#maybe he comeback to die at the hands of the entity

[saltyfilmmajor]

The main reason I want Lane to return to M:I is one: he serves massive cunt and I miss him two: I genuinely need to see him react to someone equally obsessed with Ethan Hunt (Jasper Briggs)

[aurabird]

Unexpected Sympathy

Was in the mood to write some Empires hurt/comfort, but between two individuals you would not expect.

Sequel to this~

Tw: mentions of violence, torture and a panic attack but otherwise this is relatively tame

Also on Ao3

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

The nightmare of being a prisoner within Xornoth’s dungeon had seemed and felt so real and flashes of it still blinked into Fwhips mind as he tried to calm himself.

The sky was dark, but save the sounds of the night there was no rain, no thunder, no harbinger of the demon’s presence. And yet, he shook like a leaf, curling up in fear as sobs escaped him.

It was pathetic. Him, the Lord of Darkness, crying in bed like a child.

A crash resounded from outside and Fwhip felt his blood run cold, the sound echoed like thunder and was followed by footsteps, a dark silhouette appearing in the doorway.

His heart raced as he scrambled out of the bed and pressed himself against the back wall. Xornoth had come for him, he knew it. He would be taken back...tortured and hurt some more... 

“Um...Fwhip, s-sorry to trespass like this but my elytra broke and I'm not really equipped right now to travel through the...

...Fwhip?”

When Jimmy had entered the room to apologize for trespassing, he had not expected to see Fwhip cowering like a cornered animal. The man’s eyes were puffy, the look in them one of fear and horror. Jimmy could tell that he’d been crying.

“G-Go away! You aren’t taking me back! I won’t go back! P-Please...have mercy...”

Jimmy’s expression morphed into one of concern at those words and slowly, he stepped into the light, his hands in front of him submissively as he approached his fellow royal. “Fwhip, mate...what’s gotten in to you? Its just me, Jimmy. You know, the Codfather? The guy who would very much like what you stole from him back?”

Yes the last bit was full of sarcasm and could be taken as passive-aggressive, but despite that fact it seemed to have worked. Jimmy saw Fwhip begin to relax, realization slowly fading into his eyes at who stood before him.

“J-Jimmy...?” Fwhip questioned, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah, Fwhip, it’s me. I’m here.”

The panicked breathing of Fwhip began to calm at those words and the tinkerer slumped against the wall in an undignified manner he clearly didn’t care about anyone seeing.

Sympathetically, Jimmy sat down across from him, eyes full of concern despite their empire’s current relations with each other.

“Why are you in my Empire this late at night?” Fwhip asked, the harshness in his voice masked by exhaustion, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Normally, at this point Jimmy would have made some form of comeback that would descend into either banter or an argument, but the Codfather knew what he’d seen. “My elytra broke and kinda crashed into some barrels near one of your village houses. I’d go through the Nether, but I’m not exactly equipped to traverse that place on foot.” he paused for a moment before continuing, “Maybe its good that I ended up here though; you were freaking out mate, like a cornered chicken about to be slain by Joel or something.”

A chuckle escaped Fwhip at Jimmy’s demeaning metaphor, "Thank you for that wonderful image of me.”

“What happened? I’ve never seen you like that before. You begged me for mercy as if I was going to kill you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would totally do it if it meant getting my cod head back, but... ”

Fwhip didn’t want to admit it to his worst enemy, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them, “I dreamt that demon had me as a prisoner...that it was torturing me...corrupting me. It hurt so much...I felt like I was going to die.”

Mentions of the enigmatic entity that had recently shown up sent a chill down Jimmy’s spine, remembering quite well the horrifying encounter he’d had with it.

“Realistic nightmares aren’t fun, trust me, I should know.”

Fwhip let out a small laugh, “I find it hard to believe that you, the most upbeat person I know, have nightmares.”

Jimmy simply shook his head, “Well, there more like flashes of events that I feel I should remember but yet also don’t. Its always the same, starting with myself living in a flower forest with someone that looks suspiciously like Scott, only less...elf-like and that I think I’m married to.” Fwhip snorted at that; as if the elven king could want to be in a romantic relationship with anyone, let alone Jimmy of all people.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. Like I said, they looked like Scott. Anyway, all of us in this...dream? Memory? Whatever it is; have three lives before we’re dead, only a limited amount respawn magic in the world to bring us all back twice. I loose my first two to lava and an attempt to disarm a TNT trap...then loose my final one to an arrow through my head. Last thing I see is my husband’s face as I die in his arms before I wake up in bed here.”

The tale was so detailed, as if Jimmy had seen it countless times with each playthrough of it growing more and more complex and clear. If Fwhip didn’t know any better, he’d believe it was true, maybe it even was in some ways.

"I’ll admit, there's some parts of it that make no sense, such as the lack of respawn magic and the blurred figure that looks like Scott, but it feels so real you know? Maybe I should ask him if he has dreamt anything similar.”

Fwhip only nodded, a yawn escaping him. He was tired and his panic attack hadn’t really helped with that. He looked at the clock, there was still plenty of night left for him to sleep.

Jimmy seemed to get the message and moved to help him get back to his bed. Fwhip was out before his head even hit the pillow.

-

His eyes fluttered open, vision flooded with color as the world came into focus around him.

Slowly Fwhip sat up, looking around the room until he caught sight of a familiar cod hat and green robes sitting at the foot of the bed, eyes focused on a book and hand scribbling down words.

Jimmy must have heard him stir as the Codfather was quick to lay the items down and turn to him with a goofy smile on their face. “Hey Fwhip, how you feeling mate?”

“Better...you stayed here all night?”

“Couldn't really do much else with a broken elytra and all so yeah, I did.”

Fwhip sung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, going over to a chest and fumbling through its contents.

Eventually, he pulled out a stack of bottles, enchantment orbs floating around within them. “Here, to repair your elytra.”

Jimmy took the bottles graciously before shattering them against the damaged wings, the tears within the membranes sealing shut through magic.

With his elytra repaired, the Codfather thanked Fwhip and bid him farewell before leaving the storage room. However, just before he was about to take off he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“We never speak of last night again alright? I’m still going to make you work to get that cod head back.”

Jimmy simply grinned, “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, Fwhip watched him activate a firework and disappear into the distance.

His attention then turned to the amount of corruption in the area and he sighed. Gem would be coming over later to discuss Wither Rose Alliance matters and she would definitely kill him if he did not get the place cleaned up.

Time to get to work, he supposed.

[s-c-r-i-p-s-i]

Desperate Measures

[Dead by Baelight’s Kinktober // Day 1: Ritual]

🖤 🖤 🖤 Seeking privacy, you stray a little too far from the campfire to perform your... daily ritual. Ghostface has been watching and decides it’s time for a little audience participation.

🖤 🖤 🖤 Pairing: Ghostface (Danny Johnson) x Gender-Neutral AMAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

CW: non-consensual voyeurism, choking, spanking, canon-typical violence, smut

Word Count: 3,219

When you first started this ritual, you weren't planning on making it a habit.

Here, every minute of your life was survival mode. Nonessential functions closed until further notice. You were a heart, some nerves, and sometimes, sometimes a brain.

You didn’t get bored; hah, that was rich - there was always something that needed to be done, even in Limbo. You were perpetually exhausted, yeah, but sleep was an impossibility. For the most part, you didn’t get hungry; you didn’t have to eat anymore - although sometimes you were struck with the overwhelming desire to eat one of the offerings meant for the Entity, just to taste something other than blood for once.

And for fuck’s sake, you thought you didn’t get… You know.

Horny.

See; for all intents and purposes your appetite for anything like that was dead. For the longest time. It wasn’t even something you thought about, so… not on your radar, that you didn’t even mourn it. There were other things to worry about.

And then one day Ghostface came around, and it’s like he slammed a live AED on your libido.

Maybe this place was getting to you. You knew you shouldn’t have found a serial killer so goddamn hot… but when death was just a setback, it kind of fucked with your sense of morality. At least, that’s how you tried to rationalize it.

So, how did it happen? You’re still asking yourself that. Assholes weren’t exactly your type. At least… you didn’t think so. Not back on Earth.

But he had your attention immediately. Mostly because you’d never heard a killer speak before. That is, not to you. And in your own language no less.

And boy, did he speak. (And speak, and speak…)

The first time you faced him, you’d been working on a generator and felt a chill rock your body just as it finally hummed to life. That random little bite at the back of your neck that prickled down your spine. Except here, it was rarely random. Here, it always spelled danger.

“Nice work,” He’d cooed, stepping out of fucking nowhere. You’d later learn that he… tended to do that. “Haven’t seen that in awhile. Must be getting slow.”

It was obvious what he was - the mask was a dead giveaway. Killer. But you didn’t move. You were too stunned that he was actually talking to you. “Thanks,” you’d kind of snorted, “I try.” You were still asking yourself ’what the fuck was that’ to this day.

“Oh...” He breathed. “You talk back. I like that.”

And he sounded so genuinely - if maliciously - interested that you had to assume that didn’t happen often; survivors talking to him. That your shitty little, what, comeback? if you could even call it that - pleased him.

“I hope you run, too.” He’d cocked his head - a not so subtle hint to get this show on the road.

“...Is that what-” He wanted, you were about to ask, although you weren’t sure why. Looking back, you think you were just stalling for time, not for any tactical reasons, but just because this was such a novelty to you.

The thought that maybe, just maybe you already wanted to please him was simply too annoying to entertain.

But he interrupted you.

“Yes.”

And this strange mix of almost playful and ruthlessly efficient would be a running theme in your trials against him. He didn’t waste a whole lot of time - even though he very well could have, with how adept he was. No one was ever spared. You never got the impression he was taking it easy on you, or drawing out a chase, or anything like that. Ninety percent of the words you ever exchanged were while you were looping him, or dangling from his shoulder as he strode towards a hook.

And yet, you still found yourself oh so fucking fascinatined by him. It was definitely conceivable that you were just attention starved. That there wasn’t anything else to it. Even among the survivors, there weren’t many you could count as real friends. And yet...

It was to the point where getting caught almost felt like a reward, because it always carried the positive reinforcement of you being able to banter with him for a minute. Which - you like to think you’d gotten a little better at. Always through bouts of struggling, of course; you tried not to be completely useless. For your own sake, if not your team’s. Getting hooked hurt.

Anyway, it was during one of those struggles, one day, wriggling around in his grip and beating his back and being a general nuisance, that it happened. You’d been bitching about -... you didn’t even remember.

And then he decided, “You know; you’ve become awful mouthy.”

And you were immediately riled up, because if anything, it was him that liked to talk just to hear the sound of his own voice - not that you could blame him, because what a sound it was. But you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get anything out beyond an offended, “You-!” his other hand came down on your ass with a resounding slap.

You’d jolted straight, heat flooding your body at an alarming rate as you suddenly forgot how to string syllables together. Don’t worry. You made several embarrassing, aborted attempts.

“Well.” He mused, and you could hear the smile in his voice as he grabbed your hips to string you up. “Now I know how to shut you up.”

You screamed as the hook pierced through your chest, but he shushed you, breath stuttering with chuckles as he raised a finger to his mask, “Shh, shh, shh, shh, shhh. Don’t ruin it, now.”

That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you ended up in the middle of the fucking woods with your hand down your pants after every other goddamn trial.

It started, as all addictions do, with the simple rationalization ‘It’ll just be this one time. Just to get it out of my system.’ How many times have you told yourself that? Only to end up exactly where you were now - breath quivering like a goddamn junkie as you threw your back against a tree and shoved your shaking hand down your drawers.

Your fingers finally wrapping around yourself was both sweet, sweet relief, and at the same time not. Goddamn. Enough.

It’s just, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Him. It. Did it really matter? God you wished he’d done more than spanked you. Done more than promptly tossed you on the hook afterwards. That’s how goddamn bad you had it. He hadn’t even done anything else, but for you, it was the sexual awakening of a century.

You hastily stuffed your shirt in your mouth to grant yourself access to your chest, eyes rolling back as you gripped yourself and began to pump, other hand quickly trailing up your chest to tease your nipple between your index and middle fingers.

Always a frantic means to an end. Mechanical abuse. No time to really even fantasize. Which was fine, because that’s all you seemed to fucking do in between these little affairs.

Infuriatingly, though, this constant throttling of your bits meant you were starting to build up a tolerance to your own rough treatment. Still, you tried to get yourself off as quickly as possible. You knew you’d be missed, and -

You felt a bite at your neck, a chill down your spine. The kind that spelled danger.

“Slowly, slowly, it’s too nice a job to rush.” Ghostfaced chuckled, emerging from behind a tree. You saw the mask first, a shock of white in the darkness that nearly sent you into cardiac arrest.

With all the frenzied, nonsensical urgency of someone who’d just seen a bug crawling on them, you flailed in your rushed attempts to make yourself decent, yanking your hand from your pants, spitting the shirt out of your mouth and trying to frantically smooth everything down. It didn’t even occur to you at first, in your lizard brained panic, that he’d already seen everything. Or that no matter how you fixed your clothes, you still looked thoroughly debauched; panting, blushing all the way down to your chest, and your hair all mussed from the tree you were leaning up against. Oh yeah, and the fucking erection you were still sporting.

Your mouth was still bone-dry from the shirt you’d just had stuffed in your mouth all but two seconds ago. “What’re you-?!”

You had about a million questions on your mind. For one - How was he even here? You thought this kind of pocket realm - the one with the bonfire, the holding cell for survivors in between matches - was a sanctuary. The only place you were safe from these fucks.

“We all come here when it’s our time to play,” He explained smoothly, “We burn our offerings in the same flames as you. You just don’t see us. But we see you.” Ghostface sung, stalking closer.

“Besides. I’ve been here a long time. Long enough to know how to traverse the fog. Useful,” he sighed the word as if conceding something, even though you hadn’t said a word, “when one doesn’t have a home.” He stopped right in front of you. “...Useful for watching what naughty little survivors do when they stray far enough away from the flock.” Even with his face hidden behind that mask, you could feel the accusation in the way he cocked his head and crossed his arms expectantly.

“I-” You choked the word out, a second wave of mortified heat rising.

“But you, you were such a good little lamb until just recently. I wonder what changed.”

“Please just…” Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, you mentally pleaded. You wanted to die. You’d rather melt into the ground than hear another minute of him taunting you. You were far too embarrassed, and far too wound up to suffer through whatever the hell he was monologuing on about. Any other time you might have appreciated the opportunity to talk to him without all the pretense of trials. But not. Right. Now.

“You’re having trouble with that today!” He observed gleefully - about your inability to put together a complete sentence, you assumed. “And usually you’re so vocal. That’s alright. Here. I’ll make it easier on ya.” Reaching for the damp, wrinkled up hem of your shirt, he pulled it up, and two gloved fingers stuffed it back into your mouth, feeding it to you until your mouth was full of cotton and he was satisfied.

You just stood there, stupefied.

“What, do you prefer my other method?” And he- he fucking reared his hand back and mimed a spank in the air. Oh my god. You hated him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here,” he chuckled.

Placing his hands on his hips, Ghostface hummed, long and deliberate. “Come to think of it, you’ve been acting awfully strange for the past, oh, say the past few weeks or so. Ever since I…”

Oh. Oh no.

Your glare morphed into a look of sheer horror. That bastard. He knew? Or was he just a goddamn narcissist and automatically assumed it was about him, and just happened to be right on the money? It’s not like you’d been screaming out his name while you did it. Maybe you just weren’t half as subtle as you thought.

“So - here’s how it’s going to go. It’s been fun, just watching you. Really. But I’ve seen this show enough times that I think I deserve some front row seats, don’t you?” When you don’t respond, he just takes you by the chin, forcing you to nod for him. ”Great!” He throws up a hand, “Then we’re all in agreement. Keep going.”

Ghostface crossed his arms over his chest expectantly, settling in.

He wanted you to…? You push at the shirt with your tongue, intending to speak, but he stops you.

“Nope. Nah. Keep that in.”

O...kay. This was probably the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done, but you were still so stunned that it wasn’t... wasn’t quite sinking in yet. In the back of your mind, you were lowkey convinced this was a prank. A joke. That any second he was going to bust out laughing, tell you ’psyche! Oh my god you actually almost did it.’

But that moment never came.

Slowly, and with no small amount of hesitance, you began dipping your hand back in your pants. You half expected him to complain about how long you were taking, but he didn’t say a word. You guess he did tell you to go slow. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking under the mask, his posture impassive. But you eventually reached your sex and gave it a slow, experimental tug, inhaling sharply at how much more sensitive it felt just knowing that his eyes were on you.

You looked back up for any sign of approval, some sign that this is what he wanted but he hadn’t moved an inch. So you kept going, touching yourself, just a lot more slowly and mindfully than before. The thought of going full monkey brain on yourself in front of him was… not appealing. Plus, it didn’t even seem necessary anymore, with the way your stomach was now fluttering at the lightest touch.

“That’s much better,” He said eventually, and the way he cooed it like he was praising you went straight to your core, hips twitching forward. “If you keep going at that thing like a can of spray paint, you’re liable to rip it clean off. And then what’ll be left for me?”

That imagery wasn’t sexy at all, your nose wrinkling as you cringed at him, but then he said that and all you could focus on was the notion that maybe he was planning on doing more than just watching.

“You want me to touch you?” He asked, clearly sensing your hope.

“MmfHmfh.” Your sorry sound of agreement was muffled by the shirt in your mouth, so you paired it with a pathetic head nod, eyes pleading.

“Shit,” He laughed, “I was just going to bait and switch you, but if you’re going to be so damn cute… I guess I could be generous. Why don’t you show daddy what he’s working with?”

Maybe you were paranoid, but you felt like that was opening yourself up to get stabbed in the junk. Was it really wise to be so vulnerable around him? You weren’t sure if you trusted him, but Mr. Knife hadn’t made an appearance thus far, and you felt so desperate and full and achy that you just didn’t care.

Hesitantly, you pulled down your pants and drawers down to your thighs, just enough for your cock to spring free, bobbing lightly, crown swollen and shiny and absolutely flushed with arousal.

“Adorable. Now,” He removed the shirt from your mouth, only to press two fingers at your teeth so the end of the finger seams were between them. “Bite.” You did, carefully, and he used the leverage to slip his hand from the glove. Rather than just leave it hanging there, he pushed it back into your mouth like he had the shirt, the disgusting tang of leather and you didn’t want to even think of what else rusting on your tongue.

But it was all worth the sweet relief of his bare fingers finally wrapping around your cock. Your eyes fluttered back almost immediately, moaning around his glove as your head fell back against the tree behind you. Oh, this was wrong, wrong, wrong, but it felt so much better than touching yourself and you’d fantasized about this for so long. It was like honey for your body, the best kind of sweetness building up in your core, every pass of his fingers pushing you closer to overflow.

And it didn’t take long at all, with how long it had been since you’d been touched by another person, with how wound up you already were. You neared the edge fast, your dick twitching in his grip as your hips began to weakly rock, chasing that saccharine end.

And then he stopped.

Motherfucker.

You growled in frustration as your budding climax waned, hips instinctually slanting forward in search of something, anything, and finding nothing. Your gaze flicked up to him, silently asking ’What gives?’

“I said I’d touch you, I didn’t say anything about cumming.”

You nearly spat the glove out and gave him a piece of your mind, but his hand did eventually return, placating you for the time being. Even if his touch was far too light and understimulating at first, waiting until you’d been sufficiently backed down from that edge before building you back up. In due time your head was falling back against the bark, gasping as that feeling in your core started to balloon.

And then he did it again.

This time you really did spit the glove out, catching it in your hand. “I have places to be, Fuckface!”

“Riiiiight.” He drawled skeptically, amusement coloring his tone. “And, it’s Ghostface, actually.”

“Okay, GrossFace, if you don’t fucking finish me off-”

In seconds, his gloved hand was around your throat, leather creaking as he squeezed lightly. “You’ll what? Careful what you ask for, baby, you just might get it,” He warned, pressure slowly increasing. “But you might not like the way I decide to finish you off if you don’t play nice.” His hand eased off your throat, and you were relieved as you were disappointed - because shit, you were actually kind of into it.

“So, let’s go with Danny. Do you think you can manage that, sweetheart?”

Was that… his name? You felt oddly touched that he’d give you that. You hardly knew any of the killers' real names. Not trusting yourself to speak, you nodded, and your reward was his hand coming back to gently wrap his fingers back around you, stroking you slowly.

“Maybe third time’s the charm, huh?”

You weren’t so sure, but you were so backed up it hurt so you let him steer you back to the brink, your sounds growing desperate and so much more audible without anything to muffle them. “Danny, please,” you begged; you could feel yourself nearing that apex again, and if he stopped now you might actually cry.

He hummed, low and thoughtful, but the sound didn’t betray an inkling of emotion.

But he didn’t stop. And soon your climax was crashing over you so hard your knees nearly buckled, the tree at your back the only thing keeping you up as your whole body lurched, dick jumping as it choked up it’s release all over his hand and the forest floor.

Panting, your legs shook as you just stood there a moment, head tipped up to the sky, just trying to recover. You were dimly aware of him snatching his glove back as you felt him yank it from your hand but it barely registered. One by one, questions started to pile up but you were still too whelmed to speak.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Danny spoke first.

“So… Same time tomorrow?”

“I-” You broke, half laughing, half scoffing at the outright absurdity. “Sure.”

You guessed you could start a new ritual.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Thank you for reading!!! 🖤 🖤 🖤 Notes: AHHHHH, I did it, I wrote my first real one-shot. I've been roleplaying for nearly 20 years and it's kind of ruined my motivation for writing by myself but I wanted to break the habit. Thank you to Pugge and Libby for beta'ing this for me, ily both. This piece was written for Day 1 of the 🔞 Dead by Baelight 🔞 Discord server's Kinktober. ((I'm just posting it early because I have 0 self-control)) Anyone over 18 is welcome to join here.

[missjosie27]

Year 1 Part 9- One Ending, A New Beginning

Hello, friends!

This is the last chapter of Year 1 that I wrote. I sincerely hope you enjoy it and as always, please leave feedback or comments if you’d like:)

Year 2 will be coming soon! Probably within the week!

It took about as long as Merula said (the only thing she hadn’t lied to them about in their year of knowing her) but after about ten minutes the body bind curse had worn off and the three Gryffindor boys were back on their feet, albeit heavily disgruntled.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate Merula?” Rowan said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Hate doesn’t even begin to describe it,” David seethed, his hands curling into fists. His mind was practically spinning from the amount of animosity he felt towards her.

“Now I know the exact pain you saved me from when she was bullying me,” Ben groaned as he clutched his side. “Ugh, everything hurts.”

“Not as bad as she’s going to hurt after I’m through with her!” David declared, charging forward towards the door.

“Wait, David,” Rowan said, grabbing his arm. “Hold on a second. She’s still in there.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Merula would have found what she was looking for and left. She wouldn’t stick around. Something must have happened.”

In the midst of despising the first year Slytherin no one had considered that angle until now and it left the trio pondering for a moment.

“It might be too dangerous to go back in,” Ben said nervously. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

David considered that possibility, but two worse ones overrode any hesitation he had in entering the door. With his anger subsided slightly, he was able to assess the situation much clearer, however, he felt more determined than ever.

“True, but if Merula gets her hands on something really powerful who knows what she’ll do with it. Above all, we need to find more clues about my brother. I can’t turn down the chance to find out what happened to him.”

“I agree,” Rowan said pulling out his wand. “If it was my brother, I’d feel the same way. Plus, an all powerful Merula is not something I want to think about right now.”

“It’s settled then,” David said, following his best friend’s lead. “Are you with me?”

Rowan and Ben nodded as they approached the door once more. All or nothing, Merula or not, this was the first step to finding answers to so many questions.

Alohomora!

The door creaked open once more, allowing the Gryffindor trip to step inside and shut it behind them. However, the sight that greeted them was far from what they were expecting.

True, the chilly cold that emanated from the door was ten times worse on the inside, but far from witnessing an all powerful Merula, she was trapped up to her midsection in a block of ice. Indeed, everything in the room seemed to be encompassed by ice. It was small, only big enough for a handful of people and unremarkable other than the frozen entity that marked its interior.

“Merula?”

“What happened?”

Rowan on the other hand was laughing.

“And here I was thinking you got your hands on some ancient amulet. This is too good!”

“Get stuffed, K-Khanna!” Merula shouted though she struggled to contain her shivers. “This weird ice st-stuck me to the f-floor, and k-keeps spreading all over me!”

That was disturbing to say the least. Ice of that nature couldn’t be common even within the magical world at Hogwarts.

“It’s spreading all over the door too!” she cried, pointing a finger. “G-get me out of h-here before I j-jinx all three of you.”

“I don’t believe you’re in a position to be making threats,” David said, the full brunt of his sarcasm coming to bear. “But by all means keep acting like a prat.”

“Grant! Will you just turn around?!”

All three of them turned to see that ice was forming seemingly out of nowhere and spreading down the door, forming a thick, icy top layer that eventually glossed over the door handle. Rowan quickly moved to open the door again, but found it wouldn’t budge.

“I can’t get a good grip on it!” he said, panic in his voice. “The lock and handle are frozen shut.”

“What do we do?” Ben asked frantically. “How do we get out of here? I-I’m s-starting to feel the cold too, D-Dave.”

Resisting the urge to wrap his own body in his arms, David realized none of them would last very long in here if they couldn’t get out. They had to find a way and fast. But none of the spells they had learned could break or melt ice. There was only thing they could do.

“We have to knock this door down off its hinges,” he said aloud. “We can use the knockback jinx to try and break it.”

“Are you sure that’ll work?” Rowan asked.

“It has to, otherwise we’ll be frozen statues by the time anyone finds us in here.”

He took out his wand and motioned for Ben and Rowan to do the same. However, he couldn’t help but take a glance back at Merula. It had only been minutes before since the full concentration of his rage had been focused upon her, but seeing her trapped- weak, afraid, and completely helpless- caused his resolve to soften. With her wand laying on the ground, she had no way to free herself.

I can’t leave her here. No matter what she’s done.

“Brace yourself, Merula,” David said to her, aiming for her entrapped legs.

“W-what are you g-going to do?”

“Save your arse.”

Without waiting for her permission, he fired the knockback jinx.

‘Flipendo!’

It had the desired effect, sending Merula backwards into the wall, shattering her icy prison.

“Oww,” she moaned.

“For the record, you totally deserved that,” Rowan remarked.

David, however, walked up to her and offered his hand to pull her up.

“Not even someone like you deserves to die in here. We’re going to need every wand on hand to bust down that door.”

She began to protest but the Gryffindor cut her off.

“We can go back to being enemies later, okay? But this one time, I need you to work with me. Help us so you can get out of here.”

Appealing to her own sense of self preservation did the trick as Merula reluctantly took his hand, grabbed her wand and jumped to her feet.

The foursome, briefly united in their desire not to end up in an early grave aimed at the door.

“On three,” David told them. “Fire with everything you got. One, two, THREE!”

A chorus of ‘Flipendo!’ rang out as four jets of light hit the door simultaneously, sending it clean off its hinges and onto the ground. They were free.

Merula immediately bolted without so much as a thank you, but Rowan hung back for a second, puzzling the other two boys.

“Rowan let’s go!”

“Wait, Dave. Look!”

He pointed up at a series of symbols and markings on the top corner of the wall.

“It’s the same language we saw on the golden brick outside of the door. I need to write this down.”

Rowan quickly pulled out a piece of paper, copying it down while Ben urged them to hurry.

“Filch is going to be here any second! Someone will have heard that noise!”

“Just a sec…got it!”

With barely any time left to spare, the Gryffindor trio ran as fast as they could, away from Mrs. Norris, Filch, Snape, or anyone else who could have possibly been alerted to the presence of a busted down door. They didn’t stop until they reached the common room, not even bothering to hide the noise they made whilst they hurried to their dormitories.

There were many more questions buzzing in David’s head as he jumped into bed and attempted to pretend he had the ability to sleep after what happened. But the questions could wait.

Presently, not getting expelled was more than enough consolation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To the surprise of everyone involved from that night, almost nothing came of the incident. David had fully expected a visit from Professor McGonagall or Snape or someone about breaking into (quite literally) the mysterious door and a lengthy detention sentence that would lead into the next year. Even more shockingly, Merula kept to herself during their classes, only occasionally throwing out a barb or insult. She wasn’t stupid, any mouthing off on her part about the vaults would only serve to get her in trouble as well.

And so, life went on and the routine of Hogwarts returned. Exams were coming up and most of the student body settled into a quiet lull, especially the older students, who’s careers depended on their following results. Rowan in particular was adamant about focusing on their studies, constantly quizzing them on various spellwork, facts, and numbers. It became so intense, that even Ben was bold enough to suggest they should take a break from the library and actually eat a meal.

The routine wasn’t to last long, however. There was one last bludger to be thrown before the year was out, and it came in the form of Professor Dumbledore.

In the midst of eating dinner per Ben’s suggestion, their meal of shepherd’s pie (and a retelling of story about one of Charlie’s younger brothers) was interrupted by Angelica.

“David,” she said to him. “We need to talk.”

Swallowing a mouthful of pie, he gazed up at her.

“About what?”

“Did you try and enter that door on the 13th corridor?”

His stomach immediately lost any desire for food as it felt like a stone dropped in the middle of it.

“Maybe this can wait until later? This is a pretty good pie, if I do say so myself. And Charlie was in the middle of a joke so…”

“You have a comeback for everything, don’t you?”

“It’s where I get my dashing charm.”

Angelica looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or scream, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that? To think I’ll be your prefect for the next two years.”

“Imagine how fun that will be.”

“David, I know you think this is all hilarious,” she said, putting her arms on the table and giving him a piercing look. “But whether you care or not you represent Gryffindor, just like your brother did. Risking that representation is a poor way to go about your time here at Hogwarts.”

“I don’t know what you heard,” the first year answered back. “But it’s rumor.”

“You blasted down a door,” she shot back. “It’s not exactly a huge mystery that someone was in there.”

Sighing, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you or punish you. I’m actually just a messenger. But I do want you to know that your house and everyone else in it matters. Not just you.”

David took the letter from her and recognized its seal- that of the Headmaster.

“Dumbledore wants to see you. He didn’t say why so don’t ask. But you better hope it’s nothing serious.”

He opened it straight away and saw a neat message inscribed:

Dear David,

I should like to speak with you tonight in the courtyard as soon as you are done with dinner. Please ensure you are alone as I would like our chat to be private. I look forward to seeing you then.

Sincerely,

Professor Dumbledore

In truth, David felt quite uneasy about the prospect of a one on one with the Headmaster, but he also had no choice. The most powerful wizard in Britain was not someone you could avoid or runaway from like Snape or Filch. He did, however, have one more thing to say to his prefect.

“Whatever you think of me, Angelica, know this. I’m not just here for myself, you can ask anyone at this table about how much I care about Gryffindor, my brother, my family. They’ll tell you.”

Ben, Rowan, and Charlie each nodded and that seemed to put Angelica more at ease.

“Okay,” she said approvingly. “I’ll hold you to that. You’d best be off now, you don’t want to keep Dumbledore waiting.”

Let’s get this over with

“Good luck,” Rowan said to him, while Ben smiled, and Charlie gave a thumbs up. Somehow, it was inspiring and that was not an emotion that he was intimate with. Even should he be punished; he knew his house had his back and he had theirs.

Deciding it was best to heed his prefect for once, David got up from the bench, and headed towards the Courtyard.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sure enough, the eccentric wizard was there when David finally arrived in the courtyard. Wearing blue robes with stars on them, they complimented the atmosphere rather well, as the first dots of light began to emerge in the evening sky. Approaching slowly, he figured Dumbledore knew he was there, but as of yet made no movement or indication of it, keeping his head towards the heavens.

When the Headmaster did acknowledge him for the first time, it was a warm, friendly greeting, almost grandfatherly in a way.

“Thank you for meeting with me, David.”

The first year Gryffindor wasn’t entirely sure what to say, but he figured it was best to at least be humble and not try and pull any funny business with Dumbledore.

“Of course sir, I just wanted to say that-”

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” the old man interrupted, returning his gaze to the stars.

“Sir?”

“The quiet night, the calm air of spring with the promise of summer ahead- it truly puts your troubles into perspective doesn’t it?”

David had no idea where he was going with this but decided not to question it.

“I suppose so.”

“I oftentimes come here when I need to make an important decision.”

Perhaps a decision about his time at Hogwarts thus far? It wouldn’t have surprised David if Dumbledore was pondering that topic as they spoke.

“My prefect said you needed to see me, but she didn’t specify what. I assumed it was everything that’s happened this year- the dueling, fighting werewolves, the cursed ice…”

He trailed off as the Headmaster took a long look at him through his half moon spectacles. He did not look angry, however.

“Perhaps you were expecting a lecture or a far worse punishment?” he asked aloud. “But I sense you have just as many questions about what has happened so far.”

David realized that he was allowing him a freebee to ask whatever he desired, a fact he failed until realize until now as the words came spilling out.

“Sir, what are these cursed vaults? And why was my brother so obsessed with them? Do you have any idea where he is?”

A whole year had led up to this moment, but perhaps constantly avoiding the subject of his brother had been unhealthier than previously realized. In any case, Dumbledore did not look surprised.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you do on the subject of the vaults,” he explained. “I have been seeking out an expert on the subject myself. Some say that they were created by a powerful sorcerer who was a student during the days of the Founders, others say Salazar Slytherin used them to hide his immense treasures and secrets. Perhaps they originate with the school itself. One cannot be certain, but as you’ll find, Hogwarts holds many secrets.

“As for your brother, his disappearance has baffled even me. He came across the vaults as a second year and his efforts to prove they existed resulted in several dangerous incidents that forced my hand, unfortunately. I do not want to damper your impression of him, however, he was an excellent student and quite the keen mind. Jacob was quite popular with the staff and most of the students, but I have guessed that he was led astray by someone or something along the way.”

“My brother, for all his feats was…complicated,” David said quietly. “He was always good to me, but there was a lot more happening with him than he let on.”

“Much of which you are just finding about now,” Dumbledore added with a small nod. “It is not easy being apart from a sibling. It is something I can highly empathize with.”

“This whole thing…this whole year has been one giant mystery.”

“Indeed, Hogwarts itself can be considered a mystery. But I expect you to learn more in the coming years of your time here.”

David breathed out, as Dumbledore’s words sunk in, implying he was not about to be kicked out, which had been a very real prospect coming into this meeting.

“Sooo….I’m not going to be expelled?”

Dumbledore’s gaze was slightly stern but there was still the hint of his usual twinkling in his blue eyes.

“You have made many mistakes this year, David. But you have also demonstrated great compassion, resourcefulness, and courage. As I say to many of my students, it is the choices we make that truly define who we are underneath. From what I can observe, you are quite the talented young wizard and Hogwarts is better off with your presence. I believe you have earned Gryffindor one hundred points.”

David could hardly believe his ears, the revelation that he was not expelled consuming most of his happiness at the extra points.

“Thank you, Professor!”

“You are welcome. Though I daresay it does not erase the poor drubbing the Gryffindor Quidditch team took at the hands of Ravenclaw.”

David scoffed. “We’d need a thousand house points to erase that deficit.”

Dumbledore gave a booming laugh, one that resonated across the courtyard.

“Indeed, there is that famous sense of humor you possess. I look forward to six more years of it, the wizarding world suffers for the want of a good joke often times.”

The first year Gryffindor knew that his time with the Headmaster was winding down, but his mind still burned with questions.

“Sir, thank you for everything. But can we talk more about my brother and the vaults?”

Dumbledore nodded, the full twinkling in his eyes returning.

“We can and we will. Next year,” he said. “In the meantime, I believe you have final exams to attend and a feast to prepare for. I do hope you have a good summer holiday.”

Gesturing with his robe, the Headmaster indicated for him to be on his way and David obliged, heading back to the Great Hall to finish up his shepherd’s pie (if Charlie hadn’t finished it by now). There was much to do, and he wasn’t sure what would come next. But one thing he was sure of: he couldn’t wait for the next year to start.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The inevitable day arrived as the students took their luggage down to Hogsmeade station to depart back to London where their families and friends waited for them. Many were saying their goodbyes already as a sea of crimson, yellow, blue, and green interacted and chatted away while preparing the board the train.

“I can’t believe how fast it went,” Rowan said as he lifted his luggage into the compartment.

“Me neither,” David agreed. “Before you know it, we’ll be seventh years rowing back across the lake at graduation.”

“Don’t even say that!” Rowan shuddered. “I still have six more years of academics to go, Dave. I’ll have to do everything I can to become the youngest Professor in Hogwarts history. There’s not enough time.”

“I’m taking the mickey,” David laughed. “Relax, mate. We got plenty of time. Just you wait, there’s a lot ahead of us and we’re going to see it all.”

“You’ll definitely need more than seven years then,” Charlie interjected, joining their space. “Have you seen how huge this place is? Loads of people come through without learning half of what goes on here.”

“Personally, I’d be fine with that,” Ben added, the last to join their space. “Better safe than sorry.”

“It’s not Hogwarts without a little adventure, Ben,” David said with a wink, his good mood having been sustained the past few weeks. True, Gryffindor had only placed third in the house cup, but at least Ravenclaw had pulled out all the stops to take down Slytherin. It saved him the agony of seeing Merula brag with the rest of the snakes.

“I’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime really,” the blonde boy muttered but a friendly pat on the back from David was enough to induce a small grin from him.

“Just you wait. By the time this thing ends, you won’t be afraid of anything.”

Charlie took a glance at his watch.

“I gotta go find Bill for a second. Also don’t worry about Jae, he’s off selling the last of his merchandise before the train leaves.”

Before the three other boys could get comfortable, however, Rowan slapped his forehead.

“Oh, I almost forgot, Dave.”

He quickly took out a random piece of paper, the same one he had used to jot down the message inside the door with the cursed ice.

“I did a little digging after we broke down that door. Took me awhile, but I finally managed to decipher what was on top of the archway.”

This was certainly news to David, who had desired more answers after his talk with Dumbledore.

“You’re joking. What does it say? What was it?”

“I found on obscure book about ciphers and ancient languages. It’s Aramaic, probably goes back a thousand years. It says, ‘The Ice Knight stands guard past the vanished stairs.’”

This newfound information was both welcoming and also frustrating to the young Gryffindor. As opposed to answering questions it gave rise to new ones? What was the ice knight? And where were these vanished stairs?

“It’s not much to go off of but it’s a start,” David sighed.

“I’ll do more research over the summer,” Rowan told him. “I’ll have plenty of time too. Plus you know how much I love to read.”

“I can learn some more spells, too,” Ben offered. “I know it’s not much but…”

Rowan and David looked at each other, failing to stifle a grin, causing Ben to look alarmed.

“What? Oh God, did I say something stupid?”

“It’s alright, mate,” David explained. “I guess no one told you but we’re not allowed to do magic outside of school.”

“Yup, or else you get your wand snapped.”

The blonde boy sighed.

“This crazy world is just full of surprises isn’t it?”

“Too right, my friend. And there are far more awaiting for us when we’re second years.”

“Wonderful.”

The train soon whistled, signaling its imminent departure. The last of the students climbed aboard and they were off.

As Rowan, Ben, and Charlie set up a game of exploding snap, David gazed outside at the fields and hills that began to roll past, both confident and anxious about the future. In his heart, he knew the mysteries of Hogwarts had only just began.

[my-dark-words]

Questions part 2

A continuation of the ‘My Mistake’ series, a definitely not fluffy Darkiplier story

My Mistake

Unwanted Guest

Questions part 1

And now we continue...

I might as well have been blind. I could still feel the man's presence, his grip on my hand and waist, the heat of his breath. The music had stopped, replaced by his continued humming and the creak of the wooden floor. I tried to look around as he led the dance once more, but vision failed me. I couldn't be certain but I thought something else was moving in the darkness too. "I see that you're afraid now," he chuckled. "Not of the darkness, but what it's hiding," I said before I realised the implications of his words. "Wait, you can see?"

"Yes," he chuckled again, "but don't worry. Nothing will touch you while you're close to me." I had no way to know, but he was probably smirking again. The dance continued and I had to let him lead. I couldn't watch my own feet now, and I had no idea where our table was. I had to trust him in the dance, as much as I didn't want to. His hand on my waist drew me closer until we were chest to chest in the darkness. "You're making yourself a bit too comfortable," I grumbled, pushing back against his hand to keep a little distance between our bodies. I did not like this game. His grip on my hand tightened, nails digging into the back of my hand. "I can make this very uncomfortable if you prefer," he whispered in my ear, a lock of hair brushing my cheek. Flushed with rage I tore his hand off my waist and pulled away. He released my other hand faster than I'd expected, leaving me alone and without a reference point in the darkness. I waited. His humming stopped, letting silence fill the space between us. He made no attempt to grab me. Then he laughed. "What is it that you want?" he asked, "The one thing you want most?" Even though I felt somehow surrounded, his voice came from only one direction. I turned my back on where I presumed he stood and gingerly took a step away. I knew I had to answer, but wondered how my words would be twisted. "I want to be useful," I said at last. He chuckled, still behind me somewhere in the darkness. I carefully took another step, though I wasn't sure at all of my footing. "My dear, I can make you very useful. Though I'm surprised you didn't ask for escape, that tells me a lot about you." I cursed myself internally. That probably would have been a smarter reply, but on the other hand it might have been twisted into something even worse. I straightened my back, if only to convince myself I was more confident, and continued to walk away from his voice. At least he didn't sound any closer. "Watch your step," he mocked. I struggled to think of my next question, between the travel, the darkness and my own fatigue, thinking had suddenly become so difficult. "Would you have really let me go now if I had just asked?" I wondered. "Not right now, but perhaps eventually. I do enjoy giving people what they want." His voice sounded far away, further than the half dozen steps I'd taken, and I hadn't heard him move. "Are you afraid of death?" he said, still far behind me. There was no obvious intent to that question, but I had to wonder if it was a veiled threat. My steps became a little faster. I couldn't run in the darkness, but I hadn't hit the table yet so I must have been going in the right direction. "No," I replied easily, "but I would find it inconvenient." I'd asked myself this same question before, seeing death at work on a regular basis makes you do that. It's not nearly as disconcerting a thought as you might expect it would be. The next question concerned me more. "Are you going to kill me?" This time his voice emanated from somewhere closer, to my left. "No my dear, but that doesn't mean you can't die." I thought I'd walked in a straight line, but how could I be sure in this place? I debated staying still, but decided against it. That was probably what he wanted me to do, and I was definitely sure that anything he wanted me to do was a bad idea. I kept walking, sliding my feet carefully along the ground to feel my way, and veering to the right. "Tell me, when were you at your weakest, darkest moment? Do not lie to me." He didn't sound like he had moved again, but that question tied a knot in my stomach. "I tried to pretend it never happened," I whispered, trying not to answer as a truth slipped past my lips regardless. "I failed a class in my first year of medical school. I had to repeat, and everyone knew." "And what did you do then?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested for once, which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. "It's my turn to ask a question," I quipped. "Well go on then."  His voice echoed from my right this time. I paused and turned a little more to the left, still shuffling away. I was certain that I hadn't turned that far, but couldn't be certain that he hadn't moved. I wondered if I was being herded somewhere, but holding still seemed distinctly unwise. "What is the wisest question I could ask you?" I jumped when he laughed loudly. He sounded like he was only one step behind me. "Delightful. I do like it when you try to be clever." He paused before answering, and I wondered whether he was thinking, or just watching my reaction. When he spoke again his voice was right beside my ear, and it took all my willpower not to jump. "The wisest question you could ask is what should you do to please me. Now, what did you do in your darkest moment?" I took a deep breath and stepped forward again into the pitch black silence. "I buckled down," I said, drawing strength from the memories for every step, "I worked harder, gave it my all. I vowed I wouldn't fail again." He didn't reply, no clever comeback this time, but I could hear the click of his shoes on wood as he followed me. "What should I do to please you?" I asked, hating myself for saying it. "Trust me," he replied, sounding closer with every phrase. "Obey me. Never lie to me. Stop walking." I froze. Not because there was any force or will in those words, but because I suddenly thought this must be how the game is played. "Good," he whispered in my ear, hot breath on my cheek.

The darkness receded and I could see again. An ocean stretched before  me, I was no longer in the fancy hall. I looked down. I stood on the  last wooden plank of a pier, waves crashing silently against rocks  below.

I could have sworn something slithered down there. "Come back here," he crooned, two steps behind me on the pier, offering an arm. I considered not doing so for a moment, wondered what would happen if I stepped off the edge into the water, but the shadows in the depths concerned me more than the man in the suit behind me. Is it better the devil you know? I turned my back on the water and walked back towards him and his waiting smile. I took him arm, too disorientated to try to bend the rules, and allowed him to guide me back towards the shore. "Tell me, when did you stop taking care of the little things?" he asked. The beach, the gentle strolling pace, the soft orange light all felt too casual. When he spoke this time he sounded like a counsellor. It seemed kind, but far too practiced. "I don't know," I admitted, not seeing what I had to lose in playing along now, "somewhere between med school and starting work I suppose." He remained silent after my admission, staring straight ahead to the shore. Everything was oddly peaceful, but this place looked like nowhere on earth. The warm orange of the autumn forest on the shore was a welcome, if unbelievable, splash of colour. "What are you, exactly?" I asked. "Dangerous." He didn't laugh or smirk, though I had expected him to. "No, really," I insisted. He sighed, still watching the shore and not looking at me. "I'm... Complicated. I could be thought of as the dark half of a soul, given will. You might come to understand it, with time." I sighed this time. "Alright, fine Mr Dark and Mysterious, be that way." "If that what you wish to call me," he said with a sideways glance and a sly little smile before returning his gaze to the shore. "And what are you, good doctor?" "Just that, a doctor." A paved path led either direction down the shore, but both directions looked identical. Rough ocean waves crashed on one side, calm autumn forest on the other. The light was strange, it might have been dawn, or dusk, or neither. The colors here were still off, if I paid attention I realised everything was either grey, orange, or blue with only illusions of colors in between. There was no life, other than the two of us. Not even seagulls interrupted the quiet. The shore stretched on to the horizon, forever. "What happens to us after we die?" I asked. I hadn't wanted to know before, but now, in this place, the answer seemed important. "Some of you find peace. Some if you find entities like me." I shrugged. "It seems pretty peaceful here, right now," I said. "Really? Then you aren't paying attention." My step faltered for a moment, but he had my arm and I couldn't pause. He was right though, I had relaxed and dropped my guard. I wondered what he wanted me to see. "Who did you vow to, when you vowed you wouldn't fail again?" His tone was oddly soft, but he turned to watch me instead of where we were walking, his expression betraying nothing. "Uh, nobody," I stammered, finding myself without an answer for once. "Maybe to myself?" "No, you didn't," he growled. I thought perhaps his eyes darkened as he spoke. "Think harder." It was the first time he'd rejected an answer. I wasn't sure what that meant, I knew I couldn't lie, but could I somehow still be wrong? Then it occurred to me. There might be a truth that I genuinely didn't know. But if I didn't know, then how could I say it? He remained silent as I struggled to think, but sounds of the world around us slowly became more apparent. A breeze rustled the autumn leaves, and waves crashed against the shore, but they both sounded further away than they looked. "I guess I vowed to my future self," I wondered out loud at last, hoping if I was wrong the words simply wouldn't come. "To future patients. To this idea of what I should be." "Hmm," he replied, granting me no clue about what he was thinking. "Why did you come to me?" I asked. He shrugged in reply. "I don't get to choose. Coincidentally, neither do you." I shivered, despite not being cold, and wondered how long this stroll was going to last. Probably as long as the questions did. "Were you expecting somebody else?" he said, almost playfully, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't expecting anybody," I admitted before considering the implications of his question. "Wait, am I dead?" He squeezed my arm. "Not yet," he replied. It was his turn to wait in silence before asking a question. He was calm, and I wondered if he was genuinely thinking, or just letting me stew over what was just said. I looked around at our surroundings on the endless shore. At least it wasn't quite the same segment of beach over and over again. Rockpools protruded from the sand up ahead, opposite a barely visible oath weaving through the trees. I noticed, as I looked more carefully, that there was another small pier on those rocks, with tangled masses of seaweed clumped around its footings. There was no smell of salt, and still no birds. "Do you like it here?" he asked. "I'm not sure," I admitted. "It's... Peaceful, but it's wrong." "Elaborate." I gestured to the autumn trees beside us, a haze of orange hues atop white, speckled trunks. "It's like am impressionist painting," I said. "There's an illusion of colour, a hint of shape, but everything is only real if I pay attention." "Clever," he conceded with a curt nod, "but not clever enough." "Oh, cut me some slack," I grumbled, unwisely rolling my eyes. "Work was exhausting. I'm beyond tired and now I have to go through your stupid game." He snickered. "You're not just tired." I stopped walking, and he let me, turning back to regard me with an interesting expression. A niggling concern demanded my next question. "Am I dying now?" "Yes," he smirked that irritating smirk and gestured around us, "but don't let it concern you. Time is relative. Now is relative. You've been dying your whole life." "You know what I meant," I grumbled. My headache had returned. "You said you'd answer truthfully." He sighed dramatically, releasing my arm to roll his shoulders and straighten his suit jacket. "If you meant to ask whether you're currently dying at a faster rate than previously in your life, then yes." "I don't feel like I'm dying," I muttered, mentally checking myself. I was still breathing, I could feel my pulse through my headache, and could still feel pain when I bit the inside of my lip. "Experienced it before, have you?" he murmured with a smug little grin. "Well, at least I see it every day. I fight it every day. I should know," I replied. He shrugged, far too casually for the topic of conversation. "You can believe that if it makes you feel any better." He took my hand and continued to lead me along the path. I let it happen. I didn't have anywhere to run to, and I'm sure he could have stopped me in my tracks if he chose. Besides, the walk was calming. I thought of lots of questions, but didn't ask any of them. I tried to remember how many we'd both asked, hoping I hadn't lost track. The monochrome man in the suit didn't interrupt my thoughts, his fingers drawing slow circles on the back of my hand. I glanced at the water beside the rocks and pier as we passed it. Part of me suspected it might have been the same pier I found myself standing on after the darkness, but it seemed shorter. I watched the waves for signs of the lurking shadows beneath this pier, but something else demanded my attention. A pile of something on the exposed rocks looked suspiciously like a human body tangled in exposed seaweed, but I was too far away to be sure. The man in the suit noticed my attention, and tried to guide my down a path into the forest. I resisted. "What is that?" I pulled away to focus on it again. "A distraction," growled the man in the suit. "Ignore it." He grabbed for my hand, but this time I dodged. "It looks like a person. I need to check if they're alright. Please." "It's not. Do not grant it attention." "No! It's a person!" I insisted, stepping onto the sand. "I think they're hurt!" "It is neither of those things," he growled, grabbing my shoulder. "Now come back here." His words carried all the force of an order, and my legs moved unbidden to stand beside him on the path again, but I still turned to watch the thing on the beach. It was definitely a person. They were moving! "Why wont you listen?" the man growled, dragging me by the arm down the forest path, my traitorous legs following him. "Because if they're injured I have to help them." I struggled to go back, to look again at the thing on the shore. It was definitely moving and... Closer? "It's not injured, it's a trap. Stop feeding it attention you stupid mortal!" He wrenched my chin around, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Look at me!" he roared. He was shimmering, multiple echoes of himself occupied nearly the same space. The primary one snarled in fury, but the other echoes were worse. I couldn't count how many there were, flickering constantly as they did, alternating between screams of rage, snarls and tearing at something. I had to stare. I couldn't not. The tangle of raging faces struggling to gain control dominated my thoughts, every pair of eyes staring back at me. As the distance between us and the thing on the beach increased, the man began to regain control again, the echoes of himself falling back into place until he looked like just one human. "Why was that important?" I dared to ask. He relaxed, apparently satisfied, and allowed his focus to return to the path ahead through the autumn forest. "They grow when you feed them, and you were feeding it plenty," he muttered angrily, "Oh, they're cunning when they're small, but as they grow they no longer have any need to be, and can just take what they want." He threw a sideways glance my way and sneered. "Did you think this place was safe?" "Uh," I stammered, looking away to the orange of the trees, "Well I did. Until you said that." There was a hint of movement in the foliage, just a hint, but enough to make me think perhaps I shouldn't be looking there, and returned my gaze to the path ahead. I was no longer walking under a command, but under my own will again, though I wasn't sure when that had happened. "So, we're not alone here?" I asked. "There's no help for you, if that's what you mean," he replied with a cold chuckle, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It wasn't." He sighed. "There are multiple consciousnesses within this realm," he explained. "Some are inhabitants. Some are visitors. Some are prisoners." He stopped walking, turning me to face him. His expression was disconcerting, almost hungry. "Do you know which one you are?" he said. "I know which one I hope I am," I replied. I waited to see if any more words would slip from me. They didn't. I wondered if that small truth had been enough to bend the rules. Of course it would take me to the end of the game to figure out. I only had one question left. I had to make it count. "How can I get home?" I said firmly. His upper lip lifted in the tiniest of smiles. "Ask me nicely." I waited. He was serious. I took a deep breath and tried not to sound angry at the whole ordeal. "Please Mr Dark," I said as nicely as I could manage, "can you take me home?" He smirked, holding his arms apart, as though waiting for an embrace. "I certainly can," he crooned, flashing more teeth in his smile than was friendly. "Come with me." Oh, he was actually waiting for an embrace. What did I have to lose now? I stepped into the embrace. As his arms wrapped around me the world creaked and zoomed out, losing detail. The world fragmented and I felt weak, held upright only by his strength. Then it stopped. My eyes opened. We were back in my house. The storm had abated, leaving early morning light filtering through the windows. "Really? All I had to do was ask?" He didn't reply. I pushed him away, snatching my phone up from the table. It was already the usual time for me to wake up for work, and I hadn't slept at all. I was not looking forward to another long shift with no respite. "You kept me up all night with a stupid game," I grumbled. "Now I have to go to work." "No." I froze, unable to move, phone in my hand. He stepped behind me, leaning in to whisper in my ear. "You are not going to your precious workplace, my dear. You're going to call in sick, and stay here." I scowled this time. "I have never called in sick in my life, to anything! Why would I do it now?" He tilted my head to look at him, his eyes gleamed. "Did you think this was over?"