#maybe it isn’t and he’s talkin about it to show them that they’re focusing on the wrong thing??????

[tricksters-captain]

Bucky Barnes imagines - Some Sunny Day Part 4

AN: What a crazy episode! I definitely think this episode was one of the best so far and I cannot wait to see what happens next after that insane ending!

Overall Summary: Before the Blip, you and Bucky were close. After you both returning and Tony’s funeral, you decided to go back to your home town to spend time with your family. When duty calls, you return.  

In this chapter: Now in Latvia, you and the boys must find Karli before the Dora take Zemo away (Based on S1 EP4)

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3)

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 6,123

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 4, violence, strong language.

Once inside Zemo’s apartment, you started to look through the cupboards. 

Zemo had excused himself to take a bath but you felt starved. 

Even with the limited stock you managed to whip something up for you and Sam. 

“Thank you.” Sam took the bowl from you gratefully. The food Zemo had given you on his private plane wasn’t exactly edible and you were still feeling the affects of the Nagel fail in your body. 

“Well, the Wakandans are here.” Bucky announced as he entered the apartment; having returned from his walk. “They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

“”Were you followed?” Sam looked up at him. 

“No.” Bucky made his way over to you and Sam by the kitchen island. 

“How can you be so sure?” Zemo pondered. 

“Cause I know when I’m being followed.” Bucky sent an unimpressed glance to the man in the bathrobe. 

You pushed a bowl of pasta towards Bucky but he shook his head and pulled out his phone.

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.” Zemo stated. 

“Hey, you shut it.” Sam quipped. “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.” 

“You gotta eat.” You whispered to Bucky. 

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo rounded the island so he was closer to you all.

“I’ll eat later.” Bucky mumbled back to you as he furrowed his brow at twitter. 

“There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Sam argued with Zemo. 

“Sam.” Bucky had found something. 

“What?” Sam turned his attention to Bucky and away from Zemo. 

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.” Bucky showed you his phone screen so you could read.

“What? What’s the damage?” Sam’s concern grew quickly. 

“Eleven injured, three dead.” You said after skimming over the article. 

“They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.” Bucky added as Sam sighed. 

“She’s getting worse.” Zemo spoke up. “I have the will to complete this mission. Do the three of you?”

“She’s just a kid.” Sam was right. She was only young, she reminded you of you when you first joined the avengers. Desperate to fight for a cause. 

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there.” Zemo disagreed. “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.”

“You’re talking about our friends.” You felt the need to remind Zemo that you were actually apart of the Avengers as you placed your empty bowl in the sink. 

“The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Bucky felt the need to clarify. 

“So, Karli is radicalised, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.” Sam was determined there wasn’t a need for a fight. 

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her.” Zemo explained as he reached for the bowl you had originally offered Bucky. “Or she kills you.” 

You swatted his hand away to which he frowned at. 

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.” Bucky argued his point. 

“Touché.” Zemo picked up a biscuit instead. Holding it on his finger as he spoke. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

“Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” Bucky suggested to you and Sam as he moved over to the couch. 

“And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo asked as he opened the cupboards to look for some food. 

“Yes.” Bucky didn’t hesitate. 

“From my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right?” Sam interrupted with a new thought. “So, when I was a kid, my TT passed away.”

“Your TT?” Bucky asked, unsure of what Sam had meant. 

“Yeah, my TT, yeah.” Sam nodded. 

“Who is your TT?” Bucky asked as you sat down beside him. 

“Fine. When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya.” Sam proposed. He could be right. 

“Worth a shot.” You proclaimed. 

“Your TT would be proud of you.” Zemo sounded more awkward at the use of the phrase before he pulled out a fancy looking tin. “Turkish delight? Irresistible.”

Sam caught the small sweet that Zemo had thrown. 

“I say Zemo put’s some clothes on and we head over to the refugee camp that Donya was staying. See if anyone knows anything about a funeral or ceremony for her.” You ignored Zemo as he looked down at the sweets. 

“Sounds like a plan.” Sam stood from his seat at the island and looked over at Zemo. 

Zemo nodded before disappearing into a bedroom to change. 

It didn't take long to get to the camp from Zemo’s apartment. 

“Shame what’s become of this place. When I was young, we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful.” Zemo seemed saddened by the state of the buildings being used as the camp. 

“I’m gonna take a look around upstairs. See what you can find out here. And keep an eye on him.” Sam told Bucky as he gestured to Zemo. 

“I’ll stay out of your way.” Zemo promised. 

“(Y/n), you look around through there. See if you can... You know.” Sam pointed down through one of the ground floor doors. You nodded and left the men.

Most of the adults fled when you entered the building but you noticed a young girl who looked too busy with what she was doing to notice. She had looked maybe 16 or 17 years old and she was embroidering an old silk scarf. 

“That’s beautiful.” You knelt down beside her but as you spoke, her eyes shot up and widened with shock and fear. 

“T-t-thank you.” She stuttered as her eyes flittered around the room for help. 

“It’s okay. I was just wondering if I could have a look at it.” You smiled softly at the girl as you held your hand out. 

She reluctantly gave it to you. 

“This truly is beautiful. You are very talented. May I buy it from you?” You placed your hand in your pocket and pulled out a note that you had previously stolen from Zemo’s jacket.

“You c-c-can have it.” She whispered as she stood. You rose with her as you folded the scarf to place into your pocket. 

“I insist.” You took her hand gently and cautiously and placed the money in her palm. She smiled but she still was nervous and full of worry. You figured she knew who you were. 

You folded your hands over hers and that’s when you unplugged the cork on your powers. 

You closed your eyes and within seconds all the girls memories flooded into your head. 

You tried not to react as it happened. 

You tried your best to filter through the memories quickly. When you reached the time after the blip, you slowed down. You saw the horrors of them being rejected, being abandoned and then you saw Mama Donya and Karli. 

You focused on Karli. 

You watched Karli smile and laugh with all the children, she’d play and look after them as Donya looked after Karli. 

Closer memories brought what seemed like events that only just happened. Karli visiting with supplies. 

You saw the mourning of Mama Donya from everyone and then you saw the arrangements for the funeral. 

You opened your eyes and let go of the girls hand. She thanked you again and left. She would have never realised what you had seen as the memories are shown to you within a matter of seconds. 

You leant against the table and inhaled deeply. 

You felt weak again. 

You pushed yourself off the table and headed back out to Bucky. 

Zemo was surrounded by a bunch of small children.

“You okay?”Bucky asked. The second you reappeared he immediately noticed a change in you. 

“I’m okay.” You lied. “I spoke to one of the teenagers inside. I looked inside her head. You were right, Sam. They are having a funeral but she only knew that she would be taken to it later this afternoon.” You explained as Sam joined you both. 

“Good work.” Sam wrapped his arm around you and gave you a small squeeze of appreciation. 

They both knew how hard it must've been for you to use your powers after the Nagel incident. 

The toll of touching the dead had knocked you for six in the past and in a matter of forty eight hours you had touched the dead and looked into the memories of a live person. 

You’ll need an energy boost before you can do this again. 

Zemo turned back to you and you all returned to the apartment. 

“Well, I got nothin’. No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” Bucky slouched down on the couch in defeat. 

“Yeah, it’s because Karli is the only one fighting for them.” Sam joined him on the couch. “And she’s not wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked. 

“For five years, people have been welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbwire. There were houses and jobs. Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild. It wasn’t just one community coming together, it was the entire world coming together. And then, boom. Just like that, it goes right back to the way it used to be. To them, at least Karli’s doin’ somethin’.” Sam explained himself. 

“You really think her ends justify her means? Then, she’s no different than him or anybody else we’ve fought.” Bucky pointed over to Zemo. 

“She’s different. She’s not motivated by the same things.” Sam argued with Bucky.

“Sam’s right.” You spoke up. “When I looked into that girls head I saw a lot of Karli. She means a lot to those people, she is their light, their Captain America. But she’s just a kid. From what I saw she has a whole lot of love in her heart and I'm not saying that hurting and killing people is right but she sees it as the only way to help her people.” 

Zemo had walked over from the kitchen with a tray as you spoke. 

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky questioned him. 

“The funeral is this afternoon.” Zemo only said what you already knew. 

“We know that. Now you know the Dora’s coming for you any minute. In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.” Bucky demanded. 

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli. Hmm. I prefer to keep my leverage.” Zemo sure knew how to push someone’s buttons. 

Bucky shot up and threw Zemo’s cup against the wall. The crashing of the glass made both you and Sam jump to your feet. 

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky threatened Zemo. 

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.” Sam tried to de-elevate the situation. “Let me make a call.”

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offered Bucky as Sam walked away.

“No, you go ahead.” Bucky grumbled, scowling at the Baron. 

“Come on.” You took Bucky’s hand and pulled him away from Zemo. 

You headed into the bathroom and started to fill up the tub with some cold water. 

“Will you get me some ice?” You asked Bucky to which he complied. 

Once the tub was full of ice water, you stripped and climbed inside. 

Bucky had taken a stool and faced the door to give you some privacy. 

“You shouldn’t let him get to you.” You said as you settled into the water. Your body was screaming at you as the ice touched it but you knew it’d give you the wake up call you and your muscles needed. 

“I don’t.” Bucky grimaced. 

“You don’t? Oh, so the shattered cup in the other room was just a scare tactic?” You mused. 

“Yep.” Bucky grumbled. 

“Okay.” You sighed before going under. 

The cold water hit your brain and you immediately sat back up. 

“Feel better?” Bucky had heard the splashing of the water. 

“Yeah.” You admitted, running your hands over your face and hair. “Can I have my towel?”

Bucky kept his back to you as he passed you the towel. 

You wrapped it around you and stepped out. 

“You can look.” You told him.

Bucky turned and his eyes went straight to the bruises that covered your legs and arms. 

“I’m okay, Buck.” You assured him as you watched the cogs turning in his head. 

“I forget you aren’t...” Bucky’s words dropped off as he stepped closer and lightly took your arm, examining the damage. 

“That I’m not a super soldier?” You smirked. “I may bruise but I can hold a lot more than most, Buck.” 

“Doesn’t stop me worrying.” Bucky admitted as he lowered your arm. 

“I know.” You whispered, looking up at the man’s deep blue eyes.

“You better get dressed. You already know what Sam is thinking with us both being gone right now.” Bucky went to go towards the door when you stopped him. 

“I had a dream about Wakanda on the plane ride here.” You confessed. 

Bucky stopped and looked back at you. 

“It was the day you finally beat the Winter Soldier.” You told him. 

*Flashback*

“These are incredible, Shuri.”  You smiled widely as you threw the new high tech Vibranium knives that Shuri had made for you. 

“I know. I know.” Shuri was well aware of her awesome brain. 

Shuri pressed the combat button on the wall which simulated attackers for intense weapon training. 

You inhaled as you closed your eyes. 

A footstep gave away your first attacker. You threw the knives to the holograms and the attackers were down. You ducked and dodged and jumped around the room as you practised with the knives. 

Shuri cheered you when you finished. You smiled through your heavy breaths and Shuri jogged towards you to give you a fist bump. 

“You are something else, my friend.” Shuri praised you. 

The doors opening behind you made both you and Shuri turn to see who had entered. 

It was Bucky. 

He rushed towards you with a bright smile. His lips seemed to quiver and his eyes were glassy. Something had happened. 

It had happened.

He embraced you tightly and you returned it. Your fingers gripped onto Bucky’s long hair as he buried his face in your neck. 

You looked back at Ayo (who had followed Bucky) and Shuri and mouthed a ‘Thank you’. 

Ayo bowed her head at you before leaving the hall. 

Bucky had finally gotten over HYDRA’s programming after all these years of being held prisoner by a few words. 

You and Bucky stayed like that for what felt like hours. The relief from Bucky washed over you and bound him to you until he was ready to part. 

It was an incredible day.

*End of Flashback*

“Maybe you could sense that the Dora’s were close on our tails.” Bucky suggested. 

“No, we all knew that they’d come for Zemo eventually.” You dismissed the idea. “I think it was after seeing Zemo treat you like him again.” 

Bucky remained silent. 

“I don’t think I ever told you how proud I was of you that day.” You folded your arms over your chest as you leant back on the tub.

“You didn't need to.” Bucky assured you. “I already knew.” 

You watched Bucky leave the bathroom so you could change. 

When you had returned to the main space again it was just about time to head out again. 

You felt a little nervous as you didn’t really want a fight with Karli since you weren’t 100% but you figured you had felt a hell of a lot worse before.

As you left the apartment, a voice and face you didn’t particularly wanna see called out. 

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.” John Walker and his little side kick were walking down some stairs towards you. 

“Ah! How’d you find us now?” Bucky called back. 

“Come on. You think three Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Lemar, Walker’s partner, scoffed. 

“No more keeping us in the dark. You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” Walker pointed out Zemo. 

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky corrected Walker.  

“This better be an unbelievable explana––”

“––Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Sam interrupted Walker before things could get heated in front of civilians.

“I know where Karli is.” Zemo kept walking as the others stopped. 

“Well, where?” Walker asked, stopping Zemo by stepping in his way. 

“All we know is it’s a memorial. So, we’re gonna intercept her there.” Sam informed them.

“That means civilians. High risk of casualties.” Lemar relaid to his partner as you continued to walk.

“All right, good, we’ll move in fast. Take her by surprise.” Walker started to talk through his plan when Sam stopped him. 

“No, I wanna talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.” Walker argued with Sam. 

“Look, the person closest to her died, she’s vulnerable. Now is the best time to reason with her.” Sam was trying to defend his reasoning but Walker wasn’t having it. 

“What? No. Wait, no! No! Stop. Hold on. Stop, okay?” Walker ran up ahead to stop everyone again. “I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot that she blew up a building with people still in it.” 

“Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you, man.”Lemar tried backing up his partner. 

“If I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die.” Sam handed over the other scenario. 

“You’ll let him do this?” Walker looked between you and Bucky. “Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse.” Bucky told him flatly. “And he’s not my partner.”

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is in my wheelhouse.” Sam walked past you and Bucky to face Walker.

“I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea.” Walker still wasn't on board. 

“Wait, John.” Lemar stopped Walker.  “If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.”  

“Thank god Battle-scar here has some sense.” You declared. 

“It’s Battle Star actually.”Lemar smiled at you but you ignored him. 

“We’ll deal with you later.” Walker told Zemo as he caved in.

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.” Zemo lead you towards the young girl he had spoken to earlier that day. 

“Hello, my friend. This is for your family. Can you show us the way?” Zemo handed her some money and the girl beckoned for you all to follow.  

“What the hell?” Walker seemed a little confused by Zemo’s ‘associate’ being 12.

The girl lead you to the building where the funeral was being held and you all waited for a signal. 

“Karli’s in there.” Zemo announced as the girl ran off. 

Sam went in whilst Walker cuffed Zemo. 

“You got 10 minutes. Then we are doing things my way.” Walker told Sam before he left. 

“Aggressive.” Zemo mumbled after being handcuffed. “But I get it.”

You rolled your eyes subtly at both Walker and Zemo. 

You took up a position by the door with Bucky. 

You watched Walker sit down, his grip on the shield was tight as he slowly huffed in and out. 

You frowned as you studied the man. Your eyes glanced over to Zemo who was also watching Walker. 

You shared a look before you let your eyes fall back down to your feet.  

“Uh-uh. No, no, no. This is a bad idea.” Walker started to pace as he let his impatience get the best of him. 

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Bucky sighed unimpressed by the young solder. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronise me.” Walker glared back at Bucky. 

“Sam knows what he’s doing.” You backed Bucky up. 

You all watched Walker stop as he thought. His heavy breathes causing his chest to rise up and down quickly. 

“I’m goin’ in.” Walker didn’t want to listen anymore. He stormed towards the door but both you and Bucky stepped in his way.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” Walker didn’t even look at you as he squared up to Bucky. 

That really bothered you.

You took hold of the man’s upper arm and yanked him to look at you. 

“You may be Captain America right now but we don’t follow you. We said we’d give him 10 minutes. So, he’s getting 10 minutes.” You glowered at the man. 

“Your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?” Walker leant towards you, trying to be intimidating but it wasn’t working. 

“Just wait.” You looked the man in the eye with a subtle threat in your stare. His jaw clenched as he tugged his arm away from you. 

Walker went back to look at the clock again. 

After a couple more minutes, he tried once more. 

“Time’s up! Our turn.” Walker didn’t hesitate to push past you as he charged ahead. 

Bucky kept his tongue in his cheek as he watched it happen. 

You and Bucky stayed behind Walker and his partner as they marched ahead.

“Karli Morgenthau, you’re under arrest.” Walker announced as he entered the room. 

“This is what that was?” Betrayal flashed across Karli’s face as she looked at Sam. 

“No, wait––” Sam didn’t have a chance now that Walker had intervened.

“––Tricking me until help came?” Karli started to back away. 

“We had enough time to talk.” Walker exclaimed as he headed straight for Karli. 

“Nazi! “ Karli wasn't going the easy way. She hit Walker back and he went straight into a table. 

Lemar tried to keep you and Bucky back but you had easily managed to get round him to chase after Karli. 

Bucky being what he was managed to get ahead of you but you were close on their trail. 

Sam had found his own way but ultimately you all lost Karli. 

“I lost her.” Bucky sighed.

“This place is a maze.” Sam looked around at the several doorways with a frown. 

The sound of gunshots is what caught your attention next. 

“Come on.” You rushed through the building trying to get to the source. 

You didn’t manage to get there before Walker did. 

Zemo was unconscious on the floor and vials of the serum were smashed around the concrete floor. 

“What happened?” You asked as you looked down at the mess. 

“He was shooting at Karli. I stopped him but she got away.” Walker lifted his shield a little to symbol how he had stopped Zemo. 

“Let’s get him up.” Sam started down the stairs and you followed. 

Zemo woke up after a little encouragement and some smelling salts. You had decided it was best if you split up on your way back to the apartment. 

You and Sam were going to stay with Zemo and see if you can dig up anything on socials and the computer and Bucky was going to do a round and see if she had holed up anywhere familiar. 

Sam sat at his computer, he was contacting Sharon whilst you stood with your phone searching Twitter to see if any Flag Smashers appearances or Karli were popping up in recent tweets. 

Zemo laid down on the couch with a wet towel and a strong glass of scotch. 

“You got anything?” Sam asked you. 

“Nothing. I don’t think we’ll find her this time if she doesn’t want us too.” You put your phone down in defeat. It wasn't usual for people to give her Karli’s location anyway. 

“I think you’re right.” Sam hated to agree but this was the first time you had come close to actually talking Karli down and it failed. 

“And now with the serum’s gone. Who knows what her next move will be.” You knew that Karli didn’t have the option to create more super soldiers now and that gives her a disadvantage. The idea of an army is gone now and she would only have her current foot soldiers to help her. 

Zemo moved for the first time in ten minutes as he lifted his cold compress. 

“Were you ever offered it?" He asked aloud. 

“What?” Sam furrowed his brow at the man. 

“The serum.” Zemo replied. 

“No.” Sam smirked at the idea. 

“If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you have taken it?” Zemo inquired. 

“No.” Sam answered instantly, his smile dropping. 

“No hesitation. That’s impressive.” Zemo nodded before removing his towel. “Sam. (Y/n). You can’t hold out hope for Karli. No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how gods talk?” Sam queried. “And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?” There was a silence from Zemo. “Blood isn’t always the solution.” 

Before the conversation could continue, the door opened and Bucky strode inside.

“Something’s not right about Walker.” Bucky stated as he removed his jacket. 

“You don’t say.” Sam huffed with amusement. It was clear as day that Walker was at his wits end with the pressure on him.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy.” Bucky poured himself a glass of whiskey. You rolled your eyes at his statement. 

“Can’t argue with that.” Sam retorted. 

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield.” Bucky was back on this topic again. 

“I didn’t give him the shield.” Sam rose to his feet to face Bucky.

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” Bucky sipped on his drink just as the doors flew open. 

All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over.” Walker commanded, his face red and his ears steaming. 

“Hey, slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’ll need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next.” Sam approached Walker to try and pump his breaks. 

“How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam, huh?” Walker chuckled softly as Sam remained silent. “Yeah. Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?”

Sam scoffed, shaking his head at the man’s antics. 

Walker put down the shield but the only thing flying next was a spear that struck the pillar by Walker’s head. 

It was the Dora Milaje. 

They had come for Zemo. 

From your time in Wakanda you understood the language as Ayo spoke to Bucky. 

“Even if he is a means to an end. Your time is up.” Ayo reverted back to English. “Release him to us now.” 

Walker introduced himself to Ayo, not that she cared for him.

“Well let’s, uh, put the pointy sticks down and we can talk this through, huh?” Walker suggested, only to be met, yet again, by silence from the Dora’s.

“Hey, John, take it easy. You might wanna fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje.” Sam tried to warn him but he wasn’t backing down. 

“They don’t have jurisdiction here––”

“––The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” Ayo cut Walker short. 

“Okay.” John chuckled lightly. “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Walker made the mistake of putting his hand on Ayo’s shoulder. 

Ayo responded with an attack. 

The surrounding Dora’s fell into defence positions as Ayo and Walker fought.  Lemar bounced into action, trying to help his partner out but it only warranted in more fighting. Or more asses getting kicked by the Dora Milaje. 

“We should do something.” Sam said as you, him and Bucky stood together watching. 

“Looking strong, John.” Bucky called out. 

“Bucky!” You tried not to laugh as you scolded the man. 

“Guys...” Sam nodded to Ayo about to strike John with her spear which made Bucky reluctantly intervene. 

“Ayo, let’s talk about this.” Bucky only landed himself directly in the mess. 

You realised how serious this was as Ayo didn’t hold back and went ahead to help Bucky. Sam went over to help Lemar but was met by more Dora's.

You grunted as one of the women attacked you. You had almost forgotten just how incredible they were at combat. Almost. 

You were backed against a wall with the spear to your chest when the room fell silent. 

You looked over at Bucky to see his arm was on the floor. 

You wanted to move towards him but you were stuck until orders were given to release you. 

“He is gone. Leave it.” Ayo had opened the bathroom doors to reveal the manhole had been opened. Zemo had escaped. 

You were trying to slow your breathing when finally the Dora’s fell back. 

She retracted her spear and left with Ayo and the others. 

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam asked Bucky as he pushed himself off the floor. 

Bucky reattached his arm. He groaned as he swung it round to adjust it. 

“No.” He said but the shock on his face from before had already given away that answer. 

You looked past Bucky to where Walker was still on the floor. 

“You all right, man?” Lemar offered his hand to help him up. 

“They weren’t even Super Soldiers.” You heard Walker mutter. 

“Come on.” Lemar tugged him to his feet. 

“I can’t believe he pulled an El Chapo.” Sam walked over to the bathroom and stared at the hole. 

“I can.” Bucky wasn’t really that surprised and neither were you truthfully. 

“Come on.” You beckoned the boys out of the apartment so you could talk. 

You got down to the streets and away from Walker before you spoke again. 

“Walker isn’t stable. He’s on the brink of cracking.” You kept your voice low as you spoke to the boys. 

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. 

“We may not like him but he’s not stupid. He knows that he can’t be Steve, do the things Steve did and it’s killing him. He's so obviously trying to win this fight by himself and it’s going to drive him insane if he isn’t the one to beat Karli.” 

“But he can’t beat Karli. You saw her kick him across the room like he was a cardboard box.” Sam reminded you of what happened earlier. 

“We have to get to Karli before he does because he’s either gonna stop her or kill himself trying.” You weren't worried for the man but worried about what would happen if he finally snapped. 

Suddenly, Sam’s phone started to ring. It was his sister. 

“She said what? Right. Hold on, hold on. I know, I know. Listen, pack an overnight bag and take the boys...” Sam sounded worried. 

“What happened?” Bucky asked. 

“Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews.” Sam told you both. “Okay. Go somewhere safe. Only pay cash. All right? Tell me when you arrive. I know. Look, I love you. I’ll never let anything happen to you and the boys. Okay. Bye.” He hung up and then immediately texted an unknown number. 

“What does she want?” You knew Karli was desperate but threatening kids was a different story.

“Karli wants to meet. She left a contact number.” Sam’s phone buzzed with a new text. “She said come alone.”

“We’re coming with you.” Bucky wasn’t going to take no for an answer. 

“Alright but keep your distance.” Sam didn’t bother to fight you on it. “We better suit up.” 

You suited up by adding a few more weapons to your body. You placed your favourite thigh holsters on that held your Vibranium knives out on display. 

Sam got his wings and soon you were at the location. 

“Karli!” Sam bellowed as you entered the building. 

Karli leant over a balcony to make herself seen. You remained on the ground floor but looked up at the girl. Bucky followed Sam. 

“You called my sister? That’s how we’re gonna play this?” Sam was upset and understandably so. 

“Sam, I would never hurt her. I just wanted to understand you better.” Karli confessed.“I see you, um, didn’t come alone.”Karli peered down at you then up at Bucky. 

“You have to end this now.” Sam told her. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you. You’re a tool in the regimes I’m looking to destroy. You’re not hiding behind a shield. If I were to kill you, it’d be meaningless. I was gonna ask you to join me. Or do the world a favour and let me go.” Karli spoke pretty boldly for someone who seemed to be alone. Super Soldier or not. 

“Hey, Sam, new Cap is moving, looks like he’s found them, or maybe they found him.” Sharon’s voice came through on Sam’s intercom. 

“It’s Walker.” Sam looked down at you and then Bucky. 

Karli jumped from the balcony at the realisation the jig was up but Bucky was quick to jump too. 

Karli kicked Bucky back but you managed to weaken Karli as you flipped over and kicked her in the jaw. 

Sam put her down momentarily as he flew down and kicked her also. 

“I’ll send you the location. Go!” Sam ordered both you and Bucky before he took off. 

You knew Bucky would be fast enough to run there but you didn’t have that luxury. 

You crossed the street to a parked motorbike and opened up it’s wiring. Just as you managed to get it running, Sam’s coordinates came through. 

You docked your phone and set off. 

You dodged through the narrow streets and traffic to arrive at another large building. Karli must have a favour for buildings you could get lost in. 

You drove through the doors and skidded to a stop. 

Bucky had gotten there before you. You could hear his grunts from a flight or two up. 

You raced up them only to be met by a super soldier fighting Bucky. 

You sent a knife forward, it embedded itself into the man’s soldier, he cried out which gave Bucky some time to throw him down the stairs. 

You tucked up, over the tumbling body, holding onto the railing and the wall. 

Bucky jumped over the rails and with one final blow knocked the soldier unconscious. 

“Stay there.” Bucky told him before climbing back up to you. He thanked you for the help, handing you back the knife that had been in the man’s shoulder. 

You then both went ahead to find Sam and Walker. 

They were fighting more super soldiers a floor up. 

You didn’t hesitate to go in for the attack.

You pulled a knife and threw it to Bucky for help; he caught it midair. 

You screamed with frustration as the soldier you were fighting, pulled your arm behind you and slammed you into the pillar. You managed to swivel around, taking out the soldiers legs as you freed your arm. 

You threw a knife into both his biceps. You only intended to injure, not kill, them anyway. 

He groaned as he pulled them and tried to use them against you. 

All at once, the fighting stopped when you all witnessed Karli kick Lemar into one of the concrete pillars. 

Lemar’s body slumped down with blood painted across his lips. 

John broke free from his attacker and slowly made his way over to Lemar. 

From the sight of the body, you already knew he wasn’t walking out of there. 

Walker desperately tried to wake him up. 

That’s when Karli took her chance to flee. 

You and the boys took off after her but lost her again pretty quickly. 

When you rounded the building, you saw a crowd gathering. 

What you saw next made you feel psychically sick. 

John Walker stood above Karli’s right hand man, blood splattered up Steve’s shield and across his uniform. 

He had killed the man in front of all these civilians. He had killed a man as Captain America. 

(PART 5 HERE)

Bucky Barnes Tag List

@florencxs�� @mystictimetravelcolor​ @yourphotographyteen16​@shannon-posts​@darkbluenovember @sexwithhiddlesbatch​@thefandomimagines​ @mydarkness-itsnotmyfriend​ @sad-huffle-nerd​ @glitchingghosts​ @themaddies-obx​ @avenging-parker​@delilahsdaydream​​ @felicityofbakerstreet​​ @purplewcrld​​ @opheliaaaa​​ @avisexe​ @lindseyrae20​ @thanossexual​ @smolanxiousdeku​ @soccer-100000​

[spaceygoobert]

Penny for some thoughts about the clusterfuck that is Solar Opposites s2 (Contains spoilers)

Now that I am no longer drunk out of my mind and watched s2 four more times just to be sure I didn’t miss anything while I was crossfaded. it’s time to talk about it

Ep1 was great. It had more lore for shlorpians with a different perspective and i find it interesting that Korvo didn’t even know there were rich shlorpians. They also lived on floating platforms in the sky, like rich people lived in the clouds and working shlorpians lived on the ground, literally separating the two types of classes

The rich shlorpians said they wanted the pupa so they could get back to being rich, which means they don’t know that they will die, either way, they been jebaited

Did not expect shlorpians to be religious... kinda. but i’m not complaining.

The jokes hit hard and everything was kinda fast. The funniest thing about the season was a wacky plots 

I like how different Terry and Korvo are when dealing with negative emotions 

Terry becomes passive aggressive when dealing with negative emotions. specifically with anger. 

When Korvo basically changes everything about Terry in the Lake House episode, the only thing he doesn’t change is how Terry deals with negative emotions. Imagine not being understood and then becoming a goth because no one understands you, not even your partner, who is essentially the same person as you now. And it’s great.

I love violent goth Terry.

kinda shows how repressed he is to the point of “breaking”

Korvo becomes petty when dealing with negatives emotions too, but instead of anger, it’s sadness or when he’s hurt emotionally

S2ep2 reminds me of s1ep3, they both have something to do with parties and Korvo not being included and because he’s petty af he makes a complicated plan. the plot for the episode was just as mind-fucking as s1.

When Korvo’s sad/hurt, instead of talking about it, he makes a whole ass bill to ban Terry from having to hang out with his human friends because he spends too much time with them and not enough time with him. It isn’t until the shit hits the fan that he finally fesses up, which I find to be perfect. AND it ends with a uwu kiss. 

I find it odd and genius that Terry isn’t how you expect him to be. He looks like he wears his heart on his sleeves, yet he’s the one who shows less emotion than Korvo. Plus he doesn’t know how to express bad emotions and does the whole pretending that everything is fine thing

Could be due to being a laid-back person. By being laid-back, it means not worrying or at least showing it (which btw, if you express emotions, it means you care) 

Maybe someone hurt him enough for him to be passive aggressive OR it could be Shlorp, who the fuck knows

it begs the question, if he represses the bad feelings, what else does he repress?

Korvo LOOKS like he wouldn’t be the type to express emotions, yet he’s the one who is able to show sadness and anger— or a better way to explain, he doesn’t hold back on his emotions. He’s more open of the two adult aliens

AND THEY COME FROM THE SAME PLACE.

When Korvo insults Terry, he gets angry

When Terry insults Korvo, he gets sad and cries.

Korvo and Terry do things to cancel each other out. It’s cute.

Like when Korvo bans dinner parties and Terry still goes to them using sci-fi stuff to do it.

or when korvo goes to live with the other aliens and Terry trashes the house to get rid of his presence. Then mentions that Korvo’s dead

They bond over making fun of humans.

I’d expect this from Korvo, but Terry also makes fun of them too, despite wanting to be liked by them. Dunno, maybe Korvo rubbed off on him.

Korvo and Terry strive to get people to like them.

Korvo with the new aliens

Terry with humans

The way they do it is different. Terry acts like himself with humans, Korvo tries to act like himself but he lies to fit in

The wall, my god, the wall was amazing. The episode that focuses on the wall doesn’t take place inside the wall.

I never thought i’d feel for The Duke, though i expected he and Cherie would have some kind of relationship going on

The music, my god so good

Also the trope with the hero who unknowingly saves the villain.

Forest City, (Wood City?) I don’t remember what they called it

The plot for that was so ridiculous; they lose their car in the forest so they use a device to build a city so they could rent a car to find their car, but they end up getting lost in the city.

The fact that Terry took somewhat studied “pathfinding to prepare for life on dangerous aliens world”

I died when Korvo said he wanted to be a gangster, then he never actually becomes one and keeps getting chased by wolves. In the end, he was just a guy in a business suit

Jesse becomes a bad bitch like I knew she would

I can’t believe all four of the characters lost sight of their goal within a few days probably.

Also yumyulack jr

and the ref to wolf of wall street. Wait, is that why wolves were chasing Korvo because he was attempting to be a gangster? WHAT IS THE RELATION, besides being in a fucking forest?

Prostitute Terry and his tiddies

Korvo and Terry actually like being in each other's company

Red Goobler

My eyes were burned out of my skull, you know what i’m talkin about, the “sleeping through the alarm” scene, which got me second guessing myself that maybe it might be an alarm but it turns out they’re fucking. and there’s a wet condom on the ceiling.

the possibility of Korvo being pregnant? For s3? Impossible but still, it would be funny, then it turns out he’s not pregnant, it’s another red goobler, but he can’t tell if it’s from stress or the fucking

Terry is trying his best

I hope they don’t make terry into an idiot. Like in s1, he was dumb but not an idiot.

also terry admitting he’s too insecure to form his own opinions and Korvo liking the fact that he doesn’t have a firm belief

I am happy for that basic rat chick

Also if Korvo’s a bottom, and assuming Terry is one too, they don’t fuck because they’re both busy being bottoms?

After one night of implied sex, Korvo wanted to marry the red goobler. was the implied sex that good?

The apple pencil pro was just weird

Now that the solar opposites are dead, but not really, what now?

Can we talk about how they all went to fulfill each other’s goals more than their own. It’s sweet.

Lets not talk about Terry wanting to eat out Ms. Frankie, but Korvo does it instead, and he keeps going at it

Korvo likes eating out confirmed?

There was a lot of sexual stuff in this show. I dig it.

Also Terry being the first to die in the last episode, I dunno if I could see him killing his family. I mean I know he would but everyone else had some kind of contraption, except Korvo, who used magic instead, which is funny because he’s the most scientific one there, unless he uses science in it then it would make sense.

Mini Korvos look cute but I know they’re all little shits

i kinda wanna know more about Yumyulack’s past as a bounty hunter, like what did they do as a curriculum, was there even a course on bounty hunting? did Yumyulack only say that to sound cool? who knows! I hope s3 has Korvo and Jesse plots because I see them to be the most alike.

Dunno why, but all the solar’s head exploding was aesthetically pleasing and when they all get rebirthed again with their heads popping out of the tree, reminds me of the tree from pocahontas

This season had a bunch of sci-fi stuff and I love it. I hope there’s more sci-fi stuff in the future.

Also Korvo and Terry are both fucking idiots and I live for it.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Top 5 Missed Opportunities in 400 Days

Hey, remember when TWDG Season One ended and we were a group of emotional messes? Remember when Season Two was announced and we were gonna get a DLC to bridge S1 and S2 together and we were extra excited for everything to come? Because I do. 

To be fair, I truly did enjoy 400 Days when it first came out years ago, and it’s not like I hate it now or anything... I just can’t help but look at it and see wasted potential on every level-- the characters and their development, the stories, the impact our choices made for the future...

The concept of 400 Days-- a collection of stories that follow different protagonists and the situations they find themselves in within the zombie apocalypse that eventually connect to one another-- is a great one. I love the idea of mini-episodes that are all connected, and one choice you made in one episode affects the next episode you play... so what happened? Why does it fall flat now when we look back on it?

Well, a major reason for me is the fact that all four seasons of the main game are complete. When 400 Days came out, we didn’t have S2, so we didn’t know what our choices meant. That lead to us theorizing about what would happen if we got everyone to go with Tavia, or what would happen if no one but Bonnie went. Why was Bonnie the only one who agrees no matter what? What could that mean?

And we have those answers now, and it’s a let down... especially when it could’ve been so much better. That’s what I wanna talk about today. I wanna talk about what I think are the biggest missed opportunities in 400 Days. 

5. Giving Shel and her dumb sister actual personalities

Of all the stories you can play in 400 Days, Shel’s episode is probably the worst due to the fact that she and her dumb sister lack any memorable qualities or personalities.... which is such a shame because this story also has one of the more interesting moral dilemma’s. 

In this story, you play as Shel who is surviving in the diner/gas station with a group that consists of some of the cancer patients from S1. Remember them? They were with Vernon and helped him steal out boat? Yeah, they got away and apparently Vernon died and the group feel apart over the damn boat, but you don’t get much more than that. 

Shel has this dumb sister who I can’t be bothered to remember her name because she’s that bland. Her sister is basically Shel’s personality. Take away her sister, and you’re left with nothing. 

They’re going for the “Oh man, I don’t know what this world is doing to my dumb sister, it’s changing her, I don’t want her to have to do things like murder, I want her to have a normal childhood,” but that falls flat when they don’t give me a reason to care about them in the first place. 

Like I said, the moral dilemma for this one IS interesting-- They catch someone who tried to steal from them. The man is injured pretty bad, and he can’t speak English, so there is no way for them to communicate with him. Roman, the dude who acts as the leader of our group, says that they can’t keep him here but they can’t send him back out there... and that means killing him. 

So what do you do? Do you risk it by giving this man a second chance, give him some food and send him on his way and hope he doesn’t come back and do more harm? Or do you kill this man so that there is no risk in him coming back to do harm? 

And you as Shel are the swing vote. That’s not an easy choice to make, plus you gotta think about how that choice is gonna affect your dumb sister?

Except it doesn’t really matter.... at all. No matter what you do, Roman still cracks down and wants to murder another member of the group who tries to escape, Shel’s dumb sister is still a brat who talks big but never does anything, and Shel is still a stale piece of white bread. 

If they wanted us to care, then give Shel something other than her sister. Maybe they could’ve had her be someone who doesn’t really have a backbone, she tries to avoid conflict and is intimidated by Roman, she doesn’t speak up even when she should, and then her dumb sister could be the opposite-- Loud, take charge, wants to get more involved with protecting the group, isn’t afraid to stand up to Roman which causes him to take her under his wing and wanna turn her into a murder baby... which Shel definitely doesn’t want so what could she do to keep her dumb sister away from him? 

If they wanted to tell the story of a woman worried her sister is going to grow up cold and ruthless because of the world around her, then tell that story. Show us that story, show us what happens when you agree to kill the man and now her dumb sister genuinely believes that murder is an easy solution to their problems, so when it comes to the woman who escaped, the dumb sister volunteers to kill her and Roman lets her... and you as Shel gotta decide if you wanna fight that by running away or just let it happen. 

I dunno man, but Shel’s story is my least favorite of the bunch because I have no reason to care about either of them, and that’s a waste. 

4. Nate’s a shithead so they should’ve used him more

Well, hello again, Nate... we meet once more here on T5F. 

So yeah, I’ve talked about this crazy bastard on a previous list about characters no one likes, so you’re probably wondering why I’m saying that he should’ve been around more.

That’s the thing, I hate Nate. He’s gross, he’s brutal, and he’s uncomfortable with those crazy eyes of his... but he would’ve made for a fun antagonist in more of 400 Days, as well as in S2. 

Depending on what episode you play first, Nate can either first appear in Wyatt’s story, or Russell’s. In Wyatt’s story, Nate is chasing down him and Eddie after Eddie accidentally killed a guy who was with Nate, and Nate here is chasing them down for some revenge. He eventually finds them, and who ever is left in the car as no choice but to flee, leaving the other behind. 

Nate plays a more active part in Russell’s story, picking him off the highway and chatting with him on the way to the diner/gas station, and y’know how Shel has no personality? Well, I think I know where all the personality went because Nate’s got quite a bit of it. He’s one of the more memorable parts of 400 Days for a reason. He has a weird charisma about him, but then he starts talkin’ gross and almost gets Russell’s face eaten off by a walker and you get the idea that this man isn’t quite right, y’know?

Then we make it to the diner/gas station where they get shot at, and Nate insists on finishing this... as in, let’s go in and shoot whoever is shooting us. They sneak in, and the old man there says Nate is back to finish the job... which isn’t great. Nate acts like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but then suggests they kill the old couple using a line from the story Russell told her.... y’know, the story that’s kinda triggering for Russell. 

At this point, Russell can either tell Nate off and leave, or he can stay where Nate will kill the couple right in front of him and claim that Russell is his boy and it is not great.

We know that either way, Russell gets away from Nate. We never see him again so he could be dead, turned, or alive. All I can think about is the fact that they created the beginnings of a compelling antagonist who could’ve bled over into S2 at Howe’s or even afterward. Like if we showed up at Howe’s and were locked up, only to find Nate locked up with us. Or maybe instead of Arvo, Nate could’ve been the one who stumbled upon Clementine and Jane and was overpowered and threatened by them... only for him to stalk them and confront them about what happened. 

Either way, there was a missed opportunity to do more with Nate. 

3. Focusing on the wrong things within Bonnie’s story

Alright, everyone’s favorite: Bonnie. 

Bonnie is the only character in 400 Days who actually matters in terms of S2... and even then, her story doesn’t matter too much...which is dumb. 

For me, Bonnie’s story is such a waste... like okay, right from the start they establish that Bonnie is a recovering addict, and I’m intrigued. The idea of an addict surviving in the apocalypse while trying to kick the stuff is interesting as hell.... but the story kinda just glosses over it unless Dee is insulting Bonnie by calling her a junkie. 

No, the story we got was Bonnie breaking up a marriage. Great. 

There’s this dude Leland who has a wife, Dee, but he and Bonnie are getting awfully snug with one another... so that’s real nice. Dee eventually finds them giving each other the look and breaks it up in a passive aggressive way before revealing she found a bag of supplies. This happens to be a bag that she “found” at the diner/gas station where Shel’s group is currently staying. 

An argument breaks out between Leland and Dee with Bonnie in the middle and it’s not compelling at all. You can just sit there and do nothing and it doesn’t matter, they continue to fight until Shel’s group spots them and they gotta run. 

Bonnie ends up shot and falls behind, and we do get a cool scene where she has to make her way through this cornfield without getting caught. I do like that bit, it’s fun. 

But then she gets away, grabs a weapon, and hits someone walking up on her... that someone happened to be Dee. Whoops. Dee calls her a junkie, saying she killed her, and then dies.

Now comes the big choice: Do you tell Leland the truth or lie to cover your ass?

While this is an interesting choice on paper, it doesn’t matter. Leland isn’t with Bonnie in the end no matter what, and Bonnie will always agree to go with Tavia. 

Personally, I wanted the fact that she was a recovering addict to be more front and center. Throw Leland and Dee away, have Bonnie travelling on her own. Have her going through withdrawals, show us her struggle of still being hooked on drugs while surviving in the zombie apocalypse... have her stumble across Shel’s group and from a distance, she sees they have medical supplies. She’s so desperate that she sneaks in at night and steals as much as she can, but gets caught. 

We could still have her running away through the cornfield with the drugs, she can still get shot and everything... but maybe she’s so desperate for them that she ends up killing one of Shel’s group members, and she sees just what she’s willing to do in order to get these drugs, and you can make a choice of abandoning the drugs and quitting, or taking the drugs and running away... and it could actually affect Bonnie in the ending and into S2. 

Plus, her killing one of Shel’s group would help add to the debate in her episode, y’know?

I just... I wanted that story... not what we got. 

2. The past is more interesting than the present

This goes hand in hand with #3, but applies to almost everyone else. 

All of these characters that we get to play as have more interesting backstories that I was more compelled by than what they’re actually going through in their stories. 

The first time we meet Vince, he straight up murders a dude who is pleading for his life, saying he doesn’t even know Vince’s brother. Like... okay, what the hell happened here? What happened to Vince’s brother that made her commit murder like that? 

How about Wyatt and Eddie? They’re running from Nate after Eddie killed the guy he was with. They’re panicking, Eddie is covered in the dude’s blood, Wyatt doesn’t know if Eddie meant to shoot or not. You can tell they’re known each other a long time, too. They’re a couple of stoners who got themselves into hot water. 

Oh and Russell? His story is interesting as hell! He was in a group where the main guy kept going on about how seven if the perfect number for a group, ya can’t break seven, and this group eventually started killing so they could steal, so Russell got away and is now on his way to find his grandmother’s place. 

Once again... Bonnie is a recovering drug addict in the apocalypse. 

The only one without an interesting backstory is Shel... which I guess is fitting. The boring character doesn’t even get a fun backstory, she just exists. 

It’s not a good sign when I’m more interested in the past, y’know? Vince’s I can give a bit of a pass to because he killed that guy before the apocalypse broke out, and his dilemma takes place right at the start, and it’s done pretty well. 

Everyone else though? I already explained Bonnie’s, but what about Russell and his seven group? We could’ve gotten that story of a group that starts out good, the guys gives his philosophy on the dumber seven, Russell meets that one girl... but then things start to grow dark when the group starts to become desperate enough to murder and steal, the guy keeps going on about the number seven so they can’t invite anyone in, and they can’t let anyone go... so Russell has to sneak away or something. 

Wyatt and Eddie? Show ‘em there when Nate and his buddy show up. Give us the tension of “are these guys chill or are they planning something?” when Eddie gets into a fight with the other dude and ends up shooting him, Nate gets pissed, and they gotta flee. Wyatt doesn’t know if Eddie shot him intentionally or not, it’s a whole, thing and they can still hit the cop and do that whole thing, too. 

I just... I think problem is the stories were a bit too compact and short, not giving the characters a chance to develop or the stories enough compel to them. 

1. It doesn’t matter who goes to Howe’s or not and that’s dumb

Sigh..... so yeah, obviously this is #1. 

My biggest problem with 400 Days is that is doesn’t affect much. Even Bonnie’s story doesn’t affect what she does in S2.

As for the rest, if you only got Bonnie at Howe’s, then the rest and their fate’s are unknown. But if you do manage to get everyone to go with Tavia, they are at Howe’s... the problem is, they show up in small cameos that literally do nothing. 

Ya got Wyatt who walks past Clementine like “Dude you better hurry, Bill doesn’t like to wait” like.... what, am I just supposed to get excited and point at him like “oooohhh I know him! I know him! That Wyatt! Hehehehe!” because I didn’t do that...

Or Vince randomly showing up to catch Tavia smoking, or Shel and her dumb sister making a comment about Sarah, it’s just dumb. 

And then Howe’s falls and their fates are left unknown anyway.... so it didn’t matter. 

I’ll just say what most of us were thinking.... Why weren’t they the cabin group? No, seriously, why weren’t the 400 Day’s crew the cabin group? Because it was too hard given the fact that there are so many combos? That’s fair, but if that’s the case, then what was the point of 400 Days?

Did they just want to tell a bunch of smaller stories within this world but never actually planned on using them outside of fun cameos in S2, with the exception of Bonnie? That probably is the case... and I think my disappointment in 400 Days does stem from being in the fandom at the time and getting hyped to see what they would do with these characters, only for it to be this. 

Not only that, but then I started to think about how they could’ve done with game but with the actual cabin group from S2. Luke, Nick, Pete could’ve had their own story dealing with Nick’s mom getting bit after they took in a bite victim. 

Rebecca and Alvin could’ve had a story about their marriage kinda falling apart despite them trying hard, and this could help make her affair with Carver make more sense. 

Carlos and Sarah could have a story that explains Carlos’ over protectiveness and as well as explore Sarah as a character. 

Hell, give Mike a story. 

Give JANE a story about her and Jaime so that her appearing outta no where isn’t jarring, and develops her and the reasons she treats survival the way she does.

There was so much they could’ve done with this idea... and to be honest, if we ever get another game in this series, I would love it in this style but expanded into a season where each episode follows a different character and tells a different story, but in the end they all end up connecting. There is SO MUCH you can do with that!

But alas..... 400 Days for me is full of missed opportunities and I wish it wasn’t. 

---

Honorable Mentions

-Eddie only appeared in Wyatt’s episode and then disappeared until his death in S4.... Eddie’s great, should’ve been around more. -Would’ve been nice if the cancer group from S1 was expanded on, give more context to what the hell happened to Vernon and the boat, y’know? -a bit more development for Tavia would’ve been nice, as well... she just kinda shows up at the end and recruits who she can. 

---

So what are your thoughts on 400 Days? Do you agree with these missed opportunities, or have any to add? Lemme know, it’s always fun to chat.

Have any suggestions for future T5F’s? Feel free to send ‘em in! :D

Next week’s T5F Top 5 Reasons Gabe’s Pretty Great, Y’all Are Just Mean

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

"Remember when you told me that Demetri was always going to be your only friend?"

Her tone was sharp and Eli felt obliged to avoid her gaze, staring at his hands instead.

"I do."

"Yeah well, Demetri's mother called me to tell that someone broke his arm and she doesn't know who did it."

His silence was almost as loud as a scream.

"I know who did it. I didn't know the reason though, but then I saw those Cobra Kai kids with you outside and I put it together. You have a bunch of new friends now, don't you?"

Eli glanced at his mother and regretted it instantly, she almost looked as if she was talking to a stranger. Like she didn't knew him.

"Well, Demetri isn't your only friend now, is he?"

No.

"Was it worth it?"

No.

God, no.

Hey wow look never in my life have 142 words CRUSHED MY SOUL FASTER

This drabble punched me in the gut, grabbed my wallet, looked through it, snatched all my $20s, and then ran away mercilessly.

Legit though, it never sat quite right with me when Eli was venting to his mom in that one flashback and he just wails out “I’M NEVER GONNA HAVE ANY FRIENDS BESIDES DEMETRI!” like it’s some like...goddamn death sentence or something. Like yeah, Demetri is far from the perfect best/only friend, and he can certainly be an insensitive ass at times, but like...yo, the boy is LOYAL AF, he’s stuck with your ass and been your best friend through YEARS of bullying and tried to protect you from getting hurt, in his own little way (even if some of his efforts are kinda misguided, as they basically boil down to “just avoid engaging bullies if at all possible” and “don’t try any new activity (i.e. karate) that could cause even slight pain or discomfort and rock the boat” lol) and tried to make you laugh with dumb jokes about you being the homecoming king when NO ONE ELSE would bother, and you clearly just DON’T appreciate him??? Like the way Eli’s like “I’m never gonna have friends...besides Demetri, obviously” just reads like he’s absolutely just taking Demetri for granted and it PISSES ME OFF. Then again, I think it might just strike a nerve with me in particular, since I remember all too well being a ragingly insecure, introverted child watching my friends make other friends besides me and just being so confused and hurt, like “...am I not good enough for you?” Of course, now that I’m older I see that it’s valid to want more friends while keeping the ones you have, obviously, and I don’t think Eli was inherently wrong for wanting to expand his social circle or anything, but the way he’s just...so dismissive of Demetri’s friendship and instead focuses on crying about all the cool friends he doesn’t have just PEEVES me to no end. Like ffs, some of the kids at that school who get bullied probably have NO friends and have to tough it out alone, so maybe be like...a little more appreciative of the fact that you have a BEST FRIEND who clearly cares about you??? Again, it’s valid for Eli to want more friends--I imagine you’d get tired of only having one person your age to really talk to--but the fact that he kinda phrases this in a way that makes it sound like Demetri and their friendship is dismissable and trivial and not all that important to him has always bugged me a lot. I mean, Eli obviously DOES care about Demetri and Demetri’s opinions of him, as we see several times in the show, but like...hearing him say “I’m never gonna have any other friends besides Demetri” still makes me wince every time. STOP TALKIN BOUT MY BOY LIKE HE DOESN’T MATTER 

Yeah yeah yeah I KNOW I’m reading way too much into a simple comment okay but this statement has implications and I DO NOT like them

“Someone broke his arm and she doesn't know who did it." Oh yeah, Demetri absolutely did not tell his mom Eli broke his arm. Given how smothering and overprotective she seems (I mean, she gave him a note to take to a KARATE CLASS excusing him from EXTENSIVE ARM AND LEG MOVEMENT even though that’s ALL KARATE IS), she’d probably NEVER let Eli near him again if she knew--hell, she might even get a restraining order or make Demetri transfer schools or something. And Demetri definitely doesn’t think that’s her decision to make--and he ain’t about to give up on Good Old Eli just yet, even after everything that’s happened. Perhaps against his better judgement, he still has hope for his old friend. He just tells his mom his arm got broken by one of the newer Cobra Kai recruits, some burly thug guy he’d never seen before. He didn’t get a good look at the guy, naturally, since he was pinning his face to the ground and fled the scene almost immediately after the arm-snapping.

And oh my god how I WISH we’d gotten a scene in Season 3 where Eli’s mom just brutally calls him out like this, because god knows he needed it and it could’ve been THE wake-up call (or at least one of a few big wake-up calls) that shit...he’s getting farther away from the person he’s always been than he ever has before, and maybe...maybe it’s not a good thing after all. Maybe it’s not a good thing if his own mother barely recognizes him, if his own mother is maybe even a little scared/wary of him and what he’s become. I mean I get there was a lot going on in Season 3, and there probably wouldn’t have really been room to bring back a character as minor as Eli’s mom, but I would have loved to see her reaction to all the shit he was pulling throughout the season. She highkey seems like a helicopter parent if she’s willing to call the school over Eli being bullied, so there’s no way she was just suddenly completely disinterested in everything he was doing after school and that she didn’t at least suspect there was some sketchy shit going on. (I mean...the boy presumably came home with a MOTORCYCLE one day??? Isn’t she gonna wonder where on earth he got that??? Y’all don’t expect me to believe SHE got it for him, do you???)

Also, Demetri and Eli’s moms are absolutely friends!!! Speaking as someone who had the same group of childhood friends for like 12 years, your moms can’t NOT be friends when they’re forced to see each other that often XD It’s kinda depressing to think how much it must have hurt their moms too when they started fighting, since these women would presumably have been good friends for years at that point and now have to watch their sons, who used to be best friends, just constantly be at each other’s throats :( I love how quickly Eli’s mom puts two and two together and figures out Eli broke Demetri’s arm. Eli can’t hide SHIT from his mama haha

Also wow it’s so fucked and depressing to think that maybe, in the heat of the moment, Eli broke Demetri’s arm to LITERALLY shatter the notion of Demetri being his only friend and try to DESTROY that time completely with that arm break so he could fully embrace his new, “improved” identity as the “cool badass” with lots of awesome and formidable friends who were obviously far superior and much better for his image and his intimidation factor than nerdy little Demetri...ouch.

"Was it worth it?"

No.

God, no.

JESUS I’M SOBBING

AS SOON AS ELI HEARD THAT BONE SNAP AND SAW DEMETRI CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR CRYING HE REGRETTED ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING I AM HERE TO TELL YOU

IT WAS A BAD DAY FOR EVERYONE AND I AM GOING TO MURDER JOHN KREESE WITH MY BARE HANDS FOR SLOWLY MINDFUCKING MY BOY ELI MOSKOWITZ INTO THINKING BREAKING HIS CRUSH’S ARM WAS THE MOVE

[shinobis-of-ninjago-au]

Shinobis of Ninjago

Pilot 2: Ruler of Shadows

Prologue Pilot 1 (Pilot 2, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 ), Episode 1

After retrieving the Staff of Illusions from the Forest of Second Glances, they set off for the next weapon; the Whip of Technology. The whip hadn't been created at the same time as the rest of the Golden Weapons, making it a special case. The First Spinjitzu Master realized that with all the new innovative ways the people of Ninjago were doing things, she needed a new weapon to control the element so things never got out of hand in the future. An untraditional weapon for an untraditional element.

The whip was located in the Eastern Mountain ridges. The ninja found it strange for a weapon with such technological power to be hidden in such a remote spot, but knew better than to question Mystake.

Nya hummed from her spot pulling the Horse Carriage, her teammates huffing beside her. "I spy something green." She said.

They had started a game of I-Spy a while ago as a way to pass the time. The others had grown tired of it and instead chose solitary silence.

Seeing that no one was going to answer her, Nya sighed, shoulders slumping as she too, retreated to silence. Before, when it had just been the three of them, they had no problem making conversation. Now that Skylor was with them, things were tense.

"So, Skylor, I know ya don't like talkin' 'bout it, but how did Mystake find you? Ya don't seem like one who would become a ninja willingly." Nya was shot a deadly glare from the red-haired girl. "I-I mean, we all had something we wanted to fix in our lives, but by the way you are so focused on saving your brother, ya seem like ya had a good life before it happened."

Skylor sighed, rolling her shoulders. "I did. There was nothing wrong with the way we were living. Shipments would come in once a month and we would make good money everyday. We had good neighbours and grew a lot of our own food so we didn't have to walk into town all the time.

"Then the skeletons came looking for that estúpida map and their leader, Lady Misako, or whatever, said to take my brother. That's the only reason I'm here. As soon as he's safe I'm leaving."

"He's a year younger than you, right? He should be able ta' take care of himself until ya get there." Nya said, trying to cheer her up.

"I don't know, Nya. The Skeleton Army is very ruthless. If they believe he holds useful information, I fear what they might do to him." Pixal said.

"Uh, yeah, how about a change of topic." Seliel offered, noticing how Skylor tensed up. "It's almost noon, we can take a break once we get over this ledge."

Minutes later, they stopped, leaning the Horse Carriage up against a tree as they settled down to a light lunch. After not having breakfast for fear of the meal resurfacing, they were more than eager to eat something.

Seliel finished first and decided to re-pack the Horse Carriage, making sure everything was packed down tightly. Digging through her bag to make sure she had everything, she pulled out the map and a compass. Spreading the map out of the ground, she laid the compass in the upper left corner. Seliel frowned, tapping the compass and humming.

"What's wrong?"

Seliel looked over her shoulder, seeing the konran. "I don't know." She answered. "We're supposed to be heading North-East, but the compass is acting up." She gestured to the compass on the ground, its needle spinning around rapidly.

"That would be the whip's doing." Pixal answered as she came up beside them. "It scrambles any devices that might help locate it, much like the Staff casting illusions to confuse those who pursue it."

"If Mystake knows where it is, why isn't she leading us?" Skylor asked. "I'm not looking forward to getting lost."

"Mystake's reasoning is sometimes questionable." Pixal muttered. "She means well, but sometimes her teachings can be hard to follow, especially if they come out of the blue."

"The most powerful move in spinjitzu can only be accomplished when multiple elemental masters combine their spinjitzu." The ninja looked with confusion to where Mystake was standing. She smiled and motioned for them to start loading the carriage again.

"What happens when they're combined?" Nya asked, picking up a bag and tossing it in the back.

"The Tornado of Creation." Mystake replied. "The power to create something, out of nothing. But, be warned, if done incorrectly, it can have disastrous consequences. All beings must have a connection to one another, a bond strong enough that their physical forms will not be destroyed."

Not knowing how to follow that, the four stayed quiet as they loaded up the Horse Carriage and began their ascent of the mountain once more. When the sun began to get low in the horizon, Mystake told them to stop.

"Is something wrong, Master?" Pixal asked.

"No, we are here."

After helping Mystake dismount, the ninja followed her as she led them over the summit of the mountain into a valley of some sort. At the bottom, there lay a tall, windowless tower made of ivory. It was quite beautiful, with ivy crawling up the walls and a flower field surrounding the bottom.

When they reached the flowers, Mystake stopped walking, motioning for her students to go on without her. "You will find the whip at the top of the tower. I will be waiting at the Horse Carriage."

Without any further information, she sent them on their way. Finding large oak doors, Seliel and Nya pushed them open, the groan of unused hinges echoing through the tower. Once inside, Nya pulled out her flashlight, shining it along the walls. An ivory staircase circled the tower, disappearing into the shadows overhead. The walls were covered in gold markings, carvings of the history of the creation of the whip, starting from how it was created to how it was sealed within the tower.

"Well," Seliel began. "Let's get climbing."

The four began to climb the staircase, Nya's flashlight shining off the carvings, educating them all on the life of the Golden Weapons, a tale never before told in such detail. When they reached the landing at the top, they paused. They had to bend over in order to stand on the landing, for the ceiling was close. Pixal fingered her way along the ceiling until she found a crevice.

Pushing on the stone, it began to move slowly, but upwards nonetheless. Dust filled Pixal's nose as she gave one final shove, the stone slab coming loose, falling to the other side of the ceiling. It left a hole in the roof, maybe three feet by three feet. Crawling through, the ninja gasped in amazement at what they saw.

The whip was floating coiled in the air, a marble dragon statue lay curled around it--protecting it.

Pixal cautiously stepped forward. Pulling out a thick cloth, similar to the one they used to wrap the staff, she draped it around the whip, the golden light disappearing.

She turned back to her teammates and smiled, though it wasn't visible beneath her mask. Their expressions were very different from hers, a look of fear in their eyes as they pointed behind her with shaky hands.

Turning around slowly, the kanchō realized the marble dragon statue was gone, instead, a silver dragon stood in front of her. It's neck long and wings stretched out, showing off a leathery, metallic purple membrane.

The dragon huffed, blowing hot air into Pixal's face. She began walking backwards until she reached her teammates. Not wasting anymore time, they all jumped through the hole in the ground and began running down the staircase, the furious roars of the dragon getting fainter with every step.

Bursting through the doors, they raced through the flower field, not caring if the tower doors were left open. Climbing the hill to the summit of the mountain was slower going, but no one slowed their pace, wanting to get as far away from the dragon as possible.

The only time they stopped to catch their breath was when they reached the Horse Carriage. As she said, Mystake was waiting for them, unsurprised by their breathless state. She took the weapon from Pixal, laying it next to the staff. Not waiting for the ninja to relax or receive an explanation, she placed herself in the Horse Carriage, motioning for the girls to pick up and continue the search for the next weapon: the Trident of Water.

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

After securing the Whip of Technology, the five set out across the continent for the western shore. It was where most of the population lived, as there were not as many mountains and the capital was close. Unfortunately, the ninja did not get to see the capital as they had more important things to do.

Mystake decided that it was best if they find a more remote beach—one that was not crowded with people—to retrieve the weapon. After many miles of pulling the Horse Carriage through sand, they reached a part of the beach that was mostly hidden from prying eyes.

Pulling the carriage to the top of a bluff, the four donned the scuba gear they had rented and were debriefed by Mystake. Climbing down the bluff, they walked across the sand and waded into the water. Pulling on their masks, they dove under the waves.

Nya led, looking back occasionally to see her teammates either playing with fish or swimming away from them.

Pixal noticed her staring and apologized. 'Sorry, they are just so pretty. I didn't see fish like this up North.' She signed.

Seeing that Seliel wasn't going to be any help with her fear of fish, Nya swam over to her. 'Why don't you and Pixal stay here on lookout? I'll go get the trident with Skylor.'

Seliel nodded and moved over to Pixal to fill her in on the new plan, and to get some protection from the fish. Nya waved Skylor over and the two took off, each pulling out a waterproof flashlight. After a few minutes, they started to find chunks of stone that soon morphed to entire pillars and walkways. After five more minutes, they stumbled upon a structure that was almost fully intact. It was like a gazebo, but it had no roof. It was beautiful, with pillars and arches, seaweed climbing up the structure.

Swimming through an arch, the two turned off their flashlights, gazing around as the trident cast distorted light on the stone pillars. Nya went forward, grabbing the trident and holding it above her head triumphantly.

Before either of them could make a move, the seaweed started rustling. Unwinding from the pillars, it began weaving together. Skylor and Nya watched in amazement and terror as the final strands of the plant wove into place. The seaweed faded into deep teal scales, ocean blue eyes staring at them as a long tail swished back and forth.

As soon as the dragon let out its first roar, Nya had located the button on the contraption attached to her back.

When Mystake had recruited her, she had asked Nya to perfect her underwater jet pack and make three more. She had supplied Nya with every material and tool she needed. Now she knew why.

Pressing the button, she shot upwards, Skylor following soon after. Shifting their weight, they steered over towards Pixal and Seliel. They zoomed past them and the two looked after them with confusion before the roars from the dragon reached their ears. Turning on their jet packs, they followed Nya and Skylor to shore. Once their feet were on the sand, they shut off the machines, running across the beach and to the bluff.

Climbing the cliff was slow going, especially in flippers and soaking wet. Eventually they made it to the top where Mystake was sitting, waiting for them. She smiled, took the weapon from Nya and they were off again.

[lu-undy]

Un-alone, Chapter 9

Here it is!

“Y’like following rugby, son? I can probably find a channel with it…” 

Philip was switching from channel to channel on the remote.

“I like it but not as much as Dad. I’m ok if you wanna watch somethin’ else, eh.”

“Ah, well… Oh, look, that’s the stuff I’m sure your mum would like, heh.”

Mundy and his uncle were on the sofa with a beer. 

“Oh yeah, she follows a show like that back home. Y’know the kind where it’s all about drama and all…?”

“Yeah, good thing she’s asleep or she’d have started to follow this one, eh?”

Both chuckled between two sips on their fresh beverage. 

“Oh by the way, I wanted to thank you, Micky.”

“What for?” Mundy’s head swung to his uncle. 

“It’s nice to have someone help me with the physio exercises. It gets borin’ when I’m on my own. I feel like it’s goin’ better since you’re here.”

“Oh, well, you’re welcome, it’s not much, eh?”

“Still, makes a difference to me. Thanks, Micky.”

Mundy nodded to his uncle with a smile.

“Mum got tired today, eh?”

“Y’know your mum, restless she is.”

“Yeah…”

“What did you two get to in town this mornin’?” Phil asked and drank a bit more of his beer.

“Ah, uh, Mum wanted to check the big mall she’d seen when she arrived. And we saw it was market day so I drove her there too. Allowed me to have a drive around with the van, get her used to American asphalt, eh?”

“I bet you’re more used to drivin’ in the desert, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Your mum’s been tellin’ me a lot about your job.”

Mundy’s head swooshed to his uncle.

A half surprised, half apprehensive “Oh…” slipped out of his lips. He averted his eyes.

“Apparently you’re real good… I’m proud, son.”

Mundy’s eyes snapped wide. 

“Oh, uh, I mean… Thanks.”

“She even said you worked for the police and all. Y’know, it’s hard for us to admit we’re not big enough for the job and go get help from the outside. You should be proud.”

Mundy nodded but kept his head lowered. 

“I’m serious, Micky. I know your parents won’t tell you, but I’m sure at least part of them are proud of you too.”

Mundy blushed and in the dimness of the evening, it was invisible to his uncle.

“I’ve uh…” Philip resumed. “I’ve called back at work.”

“Oh, is there a problem?”

“Nah, I just wanted to know what kind of job they gave you.”

Mundy’s eyebrows jumped.

“You could’ve just asked me.”

“You’d never have answered, Micky.”

“Yeah, well…”

They exchanged a smile.

“So they told you?” Mundy asked.

“They didn’t. They said it was sensitive info.” 

“Ah…” Mundy scratched the back of his neck. 

“Real proud I am, son. If they call you for stuff like that, then you’re really somethin’!” He gently punched Mundy’s shoulder and the young man chuckled out of nervousness. “C’mon!”

“You told Mum?”

“Nah, I didn’t. She’d worry and make your dad worry with her. But I wanted to chat with you about it. They said they called you in because you’re a brilliant hunter.”

“Y-yeah, I guess.”

“C’mon, quit the modesty, son! You’re amazin’ with a rifle, and talking about your mum, I wanted to ask you somethin’.”

“Yeah?”

“She told me a few things about your work.”

Mundy sighed. He knew it would come, his uncle being proud was too good to be true.

“She’s worried, isn’t she?” He made the call himself.

“Yeah. She’s worried cause-”

“I know, I’m gonna get at the wrong end of a gun one day, I know... “

“Nah, Micky. Not that.”

“What?” Mundy raised a curious eyebrow.

“I mean, yeah, your job’s dangerous and all. But there’s stuff she doesn’t really get about you, you know…?”

“What?” Mundy repeated, oblivious as to where his uncle was going.

“Listen,” Phil lowered the volume on the TV. He looked left and right, as if to make sure that his sister wouldn’t appear out of nowhere. “Your mum’s… not really worried but uh… let’s say curious.”

“About what? Is it about the long trips out with the van?”

“A bit… I mean… Is it for work?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Hunting stuff sometimes takes days, even weeks. But if I know I’m gonna be away for a long time, I sometimes make the trip back home, for Mum and Dad to not get anxious or anything.”

“Why not just tell them straight up that you have to be away for work?”

“Because they don’t like my job.”

“So what? You prefer to go and not say anythin’?”

“Better than pick up another fight with them.” Mundy said. “I’m just tired of it.”

“Of your job?”

“Nah, I love my job. I’m tired with them not likin’ it. I get it, it’s dangerous and I get bruised sometimes. Beasts are rough but… It’s the only thing I know how to do and I love doin’ it. It’s challengin’ work, outdoors. You see beautiful species, get to work with them and all. Beautiful beasts out there in Oz, you know?”

“Look at you… All dreamy eyes and lazy smile.”

Both chuckled. One out of shame in front of his uncle. 

“You really like it, it’s awesome.You looked like you were talkin’ about some girl there.”

“Yea-I guess.” Mundy looked away.

“Hey, now, c’mon, it’s alright, don’t go all red and all, eh?”

“Yeah, well…” The nephew scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Y’know, I fancied a lot of girls back in my days.” Philip started, hoping that Mundy would yield and tell him more about himself. “They looked nice and all but… In all my time, y’know, I was like you now, all red in the face and didn’t really get what they wanted.”

Mundy nodded politely, still uncomfortable.

“But now look at me… Never really managed to talk to them or anything. See, there were a few that were really good.” Philip stared in front of him and Mundy could see that this uncle saw these women in his living-room, as if they were really there. “Oh, they were something, really, and I remember my mum bein’ pushy with me and all…” He shook his head. “Got me in the same state as you are now.” Phil finally made eye-contact with his nephew. 

“Hm.”

Philip waited, hoping for Mundy to open up, but to no avail. When the silence became more than awkward, with the low volume on the TV not enough to distract them back to the screen, Phil broke it. 

“So, uh… You got anybody?”

“You mean…?”

“Yeah, a girl.”

“N-nah, I don’t.”

There was a pause. 

“Anyone in sight?” Phil asked.

“L-look, I’ll uh, I’ll go to bed. It’s late.” 

And as furtive as the wind, Mundy went to the guest room and closed the door before sliding between the sheets. 

His eyes stayed open and his heart was beating faster than he had let it on. Thank God people couldn’t feel the heat rise on his body, or sense his discomfort. If he had been facing beasts, it would have been a completely different story…

Mundy closed his eyes but his brow was still furrowed. 

Ha. It would have happened sooner or later. “The talk”.

Not the teenager edition of it though, no. The grown up one. The “you’re forty, where are my grandkids” one. 

The truth was that Mundy had had that argument - not really a discussion at this point - with his father. It was a few years back, he was alone with him, collecting the eggs around the garden on an early morning, giving Caroline a few extra hours of sleep. 

“So, son… What about sheilas?”

Mundy’s eyebrows twitched but he kept focused on the task at hand.

“Got anyone you wanna introduce to us?” His father Mike insisted. 

“N-nah, not really.”

“Oh… I know we never really talked about it but uh… It’d be nice if you found someone, get yourself a nice sheila and all… Maybe kids?”

Mundy stopped sharp as he was bending down to grab some eggs. 

“Have you thought about it?”

“N-nah.”

“I know that findin’ a good sheila these days is pretty hard but uh… I’m sure there are some left. If you’re a good boy, then there must be a good sheila for you!”

Mundy was red on the cheeks. He looked away.

“Son? Hey…”

Mike put a hand on his son’s shoulder to turn him around and face him. 

“What is it?”

Mundy raised his eyes to him, he looked and wished he could tell him more. Well, there’s a few things he could tell…

“I uh… They’re complicated.”

“Ho, yeah, they are…!” Mike chuckled and nodded. “When I first met your mum, she was a puzzle and a half to me!”

Mundy smiled. That wasn’t exactly what he had meant but as long as his father got an answer that he deemed satisfactory, then he wouldn’t talk about any of that for a while. He wasn’t proud of it, but that had always been Mundy’s strategy, buying time. Until what? God only knew. One thing was for sure, the Aussie couldn’t tell the truth to his parents. They would never understand and it was hard enough to impose his job on them. He didn’t have the strength and patience to try to impose anything else. 

And what was the truth in the end?

Well, to put it simply, Mundy had had a few adventures, here and there, a few girls.

The last one was years ago. Julia she was called. Outgoing, funny, and quite pretty she was. They had met in a pub and of course, she had taken the first step to him, as he went to get a pint after his little performance with the sax. 

They had joked and laughed and spent quite a nice evening, all the way till the pub was closing. They found themselves outside, the cold air of the deep night hitting their skin in the most pleasant way after simmering in the hot pub for hours. 

"Can you give me a ride home?" She had asked. 

"Uh, sure. Me van's right there." Mundy carried his saxophone case in one hand and pointed to his van as they both approached it. 

"Wow, that's cool…! Livin' on the roads, huh?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Free as a bird." 

They exchanged a look and a smile as Mundy unlocked it. 

"I'll just put the sax back, gimme a sec."

"Oh, uh, can I see what it looks like inside?" 

He had blushed. 

"Uh, I-I didn't tidy it up or anything. The place is a downright mess right now…"

"Please, c'mon, just to see how you fit in there." She joked. 

"What?" 

"You're so tall, I'm sure you have to bend down once you're in!"

They chuckled. 

"Nah, I don't."

"I don't believe you…" She teased and Mundy sighed. "Right, right, come and have a look then…" 

He opened the backdoor and jumped in. He put the saxophone away and as he turned back to Julia, she also had slipped in. 

"See how - oh… Uh… I mean…" Mundy was confused. She could have asked before entering and why was she closing the door now? "Julia? Uh… Oh…"

She had walked to him, in the dark, and pushed herself against him. Lacing her hand around his neck, she had pushed herself to the tip of her toes to reach him. She pushed her lips against his and Mundy's eyes snapped wide. 

Julia let her hands slowly trail on his polo shirt, while Mundy was petrified, a billion questions fusing in his head. 

She pushed him gently until his back was against the ladder leading to his bunk bed. That's when she slid her hands under his shirt and started to feel his bare skin, his stomach, soft, but not too much, his lean chest and his ribs making his skin wave right above them. Hairs on the chest and a trail down his stomach until her fingers bumped on his trousers and belt. 

Mundy didn't know how to react, what to say, so he let it happen. 

She unbuckled the belt and lost no time. Julia pushed them down, along with his boxer shorts and started pawing at his hips before her hands slid behind. Small but soft, and it all fit in her hands. He felt her smile against his lips. He closed his eyes and frowned. 

"C'mon, get up there…" She said, as if she had owned the place, and afraid as he was, Mundy obeyed. 

He wasn't scared of Julia herself. He wasn't scared of what she would do to him. Nah, of course not. He was scared of his own body and its reactions. 

Or rather, the lack thereof. 

When both were on the bed, Mundy started feeling Julia's hot and naked skin against his. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to imagine what he needed. 

She went down on him, taking a taste of every bit she pleased until her head was between Mundy's thighs. 

"Oh…"

She took it for a moan, but it was only surprise. That sheila was losing no bloody time. 

She worked on him and Mundy tried. He waved his hips in rhythm, shutting his eyes and curling up his toes, holding his breath. His efforts got him sweating and more embarrassed by the minute. 

At some point of course, she stopped. Not because she didn't want to proceed, but because Mundy's body wasn't reacting at all. He wasn't moaning, he wasn't relaxing, he wasn't enjoying himself. 

"Is there a problem?" 

Her voice made Mundy's eyes snap open in a fraction of a second. He felt ashamed, embarrassed beyond what words could describe. God damn it! Even drunk he couldn't fake it! Even trying to picture someone else in her stead he couldn't get his body to warm up to the idea?! 

"N-nah, I mean…"

"Don't lie to me, Mundy. It's been a long while of me ignoring it but I can't do anythin' to you.  You don't like it or what?" 

"No, nah, I do like it, it's just… uh…"

"So it's me? You don't like me? You find me ugly or somethin'?" 

Mundy's eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see Julia's naked silhouette. All the curves were where a man would dream them to be. 

"No, you look fine - I mean, you look great…"

"Look, just be honest with me or I can just leave and get back home." 

She waited and Mundy's brain was running faster than a hamster in a wheel. 

"Uh - I mean…. Uhm…" 

He tried to find a way to say the words but his mouth was petrified, his skull was pressing hard on his brain and his vision had tunnelled to her eyes. 

"M'sorry…" He said and looked away. 

"Fuck's sake…" She sighed and got down his bed before dressing up hastily and leaving, slamming the door shut on her way out. 

Mundy was left as he was right now: on his bed alone, thinking about himself. 

Bloody hell. 

He had tried everything with sheilas, nothing had worked. He had tried to go for tomboys, for the most masculine of them all, trying to convince himself that they were his style but no. As close to a man as he found them, they were never a man. 

The Aussie turned in his bed and now faced the wall, in his uncle's guest room. 

He had tried very hard, for his parents, for himself. He had tried cheap magazines with all kinds of girls, he had let his friends set him up with women they thought would suit him. 

It was always the same. The same bloody curse. 

Chatting was fine. More than that? He didn't feel like it. 

He had stopped seeing his friends. He had run out of excuses to give them as to why the girls they sent him didn't suit him. They had stopped looking for him too, they just thought he was atrociously picky and naturally, the distance grew between those people that Mundy once used to call “mates”. 

Between his parents not liking his job one bit and his friends not understanding him either, Mundy found himself alone. At times, he wished it was different but most of the time, he lived perfectly in his little bubble. 

It was only when people challenged his bubble, came a bit too close with a needle and poked, that he retracted within himself, like a snail to his shell. 

Thinking about that night with Julia again, he felt it all come back to him. The indescribable shame, the look she had given him of disappointment, frustration, and the fact that he had led her to think that she could have more fun time with him, a lie? Nah, he had never dropped any, uh, hints, or anything to make her believe that he wanted her on his bed and between his legs, fiddling with his intimacy, in vain. 

Mundy could hardly face the truth himself. 

On the occasion of his body asking him to take care of his needs, he would close his eyes and imagine a tone and lean body, soft skin of any color, he couldn’t care less. The only thing he asked of that image, was that it was of a… male body. No feminine curves, no tiny waist for large hips. Mundy liked a bit of hair on his model, on the chest, on his forearms, his thighs and of course, in between them. 

He fantasised vividly about the lean silhouette slowly peeling his clothes off of himself, the fabrics gently sliding down like the petals of a flower that opens to reveal all its colours. Oh Gosh, the shoulders, slightly smaller than his own, a thin waist, the V-line on the hips that slipped under his trousers… Bloody hell.

Mundy closed his eyes. 

The silhouette turned to give him his back and he heard the metallic click of a belt being unbuckled, before he saw the trousers follow the thin legs all the way down to the floor in front of him. As he raised his eyes again, he saw that the underwear had been pushed down too and his gaze met with what had some effect on his body. 

Mundy bit his lip. 

In his mind, he extended his hands and touched, just a graze of the tip of his calloused fingers on the man’s backside before he cupped it and squeezed. Mmh, soft, yet one could feel the underlying muscle. He pulled him closer and the silhouette turned to face him. Bloody hell, what a sight… 

Mundy went on in his dream and fell asleep. 

A thought had always stood at the back of his mind, whenever he imagined what his body wanted. He had never imagined the face, never imagined anything that could make that person special or recognisable. And it was crucial that it stayed that way. Mundy didn’t want to imagine anything specific. 

It could be anyone, he could be him, he could be that one, it could even be...

[yet-another-fan-girl9]

Different Worlds (1)

Summary: You’re the youngest Winchester, a girl who needs to show her big brothers that she doesn’t need help. Then one day, on a totally normal vampire hunt that you had all under control, three meddling Avengers come barging in.

Warnings: language, violence, complete canon divergence, slow burn

Word Count: 2227

A/N: Opps, I started another Bucky x reader series... This one isn’t going to have an update schedule, just whenever I finish a chapter.

~*~

Chapter 1: Vamps & Avengers & and Hunters, Oh My!

“I don’t know, Steve.” Bucky shook his head and looked at the file. “Just seems like a serial killer. Some guy that’s fucked in the head. Not really our stuff, especially when we’ve got Hydra on the run.”

“This is the third decapitation in a few days,” Steve protested, ignoring his friend’s swear. “It’s just over in Poughkeepsie. We can always drop it if we hear anything on Hydra.”

“Fine,” the brunet grumbled. “But only because I’m tired of sittin’ round on my ass.”

The pair, mostly Steve, was able to recruit Sam to go on their little escapade to Poughkeepsie. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to be joined by the Falcon, but could he ever really say no to Steve? The trio packed their bags for a quick investigation and made their way down to the hanger.

“So.” Steve pulled up images on a screen once they were in the air. “All three victims have one thing in common. They all hang around this bar, whether they’re a patron or an employee.” The images showed the three victims entering or exiting the bar. Then the pictures changed to display a multitude of young women. “All of these women went missing and their last known location was this bar.”

“Maybe this isn’t a serial killer,” Sam suggested. “Maybe they’re a vigilante.”

“Yeah,” Bucky reluctantly agreed. “Serial killers usually leave their victims worse than just missing their heads. This shit’s too calm.”

“What could be worse than missing your goddamn head?” Sam raised his eyebrow as Steve sighed, ready to intervene.

“For one there’s tor—”

“The bar’s closed until three-thirty,” Steve talked over his friend, “so we have just under two hours to search the place.”

The other two men nodded and they checked their weapons before they left the quinjet. Bucky took the lead and led them to the employee’s entrance in the back. Uh oh. This wasn’t a promising beginning. There was already one decapitated body by the dumpster and another one propping the door open. They pulled open the door and stepped over the corpse. All three men had their guards up as they followed the trail of headless bodies.

Everything was quiet, but if the two supersoldiers strained their ears, they could hear faint grunts in the direction the bodies were leading them. They walked through a corridor that seemed to lead into the building next to the bar. Eventually, Sam was able to hear the sounds of struggle. The team came to the end of the corridor and into a large, open room.

The source of the sounds was a woman lying on the ground while a large man with his back to the trio wrapped his hands around her neck. The woman was reaching for a bloodied machete that was just out of reach. No doubt that it was the machete that did the decapitating.

“Hey,” Sam shouted, but the man was too focused on the woman below him.

Bucky fired two bullets into the man’s back. The man did not collapse like the soldier was expecting, but it did grab his attention.

~*~

The vamps had just kept coming.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t expect such a big colony. And maybe you should have called someone for backup. And maybe one vamp got their jaws around your upper, dominant arm as you were swinging your machete around. But in your defense, he was really tall and strong. Other than that, your solo mission was going great.

Right now you were reaching for your machete that was knocked out of your injured hand by tall and strong’s taller and stronger brother. Said vamp had his beefy hands around your neck and was baring his fangs at you. Every time you saw the mess of pointed teeth, you wondered how the media had gotten vampires so fucking wrong that it was laughable.

“Hey!”

Someone else was in the room. Or multiple people. You could see three figures around the arm of your assailant. Then you heard the sound of a gun going off. Twice. Like that would do anything. Fortunately, the vampire released his hold on your neck and retracted his fangs to face the newcomers.

Your hand wrapped around the machete’s handle and with a swift swing of your uninjured, non-dominant hand, off with the fucker’s head. As the vamp collapsed due to the lack of his head, you cradled your injured arm and inspected the three new people.

They were all men, two with guns and one with a red, white, and blue shield. Just as you were wondering why they looked familiar, the shield registered in your mind.

“You’re the Avengers,” you stated obviously. You weren’t overly educated in the so-called ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes,’ but their names had appeared often enough that you were able to tell who was who.

“Ma’am,” Captain America stepped forward and lowered his shield slightly. Slightly but not all the way. Their guards were still up. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Oh, your arm. It was starting to sting and throb. “Oh, this? Psh, it’s nothing.”

“Steve, we should take her in,” the man with shoulder-length brown hair said to the Captain. The Winter Soldier. “She killed all those people.” He didn’t take his eyes off you.

You narrowed your eyes back at him. Take you in? Honestly, hunters didn’t like the Avengers. Sure they saved the world from alien invasions (the fact that aliens existed was like a big ‘fuck you’ in the supernatural world) and from homicidal robots, but hunters faced worse odds every day. All without glory, as every hunter would point out.

“Yeah, that’s a no.” You took a step back. There was another door behind you and your car was parked just down around the corner.

“Yeah, but you fucking killed like ten people,” the Falcon gestured around vaguely. Another step back.

“No, I didn’t.” Step.

“Uh, I think the eviden— wait!” The Soldier was cut off by your sudden movement.

You had turned and ran out the door, which was thankfully a push. Yes, you knew that Captain America and the Winter Soldier were enhanced to be stronger and faster or whatever, but you had lots of practice running away from things that were faster than regular people. You were also smaller and therefore more agile. You’ve taken a physics class once; you knew how aerodynamics work.

As you rounded the corner, you could hear three sets of footsteps behind you. Your dark blue ‘79 Chevy Camaro was within reach. Keys at the ready, you skillfully unlocked your car before hastily starting it. With a sigh of relief, the three members of the Avengers were very close to catching you, you pulled out onto the street while ignoring the incessant honking of a taxi you had just cut off. You chuckled as you watched them in the rearview mirror as they gave up the chase.

~*~

“How did she get away?” Bucky shook his head. The local police were loading up the bodies, fourteen in total, and he heard that the FBI would be involved.

“We didn’t expect her to run,” Sam tried to save his pride. “She was also so much faster than I was expecting.”

“Are you ready to head back?” Steve walked over. They all had to give their statements to the police. They nodded and made to enter the quinjet but an officer running up to them stopped them in their tracks.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” the officer started before pausing for a breath, “that there was a woman there.”

“Eavesdropping isn’t nice,” Bucky growled at the young man who shrunk back slightly.

“It’s alright,” Sam put the back of his hand on the ex-assassin’s chest as if he was holding him back. “Go ahead.”

“Uh, well, you see,” the officer stuttered and then took a deep breath. “There was this woman, not from ‘round here, poking around. She was asking about the bar and some of the girls who went missing from there. Even heard she made a trip to the morgue. I just think it might be the same lady.”

“What was she looking for?” Steve was intrigued.

“My friend from the morgue said that she was checkin’ out the body of the only missing girl we found. Everyone was talkin’ ‘bout it down at the station. Notta drop ‘o blood left in her body.” The officer was excited now his words becoming less and less pronounced. Then he leaned in with his eyes wide like he was going to share some radical conspiracy. “And just ‘tween you ‘n me,” he paused for dramatic effect and Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve humored him and leaned in as well. “Somma those people look like a few ‘o the missing girls.”

“If you get any confirmation, please have your superiors send it our way,” Steve commanded and Bucky could tell that his friend was just as curious as he was. The officer scurried away and the three heroes entered the plane.

“Man, something really weird’s going on.” Sam shook his head.

~*~

After driving for almost two hours, you sped into a mostly empty rest area just outside of Scranton, Pennsylvania. You wrapped your still bloody machete in a towel and made sure it was well hidden before draping your leather jacket over your shoulders to hide your wound. God, you hoped your jacket wouldn’t get too bloody. Blood was a bitch to get out and it was a new jacket, your old one having been ripped by a werewolf. 

 The bathroom was empty when you entered and you locked the door behind you. The bleeding had stopped quickly thanks to a magic pendant around your neck. A nice witch, as nice as they could get, gifted it to you in exchange for her own life and for ridding her town of the much more sinister competition. Healing magic was hard so all the pendant did was make you die slower.

You washed out the bite and flushed the used paper towels down the toilet. Leaving bloody towels in the trash for everyone to see wasn’t the best way to keep a low profile, you knew from experience. Then you took the knife that you kept hidden in your boot and cut away three inches of your large flannel shirt to wrap your arm.

Well, it was your brother Sam’s shirt, but he wouldn’t mind. Too much. Well, Sam and Dean were actually your half brothers. John Winchester was your father and his blood in your veins was enough to cause some shit faced demons to target you and your mother… 

Woah, there. No need to wander down memory lane in some dingy rest stop bathroom in Pennsylvania.

You gently eased your arm through your leather jacket. Maybe Cas will be helpful and heal you up when you get back to the bunker. Vampire bites can leave some fucking ugly scars. Satisfied with your work you fixed your hair in the mirror before heading back to your Camaro.

While you were pumping gas for your drive back to the bunker, your mind went back to the three Avengers who had rudely interrupted your hunting trip. Okay, maybe they actually kinda sorta saved you but not really. Honestly, you thought you had it all under control. Dean would get a kick out of the story, you thought as you re-entered your car, drove onto I-81, and pulled up your brother’s contact on your phone. Probably leave out the part about your arm, though. Both of your brothers would flip their shit and ignore the rest of the story.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Dean’s gruff voice came through your phone. “How’re you doing?”

“Great! I’m doing great. Just eradicated a vamp nest in Poughkeepsie.”

“What’s going on?” You heard from the other side after a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh, no,” you quickly corrected. Damn, you’d momentarily forgotten your code. “I was actually working a job in ol’ ‘Keepsie, New York. Swear it.”

“Alright,” Dean responded slowly.

“But you’ll never fucking guess who showed up.”

“Who?”

“Ya don’t wanna take a guess first? No? Alrighty. It was… the fucking Avengers, boom!”

“Really? Like the superhero group?” Dean always liked superheroes even if they were clueless to the supernatural.

“Yeah. It was only three of ‘em, and they tried to shoot a damned vamp, but fuck if it wasn’t cool.”

You held no malice towards them unlike the majority of hunters, but sometimes you wished you would get recognition for your work. All you ever got was wanted posters thanks to some bitch ass leviathan and shifter. The three Avengers probably thought you killed everyone in the bar. Well, you did but they didn’t know the reason. In their eyes, you were a mass murderer. You pointed this fact out to Dean.

“I don’t think they deal with little cases like mass murder or strange deaths. That’s why we’ve never run into ‘em before.”

“What a world we live in where mass murderers are ‘little cases.’”

“Yeah, yeah. If they do start looking, all you gotta do is lay low for a while. Sit out on a couple of hunts.”

“Ight.” Damn those words you say as a joke but then actually become a part of your vocabulary. “You won’t be able to keep me benched, but I doubt it’ll ever come to that.”

~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~

Tag List (strike though means tag didn’t work):

@grav3dollie-666

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Eleven): Angels of Doubt, Bearing Broken Halos

Notes; The chapter title is pretentious as fuck, but I don’t care. I’m very happy with the beginning of this chapter so I’m very excite to finally let y’all read it fully. Overall, this chapter definitely is more of the build up that this uhhhh nice little religious family mayyyyyhaps be a bit less nice than originally thought.

Word Count:  10451

Chapter Warnings: Cult Angels, Animal Death (in the context of dangerous wildlife needing to be put down), A Judge Wolf, Indoctrination, Assault, Me Awkwardly trying to write himbo Nick Rye for the first time

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

They don’t go to The Spread Eagle that night, staying too late making plans. But it’s all for the best in the end, Casey would be more busy in the evening and if she’s interrupting his work, he’ll be less likely to listen. It’ll be easier to talk to him tomorrow just as the bar opens, before anyone arrives and during down time. Regardless, when she comes back to the trailer park. She breaks next to the registration building, checking her mailbox in case Cassie or Joseph had wrote her back, but no such luck. Maybe it will take a while for them to even get it?

A breeze passes through as she leaves the building, that familiar flower smell itching at her nose. The trailer park has fields of those white flowers surrounding it, the delicate petals seem ghostly in the moonlight. Moonflowers, the trailer park has to be named after them, these flowers that haunt her in her dreams. A shift of movement, far back in the expanse of flowers catches her eye. Someone tending to the flowers with a hoe, but she doesn’t know anyone in the trailer park who takes care of the flowers. Surely, if they had a grounds keeper, they’d start with the trash within area; not the flowers surrounding it. 

Dahlia decides to park her bike before investigating, not wanting to leave it in the open while she journeys through the flowers. She pulls out her phone once she’s parked, tucking one earbud in. If only to ease her nerves as she walks to confront the odd stranger. 

“When you told me I should text your brother.

I was walking with a blunt in my hand.

Double Jameson was in the other.

I was drinking like a spiritual man.”

She stands at the edge of the field of flowers, little the scent tickle her nose, watching the…person in the distance. Their gender, or at least presentation of it, unidentifiable. She blinks her eyes, when did she start seeing spots? Her tension eases, body and mind relaxing. 

“I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room.

I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room”

And she walks further through the flowers, brushing through them, fractals blurring her vision with every step. Her head swims and floats away, fuzzy as the smell surrounds her. She drags her fingers along the blossoms as she walks, grounding herself with their velvet touch, the contrast of her black painted fingernails against them. 

“And I could barely stand

He said, "Get some water, man"

'Cause they don't understand

I'm not what they think I am”

As she nears them with every unsteady step, she sees them more clearly. And truly they’re a ghastly sight. Shaved head and dirty white clothes; the smell of the flowers strengthens as she nears them, turning acrid with an edge. That smell comes from them, like they’d bathed in chemicals infused with the flowers. The mask latched around their grime coated face, covering their mouth is marked with the Eden’s Gate symbol. They pay her no mind, focused on tending to the moonflowers, their eyes are glazed nearly white and milky. Like Dahlia’s eyes looked her first night in Hope County, when she dreamed of Faith despite having never met her. 

“They can never ever understand me, no

What I came from, what I was before”

“Are you…okay?” She asks them, despite her own swimming vision and weak knees. 

“HelpmeFaithhelpmeFaithshieldmefromsorrow.” 

They grumble, not sing, the lyrics to one of Eden’s Gate’s songs. Their voice a rasp as if they can hardly breathe, each word running into the other, energy manic.  The moonlight shining on gaunt cheeks and white eyes makes them look dead, a walking corpse before her. She reaches out, gingerly touching their shoulder, hoping touch can break through whatever state they’re in. 

And then they scream, swing the garden hoe and bashing it against the side of Dahlia’s head. She’s knocked to the ground, head hitting rock and dirt. The creature screams out and jumps on her, trying to maul her. Vacant eyes staring down at her, her body and head too fuzzy to even give it the reaction it deserves. She should be scared, she should be terrified, but she isn’t. 

Gently, she puts her hands on each side of the person’s neck, applying pressure, not enough to strangle but to hold it at slight distance. It tries to dig dirty fingers into her flesh through her jacket, screaming mangled cries of pain or anger, she can’t tell as she looks over its face. The haunting glow of moonlight on their dirty face. 

“How you get to heaven with a broke halo?

How you get to heaven with a broke halo?”

“Help me, Faith,” Dahlia sings the song it used to soothe itself, “help me Faith, shield me from sorrow… From fear of tomorrow…”

And a switch has been flipped, it stops screaming. Body going lax, fingers no longer trying to tear her apart as she sings the church song, own voice overlapping the contrasting melody of her music. 

“Help me Faith, help me Faith, shield me from sadness…From worry and madness…” 

And it’s slipping out of her loosening hold and climbing off her, resuming it’s gardening work, as if she never existed at all. On trembling legs and with her vision still blurring, she leaves, not sure of what else to do. A part of her knows she should be more panicked, more concerned, more anything, but then she takes another inhale the floral scent around her and she can’t find the energy. It fades as she leaves the flowers and their scent behind, vision steadying as she enters her trailer, the full reality dawning on her just as she shuts the door behind her. 

“What the actual fuck!?” She screams at her empty living room, because what the actual fuck did she just see?  Her mouth is dry and her brain a mess as distress finally shines through the haze. 

Dahlia digs her phone out, shutting off her music and doing a search. Her vision is still fuzzy with prisms of shifting colors, body still light and floaty. They were there the first time she saw Faith, they constantly itch her nose and make her eyes see things. The church compound was covered in bushels of them.  

Moonflowers, she searches, and sure enough the images show the white trumpet shaped blossoms. Also called datura, angel trumpets and it’s down a rabbit hole. They’re toxic and hallucinogenic, can be harvested for either medication or poison. Scopolamine and atropine are in them; Dahlia does not even remotely know jack shit about chemistry. But a quick search shows scopolamine has been used in everything from nausea medicine to truth serum. So…she may have just hallucinated the person? From the flowers… but when she touches her forehead, where the person stuck her, blood stains her fingers. She really did get hurt…

Dahlia grabs her sketchbook, sitting down on the floor before her coffee table as she’s done so many times before, and she draws what she saw. Painstakingly she tries to recreate them, to draw the gaunt of their cheeks and the grime on their skin. To catch the white emptiness of their eyes. And she dates the drawing, scratching out the date in as neatly as she can. And on the next page she draws her first weird dream, sketching herself vomiting flowers and blood, those moonflowers. She adds the rough date she remembers it happening in the corner when she’s satisfied. Then she draws herself burnt and marred with flowers blooming from her mangled remains, hand moving of it’s own accord to match the details, shutting out the rest of the world as she works to carefully craft every line. She dates it as well and then draws the newest one, smears of ink on bare skin with flowers blooming from them. 

Once each image is created with a date etched in its corner, she sits back and rakes a hand through her hair. She’s had nightmares before this, certainly, but never as frequent or vivid as these. Flowers are the recurring theme and she’s not sure why; maybe the datura are doing it? The scent of them always present, making her sleeping brain conjure odd images. She already has a list of things to do; the apple festival is the highest priority, but she still wants to know what each flower means and what on earth is working in those flower fields, what connection it has to Eden’s Gate. 

She’s exhausted, graphite from her pencil smudged and sticking to her hand. But she feels more at ease having put her demons into art, having created something out of this. There’s still a lot of questions in her mind. This constant back in forth of trusting the church only to doubt them again is frustrating. 

Dahlia barely manages not to fall asleep in the shower that night, exhaustion clinging heavy to her leaden muscles and pulling at her eyelids when she lays down on her couch. 

The junior deputy is running on two hours of sleep, coffee, and an energy drink the next morning. But that doesn’t stop her from swinging into The Spread Eagle as soon as it opens, Pratt in tow since they’re technically on shift. 

“Something wrong, deputies?” Mary May asks when they stride in, Dahlia can already see Casey through the kitchen window, prepping food for the later in the evening. 

“No, we actually just wanted to talk to you and Casey about something.” 

“What’s up?” Mary May raises an eyebrow and the chef’s head perks up. 

Dahlia explains Debbie and Doug’s situation, that John is trying to buy them out, at the very mention of the Seed sibling’s name she can see Mary May tense. But the tension lessens, smiles on the bartender and cook’s face when the deputy mentions their plans for an apple festival. 

“I know we could use more cooks selling food there and Debbie mentioned you work with the Testy Festy, Casey.” 

“Plus, figured the band that plays here, might be willing to work a night or two if you talked to ‘em Mary May.” 

“Look, you had me at pissing off John Seed,” Mary May says, grinning, “I’ll talk to the band and Casey, you damn well better help them out.” 

“Come around here, sister,” Casey calls out, voice deep and booming as she walks around into the kitchen already warm as starts prepping food, he spares her a glance as he minces vegetables, “your destiny hangs off you like a coat, the soul of a warrior, and the heart of a hero.” 

Dahlia blinks, taken aback by his unabashed and weirdly soulful compliments. She doesn’t really believe in destiny nor does she see herself as a warrior or hero, but she certainly appreciates the thought. Her heart, that of a hero apparently, warms and she smiles after another second.

“So…you’ll help?” 

“It’s important for people to gather, to bond, and feel a sense of community.  I’ll call Deb and Doug to offer any help I can.” 

“Thank you so much!” Dahlia grins: Casey is definitely an odd duck, but he cares about the community and willing to help. So, a fantastic guy in her book. 

“Happy to help, sister.” 

First two people dragged into their plan, Pratt and Dahlia give some friendly goodbyes before being on their way. This is already coming together and Stray is nearly vibrating with excitement as they leave the bar. 

The pair continue to do their patrol while swinging in to talk with folks about the festival. They swing by Lorna’s Truck Stop, Dahlia unable to resist snapping a picture of the giant cheesy cow statue outside of it before they walk in, door chiming.  An older woman is talking to someone in a green hood, the woman with chubby cheeks and blue eyes pushing a little bag of mini pies into the hooded person’s bruised hands. 

“Here you go, Jess, on the house as always.” 

“Thanks,” the hooded girl responds, an awkward gruff to the words before she leaves. When Dahlia catches a sight of her, Jess has a face of mottled bruises and cuts. 

“Anything I do for you, Deputies?” 

“We were hoping you could help us out, Lorna,” Pratt starts. 

And just like Casey and Mary May; Lorna’s all bright smiles and kind eyes, happy to help. Even pushing bags of the free small handmade pies into the deputy’s hands before they go. There is something undeniably heartwarming at everyone’s willingness to help. She crams one of the little pasties into her mouth, sugary berries on her tongue as they get back into the cruiser. 

The shift passes by with ticketing traffic violations and stopping in to rope people into helping out. Hudson and Brennan sending texts letting Dahlia know that Grace has agreed to help and Adelaide will too if only so her boytoy Xander can have a smoothie stand during the festival. Riding through the valley, Dahlia sees a billboard advertising gun lubricant, Grace Armstrong’s face plastered on it, though her eyes on the board seem off. Dahlia too far away to put her finger on it, but it looks like that part of the advert has been damaged.  An award-winning sniper and veteran; well loved in the community. Dahlia only saw a glimpse of her at the barbecue, talking with Hudson, but it seems clear just how important she is to the county. 

Within an hour of their shift ending, Doug and Debbie have them called out to the orchard. Their smiles are bright, the middle-aged couple holding each when the deputies pull in. Pratt’s still trying to pretend to have a grumpy face but there’s still a slight smile pulling at his lips as they get out of the cruiser. 

Arms are wrapping around Dahlia in a second, Debbie pulling her into a tight hug, the young deputy tenses hands hovering awkwardly at the woman’s sides. 

“Thank you, so much,” Debbie says, pulling away but her hands still on Dahlia’s shoulders, “we’ve been getting calls all day, everyone wants to help us do this, thank you so much.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s no problem…just happy to help,” Dahlia flusters under the attention, proud of what she’s done, but squirming under the weight of gratitude. 

“Well, we certainly appreciate it,” Doug tells her with a smile, “but we called you out ‘cause we got some flyers made, figure’d it help advertise, though word of mouth already seems to be doing us a lot of good.” 

“We could definitely hand them out, see if some places are willing to hang them up too.” 

“And now we’re the flyer brigade,” Pratt grumbles under his breath and Dahlia jabs her elbow into his side. 

“I’ve already been coming up with everything I wanna sell at the festival, but if you two have some free time Sunday, I could use some taste testers too,” Debbie offers, with a smile, “least I can do is feed you for all your help.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dahlia agrees readily. 

“I…could probably swing by.” Pratt tries so hard to sound above it all, but free apple pie can apparently draw even him in. 

“Can’t wait to see you both then!” 

They wave goodbye to the couple, Dahlia packing the flyers with her into the cruiser car. The ending hours of their shift and the day is spent finding places to hang them up. Mary May posting them in The Spread Eagle, hanging in the window of the garage and general store, Whitehorse even letting it be posted up in the window of the department.  Dahlia’s ride home that night takes longer as she stops at places to ask if they’d hang up the advertisement; after getting Lorna’s Truck Stop and Audrey’s Diner to put them up. Dahlia stops at the Hollyhock Saloon, bartender agreeing to hang it up in the small bar, the rookie deputy giving a quick hello to Brennan and some of the other officers gathered at his table. The 8-bit Pizza bar hangs them up without any question, happy to help, and Dahlia manages to convince Darcy to hang it up in the registration building of the trailer park before she heads in for the night. Dahlia crashes easily that night, sleep finding her as soon as she hits the couch.  

The next day Stray is hit with déjà vu as they’re called out to deal with Eden’s Gate blocking another road. She’s still not sure why this is apparently a thing they do. And to her misfortune it’s not Waylon or members of the church she likes waiting behind the cement block when they pull up this time; but Theodore and Lonny. Because of course. 

“Deputies,” Lonny forces a smile, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Well, you’re breaking the law, so there’s that,” Pratt says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yeah, heard you two gave some of our members a hard time about blocking off a road,” Theodore comments, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’ll refer you back to the fact it’s against the law,” Dahlia grumbles, “why on earth are you blocking the road anyway?”

“Got some property nearby that needs some work.” 

“The church own a lot a property?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, that was Waylon’s reasoning too. 

“Soon to be even more when John secures the orchard for us,” Lonny has too wide of a grin as he looks Dahlia over, “though rumor has it some little cop is trying to get in the way.” 

“Irrelevant, you’re breaking the law. Just scram and there won’t be any issues.”

“Look, h-“ 

“We’ll be going then, deputy,” Theodore puts a hand on Lonny’s back, reigning him in. Though the way Lonny sneers tells Dahlia that their conflict is only resolved for the moment. 

Regardless, Pratt and her watch as the men yet again pack away the blocks and clear the road out. Dahlia still can’t quite figure out why on earth they’d need to or would want to block the roads. Between that and the strange person she saw in the flowers, bearing the churches symbol, things just seem to get weirder and weirder. She considers for a moment asking the church members there about the person with the shaved head, but she has a feeling asking more questions will just put her higher up on Lonny and Theodore’s shit-lists. 

“Still don’t get why they keep blocking the roads,” Dahlia comments when they get back in the patrol car. 

“They’re assholes, what more reason they need.” Pratt shrugs before starting the cruiser engine and Dahlia just doesn’t feel like it’s that simple. 

“Well, if they do it again, we don’t really have a choice but to arrest ‘em do we?” 

“Can’t let them get away with shit forever; three strikes seem fair.” 

Questions still run through her mind; but there’s no way of getting answers at the moment, left to bury her curiosity as they leave back down the winding roads. Hours pass and bright blues shift to pastel pinks as the sun sets upon Hope County. 

That evening at The Spread Eagle, she’s listening to Pratt and Hudson argue about something; she can’t even be sure what but she’s just amused to not be at the butt of the humor tonight. She’s cramming fries into her mouth when she feels eyes on her. 

“That’d be her right there,” Mary May says, pointed out at Dahlia as she talks to a man the young officer has only seen in passing. Shaggy dark hair under a cap and beard on his face, though the last time she saw him he’d been wearing glasses. She thinks it’s Nick, only having seen a glance of him at his own barbecue. 

“If I’m in some sort of trouble, I’d like fair warning, Mary May.” Dahlia comments, unsure why anyone would be trying to find her in a crowd. The blonde’s smile eases her nerves as she comes across the bar, the man walking Dahlia’s way. 

“No trouble, Deputy, Nick here was just wanting to know which one of you started the apple festival. He’s going fly a banner ad around for Debbie and Doug.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome.” 

“I just wanted to find out who was helping them out, Nick Rye,” he introduces himself, sticking his hand out for her to shake. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” 

“I’ve been crop dusting for Doug and Debbie for years, last thing anyone needs is for John to get his hands on that place.”

“That seems to be most people’s sentiment.” 

“Told ya just about everyone is sick of his shit,” Mary May says with a shake of her head, “it’s about time he doesn’t get what he wants.” 

“That son of a bitch has been hounding me and Kim for months now, trying to buy our place.”  Nick’s jaw clenches, irritation coming off him in waves. 

“I know Kim damn near broke his nose for it.” 

“Wait what?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow; how often does John harass people? 

“Listen to this,” Nick gesture emphatically, now sitting down next to Dahlia, “asshole shows up to the house while I’m gone, trying to bully Kim into selling the damn place, while she’s pregnant. What kind of sick fuck shows up at a man’s house while he’s gone and tries to strongarm his wife into signing the place over. Fuckers lucky I wasn’t home.” 

“You not being home was kind of the point of when he showed up.,” Mary May reminds him, “besides, no offense, but even ready to pop I think I trust Kim’s right hook protected her more than yours ever could.” 

“Now, that’s just mean,” Nick says with a slight pout to his face, reminding Dahlia of a tall puppy dog. 

“It’s okay Nick, anything you lack in strength you make up for in…” Mary May seems to have to search for the next word, normally brains would be the natural contrast, “well, you just keep being you.” 

“Never really thought about being anyone else; well except maybe an eagle, but I don’t think that counts.”  

“No, it doesn’t really count, Nick,” Mary May says with a slight laugh.

Dahlia stifles her own laugh raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous turn of the conversation. Nick is sweet and willing to help out with the festival, so she won’t spend too much time questioning his desire to be an eagle. It’s not long before Pratt and Hudson fall into conversation with the pilot; allowing Dahlia to comfortably settle into the background as the night winds down.

It’s not even the noon the following day before things around Hope County manage to pick up pace.  Sirens and lights flashing as Pratt rushes them up north towards the mountain; there’s a palpable tension. Crisis situations are rare; most days filled with handing out traffic tickets and dealing with roadblocks. Hell, the county is boring enough that the sheriff would allow them to actively work on a festival during shift hours. So, a call requesting EMS, all deputies and units, and the F.A.N.G Center; is definitely out of the normal. 

They see the gathering of people as they pull up, Whitehorse is talking with workers in F.A.N.G Center shirts, Hudson and other officers gathered around and EMS workers carrying someone into the back of an ambulance. 

“Pratt, Rookie; over here now!” The sheriff calls out for them and they rush over. 

“What’s going on?” Pratt is the one to ask. 

“Wolf, possibly rabid, but we don’t know. It attacked a pair of hikers. We tried to tranq it but nothing is bringing it down, we gotta find it and put it down before it hurts anyone else.” The F.A.N.G Center employee explains to them. 

“No way to get around killing it?” Dahlia asks, she understands it can’t always be avoided, but she would prefer not to.  

“We hit that damn thing with enough tranq to take down an elephant and it still tried to maul us before running off; tried to get it with a snare pole and it broke it. We can’t rehabilitate an animal we can’t get near and if we let it go; it’ll hurt someone else.” 

“You heard the man, alright,” Whitehorse’s voice booms as he starts addressing everyone, commanding attention “we got a wolf to find, grown wolf, white fur and aggressive. I want everyone to stay in groups; we have tranquilizers, snare poles, and what’s used to put ‘em down. We want to try to do it as humanely as possible but protect yourselves and keep an ear to your radio. We need to make sure the trails are safe and can’t let anyone else get bit; move out!”

The deputies are given tranquilizer guns, the snare poles, and syringes filled with pentobarbital. Though, given what they’ve been told, she’s not completely sure how effective any of it will be. If the wolf has enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant in it already and is still moving; as well as having previously broken one of the snare poles, then how on earth is any of this suppose to work? 

But she doesn’t voice these concerns as she follows after Pratt, Hudson, and another police officer tagging along so they can maintain a decent sized group per Whitehorse’s instructions. 

The mountains are beautiful, she thought that when she’s gone hiking before, but even during this tense situation she finds herself amazed by how gorgeous it is. Bright green summer grass and towering trees as far as the eye can see. Mountains that reach up to kiss the bright blue sky. 

Dahlia stays at the back of the group, letting Pratt and Hudson lead as she keeps her ears and eyes peeled for anything suspicious. The sneer pole is across her shoulders, her wrists on top and holding it there as she walks. She half listens to Pratt and Hudson talk; something about people making up werewolf rumors because the wolves have been acting wilder and wilder lately. She’s reminded of her meal at the Grill Steak, that man who warned a group of people about wolves. He claimed they were trained by Eden’s Gate; but those still just sound like conspiracy theories. 

Tension crawls up Stray’s spine, skin forming goosebumps at the sensation of being watched, then the sound of snapping branches coming from forests that surround the trail she walks along. She moves without thinking, leaving the trail and her group behind, following where she heard the noise. 

Branches and brush scratch at her arms as she ventures deeper into the wooded area; then she sees his back. Jacob Seed, why does there always seem to be a member of their family just around the corner when trouble happens? 

“Something you need,” he says, not bothering to turn and face her, examining his red rifle. 

“You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“I shouldn’t be,” he spares her a glance over his shoulder, blue eyes rife with condescension, “last time I checked it’s a free country, ain’t it?” 

“That’s not what I mean. There’s a wolf running around; possibly rabid. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.” 

And he laughs; dry and deep, the sound making her raise her eyebrows. Why is the idea of being mauled by a rabid wolf so funny to him?

“You worrying about me?” He asks, finally turning to face her in full, shifting the bright red gun to the holster on his back. 

“I mean, yes? My job is keeping the public safe and you are a member of the public.” 

“Pfff, you’re just a pup,” he says walking past her, “be better off watching out for yourself.” 

His hand is large and rough as it ruffles her hair while he walks by; his palm and fingers nearly encompassing the entire top of her head. His hand is probably bigger than her face she realizes, heat flushing up her face though she’s not sure of why. He’s so condescending and patronizing and fucking giant; the last point isn’t entirely relevant but it’s still true. 

“I’m a deputy, don’t patronize me.” She says, reaching up to grab his hand from her head, capturing it in her own. His rough scarred hand is nearly double the size of her own; warm calloused skin against her own. 

“You having fun there?” He asks, when she doesn’t let go of his hand right away, instead pressing her small hand back against his palm, comparing the immense size difference. He really could probably wrap one hand around her entire head. 

“Your hands are so big, wow.” 

“’Preciate it pup.”  

And he laughs again, still dry and brief in it’s sound, pulling his giant hand from her smaller one before he leaves. She glares at his back; corded muscle shifting beneath his black tee shirt. Despite her pout, she can understand why he’d see her unable to defend herself in comparison to him. She’s been confident in her physical abilities for a while; but she imagines a man like Jacob isn’t scared of anything. 

“Rook, where the hell are you?” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio as Jacob walks off. 

“There was a hunter out here, I was warning him about the wolf,” Dahlia explains herself, she wasn’t suppose to leave the group per Whitehorse’s orders, but no one could blame her for warning a civilian. There’s something odd about thinking of Jacob as just a hunter or civilian; though she’s not quite sure why. 

“We’re in the woods near the Visitor’s Center, get over here, you pain in the ass.” 

The radio crackles out and Dahlia gets on her way; she knows the Visitor’s Center is south of where she is. Though she has no sense of direction, so that has little bearing on her ability to find it. She hikes down, feeling that’s the closest approximation to south that she can get, sticking a little closer to the woods than the paths. She prefers the shade and atmosphere of being surrounded by the trees. 

But the further she travels down, the sparser the trees grow, exposing Dahlia to the sun. Green grass and branches crushing underfoot as she stumbles down the terrain. She can just imagine Pratt and Hudson’s frustration, but warning someone about a rabid wolf is certainly understandable.

A drawn-out howl echoes through the woods, making the deputy freeze. Sunlight is warm on her face and stinging at her eyes as she turns towards the sound. A spire of craggy rocks coming off the mountain; the silhouette of a wolf howling with the sun behind it. She uses her hand to shield from the sunlight, straining to see more detail. Seven distinct darts stick from the wolves back; tranquilizers. 

Dahlia quickly tugs her uniform shirt off from over her black tank top, wrapping the fabric around her forearm. Not quite the cushioned guard they use for training police dogs, but it will provide some barrier between it’s bite and her skin. Worse case scenario, she’ll be taking rabies shots once everything is done. She holds the syringe of pentobarbital in one hand, she has her firearm too if that’s unable to bring the wolf down, but she prefers to let it go peacefully if she can. 

She stays crouched down as she approaches the peaked edge of the mountain, craggy rock building up to a spire, levels to climb up to reach the clearing where the wolf sits. Dahlia stays low as she climbs, moving as quietly as she can, using a blue grappling hook handle to help lift herself up to the final level. There’s a gap in the clearing; a log showing a passage between craggy rock to craggy rock; boulders surrounded by grass. She can see the wolf, but it’s yet to noticed her, another howl echoing out as it cries out to the sky. 

It’s beautiful and she’s all at once ashamed that it has to be put down. Matted white fur with a black nose and lips; it’s eyes are luminously silver, like moonlight. Red is mottled across it’s face, red frothing around it’s mouth, as well as a brighter crimson stroked across it’s brow and down it’s nose. Across it’s furred shoulder blade and spine are seven different tranquilizer darts that were shot at it, how has it not passed out? It doesn’t see her not right away, then it’s nostrils twitch and it’s lips pull back to snarl, red tinged drool dripping down it’s maw. Then it’s gaze is on her, growling and baring it’s teeth. 

And then it pounces.  

She puts up her cloth wrapped forearm, the force of it’s body hitting hers knocks her onto her back. It’s teeth snap into the fabric, as it tries to chew through her arm, the edges of fangs just grazing the flesh beneath. One large paw presses against her wrist, attempting to pin her limb down so it can rip the meat off her bones. 

Dahlia pulls back the plunger on the syringe before slamming the needle into the thick of the wolves neck, sinking through fur and flesh before she pushes the chemical through. The wolf snarls through it’s bite on it, then she watches that shine in it’s silver eyes die. It’s mouth goes slack and then it’s body falls limp on top of her. 

The deputy pushes the wolves dead weight off of her, getting up onto her feet, she touches the torn shirt wrapped around her forearm. Drool and blood has stained the green, small damage done to her skin under. It stings but nothing she can’t deal with; the idea of getting rabies shots worries her more. She crouches over the wolf and looks at it’s face, the red around it’s mouth is darker, rusted and clearly blood. But the brighter more purposeful crimson looks like paint. 

She remembers the warnings she overheard in the Grill Steak before; someone warning conservationists about wolves owned by Eden’s Gate. Though, he called them a cult. It’s not for sure or a real connection; conspiracy theories and paint. But, who could have gotten close enough to paint the wolf’s face? Who would want to? 

“Rookie,” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio. 

“Pratt…” 

“Rook, if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Hudson threatens in the background. 

“Please, she’d probably like that.” 

Dahlia’s face flushes at Pratt’s teasing, she can’t say he’s completely wrong, but that’s not the point.  She hefts the wolf’s corpse up onto her shoulder, carrying it’s heavy weight, the head of the furry creature beside her head. It’s fur is soft and thick despite the matted nature. She’s not big on hunting culture, but the wolf would make a nice rug. 

“I got the wolf,” she says into her radio, holding it in one hand while the other keeps the carcass steady on her shoulder as she carefully makes her way down the craggy rocks. 

“What?” 

“I got the wolf,” she repeats to Pratt’s flat question. 

“What? Wh-where the fuck are you?.” 

“I’m on a big ass like spirally mountain thing.” 

“That tells us literally nothing,” Hudson informs her.

“Uhhhh,” Dahlia looks over the edge, of the elevated mountainside, “I think I see a helipad nearby?” 

“Fuck, I know where you are, stay put. Okay, do not approach the wolf.” 

“Uhhh, I think you misunderstood me.” 

“What do you mean?” Pratt asks and she can just imagine his raised eyebrow. 

“I mean, I got the wolf, I already put it down. We can call off the search, but, uh, I think we have bigger issues.” 

“Did you get hurt again?” 

“Hey,” she objects to his tone, “you make it sound like I’m always getting hurt.” 

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No, I did not get…seriously hurt.” 

“Oh lord,” Hudson grumbles in the background. 

“Look, that’s not the issue, alright. Just get up here and let Whitehorse know what’s going on, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Dahlia finds a steady rock in the clearing to pull herself up onto as she waits, since apparently Hudson and Pratt have figured out where she is. She tries to look for anything else on the wolf that could indicate it being owned; but nothing. Dahlia does find herself wondering why it’s fur is white? Aren’t white wolves usually those in snowy climates, for camouflage? 

She doubts she’ll receive any answers, so she tries to quiet her mind. The sun warms her skin where she sits on the rock, white wolf still up on her shoulder, ripped uniform shirt still wrapped around her forearm. It all forms an odd picture, she’s certain. 

It’s less than an hour or so before she hears the rustle of footsteps; Hudson and Pratt along with the other officer walking up the way to her. Pratt just stops a second and shakes his head, Hudson is rolling her eyes. 

“Hello,” Dahlia says with a soft wave. 

“What the actual fuck, Rook?” 

And she cracks up; unable to help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation and Hudson’s flat response. She may have already hit the highlight of her career here. 

“Stop laughing; it’s not funny, you could have gotten seriously hurt!” Pratt tries to scold her but he’s laughing through his words, the oddity of it all must be hitting him as well. Dahlia presses a hand to mouth to try and stifle her laughter as Hudson gets her radio out. 

The senior deputy radios Whitehorse, letting him know they’ve gotten the wolf. He tells them where to meet him with the body, so the veterinarian and F.A.N.G Center workers can examine it. Dahlia will be reliant on actually listening and following obediently behind the older deputies.

“C’mon, Rookie, let go.”

“Alright.” Dahlia hops down from her rock and starts to follow after them down the mountain. 

“You need help packing that?” Pratt offers, probably because the wolf is nearly the length of her entire body. 

“Nah.” 

“You just feel cool packing the wolf on your back, don’t you?” Hudson is the one to call her out, raising her eyebrow with a soft smirk on her lips, looking entirely too pretty. 

“Uhhh….” 

“God, you’re a dork.” 

“I can’t really argue with that,” Dahlia admits with a red face and shrug of her shoulders, happy to see Pratt and Hudson smiling at her dorkiness. 

“What happened with the hunter you were warning?” Pratt asks after a beat of silence as they keep walking, helping her over a craggy step with a hand on her hip to keep her steady as the weight of the wolf limits her movements.  

“Uh, asshole just patronized me and left. I don’t know why I still talk to him, he’s always a dick,” she says, rolling her eyes when she thinks about Jacob calling her a pup. He likes to comment on her being a puppy a lot. 

“Someone you knew?” Hudson asks, offering a hand to help Dahlia get over a large branch in the way of the path. The ease at which the two older deputies silently help her, makes a soft smile pull at Dahlia’s lips. Silently grateful for them as she answers their questions. 

“Jacob Seed.” 

“Seriously?’ 

“What?” 

“You don’t find it a little fuckin’ weird how the Seeds are always around you?” 

“I mean, they’re not around me anymore than anyone else.” 

“They really fucking are; you went to the barbecue, John jumped at the chance to rope you into that.” 

“Churches like new blood, it’s n-“ 

“You’ve apparently talked to Jacob more than once; I didn’t even know he could talk,” Hudson says rolling her eyes, “all he ever does at anyone outside the church is glare.” 

“She’s talked to Faith a lot too, apparently.” 

“I still don’t even know where she fucking came from.” 

“I’m still not fully convinced she isn’t a ghost,” Pratt tells Hudson. 

“She’s not a ghost,” Dahlia says with a roll of her eyes. 

“And you would know, because they cling to you like leeches, right?” 

“Shut up.” 

“You know what I think it is,” Hudson says after a moment, “you put up with Joseph’s creepy ass speeches and they realized you’d put up with anything.” 

“He’s not….that…creepy…” Dahlia says with zero conviction, because, well. He’s definitely off, but despite all the weird little red flags, he did help her and Cassie. So, he can’t be all bad. Even if his brother is taking people’s shit…and well…she still doesn’t know what the hell was up with the shaved head person. 

“You can’t even say that with a straight face.” 

“Look, we’ve had run ins with him before, he’s the weirdest creepiest person in this whole damn county and that is saying something,” Hudson shudders, “I’d take Zip lecturing me on being a government shill for nine hours over Joseph even looking at me for even a second.” 

“His stare is weirdly intense…” 

“All of them are weird; John’s skeevy, Jacob looks like he skins people alive in his spare time…Faith’s kinda cute, but at what cost,” Pratt tells her and eh, Faith’s not really her type. The Church Mouse is pretty, but a bit too delicate for the young deputy to really get those weird stomach feelings she gets around women like Hudson or Mary May. 

“Really, I didn’t think you liked women who are taller than you?” Hudson asks. 

“Faith is like barely taller than me,” Dahlia says with a snort, watching the pure look of offense on Pratt’s face, how could she be taller than Pratt? 

“How short do you think I am, Joey?’ 

“What?” Hudson raises an eyebrow, confused by their confusion, “ heard she was like six foot something with black hair.” 

“She’s like this tall,” Pratt puts his hand maybe two inches above Dahlia’s head, “and blonde.” 

“Kinda blonde,” Dahlia corrects, thinking of the youngest Seed siblings dirty blonde hair that fades to a slightly light color at the ends. It toes the line between brown and blonde fairly well. 

“Whatever.” 

“Someone told me she was taller than John, I know they did, am I losing my mind?” Hudson tries to think for a moment; gears visibly turning behind her green eyes. 

“Did you ever really have it?” Pratt taunts her. 

“Keep it up, asshole, see what fuckin’ happens.” 

The trio makes it down to where the sheriff asked, a parking place within the northern area of the county with little gas pumps but not much else. The F.A.N.G Center employees and the veterinarian with a stethoscope around his neck waiting for them as they make their way over. A worker with the center helps get the stiffening wolf off of Dahlia’s back, putting it into the back of a van so they can take it to be examined. 

“Good work, Deputies,” Whitehorse congratulates them and Dahlia grins at the praise. 

“To be completely fair,” Hudson interjects, “it was Rook who was able to get him.” 

“Hey, we helped…move the body…” Pratt jokes, in their own ways they’re both ensuring Dahlia gets her due credit and she can’t help but smile. 

“Well, outstanding work, Rookie.” 

“Thanks, but uh, I’m kind worried about something.” 

“What’s that?’ The sheriff asks, the attention of him, the veterinarian, and center workers all falling on Dahlia. 

“The wolf has paint on it’s face, like a cross or something…which kinda makes me think someone owned it or…something?’ 

“Yeah, that’s definitely not all blood.” A worker looking over the wolf’s face in the van confirms. 

“There’s nothing else on it, but we definitely will have to keep that in mind.” 

“But, uh, what happens from here?” Dahlia asks. 

“I’ll test to see if it’s rabid or if anything else might be the cause for the aggression,” the veterinarian, his name tag she finally catches says Dr. Charles Lindsay, “I’ll let the hospital know and if needed, the hiker will get treated for rabies.” 

“Ah, uhh, is there any possible way you could let us know at the same time…well let me know…?” 

“Why…?” 

“I may have been slightly bit.” 

“Slightly?” Pratt is the one to yell out, incredulous at Dahlia’s description of her injury. 

“Just a little bit,” She brings two fingers close together in front of her for added effect. 

“Jesus fuck, can you just not get hurt for like a week?” 

“No, clearly not.” 

“Pratt, take her out to the clinic,” Whitehorse says with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t need a doctor.” 

“Yes, you do. Even if the bite ain’t too bad, you never know if it’s infected. Not only could the wolf be carrying something, but it had someone else’s blood in it’s mouth. This isn’t optional, Rookie, you’re going to the clinic and that’s an order.” 

Dahlia can’t and won’t argue with the sheriff on that. Instead shrinking slightly at the realization that her own disregard for her own safety has gotten her scolded despite her accomplishment. She doesn’t think about risks to herself; she needed the wolf put down to save others and if the worst case scenario is her own well-being being sacrificed, that’s worth it to help others, isn’t it?

“C’mon, Wolf-Bait lets get going,” Pratt says, giving her a light smack on the shoulder to follow him. 

“I’m coming, asshole.” 

She follows behind Pratt, back to the cruiser where they parked at the beginning of this day. The sun has long since set, the moon now bright and high in the sky as she climbs into the passenger side seat. Unable to stop herself from pouting slightly that she’s being forced to go to the clinic again. Even if she understands why. 

“Hey,” Pratt gets her attention as he starts up the cruiser engine, “if it makes you feel any better. I’ll be happy to put you out of your misery if it turns out to be a werewolf.” 

“Fuck you!” She yells out through a laugh; his dumb joke bringing a smile back to her face as they go off to the clinic. 

She’s at the clinic late that night, her injury doesn’t need stitches just some bandaging, some bloodwork and tests done to account for anything that could be wrong. Then she’s sent home with antibiotics; the entire time Pratt making jokes about werewolves and silver bullets like a nerd.  All that’s left is crashing for the night and eventually hearing if she has rabies. 

Dahlia sleeps easily that night; thanks to her adrenaline crashing down. She sleeps in the night morning, Saturday never being such a blissful treat for her as she manages to not wake up until around noon. 

The young deputy takes her time when she gets up, eating cereal and grabbing a shower. Faith mentioned her being able to see Cassie at the convent this weekend spending a day together, so that’s her plan on top of doing the rounds on roping folks into the Apple Festival. 

The Convent isn’t far from the trailer park, two buildings seated before the edge of a cliff with craggy staggered mountain range covered in trees beside it.  So many mountains and cliffs within the county. The larger of the buildings has dark roofing, a smaller white church with white latticing canopies between them. Like the material used to construct a gazebo and fields upon fields of the white moonflowers. 

Before Dahlia can step too far onto the property, a woman with long baby blonde hair with flower tattoos spiraling up her arms and the sin of GREED across her chest runs up to stop her. 

“Hello, is there something I can help you with?” 

“Yeah, I was here to see Cassie.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but our sister Cassandra is busy today.” 

“Sister?” Dahlia asks, blood running cold for a moment. She can’t seriously mean…Cassie wasn’t interested in joining, she just needed shelter.

“Well yes, she’s opened her heart to the Father, a child of Eden’s Gate now.” 

“Interesting…” Dahlia clenches her jaw, “Faith said that I could come see her today.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible, she’s been busy with finding salvation. She’s with herald John, giving her confession, she can’t possibly be bothered right now.” 

“I-”

“Deputy~!” Faith’s sing song voice rings out and Dahlia can’t help but still feel angry, they were supposed to help Cassie, not convert her. The youngest Seed sibling rushes over, nearly floating with the ethereal energy only she can manage. Her white floral dress of the day has a halter neckline and flowers are woven into her braided hair. 

“Faith…” 

“I’m so sorry; I heard, I know you were excited to spend time with me and Cassie today, but I’m afraid things just became too busy with her deciding to join us here.” 

“Yeah…what the fuck?” 

“Excuse me?” Faith says, her pretty little smile fading for a moment. 

“Cassie needed shelter, not Jesus, so I reiterate…what the fuck?” Dahlia gestures wildly, anger tinging her words. Her blood pressure rising and heat crawling up under her skin like pins and needles. 

“Cassie is an adult, she made a choice to join us. Surely, you can’t deny her that freedom, deputy?” Faith’s face pulls into a pout, making Dahlia feel unreasonable all at once, but Cassie was never interested in the religion aspect. 

“Yes, she’s an adult, but she was vulnerable, and I don’t think leaping into a religion when you’re in a shitty place is the best move. I-I wanna talk to her myself.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that can’t happen, not today. But, maybe next weekend or you could write a letter of course.” 

“She still hasn’t responded to my last letter…” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Faith puts a hand on Dahlia’s shoulder, meant to be comforting but the deputy flinches away, “as I said, it’s been impossibly busy, she’s been studying our beliefs and methods of joining. It’s a long process at times, very time consuming, but I assure you…Cassie opening her heart to the Father doesn’t mean it’s been closed to you.” 

“Yeah, sure, just too busy.” 

“Well, you’ve certainly been busy too, haven’t you?” She tilts her head delicately to the side, still smiling. 

“I have?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow. 

“Mmm hmm, John’s already learned of you helping put together an apple festival.” 

“Oh, yeah, Debbie and Doug wanna save that place so why not, I figure.” 

“Yes, we’ve been hearing all about it, John’s not exactly thrilled.” 

“Nothing personal to it…” 

“I figured, I’m not upset, I promise,” Faith offers a soft smile, “the orchard will end up in the rightful hands no matter what. John just worries a lot about getting land for our church, after all we’re growing by the day and need space for our people.” 

“And Debbie and Doug worry a lot about keeping their livelihood, ya know?” 

“Like, I said, I have no ill will over it, I’m just interested to see you’re so full of surprises.” 

“I am?” 

“Mmm hmm,” she giggles, but offers no more information, like she knows a secret that Dahlia doesn’t. But before Dahlia can ask another question, a sight among the convent makes her breath catch in her throat. 

Shaved head men and women; tending to fields of those flowers, masks across their face. So, they’re definitely with Eden’s Gate as if she really had to question. They work silently, tending to the fields of moonflowers in their white sweaters. 

“Who are they?” Dahlia asks, giving Faith a pointed look. The girl’s eyes move back and forth from the deputy to the workers. 

“Oh, those are our angels,” she answers, grinning, “they’re high ranking members of our church, so devoted to The Father they’ve taken vows of silence and dedicate their lives to helping The Project. Amazing, aren’t they?” 

“Vows of silence, huh?” Dahlia says, more to herself than Faith. Then why did they mumble lyrics and scream out…why would they attack Dahlia? Is Faith lying to her, she’s got to be, right?

“You know, deputy, if you’re so interested in The Project, The Father would still happily let you join our family.” 

“Hmmm, I’m sure, didn’t realize there was a huge process to it though…” Dahlia comments, hoping Faith will elaborate, what the hell kind of hoops did Cassie jump through? Confession, is all she really knows. 

“Well, “ Faith grabs both of Dahlia’s hands in her own, smiling, “we ask for our new family members to prove they see the truth of our faith, to prove their dedication, rid themselves of their sins and make sacrifices in order to truly cut their ties with sin.” 

“That’s-“ 

“Faith, there’s a call from the conservatory!” Someone calls out and Dahlia’s words die on her lips; the notion that Faith’s description is vague and generally unhelpful. 

“I’ll be right there, see you later deputy, hopefully we can meet with Cassie next weekend.” Faith waves her goodbye and then leaves. 

Stray straightens her jacket before leaving the convent, a flood of unanswered questions and doubts in her mind. Everyday something new worries her about Eden’s Gate. If Faith’s lying…that’s fucking bullshit. She doesn’t want to imagine that Faith would lie to her face like that. But, why would their oh so special angels, even the name makes her roll her eyes, be screaming and murmuring despite vows of silences? Why would they attack her?

The rest of her Saturday is spent speaking to people about the Apple Festival, roping Chad from the Grill Steak into it. At least, she believes she did, she’s not completely sure of anything he says. His dialect unintelligible, so she just upped her cajun dialect until she barely knew what she was saying either. Its good busy work, getting places to hang up advertisements, though her heart and mind are somewhere else the entire time. She’s thankful that most people are just genuinely invested in helping; because she certainly isn’t getting by on her charisma. 

Her night is spent with trying to distract herself, but thoughts always coming back to the weirdness of Eden’s Gate, to her doubts. Wondering what exactly led to Cassie’s conversion… She’s being silly, she tells herself time and time again, but something just doesn’t feel right lately. Maybe she’s overeating; seeing connections and red flags where none exists. But, the case remains that no tv, manga, music, or drawing can distract her that night. 

There’s still a slight cloud looming over Dahlia when she arrives at the orchard Sunday, ready to taste Debbie’s baked apple goods. The sun is high in sky and the smell of apples lifts her mood slightly; but she finds herself still distracted as she parks her bike. 

“Deputy!” Debbie greets her and Dahlia gives the warmest smile she can muster. The older woman’s smile helping lift some of that cloud. 

“Hey.” 

“Staci’s already here, c’mon, we’ll sit in the market stall,” Debbie gushes bring Dahlia over to the picnic tables that are under the covering; where they first talked about the festival. 

Pratt is already there; the smell of baked sugar and apples hits Dahlia’s nose before she even sees the array of food Debbie’s put out. Apple pie, apple dumplings, apple scones, and she’s sure that’s just the beginning. 

“Hey dumbass,” Pratt greets her around a mouthful of apple pie as she sits down next to him. 

“You couldn’t wait like five minutes?” 

“Nope.” 

“Ass.” 

The deputy’s feedback is predominantly noises of happiness; neither really food critics but happy to be shoving it in their mouths. The gloomy cloud is starting to lift by the time they’ve finished off a pie; cinnamon, sugar, and apples warm on her tongue. Apple dumplings settle warm in her stomach and she forgets why she was ever upset. The scones are munched down next; cream sticking to her fingers and lips as she eats. 

“God you’re a mess,” Pratt taunts and she sputters a laugh when she turns to face him. 

“You have food in your beard, asshole.” 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and starts wiping at his face. 

The stuff their faces for a long while longer; strudel, apple cake, apple cobbler, candy apples, and fritters. Pratt leans back from the table, pressing a hand to his face after a while. 

“You alright?” Dahlia asks, raising her eyebrow. 

“Debbie is gonna have to roll me out of here at this rate; are you not fuckin’ full yet?” 

“…No…” She pauses, before shoving more cobbler and whip cream in her mouth. Debbie and Dough are off rushing to get more goodies. 

“Jesus fuck, Rook.” 

“You’re just a baby.” 

“Shut up,” he leans back away from the table and runs a hand back into his hair, “hey, Rook?” 

“Hmm?”

“You ever gonna shoot your shot with Joey?” 

“What?!” She chokes on her food, just barely stopping it from flying out of her mouth, where the actual fuck did that come from? 

“Your little crush on her, you ever gonna do something about it?” 

“Like what?” 

“Ask her out, you know, like people do.” 

“Yeah…why the fuck would I do that?” She cannot grasp his logic here. 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that when people have crushes; they ask the person out.” 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that that would be really fucking stupid.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I already know the answer, there’s no way she’d say yes, and frankly if she did I’d be concerned.”

“Concerned?” 

“Yeah, who in their right fuckin’ mind would say yes to me?!” 

“So, you wanna act weird around her forever and never deal with it?” 

“That was the plan.” 

“I’m just saying the sooner you rip the band-aid off, the quicker you can act like a normal person around her.” 

Dahlia sighs, she doesn’t want to act like a freak around Hudson for the rest of her life or for her little crush or whatever to get the way of life. Pratt knows more about this crap than her, because everyone does. So, if he’s saying this would help, maybe it would? But, her brain still is struggling. 

“But I already know she’s gonna say no, you know she’s gonna say no, literally anyone with a functioning braincell knows she’d say no. So, why would hearing her say no make a difference?” 

“Its like closure and shit; I think it’d help.” 

“Ugh, just sounds like an excuse to make an idiot out of myself.” 

“Compared to the genius you usually are?” 

“Fuck off.” 

She swallows down a mouthful of strudel before the conversation can continue, but Pratt’s words stick with her. It’s not as if she needed any more on her mind, but she got it anyway. The two continue taste testing for Debbie, though the subject of Hudson never comes up. She’s not sure why Pratt is suddenly so keen on helping her work through her little crush, a friendly gesture, she figures. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could stop turning into a red-faced mess around the oldest deputy. 

It’s late when they finally finish tasting everything; Dahlia giving friendly goodbyes to Pratt and the couple before she goes back home. Her weekend coming to a close with her falling asleep with a stomach full of baked apples. 

She’s woken up to her phone ringing; instead of her alarm. Dahlia already knows well that despite shift hours, the nature of their work and the higher level of being deputy means that being called out at odd hours is expected. But her blood runs cold when she sees sheriff Whitehorse is the one calling, something is wrong. 

“Sheriff?” She answers, sitting up on the couch. 

“Rook; I already called Pratt and Hudson, I want you all at the clinic now! It’s an emergency!” 

And that’s all she gets before the call ends. She throws on a uniform and runs out the door, jumping on her motorcycle. Mind racing with each passing second. The hurried and frantic tone in Whitehorse’s voice flaring anxiety inside of her. A million possibilities shooting through her mind as she rides towards the clinic; is it about the wolf? Has there been a murder? Is someone she knows hurt? Could it be an officer? 

She’s practically tripping over herself as she climbs off her bike, running into the clinic. The staff is a mess, nurses rushing frantically to attend to someone. Words of transferring, stabilizing, blood transfusion. Something is wrong. Each word swims around her head, but she doesn’t know who they’re talking about. Then she sees Whitehorse, Hudson, and Pratt at the front desk. The three living closer than her. 

“What’s wrong?” Dahlia asks running over; all three’s expressions are tense. Pratt shaking his leg, Hudson digging her nails into her arms until her knuckles turn white, and Whitehorse looking a moment away from collapsing. 

“It’s Pastor Jerome,” Whitehorse tells her, “someone attacked him.” 

“Left for fucking dead,” Hudson interjects, a crack in her voice that Dahlia’s never heard before. 

“They’re trying to stabilize him long enough to transfer him to a hospital in Missoula. We need to make sure it stays secure, no telling if whoever did this won’t try to do something again, and we need to be there to ask questions once he’s out of the woods. I don’t want this slipping through the cracks, Jerome’s a good man and he damn well deserves our best effort.” 

“Got it,” Dahlia nods in agreement to the sheriffs words.

Images of the man in the priest collar coming to mind. She’s seen him in passing, never a conversation between the two. But she saw him speak with Whitehorse; Pratt implied that both him and Hudson went to Jerome’s church as kids. He means something to them all and that’s clear in just how serious it’s being taken; obvious in how shaken up they all seem to be. 

She stands next to Pratt, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort, wishing she could offer more. He tries to give her a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, too worried about the pastor. 

Why would anyone attack him? His church is modest, nearly dying out from everything she’s been told, it wouldn’t make sense to rob him. Hope County has some less than accepting residents; but the idea of a potential hate crime is a hard pill to swallow…

All Dahlia can do is wait with her coworkers, listening to the frantic yells of nurses struggling to save a man’s life. Heart in her throat, anxiety telling her that any second this will become a murder investigation as she watches the hands on a clock ticking away…

[inukouga]

memories through song

inuyasha pride month 2020, day 18 - inukog

Kouga plays a quick little tune. “So. What’d ya think?” He takes note of Inuyasha’s ears, which are laying flat against his head at the harsh sounds, and snorts. “That fuckin’ bad, huh?”

“Was a lot worse than I thought you’d do, and that’s saying something.” He hears Kouga laugh.

non au

pairing(s):  inukog (established)

words: 1.4k+

a/n: initially wrote this for inukog week when the prompt was ‘music’ (which is why it’s about what it’s about) and forgot to finish it until it was too late.... but now im finishing it and posting it for inukog day babey!!!! you can read this on ao3 as well! i’m inukouga on there too

“...What’s that?”

They’re resting after a successful hunt, with Kouga lying against Inuyasha’s shoulder as the latter sits against the walls of the cavern.

Kouga sits up and looks over to where Inuyasha’s pointing, and spots what, at first, seems to be a short stick on the cavern ground. He frowns, initially confused, before his eyes light up with recognition as he leans forward to examine it more closely.

“What? Oh, the flute? We use it for certain traditional ceremonies and stuff. Like vigils, marriages, burials and a few others,” He picks up the crudely carved wooden flute and holds it out for Inuyasha to see it better. “ Lots of people in the tribe were taught to play by the elders or their parents. Some of ‘em really end up enjoying it and learn until they master it. Even use it to communicate with ancestors.”

Inuyasha peers at it curiously. “Huh.”

“Was never too good at this,” Kouga says. There are a few things etched on it; Inuyasha can make out strange, foreign symbols he doesn’t understand along with a deep groove that vaguely resembles the silhouette of a howling wolf. “It’s more Hakkaku’s thing.”

“You play?” Inuyasha asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Kinda? Hakkaku taught me how to play a long time ago, but I’m definitely not as good.” Kouga dusts off the mouthpiece and plays a quick little tune. “So. What’d ya think?” He takes note of Inuyasha’s ears, which are laying flat against his head at the harsh, jarring sounds, and snorts. “That fuckin’ bad, huh?”

“Was a lot worse than I thought you’d do, and that’s saying something.” He hears Kouga laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Think you could do better, pup?” Kouga asks. Inuyasha rolls his eyes at the stupid nickname that he’s definitely not secretly fond of.

“Yeah, I mean how hard can it be?” 

“It ain’t as easy as it looks, trust me. ‘Sides, this one isn’t too well made,” He runs a clawed finger along its jagged edges. “One of the younger wolves must’ve made it.”

Inuyasha smirks. “Keep makin’ excuses.”

Kouga scoffs and tries to play another note. It sounds slightly better this time, but Inuyasha still winces exaggeratedly, chuckling when the wolf demon rolls his eyes.

“Oh, quit whinin’, it wasn’t even that terrible that time.”

It honestly hadn’t been. But Inuyasha can’t resist messing with him a little bit.

“Whatever helps ya sleep at night.”

Kouga huffs childishly, turning the flute back and forth in his hands. 

“Well? Ain’t gonna get better just sittin’ there are ya?” He doesn’t even need to turn and look to know that Kouga’s grinning at him, and doesn’t even try to fight off his own small smile. “More you practice, better you’ll get.”

“Tch. If ya wanna hear more so bad, you could just ask.” He brings the flute up to his lips, and after playing a few more notes to warm up, he takes a deep breath as if he’s preparing himself for something. “My, uh, my mother— she used to play this for me when I was a pup,” Inuyasha falls silent, listening attentively. 

Kouga’s mother is a topic that’s rarely brought up by the aforementioned demon himself, and though the rest of the tribe still speak of the previous Chief up now and then, they’re all very careful of what they say when Kouga’s around. 

Inuyasha can tell that though decades have passed since her passing, there’s a part of Kouga that still grieves sometimes. He knows that the suddenness of it and the lack of closure both still haunt him.

“She was... just okay at it, my father was a lot better honestly. She didn’t really have lots of time to practice as the Chief. But she did have this one song she’d play really well. Knocked me right out when I was bein’ a brat and wouldn’t fall asleep.”  He smiles in remembrance.

It’s quiet for a long moment. Sounds of the waterfall right outside the wolf den echo loudly off the rocky walls of the caves amidst the silence. 

Right when Inuyasha’s about to ask if Kouga’s alright, he begins to play.

The first thing that he notes is that the lullaby is nothing complex or grand. The same eight notes are present throughout the whole song, and though the order in which they’re played changes every now and then, the structure of the song remains the same for the most part.

But, despite all of that, it resonates with Inuyasha far more than anything he’s ever heard before, shockingly profound in its simplicity. The melody graces his ears gently, and he finds himself briefly overwhelmed with the sheer amount of everything he’s feeling. He can hear history in it, can see generations of wolf demons, young and old, play this for their kin with a desire for those that came before them to be remembered. He closes his eyes and focuses solely on listening, taking note of the undertones of wistful yearning, and he wonders if it’s present in the original lullaby or if that’s just Kouga letting some of his own emotions bleed into his performance.

Once Inuyasha learns how it goes, he begins to hum along lowly, thinking of warm hands that healed wounds and wiped tears away, whispered words of comfort and brown eyes gazing at him with unadulterated maternal adoration.

He opens his eyes slowly, feeling a little drowsy, and doesn’t even realize Kouga’s stopped playing until the wolf demon lets out a shaky exhale.

“So,” He rasps. “What’d ya think?”

“That wasn’t so bad,” Inuyasha says softly, after a few beats of stunned silence. Words escape him as always, despite how much he wants to say more.

Kouga shrugs. “Definitely not as good as when she did it, but it’s— it’s nice to play it every now and then.”

Inuyasha can’t help but whisper to him. “...You okay?”

“Yeah,” Broad shoulders sag slowly, and then, a long sigh. “Yeah, I am.”

There’s a silence then, and Kouga’s mother’s song keeps playing itself in his head over and over, the gentle tune somehow familiar to him despite never having heard it before. Kouga lies back against Inuyasha’s shoulder as he’d been doing earlier, absentmindedly playing a few notes on the flute. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Inuyasha prompts Kouga to elaborate with a grunt. His tone is lighthearted, and it helps lift the somber mood some. “Think you’d play better than I do?”

Inuyasha wonders if he’d be able to play songs his own mother used to sing to him when he was younger. “If I got Hakkaku to teach me for a bit, I’m sure I’d be able to.” 

It’d never compare to hearing her actual voice, soft and soothing and never failing to make him feel safe when it seemed that the whole world was against him. But it’d be... it’d be another connection he’d have with her. There are parts of the songs that he doesn’t remember, but maybe learning to play them would jog his memory and would ensure they wouldn’t be lost to time. Maybe he could even play them for the younger wolves and share it with them as well, and Kouga too, sharing a part of his mother with him like the wolf demon had just done. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Kouga mumbles, twirling the flute in his hand almost reverently, eyes still misty with nostalgia. “Who knows? Maybe you actually have some sorta hidden talent. Could make up for how much you eat dirt when we spar.”

Inuyasha opens an eye to glare at him. “The hell are you talkin’ about, wolf?” He hisses. “I beat you at sparring tons of times before. More than you’ve beat me.”

“That was just luck,” Kouga teases, putting down the flute and slightly turning to peer at Inuyasha with a playful glint in his eye. “Flukes, all of ‘em.”

“Flukes!?” Inuyasha blurts out incredulously, ignoring the tug in his chest at the sight of Kouga’s grin. “I’ll show you a ‘fluke’ you damn—“

“Nah, later,” Kouga yawns loudly, and Inuyasha knows he’s being obnoxious on purpose. He has half a mind to move his shoulder and let Kouga sleep on the hard, rocky ground, but something inside him makes him decide against it. “Think I’m gonna take a quick nap first.”

Inuyasha scoffs, but lowers his shoulder a bit so Kouga can rest on it more comfortably. “Looks like the song still works. If anything I’ll learn just so I can play that and knock you out when you’re being dumb so I can have some peace and quiet.” 

“If you end up being just as bad as me, all you’ll end up doing is giving me nightmares,” Kouga shuts his eyes. “Now shut up, I’m tryin’ to sleep.”

Inuyasha huffs, irritated, but he relents. He makes a mental note to not make it easy for Kouga the next time they spar before he succumbs to his earlier drowsiness and falls asleep too, meeting Izayoi in his dreams.

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [13/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #fatal flaw #secrets #riddle #fate #revenge #oracle #betrayal #prophecy #jealousy

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Tim feels a little bad about using Jason’s skin hunger against him but only for a moment. Any concern about that vanishes when he peeks back at Jason as they walk, and observes the color returning to the other man’s cheeks. The hand clasped in his own stops shaking the longer they touch.

Tim has never been one to enjoy holding hands—often he’s felt uncomfortable or self-conscious, worrying about sweaty fingers or whether the other person might consider it lame—but this doesn’t feel like that.

This feels right.

It’s actually concerning how right it feels, especially in light of his recent discussion with Steph.

Stop it. This isn’t about you. It’s about putting Jason at ease.

They return to the containment unit to find Barbara facing down Eros—an impressive feat considering she’s in a wheelchair and he’s the one looking down on her. Her face is drawn in irritation, and he’s gratified to see that Eros seems put-out about something.

“Took you long enough. Cherry here says she’s got a bonafide prophecy from the Oracle of Delphi and wouldn’t share it until you got back.” He eyes their entwined hands and leers. “I take it the domestics are going well?”

“Get bent,” Tim snaps in irritation as Jason tugs his hand back so fast he might as well have been burned.

“Only if you do the honors, pretty boy.”

Jason growls and makes a move for his gun, but Tim reaches out to stop him.

“Can you not tease him?” he demands of Eros. “Especially when the only reason he’s like this is because of you.”

“Oh, if only you knew…”

Before Tim can comment on that, Jason interrupts.

“What’s the feathered freak talkin’ about?” he snaps, radiating tension. “What prophecy?”

“The one Signal was able to recover from the girl that was killed,” Barbara says coolly. “He transcribed it and sent it along. Do you want to hear it, or do you want to keep acting like a child?”

This she directs at Eros, who actually does look chastised a beat, before gracing her with a cool smile.

“I guess it is apropos if you do the honors, darlin’,” Eros says with a cool smile. “Is it ironic or coincidental if someone who stole the title of oracle interprets a prophecy from the actual Oracle of Delphi?”

“Who cares? This whole situation is making me hate both irony and coincidence,” Tim says.

“It’s making me wonder if there are any coincidences,” Jason mutters, eyes fixed on Eros in intense dislike.

Barbara offers him an identical look, before thumbing the screen of her phone and opening her incoming messages.

Then she begins to read:

“The Unseen darkness cannot keep its captive thrice for mortal masks the divine that seeks its reward in the city where dark nights conceal the greatest of secrets.

“Crossed beneath the stars when the Rager’s Moon is full, eternal freedom is neigh upon the eleventh moment of the small hour.The sacrifice of the virgin gifts triumph to the prisoner and that which drowned in Lethe’s tears is reborn.

“But take heed, for the winged scion of Cythera, willingly blinded by the veil of vengeance revealed by Discord’s most cursed boon, awakens the warrior guided by the Physicians heir.

“Fury dooms the fair, heralding the return of magnificent Alexandros and one whose name is painted in blood and stone.

“Greatest of loves, damned by the gleam of a golden barb, torn asunder by jealousy and parted by cruel death, they will stand against Strife.

“Titans will rise and one who Death names hero, betrayed yet shielded by love, will sunder the chains of Aidoneus and avenge the victim of grievance. One will be born anew, the other bound eternally to Stygian Darkness.”

There is silence as she puts the phone down, eyebrows drawn together in thought.  

“What?” Tim says.

“I see your ‘what’ and raise you a ‘the fuck’,” Jason adds. “Does any of that make sense to anyone else? Because it don't make sense to me.”

“Blame my uncle,” Eros says, apparently annoyed.

“What? Why?” Tim wants to know. “Which one’s he?”

“Apollo,” Barbara says, still considering the puzzling words on the screen. “Aside from being a sun god, he was also the god of prophecy.”

“Talking in riddles is his favorite pastime,” Eros agrees. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

“I’ll bet,” Tim agrees. “We’ve got someone like that here in Gotham.”

“Yeah, and he’s a frequent guest of Arkham, so what’s that tell you?” Jason grumbles.

“That people who come up with riddles have too much time on their hands.”

“There’s a reason the Oracles of Delphi didn’t put their predictions into simple words,” Barbara points out. ”If you give people information about what’s coming, how do you know you’re not ensuring it will or won’t come to pass? It was important for them to be seen as the medium of the message and not an agent.

“By keeping information vague, it would seem like they were allowing a querant the chance to defy fate, while at the same time allowing fate to take its natural course, whatever that might be,” Eros agrees. “Ans it was good insurance. Even Oracles needed to cover their asses. You were less likely to get your head lopped off by a visiting king that received news he didn’t want to hear. And whatever the outcome, they could still say, ‘we told you so’.” He considers Barbara. “You know, I don’t usually find brainy sexy, but you might just turn me.”

“I’m thrilled,” she deadpans.

“So what’s all this supposed to mean, anyway?” Tim asks, trying to bring the discussion back to the matter at hand.

“It could mean anything. Though to start with, that bit about ‘unseen darkness’, that’s an epithet for the Underworld in old Hellenic documents.”

“We called it that in the old days,” Eros confirms.

“And then there’s the part about someone captive in Hades.”

“I thought Hades was a person?” Tim says.

“It is. But it’s also a place.” Jason tells him.

“It depends on what story and what source you’re drawing from,” Barbara elaborates. “And what translation.”

“What about the next bit? About mortal maskin' the divine?”

“Could that mean whoever’s possessing Carrie Cutter?” Tim suggests. “We’ve already established she’s got help from a god, and if they’re inhabiting her body even for short amounts of time, it’s a pretty effective mask.”

“No doubt,” Eros agrees. “Not so sure about that part with dark nights, but I guess it’s referring to this cesspool you people call a city.”

Tim, Jason and Barbara exchange glances, knowing exactly how dark nights and secrets relate to their city.

Maybe Duke misheard. It might not be dark ‘nights’ so much as dark ‘knights’. Which makes sense, considering Bruce and Dick both have that title depending on the day.

“Safe to say it’s Gotham,” Tim confirms. “So all that begs the question, do you have any idea who’s locked in the Underworld trying to get out?”

Eros snorts. “The better question is who isn’t locked in the Underworld.”

Jason is glaring furiously at Eros, clearly growing tired of his evasive and snarky answers. The way his fists clench, Tim suspects he’s close to throwing a punch at the glass in frustration. Not something Tim wants to see, especially given Jason’s injuries from their altercation with Carrie Cutter and Dick haven’t even been seen to yet.

God, it feels like it was days ago but it was only hours. He probably came right here to confront Eros without even looking after himself.

He has to put that out of his mind for now. Deciphering any clues in the prophecy takes momentary precedence.

“…. A lot of myths end with someone displeasing a god and getting sent to Tartarus, so he has a point,” Barbara is saying, her thumbs busily texting something on her phone.

“So that’s not going to tell us anything,” Tim decides. “What about the ‘crossed beneath the stars’ part?”

“More of the same in terms of pinpointing when everything is supposed to happen,” Eros says.

“Which is when?”

“November twenty-third,” Barbara says, frowning at the small screen in her hand.

Jason looks askance. “How d’you know?”

“'Moon’ equates to month, and another name for Zeus was the Rager,” she replies. “So, Zeus’s month. According to the Athenian calendars we still have access to, Zeus’s month was Maimakterion—which in modern times would fall somewhere between November and December. And the next full moon—” She holds up her phone, showing a lunar calendar for the month, “—falls on November twenty-third. It’s the only full moon that falls during Maimakterion.”

Eros nods along in approval. “What she said.”

“And the small hour?”

“Midnight.”

“So, whatever’s supposed to happen is going to happen eleven minutes after midnight…assuming that’s what moment means,” Tim muses, glancing at his own phone calendar. “That’s this Friday.”

“Five days from now,” Jason agrees, and side-eyes Tim. “We’ve all had shorter deadlines.”

“That’s not necessarily referring to your deadline, sweet cheeks,” Eros reminds him. “I figure you have about half that.”

“No thanks to you.”

“You know, the last Jason I knew wasn’t this whiny.”

“Children,” Barbara says sharply. “Let’s stay focused, shall we? I’m concerned about this virgin sacrifice part—specifically the part where it ensures success for someone we probably don’t want to succeed.”

“Cutter did kill that girl,” Tim reminds them. “Maybe it was some kind of offering, so she’d be successful at whatever she’s trying to do.”

“It’s a good an explanation as anything else,” Eros agrees, examining his nails. “We always did love our human sacrifices. And a virgin does increase the likelihood of something working out to your advantage.”

“You’re a piece of shit,” Jason growls. “That’s a kid you’re talking about!”

“And as an Oracle of Delphi she’s entitled to an eternity of bliss once she enters the Underworld,” Eros dismisses. “It’s a better end than some people are entitled to.”

Jason’s eyes blaze as if that’s a personal insult. Tim can certainly empathize.

“What about the second part?” he prompts. “What’s Lethe?”

“The Lethe was the river the souls drank from to forget their previous lives before being reincarnated,” Barbara explains.

 “The Ancient Greeks believed in reincarnation? But I thought that was something from the Far East?”

“Many ancient cultures had a concept of reincarnation beyond the Hindu and Buddhist mythos,” Barbara explains. “Just look at the belief systems of the indigenous peoples of North America and you’ll see countless examples. And they didn’t have any contact with the civilizations of Asia during the time when those faiths were evolving.”

Beside Tim, Jason is as stiff as a board and appears to be having trouble breathing. Automatically, Tim edges closer to him, and though he doesn’t outright take his hand—he leans into him, nudging him with his shoulder.

Jason’s eyes dart to him for a moment, and he relaxes incrementally.

“How does that relate here though?” Barbara wants to know.

“Maybe the prisoner forgot something,” Eros suggests, not sounding very interested.

“Or maybe whoever’s tryin' to escape Hades as made to forget something,” Jason counters darkly.

“Only mortals can be made to forget by drinking from the Lethe,” Barbara says. “The prisoner could have been human. Salmoneus or Tantalus or one of the Dainads.”

Tim doesn’t even get a chance to question who they are before Eros interrupts. “Actually, it’s a little broader than just mortals. More like mortals, demigods that haven’t consumed ambrosia, giants, hybrids—”

“So again, we’re back to a broad spectrum of people it could be talkin' about,” Jason complains. “Great. Is there anyone or anything in this stupid prophecy that isn’t doublespeak?”

“Well, the next verse is pretty self-explanatory. Obviously, we’re talking about yours truly,” Eros says, pointing at himself. “What other 'winged son' do you know from mythology?”

“A case could be made for Pegasus.”

“No, it’s Eros,” Tim says. “Cythera’s another name for Aphrodite.” Everyone looks at him in surprise.

“How do you know that?” Jason asks, but where the emphasis ought to suggest incredulity, he sounds impressed.

Tim tries not to bask in that.

“My parents used to visit the island of Cythera a lot when they weren’t on business trips, especially before I was born. It was their favorite vacation destination. Full of history, not touristy—they didn’t like having to socialize with people when they were on vacation.”

Tim falls silent then, remembering sitting in his living room with his parents, pouring over their vacation photos of the Mediterranean island while they told stories. They’d always promised to take him one day…

He glances up and notices the others are watching him now—Eros with a sharp, calculating gaze while Jason appears concerned. As for Barbara, she seems to sense his discomfort, because she navigates them past the lull. “Okay, so if it’s Eros, what are you wanting revenge for? It’s not exactly your M-O.”

“I can think of a few people who have it coming,” Eros answers. “Starting with my mother.”

“What’d she do?” Tim asks.

“Do you have a few centuries worth of couch time?”

“Isn’t she the reason your wife died?” Barbara wants to know. “In the myth, she survived, but Tim told me that's not what happened in reality.”

Eros expression goes cold.

“That’s right,” Tim remembers; he and Eros had this conversation a few days ago, didn’t they? “Aphrodite is the one who sent Psyche to the underworld.”

Eros bares his teeth. “One of her many sins, but not the only one.”

“Then couldn’t the prophecy maybe be referring to her? Psyche, I mean? Maybe she’s the prisoner.”

“Are you implying my wife is the one behind your Cupid’s actions?” Eros growls. “Because that’s impossible.”

“How would you know? It could be—”

“Because she died a mortal! Her soul is mortal and wouldn’t have the power to escape the Underworld in any capacity! Furthermore, Psyche would never kill or arrange the death of anyone! She was good and pure of soul and that’s why I fell in love with her.”

“That’s not what I read,” Barbra says. “Didn’t you prick yourself on one of your golden arrows while watching her?”

“I pricked myself because I fell in love with her,” he snaps. “I’ve already told Jason here that the arrows only work to magnify emotions that are already there.”

“That makes no sense. You liked her before you made yourself fall in love with her?”

“Look, you know the story: Psyche was beautiful. So much so, that the idiots in her kingdom started treating her like a living goddess, bringing the gifts meant for my mother to this human princess. You can guess how well that went over.”

“Right. She sent you to make her fall in love with a horrible beast.”

“Yeah, one of Diomedes mares. Gorgeous animals—people would stop and stare at them for hours. Also, vicious, flesh-eating beasts. Just getting to close to one of those and it would have ripped her to shreds—and she would have stood there and let it.” Eros’ expression becomes soft, eyes faraway at the memory. “If she had been some arrogant, selfish royal I would have let it happen. But I watched her for days while I tried to put her in the path of that thing. And everything she did was just good and kind. I had never seen as pure a soul like hers.” He shakes his head. “The idea of a girl like that being sent to her death just because a bunch of idiot humans had the audacity to praise her alongside my mother didn’t seem fair.”

“And you’re all about fair, aren’t you?” Jason sneers.

Tim has to agree; if Eros cared about fair, he would have been a lot more helpful about curing Jason and wouldn’t have demanded they find his diviners beforehand.

“I was young and stupid, and I didn’t realize the world didn’t work that way,” Eros dismisses. “Even for gods. I thought my mother would never want to harm me—and so if I put Psyche under my protection, she couldn’t hurt her. And if I could show my mother what a good wife Psyche was, even if she was unable to see me, it would prove the point.” He snorts. “It didn’t exactly go my way.”

“And there’s no way her soul could have somehow been corrupted when she died?”

“The Underworld is stagnant. There’s no such thing as change or time there. Everything occurs both in one moment and in all moments there.”

“So you’re saying a soul going in would remain in the same state as it was when it died,” Barbara posits.

“Exactly. How else do you expect the judges to judge souls if they kept changing after death? It’d be a headache.

“Then if it’s not Psyche, who else can you think of that it might be?”

“It might be more than one person,” Tim suggests. “That line about 'greatest of loves'—what if that’s why Carrie’s been targeting couples? She hears the prophecy—or whoever’s riding along inside her hears the prophecy—and thinks there’s a couple out there that’s going to stand against her. She could be trying to eliminate potential threats to her end goal.”

“If so, we need to decipher her criteria for choosing her victims. You already said it didn’t seem like they had anything in common.”

“We’ll have to check again. Maybe now that we’ve got this prophecy, something new will jump out.”

“We skipped a whole verse,” Jason points out. “The ‘warrior guided by the physician’s heir’. Any ideas?”

Eros shrugs. “Since the rest of the prophecy involves me, I’d say it’s me.”

“How do you figure?”

“The Physician is another name for Apollo.”

“So?”

“So, who do you think taught me archery? Next to him, I’m the greatest archer among the Olympians.”

“Or it could be Jason,” Tim ponders.

Jason seems to go pale, almost panicked. “What?”

“I mean, assuming you’re interpreting ‘awaken’ by activating the way you do with a sleeper agent. You infected him with your blood however accidentally and then pressed him into doing your dirty work.”

“I resent your tone, boy,” Eros grumbles, but Jason interjects, “And the other bit?”

“The other bit is just really literal,” Barbara catches on. “Jason, you were trained by Batman. Who was the heir to an actual physician. The M.D. kind.”

Thomas Wayne.

Jason looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information. “Shit.”

Eros watches Jason, inscrutable eyes considering; Jason glares back at him as if waiting for him to make a comment.

“But if it’s Jason, the next bit wouldn’t make sense,” Barbara says after a moment. “‘Magnificent Alexandros’. The only Alexandros I can think of off the top of my head if Alexander of Macedon. But that doesn’t really track with the rest of the verse. He was a historical figure, not mythological.”

“That’s offensive, you know,” Eros drawls. “All those stories you call mythology actually happened.”

“Then why don’t we have an archaeological record for them?”

“Because screw you, that’s why.”

“If it is talking about Alexander the Great, Robin will be happy,” Tim says with a rueful smirk.

Jason is perplexed. “Why?”

“Apparently he was on the list of the kid’s League-approved childhood heroes. Mother-son bonding time seems to have included traveling in his footsteps as preparation for world domination.”

Jason looks surprised and amused. “Really?”

“Is it that surprising?”

“No, it’s just…” Jason shakes his head. “Never mind.” He clears his throat. “So, back to the prophecy. It talks about the Titans—are we talkin' the creatures the Olympian gods overthrew?”

“Well, whenever one of us mention the Titans, it is usually those bottom feeders rotting in Tartarus, yes,” Eros says dryly, inscrutable focussed on Jason. “Them going free is never a good thing. Don’t believe me, read the Titanomachy. Hesiod got it pretty close to right.”

“Could be the goal, could be the result,” Tim suggests.

“Which brings us back to possibly being on the lookout for more than one prisoner escaping Hades,” Barbara says.

“And all of that leads us to the typical ‘one shall live and one shall die’ device,” Eros concludes.

“Only we don’t know who either of those is.”

“I can tell you now if it’s a prophecy involving me, I have no intention of dying."

“If it’s even about you. It’s not really an exact science, interpreting this sort of thing,” Barbara warns. “Even an Olympian like you can misunderstand—there’s evidence of that in the myths. In fact, I’m sure we’re missing more than is good for us. It will take some time to decipher it and we need more information.”

“At least we have something,” Tim maintains. “The exact date when it’s going to happen and where. We can begin preparing for that.”

“It’s a whole hell of a lot to think about,” Jason agrees.

“Which you can do back at the Cave. We only came here to see if Eros could shed some light on the prophecy or see the arrows.”

“What arrows?”

“Wonder Girl told us that to reverse what’s been done to Nightwing is to remove the arrow that Carrie stabbed him with.”

“Uh, there is no arrow,” Jason says. “Cupid took it with her, remember?”

“I guess that answers that question,” Barbara sighs. “You can’t see them.”

“Of course he can’t,” Eros says. “I’m the only one that can see the wounds caused by my arrows. Even this pseudo-Cupid wouldn’t be able to see them.”

“After she stabbed Jason she seemed to be looking for something, so I’m not sure about that,” Tim argues.

“She can’t see them. Though it may be possible her divine passenger might. I don't know. Never had another god take my diviners before."

“Speaking of being stabbed,” Tim goes on, nodding at the bruises coming out on his face. There are likely more hidden by the leather jacket and gear. “You should get those looked at.”

“I didn’t physically get stabbed, you know. Magic wounds don’t need to be looked at.”

“You went toe-to-toe with an enhanced fighter and Batman. You could have internal bleeding for all we know.”

“If you think a little tussle with that dick is going to do lastin' damage—”

Tim cuts off his indignation. “I don’t, but you haven’t been eating or sleeping properly, and your system is already compromised, so how do you know what damage was or wasn’t done? You didn’t stay to get treated at the Cave.”

Their eyes meet, remembering exactly why that is, and Tim’s cheeks darken. Jason is the first to look away, though.

“It’s nothin'. I can patch myself up whenever.”

“I can help—”

“I’m good.”

“Jason—”

“I’m an adult and I’ve been treatin' myself without help for years now,” Jason interrupts tensely. When Tim can’t stop himself from flinching, Jason’s eyes flash with dismay. “I mean…” He flounders like he’s trying to take it back, and instead changes the subject. “Didn’t you say somethin' about a list? Maybe get started on that and I’ll do an injury check myself.”

It’s a clear cop-out, and if they were alone, Tim would be calling him on it.

“I’ll ask for help if I need any,” he adds, awkwardly, like it’s been a long time since anyone actually cared about his injuries being treated. 

Barbara glances between the two of them, obviously sensing the undertone, but not commenting on it. Instead, she says, “I don’t mind helping Jason. Besides, Red Robin needs to contact the Family and let them know what we know.”

“And I need food,” Eros says. “I haven’t eaten since before you went on your little reconnaissance mission. Can’t you see? I’m wasting away.”

 “If only,” Jason mutters.

Tim is torn, wanting to argue that he can help Jason, but at the same time trying to respect the other man’s obvious need for distance.

At last, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, feeling a little defeated. “Let’s take a break. I’ll make a food run…you get yourself fixed up.”

“Whatever you say, babybird.”

⁂

Once Tim vanishes, Barbie indicates with a jerk of her head that Jason should follow her upstairs to the Nest medbay. He knows better than to think it’s just her wanting to take a look at his injuries—like him, she’s probably looking for some privacy.

They take the elevator up in silence, and Jason wonders vaguely when the last time was, he was this close to Barbara Gordon.

I don’t think I have been, actually. We both avoid the manor unless there’s no choice. And we both have good reasons for it. And when we are there together, there’s usually about six to ten feet of distance between us.

They were never what he would call close before she was paralyzed and he died. Barbie was Dick’s girl and Jason’s occasional babysitter until the Joker ruined her life. And then she wasn’t around at all. Jason wasn’t alive to watch her painstakingly drag herself up and pull it together again, so he never got the chance to interact with the Barbara Gordon that became Oracle.

Since returning to Gotham he’s kept her at a distance as much as he did the rest of the Family, so it’s somewhat surprising to him that she’s here now and working to help him.

Probably it’s on account of Tim.

Still silent, they enter the surgically pristine room of the Nest’s medical wing—and Jason is a little jealous of the supplies here. It makes the kits he has in his safehouses about as sophisticated as a needle and threat.

Barbie watches him, framed in the doorway.

“Well? Spit it out,” he grunts, deciding to get whatever reprimands are forthcoming out of the way.

Her look turns sharp before she reaches into her jacket pocket for something; Jason can’t help tensing up, even though she knows the likelihood of her pulling a weapon on him are slim to none.

That suspicion is confirmed when she instead draws out a device and turns it on; there’s a high-pitched background whir that Jason recognizes as a listening device scrambler.

Clearly we’re both aware of what a paranoid freak Timbers can be.

“Okay, Jason, what’s going on?” she asks without preamble. “You know Tim only wants to help you.”

“Yeah, at his own expense,” he retorts sourly.

Barbies raises an eyebrow as if waiting for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, she presses, “You’re being cagey. And it’s more than just worrying about losing control around Tim, I can tell.”

“Oh you can, can you?” he challenges.

“I’ve known you since you were still desperately trying to live up to Dick while pretending like you didn’t care. I know when you’re hiding something,” she folds her arms. “Believe it or not, Jason, you’re a terrible liar when it comes to things that matter.”

It’s reflex to want to say something caustic to that, but he stops himself in time. He needs Barbara’s help and pissing her off isn’t going to make his life any easier.

“I need a favor,” he admits after a beat.

“Another one?” she repeats, sounding like she doesn’t believe him. “You’re going to owe me a lot.”

“Yeah, well, now would be the time to collect on those debts while I still can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means everyone else is tiptoein' around the subject, but at some point, I’m gonna need to be put under,” he says, erring on the side of just enough truth to keep her from questioning him further. “We both know what I’m talkin' about here.”

As expected, Barbara only just keeps herself from visibly recoiling; she’s already ready with an argument. “You don’t know we won’t find something before that happens.”

“I’m already feelin' like I’m livin' in someone else’s skin—” Literally, in a way. “—I’m not gonna get any better than I am right now. We’ve already seen what it looks like when I dip toward worse. So while I’m still lucid, let me make my decisions. And my decision is, I’d rather go under while I’m still me instead of violent, mindless…reaver.”

Barbara does a minor double-take. “Did you just make a Firefly reference?”

“It’s the last series I was watching before I died,” Jason says, a little defensive.

“I’m not judging, just surprised. Dick and Tim are usually the ones making pop-culture references to deflect. I’m not used to it from you.”

“And I’m not used to you stallin',” he counters. “You’re different from the other Bats, O. You know how to cut your losses, and you know how to make decisions when no one else wants to think about it. You get makin' the hard calls. So, I’m gonna ask you: when it comes down to a choice between me and Tim—and I mean when, not if—who do you save?”

Something like pain passes over her face, and then resolve hardens her face. “Tim.”

“Exactly,” he approves. “Because unlike me, he’s good. And smart.”

“You’re both of those things, even if you pretend like you’re not,” she protests.

“And he hasn’t committed multiple murders,” Jason continues, acting like he didn’t hear her. “Not that what I’ve done wasn’t justified. It wasn’t good, but I don’t regret it because I will go to my grave believin' sometimes that line needs to be crossed. Again. But it’s still a line Tim’s been lucky enough not to have to cross.”

She doesn’t argue with him, instead inclines her head.

“More people will miss him if he were gone then they would me,” Jason concludes. “I’m not supposed to be here anyway.”

There’s a long beat of measuring silence. Then, Barbara sighs. “What is it you need, Jason?”

He tilts his chin in gratitude.

“I didn’t just come here to yell at Eros,” he admits. “If Wonder Woman doesn’t show up, he’s the only one I know who has access to the stuff I need.”

“The Stygian Sleep.”

“Yeah. But it’s probably in GCPD lock-up.” He gives her a quick run-down of events, minus anything about Eros’ intentional plan to infect him. Babs listens, jaw set and eyes narrowed; given what she just said about him, she likely knows he’s not being completely truthful, but his explanation clearly holds enough water that she doesn’t call him on it.

“I’ll get someone to look into it,” she decides at last.

Which, even though he’s relieved about, he’s also suspicious.

“And by ‘look into’ you mean grab hold of and perform a million tests on it before handin' it over,” he posits.

“Just because you’re hellbent on using something that’s effectively going to kill you doesn’t mean I don’t want to know everything about it first,” she says, unapologetic. “Like the prophecy, it might have clues about how to circumvent it.”

“Yeah, because we’re having so much luck with that.”

“Also, when Bruce comes to me later in a righteous fury for letting his son die a second time, I’ll be able to assure him we knew everything we did about it before making an informed decision.”

Jason doesn’t pretend to believe that’s the end of it. Barbara might be willing to humor Jason a little more than Bruce, or even Dick when he’s not compromised—she might even be a little more objective in considering things, but she’s not going to trust Jason’s plan to be the only plan. She’ll have her own contingencies, the same as any Bat.

The only difference with Babs is that once it’s over and done with, and it becomes clear there’s no saving him, she’ll have an easier time getting over it than Bruce will. And she won’t let it compromise her work.

Tim’s told Jason what Bruce and Dick were like after he died the first time, and if it happens again, Gotham needs someone competent in keeping things in check.

And Tim…

Jason’s heart thuds with guilt.

This time, Tim won’t just be sweeping in to pick up the broken pieces of Batman and Nightwing as he did as a kid. He won’t be watching it from the sidelines.

The memory hits him then. To his surprise, it’s not from Achilleus or Alexandros.

Jason hates Wayne Charity galas.

People are always staring at him, murmuring through pasted-on smiles that even if he couldn’t read lips, he would be able to hear the judgment dripping from their words. These people are so achingly dry and genteel, their teeth don’t even unclench around their vowels.

Bruce doesn’t make him come to all that many of these shindigs, thankfully; only the ones involving children’s advocacy and the like. Jason doesn’t mind those too much, considering their purpose. He just hates that even at those—like the one tonight—he’s the only kid that has to parade around in the straitjacket Alfred calls a tux.

He gets it, of course; he’s the poster-boy, the success story, a means of showing the rich snobs how well a dirty Crime Alley orphan can clean up so that they’ll open their checkbooks.

It doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Except for tonight, for the first time, he noticed another kid that’s been dragged along. A tiny boy whose meticulously fitted tux still manages to look too big for him.

A man and woman who must be his parents are chatting with another couple, seemingly oblivious to the way their son is staring into the distance, a neutrally polite expression fixed on his face. He might as well be sleeping standing up, and Jason has the odd suspicion that’s by design.

That makes his mouth twitch; maybe rich kids get bored with this kind of thing too.

Jason keeps staring across the manor ballroom until the strange kid senses his gaze and looks up. He grins when the boy’s eyes widen—their color is startling, even from across the room, and they take up practically his whole face—and wonders at the sudden flood of color in his cheeks.

He’s about to motion the boy over to the edge of the reception area—hanging out with another kid, even a little one, will definitely break up the monotony of the evening—when Bruce’s hand falls hard on his shoulder.

“Time to make an exit, son,” he says, voice quiet and intense and incongruent with the false smile he’s still beaming at everyone within a ten-foot radius. From the distracted note in his words, Jason doesn’t even need to look out the window to see the signal lighting up the sky. 

They meet Felipe Garzonas that night, and he doesn’t think of the boy again.

Jason shudders as the technicolor recollection fades out, his stomach twisting angrily.

He’s never made the connection between Tim and the boy at the fundraiser before. It occurs to him how stupid that was—at the same time it occurs to him that if not for that case that night, he might not have been on the outs with Bruce. He might have endured more Wayne event galas instead of limiting whatever time he was with Bruce to being Robin by night. He might have gotten to know Tim in this life, instead of dying.

He might not be in this damned predicament right now.

“Jason?”

He looks up, realizes that Barbie is watching him with concern. He is quick to revisit their conversation and mutters, “Yeah, fine. Just make sure the stuff actually makes it to me before my brain dribbles out of my head, okay?”

“Stop being so dramatic,” she replies, reaching out to turn off the scrambler device, though she continues to exude suspicion.

“All Bats are dramatic, or have you forgotten?” he quips back, offering an irreverent smirk to cover up.

“Hard to forget something you live with every day,” she returns dryly. “Now get over here and let me check you over.”

“You don’t need to,” he points out. “I’ve had worse than this, you know.”

“Yes, yes, we’re all aware you’ve died and come back, who hasn’t these days?” she returns. “Now, shirt off, or I’m telling Tim you didn’t do what you said you would.”

Jason glares. “This is going to become a thing, isn’t it? You people using Tim to make me do things.”

“Things that are for your own good, yes. Now strip, Todd.��

“Yes, mother…”

“You wish your mother was as cool as me.”

Which Jason can’t argue with, because she’s right; he’s had a total of three mother figures in his life (two of which he’s not sure even qualify because of how messed up they were), and none of them have been as capable or decent as Barbara Gordon.

Once he’s shrugged his top half out of the body armor and leather, she reaches for him.

Jason experiences a nauseous swoop in his stomach at the idea of anyone but Tim putting hands on him. Instantly, his hand snaps up and knocks hers back.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls.

Barbara pulls away, watching him with a raised eyebrow and instantly Jason is overwhelmed with shame.

“Sorry,” he bites out. “I didn’t mean…”

“We can wait for Tim to get back,” she suggests, instantly understanding.

Alarms blare in his head at the thought; he shakes his head. “No. No, I’m…I’m good. Now that I’m expectin' it.”

She considers him several beats longer and then makes the next attempt to check his injuries. This time he concentrates on forcing the sick feeling away and tries to ignore how it feels like someone is rubbing sandpaper across his skin.

That’s a new symptom. Great. Because it wasn’t enough that I’ve been trying to claw my skin of myself, now other people get to do it too…

Barbara checks him over with quiet efficiency, evaluating the shallow slash between his arm and shoulder which his armor didn’t cover, as well the bruising along his hips, elbows and lower back.

“It could be worse,” she decides eventually, considering the mottled purpling across his chest. “Ribs are bruised, not broken.”

“I could've told you that…”

“And were you going to tell me about that?” she points at his shoulder and the spiderweb of gold leeching out around the long-healed-over bullet wound. From the way he’s been itching at it this past day, he doesn’t need a mirror to know it’s beginning to creep up his neck as well. “How long has it been growing like that?”

“Pretty much since I got it,” he replies.

She reaches up, brow furrowed and reaches toward one of the raised lines winding toward his chest. Again, he braces himself for the pain of the touch his body doesn’t want.

Thankfully, she barely grazes that. “You haven’t been keeping better track, have you? It might give us a more specific idea of how much time you have.”

“How so?”

“The same as any poison, I would guess. The closer it gets to your heart, the less time you have.”

He frowns. “At this point, I don’t think it even matters.”

Movement outside of the med bay window draws his attention, and he across the floor to see Tim climbing the stairs from the ground floor.

Jason is quick to grab his shirt and tug it on; it’s not something he wants to discuss with Tim just yet.

Barbara watches him, lips pursed in worry and disapproval, but he could care less about the latter. She knows his thoughts on this, and she’ll respect them.

Tim strides in and then slows like he’s wondering if he’s supposed to knock or not.  

“How are you doing?” he asks, hesitant like he’s afraid expressing concern will set Jason off like a bomb.

Guilt hits him at that, but he forces himself to remain calm and blank-faced. “Fine.”

“I have to go,” Barbie announces, maneuvering her chair toward the door. “I need to go back to the Cave and check on Dick’s condition. I don’t know how long it will be before he tries to escape or pull something to keep from going nuts.”

“Also, it’d be nice if this month was one of the ones where Alfred doesn’t get knocked out,” Tim suggests with false levity.

“Or lose a hand,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Exactly. And whether he knows it or not, Feathers downstairs gave me some ideas about how to remove the arrow,” Barbie says as they leave the med bay.

“I should come with you.”

“No.” Both Barbara and Tim speak at the same time, but she’s the one that keeps talking. “You should stay here.”

“Not sure that’s the best idea.”

“I think it is,” Tim counters. “It will keep us out of everyone’s hair and they’ll know where we are.” His tone is reasonable—too reasonable; clearly Timmy has some ulterior motives.

Whether those motives are to circumvent Bruce or Jason’s plans, he doesn’t care. But one thing is for sure. “They can know where we are if we’re at the manor.”

And isn’t that a reversal—Jason being the one to insist on that?

I need to have people around because I don’t trust myself right now.

The mutinous expression is back on Tim’s face, before he visibly switches tactics.

“Okay, how about this,” he suggests, tone only a shade off exasperated. “Why don’t you go lie down somewhere and try to catch a few hours' sleep? If you’re sleeping, you’re not doing anything else, right? And then we’ll either go back to the Cave or see if anyone can be spared to chaperone here.”

“There’s no need for that,” a voice says, and they all look up to see Damian stride in still in full Robin-gear.

Tim scowls. “How did you get in here?”

“It was fairly simple,” the kid snorts. “A fish tank, Drake? Really?”

Tim looks like he wants to protest, but Jason chuckles. “It was kind of obvious, babybird.”

“You can barely take care of yourself, and you expect someone with a brain to believe you have the patience to care for fish?” the boy continues. “Exactly who do you think has been feeding them when you forget?”

Tim gapes. “You…break into my apartment…to feed my fish?”

Jason can’t help the loud guffaw that escapes at that, earning two equally unimpressed glares in return. He doesn’t care—that might be the funniest thing he’s heard in days.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Barbara says and wheels out of the room. “Try not to kill each other, boys. Alfred would be unhappy about it.”

“Luckily, we are standing in a well-stocked room with several methods for resuscitating a dead body,” Damian replies easily.

“Don’t you have school?” Tim grumbles.

“It’s Sunday, Drake.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I have been sent to babysit you two and put Todd down with extreme prejudice should he try anything.

Which Tim gapes and, while Jason is…kind of relieved about.

“Aw, Dami, I knew you cared,” he teases.

“Don’t address me with that infantile drivel!”

Tim sighs.

“Just don’t set anything on fire while you’re here…”

  ⁂⁂⁂

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn’t something you’re comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

Next Chapter

[goodmythicalshipping]

As Much of Me as I Am of You (3/3)

It’s finally here - the last installation of my first ever fic! Now before y’all start flooding my inbox with fic requests, I would like to state something: I wrote this fic on my own free will because I had some spare time, which isn’t usually the case. I’m typically a busy girl and this fic took a decent amount of work to complete. That’s not to say I won’t write more in the future, but it may be awhile so I’m just informing you now. That being said, if you do have fic requests, I’ll be happy to consider them! Shoot me your ideas in the good ‘ol ask box :)

Summary: Hours before they’re supposed to embark on the first date of their live tour, Link finds himself coming to terms with his newfound adoration toward his lifelong best friend. The next morning, the two simultaneously discover the real meaning of having an “out of body” experience.

<< Chapter Two

One decent lunch and a few more hours later, the bus arrived at the event center in Vegas just before 2:30PM. Pulling into the center’s lot, the crew began unloading all of the necessary equipment needed for the show and bringing it into the venue. As Rhett and Link exited the vehicle and made their way inside, they passed by a few fans who were staying at a nearby resort, waving from afar and trying their damndest to flash them a neutral, friendly expression as to not raise suspicions. Once they entered the building, Stevie turned to the two of them.

“Alright, guys. I’m gonna get us all checked in and then escort the crew to the auditorium to set up. Once I’m done at the desk, how about you make your way up to your room and meet me back here in the lobby for dinner in a couple of hours?” she inquired.

“Perfect,” the two of them stated almost in unison, surprising each other. Maybe this whole body swap controversy had left them more in-tune with one another than they had originally thought, giving them hope for switching back later. Stevie giggled and turned around to approach the front desk.

“Excellent, that’ll give us plenty of time to try and sort this thing out,” Rhett whispered into Link’s ear, making the younger man shiver with delight. Desperately hoping his eagerness didn’t show, the two of them got checked in and made their way toward the elevators.

As soon as they entered, a large group of people piled into the compact elevator behind them, forcing them to squeeze together until they were only standing a mere inches apart. Link felt his body get hot all over, striving to keep his gaze directed anywhere else so Rhett didn’t notice how nervous he was. His efforts, regrettably, did not go unnoticed, with Rhett heeding how the other’s breathing had picked up within the tight space.

“Hey,” Rhett murmured to him, causing the other to whip his head around to meet him. The two beamed at each other, now fully aware of how close their faces were. If any of the strangers in the elevator moved another muscle, they would probably make contact.

“S’only a few more floors,” he continued. “I know how jittery ya get in crowds. It’ll be over soon.”

In that instant, Link wished that it was just his claustrophobia kicking in that was making him tense. As they ascended further, more and more passengers debarked the elevator until they finally reached their floor. They made their way through the carpeted hallways until they reached their room. Pushing their way inside, they took in the sight of their temporary quarters: two full beds, a shared bedside table, a flat screen TV and a killer view of the Vegas skyline.

“Wow, check out that view!” Link proclaimed, darting toward the big windows.

Rhett soon approached him, situating himself next to his friend and observing along with him. It was very scenic, but he had his eyes focused on something, or rather someone, else. He smiled at the excited look on Link’s face, amazed at how much he was still Link even while functioning as Rhett. Link turned to him, catching Rhett off guard and causing him to hurry toward the farthest bed.

“So how’re we gonna go about this?” he said, plopping down on the mattress and trying to appear nonchalant. “What should we try first?”

“Well, can you remember what you were doing right before ya fell asleep last night? Maybe that’ll give us some clues,” Link responded.

Rhett thought for a moment: he couldn’t recall what had exactly been on his mind last night, but he was sure it was about Link. He wasn’t about to admit this to his lifelong friend right there in the hotel room, so he evaded the question.

“Nah,” Rhett replied after a few seconds. “Maybe we should start with some physical gestures?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what kind of gestures are we talkin’ here, McLaughlin?” Link kidded, feeling himself flare up again.

“Get yer head out of the gutter, Neal,” Rhett retorted, although he wasn’t against the idea of making said… gestures, if Link obliged of course. “I meant like a secret handshake, perhaps a weird series of hand symbols? We could run and do a chest bump or something.”

“Yeah, because running directly into each other went so well for that mother and daughter in the movie we just watched,” Link laughed. “I’ll shake yer hand though.”

The two did just that, to no avail. Over the next two hours, they proceeded to try everything they could possibly think of: meditation, strange poses, trading clothes, reciting chants that they looked up on their phones, pressing their foreheads together to try and read each other’s minds, and even whipping up a “potion” using ingredients supplied from the room’s mini fridge and bathroom sink. They decided to give up after Link began retching up the concoction into the nearest trash bin.

“It’s no use, man. We’re gonna be stuck like this forever!” Link whimpered, still hovering over the bin.

“Don’t say that! There has to be something we haven’t tried,” Rhett pondered. “What do people normally do in movies to break spells?”

Link froze in place, mulling over the question. He had a hunch he already knew the answer and was reluctant to share it with Rhett, but after just heaving up a mixture of orange juice and travel-size shampoo, his options were becoming limited.

“W-well…,” Link stuttered. “Hear me out here… th-this might sound crazy, and you can s-say no, but… I-I think, um, m-maybe we should-“

He was interrupted by the familiar sound and buzz of Rhett’s phone going off. Link hastily dug for the phone in his pants pocket and answered immediately.

“Hey, Stevie, what’s up?” Link spat out, somewhat relieved. Rhett looked at him with interrogating eyes, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, sure! We’ll be right down, see’ya in a minute,” Link replied, hanging up the phone. “Looks like this is gonna have to wait until after dinner, Stevie’s waiting for us in the lobby.”

Rhett nodded, following him out of their shared hotel room as he contemplated what Link was about to suggest. Wherever he was going with it, he surreptitiously hoped they wanted the same thing.

--

Dinner was a pleasant distraction from the mayhem they had both endured that day. The trio stopped at a nice barbeque joint only a couple blocks away from where they were staying, indulging in a piquant spread of baby back ribs. Rhett couldn’t help but sneak glances at Link throughout the meal, grinning at how cute he looked with sauce smeared all over his face as he laughed at Stevie’s frequent wisecracks. After the meal ended, they all headed back to the auditorium for sound check.

With surprisingly few errors, due in part to the fact that they weren’t actually singing or playing their respective instruments, the sound check was over in just under half an hour.

“Okay guys, head backstage and get ready. Doors open at 7:30,” Stevie informed them.

The duo did as they were told, and piled into their shared dressing room backstage. With T-minus one hour before they were scheduled to go on, the pressure once again began to set in between them. They groomed themselves to the best of their ability, working in silence for quite some time.

Link broke the silence first. “Hey, Rhett?”

Frantically, Rhett spun around, still buttoning up his red patterned shirt that belonged to Link. “Do I look okay?” he asked.

“Never looked better,” Link replied. Rhett rolled his eyes at this, but Link was only half-kidding: he did look really good in that shirt. It was then that he refocused on their main objective, cringing as he recalled their embarrassing conversation from earlier that afternoon. “Um, Rhett? As much as I’d like to continue helping you get this vessel I’m trapped in ready for tonight’s show, I think we should talk about the plan.”

“What did ya have in mind?” Rhett gulped. “I mean, what else is there? We’ve tried pretty much everything we could think of.”

Link felt his heart skip a beat as he debated over what to say next. He fiddled with Rhett’s comb on the counter in front of him as he let the words escape his mouth.

“W-well… not everything.”

“Link, what are ya-,“ Rhett started before he was interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

“15 minutes, guys!” Stevie called out from behind the door before walking away. Link was about to speak again when Rhett charged right toward him.

“Look, Rhett, m-maybe we should jus-“

He was cut off by a pair of lips crashing into his own. Before he could even process the situation, he felt Rhett’s hands come up to cup his jaw as both of their brains spun. Once he realized what was happening, Link reached down to embrace Rhett, bringing him closer and deepening the kiss. Rhett lifted one of his hands to lightly graze the hairs at the nape of Link’s neck, who in turn parted his lips to allow Rhett to enter. They continued like this for some time, getting lost in each other’s touch and exploring each other’s mouths. It was full of passion and a moment neither of them wanted to end after waiting for so long, but they knew they would eventually have to go on stage.

Reluctantly, they break apart and rest their foreheads together, eyes closed and panting. After a minute, Link slowly opens his eyes and finds himself staring into Rhett’s beautiful, shiny green irises. Only this time, he’s not looking into a camera phone.

“Rhett!” Link exclaimed, pulling Rhett in for a bear hug and almost knocking him over as the taller man laughed exuberantly. They stood there holding each other, reveling in the fact that they were rightfully back in their own respective bodies.

“How did you know that this would work?” said Rhett, pulling Link away to face him.

“Well, after watching that dumb movie a couple of times and hearing how much it talked about an ‘act of selfless love,’ I came to the conclusion that I should come clean about how I felt in order to save you from this awful curse,” Link replied. “But now…”

“What is it, Link?”

“D’ya think…” Link paused before continuing. “…d’ya think if we did that again, we would just switch back?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Rhett drawled, pulling Link in again for another kiss, this one even more idyllic than the last. After a tender moment, they separated once more.

“Am I still you?” Link queried, gazing up at Rhett with an enormous smile from ear to ear, as if he didn’t already know.

“Afraid not,” Rhett affirmed. “Guess this means we can tell the crew that we’re back on as originally planned.” Rhett released Link, taking his hand and leading him towards the door.

“Y’ready?”

“Let’s give ‘em a show,” Link declared.

[redvelvetreel]

Red Velvet Reel 9.1: Blue Ain’t (Usually) My Color

             [Fic Directory]

Pairing: [Married] Spicyhoney (Underfell Papyrus x Underswap Papyrus)

Summary: Stretch feels terrible over that whole death-will debacle, and seeks solace from his brother and brother-in-law. He ends up with a little comfort and a lot of knowledge.

Characters: Stretch (Underswap Papyrus) & Red (Underfell Sans) & Blue (Underswap Sans)

Contains: Mpreg/Skelepreg! Monster pregnancy headcanons, including sympathetic pregnancy symptoms! Mood Swings! Coffee Shops! 

Rating: Teen and up! (I guess?)

Note:  If I were a painter, I wouldn’t change you- just paint you bright. ‘Cause Blue looks good on the sky Looks good on that neon buzzin’ on the wall But darlin’ It don’t match your eyes -- "Blue Ain’t Your Color" by Keith Urban

Stretch had literally been outside the other day, but something about today seemed magical. The air was cool but not biting, not quite time to break out the terrible winter sweaters... but soon. The leaves were gold and red, most of them still attached to the tree-but the ones on the ground still crunched delightfully under his shoes. Too bad he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to enjoy it. Forcing down another sigh, Stretch made his way to the coffee shop across the street. Mt. Ebbot Coffee Co. Store # 6. He had never been to this one before, but store #4 had Austin the Barista who changed his hair color every other week. Maybe this store also had someone who would be willing to pour sprinkles in his coffee, too. Stretch smiled to himself, feeling a little bit better. Actually, a lot better! Sprinkles and coffee were a delicious combination! He was going to have delicious sprinkles coffee with his brother and his brother-in-law, and they were- He jumped when he heard tapping on the window, looking over his shoulder to find... Red. Face pressed against the glass, tongue lolling out of his mouth like a toddler. Was it on the window? Gross. Edge would have thrown a fit- The guilt started up immediately, and he felt bad again. Like really, really bad. Stretch did his best to smile at the baristas, but it felt half-hearted as he made his way to the corner booth. Red was already back in his seat, back flush against the wall with an unobstructed view of the entire establishment. Blue was sitting across from him like a more normal monster. Ugh, that was mean- less paranoid monster. “What’cha mad at, Honey?”

“Me. Myself. I.” He slid into the space next to Blue, leaning most of his body weight on his brother. Blue just held him tight, probably a little worried. Great. “I’m just a huge fuckup and I don’t know how to stop being bad at everything.”

“That’s not true!” Blue gave him a squeeze, only letting go to slide a big Frappuccino in front of him. It was absolutely covered in sprinkles. “You’re good at many things! Why don’t you have a drink-“

“Ya ‘n Edge fightin’ or somethin’?” Red got even more abrasive when he was genuinely concerned, and the table shook with the force of his punch. “The hell ya do this time, huh?!”

“Shut UP, Red!” Blue kicked the other skeleton under the table, “Maybe Edge did something to him!”

“I...” Where did he even start to answering these question? “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, pressing his cheekbone against the top of his brother’s head, “We’ve argued and fought before, but this feels different.” 

He tightened his hold around his brother, staring at the wood, “Like, really bad, really off different. It’s weird- I don’t like it, it’s not like we’re fighting-fighting but it’s not like we’re on stellar terms either. It’s maybe neither of our faults and both of our faults, but I’m not sure. I don’t know how to fix it. All I know is that I don’t want Edge walking on eggshells around me...”

“If it was Papy’s fault, why would Edge be cautious around him?” Blue asked Red pointedly, but in a moment he was back to being coddling, gently rubbing Stretch’s back in concerned affection, “What happened? Is that why he’s not here today?”

“No, and it was kinda my fault too. I overreacted. I left him at home because he was still sleeping.” He shrugged half-heartedly, “He’s been... really sleepy lately. I’m kinda worried-”

Red snorted like he was holding back a laugh, “Pancake’s a greedy bastard, huh? Like their Daddy.”

“It’s-” Yeah, ok, Soulings did need a lot of magic. “Fine, it’s probably a pregnancy thing, but we’re going to the doctor on Thursday, just in case.” He held up a hand, “Anyway, that’s not the point- I left him a note on the dresser, and then I realized I forgot my reward card. But I guess by that time Edge though I left, ‘cause then I could hear him talking with someone on speaker. It was Comic. He was... asking him for advice about missing home...”

“Oh.” Blue patted his back consolingly, sympathizing politely even if it was clear he didn’t quite understand the issue. “I’m sorry, Papy. Sometimes it’s good for monsters to vent to a neutral third party, though. It’s better than bottling it up, right? Maybe Edge didn’t want to talk to you about it because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah...” Blue made some good points and it sounded reasonable enough. Edge was probably being conscientious, but... “But he’s supposed to talk to me about these things, isn’t he? Am I a bad husband, if he doesn’t feel like he can talk with me freely or directly? Can he not trust me?” Stretch lowered his voice, soul feeling unbearably heavy, “Does that mean he’s unhappy here? Unhappy with me? If he misses Underfell, doesn’t that mean he wants to go back? What if-“

“S’fine.” Red had little patience for tact or diplomacy, rough and painfully dismissive. “Wouldn’t a done speaker if he ain’t wantcha to hear. S’reassurin’ ya he’s dealin’ with that saudade bullshit. S’always been heart over brains for ‘im. He’ll get over it.“

“But-“ Stretch frowned, feeling less reassured, “That’s not-“

“Don’t’cha worry, Honey bunch. I’ll straightin’ yer hubby out.” Red cracked his knuckles in an obvious show of bravado, smile sharp and confident, “S’gotten too touchy-feely, but ain’t nothin’ a nice lil’ chat can’t fix.“

“I don’t want that!” Stretch wasn’t sure how he felt about Red’s flippancy- relieved his worst fears were being disproved, or annoyed Edge’s feelings were being dismissed? “I don’t want Edge to be secretly miserable! I want him to be happy! Not just pretend to be happy for my sake-“

The corners of his eye sockets burned unpleasantly, and he rubbed at them irritably, “I never meant to force him to come here- I would have been just as happy to stay with him in Underfell! But he-“ His voice hitched miserably, shoulders shaking as his brother held him. “I don’t want him to hate me! I didn’t mean to ruin his life!”

“The hell’s wrong with ya?!” Red was wide-eyed, hands hovering nervously like he wanted to slap or shake Stretch. “The fuck ya talkin’ about?! Why the fuck ya bawlin’?!” 

“Papy.” Stretch couldn’t even shrug before Blue was pulling him closer, tucking his face against his chest like he was in stripes again. It should have been embarrassing, but it was actually incredibly soothing. “Edge doesn’t hate you, and he doesn’t think you ruined his life. It just seems like it because the parentMOOD is amplifying your anxiety.”

Stretch felt disoriented and confused, blinking at his brother blearily, “Huh?”

“I’m not saying your feelings aren’t real or anything- I just want you to know that it’s Pancake making everything seem more intense and extreme.” Blue’s tone was calm and patient, and although he let Stretch pull away, he kept a supportive hand on his back.

“This?” Stretch patted at his cheeks, surprised to find them just a little damp. He had forgotten to be upset, too focused on Blue’s comfort and being confused. “This is my parentMOOD starting? I’m not just being unnaturally overdramatic?”

“You’re being naturally sensitive!” All expecting parents go through this, so there’s no reason to be ashamed.

“The fuck ya about, huh?!” Red looked agitated and unsure, “Brat ain’t even here-  they ain’t even born!”  He clutched the table hard enough his claws dug into the plastic guard, nervous in a way Stretch wasn’t used to seeing, “Ya been cursed or somethin’?! Is Edge?!”

“No! No, we’re fine- I’m just, uh, it’s a sympathetic pregnancy symptom,” Stretch cleared his throat, looking away from that strangely vulnerable expression. He had to force down the sudden urge to comfort Red, since he was sure his brother-in-law would probably bite him if he tried. Biology was so weird. “Monster babies are made from pieces of both their parents souls, right?”

Red finally nodded, hesitantly, 

“Since monsters are their souls, and Pancake’s claimed a piece of mine, then it makes sense I get zapped by some side effects, too.” He tried very very hard to keep his tone even, to not give into the urge to start babying his brother-in-law, “Can’t have one parent shouldering the whole thing, right?”

“Fine, fine, no curse-“ Red moved his hand impatiently, still restless and annoyed, “So? What’s a fuckin’ parentMOOD?”

“It’s what monsters call these extreme mood swings.” Blue sighed, leaning on the table, “Basically, the non-pregnant partner becomes super emotional and reacts disproportionately to every little thing. Like, they’ll cry if they’re sad over a movie, or smother you if they’re worried about you. It’s not always as pronounced as Pa- uh, Stretch’s case, something about physiology.”

Stretch knew Blue was talking generally, but that criticism still stung. Was he being overly emotional? Blue just told him it was fine! Besides, it didn’t feel like he was disproportionately reacting to anything- and he certainly wasn’t smothering.

“It’s biological,” Stretch muttered sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest as he sank down, “Sympathetic and empathetic partners mean better care for the pregnant parent! Better care for the pregnant parent means a healthier, happier Souling- so I am being a good Dad!”

“Of course you are, Papy! You’re going to be a great Papa!” Blue patted his brother’s arm indulgently, giving Red a meaningful look from across the table, “You should finish your coffee before it gets too cool.”

“Oh! Right!” Stretch took a cautious sip, but it was lukewarm at best. Ah well. Still delicious! 

“So...” Red rubbed at his face aggressively, speaking slowly, “Back up. Yer mood swings’ makin’ ya scared Edge’s gonna leave ya fer Underfell? Ok. So… why ya tellin’ us? Whatcha want us to do ‘bout it, Honey?”

“Obviously a little R&R- Reassurance and Relief!” Blue looked proud, although Stretch hadn’t actually thought about it that way, “You want me to comfort you, and Red to tell you what Edge is probably planning and thinking, right?”

“Ye-“ Stretch started to say, before stopping himself and frowning, “No? I don’t know? But that sounds really nice.” He turned his most pathetic, helpless pleading expression to his brother-in-law, “Pretty, pretty please?”

“Look.” Red grit through his teeth, holding his hands out on the table stiffly. Stretch recognized that gesture as Underfellese for ‘all cards on the table with nothing up my sleeve.’

“I ain’t know everythin’ in Edge’s empty-ass skull, ‘n he’s real fuckin’ shunsho sometimes,” Red sighed irritably, glaring at Stretch like he was personally responsible for that, “But he fuckin’ sucks at keepin’ his feelin’s quiet. He’ll do shit he ain’t wanna do if he gotta, but he bitches ‘n moans ‘n acts up the whole. Goddamn. Time.”

Stretch smiled at that, rubbing his wedding band fondly. He wouldn’t have put it in those terms, but yeah. Red was right.

“Ya think Edge’d be here if he didn’t want to? Ya think I’d be here if he wasn’t serious ‘bout him wanna being here?” Red wrenched his hands back to grab Stretch by the front of his hoodie, giving him a shake so hard something rattled loudly. Guilt didn’t have a chance to settle before he was being shaken like a maraca again. “Ain’t no goin’ back to Underfell, anyway! Fuckin’ told ya: Edge’s yer problem now, ‘n ain’t no takebacks!“

“But is he happy?” Stretch could read between the lines, but implication was different from confirmation.  “How do you know-“

“Ya real so goddamn shunsho!” Red started cursing unintelligibly, “Why ya askin’ that, huh?” Stretch didn’t have time to answer before Red gave him another hard shake. “‘Course he’s happy! Dumbass!”

Red shoved him backwards, and it was only Blue’s quick reaction time that kept his skull from smacking into the wood. 

“Even in Underfell y’ain’t gonna get no Soulin’ without love in yer heart fer yer partner!” There was an unusually friendly quality to that sharp smile. A lot like a shark might look at a fish it was about to eat. “If yer hubby’s outta sorts, s’cause yer freakin’ him out.” 

[ Part 1 - Here! ] [ Part 2 ]  [ Part 3 ]

[starksinner]

Have a Drink On Me

Summary: With Wanda and Natasha on a mission, the guys invite you to a bar for a relaxing night out. Tony can’t help but feel a sting of jealousy when you flirt with America’s favorite super soldier.

Pairings: Tony Stark x Reader x Steve Rogers

Other Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson

Warnings: Flirting, Drinking, Angst, Mentions of Sex, Allusion to Drunk Driving

“You think this is a little much? I haven’t been to a bar in ages —" You stood in front of Bucky Barnes and spun around, your fingers gripping the hem of your dress. "I really have no fucking clue what the hell to wear, Buck . . .”

“I think you look fabulous, doll."

Bucky smiled admirably as you furrowed your eyebrows and glared down at your outfit, completely unsure of yourself. "You look good, girl. I’m gonna have to keep a bunch of idiots away from you all night  It’s gonna be tough.”  

You showed him a whimsical grin as he followed you towards the elevators, the clicks of your heels ricocheting off the walls.

“I’m starting to understand why no man wants to sleep with me,” You huffed, shoving Barnes into the elevator, a deep laugh falling from his lips. “It’s your damn fault! You repel all of my potential lays away! I’m the one who hasn’t gotten any ass in —"

“Two years,” He snickered ludicrously as he shielded himself from your playful, little punches. You couldn’t help but gape up at his pretentious smirk.

“You shouldn’t be the one talking. I'm pretty sure you’ve missed —like— seventy years of good women,” You crossed your arms over your chest as you carefully watched the number of floors begin to descend.

“Who said I didn’t get laid, though?” He smiled down at you, laughing at the look of disgust that wiped across your face. He brought his arm over your shoulder affectionately, pulling you into his side. A fistful of his shirt to seeped into your mouth as he clung to your body tighter. “Them lays, sweetheart  —  they're about the only things I do remember. They kept me alive. A man has needs, even as a murderous machine —"

“God!” You swatted his chest and shook your head, rolling your eyes at his hysteric laughter. “You’re gross, Buck. Absolutely gross.”

"I've heard worse shit outta' your mouth, kid,"

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite assholes!”

Sam raised his arms as the two of you exited the elevator, the corners of his mouth sliding upwards. He sat next to Steve on the couch, a now mischievous look overshadowing Captain America's features as you stepped closer.

“You look great tonight, woman! You thinking of getting some action?" Sam wiggled his eyebrows as you rolled your eyes, your gaze falling back to Steve.

“I know someone who's gonna love that dress,” Steve acknowledged, pulling himself off the couch. As he walked over to you, you couldn’t help but find yourself completely mesmerized by the sight of his muscles trying to rip free of his tight blue tee. You could see every slope of his muscles, every vein on his arm. Steve Rogers was a damn sight for sore eyes. He knew it. He picked that shirt for a reason. "And not just because of how short it is.”

Bucky chuckled and brought his arm around you again, his fingers purposely digging into your skin. “Your man's gonna love it, (Y/N). He's not yours officially, of course, but I see the way he looks at you during breakfast. When you wear those big ass shirts and them short shorts, the ones that show off your legs and shit —"

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, man?” You pushed yourself out of Bucky’s grasp and scoffed, glaring at the three men that surrounded you. Sam, Steve, and Bucky all wore sinister smirks as you stood, suddenly exasperated. “Why are you all lookin’ at me like that? I like this dress so I'm wearin' it. There’s no other fuckin’ reason.”

As you spun around, the tick of the elevator chime taunting your ears, a soft sign fell from your lips as you spotted your favorite philanthropist. He sported a dark grey shirt and leather jacket. He looked completely rugged, almost animalistic.

He stepped out of the elevator, a doe-like innocence shining across his features. As your eyes met his, your fingers nervously dug into the material of your dress. Tony’s gaze quickly softened as his eyes loomed over your presence.

“Tony — hey," You spoke awkwardly as he stepped up to you, his expensive cologne testing your senses and his tousled dark brown hair begging for your fingers. "I — Tony, we  — we should get goin',"

You patted his chest, your hand lingering for a little too long. As soon as you felt your cheeks heat up, you gave him a quick smile and walked past him toward the parking garage.

Tony's gaze lingered on you as your heels clicked through the silence and you turned the corner.

You sat a couple of seats down from the boys, tapping your feet to the music as you sipped on a cheap glass of alcohol.

Every so often, you glanced over to the four of them as they snickered and pointed to the drunken bastards around the bar.

You watched your boys feed their inflated egos laugh by laugh, glance by glance, and drink by drink. Desperate women ogled them from across the bar while prideful men grunted with jealousy.

You felt the tension rise across the room right when you walked in. The music seemed lower, the air thinner. People were fearful of Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

Bars were never your scene, anyway. You felt the most appreciation for the taste of bourbon when lounged around the tower, watching an adventure movie or reading a book of tragedy. You preferred your safe space of solitude and the unlimited supply of liquor you had all to yourself. Not this.

"You should come back and sit with us,"

Steve broke you out of your daze as he shifted the seat beside you and sat, his arm resting against the counter as he studied your expression with anything but an innocent smile.

"I will - I just wanted a break," You grinned, your fingers the condensation on your glass. "I really love you guys, I do, but sometimes y'all are a damn handful."

"I can attest to that," Steve smiled, motioning for the bartender to grab him another beer. "You do like your whiskey. I'm surprised you and Tony aren't drinking buddies."

"He wouldn't be able to keep up," You shrugged, bringing the glass up to your lips as you continued to stare into his eyes. "I'm quite the handful myself,"

"Oh, I know," He grinned, wrapping his hand around his new, fresh beer bottle. "Someone's gotta' put you in check one day."

You couldn't conceal the cheeky grin that fell across your lips or the tingling sensation that crawled up your legs. "You think you're up for that job, soldier?"

"Maybe," He tested pridefully, placing his bottle of beer on the counter top. "How drunk are you, exactly?"

"M'not even half way there," You replied. "Let me have some shots. Little bit of vodka tonic. Then, I'll get there."

"And when you get there? What're you gonna' let me do?"

"Depends," You inched closer to him, cuddling in the feeling of his warmth. "I'll give you control. I'll give you all of it," You balanced yourself on his knee, blowing a heap of warm air over his ear. "Do you like being in control, Stevie? Something dark — tells me you do."

"Steve! Get your ass over here, man!"

You pulled away from the super soldier as you turned to see Sam calling him over, bottle in hand, smile on his face.

You sat back in your seat and watched as Steve stood up, reaching back for his beer. He smiled thoughtfully, his eyes roaming over your face as you returned the friendly expression. "I'm sorry,"

"For what?" You scoffed, nodding towards Sam. "Your boy's in desperate need of you. I think he needs his diaper change. Go help him out."

"Come with me," He stuck out his hand, his eyes softening. "You make my life much more interesting."

"Always so dramatic, Stevie," You chuckled, finishing the last drop of your drink. "I'll come by later."

"I like your dress."

"I like your jacket," You admired, your eyes focusing upon Tony's large and calloused hands as he pulled out a seat and sat next to you. "I kind of love it. I really like it."

"You've mentioned that a couple of times."

"It's sexy."

"I wore it just for you."

"I dressed up just for you," You admitted, your hands wrapping around your new glass of whiskey. A heap of silence fell over you before you decided to speak again. "All the stupid shit I do, that shit's always for you."

"Flirting with Steve?” Tony’s voice was dark, maybe even dangerous. The blood and alcohol swimming in your veins were frozen still as his stare grew predatory. “That shit for me, too?" His dark brown eyes lingered on your lips as you scoffed and shook your head.

"You jealous or somethin', Stark?"

"Yes."

"W-why're you admitting that to me?" You turned to him wearily, settling your sights on his trimmed goatee. Your mind, distant and clouded, couldn't help but imagine the way it would feel against your thighs. 

Maybe rough, maybe it'd burn a little.

"I might be more drunk than you," He answered, settling his cup against the counter top. "I drink, believing I'll stop thinkin' about you — never seems to work."

"I — I drink b-because I'm lonely," You slurred, wiping your face with the palm of your hand. "I honestly can't remember what it feels like to be touched — or to be loved,"

"I've always wanted to love you," Tony said. "I do — love you. I can feel for you, hard as I want, doesn't change what you feel for Steve. It doesn't matter if you feel for me, too."

A poisonous pain, one of guilt and shame, stung your system as your head dropped and your heart pounded. The alcohol in your body may have impaired your vision and decisions, but it could never impair what you felt. What you felt for Tony. What you felt for Steve, as much as you tried to conceal it.

"I  — I do love you, Tony." You concluded. "I've always known that — and I’ve always known — I feel something for Steve.”

"I know," He let his head fall in his hands before he grunted and stood up, placing a hundred dollar bill in front of you.

"Where — Where are you going?" You turned in your seat as you watched him stare around the bar and pull out his car keys. "Y-you know not to drive, right?"

"Have a drink on me," Tony implored, refusing to turn back to you. "A real good one."  

[littlecrookedheart]

Amen, Amen • The Fraying

Catch Up : Reckoning | Rum on the Fire | Like You're Made of Glass | Unfolding

Character(s) : Noah Marshall, Jane Marshall, Matt Pivouz (OC), Vinny Trovato (OC)

Rating : MATURE. THIS STORY WILL NOT BE NSFW, but it will be dealing with mature themes, such as death, possession, mental illness, suicidal thoughts, murder, and other graphic elements. Language warning. Please read at your own risk. I’m issuing a general trigger warning for the entirety of this story. *This chapter deals heavily with abuse. Please be aware of this before reading and do so at your own risk.

Time : This takes place 14 years after Jane’s death and roughly 5 years after the events in ILITW. Noah is 22 years old.

Word Count : 6,594

Author’s Note : This chapter was a rough one. We peek back into Noah's past and his new friendship with Matt, and we get to see some twisting of the tides when it comes to what they've been dealing with.

Key : Perspective switches will be marked with ** | Time jumps will be marked with –

Soundtrack | Chapter Inspiration

**THIRTEEN YEARS AGO**

"Honey, I know this is hard, but we told everyone six, and it's five thirty. We have to go."

Mom's sitting on the couch, staring into space like she always did after Jane left. Dad has a hand on her shoulder, a rarity then, she'd never let anyone touch her. I haven't hugged my own mother in fourteen years. Specifically, five thousand, two hundred and one days.

"Honey, we really-"

"I'm coming, okay?!" She's yelling, pulling her purse strap onto her shoulder and she spins around, finding me. "You'll keep your mouth shut."

I'm nine, and I don't know what she's talking about. I'm nine, and the tone in her voice wants to gut me like a wild animal. She's got me down, I guess. That's the moment when I found out that I was alone.

--

"Noah!" Katai stumbles over to me, holding out a snickers bar. "Brought you this."

They put it on my lap, because I won't look anywhere but down, and I say, "Thanks."

"Yep! Had it left over from Easter."

And that's kind of weird, because it's been months, but I just smile, because I'm nine and it's fine.

"Your mom is crying a lot."

"Yeah, I know."

"She misses Jane, huh?"

I nod, because so do I, but I can't say so. I can't deflect mom's pain.

"How come they wanted this memorial thing?" Katai asks, opening the snickers and taking a bite. I don't mind, and I break it in half to share.

"They think it'll be good for Jane's friends I guess," I say, shrugging.

"That's kinda dumb. I think they think it's good for their friends, not Jane's. Jane's friends are always talkin' about her."

"Katai?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you stay my friend?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"Nobody else talks to me..." I'm trailing off, scraping my foot in the dirt. "Nobody wants to be my friend anymore."

"That's not true!"

"Then how come I never hang out with you guys anymore? How come Lucas stopped asking me to trade cards? How come Ava and Andy ignore me in class?"

Katai sighs, standing up and stomping in front of me, pokes me on the head.

"Ow! What the heck?"

"Noah, you gotta stop worryin'. And I'm always your friend! You stopped coming to my house on Saturday mornings and I still think me and you are friends!"

Katai is right, I think, because I'm nine and I don't know the future. So I hug them, because they're my friend.

**PRESENT DAY**

And now they're gone.

--

Less focus on the fact that I almost killed Matt back there. More focus on the drawing. It's in my hand, probably being held too tightly, and Matt's on the front steps, sitting next to me.

"Noah?"

"Hm?" but I'm not really paying attention. Feel the pencil marks. Feel the fibers. Feel my heart falling. Vinny's voice in my ears.

Help him.

"I don't care about that thing back there. It couldn't be you when you're right here," Matt says, putting a hand on my shoulder. This time, it's not a dagger. And I take a breath, because I don't know what that means. Because I'm twenty two, and I have one friend. Because Katai is dead. Because Matt is the only thing I know exists right now. Because I trust him, somehow. Because fuck this.

"But you saw me."

"I saw something. Looked like you. But I trust this version of you, not that thing. Do you want to kill me?"

Shake my head, count to seven. All I want is to let go.

"Right. Couldn't have been you."

Truth is, I'm not so sure. We find misery to be so fucking captivating because we look deep within her and see ourselves, an abysmal mirror just aching to hear 'bloody mary.'

Maybe that's where I fucked up. Stood in front of it so many times it started to reflect. Begged too hard. Fought too long. Think I could call for her? Say her name in the bathroom, close my eyes and hope she appears? Think I could suffocate? No, that's too easy.

And yeah, I'm ready to fall. Fuck, just as much, I'm ready to fly. But I'll keep on tightening the clutch around my own neck, because wanting is as honeysuckle as the idea that things will change, and I know better than to give into false hope. I know better. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven

"You have nice eyes."

What? I know my eyebrow is raised and furrowed, and of course, I'm looking away. My ears are burning like skin on a fucking stove top.

"Sorry, not like...my mom always said you can tell a lot about people by their eyes."

"You believe that?"

"You don't?"

No. Because I don't believe in anything that isn't absolute. Because I'm twenty two, and I've had to raise myself. Because I've tried and tried, and all I've ever learned is how to barely drag by. Maybe that's just what I'm made for, half empty glasses of murky water, shards of glass, forgotten promises. Whispers. Pain. Maybe I need a bloody mary.

"Anyway..." He's standing up, dusting off his coat. "We should go."

"What? No," but I don't know why I said that. Neither does Matt, according to the look on his face. "We're supposed to be here. Vinny wanted us to come here."

"Yep, and then something tried to kill me," Matt says, pulling his collar down to show me the marks. I know they're there. I know he's burning, too.

"You can go. I'm staying." Like somehow I've got a key, like somehow it's my place to stay.

"I'm not leaving you, shit head." He turns around, making his way up the stairs. He's looking over his shoulder at me, waiting.

So I meet him at the front door, and I notice his eyes are bloodshot, but they're gleaming. Like emeralds and gold and all of the things you'd want to find. I don't know what that means for him, I just hope it's better.

It's still dark inside, just like it was an hour ago. Except this time it reeks of sulfur, like it's been embedded into the walls, seeping up through the floors. Pull my shirt over my nose, make my way in to Matt's old room.

**

Noah slid across the floor near the bed, sticking his arm back into the compartment where Vinny had hidden the items. He felt a small knob, and turned it, almost as if it were a door. His face turned in confusion, but he pressed inward, which lifted an entire floorboard.

"Holy shit," Matt whispered, scrubbing his face with his hand. "How is this here?"

Noah shrugged, backing up and kneeling, prying the board upward with his fingers. Under the wood was a scatter of papers, stuffed in with small toys, a costume conductors hat, and a small photo album.

"I've seen that before," Matt said, pointing to the album. "Maybe in a dream or something, I don't know. It's familiar."

Noah handed it to him, scooping the rest of the contents onto the floor. Matt forced the window open, a cracking sound coming from the sealed panel.

"These aren't letters, they're pages from someone's journal," he said, grabbing a paper as he fumbled to the old bed, landing with a creak.

"Why are they in envelopes?" Noah asked, frowning in confusion. Matt shrugged and passed most of them to him instead, focusing on the photo album.

Noah opened the seals, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he read the first page, a sickness forming in his gut as his eyes skimmed the words. And then he knew exactly why they were hidden, and why they'd been in envelopes. He grabbed the few Matt had sitting near him, pulling them to the side.

Noah heard a small click from the doorway, looking up to see Vinny.

"Um...Matt?"

Matt held the conductors hat in his hand, running his thumb over the embroidery. "Hm?"

"Matt, look."

Vinny sat on the edge of the bed, silently, radiating a deep violet glow, almost like smoke. Instead of sulfur, the room smelled of licorice.

Matt's eyes glistened, his hands outstretched toward him. Vinny shook his head, moving his hand in the air as if he were smearing it, and was gone.

"Where'd he go?"

"Wherever he exists, now," Noah said, realizing that Vinny had shuffled through the envelopes, a handful of them pried open already.

Matt began to cry, trying to shake it off. Noah stood on his knees, putting a hand on Matt's shoulder. He seemed to crumble, as if he were paper, shifting and sobbing.

**

I don't know much about friendship, not outside of Katai. I don't know much about miracles or helping people or how to console the only person in the world who cares about what you're going through, but I can tell you how to crack the sky. I can tell you how to beat the demons on good days and how to drown them out on bad days. I can tell you how many puffs are on each of my cigarettes before I light them, and how many times Matt has cried for Vinny in the last twenty four hours. I don't know if that's right, if he's crying for him or because of him, but as cheesy as it sounds, I've never seen anyone love anyone like that. Just me and Jane, and now Matt and Vinny. I don't know if it feels good to know that.

I don't want Matt to know about these journal pages. They're too hard, too dark, darker than any brother should have to read. Vinny was twelve. Too young for this. Hell, you could be eighty and be too young for this. But why did he want me to find it? What good will this freaky drawing do me if I don't know what it's for?

Matt's quieting now, he's standing up and handing me the photo album.

"What is it?"

"Fucked up, open it."

These are pictures of Vinny and Matt, laughing and playing. This one may have been for a Christmas card. And here's their mom, and then again on her wedding day to Pete.

"Pete wasn't your dad?"

"Nope. Keep going."

So I do, and they seem to morph, their faces becoming warped and solemn, bullet holes appearing over their skin. I'm looking up at Matt, who gestures to keep flipping.

And then I see it, and my blood goes cold. Me. Jane. Jane. Vinny. My heart drops, if it falls and nobody is around to hear it, will it make a sound? Will Matt hear it? Does he see? Me. Him.

"What is this?"

"A lie," he says, grabbing the photo album. He palms the drawing of Jane and Vinny in the church and holds it up to a photo where they stood positioned the same, except not in a church. Instead, they're on a playground, and they look happy, like they're best friends.

But I grab the album back, turning the plastic, staring in utter fucking disbelief at a photo of Matt and I, sitting in his old room, the one we're in now. Because this photo is of today, not years past, not a fabrication. This photo is real, and so are we, and none of this makes any fucking sense.  

I'm shoving it at him, my throat closing in, and I rush to the front door, fleeting for my last god damn nerve, get me out of here. Get me out.

I duck past Jane, humming that annoying fucking song, grab the handle, grit my teeth as it burns my palm, twist the handle and slide down the hill.

But Jane is here, too. She always is, isn't she? And I can't breathe, and I'm clawing at my mouth, thick, rough strings sewn through my lips. I'm coughing, sawdust puffing out of the seams, and Matt's yelling for me.

**

"Noah!" Matt shouted, jumping down the porch stairs.

Noah was doubled over, eyes blood red, segments of  black wire embedded into his lips. Matt grabs a pocket knife from his coat pocket, bending the wire open. He's got one hand on Noah's shoulder, the other prying the material from his mouth.

Finally, he coaxes away the last of the wire, and Noah bends over, retching, spilling sawdust and larger wood shavings, black beetles and maggots spawning from it.

Matt helps Noah sit on the ground, hand on his back. "Can you breathe?"

**

"Yeah," I say, because physically, my airway is open. But no, no, inside, my chest is full of stuffing, like I'm fucking taxidermied, like my twin cradle has expired and decayed and all that's left is carcass.

Catch my breath, breathe, one, two, three, four, five, six-

"I know it's not a great time," Matt says, leaning forward, "Why were you humming that song?"

God damn, they've got me on display, don't they? Like they feed on my misery, but that's just how it goes, isn't it? Because I know I didn't do anything other than choke on that dust, but Matt heard a melody. Talk about insanity.

They get a laugh out of turning me into a puppet.

Like this is a big top circus, and I'm the acrobat, walking a tightrope made of rusty metal twine, like a noose that couldn't be unraveled, a scream that never left my last motherfucking breath and good god, I don't know how to put one foot in front of the other.

I don't know what an anchor is anymore.

"Hey, it's okay." Matt says, pushing a smile.

Maybe I do, after all.

**FOUR YEARS AGO**

I'm standing in Dr. Ripley's office, staring out the window. I remember this moment like the back of my hand.

"Okay Noah, have a seat," he says, keys clicking beneath his fingers as he finishes typing an email.

I sit down, but still face the window, watching breezy whisps of snowflakes dance down from the sky. I have always loved the snow.

"Today I'd like to get personal, are you open to that?"

Personal. Was discussing Jane's death not personal enough? I can tell him the detail of how the sky bends before it breaks but I can't get personal, not enough to satiate him.

Nod, agree, just get through this meeting.

"Tell me about your family dynamic."

Ha. Good one. I look at him forlornly, I guess he isn't kidding.

"It's fucked."

"Care to explain the extent of how fucked, exactly?"

"Sure. I'm Noah, I'm in a mental ward. Jane was my sister, she's dead now. My parents got divorced when I was ten, Dad cares but not enough, he's got a new family in Minnesota or some shit. He sends me a check from Jane's life insurance every month, wants me to keep it for college."

"And your mother?"

"Darlene is a god damn snake," I say, meeting his eyes. They're kind and blue, as they should be, as you'd expect from someone like him.

"Would you like to elaborate?"

I sigh, big, annoyed but not at doc, more at Darlene, that evil sack of-

"Noah, take a breath. You're shaking."

Oh fuck, I am, aren't I? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

"Sorry. She just, uh..she's not good."

"Was there ever any abuse? I have a note here from one of our first sessions, you mentioned that she'd have backhanded you for speaking up for yourself."

"She'd backhand me if I said nothing at all."

And it's true, she would. She loved the swipe of her hand across my face, the way it made me jerk backwards. She'd choke me with her poison any chance she got.

"When did that begin?"

"The night Jane died. We all got home, everything was quiet. It's weird, I actually could swear I remember this in black and white."

"That isn't abnormal. Please, continue, if you feel comfortable."

Ripley never pressures me to spill my secrets. Half of that, I think, is because he doesn't believe me. The other half, if I had to guess, is that compared to the other kids in here, I'm a walk through the park. Kid sees dead sister, is thrown into a depression after best friend dies. How's that for a headline?

Imagine walking through the park with snow like this. The idea of the crunch nearly gives me shivers. Man, I miss the snow.

"Like I said, it was quiet. I was on the couch, Dad was in the kitchen getting something but I can't remember what. I could have sworn I heard the sound of Jane's shoes, I turned around and of course, she was dead, so nothing was there. Darlene asked me what was wrong. I said, 'Nothin', mama. Just thought I heard Jane.' and her face did this weird, ugly thing, and she knocked me out of my seat."

"Did your father react?"

"I started crying and he ran in, checked my face and yelled at her. I don't even remember what he said. I just remember looking up and seeing Jane."

"A photo? Or perhaps, do you feel, she was visiting you?"

Visiting. Right.

"Not a picture. Like, whole Jane. Sitting across from me. When we were kids we did this thing to like, make our twin cradle work. We'd press our pinkies together, and like, it wasn't big. We just always did it. So I held up mine, and she did the same, but I felt it ice over inside. And then she was gone."

Doc shifts in his seat, opening a bottle of water. "What's your twin cradle?"

The space only we know, I could say. The place Jane lives, but it's nothing now, just like she is.

"It's nothing. Kid stuff."

He nods, smiling. "Your mother's behavior never improved?"

I pull up my shirt, showing him four cigarette burn scars on my ribs. Then to my shoulder, where a there's another scar, a line across it. The misshapen angle at the edge of my collarbone. Sit back. Count to seven.

"Noah, did your father try to get custody of you?"

"Nah. He said, 'kids need their mother.' But I didn't, not at all. Darlene might have done all of this shit, but the worst thing she's ever done  is blame me."

"For the divorce?"

"Well, yeah. But Jane's death."

"Your mother blamed you for your sisters aneurysm?"

Shit.

"Doc, no offense, but if I told you how Jane really died, you'd keep me in here forever."

"I can't say you haven't piqued my curiosity," he laughs, handing me a bottle of water and my little plastic cup of pills. "I won't think differently of you if you tell me. How about....off the record?"

"You mean it won't go in the notes?" I say, swallowing the shapes.

"Exactly. But, again, only if you're comfortable."

"Jane didn't have an aneurysm. Something killed her, but not me, not any human. Something evil."

Ripley took a breath, nodding. "Stranger things have happened. And Noah, for what it's worth? I believe you."

** PRESENT DAY **

--

"I need a pack of cigarettes," Noah says, a few paces behind Matt, who repeatedly kept slowing down for him to catch up.  

He pointed ahead to the corner shop, Matt nodded in agreement.

"Probably something to wash that wood dust out of your mouth too. Cigs, though? You need to smash that shit, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me more."

Matt rolled his eyes, a coy grin on his face. "I just want to keep you around as long as I can."

"I could quit smoking and get hit by a car next Tuesday. I could get stabbed tonight. Fuck, Jane could kill me in five seconds from now."

"Whoa, dark mood, much? Besides, none of that's happening to you."

Noah shrugged, "I mean, you can't possibly know that. But I appreciate the sentiment."

"You're right. Just maybe don't smoke in your house? It's not...great smelling in there."

"Eh, chalk it up to the other list of compliments from fancy ass Matt Pivouz," Noah laughed, pulling the last cigarette from his pack. He shrouded his hand around his face, trying to block the wind as he flicked his lighter.

"That's my new title. Every time you speak to me, address me as first name, 'fancy ass,' last name, 'Matt Pivous.'"

"Why are we friends?"

Matt elbowed him, snorting as they approached the corner store. Noah sat on the bench against the brick wall, looking up at Matt as he relaxed against the post of a street light.

"You've never smoked?" Noah asked, warming his hands on his pant leg.

"Nah. Once you've conquered heroin, the rest seems like a tease, anyway. I don't want to be addicted to anything that could kill me."

"Well shit," Noah takes a final drag, grinding the cigarette against the sidewalk before stuffing it with the others in his pack. "You'll never be able to have anything good in life, then."

"Oh, is that so?"

Noah stood to his feet, tossing his cigarette pack into the trashcan. "Yeah. We get addicted to anything that makes us happy, makes us feel any kind of good. Makes us...normal. You don't want to risk dying? You'll never live."

"Spoken from the very wise and thoughtful Noah Marshall, who spends his days wearing a striped beanie hat and leaving beer cans on the floor."

"Hey, beer is good. And leave the beanie out of it."

Noah pushed open the glass door, walking in as Matt waited on the bench.

Remy glanced up from behind the counter, giving Noah a small wave.

"Out of Camels?"

"And dignity, but who's asking?"

"You're a weird guy, Noah. I'm surprised that your last pack lasted you four days," he said, sliding a new one over.

"I, uh.."

"Shopped somewhere else? A pity," Remy laughed, leaning over the counter. He grabbed a snickers bar and placed it atop the box, gesturing to Noah. "We all need a pick me up, sometimes."

Noah smiled, handing Remy the money, and turned out of the shop.

"Homeward bound!" Matt shouted, his long legs carrying him quickly across the crosswalk.

Noah shook his head, suppressing a laugh. he tore open his snickers, taking a massive bite.

Matt froze in his tracks, so abruptly that Noah nearly knocked into him.

"What's up?" Noah asked, as Matt turned around slowly to face him.

"Keep your head down. Do not look up.  You hear me?" He said, making eye contact. "Let me handle this."

Noah nodded, his brow furrowed, and kept his head facing the concrete, following Matt's footsteps while he ate his candy.

His concern quickly faded away, a swarm of black bugs coating the ground. He rubbed his eyes, following Matt's request, keeping his head down.

The town seemed to wash away, darkness seeping in and overtaking everything around them. He was having a hard time keeping track of where Matt's shoes ended and where the bugs began, using the sleeve of his jacket to cover his nose, a heavy metallic scent surrounding them.

"Fuck you!" Matt yelled, and Noah's face instinctively shot up, looking around in horror at the scene Jane had painted for him.

A world of black, never ending darkness, and nooses swinging from the sky, his group of childhood friends dangling from them, blood beginning to boil up from the ground.

**

Matt swung punches through a thick mask of decaying membrane, the familiar low howling splintering in his ears. Trying to recite prayers in his head, he closed his eyes, quickly thinking of Vinny and the moment picking berries. A light, dim as it may be, appeared in his mind, guiding him further through the forest of sludge, his arms like hot shears as they cut through it.

The sound of wailing grew louder with each movement, piercing the air with a shrill burst of noise.

"Fuck you!" He screamed, his arm smacking into the same solidified figure he encountered at his mother's old house.

"Get away from me," he demanded, looking past the figure, its laugh taunting him.

He looked back at Noah, who broke his agreement to keep his head down, seeing him fall to his knees as he watched his friends hang from above.

Matt called out for his brother, but to no avail, flipping off the figure in front of him as he ran to Noah's side.

"It's not real," he said, breathing as if he'd been running for hours.

"It's my fault," Noah cried, his face coated in tears, shoulders heavy with each sob, "They're gone and it's my fault."

"No, they're not. Come on, look at me."

Matt grabbed the sides of Noah's face, staring into his eyes. "I know you're in there. Find me! Listen to my voice!"

Noah's eyes rolled back, a scattered web of black mold covering them, taking them back into his head. Matt grabbed Noah's shoulders, shaking him violently.

"No, no no no! You get your ass back here, Noah!"

Noah's body began to crumble beneath him, the darkness bubbling up, taking his remains with it.

Matt's knees hit the pavement, his body covered in soot and blood, vigorously wiping the remnants from his eyes. He collapsed entirely, his head pressed into the sidewalk.

"Noah, fuck. Come back to me."

His mind flashed visions of Noah's body eroding under his fingertips, the scent of ash and dirt clogging his sinuses. With everything he was, Matt cried, harder than he had for Vinny, harder than he had for himself.

"I'm ready," he whispered, shakily outstretching his arms to the sky, "Come

on, Vinny. Help a guy out."

His body flinched as he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning around to see Noah's face.

"You okay?"

Matt looked up, eyes darting around the evening sky and the world around them.

"Wh-What?  What happened?" he muttered, his face stained in anguish.

**

"Keep your head down. Do not look up.  You hear me?" He said, making eye contact. "Let me handle this."

I'm nodding, chewing this delicious Snickers. Let me tell you, I love Snickers.

"Fuck you!" Matt's screaming, and I'm looking up, looking around. Everyone's dead, hanging like ornaments, black, hot blood coming out of the ground. And bugs, so many fucking bugs.

But there's Katai, at the edge of it all, holding a hand out to stop me. So I stop, and they disappear, with everything else.

What the hell was that?

Matt's in a crouched, fallen position on the ground. I don't know what the hell he's doing. Put a hand on his shoulder, idiot.  

"You okay?"  

He's looking up at me like he's just seen into the eye of hell.

"Wh-what happened?"

"Um...what..what happened for you?"

And he's hugging me, like I've never been hugged before, like I'm somehow a light for him, and he can't stop filling his darkness.

So I'll hug him back, because he's my friend. I'll hug him the same way, because I'm twenty two years old, and Matt's the only thing I know exists right now.

Finally, he's pulling away, wiping his face. "Nothing. It's not important."

I don't know how I know this, but I know he won't tell me. I could beg him and he wouldn't tell me. Call it a hunch, but I think he saw me die back there.

"Matt, is everything okay?"

He nods, smiling at me.

"Everything is great. Let's get back to your place before it rains."

**

--

In front of Noah's door stood a middle aged woman, her short blonde hair blowing wildly in the wind.

"Who is that?" Matt asked, his voice low as he raised an eyebrow, turning to Noah.

"Darlene. My mother." Noah grit his teeth, jaw clenched, not meeting her gaze.

"You don't talk about her."

"She's nothing to me," he said, gathering his jacket closer to him. "She stopped caring about me the moment Jane died."

She crossed her arms, huffing as he and Matt approached. "Where the hell have you been?" She barked, flicking her arm outward, shrugging to the sky.

Noah stepped back, glaring at her. "Why are you here? Did Ula call you?"

"What?"

"Ula? ....My neighbor?"

"No, that woman did not call my phone. Why the hell would she call me, Noah?"

He shook his head, "I was just asking. What are you here for?"

"Noah, you need to get your shit together, there's a pile of cigarette butts spilling over this ashtray, I bet it smells like a god damn bar in your house-"

"Darlene, why the fuck are you here?"

"Oh, that's lovely. I raised my son to curse at his mother! Another fantastic result from my only living kid." She whipped her head around to face Matt, grimacing as she eyed him over.

"I'm Matt," he said, outstretching his arm to shake her hand. Noah glanced sidelong at him and he pulled his arm away before Darlene could react.

"And you are?"

"Noah's friend."

"Ha! Right. And you're here because?"

"Don't question his welcome. Why are you here, Darlene? I'm not asking again."

She turned to Noah, her eyes like brands on his skin. "I'm going out of town. You know the garage code. You need to come over on Wednesday and water my plants."

"What? I'm not doing that," Noah muttered, Matt noticing the way Darlene positioned herself to tower over him despite her slight frame. Noah was a solid foot taller, but the way she projected herself was the kind of intimidating that isn't always worth confronting, and Noah shrunk in her shadow.

Matt squared his shoulders, tensing his jaw as he watched Noah's body language, feeling protective over him. He knew that he'd do anything he had to, but in the same breath, he knew he couldn't shield Noah from her words.

You can deflect a bullet, he thought, but you can't make a sponge stop being a sponge.

"You will do that. Responsibility. Your father is sending a check to the house for you, come get it Wednesday, but do not step foot in my house unless you can do me that simple favor."

"Where is dad? Can you give me his number?"

"Noah, you don't even have a god damn cell phone, what do you need his number for? He sure as hell doesn't want to talk to you."

"I'm sensing a lot of animosity-" Matt started, Darlene swatting the air in his direction.

Noah took a breath, about to say something, but over Darlene's shoulder was Jane's face, standing behind her, the ground beginning to quake under their feet. Noah quickly found Matt's eyes, sharing a look of panic, Darlene seeming unphased as she continued to yell at him.

Jane's body seemed to root itself in the cement, branches snaking outward, splitting the ground beneath her. She howled, her voice like a curse, as if it could crack open the atmosphere and darken the sky.

Noah slammed his eyes shut, tapping his fingers on his pants, counting sevens.

"Noah, do I need to call that quack? What was his name? Ripley? Do you need to be in those four walls to straighten yourself out?"

He opened his eyes and Jane was gone, Matt's face crowded with confusion. And then he realized what she'd said, and quickly blurted, "You can't-"

"Oh, I can, and I will. You've got five boxes of shit at my house. Take them with you Wednesday. The garage code is Jane's birthday, as you should know."

"You mean their birthday?" Matt perked up, ignoring a stern look from Noah.

Darlene blinked at him, an irked, firey look on her face. "Excuse me?"

"Jane was Noah's twin. Which makes that his birthday too."

She smirked, scoffing. "Who are you to speak for my family?"

"Matt, don't-" Noah sighed, but Matt cut him off, speaking directly to Darlene, his eyes raging.

Matt's hands shook, lungs full of anger, composing all of the pain and rot and thoughts into one single outburst.

"Who are you to think you know the first thing about what it means to be family to anyone? You fucking abandoned your son because you decided to quit being a mother. And now what? Come to his doorstep, talk to him like he's shit? Treat him like he's not worthy of you?"

"He owes me!" She yelled, her face splotching red in anger, "He is the reason my baby girl is gone!"

"You weren't even a mother to one kid, what makes you think you ever could have handled two?"

Darlene's eyes widen, her face going sour as her hand wound back, smacking Noah across the face. He stumbled back, pressing the back of his hand to his cheek, the coolness from the air soothing the heat from the impact. She spit at Matt's feet, stomping to her parked car.

"I have no children," she hissed, slamming her door before peeling out of the parking spot.

Matt directed his attention to Noah, whose face had a large red welt forming over the skin.

"I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea-"

"...'s fine," he said, quickly unlocking his door and ducking inside, Matt following quickly behind.

"It isn't," Matt said, grabbing an ice tray from the freezer and cracking the cubes out, bundling them into a hand towel from the counter.

"Here," he pressed it gently to Noah's face, wincing at a bruise beginning to form near the top.

"Thanks," Noah mumbled, taking the ice from him.

"You okay? Fuck, Noah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Seriously. I would have wound up with one of these any way you spin it."

Matt leaned forward, dropping his head in his hands.

"Is she always like that?" he asked, standing up and tossing his jacket on the chair. He started gathering trash from across the floor, Noah rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't stop him.

"Let me help-"

"No, ice your face. I need to keep busy," he insisted, rummaging through cabinets to find cleaning supplies.

**

Of course, she's always like that. But how do you tell someone you're a pawn, a marionette at the end of a fraying string, the sum of words and ill wishes cultivated by your own mother?

When I was a kid, they always said sticks and stones could break our bones but words couldn't hurt us. I mean, they said that shit constantly, like they could speak it into existence. They were wrong.

Because I'm a concoction of insults and burnt edges, I'm a stick of dynamite lit from both ends, I'm a cracked panel, a shattered window, a busted tree branch. I'm everything they said wouldn't happen, I'm the whispers in the hall, the casket lining stained with embalming fluid, I'm the punchline of this god damn joke.

Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone.

How do you tell someone you're sorry? Like me, standing over Jane's empty grave, tossing a daisy on top of her pink casket, wondering if perhaps, maybe, in some other universe, she's in there. Knowing that her body is a conduit. Jane. My twin. She'll never know peace, she'll never know rest, she'll never get to meet the angels and touch the pearly gates like everyone always said she would. Instead she'll rot, just like me. Just like me.

Maybe we are still connected, after all. Bittersweet can't exist without the bitter, I guess.

"Yeah, she is," I say, because Matt needs an answer, I can see it crawling in his skin.

"You deserve better," he tells me, but he's wrong.

We paint karma so pretty. Wondering if we deserve this thing or that thing, must deserve the good more than the bad, must keep being good to get good.

Truth is? We deserve all of it. Whether it's heaven or hell, the sear or the healing, because we're human and we're all so fucked up.

But what does that mean for sanity? Because it'll dig its claws into you and shove you over the edge one way or another.

I'm fucked up, and so is Matt, and so was Jane, and so is Darlene. Maybe I haven't cried bloody mary this time, but yeah, I deserve it.

There's something so sinister about Karma. She'll rip through your skin if you let her.

"What about your dad?"

"I think he's in Milwaukee," I say, but I can't recall where he is. Some place starting with M.

"Was he an asshole?" He's tying a bag of trash, tossing it onto the porch.

"Nah. He just got sick of me."

"What?"

"When he picked me up from the facility. I told him the truth," and I did, and he hated me for it.

"That what? You see Jane?"

I'm nodding, and fuck, this welt hurts.

"He told me not to tell Darlene, to just...swallow it."

"That's why you got so good at hiding."

No, I go so good at hiding because everyone thinks I killed Katai.

"You didn't, though," he says, filling a glass of water.

...Did I say that out loud?

"Katai was like, your best friend as a kid, yeah?"

"Yeah."

He can tell I don't want to talk about them, glancing at me and giving me a small nod.

"Should we, uh..talk about Jane? What just happened out there?"

"I'd rather we just...didn't," I say, and that's true, because it won't help. It could never help.

"Good plan," he laughs, smiling at me from across the room.

I just close my eyes, letting the day take me.

"Go get some rest," he says, knocking my feet off of the table. "I'm here if something tries to fuck with you."

It isn't that they're gone with Matt around, because they're not. I feel them even more now, like thick needles puncturing my skin, building up in my brain, ready to explode. But I feel stronger, somehow, like maybe I can actually beat this. I know better, I do. But this is the most hope I've felt in awhile.

God, if you're real, if you can hear me, don't let it be for naught.

I'm in my bed, covers pulled up to my chin, curtains open for light. And my mind goes to Vinny, and the things he wrote in his journal.

** THREE YEARS AGO**

--

"Do you think you're better?" Dr. Ripley asks, crinkling open the wrapper around his butterscotch candy.

"I think...I might be."

"Okay, that's a start," he says, a smile on his face. "So tell me, what do you think you could still improve on?"

Noah stirs in his seat, burying his neck into his sweater as he sits back in the chair. He shrugs.

"I'll tell you what I think. I think you struggle primarily with trusting yourself."

"What does that even mean?"

"That means you're nervous, and rightfully so. Noah, in most cases with trauma victims-"

"I'm not a victim."

"Of course," Ripley continued, "You're a survivor."

Hardly, Noah thought.

"Anyway, it isn't foreign for people to experience self doubt. What we need to do is work on it and build from it, because, Noah, I do not think you need to remain in our care."

"But I'm not better yet?"

"I think you are. You know, I understand that you're nervous, scared, even. And that's okay. However, what's more frightening is not knowing yourself."

Noah looked to the side, tapping his arm in intervals of seven.

"We will keep working on it, okay? I'm here to help you."

Noah nodded, but to himself he scoffed.

I'm far beyond help.

Disclaimer : Characters I own are Matt Pivouz, Vinny Trovato, Lucia and Peter Trovato, Ula Santiago, Dr. Ripley, David, Anya, and Remy. I do not own the others. I’ve added a bit of a flare to them for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Tag List : @teamtomsato @nuttatulipa @lovethemarshalltwins @europeanguy @breaumonts @fullbeaumonty @choicesatnight @spectrelier @brightpinkpeppercorn

[ohlawsons]

SOMETHING REAL SPECIAL

SUMMARY. “So, Edér,” Xoti clears her throat, and if she sounds flustered they’re both ignoring it, “how’d the two of you end up together? I mean, here. Traveling together, that is.” She leans forward, tilting her head a bit as if to try and catch his gaze. “Well, same as anyone else, I suppose.” He shrugs. “We took a boat.” PAIRING: Neria/Eder, Xoti & Eder WORD COUNT: 1622 NOTES. written for @pillarspromptsweekly 0042: defiant! LINKS. [ neria’s tag ]  [ other pillars fic ]

“You’re lookin’ real down.” Xoti plops down beside him at the fire, all bright eyes and wide smile as she sits cross-legged, giving her head a little tilt towards Neria. “Kinda like the Watcher’s gonna up and disappear any minute now.”

Edér says nothing, pressing his lips together to keep from saying something too harsh; it’s barely been a week, but already he isn’t fond of Xoti, despite Neria’s gentle ribbing that surely he remembers what it was like, being that young and excitable. And that’s the point, really, because they’ve both seen too much and been through too much to share that energy, the adventurous glee that bubbles over into everything Xoti does.

Like the way she’s watching Neria, now, as the Watcher busies herself with chopping up some more firewood for their quickly dwindling fire. Edér hadn’t even bothered asking to help, not with that look Neria had that he knows by heart, the one that she always gets when she needs something to distract herself with; the alternative is usually sparring, and his left shoulder is still sore from their match on the beach the week before. He pokes at the smoldering fire, glancing up to watch Neria for a moment, her form hazy through the smoke, as she pauses to wipe sweat from her face before planting her hands on her hips and surveying the wood she’s gathered so far.

He’s certain that if he looks up at Xoti, she’ll be blushing right up to her ears.

He makes a point not to look.

“So, Edér,” the priest clears her throat, and if she sounds flustered they’re both ignoring it, “how’d the two of you end up together? I mean, here. Traveling together, that is.” She leans forward, tilting her head a bit as if to try and catch his gaze.

“Well, same as anyone else, I suppose.” He shrugs. “We took a boat.”

“I’d gathered that much. I was talkin’ more before the boat.”

He pokes at the fire again, and it pops and Xoti startles. “Eothas climbed out from under Caed Nua and the keep collapsed. I found her in the rubble two days later. Poor Penelope, she’d tore her paws all up trying to dig Neria out, and she’d barked herself hoarse by the time I showed up.” He frowns, his attention still deliberately focused on the fire. “I’ve seen her go out cold after she does her Watcher thing, but this was…” The rest of the thought sticks in his throat, and Edér doesn’t try to force it out.

Like a Hollowborn.

That’s what Neria said Berath had told her, back when… Well, before she woke up. Even now the thought sends a chill creeping down his spine, and his gaze drifts thoughtlessly over to Neria. Maybe Xoti’s right, he thinks, and he does watch her like she’ll disappear; doesn’t matter, though, because Xoti isn’t the one who had to pull Neria from the ruins of Brighthollow, or sit with her while her pulse grew so faint he was certain he was imagining it, or steady her when she finally woke because she was nearly too weak to stand on her own.

“But why the Deadfire?” Xoti presses, oblivious to the sharp look Edér gives her as she pulls him from his thoughts.

“It was the Steward’s idea,” he admits gruffly. “She thought Neria’s condition might be linked to Eothas, and we just needed to, y’know, catch up. Then we ran outta land and he just kept goin’, and the Defiant was the best ship we could get on such short notice.”

Xoti’s quiet for a moment, watching him with a mix of curiosity and confusion. “You plannin’ on going back? When this is all over, I mean,” she adds quickly. “Neria’s told me all about Caed Nua and how nice it was. Sounds like the kinda place I’d want to go back to if I’d been living there all those years.”

The question catches Edér off-guard, and he gives up on the fire as he sits back, thinking. The answer’s obvious, isn’t it? He’ll stay with her to see this through to the end, just like he did with the Legacy. And Caed Nua, and Stalwart, and Gilded Vale, and all the other, smaller trials they’d endured over the past six years. But going back? “Nah, I think I need to get some answers first ‘fore I can say for sure.” The words come easily enough but Edér isn’t sure he believes them, himself; however their confrontation with Eothas goes, Edér suspects going back to Caed Nua won’t feel like an option.

The question has darkened his mood significantly, but of course Xoti doesn’t seem to notice, and with a wistful sort of sigh she lets her shoulders drop and turns her gaze to Neria. “Did you really watch over her that whole time? It takes a real long while to sail from the Dyrwood,” she points out, “and she wasn’t movin’ or anything during that whole trip, was she? I know it’s only been a couple days, but the Watcher, she’s always goin’, always doing somethin’. Hard to imagine her being that still for that long.”

Edér says nothing, and Xoti — thank the gods — takes his silence as her answer.

She pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms loosely around her legs. “She’s somethin’ real special, isn’t she? Even besides everything with Gaun.”

“Yeah, she is.” His shoulders drop and he wonders if maybe he hasn’t been too hard on Xoti; she’s right, after all — she’s only been traveling with them for a couple of days, and she knows less about Neria and more about the Watcher and her lofty reputation as a Lady of a keep and dragonslayer and one chosen of the gods (And maybe, he thinks, that starry-eyed look Xoti gets around them both is more understandable, and it’s easier to pretend it’s just about Neria’s reputation). “No one else I’d rather be chasin’ a god with. If there’s anyone who can talk a little sense into Eothas, it’s Neria.” He feels a smile begin to creep across his lips — and it’s genuine, even — at the memory of a particularly amusing, albeit one-sided, chat she’d once had with Ondra back in Stalwart.

And then he thinks of the night he’d thought he’d actually lost her, only a few days before she’d woken up on the Defiant, and remembers that her last argument with a god had nearly gotten her sent back to the Wheel a little earlier than planned.

Eothas isn’t the sort — shouldn’t be the sort — to strike someone down for questioning him, but these days Edér doesn’t know what to expect from Eothas and the thought brings him less comfort than he’d hoped.

But there’s a spark about Xoti, again, and she’s staring off towards Neria with something like awe. “I still can’t believe she’s actually talked to the gods. Talkin’ where they’ve talked back, I mean.” She lets out a slow, wistful sigh. “And with Galawain, no less. It’s embarrassin’, the things I’d do to have a conversation with my god like that.”

“Well, all we had to do was track down and kill the leader of a two thousand year old cult.”

Their conversation comes to an abrupt end with the unceremonious clatter of wood as Neria dumps an armful of freshly cut logs on the ground. “Cheery bunch over here,” she observes with a wide grin, wiping her hands on her pants; her voice is steady, but Edér catches the shaking of her movements and the way she sways a bit on her feet. He doesn’t bother refuting the statement, instead taking her hand and giving her a tug in his direction. Without protest, Neria drops to the ground beside him, leaning heavily against him even as she’s seated. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Maybe ‘cause you split enough wood to last us the rest of the month?” Edér offers.

“I had to do something,” she insists, then leans forward around him. “Hey, Xoti, you never finished your story earlier about your uncle and that kid he caught you with.”

“That’s right!” Everything about Xoti lights up as she launches back into the retelling of some sordid tale that Neria will no doubt comment on and encourage. It isn’t exactly the way Edér would prefer to end the evening, but he takes solace in the fact that Neria feels well enough to join in on the conversation.

[lu-undy]

Oh my freaking god i just had another idea. Sniper and Spy both have tattoos. Sniper has maybe some tribal-like-animal, and Spy has a tattoo sleeve made of roses. No one knows about this. Spy doesn't know about Sniper's tattoo and Sniper doesn't know about Spy's. But something happens and see each other's tats. -💞🐑

Alright, here it is!

"Oh you bastard…" 

Sniper heard his enemy coming, the snake in the suit. He turned his back, got his kukri out and leapt forward. The enemy Spy swiftly dodged the blow and slashed through the Australian's upper shoulder, in the back. Sniper thanked the Lord it wasn't a stab and retaliated. This time, it hit right in the enemy's chest and through it. 

"That's what you get, you mongrel!" 

The corpse quickly disappeared and the marksman resumed his position in front of the window. He picked up his rifle again. 

"Ouch… Argh…" The cut in the Aussie's back hurt. He put a hand behind on it but could only reach part of it. His vest, polo shirt and undershirt were ruined of course.

"YOU WIN!"

He sighed. Well, at least he could walk back to spawn and ask Medic to patch him up…

"Your sense of fashion is even worse than what I thought." Sniper looked in the direction where the voice with the French accent came from. 

"Ya had expectations?" 

Out of a thin cloud of smoke, his masked colleague appeared and walked along Sniper.

"Expectations? Of course not. I had a foolish hope at best."

Both of them exchanged a smile, and maybe a chuckle. 

"Oh, your back is injured."

"Yeah, your lot's coward enough to get us from the back!"

"Take it as compliment."

"Huh?"

They entered their spawn room and joined the rest of the team. 

"You don't look too bad from there…" 

Spy lit a cigarette and parted ways with his colleagues, leaving the Australian confused. 

The hell did he mean…?

"Oh, Sniper, you look injured." Medic broke the tall man's train of thought.

"Huh? Y-yeah. Damn Spy got me in the back. Can you have a look?"

"Of course, follow me." 

The Australian obeyed but his colleague's sentence was stuck in his mind. 

You don't look too bad from there…

Sniper sat on the doctor's table. 

Did it mean that Spy found his colleague handsome… from behind?!

"Remove your clothes and lie down on your stomach, please."

He did as he was told.

Nah. Sniper shook his head and frowned. Impossible. But then what? Well, knowing the sarcastic Frenchman, he might as well have meant "I prefer seeing you from behind because your face is ugly." Yeah, that sounded more like it.

"It's only superficial. Your clothes look much worse than your skin. I will disinfect it quickly and add a plaster." 

"Thanks."

Sniper fell deep in thoughts again. 

Weird how Spy always seemed so mysterious. There was no way to know exactly what he was thinking, ever. And the way he phrased his sentences always had twice as many meanings as the number of letters its words contained. 

Sniper nonetheless liked his interactions with the masked man. There was something that made him feel at ease. Maybe it was the fact that along the months of working together and talking here and there, they had managed to get to know each other in the perfect way. It was always respectful and the banter was just the right tone. 

"You can go, Sniper. It's nothing to worry about." 

"Thanks, doc'." 

The Australian went back to his camper van and closed his door. He resumed his train of thought.

At times, Spy would also visit his Australian colleague, to kill the boredom, smoke a cigarette and maybe have a few laughs. Those moments where they were only the two of them had happened more and more frequently as of late. Sniper sometimes caught himself leaving his door open, or even when he heard a noise outside his van, he'd peek through his window and he would check if his friend was visiting him. More often than he would want, it was only the wind brushing the orange and dusty ground. But on the few occasions where he saw the silhouette of the suit, he would drop everything he was doing and open his door, even before Spy knocked. 

Knock, knock…

Speaking of! 

Sniper raised an eyebrow. He opened his door. No one. 

"What…?" 

He exited his van and looked left and right. Nothing and no one. But he could have sworn that he heard a knock. He frowned and as he turned to jumped in his van again, he saw a note stuck on his door. It read:

"Good beer & a cigarette, my room."

Sniper raised his eyes from the thin strip of paper he held between his fingers. 

Spy. 

A few minutes later, the Australian reciprocated the knock on his colleague's door. Unbeknownst to him, the Frenchman leapt to his bathroom, checked himself in front of the mirror, collar, teeth. He then slipped back in his living-room and opened the door. 

"Uh, hey Spy, is that from you?" 

Sniper showed him the note.

"What do you think?" 

"Well, yeah, I mean, not someone who speaks English as a first language who'd have such a handwriting." 

"Come in." 

Sniper entered. 

"Please take a seat on the sofa, I will be a minute." 

"Alroight." 

The Australian did as we was told and in a few seconds, the Frenchman brought a small, silver tray with two beers and a few bowls with nibbles. 

"Oh, thanks." 

"It is nothing." 

They sat next to each other. 

"Mate, this is an Australian one!" 

"Indeed it is. It took me weeks to find it but I finally managed to get my hand on a crate or two." 

"Aces!" 

Spy opened the bottles and they tipped their beers before taking a sip. 

"Oh, you're takin' me back home with this, thanks…!" 

The Frenchman grinned. Seeing his otherwise very reserved colleague radiating in such simple happiness pleased him. 

"How is the wound on your back?" Spy asked. 

"Better, Medic had a look at it, it's nothing too serious."

"Ah, good. Might I ask, I couldn't help but notice when you were injured, your clothes were in a very bad state…"

"Yeah, he tore my vest and my polo shirt open on my entire shoulder blade, that bastard."

"Indeed, and I saw your back…"

The smile on the Australian's lips vanished and he frowned, his gaze cold and focused on his host. 

"You have tattoos on it?"

"Uh…" Sniper lowered his head. He was visibly not at ease. But he couldn't lie, not to Spy. "Y-yeah, I do." 

The Australian blushed.

"What do they represent?"

"It's animals. Animals from back in Oz."

"May I see?" 

"Uh, mate… Erm…" 

"Oh, my apologies. I don't want to force you in any way. But let me show you something, if you please?"

Sniper nodded. 

"Bien."

[Good.]

The Frenchman removed his gloves and undid his cuffs. Sniper raised an eyebrow. He was both taken aback and curious. Spy then undid the buttons of his shirt. 

"Uuh, mate? Uh, what are you-?"

"Do not worry, I am not undressing completely." Spy smiled and Sniper realised that he was wearing a tanktop under his shirt. 

Thank God. 

The Frenchman delicately removed his right hand sleeve but it was when he removed his left hand one that Sniper's jaw dropped. 

Spy's left arm and forearm was covered in an intricate series of colored tattoos. They were in the shape of red roses, lacing around his whole left arm. Their thorns were dark but the flowers themselves were in quite a vibrant shade of red. 

"Wow, Spook… It's… It's gorgeous…!"

Spy grinned. 

"I had no idea you had all that! C-can I touch?" 

"But of course."

Sniper put his fingers on his friend's forearm and followed the multiple stems all the way up to Spy's shoulder. 

"Have you never wondered why I keep the long sleeves, even in this heat?" 

"I just thought you did it cause you liked your suits too much."

"I like them, it is true, but the summer gets quite tiring at times…!" 

"Oh, Lord, it's-it's majestic, the colours are amazing, and the motifs are… Crikey, I'm speechless, sorry…!"

"On the contrary, I find you quite talkative in general and now in particular." 

"Oh… And uh, y'know what, I'll show you mine. I'm afraid they're just black though…"

"Classic, I like it." 

Sniper removed his layers until he got bare chested. He turned his back to the Frenchman. 

"Oh, that is lovely… May I…?" Spy asked. 

"Y-yeah, go ahead. As I said, they're all animals."

Spy frowned and put his fingers on his friend's back. 

"Oui, I see that. Those are kangaroos, that's a hyena… The style is beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's tribal."

"Oh… Magnificent." Spy brushed the tips of his fingers on Sniper's back. It warmed him up on the inside. "And what is this one? Is that a sort of dog?"

"That's a dingo." 

"Oh, a dingo, my apologies. I have never seen one for real."

"Not even in zoos?" Sniper turned his head slightly. 

"Non, never."

"Well, you should come and visit then, they're even more beautiful in real life."

Spy slid his hands from Sniper's back up to his shoulders. The Australian felt the shivers run along his spine and without realising it, he closed his eyes. He liked the touch...

"Is this an invitation, Bushman?"

He chuckled and blushed. 

"Well, maybe eh… I-I mean I'd be happy to show you around if one day you wanted to come'n see Australia." 

"And I'm sure I would enjoy it very much." The Frenchman let his hands run on Sniper's naked shoulders. 

"I see the plaster. It isn't too big, in fact." 

"Oh, yeah, it shouldn't be. Medic said it was really nothin' in the end." 

"Although, I don't know why he gave you one of those plasters…"

"Well to prevent the blood from stainin' my clothes."

"Non, I know that. But why those motifs on it, that is curious."

“What are ya talkin’ about?”

"You shall see when you remove it tomorrow morning. Nothing shocking, it's just out of the ordinary." 

"Roight, whatever. I'd better go and get some sleep."

"Fine."

Both men put their clothes back on and the Australian left his friend alone. He turned his back to see the Frenchman. He was still at his doorstep.

"Uhm, Spy?" 

"Oui?" 

"Thanks for tonight."

"My pleasure."

The next day, Sniper woke up early, as he usually did. He had slept in his boxer shorts only and felt an itch in his back. 

"Ah, bloody hell, that plaster…" 

He unstuck it and was about to chuck it in the bin where a detail caught his eye.

"Oh, that's what Spook talked about, the motifs on the thing… What do they actually look like…?"

He took the plaster closer to his eyes. 

"Oh, bugger… Spook!" 

There was a heart, it was drawn with a biro pen and next to it was written in his cursive handwriting:

"Je t'aime."