And Kane is your dad. He’ll understand-”

“-You don’t know anything about Kane.” He interrupted unkindly, his words starting to waver. “I’ll be lucky to make it out alive after he hears about this.” 

She moved closer until their hips were touching, attempting to reason with him. “I’m sure he’ll understand it was out of your control. Boochbeard and Gandry came out of nowhere - they had more people than us. We were outnumbered. Surely, he’ll-”

“-That means * nothing *.” He turned to her, his voice dropping. She shivered at the new sound. “I told him all of that before - I was outnumbered, unprepared, the prisoners conspired together - and he still held me on standby. I am expected to do better. To fail TWICE? That’s unacceptable.” 

Her lips pursed in thought, attempting to understand what he was saying. That cruelty made sense towards a soldier like her, but weren’t Deacon and Kane family? Why was it so different with the Supreme Commander? 

Deacon seemed to be reading her thoughts and sighed, dropping all hostility towards her. His gaze fell to the floor so he didn’t have to look at her. “You were right about me. I am unfit to be an Elite. To keep pressing my luck like this…it will end in my unemployment.” 

“..What? That’s not true,” She shook her head. “I was wrong-”

“-No, you weren’t.” He rested a hand on the forehead of the mask, shaking as he continued his words. “I’m not strong like Rooke is, not as smart as Bishop, and not as useful as Phule. The only reason I’m an Elite is because my brothers were enlisted and I wasn’t. I was given the easiest job out of all of them - and I still can’t do * that *.”

“Deacon!” She grabbed ahold of his blue sleeve, trying to get him to look at her. “You’re more than capable of being an Elite-” She paused to smile under her false visage. “When I was offered this job, I did my research on you, espía. And you know what I found? Every single person I talked to about you told me how great of a Captain you were, how you were the only Armada Elite to actually listen to his employees and care for them. Everyone wishes they could work for you - which made me feel lucky.”

“Me being ‘well-liked’ will not stop Kane from firing me.” 

It was infuriating to listen to him brush off her words. She could feel herself getting annoyed and impatient, which reflected in her next words: 

“You can’t tell me he has NO sympathy for you? You're his kin - he can’t just fire you for making a mistake-”

“Dea. Please understand…” His tone softened, which made her regret having raised her voice at all. “It’s not any better that I share his blood - in fact, that makes things * worse *. Since the Elite are his family, he expects more from us. He taught us everything we know - and because he did, he thinks we will make no mistakes. When we mess up - we face those consequences tenfold . The fact that I’m his son is probably the last thing on his mind when he’s reprimanding me.” 

“I…” She lost her voice at this deeply-personal confession. “I’m sorry…” 

He stared at the bottom of the boat for a few seconds before shaking his head and reaching for the oar again. He began paddling in the direction they’ve been floating, taking his compass out of his pocket and looking around. Dea noticed the other oar sitting on the floor and grabbed it to help him out.

“So…what do we do now?” 

“We head this way until we reach an island. We were shifted off-course during the struggle, so…it will take a long time. And that’s if we even make it.” 

She shouldered him playfully. “At least we have each other?” 

“We’re probably going to die.” 

“-But we’ll die together !” 

He rolled his eyes. She hoped he was smiling under that mask. 

----

They struggled for a bit with their coordination; rowing with their non-dominant hand wasn’t an easy feat, especially when it was the only one they had to work with. They eventually got used to it and made a good pace, but something about their close proximity was making Deacon feel dizzy. He had that headache and the pain in his chest, but when he smelled her perfume this close…it was numbing in a good way. There was something advantageous yet annoying about being cuffed to her like this. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything to drink, would you?” 

Dea had stopped rowing and looked at him with desperate eyes. He reached for the flask he kept in his front pocket. He shook it to check for any liquid before handing it to her. 

“There’s a little left. You should finish it.” 

“And let you go thirsty? No, we should share it.” 

“It’s better if one of us is hydrated. Just drink it.”

“Deacon, you lost some blood. You need it more than I do.” 

“What I need is a shot of whiskey. Stop arguing with me.” 

“ Ugh! You are an insufferable man, you know that!?” 

Despite her annoyance, she was clearly grateful for the few gulps of water he handed to her. Deacon’s throat felt dry and god-awful, but she was more important right now. He was sure his death sentence was already signed for the moment he’d step back in Valencia. 

He reached into his other pocket and grabbed a few pouches of snacks he kept on-hand. He was glad he hadn’t been eating them lately, as they sure came in handy now. “-There are these, too, if you’re hungry.” 

She grabbed a helping of trail mix and started to pick through it. When he reminded her not to be picky, she snorted at him. He helped himself to a bag of cashews in the meantime, relieved that this would carry them on for a bit longer and they wouldn’t have to starve out here. 

“I know you shared something personal about yourself with me, so….would you like me to return the favor?” 

He shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“You’re sure you don’t want to know why I’m here? What was I doing before I joined the Armada?” 

He was selfish to have wanted to know so much about her before. He learned that when he made the mistake with his journal. It dawned on him then, and he started patting around his coat in search of the book. He relaxed when he felt the rectangular indentation in his biggest pocket. It carried a few confidential details he’d written down. He was glad those Pirates didn’t have their hands on it. 

Dea didn’t notice him searching around, too busy working up the nerve to talk more about her past. He gave her his full attention the second she calmed herself down. 

“Monquista’s army is full of sexist pigs,” She spat out spitefully. “I knew there weren't many women in the field, but I thought that…maybe, I could help break the standards and inspire other girls out there. I wanted to be successful, make a name for myself. But I quickly learned * why * women don’t typically join Monquista’s service…”

She went quiet for a minute, her attention focused on her lap. Her handcuffed hand was clenching as she struggled to continue. He wanted to move even closer than they already were, but her body language suggested some space. Which was a hard feat in their position right now. 

“Every day I got whistled at and told these… things, by my superiors.” She looked into the ocean. “At first, I thought it was all talk. They were hitting on me. So what? It happens every now and then. But…I was working hard to get promoted. I wanted to become the first female Monquistan officer. To impress Queen Eleanor..! But that wasn’t what those men wanted. There were several who were aiming for a higher position like I was, and to be threatened by a woman was…not acceptable.” 

Deacon felt his stomach sink. He knew where this story was going and it was starting to make him sick. He was about to interrupt Dea, insisting that she didn’t need to keep going, but she suddenly hunched over and began crying. 

“They cornered me one day and took advantage of me. There were four of them. Three were my fellow soldiers and the other one was my… superior . They had their way with me that night, warning what would come if I kept trying for a promotion. They ridiculed me the entire time - telling me women had no place to protect the King and Queen. I was so scared that I begged to be discharged. They let me go, but tampered with my file after I left.” 

She took a moment to sniffle, slightly lifting her mask to wipe at her eyes. He could only imagine the mess she was making underneath that right now. Like he had been earlier, talking about his insecurities with being an Elite. 

“I moved to Valencia the moment I could, since I heard good things about the Armada. I was upset when my application got denied - they saw what was marked on my file and told me I didn’t meet their qualifications. I was ready to move back until I was approached by…Queen, of all people. My denied request had gotten her attention somehow.

She looked into the case and noticed my discharge from the Monquistan army. She must know a few things, because she asked me why I had done it. She seemed so kind to me, so I spilled the truth about why I left. She was enraged to hear what happened to me, and must have felt some pity that I never got accepted. So she brought me in and later promoted me herself.” 

Deacon’s eyebrows raised, his longtime questions finally being answered. 

“She told me I could work with one of the Elites. It was a huge honor…but I was scared. When she told me I’d be lodging with a man, in the same room for three months …I was terrified what happened to me would happen *again*. She said it wouldn't because she knew you personally. I decided to take her word for it, and…”

She thought about something before a laugh escaped her lips. Deacon knew it was forced - a way to ease the tension from the story. The sound still blessed his ears, nonetheless.

“...You’re a really nice guy. You never made one wrong move towards me. I was surprised how comfortable I felt around you. I was so scared of being taken advantage of that I didn’t want to give the impression that I’m some dainty woman like all those men told me I was. So if I was a little hostile to you in the beginning...it was only because I was trying to protect myself.” 

She faced him and averted her gaze.

“-But I didn’t need to. I know that, now. And I’m sorry that I did.” 

He stared at her, trying to figure out what to take exactly from this confession. All those times she’d been difficult were for a reason. Her trust in the workforce had been tainted by a few bad apples. He couldn’t blame her, and was just happy that he could turn things around for her. He didn’t even do that much beyond showing her basic human decency. But she’d been rejected propriety before. 

“I’m sorry for what happened to you. I figured as much when you told me what you did.” He reached for her hand but stopped himself short. “But they were wrong. You’re an incredibly beautiful, strong, and talented woman. To take advantage of you like they did showed that they were the true cowards, who could not meet the expectations for that promotion like you did.” 

She was as red as a beet under her mask. “..You’re sure about that? Beautiful?” 

“I don’t need to see what you look like to know that fact,” He insisted. 

His heart was pounding in his chest from saying this. Little did he know hers was going crazy as well, causing her to rub her legs together nervously. He just told her he thought she was beautiful - and not from her face or body that those men ogled at, but from her personality and what she proved she could do. It was incomparable to anything she ever heard before. 

“And I think you’re just as handsome,” She met boldly. “Deacon, you’re such a smart guy, and I wish you wouldn’t think otherwise. You know a lot of things I don’t, you’ve read so many books and passages…I don’t care what Kane or anyone else thinks about you. You’ve proved to me that you’re intelligent, despite your poor decision-making just now.” 

He audibly groaned, clearly embarrassed with the mistake that led them into their current position. She didn’t want this detail to deter from her point, so she continued: 

“Stop undermining yourself. Things happen out of your control, and you do the best you can. We could’ve been imprisoned or even killed , had you not thought on your feet to get us off that ship. So what if Kane is a hardass - I’d promote you myself after everything I’ve seen happen!” 

She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Bold of you to call him a hardass.”

“I don’t think we’re getting promoted anytime soon, so I’ll say whatever I want.” She replied firmly. 

Something softened in his eyes as he looked at her. He leaned to his side to hug her again, and the only thing that surprised her was that he initiated it this time. His hold on her was gentle but ever so needful, and she gladly met the embrace with similar intentions. She lifted her chin to rest it on his shoulder.

“You really think that?” He asked quietly. 

“Of course. They were right, you know. I really am lucky to get to work with you like I have,” She nestled her face deeper in his cape, not caring if it gave her away or not. “Thank you for putting up with me all this time.” 

His figure stiffened and he pulled away to look her adamantly in the eye. “You have got to stop doing that. I never ‘put up’ with you. You’ve been a blessing in my life, to give me your friendship and company. I’m forever grateful, Dea.” 

…None of this was turning out how either of them thought. 

The fact that they could not physically pull away from each other added to the closeness they felt mentally. He spilled about his long-hidden insecurities to her without even knowing if she would show any sympathy, and she trusted him enough to tell him about a terrible time from her past. In doing so, they revealed just how much they trusted each other, and desperately wanted to lay their souls bare to one another. 

Deacon could think of no other person he minded being handcuffed to. He mentally cursed and thanked Boochbeard at the same time. 

Her mind seemed to be on the same subject, as her eyes drifted to the metal between them. “...I’m guessing you don’t have the key to this, otherwise you would have used it by now?” 

He shook his head.  “The key is on the chain those rogues have right now.” 

“No backup?” 

“I carry nearly 40 keys on that ring. No, I don’t have any ‘backups’.” 

Her eyes drifted away despite never releasing her hold on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have done any of that.”

“I know. It was a careless mistake.”

“No, I mean…you don’t have to prove yourself by doing something that…risky .” Her tone was akin to scolding. “What did you have to prove by taking down Boochbeard? The fact that you went and re-captured almost everyone you lost was impressive on its own. You didn’t need more than that.” 

He shrunk down on himself, both ashamed and defensive. “He has no idea how much he’s taken from me. I wanted to have revenge for what he did.” 

“And in doing so, you nearly lost everything again. You should prioritize what’s more important.” 

He looked at her thoughtfully, his eyes scanning her up-and-down. “You’re more perceptive than usual. How long have you been keeping this from me?” 

“I’m tired of holding so much back from you,” She felt exhausted. “We’ve been working together so close and yet share so little. I’m at fault for that, too.” 

He stared at her a little longer before finally removing his hands and reaching for the oar. She took the message and grabbed hers, helping him paddle and falling into their previous rhythm almost automatically. 

The air was light between them again - but there was still something lingering about. A subject that would have to be addressed, but neither of them did not dare bring it up. 

----

They spent a good 20 minutes paddling. By now, the sun was starting to set and the wind was getting chilly. Dea was glad she had layers on, but her head felt colder than usual. She looked over at Deacon and felt jealous for his overly-layered uniform and cape. There was no doubt he was as warm as ever right now.

She prudently scooted closer just to steal some of his heat. He looked over in surprise and noticed she had stopped moving her oar. She rested on his side and looked out at the sea.

“If we do make it back…what do you think you’re going to do?” She asked. 

“Have a very unpleasant chat with the Supreme Commander,” He muttered.

“No, I mean afterwards. If we lose our jobs…what would you do?” 

He thought about this question carefully. He was more focused on redeeming himself when things went awry, rather than coming up with a back-up plan. He never thought of what else he would do if he wasn’t an Elite. It just seemed like something he was supposed to do. It wasn’t until Dea came around that he ever entertained the idea of something else.  

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly.

“I still think you would make a great musician,” She hummed, leaning more on him than she realized. “I could see you playing instruments at those fancy balls, or even for a movie.” 

“I would like that.” He waited a moment before turning to her. “What about you? What would you do?” 

“Knowing my luck, I’ll probably end up as a servant for some rich Valencian woman.”

He tut-tutted at her. “You should aim higher. You could sing for me, and I could play for you. We’ll be a wonderful duet that makes lots of gold.” 

She giggled at his playful tone, picturing this idea in her head and finding that she… didn’t dislike it. That would be the best outcome, wouldn’t it? To still be with Deacon after all of this?  And do something that they both loved to do, with each other ? The blush returned to her cheeks and she hastily sat up. 

He felt the loss of her presence and turned in surprise, hoping he hadn’t offended Dea. 

Her eyes were locked on something behind him. He turned around and his jaw dropped in shock. Coming towards them was a ship - and not just any ship, but an Armada frigate. He jumped to his feet and began signaling to them. Dea forced him down with her wrist to rummage around for the flare kept in the escape boats. As soon as she found it, she let it off, jumping with glee as they turned in their direction and began sailing to them. 

“Yes!” The Emissary cheered in relief, tears forming at the ends of his eyes. 

-----

“No!” Deacon exclaimed, seeing who it was that picked them up. 

Dea looked ahead once they were on the safety of the deck. A colorful man was approaching them, dressed in blue and red and wearing half of a theater mask broken into two sides of comedy and tragedy. He was wearing a jester’s suit, carrying around his own marotte and making a jingling sound as the bells on his hat swayed to and fro.  

“Deacon!” He extended his arms in kind. The spymaster clenched his fists as they closed the gap, stopping not too far in front of him. 

“Why in the Spiral are you captaining a ship this late?” 

“Someone doesn’t sound grateful that I rescued them,” The man’s voice was expressive and teasing. “Might I ask what * you’re* doing in the middle of the ocean at this hour?” 

Deacon groaned, clearly not wanting to disclose why, but was unsure how to avoid the subject. “..My ship was taken by Boochbeard and Mr. Gandry. Dea and I escaped, but our crew are being held hostage by those pirates.” 

His eyes went to her. Her first notice was that he had heterochromia. His right eye was blue, similar to Deacon’s, while the left was brown. He smirked then, and she realized this was the first person in the Armada she met wearing a mask who she could also see emoting. It was gratifying to see. 

“Ah! I’ve heard so much about your little ‘partner’ here,” He moved to her and pointed his marotte in her direction. “How is it working with my brother? Completely unbearable, I presume?” 

“Phule,” Deacon warned.

His eyes moved down to the handcuffs keeping them together. His eyes widened and he shortly fell into laughter. 

“Phule!” He was pleading by this point.

“How in the Spiral’s name did THIS happen? No, no, wait. Don’t tell me. Boochbeard did it?” 

“How do you know?” Dea finally spoke up, looking at him curiously. He was quite a character. At least his playful attitude reflected the costume he wore. 

“He’s got a wild sense of humor. It’s only ever funny when he plays with Deacon.” He passed his younger brother a knowing smile before glancing back at the handcuffs. “Quite a pickle you two are in, I must say.” 

“You wouldn’t happen to have any keys to this, would you?” Her partner mumbled. 

“Me? No. Sometimes I get the privilege to arrest people, but that’s your job.” He shrugged. “Sorry, fratellino. I can’t help you.” 

“Then we have to get back to Valencia. Can you take us?” 

“Sure I can. But it’s getting late, and my crew have to rest, so we can head out tomorrow.” He looked between the two, seeming to think about something. A mischievous grin grew on his lips. “You must be exhausted…if you’d like, you can use my cabin in the meantime.”

“How are we supposed to sleep with this on?” Dea asked, holding up their handcuffed wrists to make her point.

“There’s one bed. You do the math.” 

Deacon was offended. “That is highly inappropriate–” 

“Your choice! The floor or my bed.” 

The two exchanged a weary glance. They’ve shared a cabin together, where their beds were not so far apart. It wouldn’t be a big deal…despite the butterflies in Dea’s stomach and Deacon’s sudden inability to breathe properly. When they nodded to him, Phule clapped his hands in delight - in which Dea noticed he was only wearing one glove - and he happily showed them to his small cabin.

“Try not to be too noisy,” Was his last remark before he slammed the door. 

Deacon turned, about to yell at him, but noticed he was long-gone. He rubbed his temple in frustration as they looked around the room. The bed wasn’t terribly big and there was a window above it, which enabled the moonlight to hit the mattress and make it harder to sleep. Besides a small table and a chair, that’s all there was to the quaint cabin. 

Dea realized how privileged they had been to receive a roomier space in comparison. She considered herself lucky they were offered this right now. 

“Sorry about him,” The man beside her grumbled. “He’s an idiot.” 

“That’s your brother? Phule?” 

“My older one, yes.”

“...You hinted to me that Rooke is your brother, too. Is he not older than you?” 

“Rooke and I are the same age,” He responded, acting like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re twins.” 

Dea struggled to receive this information. “You two look the same?” 

They took this opportunity to sit on the bed, forced to be close as they awkwardly hung their legs over the edge. This arrangement would not be easy to figure out. That seemed to be the last thing on her mind, as she continued to sputter at him. 

“But he’s so much taller and bigger than you!”

“Thanks for pointing that out. I had no idea,” He quipped sarcastically. 

She shrunk in on herself. “Sorry…I just can’t believe it. It explains a lot.” 

“What does it explain, exactly?” 

“Twins are closer than other siblings. You get along with him better than you seem to do with Phule.” 

He opened his mouth to refute, but she made a good point. He was closer and more familiar with Rooke than his other kinsman. Being twins had a lot to do with that - not to mention they naturally got along better. He clenched his teeth imagining the eventual judgment he’d have to face from him and Kane. Again.

“I still feel so embarrassed,” Dea brought up shyly. Deacon looked at her and curled an eyebrow under his mask. 

“Embarrassed for what?” 

“How I acted around Rooke. I must’ve looked so stupid. Do you think he thought less of me?” 

Something ached in his chest at this subject. He’d forgotten all about her fawning over his brother. The memory wasn’t pleasant to remember. He suddenly felt ridiculous for ever having feelings for Dea. Rooke was a much better - and more fitting - suitor for her caliber. 

“No. He thought you were cute,” He sighed in defeat. 

“Did he..?” She laughed, but it sounded too nervous to be genuine. “I can’t believe I had a crush on him. Although, I guess everybody does, huh?” 

“You had a crush on him?” Deacon feigned surprise. Dea flinched and turned away. He hadn’t anticipated that reaction and regretted making the comment. 

“I’m sorry for acting like that,” Her mood dropped. “He was talked about so well, too, but not in the way you were. I think everybody who hasn’t worked with Rooke just likes him because he’s big and strong. And that must be pretty unfair to him, isn’t it?” 

“Again, that’s an insightful comment you’re making,” He told her in shock. 

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I feel so bad. I knew nothing about him but I still acted that way. If you ask me, you should’ve been talked about like he was.” She said sheepishly. 

“Me? No. I’m…I'm not like him.” 

“You’re not and I like that.” She confessed, looking at their hands. “You’re just as impressive as he is. If everyone knew that, I think they’d say the same things about you.” 

His eyes had gone to their hands as well, noticing how close they were. Just nearly touching but not enough. He wanted to move but didn’t dare risk anything. “I wish that were true.” 

Did she know about his other insecurities? Why else would she say these things? Was Dea aware of how Deacon constantly compared himself to his brother, always feeling like he was under-performing? That he wasn’t enough? It bothered him, sometimes, that they were twins - similar in every aspect except their size, which seemed to matter the most apparently. It was assumed that Rooke was the oldest because he was the biggest, but that wasn’t true. Even Phule was offended each time he was referred to as the ‘younger brother’. 

Rooke was humble and always gave credit where it was due. He was the best family Deacon could ask for. He was just tired of everyone putting him in his shadow when Rooke gave every attempt to make things different. 

He gave a smile that Dea could not see. At least she understood. 

“Alright…you take off your shoes first, then I’ll do mine.” 

He looked at their hands and then to their feet. He did as was told, allowing Dea to lean down afterwards and peel off her boots. They would have no other choice but to sleep in these clothes tonight…Deacon brought his hand to unclip his cape from his shoulders and set it aside, followed by his hat. He expected Dea to do the same until he remembered about the missing part of her apparel. 

“By the way, how exactly did you lose your hat?” 

“Fell off my head and into the water,” She replied sadly.

She hovered her hands over her mask. She didn’t want to sleep in the thing, it was disgusting when she woke up in her drool and sweat the last time, but she had little choice. It was bugging her now…to have to worry about her mask of all things. Why couldn’t she just take it off since Deacon thought her beautiful regardless of it? Would it even change anything? 

“Are you alright?” He asked. 

“Thinking how we’re going to manage this,” She lied. 

“My left hand and your right are cuffed. You sleep on that side, I sleep over here. If we lay on our sides, then we don’t have to worry about our arms locking up.” 

There was one problem with that idea –  They had to lay facing each other. 

Dea’s eyes traveled down to his last layer of clothing, feeling it intimate to see him like this so closely. His eyes were open as well - not trying to look at her, but the wall behind her. When they made contact, she was embarrassed to have her wandering eye caught. 

“I’m sorry about today,” He spoke in a hushed whisper.

“About losing our ship and all our crew?"

“I’m sorry things turned out like this. I…” His mouth sounded to open for a few seconds before she heard it shut. “If there’s a way I can make it up-.” 

“I just want them back. I want everything back.” She confessed sadly. 

“As do I…” 

[richardsphere]

Leverage Log: The Cross My Heart Job

Before i get into the Cross my heart job quick summary of the plot i skipped logging: There's a guy who was watching the company they heisted in the Nigerian Job, who saw the fallout of the Nigerian Job when they conned Dunevich (or however it is spelled)

He's been tracking them, and mirroring Hardisons market shorting.

This is our season antagonist (presumably), he's affable and doesnt actually seem evil? Like yeah he's a stockbroker and all but he's betting on the team and entirely right to say that, from a market-perspective. The teams acts are merely correcting false market forces. Like i get Nate hating him, but also he's an interesting reflection of our protagonists. The best kind of vulture. Also there was a carnaval and a "buried alive" episode. I liked the carnaval episode (we need more marks with somewhat sympathetic motivations) and the reunion in the Grave Danger Job was heartwarming

---------

Now onto our actual episode: Oh, they stole a donor heart... that is a hell of a way to get yourself on Nate's Shitlist. Guess its time for a seasonal reminder that Sam existed. (that might read as sarcastic, it isnt. its a statement of fact not a statement of value)

Always love when series gets "Jessica Fletcher syndrome" (that being, even on our day off we find a case), Nate walks into the airport and instantly spots the enemy plot.

Also love when series pull an Eventide Island, seeing our established badasses forced to rely on their bare essentials. Because after a certain level of "Hardison has at multiple points claimed he owns satellites and everyone in our cast has enough money they can fly to Ecuador as a distraction" it starts to sound less like "our heroes are badass" and more "our heroes kit is badass". (im gonna be honest, im a bit worried about the future of the show on that point, what with Parker2000 having been invented, that is very much the sort of thing that preludes into a jumped shark. Nothing against the cute little frog-bot design wise, its the narrative purpose that is worrying.)

"if we're naked we steal clothes" Great line, 10/10.

Love the swift efficiency with which they buyout the seafood restaurant. And the way Nate instantly recognizes the name of our antagonist. The reminder that their shitlist is a mile long, they study these people months in advance and that this guy was under the radar because he was dying already.

Also nice to see the show point out something that isnt always obvious about its premise. The show tends to present it as "innocent victim approaches Team Leverage at Nate's Bar and tells them about the Crime", but its actually "Team leverage scouts out rich people, does their research, identifies key victims and interviews the victims as part of the research" When someone shows up at Fords Bar at the beginning of an episode, its because Ford called them there. So having Ford say "i've been scouting Dean Chesney for a while, he's just low priority cause this problem will probably solve itself..." is nice.

Ironic that the only reason Dean Chesney is this desperate is cause he's too dying to get on the donor list. Which is also the only reason Nate hasn't taken him down months ago.

"God helps those who help themselves" followed by "And I help those who cant" with a final "God help you if anything happens..." and a climactic "I didnt kill you, God killed you"... Lovely combo of lines that are both amazingly dramatic and a nice reminder that this guy almost became a priest. Whichever writer came up with that deserves a raise. 11/10. Havent seen enough of his religious background in a while.

Hardison pretending to be a trans person because Elliot could only steal a female ID. Great improv on the characters part.

Old man dying with a snowglobe, nice little reference. Citizen Kane.

I also apreciate the subtlety in this episodes placement within the season. They deliberately placed it after the previous episode because they knew that some members of the audience might feel that Nate should've taken the deal (even more resources to track down even more crooks in exchange for a 24 hour window).

So the writers put the "you have two hours or the boy dies of not having a donor heart" job imediatly after that offer to emphasize that, when dealing with human lives 24 hours is a lot.

[cyrereads]

My iNdie November tbr!

I got a little excited and preordered some books!! They will be my november tbr. The only other time I have actually made a tbr for a month was my spooktober reads. So this is new in multiple ways. New books, new authors, and trying something new!

If you are interested in reading either of these authors, here are the titles and links. Now, some of them are on KU I believe, but if you can spare the few dollars to purchase the book, it would really help the author! And remember, leave a review! <3

The Erstwhile Tyler Kyle - Steve Hugh Westnra

Tyler Kyle doesn’t believe in monsters.

A washed-up thirty-year-old actor and reluctant cryptid investigator, Tyler is used to playing the Scully to his best friend Josh’s Mulder on their stupidly popular YouTube channel. But when Tyler receives previously unseen footage of the B movie bombshell mother who abandoned him eighteen years ago—footage linked to an isolated island in the Canadian wilderness—the mystery is one conspiracy he’s determined to investigate. The fact that following the scent gives Tyler an excuse to run away from the “straight” Josh, whom he drunkenly made out with, is just the cherry on the shit sundae.

But Echo Island isn’t what it seems. Its eerily scenic veneer hides a twisted secret buried in its roots as a gay conversion camp, and as Tyler retraces his mother’s footsteps, he discovers a supernatural connection between the residents and the island—one they seem to think Tyler and his mother share.

Even worse, the footage of Tyler’s mom came from someone on the island–a stalker whose obsessive fascination with both Tyler and Josh is about to make Tyler wish he hadn’t gone this one alone. Puppeteered by his stalker, searching for his mother, and debating whether it’s possible to queerbait yourself, Tyler comes to realize that it doesn’t matter so much whether you believe in monsters, if they believe in you.

THE ERSTWHILE TYLER KYLE is an adult horror comedy for fans of GHOST FILES, BUZZFEED UNSOLVED, and TWIN PEAKS.

Posthaste Manor - Carson Winter, Jolie Toomajan

NEVER TRUST A HOUSE WITH A NAME.

Everyone has a story about Posthaste Manor.

None of the stories end well, but that doesn’t stop the hopeful from hoping and the desperate from trying.

This composite novel stands as both history and eulogy of one very haunted house, as recounted by artists, real estate agents, and beloved family pets; by the debauched, the dead and the dying, and anyone looking for one last chance.

Raise a glass in celebration. Just don't linger within its walls for long.

Blood & Flowers - mars adler

No one has been able to set foot in the D’Arcy family’s ancestral home for the last twenty years. The family was forced to relocate, and the only place they could find was close to their rival family, the Kanes. Proximity and years of anger have brought the situation to a boiling point, and it’s only so long before all-out war ensues.

As a last attempt at peace, the Kane patriarch sends his half-witch, half-vampire advisor, Elio, to help one of the D’Arcy sons try to unravel the house’s mysteries. The only problem? Elio and Valerian D’Arcy hate each other. Years of mediating for their families have left them embroiled in a bitter rivalry, and unable to trust each other.

Elio only accepted the offer because his real mission is to find any vulnerability in the D’Arcy family to exploit. Finding a weakness in Valerian should be easy, but Elio’s priorities shift to survival as the house traps them inside and starts playing deadly tricks on them.

Elio and Valerian must rely on each other as the house tests them and drives them closer than either one of them could have imagined. As they face threats neither one of them could have imagined, Elio and Valerian become entangled in deadly desires with dire consequences. Their relationship will be changed forever, if they make it out alive.

In The Garden of Echco - H.S. Wolfe

Echo and Ender have existed nearly as long as the earth itself. They’re hungry, in love, and indestructible.

For centuries they’ve wandered across continents feeding from their favorite food source - humans. But the mess they’ve left in their wake starts their prey on the path of discovering that they are not what they seem.

After being forced to curb their feeding and go into hiding, a tragic incident leads Echo and Ender to learn about what they are, and the power they are truly capable of.

Pig Heads - Daegal

Peter Crimth is a killer, and undisclosed disposal of the bodies is paramount. In a small California town, secrets can become urban legends, and Jimmie Pratt, a local pig farmer, keeps the darkest of them. The local Sheriff, Kenneth Burgrin, has little expectations and likes it that way. Knowing more about Jimmie than he would like, he soon learns monsters come in different shapes and sizes.