#lord-of-the-unzipped-flies

[gokkyfanboy]

Lord of the flies could’ve taken place at a regular overnight summer camp and the exact same events wouldve gone down

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!Reader fic)

Act One, Chapter Eight: A Rising Scream.

Apologies for the wait and for the brevity of this chapter!

A lot of stuff has happened lately, in the time between writing the last chapter and this one, I've passed my A-Levels, got into medical school, my nan unfortunately passed away and I've moved into my uni dorm. So yeah, a lot has happened.

Regarding my nan, she had been ill for a while and passed away peacefully in her sleep at home which was exactly what she wanted. Her funeral is happening next week and it'll be a great opportunity to say goodbye and celebrate her. She was a fab woman and I'm going to miss her.

I'll probably get even busier in the coming weeks due to fresher's period and all that so I'm super grateful for your patience and please bear with me! We're nearing the end of Act One- only two more chapters to go! 🥳

Regardless, I hope you all enjoy the continuation of this story. I had a bit of a confidence crisis writing this but I managed to overcome it and get this written how I wanted it to be written!

Warnings: Threats of violence, violence, blood, strong language and horror elements

According to Soap’s watch, it was precisely one-thirty in the morning. As quick as a whip, you turned your head around, a chill draft had crept into the barracks, setting off your senses. You sighed to yourself, gently lowering Soap’s wrist so it could hang off the edge of his bed like it had been doing before you’d arrived.

Your mind was still racing with alerts of someone’s intrusion, the hairs on the back of your neck standing starkly upright, sensitive to the slightest changes in the air behind you. The darkness of the night was slowly beginning to make sense to your eyes: the inky, oppressive mess forming coherent shapes and vague outlines.  Essentially, your world had become an array of shades of grey. Your lip curled as a sharp thought pinched your brain. You spun around, standing up from your crouched position, looking about like a lone little deer. With how scared you were, presuming your quarry was a lamia, which you prayed it was, you wouldn’t be surprised if she could sense your dread. It was practically oozing out of every pore, your heart in the back of your throat, your lungs burning with sharp inhalations as you gulped down the stuffy air around you.

You rubbed your bare arms, keeping them close to your body, in a weak attempt to self-soothe once more. Perhaps you should arm yourself? Yes. Yes, good idea! Feet tiptoed towards your bed, where your belongings were. You knelt down and your eyes caught the shining glimpse of your hepta-plate. Like shimmering drops of moonlight peeking through that unzipped duffel bag of yours, your eyes couldn’t ignore the shimmers. The actual moon hung brightly in the night sky above you, casting beams through any and all windows, which your armour was quick to pick up and respond to, reflecting its rays aimlessly, with no wearer to instruct it how to use the light properly.

The barracks almost look like something out of a gothic novel, the streams of light crisscrossing over each other, pouring in from opposite windows; the slumbering soldiers atop their beds, arranged in rows, like church pews, marking out an aisle between them. You couldn’t help but be fascinated, your surroundings reminding you of those books you had to read for literature studies back in the Red Room. You were fed all kinds, from modern classics like Golding’s ‘Lord of the Flies’, to something more to your taste such as ���Dracula’ and ‘Frankenstein’.

‘Dracula’ was an interesting one. Your overseer reminded you of the character. Regal, elegant, but disturbingly savage. He somehow managed to muddy the waters of affection and violence, between what was appropriate and what was not. He had made you feel so… weak.

You sort of resented how he let you live, abandoning you on the soil that night, letting you bleed out.

His masked face flashed before your eyes as you peered into your duffel bag. You staggered backwards, gasping. Maybe you should just take your rifle and leave the horrors alone to mingle with your luggage. Swiping your rifle from its resting place, leaning against the foot of your bed, you spun on your heel to make your way out.

Eyes fixed on the floor, you watched one foot move to take a step, followed by the other. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. Occupied by the rhythm, you felt your bubbling mind begin to simmer down and hoped that would allow your presence to shrink away and blend into the collective of sleeping soldiers. Minds together formed a hive of sorts… Well, that’s how you would describe it. You could tell who you knew and who you didn’t, however, there were ways of blending in. The best way was to keep calm. You found yourself doing Gaz’s breathing exercises he had taught you the other day when you tried doing some yoga with him and… Rudy, was it? Yeah. That was his name!

One. Two. One. Two. One. Two.

As you were about to take another step, a third foot planted itself firmly between both of yours. You were taken aback. Startled, you looked up to see who was blocking your path.

It was Sergeant Gaz.

Relief swept over you.

“Good evening…” you greeted, smiling weakly.

More like morning, really. Ugh! Dang it!

Gaz raised an eyebrow, suspicion so obvious on his face that it could be seen a mile away.

“Watcha doing?” Gaz asked, cringing a little as he heard his voice bounce off the walls of the barracks, the silence of the night seemingly magnifying the volume of his speech tenfold.

You reminded him of a fox who had just been spotted skulking around in the early hours of the morning by an unexpected human; all eyes and frozen on the spot, the only indication of the fact you were a living thing and not some statue being the rapid risings and fallings of your chest.

“Uh…” Your eyes briefly wandered around as you searched for a good enough excuse. “Toilet?”

Gaz wasn’t convinced.

“Y/N, you should probably head back to bed and rest up. You know, I overheard Ghost telling Soap that he’d caught you wandering about last night… and the night before.”

You sighed.

“I can’t sleep.”

Gaz’s face softened for a moment. However, soon, he resumed a more authoritative look when he spotted the assault rifle hanging off your body. He tensed a little, adjusting the grip on his own firearm, shining the torch more towards your face.

“Y/N, what are you up to?”

“I’m off to go find whoever slipped into the base earlier today.”

“Y/N-”

He made to grab your arm, but you shrugged him off.

“Don’t try to dissuade me! I can sense them!”

You didn’t even bother looking back, ready to march off, your hunt being both a means of securing your temporary home and an act of protest against those who were sceptical of you.

“Really?”

You halted in your tracks. Slowly, you turned around to face the sergeant.

He sounded strangely… earnest. Did he… Did he believe you?

“Can you actually sense them?”

Shyly, you nodded.

“How?”

A small smile appeared on your face.

“I know what everyone’s minds are like here,” you explained, “Each of you have a particular… well, I don’t want to say ‘scent’ but it’s like that.”

Gaz chuckled, unsure of what to make of that but supposed it sort of made sense. You paused, a glint of worry appearing in your eyes as you watched Gaz’s disposition change.

“Go on, Y/N,” he encouraged with a smile.  

“Okay,” you continued, a little surprised by his want to try to understand, “Um… So, being here, I’ve figured out what the base’s minds are like and how they mix. Someone, this morning, didn’t belong to the collective. They’re setting off alarm bells in my head. They don’t mean well.”

“And you can just know this because…”

“…I’m a lamia. It’s my job. It’s my nature,” you said, finishing his sentence.

“I see. Well, you’ll probably need someone to watch your six.”

Gaz smiled, gesturing to his armed self.

You couldn’t help but grin in reply, gesturing for him to follow you.

The halls were deathly silent, only the sounds of your footsteps and the faint outside world contributed to the melody of the nighttime ambience. You were doing your best to keep your breaths as even and as quiet as possible, despite the fact it was making your chest feel awfully tight. Your body was so tense: every step intentional, every heartbeat made with the hopes of being slower and more controlled than the previous one, and every thought produced was dulled down so as not to alert your quarry.

Gaz couldn’t deny that he was fascinated by the way you moved, it was steady, eerily calm and above all, focused. Unlike him. The sergeant had found himself looking this way and that, a little flustered but keeping to his word: watching your back.

This new base the Vaqueros had made a home in was undoubtedly haunting, Gaz couldn’t deny it. It was an old base, probably patched together in the forties or even earlier, with bits of paint flaking off the walls, creaking doors and windows that looked as though their panes were always on the verge of falling out of their frames. His big brown eyes were instinctually drawn to the windows, where moonlight spilt into the space, trying to brush every crevice with its silver stain. The ceiling was high, and the width of the corridor was narrow, like the gut of some emaciated snake.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The rhythm of anticipation.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

You gripped your gun fervently, keeping it close to you. An adrenaline-fuelled, almost gleeful, shudder ran through you. It was… well, you hated to admit it, but it was almost relieving in a way. You had spent the past few days worrying and waiting for the inevitable and it had come. You weren’t necessarily ready - I mean, who can be ready for the Foundation - but you weren’t as scared as you thought you’d be. Perhaps it was because this wasn’t shocking. They had come, as expected, to take what was theirs.

“I am neither good nor evil. Simply, I am.”

The heart of the Foundation’s motto sang in the echoey chambers of your skull. It had been recited to you in assemblies, recited to you in training, recited to you during your transfusion and during your beatings. When you found yourself sitting there, looking at the Foundation’s collective hand, awaiting to be shaped like clay into what they wanted, they recited that motto to you. They simply were and they would continue to simply be: saints to those who needed their services and cruel tyrants to those they sold as part of them. The Foundation was so shapeless, so distant, and yet, ever-present. They posed a type of horror you couldn’t quite articulate. They didn’t care for you and yet, they wanted to drag you back to the Red Room, not giving a damn if it had to be done with you kicking and screaming. They treasured you enough to nourish you, educate you, and give you lovely clothes, but they also pushed you to the brink, took away your autonomy, and lashed out at you and your fellow lamias even if you weren’t at fault.

“Neither good nor evil.”

You couldn’t help but feel your throat tighten a little as you and Gaz rounded a corner, making for the canteen. The was something different in the air, something which grew stronger as you headed for the mess hall. She was here. Or at least you hoped she was. Turning around, you waved to get Gaz’s attention. He looked at you, furrowing his brows. However, soon, they would be raised in fearful dread as he watched you point your finger to the open doorway.

“Are they in there?” Gaz mouthed, already knowing the answer but being afraid to have it confirmed.

“I think so,” you mouthed back.

Gaz readied his weapon, taking in a deep breath and ensuring his torchlight wasn’t going to be in the line of view for whoever was lurking in the canteen. He nodded at you, and you gave a thumbs-up. Then, you began to count down on your fingers.

Three… Two… One…

WHOOSH!

You both leapt from around the corner, planting your feet firmly on the ground. Both of you looked this way and that, dousing whatever you looked at in the white lights of your torches. You looked down the barrel of your firearm, finger hovering over the trigger, itching to land a bullet in your prey. She was here. You could sense her now, somewhat even build a picture in your mind. It was a lamia, older than you expected, and a little… well, you didn’t want to use the term ‘weak’ per se, but she had clearly not used her abilities in a while. Especially, if you had caught on to her so quickly.

You would be feeling quite chuffed if you hadn’t realised that she wasn’t actually in the canteen anymore.

The moment you began looking around the servery, the scent had gone cold. You muttered a curse under your breath, trying to find her mind amidst the horde of dreamers.

“Y/N!”

You turned around as Gaz lightly tapped your shoulder.

“What is it?”

“There.”

“What?”

“There!”

He pointed to the doorway from whence you came. Following the line of his outstretched arm, focusing your eyes on exactly where his index finger was pointing, you could make out a figure. She was faint, a ghostly apparition amidst the fuzzy darkness. She looked almost transparent. You held your mouth agape, frozen on the spot.

Just as she was.

Valeria knew you both had seen her. Desperately, she tried to will herself into obscurity once more. It was going to be a struggle. Once seen, Valeria knew she most likely couldn’t be unseen.

“Are you seeing this?” Gaz whimpered, unsure if he should shine his light at the spirit haunting the doorway.

You nodded, staring into Valeria’s soul. She was flitting between being a solid form and something less material, your mind trying to ascertain her reality while hers cried out that she was not there. She clung to the doorframe, unsure if she should move or remain deathly still.

Gaz’s gaze went from you to Valeria and then back to you. The tension in the air was palpable. Your eyes were fixed on her, pupils blown out to their full diameter, threatening to consume your irises whole. That look on your face, she could recognise it through the murk, it was an expression that she once bore: the alert, focused face of a lamia ready to strike. Valeria’s heart skipped a beat or two.

All she needed to do was leave unscathed, without a trace, and she was failing miserably.

No matter, she sighed to herself, it’s already done.

Valeria could still taste Simon’s blood at the back of her throat. His metallic stain lingered on her tongue, mingling with her spit, so that with every nervous gulp, more and more of him would become part of her.

It was disgusting.

Both what she had done and the nature of the action itself. Who would’ve thought that a single bite, a single drop of the Foundation’s ‘delectable’ formula, could bear such a heavy weight on her? Valeria never thought of herself as one with a guilty conscience and yet, here she was, in blood, stepped in so far that she could wade no more.

A shudder ran through you and Valeria’s body stiffened further. You could sense something was wrong. You could sense she had done something wrong.

“What have you done?” you hazarded to ask.

She remained silent, much to your chagrin.

“Answer me! What have you done?! I can see it. You’re flitting between here and the barracks. What have you done?!”

Before Valeria Garza was someone she had not expected to find. When she had first heard the word ‘renegade’, she had initially thought you’d be a sheepish, snivelling mess. A caricature of a victim. Now, however, she saw what you really were: angry… but not to a fault, not yet anyways. Anger could be honed, could be wielded.

Yes, she could feel some of her guilt slipping away a little, you’ll fix this.

As much as Valeria wanted to take a moment for herself to scream away her grotesque feelings of self-loathing and abhorrence regarding the fact she had just added Ghost to the Foundation’s arsenal, the woman knew she’d have no time for that. You were here right now, and she needed to grab hold of you, point you in the right direction and pray you’d stay on your course.

“Look, I need you to-”

SLAM!

By a mere hair, Valeria dodged your attack. At a frighteningly fast speed, you had lunged at her. Having sorely missed, you ended up finding yourself crashing into the wall. Your firearm fell to the floor with a loud clatter, the buckle of its strap having given way as you collided with the mass of plaster, brick and paint.

“Y/N!”

Gaz suddenly sprung to life and ran after you, instinctually, not thinking straight… Only for a strong hand to stop him in his tracks. The intruding lamia had grabbed his wrist and then proceeded to throw him to the floor.

Valeria grinned under her mask, watching Gaz stare at her like she was something beyond his understanding. His eyes were as wide as saucers, his mouth slightly agape. He scrambled back, trying to regain his footing.

This lamia was stronger than she looked, stronger than Gaz for sure. It was unnerving. Sure, the man had seen supernatural strength displayed in films and television but to be at the receiving end, to see what it looked like in real life… It had shaken him in a way he didn’t think it would. Gaz had thought he was acquainted with the idea of this, but reality had shown him otherwise. To be thrown onto the ground, discarded like a minor inconvenience, as an SAS soldier, by something other than a machine or explosive, something supposedly human, it made Gaz feel incredibly… small.

He felt as though he had been stripped of his firearm, his training, and his courage. All things that made Gaz a good soldier had just been trampled and spat on by this lamia.

“This is between me and my sister, soldier. Stay.”

Valeria couldn’t help but find a little joy in watching him be dumbfounded by her. She was in desperate need of that ego boost. 

Turning her attention back to you, Valeria watched as you regained your footing, groaning in pain. That slam was going to leave a foul bruise. If she wanted to keep Gaz on the ground, she needed to give him an excuse not to fire his gun, and that excuse would be keeping you as close to her as possible. The melding of you both into a single target was currently Valeria’s priority and she knew it was going to be a challenge.

You had a fire in your eyes, even in the dark, she could make out your primal anger. You were going to fight like a mad cat.

Valeria scoffed as you snarled.

However, her confidence soon would falter as she narrowly dodged another strike to her face. As Valeria tried to regain her footing, you landed a kick to her stomach.

Oh, it was on now!

She staggered backwards, a wave of wooziness taking hold of her. Uncertain but uncaring as to whether it was the remnants of the Foundation’s formula or the shock from just how strong you were, Valeria growled and quickly rearranged her footing. She grabbed hold of you, by both your arms, and headbutted you. A fountain of blood came spurting from your nose as your head was thrown back. As you raised your head to look up at her with defiance, she quickly punched you down. Spit and blood splattered the floor as you fell to your knees.

“You need to listen!”

Her words fell on deaf ears, and you grabbed her legs, dragging her down to your level.

Meanwhile, Gaz was shakily trying to point his weapon at your assailant. He smiled, managing to get a lock on Valeria, only for you and her to swap places. You writhed against her grip, screaming at her. A chill ran through him as the other lamia briefly looked at him and then, keeping an iron-grip on you, spun you around so your back was lined up with his barrel.

Shit!

You turned, realising what the bitch was doing, and using her own hold on you against her, rocked backwards, using your feet to push her upwards and launch her over you.

She fell face-first into the ground. Valeria gasped for air, getting her bearings.

Then, your shadow appeared, casting her in darkness.

You raised your foot, ready to cave her skull in with a stomp.

Luckily, she rolled out of the way and grabbed your ankle, causing you to become off-balance. You fell to the floor.

You propped yourself up with your hands, pressing down onto the ground with a fervour you were certain wasn’t necessary. Despite this, your body felt unnaturally heavy. You were panting, viscous red hanging in strings, clinging to your lower lip for dear life. A firm hand grabbed some of your hair, forcing you to look up at the concealed face of your current punisher.

“RAAAARGH! LET GO OF ME!”

You writhed and wriggled.

Gaz’s heart was beating at a rate of knots. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t shoot, however.

As he made to strike the lamia on the back of her head, she grabbed him yet again, and this time, by his throat. She had both you and Gaz in each hand, holding you both in place with uncanny ease.

“LET GO!” you screeched, tears streaming down your face.

Valeria could see herself in you. See your fear. She knew that feeling all too well, and she felt a little bad that she’d be subjecting you to further anguish. However, Gaz right now was an inconvenience; what she needed to say had to be uttered in confidence. The sergeant was an obstacle.

You had underestimated her. Severely underestimated her. She was strong and you were panicking.

Gaz struggled for breath, trying to swipe at the lamia’s face as her grip tightened.

“STOP! STOP! PLEASE!” you squealed.

She turned and looked back at you, her head tilting to one side as she saw your glossy, pleading eyes trying to find hers behind the mask.

“STOP!”

You were losing yourself as you saw Gaz’s eyes begin to roll into the back of his head.

“NO! NO! STOP IT, SISTER! DON’T-”

He succumbed to it, his body going limp. The soldier was released from her grip and fell to the ground. His breaths now soft and even.

Valeria sighed, a wave of exhaustion taking her by surprise. She released you too, bringing her hands to her temples. You took the opportunity to rise up from under her and pin the cruel bitch to the floor. She yelped in surprise.

“Wake him up! Wake him up, now!” you demanded.

It was her turn to writhe and wriggle.

“DO IT!”

“You need to listen!” she rasped out, “They’re here. In the woods. There’s a whole pack and they’re coming for you.”

Up until that point, your face had been creased and vicious, your nose scrunched up, drawn towards your eyes. Now, it softened, relaxed. Angry crevices disappeared, giving way to surprise and curiosity. Your lips were gently parted, ragged breaths becoming a little more stable.

“What?”

“They’re already here. They’ve come for you, and they’ll take this whole base with them if you’re not careful.”

You let out a shaky sigh and gently released her.

“Why are you telling me this?”

She took a moment to craft her answer as she rose to an upright seated position, nursing her shoulder.

“Does it matter? You know what you have to do,” she replied matter-of-factly.

You sunk a little, your posture becoming slumped. You rested on your heels, your hands hanging limp in front of you, fingers curling towards your palms. You… you were trying to process this. You didn’t know what to think.

Slowly, you looked over to an unconscious Gaz.

“We’re so strong compared to them. And then Arcadian Sons make us feel so puny,” Valeria lamented.

“I need to wake him up.”

“More like you need to pack your shit and go.”

You shot her a dirty look, however, the malice in your visage soon dissipated. Instead, you opted to just sit in silence. You still couldn’t understand why she was telling you this. She wore the Foundation’s armour. Sure, it looked cobbled together, no doubt they were parts from a spare kit, but you could spot fresh equipment from a mile away. This wasn’t a rogue. This was someone in service.

“Are you going to tell me about why your mind keeps reflecting on the barracks? You were there for a while. I can tell.”

She looked at you sheepishly, quick to avert your gaze. Eventually, though, she mustered the courage and energy to confess.

“I was sent here to-”

She was interrupted by a crescendo of footsteps. You both could see the growing intensity of torchlights emerging as their bearers drew nearer, bouncing down the halls, in time with the drumming of heavy boots. Shadows of men littered the walls.

“GAZ! Y/N!” Price’s signature gruff voice called from the oncoming mob.

“Y/N!” Ghost’s roar could be felt in your chest.

Reflexively, Valeria double-tapped on her chest plate and vanished as soon as they arrived. With you being distracted, slipping out of sight was going to be a piece of cake.

“No! Wait!” You shouted as you turned back and around and reached forth… only to find yourself grasping at air.

Hanging your head low, you drew your hands close to your chest as they cast shadows over you and Gaz.

“What the fuck…” Soap looked around for clues as to what exactly happened here.

Before the men was a scene they couldn’t quite understand. How had this played out? The only indicators available was your bloodied self, Gaz strewn across the floor, cradling his gun, and… that was pretty much it.  

Price immediately rushed to Gaz’s side, listening in for his breathing. Once he heard Gaz’s slow, unusually relaxed inhalations and exhalations, the old man let out a sigh of relief. He removed the firearm from Gaz’s grip. Then, he looked over to you, eyes slightly narrowed.

You swallowed hard.

“What happened here?”

“I…”

Would they even believe you if you told them the truth? Would Gaz even remember this and back you up?

[lsvdw-blog]

If Ethan and your mc were around the same age and had gone to school together, would they know each other or be friends?

Anon, this is perfect for the HS AU I've been working on and brainstorming with @takemyopenheart for ages. Here's Part 1 ❤

For Choosing Me (1/?)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings; Rating: None; General

Premise: Serena's first day as a Freshman in a new High School.

Author’s Note: This has been an idea I've had/been creating for well over a year now (huge shoutout to @takemyopenheart for helping me brainstorm so much of it). I love this story so much, but I haven't had the time, or motivation, to write out all of it in story form, even though it deserves it. However, I very much want to share this story regardless, so it will be a mix between writing and HC bullet points. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖

"Have a good day, sweetie!" 

"Thanks, mom." Serena smiles apprehensively and unbuckles her seat belt. 

She hops out of the car and slowly walks towards the open campus, thumbs looped through the ends of her backpack straps.

She mentally pulls up the map of the school, retracing the route she had charted days earlier, hoping she wouldn’t get lost.

After a short trek, Serena stops in front of a closed door and stares at the name plaque. She's met with her reflection and focuses in, fiddling with the butterfly clips holding her bangs back. She takes a deep breath, turns the knob, and enters the homeroom. 

It's her very first day of freshman year. 

Colorful cutouts decorate the panels and an overhead projector sits in a corner. Sunlight streaks through the wall of windows on the opposite side, landing on the backs of children sitting sideways in their seats, chatting and laughing animatedly with their friends. 

All but one. He’s singularly focused on the book in front of him, not noticing any of the cacophony surrounding him.

Serena slowly moves towards the teacher’s desk from her spot just inside the door. 

“Hi, Ms. Frizzle. My name is Serena and—” 

“Oh, Serena, hello!” Ms. Frizzle interrupts, excitedly clapping her hands. She rounds her desk, places her hands on Serena’s shoulders, and turns her to face the class.

“Good morning, everyone!” 

The room immediately quiets down.

“I’d like to introduce you all to Serena. She’s just moved here from out of state and is joining our class. Please give her a warm welcome!”

Among the smattering of “hi’s” and “hello’s” that break out, the boy who was reading a book looks up, giving Serena a quick glance. 

New girl. 

He slightly rolls his eyes and turns back to his book, as the rest of the children return to their conversations.

Ms. Frizzle leads Serena to an empty desk in the middle of the classroom. 

“This is where you’ll be sitting, sweetheart. We’ll begin shortly.” She smiles before walking back to her table, heels click-clacking on the linoleum. 

Serena takes a seat, looking at the classmates around her with slightly hopeful eyes. When none of them stop their chattering to acknowledge or include her, she deflates a bit. Twisting around to unzip her backpack, she pulls out two books stacked together. 

The movement catches the boy's attention and he secretly watches as she carefully places them in front of her.

Serena picks up the first book and opens it. Her eyes roam the room once more before she shyly tucks some hair behind her ear and dips her head to begin reading. 

The boy leans forward in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the title. Lord of the Flies is sprawled across the front in gold lettering. 

That's a good book. A literary classic that delves into the human psyche.

As he's lost in his thoughts, his line of sight falls on the still closed second book. The Origin of the Vaccine Inoculation. His eyes go wide; he'd know the author of that book anywhere.

He closes the hardcover in front of him halfway, scanning the front. An Inquiry Into the Causes and Effects of the Variolae Vaccinae. 

Edward Jenner.  

An interesting coincidence. Everyone around him seemed to only hold an interest in comic books, so he never thought he’d encounter anyone else his age reading material written by his medical hero.

His eyes slowly move upward, landing on the back of Serena’s head, astonished. 

She must’ve felt his eyes on her because right then, her head slowly turns towards him. He snaps his head down, staring at the page in front of him so intently, he was sure a hole would appear. 

Please tell me she didn’t see me.

After a few seconds, he glances back up. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he isn't met with a pair of eyes. 

“Ethan! Would you be a dear and help me set up for an activity?” Ms. Frizzle’s enthusiastic voice breaks through. 

As Ethan nods and walks to the front of the room, studiously avoiding Serena’s direction, her gaze bashfully follows his movements.

She tries to suppress the slight upturn of the corner of her lips, as she indeed did catch him staring at her.

Ethan. The boy with the bright blue eyes.

~~~~~~

Ethan shuts the car door and walks towards the quad. He stops at the edge of it to take in his surroundings: the way the trees dance in the wind, the crisp and clear chirping of the birds, the glistening of the morning dew. 

He closes his eyes and relishes in the peace and quiet that comes with being on campus before everyone else. It helps him forget, if even for a moment.

He takes a deep breath, opening his eyes after the exhale; they land on Serena. 

The girl with the butterfly clips in her hair.

She’s sitting at one of the round stone tables, too engrossed in her book to notice him staring. 

Again. 

He quickly averts his gaze and goes to take a seat at the table across from her, pulling out a book of his own. Not that he pays it much attention, inadvertently stealing glances at Serena instead.  

Stop being such a creep.

He shakes his head slightly, trying to focus on Edward Jenner’s clinical trials. Ethan makes it a few sentences down the page, before his eyes float upwards once more. This time, his eyes lock with a pair of brown ones. 

The boy with the blue eyes.

Serena offers him a half-smile and Ethan freezes, unsure of what to do. By the time he’s recovered and goes to return the smile, she’s already back to reading her book. It's the same Edward Jenner book from the day before and Ethan feels an urge to discuss it with her. No one his age had ever expressed a similar interest to his own, until now.

Ethan gulps and stands, slowly making his way in her direction. Once he’s standing in front of her, with only four feet of table between them, his mouth is dry and his heart is hammering in his chest.

His height creates a slight shadow over Serena and she looks up, their eyes meeting for the second time in as many minutes. 

Ethan clears his throat and hastily holds up his book. “I’m also reading a book by Edward Jenner.” 

Serena’s eyes light up in recognition as they land on the cover. “I’ve read that one before. Ingenious, really, how he used simple clinical observation and testing to impact human health.”

She bookmarks her page and holds up her own book. “He summarizes his discoveries in this one and expresses hope that his findings will stop smallpox once and for all. Isn’t it amazing that his practices are still used today, almost two-hundred years later?” 

Ethan can’t miss the way her eyes absolutely sparkle, the excitement in her voice, the pure passion. 

He nods, taking a seat across from her. “His hopes were well-placed. The CDC states that ‘many people consider the eradication of smallpox to—’”

“‘Be the biggest achievement in international public health.’” 

Ethan’s mouth is slightly agape and Serena just smiles sheepishly. “He took matter from fresh cowpox lesions on a dairymaid’s hand and—”

“Used it to inoculate a young boy," Ethan finishes. "The boy developed some symptoms, but by the tenth day, he—”

“Felt much better. Two months later, he was inoculated with smallpox instead, but—”

“No disease developed,” they say in unison.

Both of their eyes widen and Serena timidly looks down. 

“I’d like to be a doctor someday,” she whispers. 

The increasing sound of click-clacking heels make their heads swivel. 

"Serena! I'm glad you're here. I'd like to show you which books we'll be reading throughout the year, if you'd follow me." Ms. Frizzle smiles. 

Serena nods and packs up her things, Ethan standing with her. As she goes to trail after Ms. Frizzle, she hesitates, turning back to Ethan. 

"See you later," she whispers, giving him a small smile and wave. 

He's taken aback by her friendliness, only managing to squeak out a belated, "Okay."

He drops back down to their table, motionless, so captivated and in awe of her intelligence.

I'd like to be a doctor someday, too.

~~~~~~

Serena grabs her tray off the metal slider, turning and walking towards the cashier. They scan her ID and she takes a few steps forward, stopping to sweep the seating area.

The cafeteria is filled with seniors sitting atop tables, juniors showing off new accessories, and sophomores blowing straw wrappers at each other. She shifts from foot to foot before spotting a few girls in her grade, weaving towards them. They don't notice as Serena approaches, deep in a story about their summers. 

Serena shyly sits down at the edge of their table, face open and optimistic that they'll include her in their chat. But as the minutes tick on, the other girls don't even acknowledge her presence, chattering away. 

Serena presses her lips into a line and looks down at her lunch tray. She grabs the plastic fork and begins to pick at her side of mixed vegetables. 

Of course they wouldn't want to talk to me; I'm just the new girl. 

She spends the rest of lunchtime with her head down, self-consciously pushing around the food on her plate. 

~~~~~~

After dinner that night, Ethan stands in his room, hands on his hips, surveying his bookshelves. They're filled from top to bottom with books and VHS tapes that cover an array of genres and topics: dystopian, medicine, math. 

Ethan’s finger trails over the spine of each book as his eyes follow: Nineteen Eighty-four, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, How to Lie with Statistics. 

After struggling to pick out anything for five minutes, Ethan starts making a pile of any and all publications he'd think Serena would enjoy. 

A stack of books sit at the foot of his bed as Ethan strains to fit the latest one into his backpack. 

"Why won't you fit?!" He growls. 

He plops down with an exasperated sigh, looking forlornly between his backpack and the other books yet to be touched. 

Would Serena even like any of these? 

He shakes his head, clearing it. No, I’ve come too far to give up now.

"If I put the biggest books in the back, the medium-sized ones flush against them, and move my supplies to the front…" Ethan mumbles, trying to tetris his way into fitting everything. 

Twenty minutes later, an extremely frustrated Ethan sits on the floor. He settles for bringing along one book, another one of his favorites: Emergency Doctor. He looks approvingly at it, sliding it into his backpack, and zips it up.

[bijoharvelle]

doing these prompts! today is “shoveling snow and working up a sweat” because jackles Did That and it’s dedicated to @thatisahotsoup because they drew this, my new fave thing

There are certain things that Dean never learned how to do. He remembers, faintly, mowing the lawn for his mother inside the djinn’s nightmare. And then there was the year he spent with Lisa, faking his way through suburban living and pretending he knew the firs thing about lawn maintenance. And now, he’s standing out on the front deck, looking out at the expanse of clear white snow that’s spread across their front lawn.

When Cas shuffles up behind him (wrapped up in a hat and several sweaters, and a blanket), he leans sleepily into his back. “It’s very beautiful,” he says, “the snow here.”

Dean smiles a little at that and takes the moment to register that, yeah, it is beautiful. It’s not just a chore to be done. The morning sky is still hazy, having only just stopped the snow showers. Their little Japanese maple has snow gathered on all the low, stretching branches. A little down the street, some kids have already suited up and gotten outside, building some approximation of a snowman.

“Thought you didn’t like the snow,” Dean teases.

“I don’t like the cold,” Cas corrects. “The snow is a singular exception to that.”

“Well, you better bundle up. We got work to do.”

Cas pulls back just enough to set him with an incredulous stare. “What would that be?”

“Shoveling. Gotta clear the front path and the stairs.” Sam and Eileen were due to come over that evening for dinner. If it weren’t for that, Dean would just say forget it, but Eileen is very pregnant and he’s not making his sister-in-law schlep through a foot of snow. 

“It’ll be fun,” he promises as he tugs Cas back inside.

“It will be nothing of the sort.”

An hour hour later and they’ve made steady work clearing a path. Dean is scooping snow out from the driveway while Cas finishes the walkway itself. A light flurry has started, barely a dusting, but Dean keeps getting distracted by the snowflakes caught in Cas’s eyelashes and the muss of his dark hair.

Maybe twenty minutes into the work and they were both peeling off their hats and unzipping their jackets. It may be frigid out, but shoveling was hard work. More than enough to work up a sweat. Cas kept grumbling about bouncing between too hot with his jacket on and too cold with it off.

“Dean?”

Dean blinks and realizes that he’s been standing still, leaning on the handle of his shovel and staring at Cas, for a minute or so. “Yeah. Just. Daydreaming.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You better be doing your share.” He takes step forward, joking at intimidation, but his footing doesn’t catch. There must be an icy patch on the bricks because his heel flies up and Cas goes down, straight into the bank of snow that he’s shoveled up.

Dean loses it.

Through his laughter, he does shuffled over and help Cas to stand, but he doesn’t stop laughing to do it. “Oh man,” he wheezes, dusting the snow off a less-than-pleased looking former angel of the Lord. “I’m sorry, buddy, that was just... The way you just hit the deck...” He trails off into more laughter, leaning over his knees as he does.

Without a moment of hesitation, Cas reaches over and shoves him directly into the snow himself.

As Dean shouts about the indignity and tries to right himself, Cas just gives a haughty shrug. “You should show me some respect,” he says before finally putting an end to Dean’s floundering and helping him up.

“Dirty tricks,” Dean comments. He’s frowning but it’s mostly in play because Cas has a wide grin on his face, appling his red, red cheeks. “You need your hat back on, babe.” He reaches over to the steps, where the yellow-and-black knit beanie lays. Sweeping the snow still clinging to Cas’s hair first, he tugs the hat on for him. He’s sure to cover his ears that have gone red and bitterly cold at the tops.

“Thank you,” Cas says and it’s sweet and warm, his breath misting between them.

“C’mon.” Leaning in, he presses their noses together and can’t help but grin when Cas wrinkles his. “Faster we finish this, faster I can make you some hot chocolate for a reward.”

“I would like two marshmallows,” Cas declares as he picks up his shovel again.

“You get as many marshmallows as you want.” And Dean thinks of that as they power through the last bit of work. He thinks of hot chocolate and marshmallows. He thinks of how Cas’s kisses go slow and explorative when they sit in front of the fireplace. He thinks of this domestic work and this domestic life they’ve built together and how happy he is to have it.

-

@prayedtoyou • @antifacas • @valleydean • @good-things-do-happen-dean • @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you • @leftistdean • @bianca29753 • @spaceshipkat • @madronasky • @dizzypinwheel • @kayrosebee • @feraladoration • @destielangst • @destielle • @heller-jensen • @multifandommagic • @fluffiestlou • @geo-val • @top13zepptraxx • @lanaserra • @dreamnovak • @jazzbabythatsme • @lyndalynn • @organicpurplepants • @cursed-or-not • @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner • @galaxymysteryelephant • @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover • @one-more-offbeat-anthem • @keata-kaylee • @redsconfusion • @bennedict • @festivemish • @smushedmuffins • @galaxycastiel • @itsinjustbeing • @winchester-novak • @queen-rowenas

[satanscat999]

A Normal School Morning

I got this request from a friend in DMs.

This is f!MC with Barbatos with 28: “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

Warning: THIS IS SMUT. This one has sex in a semi public setting

You always do love your early morning walks to school. The fresh Devildom air always wakes you up. You also enjoy the time you steal with a certain, albeit very busy, demon butler. If you are being honest with yourself, this is the only reason you get up this early, to spend time with Barbatos. You walk into RAD and find your way to where you know he will be. He greets you with a kiss on the hand, “Good Morning, My Lady.” His olive eyes sparkle with the joy that his trained face doesn’t show. “Good morning, Barbatos.” You both glance around and, seeing that no one else is around, wrap each other in a hug. “Unfortunately, we have to stay nearby the Young Master’s office today.” You pull back, looking down, “Oh, Ok.” He lifts your head with a gloved hand, “I did not say, however, that we couldn’t do that.” He emphasizes “that”. He takes your hand and takes you around the corner from the hallway, “Luckily for us,” He says, pushing you up against a wall, “Lord Diavolo’s office is now a fairly unused hallway.” He smirks, “Though, you will still have to be quiet. The main hallway is still nearby.” He captures your lips in a gentle kiss before you get a chance to say anything else. You allow yourself to melt into his kiss, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss. He hums and starts to use his tongue to explore your mouth. He runs a gloved hand through your hair and you feel the other starting to trail down your body over your clothes. He pulls away from the kiss, “Take my glove off for me, dear.” He holds his hand that was just on your body to your mouth. You bite down on the very end of one of his glove fingers, careful not to bite him. He pulls his hand out of the glove and stuffs it in his pocket. His hand, then, goes to the edge of your skirt and slips underneath. You gasp as he starts to climb your inner thigh, electricity shooting through your body. You lay your head back against the wall as his ungloved hand reaches your core. He moves your underwear to the side and starts to tease your already wet fold. He chuckles, “Wet already, Y/n? You really do enjoy our little morning meetings, don’t you?” You nod, as you don’t trust your voice at the moment. “Good.” He purrs right in your ear. He slips a finger in between your folds, “I do too.” He starts pumping his fingers, causing you to bring a hand to your mouth to try to keep the moans from escaping your lips, but failing. He adds a second finger and licks up your neck causing you to shiver. He continues his strokes for a few minutes, pulling all sorts of sounds that you try to silence. He pulls his hand out and brings it to his lips, cleaning his fingers, “You know, if you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” He levels his gaze, his eyes hazed over with lust. You take a deep breath, “What if I don’t want you too?” You look at him, your pupils blown out. He smirks, “Well then, that’s a different story.” He purrs. You feel his other hand slip under your skirt, when did he take his other glove off? “If that’s what you want, then I guess I will just have to give it to you.” You just barely register the sound of his pants unzipping. He closes the small gap between you as he pulls out his very hard length. His feather light touches up your thighs as he pushes your skirt up causing you to shiver. He nudges your legs open and starts to tease your core again. You both moan into the kiss as he slips the head into you. He eases himself into you until he’s fully sheathed. He pauses for a second letting your body adjust to him. You start hearing voices echoing through the halls, “Fuck.” You breathe, “First bell is probably soon.” He kisses your neck, “Well, we’ll just have to be quick.” He starts thrusting into you with an almost brutal pace. Your hand flies to your mouth again trying to mute the moans and grunts threatening to reveal your current activities to a good chunk of the school. After a few minutes of the coil in your stomach tightening, Barbatos starts rubbing your bundle of nerves, “Cum with me.” He whispers and then crashes his lips onto yours as both of you crash into the bliss of climax. After you both come down, you pull out wet wipes from your bag, “I came prepared this time.” You smile. Barbatos chuckles, “I can see that. Let’s get you cleaned up and off to class, the first bell already rang.” You nod and you both grab a wipe and you right yourself and run off to class.

[themonkeycabal]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier ep 2

Spoilers!

Last week Bucky was a terrible patient and his new BFF is the father of a guy he killed while he was the Winter Soldier (so super healthy), Sam gave up Cap's shield and returned home to try to help salvage the family business (that went poorly), and some — I guess he must be from the Defense Department — dick made a big speech about needing heroes and he gave the shield to some goober (John Walker, but he'll always be Goober to me) in a Cap suit who strongly reminded me of Langly from the Lone Gunmen. (I'm not familiar with the actor, so I don't know what he actually looks like, but the helmet and the camera angle did him no favors at all, I'm just saying. Super punchable.)

Oh, and Sam has an adorable little minion named Lt. Torres who is getting himself into trouble with some weirdass terrorist group who like to slap red handprints on everything.

Zemo's out there lurking, too, but we haven't seen him yet.

I'm still slightly dazed that this show is real and we get to watch it.

Ep2: The Star-Spangled Man

Weird slow-mo opening shot of a close up of somebody unzipping their jacket. I mean. Okay. (Ohhh, it's the garment bag the Cap suit is in.)

And then we're on to Goober, he's wearing BDUs and he's in a football locker room (maybe high school?), fondling the lockers. He peels a name sticker off one, and underneath it says JW 10. A woman comes in and asks if he's reliving his glory days. They yada yada I don't care.

Now I guess they're talking about him becoming Captain America. "Everybody in the world expects me to be … something. And I don't want to fail them." She tells him to be himself and that they're gonna love him. Well, I've already decided he's a goober. I mean, he might not be, but he's got a hill to climb with me.

He spends a few seconds trying out his Captain America voice, then his buddy Hoskins comes in to talk him through it and give us some exposition. "Two weeks ago we were prepping for a special ops mission to Chile and now this."

Goober whines about how it's been handshakes and meetings and senators and whatnot and he just wants to get to it. But his buddy is all, that's part of the job man. Gotta glad-hand, too. You big baby (he doesn't say that part).

"You can't just punch your way out of problems anymore." Well, I mean, I think that was Steve's MO, mostly. That and 'hit it with the shield until it stops moving'.

Nu Cap is making a big showy thing at a rally at his old high school (Custer's Grove HS, GA) stadium for Good Morning America. He's still looking punchable in that helmet. But, they do bring out a kicking marching band, so there's that. It's a boring GMA interview. I don't care.

"John Walker, first person in American history to receive three Medals of Honor. Ran RS-One missions in counter-terrorism and hostage rescue. The government did a study of your body at MIT and you tested off the charts in every measurable category — speed, endurance, intelligence." (I legit laughed out loud. Lookit Captain Gary Stu over here)

Blah blah super humble yada yada. Just wants to make people feel safe, he has sooooo much respect for Steve Rogers, yada. Look, he could be a great guy and maybe I'll warm to him. But not yet!

Back in Brooklyn, Bucky's watching this and his face is all "No! No? What the shit is this? NO! NO? WHU NO?! No." Also, Bucky, I know you have a couch, why are you sitting on the floor? Love yourself just a little bit, dude.

In Louisiana Sam is in an Air Force hanger, staring at a garish 'Cap is Back' poster and looking a little queasy. Rhodey told you, subtly and not really directly, to not give up the shield, buddy. I hope when Bucky gets there the first thing he says is "He gave the shield to *you*, dummy. Not Captain Gary Poppins over there."

Torres says Nu Cap seems like a good guy. Sam's like, uh-huh, sure, so anyway. There's another "cap is back" poster and Sam's like 'ugh'. And they're off to Munich. I guess for the Flag Bros. Hey! There's Bucky! Finally, they're in the same scene. It's been nearly sixty minutes of screen time to get to this moment, Marvel. No, I wasn't counting.

"Shouldn't have given up the shield." lol. Hi Bucky! You forgot to call him a dummy.

Sam's like I haven't got time for this. And Bucky points to the umpteenth Cap is Back poster (seriously? Good lord.) "You didn't know that was going to happen?"

  Sam did not know that was going to happen. "You think it didn't break my heart to see them march him out there and call him the new Captain America?"

Bucky will not let this go. "You had no right to give up the shield, Sam." You tell him!

But, Sam's kind of not in the mood. Look, I get it Sam, you didn't feel equal to the shield, but Steve gave it to you because he knows, my dude. Trust him. Come on.

But, he's feeling very raw about this, right now. "This is what you're not gonna do. You're not gonna come here in your overextended life and tell me about my rights." Well, ouch. 

He says he's got bigger things to worry about, but that seems unpossible to Bucky "What could be bigger than this?" Terrorist douchebags wearing funny masks in Eastern and Central Europe. Well, fine, Sam; be all puts-things-in-perspective guy.

Redwing traced the far-too-strong maybe leader to a place in Munich. For some reason Bucky does not have good feelings about Redwing. Uh-oh, Bucky, you're going to extra hurt Sam's feelings.

Oh lol, it's the "Big Three" convo. "What big three?" "Androids, aliens, and wizards." Still funny. Sam's so proud of himself.

"I'm coming with you." "No, you're not." Bucky went with him.

Did they glare at each other the whole way to Munich? lol. I love this show so much already.

"Enjoy the ride, Buck." "No, you can't call me that." "Why not? That's what Steve called you." "Steve knew me longer. And Steve had a plan." lol, Steve Rogers never had a plan a day in his life.

Bucky wants a chute, but Torres who wisely stayed out of all of that, is like we're way too low for a chute. "I don't need it anyway." Then Bucky drama school bitch rips off the left sleeve of his jacket and jumps out while yelling like the dumbass he is. And he hits every branch of the dumbass tree on his way to the ground.

"I have all of that on camera, you know that right?" And Redwing zooms by to hovers over Bucky. So, maybe it's not a mystery why he doesn't like Redwing. lol.

Bucky and Sam meet up at a dilapidated warehouse in the middle of the forest. Only good things ever happen in dilapidated warehouses in forests. Like extra shady weapons smuggling. Bucky's gonna stalk after them. Sam messes with him a bit.

"Look at you all stealthy. A little time in Wakanda and you come out White Panther." lol. ilu Sam. "It's actually White Wolf." "Huh?" heh. What he won’t tell you, Sam, is that he earned the name from the kids near his goat farm who liked to spy on and giggle at the grumpy growly white guy. 

"Hello. How are you?" "Great. What did I miss?" They're a delightful disaster! And they bicker and bicker and ahh, finally.

Also the people they're stalking are hella strong. And then these two idiots knock into an old bit of metal and make some noise. The shady people stop for a mo' but then move on. Sam scans one of the trucks the shady folks were loading (there are two), there's a figure sitting in the back. "There's an eighth person. I think they have a hostage." And Bucky zooms off! And Sam after him.

Bucky jumps onto the lead truck and then just like wanders around inside. I'm pretty sure the truck behind you noticed you, dummy. Anyway, it's loaded with crates marked "keep frozen." "They're stealing medicine. Vaccines." Those utter bastards. He spots a girl peeking out between containers. "Hi." lol, idiot.

He thinks it's the hostage, but I'm waiting for her to kick his butt out the door. She's not, you know, tied up in anyway. So … Also, again, does the second truck not have a radio to the first truck? Like was the driver texting while Bucky climbed up the back of the truck right in front of him? Now he's strangely incurious about the open door?

And, then she smiles at him and kicks him out the door, he hits the windshield of the second truck (maybe they've finally noticed you, Bucky!) and she puts on a mask with a red handprint. As you do. Two guys on the roof of truck 2, pull Bucky up ready to beat him silly.

Super strong girl, jumps over to truck two and punches Bucky some more. The Redwing zooms over and she jumps up, grabs it, and smashes it over her knee.

"I always wanted to do that," Bucky says, sad he didn't get the chance.

Sam shows up, there are more guys on the roof of the other truck. And there's fighting and fighting and then Sam is pinned down and the bad guy gets plonked with the shield and here comes Captain Poppins dropping down out of a helicopter. What timing. The CGI and green screen for this whole sequence are pretty dire. I'm sorry but it's true.

Captain Poppins is joined by his buddy Hoskins. "Sam. John Walker, Captain America." They know who you are, goober. Though, pausing to introduce yourself in the middle of the fight is a very Steve Rogers move, so points for that, Goober.

Lol, the look on Bucky's face when he catches the shield and Goober takes it from him. He's like 'rule two, rule two, rule two, remember rule two.'

Lots of fighting lots of fighting. Bucky is knocked off the side of the truck, he digs in and sort of zippers down the side, and then hangs off the bottom, his head inches from a tire, clinging to the underside by his vibranium arm. A bad guy stomps on it. Um, it's vibranium, guy. Like … though, somehow it works? and Bucky's arm sort of flops onto the road, sending up sparks. Sam does a neat little move, flies under the two trucks, grabbing Bucky as he goes, and knocking them both free.  None of that worked out particularly well, guys.

"Could have used that shield," Bucky says helpfully. lol. "Those were all super soldiers, Sam." Well, bummer.

Back on the trucks, I think Hoskins is in trouble. Cap Goober is pulling himself back up. Hoskins is thrown from the truck, but Cap Goober tosses the shield and Hoskins lands on that. Now Goober squares off against super soldier chick. He does not fare well. And he's thrown from the truck to land on the windshield of a following car. You know, if I'm driving down the road and I see people fighting on a pair of big rigs, I don't follow close. You know what I'm saying? I maybe pull over and let them get way far away from me. Anyway, sorry for your body damage.

Bucky and Sam walk along the road, a pair of sad sad heroes who did not have a plan.

"I'm sorry about Redwing." "No, you're not."

Cap Goober turns up in a sorry looking vehicle of some sort. "So that didn't go as planned." Bucky and Sam keep walking. lol

So Goober's vehicle keeps pace with the disaster duo. "We're pretty sure it's one of the Big Three."

Bucky: "THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS WIZARDS!" That's his hill, he'll die on it.

Since it's super soldiers, and that's bad news, Cap Goober thinks they should work together. Sam's quiet but not thrilled. Bucky is not quiet. "Just 'cause you carry that shield, it doesn't mean you're Captain America."

Cap Goober has apparently jumped on a grenade 4 times. "It's a thing I do with my helmet. It's reinforced." Okay, I laughed.

He persuades them to ride with him, because it's like 20 miles to the airport. It's probably for the best, since I'm pretty sure they might try to strangle each other in five.

"They (Flag Haters Anonymous) say their mission is to get things back to the way they were during the blip." This group's goals are so hazy and weird.

oh, lol. Sam wanted to know how they tracked the Flag Smashers, and Hoskins is like, um, actually, we tracked redwing. "It's not exactly hacking," Captain Goober explains, "it's government property. We're kind of the government." Not winning any points, Goober.

Bucky's just glaring at him.  "Does he always just stare like that?" lol

We get a bit of exposition about a group called the GRC, the Global Repatriation Council, which is tasked with helping the previously blipped reintegrate. Sam's like, okay, and? Hoskins explains "they provide the resources, and we keep things stable." The GRC sounds even more make believe than super soldiers, to be honest. But, whatever. Not here to analyze the bizarre and unlikely geopolitics of the MCU. Cap Goober makes a pitch for Sam and Bucky to sign up but Bucky is very firm about his "No".

Hoskins insists he has mad respect for them, but they were getting their asses kicked until he and goober showed up. Um, Hoskins, my dude, you also got your ass kicked.

Bucky stares for a second. "Who are you?" "Lamar Hoskins." Sam insists he needs more than that. "I'm Battlestar. John's partner."

Bucky says Mm hmm. Stop the car. And he's gone.

Cap Goober gives a pitch to Sam about how he's not trying to be Steve, or replace him, he's just trying to do his best and be the best Captain America he can, and it'd be great to have Cap's 'wingmen' on his side. I sense sincerity, but you're still punchable, goober. And Sam isn't buying it either. He shakes his head and laughs bitterly, "It's always that last line." He hops out and follows Bucky.

Elsewhere, the super terrorists have reached a safe house with a way too chatty dude who is trying to make them at home in his dicey looking shopfront. He rattles on about how they're becoming legends and the people love them because they're pushing back! Against … the GRC? I guess?

Super soldier girl (Karli) gets a hate text. "You took what is mine. I'm going to find you and kill you." Well, sleep tight, sister!

One of the other guys has already logged into a computer system and he starts hacking and wiping their info off the internets and interpol, I guess.

"Six months ago would you have imagined people supporting a cause like this?" I'm still very unclear on what your cause is.

Maybe I'm overthinking the silly superhero universe, but I can't imagine the blip world was wonderful. You're missing half the people. So half of everybody who'd do various jobs. So half of the knowledge base of humanity on earth. Half of the experience base of humanity on earth. Half of the farmers, half of the engineers, half of the doctors, half of the people who maintain any system you can imagine, half of the people who build those systems, half of the teachers, half of the factory workers, half of the grandparents who pass down stories and community knowledge, half of the animals, half of the fish, half of the insects and so half of the plants. Ecosystems could easily collapse. Certainly infrastructure did, with half of the people needed to maintain it gone. Cities would have started to crumble, since half of the sources of goods, food, and services were gone. (we did have something of a real-world equivalent in Europe during the Black Death. Things were not nice for quite a long while after the worst years of the plague.)

I'm sure there would be areas that did better than others. But, half of any government gone, half of any police, half of any military. There would be power vacuums and probably shitheads to fill them. I don't see any particular utopia in a blip-ified world.

And that's not even taking into account the psychological damage to all the unblipped. The pure existential horror of half of everything suddenly gone.

But, that aside. I like genuinely do not know what they're trying to achieve.  

"We're not playing no more," announces Karli. "We can't let the same assholes who were put back in power after the Blip win." Literally do not know what that means. "The GRC care more about the people who came back than the ones who never left." I mean … isn't that literally what they're for? "We got a glimpse of how things could be." Chaotic and apocalyptic? In fairness, I guess if you could carve out your own thing in that, and maybe it could even be good, then you'd be bitter if everybody came back all of a sudden and messed that up. I'm sure the power struggles are real.

"One world! One people!" Okaly-dokaly. Fascinated to see how you eight will achieve that.

Bucky's brooding on a plane, Sam's trying to sleep but the brooding is too much to ignore.

"You alright?" "Let's take the shield, Sam. Let's take the shield and do this ourselves." He's using his almost scary Winter Soldier voice. And staring into the void. Sam, call his doctor. She needs to remind him of rules one and two. "We can't just run up on a man, beat him up, and take it." Good point, Sam. For real, call Bucky's doctor. He's going to the scary illegal place.

"Do you remember what happened the last time we stole it?" "Maybe." lol such a petulant little grumpus you are, Bucky. "I'll help you in case you forgot. Sharon was branded an enemy of the state and Steve and I were on the run for two years." Not everybody was lucky enough to have a goat farm during all that, Bucky. That's what the man's saying.

"We just got our ass handed to us by super soldiers and we got nothing." "That's not entirely true," Bucky says mysteriously. And he jumps down off his brooding crate to go sit next to Sam. "There is someone that you should meet."

Baltimore, Maryland

Sam has a cute aside with a neighborhood kid, then Bucky leads him up to a house that has seen better days. Somebody answers the door and Bucky says they're there to see Isaiah. But, the young guy who answers the door insists there's no Isaiah there. He's not very welcoming. Bucky says "tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here." The things you got up to, Bucky. I do wonder. "We had a skirmish during the Korean war." oh, lol. I mean, I'm sure it's a horrible story, but lol, Bucky you disaster.

Oh hey, Carl Lumbly! Gosh, I haven't seen him in an age. I almost didn't recognize him.

"He was a hero. One of the ones that Hydra feared the most. Like Steve. We met in '51." "If by met, you mean I whupped your ass, then, yeah." lol

Isaiah says he took part of Bucky's arm in Goyang and he just wanted to see if it grew back. And if Bucky was there to kill him. Bucky says he's not a killer anymore.

"You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be?" Well, sure. "It doesn't work like that." Oh, but it must, or else what's the point? Isaiah has a lot of reasons to be bitter, though. 

"Isaiah, the reason we're here, is because there's more of you and me out there. And we need to know how."

This does not please Isaiah, who doesn't want to talk and throws a can of sardines (or something, I don't know what that was) through the wall. Old but still super solidery.

"You know what they did to me for being a hero? They put my ass in jail for 30 years." Um, wow. "People running tests, taking my blood, coming into my cell. Even your people weren't done with me." Well, that's deeply uncool. He very much wants his unwelcome guests to GFO, and I can't say I blame him.  

Sam is super pissed once they get out onto the street. "Why didn't you tell me about Isaiah?" Bucky doesn't answer. "I asked you a question, Bucky." Yikes.

And no, Steve never knew, because Bucky never told him. "So you're telling me there was a black super soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it?" I guess so.

And we're interrupted by a bizarre random encounter with presumably racist cops. They stop them in the street, get weird about asking for ID, and then ask Bucky, "is this guy bothering you?" And Bucky's like what in the actual fuck, he looks like a high school chem teacher and I look like the muscle for a loan shark, "no he's not bothering me. Do you know who he is?" Oh to be the Winter Soldier again for just a moment, eh? Anyway, one of the dipshits recognizes Sam and they get all dipshitty apologetic. "oh, Mr. Wilson, we're so sorry."

Oh, lol, they're going to arrest Bucky. There's a warrant out for him, because he missed his therapy session. I told somebody to call his therapist! I want to know which of those dipshits ran Sam and Bucky for wants. Because that’s not automatic or some shit, somebody’s got to call it in. 

Sam's like 'well that took a weird turn.'

Sam and Dr Raynor meet at whatever facility they’re holding Bucky. "Thanks for getting him out." "That was not me," the doctor assures him. Nope, it was Captain Goober, who greets the doctor with a wave. "Christina! It's great to see you again." lol. And Sam's day gets worse.

"I heard you were working with Bucky and thought I'd step in. Bucky's not going to be working on a strict schedule any longer." 

She's like, uh what? Says who? And he points at himself. okay, again, lol. Though, it’s weird to me how he insists on calling Bucky ‘Bucky’, like they’re buddies. They’re not buddies. Bucky's going to punch him in the face. 

"He's too valuable an asset to have him tied up. So just do whatever you've got to do with him, then send him off to me." Will Bucky turn around and go right back into his holding cell?

Dr's not going to let him. "James, condition of your release, session now. You too, Sam." "That's okay. I'll be out here with…" "That wasn't a request." Poor Sam. He has had THE WORST DAY.

I love Bucky slouching against the sergeant's desk all surly, like a 16 year old who got busted for boosting his grandmother's car.

Dr Raynor settles them all in what I assume is an interrogation room. She tells Bucky she just wants to help him get over whatever is eating at him. I guess she figures Sam could help with that, too?

"We're going to do an exercise. It's something I use with couples when they are trying to figure out what kind of life they want to build together." lol. but of course. a million fic writers deliriously rush to their keyboards.  

"Are you familiar with the miracle question?" "Absolutely not." "Of course not." heh "Okay, it goes like this. Suppose that while you're sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up, what is something that you would like to see that would make your life better?"

Bucky says his miracle would be Sam talking less. Sam says that's what he was going to say. Dr Raynor is writing fic of her own. "You guys are leaving me no choice. It's time for the soul-gazing exercise." This is the weirdest therapy session ever.

Bucky is very on board. Sam's like 'what have you done? staring? that's his thing!'

"Let's do it. Let's stare. This is a good exercise. Thanks, doc." Bucky, you little asshole. lol

How many takes to do this scene? I can tell they're trying not to laugh. "Take 57. It's 1:30 am, guys. Please, can we get it this time?"

"Wait, what are you doing? Are you having a staring contest?" What about these two men's attitudes walking into the room suggested they were going to be at all mature about this, Doc?

"James, why does Sam aggravate you? And don't say something childish." She knows you too well, Buck.

Oh, Bucky. He wants to know why Sam gave up the shield, because Steve believed in him, gave him the shield for a reason. But, maybe Steve was wrong about Sam and if he was wrong about Sam, then he was wrong about Bucky.

Sam, has his reasons. He says maybe Bucky and Steve can't understand, but he wants to know if Bucky can accept that he did what he thought was right. Poor Sam.

And Sam's had enough. He says they've got bigger shit going on and he'll put whatever this issue is aside for now, and they'll go take care of that, and then he and Bucky can never see each other again. "Thanks doc, for making it weird. I feel much better."

She's like, well shit.

Bucky leaves as well, but she stops him. "I know that look. What's wrong?" "What was rule two again?" "Don't hurt anyone." "Goodbye, doc."

I think maybe she miscalculated a tiny bit.

"I feel better," Sam grumbles. "I feel awful," Bucky sighs.

And down the street Captain Goober and Hoskins starts chirping a police siren at them and they wave them over. "Gentlemen!" I really want Bucky to punch him just once.

Goober wants them to join forces. They're tracking Karli through various displaced communities in Europe.  She's the flag stompers leader, I guess? She's like … 16. DOUBT.

Anyway, she's do-goodering by stealing medicine and taking it to the displaced camps. I'm confused. So, post-blip, people who'd not blipped are now suddenly being displaced? I thought the displaced where the blipped trying to reintegrate. But, she was mad at the GRC for only caring about the blipped not the unblipped (which, again is the GRC's raison d'être, so yes?). I feel like I'm missing something.

Bucky snarks at Goober a bit. He's not a fan at all. "Things are really intense for you, aren't they, Walker?" 

Sam's like okay, let's all simmer down. "It is imperative that we find them and stop them." But, also, though, he and Bucky are free agents, so they're more flexible than mister "i'm the government" over there.

Captain Goober doesn't care for that. "Word of advice, then. Stay the hell out of my way." Don't push your luck, goober.

Bratislava, Slovakia

Flag Stompers loading a small plane. Uh oh, they've been found out! Karli asks how much time they have. "None. It's the Power Broker's men." The Power Broker. See, that's the kind of jackassery you get in a Blip scenario. That's what I'm talking about. Did you steal super soldier serum from this guy, Karli? Hmmm? One noble Flag Stomper offers to stay behind and hold them off while they make their escape, for One World! One People! Dream big, kid.

He knocks down a power pole to block the road but then he runs at the badder guys? And gets himself shot a zillionty times. I … he'd already blocked the road? Why not just … you know what? Never mind.

Back to Bucky and Sam and Bucky with an idea that might just be worse than the self-sacrificing Flag Stomper's run-at-the-badder-guys-for-great-justice idea. He suggests that perhaps somebody who knows all of Hydra's secrets can give them the answers they need. 

"So you're just going to go sit in a room with this guy?" "Ye-… yes," Bucky says, absolutely oozing with confidence.

Off to see Zemo! I'm sure that will go terribly! Can't wait!

And Credits!

Not gonna lie. I'm not sure how I feel about this episode. It felt a little disjointed.

I don't get the Flag Munchers, but I'm thinking they're just a red herring. Because they're basically utopian idealist twelve-year olds with nice but vague goals and vague iffy means to achieve those goals. I don't feel they're a whole lot more than some misguided kids who grew up in a blipped world and change is difficult and scary (and I’m sure it’s probably managed poorly. I can’t think of anything less efficient than a global council for anything. you could have a global council for dirt and it would be a bureaucratic nightmare). And they probably stole super soldier serum from somebody way scarier. Dummies. I think they're going to need to be rescued at some point. Probably soonish.

As for that other guy. There's moments where I like John Walker a little bit, and moments where I find him really aggravating. I get they want to make him the super-duper bestest perfectest hero, or that’s why he was chosen by the DoD or whatever, but part of Steve's charm was he wasn't perfect. He wasn't Captain America because he won a million awards, he was Cap because he had a good heart. That's the point. THAT'S WHY YOU SHOULD BE CAP, SAM!

Also, I don't like hard feelings between Sam and Bucky. Though, nothing about their history would suggest an easy friendship (one time Sam was driving in his car and Bucky ripped the damn steering wheel out), so that's not a complaint, it just makes me sad. They really only have a connection because of Steve and he's gone. Be friends, guys!

And finally, when will Sharon Carter return from being an enemy of the state?

[ceilingfan5]

do you ever watch kitten videos and have to cry your face off about how small they are

Taako hasn’t been doing too hot, and he hasn’t hidden it well, either. He’s been nasty and snappish and prickly, and Kravitz has suffered him so sweetly he feels awful about it. It’s not even just one thing that’s bothering him--the world just feels like it’s about to crash down around his ears, and all he wants to do is get in bed and hide. 

He didn’t think Kravitz noticed how bad it was. He especially didn’t expect what Kravitz decided to do about it. 

Kravitz brings home foster kittens. 

Taako is sitting on the counter eating cold ravioli with a spoon when Kravitz gets home. He closes the door with his foot, making a loud sound, and Taako cranes his neck to see him. 

“Hey, Taako, I’m home,” he says, warm excitement in his voice. “I have a surprise.”

“Is it dinner?” Taako says through a mouthful of raviolis. “Cause that ship done sailed.”

“No, no,” Kravitz says. “I hope you don’t eat them.”

“Then what?” Taako kicks his feet a little, annoyed, but not wanting to get up. He puts his plate down next to him, poptart crumbs crunching under it. Maybe it’s been a bit since he cleaned up in here. 

Kravitz comes into the kitchen holding a cat carrier. Taako’s eyebrows go up. 

“Dunno if Garyl and Beans are gonna like you bringing home a stray.”

“Not strays. Foster kittens.” Kravitz is beaming, full of sunshine, hard to look directly at. Taako blinks.

“Foster kittens.”

“Foster kittens. And you get to name them.”

Taako hops down and circles the carrier slowly. Kravitz takes his hand and takes him to their laundry room, which Taako also hasn’t exactly used recently. To his surprise, it’s been decked out in blankets, with a great big crate and water and a new litter box, not to mention a few more bags from the pet store hanging out on the washing machine. Kravitz closes the door behind them and sets down the carrier. Taako squats to see, and Kravitz unzips the babies. 

There are three of them, tiny and bumping and squeaky, still so young, so small, with tiny little triangle tails and velvet ears. Taako reaches out and one instantly climbs him, tiny pinprick claws hooking into his pajama shirt as the teeny bean sets out on a grand expedition. 

“They’re so fucking small,” Taako whispers, surpsied to find himself in tears. “Fuck, look at them. I could eat them in one bite.”

Kravitz laughs softly, leaning against the dryer.

“They’re just starting to wean off of the bottle, but the guy said we should have a few more days of bottle feeding.”

“Bottle feeding?” Taako can’t take it. He sits hard on the tile, staring at the tiny little guy climbing him like an office manager working his way up to Everest. “Holy fuck. Kraav. Krav, I can’t- They’re babies, I can’t do this, Krav, holy shit, they’re so small?” His voice cracks. The other two find him and begin the climb too, and they’re a perfect set: one black, one grey, one white, like a printer running out of ink. Taako laughs, and hiccups, and cries. 

“They’re gonna need a lot of help,” Kravitz says, still so soft. “You think you’re up to helping me take care of them?”

“Yeah, fuckin- fucking obviously-” Taako sniffles. His head hurts. Despite being pretty damn miserable for some time now, it’s been a while since he let himself cry, and it’s so cathartic he wants to get mad at Kravitz for knowing him so well. He pets one of the little kittens on his walnut of a noggin and sobs when he gets a squeaky little mew in reply. “Fuck,” he says. “I’m- Krav, you, I can’t believe you...” 

Kravitz smiles and offers him a tissue, which he had ready, because of course he did. Taako blows his nose so loud it honks, which startles all of the kittens clinging to him for dear life.

“Oh, babies...” he whispers. “Fuck, am I ready to be a dad?”

“It’s just fostering. So if it doesn’t seem like it’s for you, then it doesn’t have to be. But I think you’ll like it. You already care so much about Garyl and Beans.” 

“Fuck, shit. What are we gonna call ‘em?” Taako lifts the kittens into his lap and wipes his face into his elbow. He’s a mess. It’s a disgrace, but fuck it.

“You can pick, but I’ve always liked Beelzebub.”

“So this one’s Beelzebub, lord of the flies, and maybe, uh, maybe...Concrete, for this one, and then the white one can be Jessica.”

Kravitz laughs and nods. 

“Perfect. Do you want to help me feed them?”

“Kravitz!” Taako bursts into tears again. It’s embarrassing. This is so against his brand. At least they’re in the complete privacy of their washroom and the kittens are too baby to remember his breakdown. “I- Yes!” 

And so it begins. It’s hard, and Garyl and Beans are jealous, but everybody notices Taako’s mood improve dramatically, and even if he never articulates quite how bad he was doing or even why, he’s secretly very, very happy that Kravitz knows him and loves him so much that he understood this would help. 

He’s so lucky. He’s so fucking lucky. Just because things aren��t okay doesn’t mean there’s nothing in life worth living for.

[ludi-ling]

Romy Prompt #1

Fair & Square

               It’s still strange to kiss without being scared, without the crazy avalanche of memories.

               Hell, it’s just strange to be kissing at all.

               Especially now, here, with him.

               Don’t get me wrong – it isn’t like this is the first time we’ve kissed, or even the second or third… or maybe even the tenth, if I think about it.

               What’s strange is the both of us being absolutely powerless; and what’s even stranger is that only a couple of days ago I’d dragged him away from the pearly gates of heaven itself, and I could’a sworn ever since then he’s been angry with me.

               Nah – angry don’t even cut it. He’s been worse than angry – distant, stand-offish.

               I’d stolen his redemption from him, and now he’s powerless and vulnerable in a way he’s never been before. I know it don’t sit well with him – hell, it don’t sit well with me – but I did it because I love the man, and I don’t regret it for a moment.

               I have no idea what he’s been through, but the hell we shared with Vargas made me sure of one thing – I ain’t done with him, and I’m gonna fight tooth and nail to keep him till my dying breath. I want more, and for once, I ain’t afraid to tell him so.

               I want a lifetime, I’d said to him.

               I’d asked him for everything.

               And he hadn’t said no.

               He ain’t given an unequivocal ‘yes’ neither, but I’ll take what I can get from Remy LeBeau.

               Our kiss is over all too soon, and I don’t dare to press for more – I feel like I may be pushing for luck. For a moment we sway together in time to the band, neither of us saying a thing. It ain’t too often we get moments, let alone kisses, like these – the best we can do is savour it.

               “You wanna go back?” I finally ask him. “Join the others?”

               His swaying slows slightly.

               “Do you wanna?” he asks me instead. I barely need to think about my answer.

               “No,” I reply simply. “Not if you don’t wanna.” I raise my head and look at him, feeling the need to finally speak the unspoken.

               “Listen – sugar. I know what I took away from you, Remy. But I want ya to know I did what I did ‘cos I love ya. ‘Cos I ain’t ready to lose ya. And—”

               “Shh.” He places a forefinger against my lips, silencing me – the texture of his skin on mine still so wonderfully alien. “I know why you did it, Rogue,” he says. “You don’t need t’explain.”

               “Don’t I?” I say, doubtful.

               “Non.” His thumb caresses my lips softly. “I ain’t angry at you, chere. I may’ve been, a li’l bit. At first. Not anymore.”

               I slowly release a pent-up breath. Till this moment, it ain’t hit me how much I’ve needed him to give me that reassurance.

               “You sure?”

               “I’m sure.”

               Silence follows, interrupted by the sudden swell of laughter from the nearby party. He starts swaying again and I follow, our arms around one another.

               “You wanna head somewhere more private?” he asks, resting his chin in my hair.

               I lean back, press my hips against his, and quirk him a smirk.

               “Private, huh? Private as in what exactly, sugar?”

               He cocks a lazy smile.

               “Well, you got the best room in the house, cherie. Mind if I take a li’l peek?”

               I roll my eyes. When we’d first got here, in this incredible house Destiny had secretly bequeathed to me, right in the Garden Quarter of the Big Easy – Remy had been in terrible shape. He’d gotten his own room, and his own carer, in the person of our old friend, Beast – and, under doctor’s orders, I’d been careful not to ‘excite’ him. His brooding had made sure that wasn’t a problem.  The past few days he’s been up and about, almost like normal – as normal as he can be, after nearly losing his life – and while there have been touches and kisses, he’s still been holding something back. Which is why I’m kind surprised he’s choosing now to be flirty.

               “Remy LeBeau,” I scold him sarcastically, “you passed out on my bed last night – don’t pretend you ain’t seen inside my room!”

               “That was on top of your covers,” he drawls, “I was thinkin’ more inside o’them.”

               I slap his cheek playfully.

               “Are ya even sure ya even got the strength to go messin’ around, Cajun? I thought doctor’s orders were not to get over excited!”

               “Doc just gave me a clean bill o’ health,” he grins too smugly for my liking. “As good as I ever was, Hank says. Superb shape. So I think that’s permission for some ‘excitement’, neh?”

               Well, knock me down a feather! Seems like the boy might be recovered after all!

               And I can’t say I ain’t been anxious to try things out between us without anything but skin in the way… …

               “All right, sugar,” I say, half turning and drawing his arm firmly round my waist. “Lemme give ya that ‘sneak peek’ you’ve been waitin’ for.”

-oOo-

               I lead him up through gorgeously furnished and decorated corridors to my room.

               I’m on tenterhooks for this, like some kid in a candy shop.

               I love him, and he loves me – he told me so, at the gates of heaven no less. Doesn’t matter if we’re still too dumbfuck, even at this point, to translate that into anything more than ‘taking things day by day’ and ‘seeing where it leads’.

               Hey, you know what really sucks? I ain’t never had this boy fair and square. First time was in some godforsaken cave in the middle of Antarctica, fearing that either one or both of us would die the next day. And the second time was when his powers were at maximum control thanks to Sinny, and the static charges any contact created between us was, while fun while it lasted, hardly conducive to no-holds-barred fucking.

               I want him on my own terms.

               I’m about to.

               I can hardly contain myself, I’m so excited. Nervous too, but… …

               We’re kissing as we enter the bedroom; he kicks the door shut behind us, and we’re already undressing each other as he backs me up towards the dresser with this dominating masculinity that in normal circumstances would have me pushing back just by instinct, but right now is the sexiest damn thing he could be doing.

               As soon as my ass hits the dresser he hoists me up onto it, wedging up in the space between my legs as his mouth leaves mine and blazes an angry trail down my neck. I’m on horrible, all-consuming fire, a familiar hot wetness blooming up inside me. I fumble between us for his flies, and my fingers are shaking with impatience as I finally unzip him free… and suddenly, he’s in my hand.

               He moans.

               Lord, but you do not know what the sound of that does to me.

               Then he cusses through his teeth, backs away slightly, hooks my legs at the knees and lifts them. My feet slam noisily onto the dresser. I’m wide open to him, and he grabs at the waistline of my pants and underwear, yanking them roughly down past my ass and thighs, and I wriggle to accommodate him, eager to shake off my clothing.

               He’s impatient, animal almost, intimidating in a way that thrills me. I feel… weird, but not in an unpleasant way. This ain’t the first time we’ve done this, and it’s a long time since I’ve been a virgin, thanks to him. We’ve messed around as much as we’ve been able with my toxic skin, which has been… an education. But the power differential has always been lurking there between us. He knows I could kick his skinny Cajun ass into the middle of next week if I wanted to, and I’ve always wondered what it felt like for a man like him to acknowledge that his woman could physically beat him into a pulp if he tried anything funny.

               Hell, maybe it turns him on – maybe I should ask him.

               Not that it matters anymore. Now I’m just like any woman, and the weirdness I feel is from the thread of vulnerability not having my powers anymore gives me. It isn’t like the first time. The first time he was patient, tender, loving. Now he’s… something else.

               My pants are off.

               He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and suddenly he’s slapping a condom into my hand.

               Gotta love this Cajun – he always comes prepared.

               This is something we’ve practiced scores of times before, and between him shucking off his pants and my quivering desire, I somehow get it on him. Ha – don’t have to worry about skin on skin contact this time round – he always swore the long drawn-out, uber-careful methods I’d had to take before were hot as fuck, but slow is not what we’re aiming for right now, not by any stretch of the imagination. We’re both as rabid as a couple of rabbits on heat, and as soon as he’s suited up, he grabs my ass, scoots me forward to the edge of the dresser and—

               He’s surging up inside me so hard and fast I’m crying out into his shoulder.

               Damn.

               My body is suddenly reminding me that I don’t have invulnerability anymore.

               He freezes right up there inside me, says shakily, breathlessly into my hair: “S-sorry.”

               I breathe in deep, sucking up the scent, the taste of his skin. The stars behind my eyes start to fade a bit.

               “I-I’m okay,” I whisper back hoarsely – my mouth is dry.

               He backs up a bit, kisses my forehead softly, looks into my eyes.

               “Don’t wanna hurt ya…” he says, and I grab his face, saying:

               “I’m fine. Don’t stop.”

               I pull his face down into another kiss.

               And neither of us stops, for a little while at least.

-oOo-

               We’re lying side by side, listening to the sounds of the party outside.

               My body is still a tingling fuzz of pleasure, swimming lazily in and out of the haze of exhaustion.

               “They’re probably wondering where we are,” I murmur aloud. Beside me, Remy chuckles softly.

               “No, chere. They ain’t.”

               I huff a lose strand of hair out of my face. No, they probably ain’t.

               “Speakin’ of the others,” I say after a moment. “What did ya think of Jean’s pitch about headin’ back to the mansion?”

               “Sounded good,” he answers drily, “but that pitch wasn’t aimed at me. It was aimed at you folks. And y’all know I ain’t part of your ‘X-Treme X-Men’ outfit.” He pauses, adds under his breath, “which is the dumbest team name of all time, by the way.”

               “Oh, quit bein’ a baby,” I nudge in the ribs with an elbow – I ain’t strong enough to even elicit an oof from him these days. “Ya know you’re one of us! And you know as well as I do that Jean was includin’ you in her invitation!”

               “I dunno,” he shrugs, staring at the ceiling. “I was havin’ fun wonderin’ round thievin’. Just like the ol’ days. Shame that Vargas fella had to come along and ruin it all.”

               He sighs, and I can read the unspoken easily – he’s missing his powers. I sure as hell ain’t.

               “Remy,” I roll onto my side and lean my head into my hand, “if you wanna talk about what happened with Vargas, I—”

               His eyes flash to mine and he silences me.

               “Hey, listen. Let’s not get back on this track again, Rogue. What’s done is done. I don’t regret it now. Honestly.”

               I’m still not sure I believe him.

               “You would’ve died,” I say quietly, averting my eyes and tracing the line of the already-fading scar marring his breast. “I couldn’t let you. Y’see, I realised somethin’,” and I raise my gaze to his again, ready to be honest. “I can’t live without you. So many times we’ve been apart, and you know what? Knowing you’re still out there keeps me going. I didn’t even realise it until I nearly lost you.”

               A slight smile curves his lips – he raises and hand and tucks a lock of white hair tenderly behind my ear.

               “Same,” he murmurs. He looks thoughtful for a moment, and the smile drops as he says: “What do you want, chere? Do you wanna head back to the mansion? Join back up with the X-Men?”

               I think about it. And all I can really say is that I want what I wanted before. Everything.

               “I want our lifetime,” I reply simply. “Even if it means havin’ t’ take things day by day.”

               This time his smile is kinda sad. I know he’s not the type to promise everything – he never has been. I don’t expect it from him. I guess I never really have.

               “Okay, well,” he finally says, “I got a better idea.”

               “Better than what?”

               “Better than goin’ back t’the mansion.”

               I raise an eyebrow.

               “Really? Okay, let’s hear it.”

               “Well,” he begins, massaging his fingers through my hair luxuriantly, “how ‘bout you and I take t’the road… see where it leads us? Just you, me and whatever we have with us right now.”

               I stare at him.

               I can’t get words out. I can’t tell whether he’s being serious or not.

               “What?” I finally blurt out.

               “You want more,” he replies, his eyes tracing my mouth, that oh-so-familiar cocky smile forming on his lips again. “I guess I do too.”

               “Oh,” I snit back at him pointedly. “Ya ‘guess’ ya do?”

               He stops massaging my hair, locks his eyes onto mine again, all trace of that smile gone.

               “Yeah,” he says. “I do. And we ain’t gonna go nowhere together bein’ back at that mansion. No offence to the Brady Bunch an’ all – I love ‘em to pieces, sure I do – but all they ever do is stick their noses in and stir shit. B’sides,” he addes nonchalantly, “we ain’t got no superhero powers no more. What good we gonna do the X-Men?”

               I pout, knowing they’d take us back anyway – but that’s not the point.

               “Listen, chere,” he continues, this time in a more pressing tone, “I wanna figure out what we got goin’ together. And we ain’t never gonna be able t’do that with the X-Men always in our lives. Now we have the chance t’be a normal couple – whatever ‘normal’ means. Hell, I don’t know what the hell it means, but I’m willin’ to find out. We hit the road, we get to find out what bein’ together means on our own terms – no pryin’ eyes. No distractions but each other. Whaddya say, Rogue?”

               I think about it. For a second I wonder whether he’s charming me, before I realise – he doesn’t have that power anymore. This is all just me.

               I can’t believe he’s offering this to me – I can’t believe I could say anything but yes.

               “Anna,” I say.

               “Huh?” He blinks.

               “My name is Anna. And yeah. I say we hit the road.”

               He smiles, slow and sexy.

               “Y’know somethin’?” he asks, his fingers kneading my scalp again, sending shivers down my spine.

               “What?”

               “Your hair. I miss also those sexy, wild curls o’ yours. You gonna grow it out again any time soon?”

               I scoff.

               “I’ll consider it, Cajun.”

               He laughs softly, teasing me back towards him.

               “All right, Anna.” He pauses a moment, adds, “I’m gonna haveta get used t’that.”

               “Ya don’t have to, sugar,” I assure him, leaning in closer. “I prefer Rogue.”

               “Me too,” he murmurs; and we seal our deal with a kiss.

-END-

[deadbilly]

Two concerned mothers who attended a recent “Teen Pride” celebration at a public library in Renton, Washington, told The College Fix that they have now been doxxed for their efforts to expose the event, which included a graphic dance by a drag queen and the distribution of other adult sex and gender materials.

...

In their main video, parents, teenagers, tweens, children and even kids in strollers can be seen at the library event. Footage showed the distribution of lube, dental dams, and flavored condoms. One pamphlet stated: “Abuse is not S/M [sadism and masochism].” Pictures also showed sex pamphlets in the shape of male genitalia.

Saleem Juma, an independent journalist, obtained a close-up of the freebies handed out at the event. One of them is in the shape of a penis and reads in part: “Reducing sexual risks is the easiest way to prevent your Moby-Dick from exhibiting 50 Shades of Grey … We want you to be the Lord of unzipping Flies, but don’t let an STI catch you by surprise!”

One of the moms told The Fix that she saw young people at the event under the age of 18 who were not accompanied by adults despite a library official saying that would not be allowed.

...

After the concerned moms’ video of the event was posted, Emerald City Antifa began to doxthe women, tweeting: “To reiterate today, we had two queerphobic adults filming kids going in and out of the bathrooms at Teen Pride event at Renton Public library… We’ll post link in thread, please help us identify these pervs.”

Commenters began to verify one of the woman’s date of birth and address.

“When we went out to the parking lot… We’re standing there talking and this man was photographing us. He started yelling at us and filming us and he said, ‘I’m putting your picture on Twitter. I’m filming your license plate. I’m going to make sure everybody knows who you are, you hateful bigot.’ And then we were surrounded and there are four men filming us and they are kind of circling us like wolves,” one of the moms told The Fix.

[randomoranges]

Early Morning Sunrise

Early May 2020

 Étienne sits out on the steps of the back porch and watches Mercury trot around the chickens. He keeps a watchful eye on her, in case she would want a snack, but so far, she seems more interested in playing with them. If anything, the chickens are good at clucking at her if she gets too close.

 It’s peaceful, out here in the morning, even if it’s a bit chilly for his liking, but he has an extra sweater on and a blanket over his lap. He could have slept some more, but he’s still on his fucked up sleep schedule and the change in time zone only helped some.

 Still, there’s something tranquil about the early morning sun that rises ever so and the sight of his dog chasing the chickens around. It could be worse, he thinks to himself.

 He likes being outside – away from the heaviness of inside. It’s still – loaded, in a sense. Less so than before, but he feels every reminder of the oh-so-perfect-and-wonderful-relationship Edward and Calvin have thrown to his face at every corner he takes. It was the same thing last summer. At least now, he has something tentative and new with Edward. At least now, he knows where he stands with Edward. Sort of. At least now, he feels less like a stranger. But only barely.

 It’s complicated, he tells himself.

 He sighs and watches as Mercury sniffs around a flowerbed.

 She was very excited about the chickens. First time she had ever seen chickens, really. Étienne had leashed her up as she went about introducing herself to them. In case. He knew how much Edward loved his chickens. Treated them like pseudo-children at times. He could only imagine how devastated Edward would be if he told him Mercury had made a light snack of them. Wouldn’t really bode well for their little new relationship.

 Mercury, thankfully, had been more interested in making new friends. The chickens had tolerated her. Somewhat.

 Now, they’re used to her, but Étienne keeps watch and takes pictures he sends to Edward, until Edward responds some time later when he wakes up. He supposes there’s that advantage to his insomnia and his early mornings.

 Mercury trots back to him and settles by his feet. He scratches her behind her ear and she licks his hand in response. A ghost of a smile appears on his face and he bends over to kiss the top of her head. Naturally, the correct response to that is for Mercury to lick his face. Étienne recoils slightly with a laugh and hugs her close for a moment. What had he ever done without her in his life beforehand?

 He lets her go and she happily makes herself comfortable by his side, as though she already understands her bigger purpose in life. Étienne keeps an arm around her and a hand nestled in her soft fur. They’re both quiet, perhaps both lost in their own thoughts, as they observe the chickens, the sun rise and the trees that sway gently in the wind.

 He has a vague understanding of time passing as the sun gets brighter and it gets maybe a degree or two warmer. Enough for him to unzip the sweater he’s wearing. He thinks about the state of affairs, the reasons behind this forced exile and the dynamics of Edward’s house. He lets everything wash over him and simply breathes as he tries to center himself.

 Luckily, he’s been stuck in his own head long enough.  He’s been able to put every other problem on the back burner, but now as he’s starting to feel marginally better, it means he has enough head space to freak out over other stuff. Therefore, instead of worrying over the state of the world, he can focus instead on the dynamic’s of Edward’s house. He’s not sure which is better or worse, but he would like to focus on literally anything else, even the chickens and the grass that’s slowly coming in.

 Sometimes, if he’s honest with himself, he wishes Calvin weren’t in the equation.

 Still, he recognises that Edward is happy, that Calvin isn’t exactly an asshole come to ruin his life personally, but – things could have been awkward without him there to add more complications to his life.  He’s gotten to know Calvin, over the years, somehow or other. Gotten to see a different side to him through Calvin’s weird need to hang out with the unlikeliest of groups. If anything, Étienne got the chance to peek at what his brother sees in Calvin (not that he would ever tell any of that to Samuel), but even if it’s mellowed out his own opinion of the man, it still doesn’t make things any easier. It’s still hard. He’s still trying.

 Half the time, Étienne feels like he’s walking on egg shells, wrong footed and out of practice from a number he once knew so well. He would have preferred navigating the uncertain waters of his relationship with Edward without Calvin being literally under the same roof, but apparently, that wasn’t how things worked in his life.

 And – really, Étienne doesn’t mind Calvin – at least, not as a person, but – he’s still sort of waiting for Calvin to take him aside and tell him that he’d best mind his own business and get the hell out.

 He would understand, really. He would probably feel the same. Maybe.

 He’s not really sure. He supposed that also complicates things.

 Étienne sighs and looks up to see a magpie jump from one branch to the other on the tree. It flies away after a moment and Étienne envies the bird’s ability to simply pick up and go. Leave everything behind.

 He thinks he should get up, scrounge for something to eat, or something, but his heart isn’t into it. It’s nice out and he’s comfortable. He’s soothed by the view, the nature, and the clucking chickens. Plus, there are still times when he feels as though he’s in the way, or interrupting some secret alone time that Edward and Calvin desire but are too polite to ask for. Therefore, he tries to make himself scarce when there’s no reason for him to be out in the common places of the house. He’ll linger in the guestroom longer, will spend as much time as possible outside and he’s been known to take Mercury out for longer than necessary walks by himself just for that.

 He likes to believe the other two haven’t picked up on his plan, but the fact remains that he’s been sent here for his own well being and that for some absurd reason, Edward (and even Calvin) have seemed to make it their mission to check up on him at every chance they get.

 He hates it, but he also likes it. It makes some cold, dead part of him warm at the gesture.

 The screen door behind him opens and then closes and Mercury lifts up her head for a moment to see what the intrusion is. Her tail starts wagging and she sits up and goes up a step to greet the newcomer. There’s a scuffle of feet over the floor and then a body sits next to Étienne on the steps. Mercury tries to get Calvin’s attention and raises herself up to greet him properly. Only once she is satisfied does she settle back between the both of them and a moment of silence befalls them again, broken by bird song and chickens.

 “Thought you might be out here,” Calvin says to start the conversation. Étienne spares him a glance from the corner of his eyes. The other man is already dressed for the day and freshly showered from the looks of it. He looks like the perfect picture of health, but Étienne knows that in a way, Calvin also hides behind a facade. He wonders if they both don’t come here seeking the same things – a safe place to quietly break down and rebuild. It would say a lot about him – about Calvin, about both of them really, but Étienne isn’t in the mood to psychoanalyse himself or Calvin and the strange relationship and attraction they seem to have for Edward.

 Étienne isn’t in the mood for small talk and is aware of how it looks. Calvin did nothing wrong and doesn’t deserve his pseudo-cold shoulder, but he genuinely wants to be left alone. He likes his quiet mornings sitting on Edward’s back porch and would like to be left to his musings.

 But Calvin doesn’t seem to do quiet or alone. He seems to be constantly looking for movement and noise – distractions. He wonders what it could mean, if it’s not another facade for something else, but he reminds himself he’s not here to judge or ponder. Lord knows he has his own idiosyncrasies he likes to hide behind.

 “Looks like it’s going to be another nice day; m’sure you’re gonna like that.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t mean to snap, or sound harsh, but even to his ears it sounds a little bit cold and sharp. Calvin wasn’t trying to instigate anything, has been the perfect host, has put up with him – put up with him reinserting himself as Edward’s – other love interest, and he’s been fine about the whole damned thing. Étienne could do with cutting the man some slack. He’s still not sure he would be as gallant and noble about the whole thing if the roles had been reversed.

 He wants the floor to swallow him whole or for the magpie to pluck his eyes out.

 “M’sorry,” He mumbles.

 “No worries, it’s been a tough few weeks,” Calvin says and claps him on the knee. His hand is big and warm and Étienne watches the contrast between the dark colour of the sweatpants he’d worn to bed and Calvin’s light-skinned freckled hand.

 Calvin takes his hand back after a moment and another silence settles between them – this time, it feels a little lighter and Étienne figures it’s a start.

 “How d’you do it,” Étienne finally resigns himself to ask when the sun has finally reached its spot in the sky. He can hear more activity in the neighbourhood as people start bustling about. Daily walks, checking the mail, taking out the garbage bin and such. The few odd people who still have jobs to go to. “How d’you just – deal with all of this – being okay with this?” He points at himself and the space between him and the door, as if meaning him and Edward.

 He expects Calvin to laugh and give him some spiel about a business model or something, use some dumb analogy and brush it off, but Calvin is surprisingly quiet as he thinks about it.

 “It wasn’t just easy, regardless of what you think. I’ve had time to think it over – mull it over and – come to some type of term with it.” He starts and shrugs, knowing it sounds lame, but accepting the truth for what it is. “I mean – it did – sting in some way, when I realised he still – felt something for you. Still feels something. Felt like I wasn’t good enough, or something. And that opened up a whole other can of insecurities and fears. But – we spoke about it. Edward’s been adamant about it – we both have, about communicating and trying to be honest and on the same page. It’s helped.” He pauses there and looks over to Étienne.

 Étienne wonders if Calvin isn’t trying to pass along some message as though saying “after the fuck ups the two of you had, I made it my mission to make sure Edward and I would have the superior relationship, so we communicate and are open about our feelings. We don’t stumble around issues, because we figured out this whole relationship thing because we’re better than you.” He knows it’s not that, he shoots the bubble of anger and jealousy that resurfaces again and tries to face his own insecurities face on instead.

 Still, some part of him would prefer to throw something at Calvin’s face.

 “It’s taken a while, but I realised that what matters most in the end – what matters to me, anyways, is that Edward is happy. He’s happy with me and you make him happy as well. Somehow or other, he wants us both in his life and – I came to peace with that. Had to mull it over a few times over – still, working on it. But – you’re not – you’re not a villain. It makes it easier. Knowing you. Knowing that you want Edward to be happy as well. We didn’t ask for this. Edward didn’t either. The best we can do is – work together – figure it out. I think it’s safe to say we all want the same thing, ultimately.”

 Étienne is surprised by the answer. He’s surprised by the maturity and range behind the words. There’s acceptance and openness there. From Edward, and – Samuel even, he’s garnered information on Calvin, has gathered his own through the years by luncheons and brunches and Emma’s weird ideas of bonding with other cities, but – it still surprises him. He supposes his understanding of Calvin isn’t complete and that he’s therefore still maybe relying on some assumptions and stereotypes.

 But – he’s relieved as well. To hear Calvin say that. To hear Calvin say that he doesn’t hate him or resent him for intruding on his perfect white picket fence boyfriend ideal, or whatever.

 That deep down, he is also a little bit insecure and little bit – jealous – in his own way.

 Étienne laughs, a soft little thing that takes Calvin by surprise.

 Calvin looks at him as Étienne laughs and laughs some more. It’s a full on guffaw, with tears at the corner of his eyes as Étienne realises that all this time, Calvin really felt just like him and that as always, it had been in his head – that he had blown the issue up to gargantuan sizes yet again. He feels silly in the good way, feels a little bit lighter and he claps Calvin on the shoulder and leaves his hand there for a moment.

 “You okay?” Calvin asks, feeling as though he just missed something.

 “Yeah, I’m – thanks, for being honest.” He says as he takes a deep breath and comes down from his bout of laughter.

 “Yeah, no worries,” They settle back again and fall quiet once more. This time, the air feels less charged and heavy and it almost feels like it could be the start of something – some new and exciting chapter.

 “You know, you’re welcome here, right?” Calvin adds, completing an earlier thought. “You have a place here, whether you realise it or not. You’re not a stranger.”

 Not for the first time, Étienne wonders if Calvin doesn’t just play dumb for the sake of appearance and as a deflection, just like he has on more than one occasion. If Calvin isn’t hiding behind a persona as well for his own schemes. Calvin, he realises, is also an enigma with facets he is quietly discovering. He supposes another good thing of this little trip is the time it gives him to discover these facets; not only of Calvin, but of Edward as well. Spending time with each other, truly and fully, without the distractions of outings and sightseeing.

 “It’s slowly starting to sink in,” He admits and the comment makes Calvin crack a smile.

 “Good. Oh, I almost forgot! The whole dang reason I came out looking for you!”

 Étienne wonders what Calvin is on about. He looks ever so pleased with himself and also excited at having remembered whatever it is he had nearly forgotten, “I have a memo from Ed – he had to go out, told me to pass this along to you.” Étienne is about to ask what the memo is, but before he can, he finds himself with an armful of Calvin as the other man scoots closer to him and wraps him in a tight hug.

 Étienne stills for a second, surprised, and unused to this from Calvin. It nearly startles him, really, but once he lets himself relax, he finds that – it’s a pretty decent hug. It’s a little awkward, from the position, the fact that Calvin and he don’t hug very often and because he hadn’t expected it, but – it’s nice. Warm and – comforting. He finds himself subconsciously leaning into it for a fraction of a second.

 “He said he’ll be back soon and that the bicycle is ready if you want to use it. Oh and – this – hang on, hold still.” Étienne is once more surprised when Calvin leans in and kisses his cheek. He pulls away the moment after and looks self-satisfied that he’s delivered Edward’s message with success.

 “You’re a bag full of surprises, aren’t you, McCall?” Étienne asks, turning back to stare at the trees and the chickens. Giving himself a moment to replace his mind and thoughts in order after all that. Tries to still his heart after it jump-started at the hug and the kiss.

 “You bet, Sunshine, and you ain’t even seen nothin’ yet!”

 Étienne laughs, again, and leans back against Calvin’s side. They remain that way, enjoying the quiet morning for a while longer, before Edward returns from his errands and Calvin suggests he makes pancakes for brunch.

 For the first time since he’s arrived, Étienne starts to feel that maybe, just maybe, things will eventually work out.

 FIN

[7-wonders]

Mad Love

Summary: A regular evening of studying takes a sick turn when the woman you always see at the grocery store kidnaps you. Things get even crazier when you find out why: to be the bride of the Antichrist.

Word Count: 2429

A/N: TW for kidnapping, mentions of blood, injury, forced marriage, Satanism. To clear something up, I headcanon that this takes place after Mead is resurrected as a robot, and probably a few months before the actual apocalypse. Look it? Hate it? Feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are always open!

The leaves of the large oak trees rustle in the chilly breeze, and you hug your jacket closer to your body. It’s late, the sky streaked with the dark blues and purples that a sunset leaves behind. Staying as close to the streetlights as possible, you pick up your pace and hustle to your car. Under normal circumstances, you never would have parked so far away from the library, or any building, but you had already been running late and the only parking spot available felt like it was a mile away (though that’s most likely an exaggeration). The once-full parking lot is now sparse, only a few cars remaining.

You’re naturally cautious, as most women your age are in the 21st century. If you hadn’t been so eager to finish your work, you would have walked out with your friends an hour ago. Instead, you waited until the library was nearly closed to realize that it was probably a good idea to get back home, and now there was nobody to walk out with. As a result, your keys are clutched between your fingers, acting as a makeshift weapon against anybody who dares to get close to you. There’s no cars parked directly by yours, and you can feel yourself relax knowing how close you are to a hot shower and a comfy bed. Hitting the button on your key fob to unlock the car, your hand stalls on the handle when you hear a car door slam.

You hurryingly slip into your own car, locking the doors behind you. When a knock sounds on your window, you jump and whip towards the noise. A woman with cropped black hair and dark painted lips waves at you through the glass, and after you get over your fright you realize it’s only the nice woman you frequently run into at the grocery store.

“Hello, Ms. Mead.” You greet politely, rolling down the window in order to speak with her.

“Sorry to scare you like that, (Y/N).”

“It’s fine, I’d rather it be you than someone with bad intentions.” She chuckles at your joke, placing her hand on the frame of the car to steady herself.

“I hate to bother you when I know you’re on your way home, but you wouldn’t have happened to see my son in the library, did you?”

“Your son?” You question, frowning slightly.

“Adopted son, actually. He came to me under difficult circumstances, and I’ve taken him in. You’ve probably seen him at the market with me: tall, he’s got shaggy blond hair, probably wearing black?”

“Oh yeah! Michael, right?” You haven’t seen him with his ‘mother’ for a few months, not since the day before that poor butcher got stabbed at the grocery store, but he must be back now. Ms. Mead smiles and nods.

“That’s him.”

“I wish I could say I’ve seen him, but I haven’t. He might’ve been in there though; I was pretty focused on my own stuff, and didn’t look around much.”

“Guess I’ll just wait around a little longer, see if he’s one of the last to come out.” You smile sympathetically, grabbing her hand in comfort.

“I’m sure he will, don’t worry. With a mom like you, he’s bound to have a good head on his shoulders.”

“Thank you, sweet girl.” Your smile falls slightly when her grip grows stronger on your hand.

“Have a good night, Ms. Mead.” You try to take your hand back, but to no avail. Ms. Mead’s other hand moves out of the corner of your eye, and before you can react you feel a sharp pinch at your neck. You hand flies up in alarm, only to meet a syringe sticking out of you. Your limbs grow heavy, and your head lolls to the side as your vision blurs. Right before you lose consciousness, you see the woman reach to unlock the car door, a wide smile still on her face.

Your bed is extremely warm today, and you groan in dissatisfaction when you realize you’re awake. Stretching your arms above your head, you relish the feeling of the silk sheets against your sore joints. Your eyes pop open in alarm once you remember that you don’t own any silk sheets. In a flash, the events that happened before Ms. Mead stabbed you in the neck with a needle flood your memory.

Scrambling up into a sitting position, you try to figure out where you are. The bed that you’re in is large, larger than any other bed you’ve ever slept in. The black silk sheets match the heavy black comforter, a black and red color scheme being utilized throughout the entire room. The lighting is dimmed, and a large inverted star in a circle hangs on the wall across from you. Your horror at your predicament only increases when you look down and see you’re not wearing the clothes you were earlier. Instead of your jeans and sweatshirt, your body’s covered in a black slip, and the same star-and-circle shape is on a pendant around your neck.

The door opens, and a woman in a cloak enters the room.

“Oh good, you’re awake! It’s funny; that little, itty-bitty amount of serum knocks a person out for quite some time.”

“Please help me, I don’t know where I am and I need to get out of here.” You plead, shifting off of the bed to grab her arm.

“You’re right where you’re supposed to be. Don’t worry, we haven’t started the fun without our guest of honor.”

“Are you gonna kill me?” You can’t stop your lip from wobbling, the only visible sign that you’re on the verge of losing it. The woman chuckles, and you flinch when she caresses your cheek.

“Oh no, no, no! Nothing like that.” She moves to the end of the bed, opening up a trunk and pulling out a garment bag. “Let’s get you dressed; he was the one who picked this out.”

“‘He?’” You question, but the woman doesn’t answer. Instead, she unzips the bag and pulls out a dress. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Something we’ve been waiting for for a very long time.” You want to fight, to scream and run, but even if you did manage to get out of this room, you don’t even know where you are right now. So you allow yourself to be dressed, watching in the mirror as the woman fawns over you. The outfit that ‘he’ picked out is a black dress that flows to your knees. A lace overlay completes the look, sleeves extending to your elbows. It’s a beautiful gown, and in any other situation you’d be obsessed with it.

Once you’re deemed ready, you’re dragged out of the room with a firm grip on your arm. You try to find anything to help you figure out where you are, but there’s no doors or windows in the hallway you’re being led down. When the large doors ahead of you open, your mouth falls. It looks like some kind of church, with pews creating an aisle down the center of the room. The seats are filled with people, all wearing the same cloaks as the woman you first encountered. The shape that’s on the pendant you’re wearing is prevalent everywhere, whether it be the fastenings on everyone’s cloaks or the giant one suspended at the head of the room. Dully, you finally recall that the shape’s a pentagram.

You’ve been so preoccupied in dissecting everything one-by-one, that it takes you a moment to actually grasp what’s at the end of this aisle. A tall, bald man with a black goatee stands at the top of the steps, holding a thick book in his hands. On the step below him stands a figure you’re familiar with--Michael Langdon, Ms. Mead’s ‘son.’

Even so, he looks different than he did when you last saw him months ago. His hair is longer, with the ends getting close to brushing his shoulders. He’s developed a sense of fashion, replacing the cut-off shirts and Doc Martens with a tailored suit and red bottoms. Even his demeanor has changed, and he stands proudly and confidently. He’s smirking at you, eyes glinting in the light of the flaming torches that line the walls.

A firm hand on your back has you stumbling forward, arms pinwheeling in front of you to attempt to regain your balance. You spin around, hoping that you can make a break for the main doors, but you’re stopped by two very large men who weren’t there before. Knowing that you’re not going to walk willingly, they each take an arm and haul you to the front of the room. Michael’s smirk widens to a smile as he faces you, but you’re sure your face is the exact opposite.

“Michael, we don’t have to do whatever’s going to happen. Just let me go, I won’t even tell the police.” You whisper frantically, searching his eyes for some sort of remorse.

“Why would I let you go now that I finally have you?” He takes your hands in his, and a shudder runs through you.

The overwhelming question that keeps running through your brain is why me? What compelled Ms. Mead to knock you out and kidnap you, and all of these people to become willing bystanders in whatever is about to happen. Maybe I should’ve just kept my head down whenever I saw him. I shouldn’t have offered him a ride home when I saw him walking in the rain, shouldn’t have told him how nice his smile was, or that he had a good taste in music. Would he still have singled me out then?

“Dear believers,” you jump at the booming voice of the man above you, and Michael strokes his thumb over your hand in what you assume is supposed to be a comforting gesture. “We are gathered here together in the presence of our Lord Satan and the souls of the damned, to witness this most unholy matrimony between the Antichrist and his dark bride.”

A shaky gasp expels itself from your lungs as you try to comprehend what’s happening. The entire situation is ludicrous, and if it weren’t for having woken up earlier you would try to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. The mere idea of being in a Satanic church, face-to-face with the fucking Antichrist who had kidnapped you in order to marry you against your will is a plot straight out of a crazy fiction novel. Unfortunately, it’s a fiction novel you’re now living in.

“‘Matrimony?’ You don’t even know me!” You hiss, attempting to rip your hands away from him. He holds you still, and draws you even closer to him.

“Oh, my darling, I know everything about you. Our souls are entwined with each other; you were made for me, sent to me by my father to be by my side.” Tears brim up in your eyes as you look out at the crowd, desperately hoping one of them will step in, put a stop to this madness, and save you. “Continue, Anton.” Michael commands.

“Michael Langdon, as the one begotten son of Satan, you are responsible with re-molding the world in His image. Of course, no one can undertake a task such as this alone, not even the Antichrist. For that, you have (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Two souls that were specially created for one another, to help support each other, to love and to cherish each other.” The man--Anton--produces a dagger from some hidden pocket in his cloak. Michael, who apparently already knows what to do, takes it from him.

“Cut my hand, (Y/N).” Michael encourages, holding the dagger’s handle towards you. “I’ll do the same to you, and this will serve as our vows.”

“What the fuck? No!” You start shaking your head in disbelief. Michael takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look him in the eyes. You don’t know exactly what he does, but your gazes are locked on each other no matter how hard you try to look away from him.

“Take the dagger and cut my hand.” Your movements are disconnected from your mind as you take the weapon, your muscles twitching as you attempt to gain control over your body again. The skin is easily sliced open with the smallest amount of pressure, dark droplets of blood pooling in Michael’s palm.

“How did you make me do that?” You ask, Michael gripping the dagger with his non-injured hand.

“Just a simple concilium spell; I apologize for having to use magic on you, but I promise that it’ll be worth it.” He grins, quickly slicing your own palm. You hiss at the sting of the air on your cut, Michael placing his injury against yours. The feeling of hot, sticky blood mixing together on your palm has your skin crawling. The torches flicker before going out with a whoosh, yet the room remains lit with a red glow that you can’t find the source of.

A ring appears in Michael’s hand, and before you can protest he’s slipped it on your ring finger. It’s a delicate silver band, a blood-red diamond sitting in the center of it. The cuts have both healed, dried blood being the only remaining sign that you were ever injured in the first place. Tears roll down your face while the audience cheers and the torches relight themselves.

“The vows have been completed and Satan has voiced his approval for this union. By the power vested in me by our Dark Lord, I pronounce you husband and wife.” Michael’s ecstatic at Anton’s declaration, smirking towards his loyal followers.

“May I...kiss you?” For the first time tonight, he’s hesitant. You’re completely in shock and shaking like a leaf, not even comprehending what he’s just said. Michael takes your lack of an answer as a ‘yes,’ slowly leaning in towards you and placing a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth. It’s a gentle gesture, one that doesn’t seem like Michael at all.

“M-Michael.” You stutter, tears turning to heaving sobs as the reality of this situation sets in. Michael smiles at you sadly, taking his time to kiss the drops of water off of your face.

“Don’t worry, (Y/N). You’ll learn to accept your role in the New World, just as I have.” Your chest heaves, breathing without managing to take in any air. “I love you, so much, and you’re going to love me too.”

Tag List: @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom @pastel-cloudz @sebastianshoe @nana15774 @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @alexcornerblog @everything-is-awesomesauce @tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @dolceandchalamet

[pendletonpr0se]

"You must be the Lord of my flies, because they'll only unzip for you." -Archie

“ Okay, that one is horrible and you should be ashamed of yourself. “

[themadlostgirl]

NDY AU (2)

*A lot of people wanted me to continue the AU I wrote a while ago so here is a short mini-fic full of fluff while I’m working on the new main story.*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language

*Months Earlier*

I don’t think it was a secret that my life in Storybrooke was pretty miserable. Okay, maybe miserable was too strong a word. It was more boring than anything. Monotonous and routine and insufferably predictable. I think there was a phrase that summed it up perfectly: Familiarity breeds contempt.

Everyday was the same. Wake up, go to school, babysitting all afternoon, go home, do homework, go to bed. Each and every day. I didn’t even get a weekend break because that’s what everyone else did. They were off having fun while I watched their kids.

At some point I finally broke. My alarm clock went off and I decided that I was done. I stayed in bed and kept sleeping. When my mom came up to see why I wasn’t up I told her I was sick. Trusting as she was she decided I was telling the truth and left me to my own devices while dad and her went to work. I heard their cars pull out of the garage and then I got up.

It was stupid. I shouldn’t be skipping school. Not like there is a lot to do around this town in the first place but I needed one day off. One day away from my life of repetition. I threw on a inconspicuous hoodie and was out the door.

I meandered around town dodging the gaze of everyone I passed. I was so nervous about skipping school I thought that if someone saw me out and about they would drag me back and I’d get detention for sure. I decided to take a walk through the woods. I had always felt more at home in the wilderness. Something about the neverending trees and chatter of birds put me at ease.

After a good hour of hiking and getting further away from the trail I heard something out of place this deep in the woods. Music. Not loud blaring music coming from a stereo but something softer. It drifted across the air like a lullaby hushing the birds and stilling the trees.

I walked towards the source curious and found an unzipped backpack. Inside was a bunch of notebooks and an overflowing pencil case. Next to it was a phone with music coming out of its speaker. Fairy Dance? Interesting.

“Didn’t your mommy teach you not to snoop.” A voice from above made me jump. I dropped the phone back to the ground.

There was a boy in the tree above me. He dropped down with a glare. He was kinda cute in a bad boy, scruffy, wrong side of the tracks kinda way. It was his eyes that kept me staring though. They were the most beautiful shade of green.

He picked up the phone and stopped the song before stuffing it back in his pocket. “What are you doing out here.”

I snapped back to my senses and looked away, “I was just taking a walk. I heard and the music and--I’m sorry.” I backed away ready to leave. “I’ll be going now.”

“Wait a second. Wait a second.” The boy grabbed me and turned me back around, “You’re cute.”

“Thanks?” I removed his hand from my arm and kept on walking. Still he followed.

“Do I know you?”

“Don’t think so.”

“You’re right. I would remember a face like yours.” he smirked, “What’s your name?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m a curious guy. I swear I’ve seen you before.”

“Probably at school. Which, shouldn’t you be there right now?” I don’t think this guy could be that much older than me. What was he doing skipping school?

“Nah. Don’t go to school much.” he shrugged. “Actually, if it is a school day, why aren’t you there?”

“I--I--” Crap!

“Don’t sweat it, pet,” he grinned wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Teenage rebellion. It’s a good thing.”

“I’m not rebelling. I just needed a day off.” I shrugged him off once more, “Also, don’t call me pet.”

“Well if you told me your name I wouldn’t need nicknames.” he didn’t try to touch me again but still followed closely.

“Y/N. Happy?”

“Yes. My name’s Peter by the way. Since you didn’t ask.”

“Wasn’t interested.”

“So cold.”

“Only towards creeps like you.” I huffed.

“Hey, hey,” he ran in front of me stopping me, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Really? Do you just not have any sense of personal space.”

“Truthfully? Always been a bit of a problem with me. Guess because I never got that much love growing up that I crave the gentle touch from others.” he winked and I gagged.

“And you wonder why I think you’re a creep. Although with that comment now I’m thinking you’re more of a pervert.” I shoved past him.

“Okay, seriously, I am sorry. I’m just being a dick.”

“Obviously.”

“Y/N,” he cut me off again, “Can we start over?”

“Why do you care? Leave me alone.”

“If you wish it,” he gave an exaggerated bow and stepped aside to let me pass. “I am sorry though. Don’t think badly of me.”

Those damned green puppy dog eyes. He was actually sorry, wasn’t he? “I forgive you. I’m really on edge with skipping school. It’s not something I’ve done before.”

“Clearly.” he straightened up, “If the lady would be so kind as to let a humble delinquent such as myself teach you the ways of a successful ditch day I would be honored.”

“Wow, you are so damn extra.”

“I try.” he winked, “What do you say?”

“Why not? Not like I have anything else to do.” I shrugged. I don’t know why but I felt like I could trust him. Not only to not be an asshole but to take me on a small town adventure.

He offered up his arm and I took a deep breath before accepting it. We kept on with our walk while Peter talked to me about things to do and how to avoid getting caught.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” I asked after a while.

“Nothing. Relaxing. Keep away from the house.” he shrugged.

“And the notebooks in your bag?” At that I got a glare. “Sorry, I saw them in your bag. You write?”

“Sketch.” he grumbled.

“Can I see?”

A clap of thunder stopped him before he could answer. “Shit. Come on.” he tugged me along faster now.

Gotta love this Maine weather. We ran through the forest as rain came pouring down on us. I was drenched and freezing but I couldn’t help but smile. I let out a crazy little laugh and Peter looked back at me with a similar grin.

Ahead of us was a run down trailer. We ran inside out of the downpour laughing like idiots. For being an abandoned crappy trailer it wasn’t that bad inside. It was mostly clean and free of any wildlife.

“How’d you know this was here?” I asked as I stripped out of my soaked hoodie.

“Found it a couple months ago. Cleaned it up as best I could so I had a place to hang out in cases just like this.” He shook out the rain from his hair. His eyes raked over me. I crossed my arms over my chest suddenly aware of how much my t-shirt was clinging to me and what it may be showing.

“Here,” he handed me a dry hoodie from in the small closet. “You look cold.”

“Thank you.” I pulled it on relishing in the warmth. It smelled like forest.

“Looks like the rain won’t let up for a while. Unless you wanna brave the storm we’re gonna be stuck here until it passes.” he collapsed back on the couch.

“Joy.” I sat down next to him. “Got a way to pass the time?”

“There’s a chess set in one of the cabinets but half of the pieces are missing.”

“So nothing.” I slumped further in my seat.

“I got a book in here.” he rummaged in his bag and pulled out a copy of Lord of the Flies. “Don’t know if it’s your thing but it's a classic.”

“Gotta say I’m more a Jane Austen kinda girl myself but this’ll do for now.” I took the book, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” We sat in silence for a long while. The only noise being the patter of rain against the side of the trailer and the sound of Peter’s pencil scritching and scratching in his notebook. It was strangely comfortable. There was no need to fill the silence between us. We didn’t need to.

At some point the rain had stopped but I was so invested in my reading I hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t until Peter tapped me that I came back to myself. “Rain stopped.”

“Oh. I guess it did.” I looked around for something to mark the page with since I refused to be a degenerate and dog-ear it. Peter seeing my struggled ripped a piece from his notebook and handed it to me.

“You can keep it if you wanna finish it.” he told me as we left the trailer. “I’ve read it like five times already.”

“You like a story about feral children murdering one another that much?” I cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a weirdo.”

“You are a weirdo.” I joked.

We walked back to town. School should be letting out about now so I didn’t need to worry about that anymore. Peter pulled me along as we stopped inside the pharmacy for snacks. I noticed him trying to sneak out chocolate bars and smacked him. “I have some cash on me. No need to shoplift sweets.”

We went up to the register and the man scanning the items kept glaring at Peter suspiciously. I would too if I had the right to believe this little shit was stealing inventory. We left and I let Peter take the lead as we wandered around town and talked.

“Alright, I got one,” I said in between bites of my candy, “Would you rather be locked in a room that is constantly dark for a week or a room that is constantly bright for a week?”

“Dark, no question.” he answered.

“Seriously? But you can’t see anything!”

“My eyes would adjust. Besides, the dark doesn’t scare me. Constant bright light would be so annoying though, especially when you’re trying to sleep.”

“Point. Your turn.”

“I got a good one,” he turned to me with that dumb smirk, “Would you rather go back home and pretend to be sick or keep being a rebel and grab dinner at Granny’s with me tonight?”

“Oh…” I felt my face grow warm, “I think--”

“Y/N?” I froze. Dad.

“Hey,” I turned to him, “What’s up?”

“I thought you were sick. Why aren’t you home?”

“Just taking a walk. Getting some fresh air.”

“Uh huh,” he glanced at Peter, “And who is this?”

“Peter...my friend.” I mumbled.

“Sure.” Dad grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Peter’s side. “You’re coming home right now. And you,” he rounded on Peter, “Don’t think I don’t know who you are. I’ve seen Graham dragging your ass into the sheriff’s station on a weekly basis. Stay away from my daughter.”

“Dad!”

“I believe that’s up to Y/N, sir.” Peter smirked wider. I swear I thought steam was going to come pouring out of dad’s ears at any second.

“I will not let my daughter ruin herself with something like you. Now beat it.” Without another word dad dragged me away.

I craned my neck to look back at Peter. He gave me a wink and continued on with his walk.

(1) (3)

[nebwv]

Now Entering: Breezy, West Virginia

CHAPTER ONE

“5 coffees please, the others will be here soon”

“Any creamer hun?”

She sighed knowingly, “yes, lots please. Thank you.”

The pudgy waitress walked off with her notepad, never once looking up, or if she did, wasnt phased by what she saw.

She returned in no time with the coffees and the girl at the table muttered a thank you before turning to the jar of sugar at the table. Although she did lift the sugar with her hand, her spoon levitated as she flicked her wrist, stirring the sweet little rocks into the bitter dark void of her Waffle House mug.

Wait.

An eerie feeling crept up her spine. Who was watching her?

For the most part, she was alone, although the two men in the corner booth, obviously blitzed out of their skulls, gave her little reassurance.

“RAHH!”

Two arms wrapped around her middle suddenly from the booth behind her, causing her to yelp and send the spoon rocketing into the soft ceiling tiles, embedding itself with a soft ‘thunk’.

A fit of laughter erupted from the booth out of her field of view, but given the wheezes, she could Identify that laugh nearly anywhere.

Still rigid from the startle, she turned around and glared at the figure writhing with laughter in the booth. “Bunny what the Devil is wrong with you!?”

Bunny wiped a tear from her eye, “HAHA gotcha K! Man, for a malevolent being you sure are easy to scare.”

Bunny swung around into the booth beside K, placed a kiss on her cheek (a platonic ritual between the two that has been present for years) and picked up a laminated menu.

“The others going to be here soon?” Bunny asked, eyes scanning over the options of different waffles available.

“Yeah, Cyphus and Rose and Nola are all coming together tonight.” K panned, taking a long draw of her coffee.

The waffle house was at the very edge of the small town, next to the truck stop where vacationers and haulers would stop for lunch and gas and be on their way. There wasn’t much else in this area of town, no traffic lights, no other buildings, just the one main road that went in and out of Breezy, West Virginia in the span of about 10 minutes. Being close to 2am, however, the town and all its edges were virtually abandoned.

The cowbell above the door thunked, signaling someone else was here, and judging by the Crowd entering from the black of night, it was exactly who the two girls were waiting for. Nola finished tying her red-violet hair into a braid as she entered the threshold, careful not to knock her antlers on the sides. “Ew who let you two in here?” She joked as she took a seat on the bench across from the girls, immediately grabbing 3 creamers. Rose and Cyphus followed, Cyphus slithered to the waiting area and grabbed a chair to place at the end of the table. Her half-snake, half-human body never sat well in booth benches anyway. Her mottled skin seemed to enhance in hue and vibrancy as the plain black coffee passed her lips and she cradled the cup between her hands. Rose poured one creamer into her coffee and threw it back like a shot of hard liquor. It was often a hard gamble if Rose didnt have copious amounts of caffeine coursing through her veins at any time of the day. “You know Magic cant protect you from cardiac arrest.” Bunny mumbled into her barely touched coffee. She raised her eyebrows, and motioned her half empty cup in Bunny’s direction, “We’ll see when we get to that point.” She spoke with her characteristically neutral but sarcastic tone. The pudgy waitress came back, glanced up at the table consisting of 2 witches, a demon, a monster, and an urban legend, and sighed as she looked back at her notepad. Her fading red lipstick moved as she droned, “Yall ready to order?” As she tacked on her well meaning customer service smile.

The collection straight from a ghost hunting blog ordered their food, got refills on coffee, and began to wait. Bunny pulled off her dark red beanie- her favorite, as it fit her head and was made by a friend- and her large rabbit-like ears flopped out and instantly twitched, shook, and perked up. “Guys! You’ll never believe what I found at the thrift store!” She pulled her small backpack out from under the table, unzipping it, and rifling through the contents of the seemingly bottomless bag. Carelessly, she pulled out a rubber ducky, a lighter, a hairbrush, a large kitchen knife- K happened to glance over the second the knife hit the table, eyes widening and her face stuttering in shock before teleporting the knife to who knows where before Bunny or the staff could notice. After a large collection of miscellaneous objects have been dumped on the table, Bunny lets out a small “aha!” and pulls out a clunky, black box with a massive lens.

K’s eyes widened as she grabbed the box, “Holy shit is that an old Polaroid? Does it still work?”

“Yeah it does! I took a couple practice pictures with some film I bought for it! It works great! I wonder why someone would donate this?” Bunny mused while pointing the camera at her friends and looking at them through the viewfinder.

The waitress came back with the plates of their food, Dark Lunch as the group called it, (past a midnight snack, but before breakfast), and glanced up at the camera before placing Nola’s peanut butter waffle down in front of her.

“Polaroid, huh? Havent seen one of those in a long time. It still work?”

Bunny smiled and nodded as her ears flopped along with her head.

“I can take y'alls picture if ya want.” She offered, taking the camera as it was handed to her. The mishmashed family grouped together over the table and smiled, some making silly smiles and the others looking more stoic and calm. Right as the camera clicked and flashed, the door-bell thanked, and all 12 eyes flashed to the two police officers in the doorway.

“Evening Brady, Finchworth.”

“Evening Diane.” The taller officer spoke, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his cropped, though curly red hair. The two officers took the seats at the bar, the shorter officer staying quiet and opting to smile and wave at the monster mash, rather than speak up like officer Brady. “Good evening ladies,” Brady said with his comforting smile, “how darks the coffee tonight, Cyphus?”

Cyphus chuckled at the very accurate comment and mused, “almost as dark as the bags under your eyes, Brady!” He smirked and took a sip of the water the waitress brought him without asking. The entire town of Breezy knew Officer Brady was the glue holding the towns laws, domestic issues, and even acting as a court official. He works countless hours, works near constant overtime, and rarely has a day off.

The photo was finally printing out of the Polaroid. Bunny took it and shook it as she turned to her snake friend. “Oh leave him alone Cyph. Hes the hardest working soul in this town! Without him and the others Breezy would turn into Lord of the Flies in a matter of days.” She exaggerated sarcastically, but as she did, it was always with a grain of truth. “Hey, Brady! You guys made it into our photo!” She teased as she held it up and turned around in her booth to face the policemen.

“Oh honey we’re sorry, I could take another one for you? Hey is that a Polaroid?” He and officer Finchworth looked curiously at the little square photo.

“No, no! It’s okay! You guys are here nearly as much as us, you belong in the picture too. It’s good!” Bunny giggled and smiled at the officers and the photo before passing it around the table then placing it in her bag.

Around 10 minutes passed, filled with banter, chatter of the day, and consuming the unhealthy amount of cheese and hashbrowns they ordered collectively.

Seeing as everything was attended to, Diane, the waitress, leaned over the counter to speak to the men.

“Hows that case been going for you boys? Any new leads?”

“Not a one.” Finchworth shook his head and placed his somewhat round chin in his hand. “Just another call about holes in the ground.”

Rose looked up from her eggs and froze, listening.

“Another one?” Diane huffed, clearly empathizing with Finchworth’s frustration.

Officer Brady piped in, “yeah! The Eugene’s farm this time. Big, deep gashes in the crop fields that hurt the plants and the livestock. Everything is fine except the topsoil and earth is all charred and burnt. Sometimes the animals fall in and get hurt or they get burnt too. But theres no evidence of anybody. No kids with lighters or shovels, not a trace of anything.”

The air grew tense as Officer Brady’s eyes flitted over to lock with Rose’s now wide ones.

“What?” Brady challenged, with fear edging his voice.

“That’s been happening to other people too?” Rose swallowed heavily. “Its been happening on the edges of my property in the woods. My cats are afraid to go outside and my birds wont nest in the trees because they’re afraid more will fall.”

Officer Brady dug in his pocket for his notepad and pen.

“Rose, hun,” he stood up and motioned to the door, eyes a little too wide for comfort, “step outside with me please.”

[derelictarchive]

september fics

* - contain smut, ranging from haikyuu fics read in 2020 * - contain smut, ranging from just fantasies and handjobs to actual NSFW stuff, but is not the main point of the fic 

** - smut-heavy/PWPs, rating differ from general fics because judgement is based on how much i like the sex scenes

1. (do you take this jerk) to be your one and only by jatersade

Under the leadership of Fire Lord Iroh, the Fire Nation has made every attempt to restore peace and make amends for the harm they inflicted during the Seventy-Year War. Their newest proposal is a literal proposal: a marriage to unite the Fire Nation and the Water Tribes.

The Fire Nation offers Prince Zuko’s hand.

The Water Tribes offer Princess Yue’s.

Sokka is apparently the only person in the world who has a problem with any of this.

zuko/sokka

cute fic, but underdeveloped tbh

pacing was a little weird? wish i could have seen more on the journey of them liking each other

characterization is good, some dialogues are funny, mostly good and i love it.

6.5/10

2. five-on-one by beersforqueers**

Sokka and Zuko are co-workers, playing for the same NHL team, trying to cope with a summer apart the only way they know how.

Phone sex.

zuko/sokka

idk 5/10?

bottom sokka so that is always nice

3. demonic bliss by melancholymango**

The moment she’s given him the okay, Lance nods his farewell and makes a beeline for the elevator furthest from the doors, hoping to find it empty when he gets inside.

Why, you might ask?

Oh, simply because the ten thousand dollar lace bodysuit he’s wearing is riding up his /asscrack/.

keith/lance

demon keith so that’s hot

lance in baby blue lace lingerie *chefs kiss*

vv hot

8/10

4. but i know you want me too by 2dick2down**

Keith glanced up suddenly out of impulsiveness and a burning curiosity – edging on recognition, déjà vu, something – then stilled. His fingers froze over the fly of his uniform pants, hanging half-unzipped. Standing under the steaming spray, back arched obscenely, was Lance.

keith/lance

shower sex, no explanation needed

amazing description and imagery, not so flowery or poetic but straight up hot

7/10

5. terminal curiosity series by favspacetwink, moonlumie** 

“Hey, Miya—”

“I saw the sex stuff in your bathroom,” Atsumu violently blurts against his will.

Time stretches out, eternal, unending… the void at the beginning and end of all things coming to claim Atsumu as he stands in his borrowed house slippers by Sakusa’s door. There’s a ringing in his ears, or perhaps it’s the laughter of some vengeful god.

Sakusa’s expression doesn’t outwardly change. His eyes feel like they’re drilling holes in Atsumu’s head.

“It’s not sex stuff. It’s bondage gear.”

sakuatsu 

read 2/3 parts for now 

well written bdsm and smut overall 

dom!sakusa is fucking hot 

atsumu just takes it like the whore he is 

9/10, 📖

6. eight acts of desecration by wordstruck 

Atsumu commands, soft, “Stop.”

Sakusa stops.

“Right there.” He feels those words like a hand on his jaw, holding him in place. “Don’t move.”

(Then don’t look at me.)

sakusa/atsumu

i think it is very well written and the words are carefully arranged + beautiful fic

i dont usually like metaphors and focusing onto one aspect of the story but maybe i will from now on 

6/10, 📖

7. AITA for telling my ex to leave when I saw him at a party? by yuyangs 

After bumping into each other at a party, Atsumu goes to reddit to figure out why his ex-boyfriend, who he's been avoiding for the better half of a year, suddenly blew up at him. Atsumu is definitely not the asshole

... right?

sakuatsu

super cute, heartwarming and funny

amazing use of social media formats? like reddit and message and stuff

short but leaves u smiling and giggly

8/10, 📖

8. 505 by debauchery*

There's fifteen moments where Atsumu tries to forget how to love him; but he knows, he does, that he'd probably still love him with his hands around his neck.

sakuatsu

i dont like how it makes me feel

which is not necessarily a bad thing

the short description of emotions were effective

damn why cant they be happy with each other

7/10 

9. mercy is a shade of blue by birdcat 

Hajime returned to him knowing nothing. Feeling, only. A bird that flies north.

(Hajime comes to Argentina eight years late. But mercy is perennial.)

iwaoi

mina is right, her writing is boring lmao

i mean the sentences are pretty but the dawning of the emotions took too long so idk

the imagery of everything was vivid and beautiful, especially loved the river scene

not a big fan of the iwaizumi and oikawa portrayed there, but its nice to see a different interpretation

i dont know if the palpable unease throughout the story was intentional but if it is then i definitely felt that

7/10, 📖

[ecotone99]

[HR] Badges (Part 2)

(Continued from part 1)

An owl hooted eerily from a branch, its lonesome call echoing through the night. The wind was much cooler now, gusting in icy drafts through the campsite enough to make anyone shiver. Not a crunch of a leaf, though, nor a crack of a twig as he crept closer to the tent. His heart jackhammered in his chest like an interminable drum roll and sweat beaded nervously on the back of his neck and brow. When he reached the tent he exhaled silently through clenched teeth, his fingers feeling around at the bottom of the tent opening for the zipper hidden in the folds of canvas. At last he found it, cold and metallic, and gently, slowly, unzipped the tent. This was going to be the hardest part. What happened next all depended on getting in silently. Silencing the growl of zipper teeth with his palm he arched the zipper around to the other side. It seemed to take an eternity. Finally, to his relief, the tent was unzipped and open without a single stir from inside. Marcus waved to the other boys behind him. It was time.

With speed and efficiency Marcus and three other boys swarmed into the tent and grabbed Scoutmaster James by the arms and legs, rolling him forcefully onto his back out of his bed roll. James woke up groggy and confused thinking at first that he was still dreaming of Scoutmaster Hank.

“Wha-what are you..?” he protested, but before he could form a full sentence, the efficiency of the scouts he had trained was already being turned against him. Marcus lit up a flashlight blinding James, causing him to turn away from the light, burying his face on the tarpaulin floor of his tent. Meanwhile, two of the other boys produced several lengths of hemp rope and with James on his face, arms twisted behind his back, they began to hog-tie him.

James struggled, bucking against the children’s efforts, but his own efforts were in vain. The fat one, Brian, sat on his back with all two hundred thirteen pounds of him and pinned the Scoutmaster down.

“Get the fuck off me!” screeched James as one of the boys, Tyler, yanked the rope taut around his wrists. “What the hell do you kids think you’re doing?”

The boys paid no attention to their Scoutmaster’s caterwauling. Instead, Marcus instructed the younger ones like a general commanding his men.

“I wanna see good strong overhand knots, troops. This is for your Merit Badge. You don’t want him getting loose. He gets loose and you lose those badges.”

Over and under, the two boys secured the knots. Marcus eyed them, inspecting their work. James might have been a freak, but he had taught his Scouts well. The knots were up to snuff.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” complimented Marcus. He motioned Brian aside. “Sit on his head, but don’t crush him.” Brian did as he was told and James's wailing became more guttural and muffled.

Marcus took up his own length of rope and used it to figure eight Scoutmaster James’s wrists and ankles, causing the man to bend at the waist and look like a human rocking horse. It looked painful was what.

After the Scoutmaster was secured, Dev and Brian dragged James out of the tent to the clearing where two of the other boys had already got the fire going again. James lay with his face in the dirt watching the fire dance while the rest of the boys encircled him predatorily.

“What the fuck is going on?” he cried.

Marcus stepped out of James’s tent and stood before the man and the boys. Apart from James fruitlessly attempting to untie himself or roll away, the rest of them were silent, waiting for Marcus to speak.

“This is it, Scouts.” he began unceremoniously. “This fucker right here is ours and if we stick to the plan - and I mean all of us - then tonight he’s going to get what he’s got coming to him.” The boys stood in reserved quiet, hanging on his every word. Marcus looked each of them in the eyes as he continued. “This man, who was supposed to guide us, who was supposed to be the one person we could trust the most,” he kicked at Scoutmaster James with the toe of his boot. “He betrayed and hurt two of us already - hurt our brothers in ways that not one of us would wish on another person, let alone want to imagine. But he imagined it. He did more than that. He’s guilty, and tonight, we can do something right here, right now, that will make sure he never does that shit to anyone else ever again.”

The boys nodded in the darkness, the glow of the fire casting shadows across their faces giving them a look of ferality akin to the children in Lord of the Flies.

“Please,” gasped Scoutmaster James. “You don’t have to do any of this. I don’t know what you think you know but-”

Marcus kicked at him again, harder this time. “Shut up!” he yelled. “You don’t get to talk anymore.”

James whimpered in the dirt, hot tears rolling down his face as the campfire uncomfortably heated the skin of his bare legs.

“He’s right though,” said Marcus addressing the boys. “We don’t have to do this. We all agreed that either we all do it together, or we don’t do it at all. So, if any of you has any doubts…, if anyone here feels like he doesn’t want to be apart of this, step forward and we'll call this whole thing off. We'll call the police and he'll go to jail. If any of you wanna back out, or if you think you might want to back out later, speak up. Because once we start, we can’t stop.”

Marcus waited, but in the next minute of silence that followed none of the Scouts stepped up. He nodded.

“Okay then. Dev, get the magazine. And don’t forget, gloves on.”

Dev broke from the line of boys and jogged to his dome tent. After rustling around in his backpack for a few seconds he produced a set of work gloves, wiggling his fingers into the pair, and then a magazine, ‘Bondage Babes XXX’, still encased in protective plastic. He came back to the campfire and knelt beside the Scoutmaster, removed the plastic, and placed the magazine by James's bound hands.

“You feel the magazine, Scoutmaster?” asked Dev.

“Yeah,” whined James. “But, why? What does this have to do with-”

Dev cut him off. “I want you to open the magazine and flip through the pages. I’m sure it’s hard to do since you’re tied up and all, but you’re gonna have to try your best. If you don’t, I’m gonna break your fingers. Do you understand me?”

James understood. The positioning was awkward, but he was able to turn the pages slowly, one by one, only needing Dev to reposition the porno a few times.

“Good.” said Marcus after James had flipped through the entire book. “Now put it in his pack.”

Dev went to the Scoutmaster’s tent, found James’s pack and carefully stowed the magazine inside. A half-minute later he was back in the line of boys.

“Okay guys,” Marcus said. “That takes care of the rope burns that the cops are gonna find. Now before we get to the next part, lets go over our story one more time. Lenny, you’re first. Tell me what happened, just like you’d tell the cop.”

“Well, I don’t really know much,” said Lenny, shuffling his feet. “I went to sleep with the rest of the guys and woke up because I felt someone sliding on top of me. At first I thought it was a wild animal, like maybe I’d left my tent open and a deer or something had gotten in, and I didn’t have my glasses on either so I couldn’t really see, but then I smelled alcohol and realized that it was a person. It was Scoutmaster James.”

“That’s a goddamn lie!” roared James from the ground. Marcus kicked him in the ribs, whooshing all of the air out of the Scoutmaster’s lungs.

“Go on.” he told Lenny. “What happened next?”

“Well, at first I was confused, and then I was scared, especially when he put his hand down my shorts, so I screamed out. But he put his other hand over my mouth. I started kicking and I bit his hand, hard enough to taste blood in my mouth, and that just made him mad. He punched me in the face real good, and then he started choking me. I couldn’t breathe and everything was going black, but then I saw Marcus burst into my tent and try to pull the Scoutmaster off of me. I was in and out of consciousness, but I think that Marcus started wrestling with Scoutmaster James and somehow he got stabbed.”

“What did you do after I was stabbed,” questioned Marcus.

“Well, the Scoutmaster turned on me, but by then all the other boys had woken up and were fighting against the Scoutmaster. He must have been really drunk, because he wasn’t making any sense. And I remember thinking that maybe a wild animal really did try to get me in my tent. I was scared, really scared, but I also saw that Marcus was bleeding a lot out of his shoulder, so I ripped up some of my sheets and made him a tourniquet. By the time I was finished and finally came out of the tent, the Scoutmaster had been stabbed a bunch of times, and my troop looked really beat up. Kids were crying and bleeding. It was horrible.”

Marcus nodded approval. “Which one of you was the first one to try to get the Scoutmaster off of me?”

Graham raised his hand. “I was sharing a tent with Shawn and Derek. We got woken up by the screaming. When we went to check on where it was coming from, I saw the Scoutmaster stab Marcus, and then when he saw me, he came out into the clearing after me, but Shawn hit him with a log to the shin. Derek woke up the other boys and told them to get their pocket knives because that's really the only weapons we had, and by then, Scoutmaster James was already up, coming after Shawn now. I stabbed the Scoutmaster in the back with my pocket knife, and he hit me in the face. He was really drunk and screaming at us the whole time. But then the other boys were up and out of their tents, and when they saw what was happening, they all came to help us. We stabbed him until he stopped trying to hurt us.”

“Who called 911?” asked Marcus.

Nolan raised his hand. “It was me. After the Scoutmaster went down, I called 911, because I saw that Marcus was hurt real bad, and most of us were pretty beat up. The Scoutmaster had put up a real fight before he went down. I used the emergency phone that the Troop keeps in the lockbox.”

Marcus nodded again.

“Please, guys.” begged Scoutmaster James. “You guys can’t go through with this. There’s gotta be a better way. You could just call the police right now. I’ll go to jail!”

Marcus squatted down in the dirt so that he could look the Scoutmaster in the eyes. “Yeah. You might go to jail. You might go to jail for a long time. But you might also get out of jail, or you might just get probation or something. And that’s too many might’s for us. What did you say to Luke? That if you went to jail, you’d get out? You’d get out and hurt him all over again. And if you didn’t get to him, you’d just get to someone else. So no. You won’t be going to jail, Scoutmaster James. Not this time.”

Marcus signaled to Dev, who produced a long knife and placed it in the Scoutmaster’s hand, saturating the handle with the man's fingerprints before taking it away from him again.

Dev looked up at Marcus. “You’re totally sure about this, Mark?”

Marcus looked down at the monster that lay tied at his feet, disgust for the man swirling its toxicity through his guts. “Yeah, I’m sure. You ready, Lenny?”

“Ready.” confirmed the boy.

Lenny walked up to the Scoutmaster’s prone, tied up form and kneeling, bit deep into the palm of James’s hand. James cried out in pain, his curses and threats falling on the deaf ears of Troop #44.

Together, with Dev in the lead, Marcus and Lenny walked to the younger boy’s tent and got inside. First they tore up a bed sheet into several strips of bandages, handing them in a bundle to Dev. When they were finished, Lenny laid down on his bedroll. Marcus straddled him.

“Close your eyes. I still gotta hit you one good time."

Lenny shut his eyes and braced himself for the punch that Marcus sent hard and fast to the right side of his jaw. Pain and flashing electric stars exploded in the boys brain.

"Jesus fuck," Lenny cried. "That was a good one."

"Sorry, bud," apologized Marcus. " Remember, tap out when you feel yourself going; okay?” Lenny nodded, swallowing blood and bracing himself once more.

Marcus placed his hands around the boy’s throat and began to choke him. Lenny struggled and his legs kicked, but Marcus didn’t let up, even as the fear that he was willfully killing his friend welled up inside of him like a hot air balloon taking off into the sky. Lenny held onto consciousness like a champ, but after nearly a minute and a half of choking, he limply tapped Marcus’s wrist and Marcus let go as Lenny lighted out.

“Okay, man,” said Dev, watching the entire thing happen. “You need that CPR badge. Bring him back.”

Marcus tilted Lenny’s head back, plugged the boy’s nose, and blew air into his mouth. It only took three chest compressions to the beat of “Stayin’ Alive” for Lenny to cough himself back into the land of the living, blinking dazedly, sitting up slowly, rubbing his aching neck and throat

“Breathe Lenny," ordered Marcus. "Deep breaths."

The boy did as he was told, in and out, his shallow breaths becoming stronger and more stable with each exhalation.

Dev clapped the younger boy on the back in a congratulatory fashion. "There he is. How do you feel?"

Lenny coughed and cleared his throat. "I'm alright."

“Ready to get that First Aid badge, kid?”

Lenny offered a nod. “Let’s do this.”

Dev turned to Marcus, knife in hand. “You ready?”

Marcus shook his head and laughed uneasily. “No, not really. Let’s get this over with before I change my mind though.” He bared his shoulder to Dev and looked away.

“Here it goes, on a count of three. One…two…, three!”

Dev plunged the blade of the knife deep into the hollow between Marcus’s shoulder and breastplate. A sick wet popping noise sounded off where the cartilage under the boy’s skin punctured, and before Marcus could cry out in pain he nearly passed out from it. Blood immediately began to gush from the wound, flowing thick and warm down Marcus’s chest. It took everything in him to suppress the urge to vomit.

Dev pulled the knife free of his friend’s shoulder, disgusted by the suction sound as it came out and snapped his fingers at Lenny. “Come on! First Aid Badge! Stop that bleeding and get him wrapped up! Just like we practiced!”

Using the strips of torn up bedsheet, Lenny wrapped the wound over Marcus’s shoulder blades and across his chest, tightly, uncomfortably for the injured boy. But uncomfortable was good. Uncomfortable meant that the tourniquet was doing it’s job. Too many improvised tourniquets were applied too loosely and failed to staunch bleeding. The boys could not afford this one to go awry. Lenny was careful and deft in his work.

After all of the bedsheets had been tied on, Lenny motioned for Marcus to lie down. “I need to stay here to keep pressure on it.” He placed his hands over the makeshift bandages and pressed down hard, ignoring Marcus’s wince of pain. “Take care of the Scoutmaster quick. He’s going to need a doctor.”

Dev clapped Lenny on the back. “Hang in there, man,” he said to Marcus and headed out of the tent.

Scoutmaster James lay on his side now, sobbing beside the fire. With Marcus now out of commission, the boys all deferred to Dev, waiting patiently for their next orders.

“Zack. You’re up.”

A lanky boy with sandy colored hair, still in an old set of Star Wars pajamas that juxtaposed oddly against his hiking boots, came forward toting his own backpack. He fished inside of it and came up with a small funnel and a glass bottle. He tossed the bottle to Dev, who caught it one-handed, the fire making the glass sparkle and shine like a glittering diamond wrapped around amber liquid.

Dev snapped his fingers at Graham and Kyle. “You two, hold im down. Make sure he doesn’t move.”

The two boys flanked the scoutmaster and rolled him onto his back, holding him down by his shoulders.

“Guys,” wailed James, “What the fuck is in that? What are you doing? Y-You kids are fucking crazy!”

“Don’t worry,” said Kyle. “It's just a little Jack Daniels, sir. Relax. It’ll all be over really soon.”

When Dev came at Scoutmaster James with the funnel, James thrashed his head back and forth, but Zack clamped down by the man’s ears and held him still. “Quit moving!” the boy ordered. “I’ll tear your ears off if you don’t stop.”

Scoutmaster James became still, but kept his lips tightly sealed as Dev tried to get the funnel in. “Come on, sir,” said Dev with exhaustion. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. I mean, you still gotta breathe, don’t you?”

The boy pinched the man’s nostrils shut. James’s eyes rolled wildly in their sockets back and forth, fat beads of sweat dripping off his brows, the smell of him anxious and afraid. After about twenty seconds of holding his breath, James’s lungs began to burn and when instinctively he gasped a breath, Dev jammed the funnel between the man’s teeth and down his throat.

“Gaaaarrrrggghhh!”

“Derek, I need you to pour!”

Derek appeared by Dev’s side and was handed the bottle of Jack Daniels. Cracking it open, he tilted the bottle slowly into the funnel and down Scoutmaster James’s throat.

“Not too fast,” warned Dev. “We don’t want him choking to death.”

Derek nodded and slowed down a little. It didn’t take long before the bottle was empty. Derek replaced the cap, wiped off the bottle on his shirt and handed it to Dev, who still had his gloves on. Dev kicked the Scoutmaster over with his boot and crouched, placing the bottle at the man’s hands again.

“Just like before, Scoutmaster. Grab the bottle. Touch all over it, like how you touched all over those boys.”

James grabbed the bottle, feeling the cold glass, as well as what it had contained swirling hotly in his gut, flushing his skin and making him feel drowsy and empty headed. He barely noticed when Dev took the bottle back, James’s fingers still attempting to clutch the glass, confused as to why they no longer could.

Dev took the bottle to the Scoutmaster’s tent and tossed it inside, then walked over to Lenny’s tent to check in on Marcus.

“How are you guys doing in here?”

Marcus gave him a thumbs-up with his good arm. “Doing fine. Hurts like a bitch, though. I’ll be glad when this is all over.”

“Me too buddy. Won’t be long now, and then you’ll be eating hospital jello.” Dev looked at Lenny, who was still applying pressure to Marcus’s shoulder. “Keep him alive, kid. You’re doing great.”

Lenny nodded and pressed harder down on Marcus’s bandages, causing the injured boy to yelp, “Jesus! Fuck!” Dev smiled and left, returning to his fellow scouts.

“Okay guys,” he said. “What we need to do now, is make it look like there was a big struggle out here. I want all of you over there by Lenny’s tent going at it. That’s where it all happens in our story, so that’s where it all has to look like it happened.”

Laying in the dirt, drunk and in pain, James couldn’t believe what he was watching. What the hell were these kids doing. He squinted. His vision had begun to go blurry from the alcohol, not to mention things coming in and out of focus, bringing doubles of themselves with them. It made what he was watching all the more confusing.

The boys had formed a ring outside of Lenny’s tent, staring at each other with steely-eyed determination. And then one let out a war cry and they all rushed each other. Suddenly boys were throwing punches, throwing kicks, rolling around in the dirt, pulling out hanks of each other’s hair. James couldn’t understand why. They had all been such nice boys. Even Nolan, the homosexual one. There he was, going right along with it, down there in the dirt on top of Shawn pummeling him in the face. Why?

Brian threw Lucas into a tent and knocked the entire structure down, the sound of tent poles snapping like bones cracking in the dark. Dev put two fingers in his mouth and whistled for the boy's attention. As the whistle split through the mosh pit of children, they all stopped what they were doing and helped each other to their feet.

“Pocket knives.” said Dev. It was time.

Responding to Dev's signal, one by one the boys removed knives from their pockets, unhinging the blades, locking them into place. Dev and Brian left the group and found their way back to Scoutmaster James. Dev, lifting at James's shoulders, Brian lifting at the man's legs, the two of them carried the Scoutmaster, ignoring his blubbering ("Please, Jesus! I didn't mean any of it! I'll go away! You'll never see me again! I swear to God I'll disappear!") over to the weaponised boys, setting him down gingerly in the dirt outside of Lenny's tent.

"Okay," said Dev. "Shawn, Zack, and Nolan. You guys first. Do it fast. In the back, mid center. Maximum organ damage."

The three boys dutifully stepped forward. They stood looming over the man who had led and guided them for the past year, knives brandished menacingly in their fists. They cast knowing, unapologetic glances at each other. The air was thick with something like apprehension, each of them understanding that after this moment there was truly no turning back from their choices.

Nolan, the youngest of them, was the first to kneel beside his former leader. Without a word he planted the blade of his knife just inches away from the man's spine, feeling it nearly get stuck in the gristle of James's back. Shawn and Zack crouched down immediately afterwards and stabbed James in both of his kidneys.

The three boys pulled their knives free and stepped away from James's bleeding, whimpering body. Dev bent down and rolled the Scoutmaster over and buried his blade in the man's stomach and yanked up hard on the handle. James made a noise like a cough before letting out a shill, high-pitched whine in the back of his throat. Before Dev could remove his blade, Brian was at his side jabbing his blade three times into the Scoutmaster's ribs.

Tyler took his turn next, stabbing James in the chest, narrowly missing his left lung. "See ya, Scoutmaster," he said reaching an arm out for help.

Derek gave Tyler a hand up out of the dirt and stabbed James in the top of his meaty left thigh, leaving the blade stuck in. "Looks more realistic," he said. The other boys seemed to agree because none of them objected.

Blood was pouring out of James's mouth when Lucas stepped forward.

"This is for Kyle," he said as he stabbed James in the balls. James's howling sent a rash of goosebumps shivering across Dev's skin.

Kyle caught Lucas's eyes and felt a strong affinity for the boy as he came forward with his knife, the last of them.

"Finish it," said Dev with grave finality.

Kyle took a deep breath. His father was a pastor. Murder was a deadly sin and in doing this he was putting his immortal soul at risk. But when he thought of what had happened to him in the shower at the Rec Center, all Kyle could think of was all of the other children that would eventually fall prey to the man at his feet if he were left alive. In the Bible, God punished the wicked. Suffer not the little children.

"It would be better for him to have a millstone hung around his neck and to be thrown into the sea than to cause one of these little ones to stumble," Kyle said and stuck his knife into Scoutmaster James's heart.

Moments passed in silence. Dev could hear blood rushing to his own brain. The Scoutmaster died without a final word. His body lay in the dirt as if it had always been there. Dev knelt down and cut the ropes free from the Scoutmaster's wrists and ankles and walked up to the fire, tossing them into the embers to burn away.

"Shawn," he said. "Get the fire put out. Nolan, get on the phone with the police."

The boys did exactly what they were told.

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