#others will freeze your marrow and damn your souls

[noughticalcrossings]

Black Shuck

Inktober day 31. Fire

You may know him at once, should you see him, by his fiery eye

[kyber-kisses]

Hymn (Part 1)

Winchester Brothers x Sister!reader (platonic)

Summary: Y/N Winchester has wrestled with demons ever since her mother died, but when her younger brothers lives are in danger it’s their souls she fights to save, because isn’t that what a big sister should do?

Warnings: spn level gore, cursing, angst. John Winchester being a terrible father.

A/n: thought I might try something a little different from what I usually write. Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy! I based this on the song Hymn by Joel Porter and the lyrics will be in each chapter! (I highly recommend giving it a listen!)

You were gonna kill him. God, that man was getting on your last nerve. John Winchester ever the terrible father. Adjusting the strap of your rifle, you pulled back the moth eaten curtain ever so slightly, peering out into the darkness. The only light came from the buzzing neon sign of the otherwise empty motel, the bright blues and reds flickering as if they were at the end of their life.

The stories told are all we know

Exchanged in truth and word

The photographs are quilted paths

From places we've outgrown

“Y/N, when is dad gonna be back?”

“I’m not sure, Sam.” Turning to look over your shoulder, you gave the young eight year old a soft smile. “Just keep doing your homework.”

“But I don’t wanna. It’s boring.”

“Well too bad mister. You gotta.” Leaning across the small table, you ruffled his hair- only for him to bat your hand away.

“But what about Dean?”

“I’m helping Y/N guard the door.” Dean piped up from his spot on the other side of you, his chin resting on the windowsill as he watched two raindrops race down the pane of glass.

“Yeah, nice try there Bub.” Shifting the strap on your should once again, you turned Deans head towards Sam, nudging him out of his chair. “You sir should be helping your brother with his homework.”

The freckled twelve year old let out a groan before sliding out of his seat and walking around the table towards his brother. “This is bullshit-“

“Woah hey! Language! Just because dad curses like a sailor does not mean you get a free pass to do so.”

“. . .Sorry.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought.” You nodded, leaning your weight against the wall as you peered out the window once more. He should have been back by now. Whatever he was hunting was holding him up. If anything happened here all you had to keep the boys safe was your hunting rifle- nothing else except a damn knife. once again: John Winchester, ever the terrible father.

We carry with the friends we make

The hearts we mend and break

I see it in another way

All lives that we have changed

Rolling your shoulders you could feel the rifle resting against your back, the feeling similar to the way your mothers hand had when you were small and afraid. Taking another deep breath you pulled your fingers into the sleeves of your canvas barn coat in an attempt to keep warm. The heating in the room sucked and you had relinquished all your other coats to the boys to keep them warm.

“Y/N, why can’t you help Sam? You’re way smarter than me.”

“Oh why thank you, Dean.” You grinned, eyes still trained on the empty parking lot. You knew what that little minx was trying to do. “But your flattery isn’t gonna get you out of the task.”

You heard another groan from behind you, before a light thunk as Dean hit his head on the table. “This. thunk  Is. thunk  So. thunk  Dumb.”

A light laugh of amusement bubbled up from your lips as you looked over your shoulder. “You keep doing that and your aim isn’t gonna be so straight anymore.”

At that Dean stopped, lifting his head from the table to glare at you. “You’re not so straight- anymore-“ he tried, his failure at a comeback amusing you all the more.

“Wow, great comeback right there. Really, I’m proud.”

Deans eyes narrowed as he pushed back the work he was helping Sam with, before popping up to stand on the creaky old chair.

“Dean! My work!” Sam let out a whine as he tried to gather the papers.

“You wanna go?!”

A wicked grin spread across your face as you slid off the rifle and set it on the table, beckoning him with your hands to try and come at you. “Bring it Bub, let see if you can really tackle your sister to the ground.”

In that moment you swore the freckled rascal became a blur, launching himself across the table at you with a playful yell as he barreled into you. But unfortunately for him he was half your size and you were stronger. Your arms locked around him and you were quickly throwing him over your shoulder, locking him in place as he tried to squirm free.

“Wow, I thought you were actually gonna do it this time. I’m a little disappointed.” You joked, walking across the room to deposit him on one of the beds.

“It’s not a fair fight! You’re sixteen! You’re supposed to let me win!”

“It’s not a fair fight-“ you mimicked his whine before dropping your shoulders, hands on your hips. “If I let you win how are you gonna get better, huh?”

Dean was silent, eyes narrowing as he watched you turn to head back to Sam. . . But you didn’t get far before he lunged at you again, locking onto your back and pulling you backwards and onto the mattress.

“Hah! How bout that?”

“How bout that? Alright, you asked for it-“ you quickly flipped, pinning your brother to the bed as you pinched his sides. A shriek of laughter echoing around the room.

“Tickling?! That’s playing dirty!”

“Oh is it? Not in my rule book-“

The both of you were too engrossed in your tickle war that you didn’t hear the scrape of a chair across the linoleum floors or the sound of small feet running across the room towards you, and suddenly you were being crushed by another flannel clad boy, the sudden weight making you fall back agasint the mattress,both brothers climbing on top of you.

I must go alone

Cause I need you there

So my memory of home is full

“Sam!”

“You were having fun without me.” He gave you a sad pout, his eyes big and bright.

“Alright, I’m sorry. . . But did you guys have to dog pile me?” You wheezed, trying to squirm free only for Dean to lay down completely on top of you, Sam right behind him as they both grinned.

“Yes!”

“Oh, you little bastards-“ you grinned once more, trying to wrench your arms free to tickle them into submission. But the playful tone of it all quickly ceased when a ear shattering shriek seeped through the cracks of the motel door, freezing all of you in place as you looked up, suddenly alert.

“What was that?”

“Y/N-“ Sam let out a small whimper, suddenly curling into your side as you sat upright, Dean resting on his knees besides you.

“Shhh, I need you both to be quiet alright?” You spoke softly, sliding of the bed and onto the ground, your movements almost completely silent as you worked your way across the room and grabbed your rifle. “Stay behind me.”

A moment or two of complete silence fell over the three of you before another shriek echoed from beyond the thin walls of the motel making you jump.

Someone was out there. Someone needed help.

Quickly spinning around, you knelt down in front of Dean before passing over your shotgun. “You know how to shoot this right?”

“No! Dad still has me practicing with the BB shotgun you got me for my birthday-“ the slight waver in Deans voice making your heart break.

“Well, it’s the same basic concept.” You breathed, helping him adjust the weapon in his arms.

“Y/N! You can’t leave us here.”

Not trying to take my time away

Replace the old with new

My prison with my reasons right

Till I come back to you

“Dean, somebody might need my help. I need you to stay here and keep Sam and yourself safe okay?”

For a moment there was silence but then Dean nodded, “o-okay.”

“Alright, now you’re gonna wanna lean right into that stock.” You sighed, turning your attention back to the gun in Deans hands. “Cause it’s gonna kick a hell of a lot more than any BB rifle. Okay, go ahead and pull the bolt back. Grab it right here. Just tug it. There you go.” You nodded, watching as Dean did what you told him to. “Now, as soon as you fire your gonna want to get another round in there quick.” You added, popping back up on your heels as you reached for your knife that had been sitting idly by on the side table. You only made it a step to the door before you heard them both call out again.

“Y/N, we should wait for dad-“ Sam peered around Deans shoulder, eyes now big and worried. They both looked so afraid- god, it broke your heart.

“I know, Sammy- but there are people out there that might need help.” You knelt down once more, finding it easier to speak to them at eye level. “Now, listen to me. If I get into trouble out there, you make every shot count, yeah?”

“I got this.” Dean nodded, his sudden face of determination make you smile lightly.

“I know you do.” Leaning forward you quickly placed a kiss on top of both of their heads before popping back onto your feet. “Be brave, I’ll be back.” And then you were reaching out and twisting the door knob, your feet quickly carrying you over the threshold as you slammed the door shut behind you and disappeared into the dark, leaving the two brothers behind, Dean pointing the barrel of your gun at the door.

He was ready. If you could be brave, so could he.

A minute passed, and then another. . . And another. And with each passing second they both grew more worried. They wanted you back here with them. They wanted to know you were safe.

It was around the five minute mark of you being gone that another scream split through the silence, making the hairs on the back of Deans neck stand on end, and Sams grip on his arm tighten.

“Dean, that sounded like-“

“Y/N-“ eyes now blown with fear, Dean partially let go off your rifle, as he bounded towards the door- throwing it open full force. The downpour outside drenching him almost instantly as he raced out onto the front steps, Sam in tow.

“Y/N! Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?!” Panic seeping into the marrow of his bones when he was only met with an empty parking lot.

“Y/N!”

But no answer came. The only sounds now came from the rain as it beat down against the rooftops and pavement, the occasional clap of thunder making both boys flinch.

“Y/N!”

Now I must go alone

Cause I need you there

So my memory of home is full

Read part 2 HERE

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[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 15 - white

“because I know I will kill my enemies when they come.”

Flashes of bright, white light surrounded your universe.

They left no room for escape, encircled and almost trapped your vision to be limited to unbearable shine. And it was not just your eyes that felt the frustration - it was your entire mind, body and soul, in unison against the damage, trying to bring you back to your core yet to no avail.

Every single inch of your skin and every marrow in your aging bones screamed damn murder. Estranged, white hot matter engulfed your brain, occupied your thoughts and shot out any ounce of positivity that may or may not have been there to begin with.

Pain.

It invaded your entire body, every single cell and fiber of your being, like daggers digging deep into your skin. That troubled mind of yours could not recall when the last time you had been in such pain was - even getting shot seemed to be a breeze with the adrenaline kicking in.

In such a state of mind and body - all you were reduced to was wishing you had been six feet deep in some gravel already, to save you the years worth of misery and pure agony which seemed to only get fucking worse. No, these bastards holding you down did not even give you the damn luxury of dreaming of death.

Instead, the blade was dug deeper into your bullet wound.

“Motherfucker - ” was the latest addition to the plethora of curses you had spitted out in the past waking hours, the only vocabulary available to you. Sweat dripped down your jaw and trailed down your bloody neck in contrast to the freezing cold right outside the wall inches away, your flannel-covered chest heaved in exertion. Arms bound behind the chair with some makeshift rope which, in other circumstances, would not stand a chance against your nimble fingers. The jeans drenched in a mixture of blood, some dried and most of it your own, the fabric and bandages that used to cover your thigh ripped beyond recognition - and the sick fuck who would not stop grinning held the blade way too deep into your scab, reopening the wound, making blood gush out all over.

Ellie.

From the pain that rattled the very ground you were sitting on, your eyelids pushed themselves open to seek for the little girl. As much as you could make out of the bloodshot sight coated by tears, your almost lifeless irises searched for that familiar sight - heart dropping once again as you spotted her green coat in that blurred vision of yours.

Yelling, screaming and arms flailing as a couple of men tried to get a hold of her, dragging her out of the dirty cell they had tossed you both into and she put up a good fight. Just like she always did.

Just like he had taught her.

A newfound rage fueled you from within, surpassing the agony delivered by the probing into your body - the thought of filthy fingers touching her with nothing but harm intended, her screams echoing off of the hanging slabs of meat and corpses making your jaw clench and blood boil, veins bulging.

Get her the hell out of here.

“Leave her the fuck alone!” you would scream out into the bastard’s face with whatever voice you had left in your throat, body tightening and shooting up in a sudden burst of adrenaline - the movement erupting another groan out of you as the metal moved within your flesh.

Gathering all your efforts to keep your focus on the girl, green eyes would meet yours and they had nothing but absolute fear and terror in them. Helpless and hopeless, fighting yet beaten as the men pressed her against the rusty bars of the kitchen cell that was built to keep in animals for slaughter.

It was in the slight furrow of your eyebrows as your eyes met hers for the briefest of moments. The little spark of hope that never gave up on shining, no matter how much blood you had lost and how close death was. The sternness that seemed to give her some sort of determination, something to take example of. The pure rage against any and all men that walked on this very ground who dared touch her.

Be brave, Ellie.

“Now, we tried to be nice,” the greasy-haired fucker David who stood dangerously close to your face spoke, “ - but you just wouldn’t play.”

As you breathed in and out, frantically, the veins in your neck bulging as you struggled to get out of the bindings with what little strength your body could muster. “You let that girl go,” your bloodied lips would spit out, jaw clenched as you dared stare the monster right in the eyes.

Surviving for this long meant you had seen a lot of fucked up things in your lifetime, as a Firefly or sometimes on the other end of the barrel - yet your mind and soul would never forget the horrors these pack of cannibals had inflicted on both you and the little girl, in just a matter of days. It was not even about the beating they gave you, nor the scab wounds they re-opened up, no. This was so much more than your own torture, watching that little girl you had somehow sworn to protect be handled so roughly, hurt, battered and bruised.

“What are you gonna do, doll? Kill me?” he taunted you, pressing the blade a bit sideways to widen the wound, eliciting another muffled scream out of you as your head arched back slightly - if you had managed to get out of this hellhole alive, if the fucking Cordyceps did not kill you, this pain in your damn thigh would take you out. A bloody hand wrapped around your neck as he left the blade embedded, bringing your face forcefully back to match his eyesight - those sick orbs not having an ounce of light in them, shaded by a couple strands of hair.

Had you not been in such a weak position, you would have snickered at the man’s broken finger in a cast.

Lips aching to scream, legs craving to run and mind racing for the one and only Ellie, you used every inch of your leftover resolve to not give up your soul right there and then as your fingers worked softly against the knots of the rope bindings - broken fingernails digging into your skin, jaw clenching yet the rope giving away slightly. A silent prayer went up to whatever god was listening to you - it was some worn-out material that they used to tie animals with, or in this case, human meat. These fuckers had not anticipated you to be conscious, with all that residual pain after the torture.

“Take me. Let the kid go,” your hoarse voice pleaded, the desperate tonality of it lighting sick sparks inside your captor’s eyes. Another thick knot slipping through, the coarse rope cutting through your calloused fingertips.

Fuck, almost there.

“Now, how about we take you both?”

A blood-curling scream rang in the cold air of the kitchen as a couple of men carried Ellie forcefully to the adjoint freezer room not too far away from you where slabs of meat dangled all over, making you sick to your stomach knowing half of those were human.

Chest heaving in exertion and pure anger, you could only watch helplessly as David extracted the blade from your thigh in a sickening pop of blood and flesh - opting to press it against your neck, your own blood trailing down your throat as he cooed to you - an animalistic ssh that was sure to haunt you in your dreams if you ever made it out alive.

The only thing you could do was gulp, speaking would be futile as he angled the blade to keep you looking up at him. Meanwhile, your fingers worked ever so softly to untie the last knot. You still kept your hands together behind you - if that did not work, well, he would be better off slitting your throat right there and then. Even if it was your only chance, you would take it.

So you did.

“What the fuck is that?” you would hear one of his soldiers speak up, in total and utter disbelief, making your bloodshot eyes look over to the girl they had tried to restrain against the metal table. Her sleeve tugged up as her legs tried to kick at the other guy - yet their attention to a certain detail seemed to stop the proceedings, and stop time for a split second as David turned around to face his men.

Then, you saw it. From the corner of your eye, squinting a little. A fucking bite, all scabbed in its’ glory, on her inner forearm where they had tugged the sleeve upwards to make a cut.

When they told you she was immune, you did not believe it one bit. This crusade was simply for the fact that Joel needed the help, for whatever end goal he had in mind. For the contentment of the kid and her safety, nothing more, nothing less.

Now, you had seen more infected bites than you could count - and this one was no ordinary one. Jesus Christ, this was real. Your shocked orbs caught Ellie’s equally scared ones in that moment of confusion - a distraction that you probably would not get ever again.

“Run!” you screamed at Ellie as the bindings dropped from your reddened wrists, your foot lifting up with such force to hit the man where the sun don’t shine - your hands reaching to hold the blade further away from you, not even giving the cannibal a split second to comprehend what the fuck was going on as he collapsed in a loud groan, the blade tumbling over the concrete floor.

And run she did - using her little size to her advantage, she jumped off of the table before the bastards could catch her, running to the exit through the slabs of meat as you ducked into another hallway in a hurry - the pain subsided by the pumping adrenaline only for a little while. Curses and slurs rang in the coldness of the compound as the men scurried for their guns, one rushing to help David up yet you would not dare look back.

The only thing that mattered was finding Ellie outside and getting the fuck out of the village. The moment you dashed from the backdoor of the kitchen, the blinding blizzard hit you right in the eye, making your step falter in the snow. From the right came footsteps - quick yet light, your instinct told you to follow them, only to find a head of ginger hair with specks of snow scattered as you got close.

Hope filled through your being, despite the fact that your only protection against the blizzard was Joel’s flannel. Blood trickled down every inch of your skin, leg limping.

Oh God. 

Joel.

Would you live enough to see him one more time? To thank him for his shirt you had borrowed? Freezing would be a big understatement in your condition, somehow the fear of death and the survival instinct pumping through you kept you in operating condition. It did not matter if you got hypothermia or suffered a long, painful death from blood loss - as long as you got this girl under safety, you could die a happy woman.

She must have seen you too, you reckoned when she collided into you, a silent throe of gratitude as her hands wrapped around yours in such force. Dragging you deeper into the snow, away from the approaching sounds of men and guns cocking and into temporary cover.

There was no way in hell they were going to spot you in this hell-sent snowstorm, unless you got too close, or shot someone. The latter would not deem to be the case, considering you had absolutely nothing to defend yourself with. You had been in fucked up situations before, but never like this, never with the responsibility of a little kid looming all over your shoulders and a gaping bullet hole in your thigh. Taking the chance to peek above cover, your arm was placed protectively around the little girl, your best attempt to shield her from harm and give her some warmth.

As the two of you took a moment to breathe, the slow crunches of snow underneath boots alerted you - they were everywhere, looking for you both, eager to get their hands on you. Muttering a curse, you looked down at her, and that was when you noticed the utter fear mixed in with blood and determination written on her face. Staring up at you with faltering eyes.

"Ellie," you whispered, head leaned in, as your arm encircled around her to press her against you. "I'll get you out of here. We need to go inside - and take these fuckers down."

She nodded quickly, tensing up at the sudden movement up ahead, her trembling hand reaching to her coat to take out her trusted switchblade.

"No matter what happens, you don't leave my side."

Another nod of confirmation, and against the protests of every inch of your limbs, you moved on forward into the unknown snow - Ellie tugging onto your sleeve as you advanced like a wolf to choke out the first of many cannibals. Adrenaline and the resolve to protect this little girl at all costs the only things giving you strength.

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

She was gone.

All it took was one second of carelessness, leaving her a couple steps behind to sneak up on another one of David’s gang members - by the time you had choked him out, fighting and stammering in the snow, the wind had picked up and made you totally lose sight apart from what was literally an inch in front of you.

Sqinted eyes searching for the little girl frantically, the jacket you had stolen off of the bodies you knocked out in your way providing some much-needed warmth. Yet another stolen item - a scarf this time, thickly tied around the gaping wound to stop the bleeding the best you could. The dizziness from the blood loss seemed to hit you in waves, faltering your step occasionally as you trudged through the blizzard. After coming this far, all this way, with the cold freezing the very marrows of your bones and your blood drying all over your skin - you would not let a fucking bullet wound take you down nor keep you from finding her.

There, over the far horizon of your vision coated by snowflakes, you could spot color. Orange, burning red, emanating from the building not too far away it seemed - it could not be if you could make it in this storm. Dark smoke starting to follow up into the sky, contrasting the white stillness of the snow with the smell of burning wood.

Praying she was alright, you would let out a silent curse and take off towards your new lead.

Fear rose up in your throat again, your heart racing as you tried to stick to the walls and be as stealthy as possible while making your way towards the burning building. Not many men were in sight, even if they had been, they did not spot you - most of them you had choked out or kicked to death on your way. There was no room for mercy, there never would be for these bastards who tried to touch the kid you swore to protect.

If only you could get your hands on that fucker David, you were going to make him wish he was never born.

Breath quickening as you silently approached the building from the back alley, which seemed to be an old, abandoned diner, an open window could be spotted near the back of it - noting that it was just near Ellie’s height. Without a second doubt, or thought in that matter, you hastily moved and carefully hopped inside of the kitchen of the joint. Alert and jaw clenched, you could hear the thuds of footsteps and the voice of that sick fuck once again as you dared sneak a peek from the crevice - along with the cracks and winds of the flame slowly emanating through the walls, originating from the entrance.

“You think you know me?”

Ellie’s muffled sounds of protest rose up in the air, your feet fucking killing you as you sneaked your way towards the two. If you wanted to save her, you needed to do this nice and so damn quiet - you were not packing and the only weapon you had was your damn hands, knuckles all bloody. The one guy you managed to snag had been out of bullets, before you decided to discard it and you were beginning to regret that stupid decision, made in your haste to get to her. It destroyed to your core, knowing that she had been through so much and you could not save her sooner - in the end, even if it meant your own demise, you promised her you would protect her.

Fire illuminated the center point of the premise as you sneaked up closer, sounds of struggle ever so prominent as you readied yourself up for the battle, now having a clear view of his denim covered back. You would not dare imagine the animalistic expression on his face.

And Ellie, laying vulnerable and beaten on the floor.

When that monster, no doubt injured by the way he was holding onto his arm, got on top of Ellie to strangle her - that was when your blood boiled to the rim. It did not matter if the fire burnt through your skin, bullets pierced your limbs, knives got stuck in flesh.

Legs pushed you up in almost an instant as you growled and lunged at the man from his back, catching him by surprise as you used the maintained stealth to your advantage. Giving Ellie time to escape the hell out. He grunted as you tackled him to the ground, laying down a solid punch to his jaw but then the remaining survival instinct in him decided to act up, much to your bad luck - his good arm came out of nowhere and punched you in your stomach, hard, pure rage spitting out of his mouth.

“You fuckin’ bitch.”

Sending you curling back on the floor as the wind got knocked out of you, that split second enough for him to try to get up with a snarl and move towards his one designated victim - the best he could do was crouch in his state.

Maybe you should have noticed, or maybe the blinding fire had been too distracting. Maybe it was the urge to get this man’s hands off of her as soon as possible, no matter what the cost. As you practically crawled on the floor towards the girl in a race with David to get to her, the shy glint of the machete she wielded stopped the breath in your lungs.

A loud hurl that no child should have to muster came out of her lips as she gave the man who had put her through so much pain a slash - right in the head, the man’s screams erupting in the burning room before ceasing abruptly as the metal pierced through his skull. Blood and brains scattering all over the hardwood, with such force - and yet she did not stop. All that frustration of captivity, the way he touched her and you, tortured you relentlessly - it was all expressed in the form of brutal, fatal slashes to David’s now unrecognizable remains.

“Ellie,”  you managed to crawl up to her, your arms tentatively reaching out to get wrapped around her tense shoulders, pulling her towards your frame as tears dropped from her green eyes, sobs filling in the air.

“C’mere - it’s okay, it’s over,” you softly whispered as the girl wrapped herself around your kneeling frame, letting go of the machete with a thud, craving the comforting touch. She had done it. Killed a man viciously, without an inch of remorse, exactly the way he deserved to die. Brutalized and mutilated to no dismay. And now she was crumbling, as if reminding herself that she still was a child in a cruel, big world.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.”

Heart broken into a million of pieces, her tears coated your stolen, oversized jacket as your eyes threatened to spill - a couple drops raining down on your bloodied cheeks, chest heaving in the aftermath of it all. Fingers ran through her hair  as you pressed her even closer, finding much needed comfort in each other surrounded by fire and death.

Lost in the embrace as you comforted the child, you did not hear the giant of a man run through the fire and into the burning diner, breathless and battered - who dropped down to his knees and encircled both of your pressed frames into a hug, pulling you close. Ellie shielded herself from the world instantly, grabbing a hold of his jacket while another held onto your hand for dear life as she cried his name.

Instant warmth comforted you, the scent of flannel and snow seeping through your very being. Instinct told you not to budge, not to protest - you did not have to. It was safe, he was safe, hell - his arms were be the safest place to be on that scorched earth. His calloused hands wrapped around both of your shoulders, you felt his breathing soften. He had found you - before it was too late. Before he lost the two who mattered to him the most, even if his lips were silent.

Unable to do anything else, your bloody lips parted, leaning your heavy head against Joel’s broad chest as you never let Ellie’s other hand go - her small but bruised one in your equally injured. Joel’s presence gave you all the hope you had needed in the world for that moment, as if he was this glue putting together the shattered pieces, after you and that little brave girl in his arms had gone through absolute living hell.

“Ellie, it’s okay now,” he spoke, the rugged edge of his voice breaking as his one hand cupped Ellie’s cheek, the little girl looking up to him and you with terrorized eyes.

“Joel…he, he tried to - ”

“Oh, baby girl…” he gave in, the giant of a man’s entire resolve dissolving, the pure love he held laced his tone as his thumb wiped down the tears falling down her blood-coated skin. Joel buried his face in the little girl’s hair, cherishing her very existence as his hand held her face ever so gently. It warmed your heart, this burning fire reminiscent of your entire reason of fighting to survive. It was all for love, in any shape or form. Taking care of each other and never letting go.

That was all that mattered.

“It’s okay now, I got you. I got you both.”

As he allowed her to just let it all out for the mere remaining seconds they had before you all had to flee, his neck craned down to focus entirely on you. “Look at me, honey,” his rugged voice spoke with the softest, sweetest tone, olive green eyes clouded with such concern and relief, his long fingers gently pushed your hair back. Exhausted and teary eyes met his orbs as he adjusted his arm so that his calloused hand held your cheek in a warm embrace. No doubt inspecting for injuries, always checking if you were okay. Your lips curled in the softest of grateful smiles.

“God, I thought I lost you,” he whispered, the approaching flames reflecting in his green orbs as he pressed a desperate, loving kiss to your forehead. Lips you never thought you would feel against your skin. The type of affection that could only come from a man who thought you had been gone forever.

A loud thud of burnt wood falling down the floor echoed amongst the cracks of fire. “Let’s get out of here, c’mon,” he cooed, helping both of you up to your feet as his arm remained tightly wrapped around your waist - never letting go, always holding you close. Ellie took his other hand as she used her sleeve to wrap her tears, eyes looking up to find the exit.

Joel Miller swore to himself, right there and then, that he would take care of both of you. No matter what it took, he would always be there to watch over you and fight for both of you to the ends of this earth.

As long as it meant having you in his arms again.

[ask-the-riders]

406 Learns A Lesson

(So uhhhh,, this is odd, it goes from action and "oh shit that's not good" to angst, then to fluff and Pest's humor (attempting to keep the mood lighthearted))

406 learns a very valuable lesson on why she should never try to make any moves on Pestilence

Her teacher? War

((Contains some unwanted flirting and advances, followed up with violence. A rat gets smacked pretty hard, but no worries, the fuzzball is totally ok))

The tip of a tendril trailed along the glitch's jaw, soon followed by the darker's fingers as he rumbled lowly, "Don't fail me, 406... I'm trusting you to keep an eye on him."

406 smiled widely, her figure beginning to glitch wildly as she purred, her eye lights blown wide in manic excitement and euphoria, "You got it, Boss... He won't be going anywhere. Not as long as I'm still here."

Nightmare let out a low rumble in satisfaction before stepping back away from her, his body warping into the shadows before vanishing entirely. The glitch waited a moment before slowly turning to look at her captive, her eye lights suddenly constricting as she smiled widely, "I'm gonna have fun with you, I can already tell."

Her captive scoffed, narrowing his sockets in distrust, "Yeah, how? It's not like you can touch me or anything." 406 continued grinning at him, her threads appearing and lowering before him, wound around a small pouch that had a medical cross stitched onto the side, "Oh, on the contrary. I can do whatever the hell I want as long as I've got this."

The prisoner's sockets widened and he stared in shocked, "When did you-?!" "When did I get this from you? Easy. After you smacked your head and passed out, I took it from you. Just like that", 406 cut him off, appearing proud of herself. He attempted to shift in his seat, the magic binding around his arms and legs beginning to cause pain.

His sickly green magic flared up, only to fizzle out again, and he furrowed his brow bones in confusion, "What the...? Why isn't it working?" The glitch tilted her head, the corners of her mouth still curled into a smile as she gestured to her neck as she approached him, "You kinda got a little somethin' right here, bud." Once she was within arms reach, she leaned down, her fingers snagging the collar around his neck and yanking it forward, cutting off his oxygen as she purred, "Oh yeah, that's right. It's a magic inhibitor. As long as this little baby stays on you, you can't use your magic."

Pestilence scowled at her, a single rat suddenly emerging from his hoodie and lunging at her hand, hissing as it did so. The glitch let out a startled yelp, roughly striking the creature and knocking it aside. Seeing what had just happened to one of his rats, Pestilence's scowl seemed to grow more intense and he muttered, "You bitch... You shouldn't have done that."

Scoffing, 406 rolled her eye lights and placed a hand on her hip, "Well then the stupid thing shouldn't have lunged at me. There's no need for violence. I mean, c'mon, I won't be violent unless you're violent toward me first." The rider continued glaring at her, his voice a low growl, "Get away from me." Arching a brow bone, 406 sighed, "Stop it with that look. I'm not ALL bad, y'know. I can be fun, too."

Pestilence didn't budge, still glaring harshly at her, and she locked gazes with him, entirely unphased as she moved even closer, "To show you just how much fun I can be, how about we play a game to pass the time? Just the two of us." He huffed, his sockets still narrowed in a mix of anger and distrust, "Not interested."

The glitch made a face, and he suddenly found her seating herself on his lap, facing him. Without an ounce of fear or hesitation, she pressed against him, a hand cupping his face, and he flinched, turning his head and trying to avoid her touch. Very well aware of what he was doing, she laughed softly, "That's cute... Pathetic, but cute nonetheless."

He growled in irritation, "What the fuck are you doing?! I thought I told you to get the hell away from me." Still completely relaxed, 406 hummed softly and shrugged, tilting her head, "I'm just sitting down, geez. We're within the castle walls and within my home, am I suddenly not allowed to sit?"

The rider attempted to lean as far back away from her as he could, only being stopped by the backing of his chair, "There's like five other chairs in this room alone. You could leave me the hell alone and go sit on one of them instead." 406's threads lowered the pouch of antidotes again and she removed a vial, calmly eyeing it for a moment before making a face, "Nah... Your lap is way more comfy. I think I'll stay here."

Shifting her attention back to him, she arched a brow bone again, "Besides, if I did that, then I wouldn't be able to do this." He stared at her in confusion, "...Do what?" She suddenly donned a wide smile, both of her hands cupping his face as she pressed her teeth to his. Sockets widening, Pestilence began to thrash, attempting to get out of his restraints, and 406 took advantage of his shock, deepening the kiss further.

An image of War appeared in his mind and he began to shake; no, this wasn't happening. This couldn't be. There was no way in hell.

As she forced her tongue into his mouth, he growled, biting down and making her yelp and draw back. Before she could get a single word in, the rider slammed his forehead into hers. The glitch, clearly caught by surprise released a second yelp and stared at him in shock for a moment, before chuckling softly, "...Well damn. You're a fighter, it seems. That's good... I like a challenge."

As she began to close the distance between them again, sapphire threads appeared, coiling around her neck and arms, and she was ripped backward away from Pestilence, letting out another startled cry as she was slammed into a stone wall. A hand gripped her face and slammed her head back against the wall at full force, earning another cry as War firmly stated, "I don't think so."

406 attempted to fight back, lifting a hand, but before she could create her own threads, War tightly gripped her arm. There was a sickening crack as the bone was broken, and 406 screamed, deep blue tears pricking at her sockets, "WHAT THE FUCK, YOU PSYCHO?! YOU BROKE MY ARM!" War scowled at her with empty crimson sockets, releasing her arm to roughly seize her neck vertebrae and squeeze, "And for kissing MY SOULMATE, I SHOULD BE BREAKING A LOT MORE."

From his seat, Pestilence stared, watching in shock. War's figure glitched wildly as she tightened her grip on the other's neck, beginning to choke her, "You're me, you should know how much I HATE when other people touch MY STUFF." 406's magic flared up and captured War's soul, sending her flying backward into another wall and pinning her in place. The rider roared, wars beginning to cloud her vision. Before her vision vanished entirely, she saw her duplicate moving closer to Pest again, and she growled, her threads seeking out the other's soul.

They were quick to capture it, and War hissed, "Release me NOW, or so help me, I'll fucking kill you where you stand." To prove she was serious, her threads began to tighten around the other's soul, and 406 murmured something under her breath. War squeezed her eyes shut, willing her vision to return before she opened them again. The magic that held her place suddenly vanished, and she bolted forward again, shoving her duplicate out of the way to snap the magic inhibitor that Pestilence wore, her tone void of remorse, "Use your magic to get free. I have a bitch to slaughter."

He stared at her, wide eyed as he nodded, at a loss for words. 406 attempted a surprise attack, hurling her entire body toward War, and the rider scowled, striking the other with her closed fist at full force. There was another crack, and 406 staggered back, holding her good hand over one of her sockets as blood began to drip down her face, and War fully turned to face her. She was quiet as she looked at her hand, seeing the blood and marrow on her knuckles, and when she took a few longer strides forward and raised a hand to strike the other glitch again, 406 flinched backward, attempting to curl in on herself.

War scoffed, roughly gripping the collar of her shirt instead and dragging her closer until they were mere inches apart. The duplicate seemed to shrink under her gaze, and War hissed, soft enough for only the two of them to hear, "There's a big difference between me and our original counterpart that you need to understand; unlike her, I don't care about you. She wants to help you become a better person, and as of today, I want you dead."

She jerked the other closer until their faces nearly touched, not at all phased as 406 whimpered. To conclude her threat, she decided to add, "For your sake, I hope you don't forget that. If I have to deal with you a second time, you WILL die, and that's final." The other immediately nodded in understanding, and War shoved her backward, her entire disposition cold as she spat, "Take a vial and get lost."

As 406 scurried to grab a vial and make a beeline for the exit, War turned to Pestilence again as he worked on removing the last of his bindings. Realizing that she was looking at him, Pest also shrank under her gaze, speaking slowly, "...I uhh... thanks for coming here and saving me." War looked away from him, choosing not to respond as she opened a portal to take them home. Knowing what she wanted, he offered her his hand to walk through the portal together, and she seemed to freeze in place, looking back and forth between his face and his hand.

Noticing how she hesitated, he sighed, his voice soft, "War... Babe, come on. Please. Everything's ok now. Please take my hand." She continued to hesitate, and he lowered his voice further, his tone pleading, "If this is about how she kissed me, you saw the state I was in. My hands were bound, and I could only do so much with that magic inhibitor around my neck. I fought her on it as much as I could, I swear."

War attempted to blink back tears, her body glitching again as she looked away from him, "...Just go through the damn portal already." Pestilence frowned, reaching out to her, before stopping and withdrawing his hand. Shoulders sagging in defeat, he nodded and whispered a soft apology before slipping through the portal as instructed. His soulmate followed close behind him, closing the portal them once they stepped out into their shared room.

Immediately turning her back to him, War lifted the hand she'd used to damage 406's socket, carefully peeling off her glove to see her hand directly. She instantly took notice of the visible crack that began near one of her knuckles and wound around her phalange, hissing softly as she attempted to flex her fingers.

She felt Pestilence approach her from behind, offering no protest as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close to himself. Looking over her shoulder and seeing her injured hand, his magic began to heal it, and she lightly leaned back against him. Everything was silent for a moment before War murmured softly, "...I know you fought her as much as you could. I... It just... really hurts. I arrived just as it happened, and I wasn't sure what to do." She paused, a blue tinted tear dripping down her face and rapidly transforming into a single thread, "I know it wasn't your fault, Pest, and I know you didn't want it. I can't get that image out of my head though, and it feels like my heart was just put through a shredder."

Pestilence made a soft sound of understanding, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and inhaling deeply, his voice low, "I know, and I'm really sorry... If I had any control over the situation, I would've fought her even more." Finally breaking, more tears rolled down her face and, like the first, transformed into threads.

She pressed her uninjured hand over her mouth, trying to muffle whatever sounds she made, and upon feeling the way her body shook in his arms, Pestilence loosened his grip on her and gently slipped around her. Standing in front of her now, he wrapped an arm around her again to hold her close, and she reciprocated, hugging him tightly.

For a moment, they were both silent, and he held her flush against himself, gently rubbing her back as she hid her face in his shoulder and sniffled. Full of guilt and sadness, he prompted her to look at him, and when she did, he very delicately placed a hand on her face. War leaned into his touch and placed a hand atop his, her eyes wide and holding what almost seemed to be a sense of desperation as he spoke, "I'll do anything to make it better... Whatever you can think of. Name it, and I'll do it."

The female rider quivered, nodding and mumbling, "Then make me forget, please. I don't care what it takes, just get that image out of my head." Pestilence stared at her for a few seconds, before he leaned closer and pressed his teeth to hers. War immediately pressed back, her body trembling as she returned the kiss and clung to him like a lifeline.

As he kissed her, he rested a hand on the back of her head, his magic beginning to flare up as he deepened the kiss. He didn't like the idea of using his magic to erase her memories, so he did the next best thing; he altered them. Rather than the painful image of 406 kissing him, she'd recall the event as though it was a dream she'd had, in which she took 406's place. To make it as dream-like as possible, he threw in a few odds and ends, making it seem just as random as an actual dream would've been.

As he slowly pulled back from the kiss to gently press his forehead against hers, he sighed softly, quietly gazing at her. Her cheekbones were now dusted a soft shade of blue as she moved closer to kiss him again, and he allowed it, more than happy to reciprocate. Unlike the kiss he'd given her, the kiss she gave him was much softer; she just wanted him as close as possible, and she didn't want to risk him having to leave again.

When they parted again, he smiled softly at her, gently taking one of her hands and intertwining their fingers. Giving a gentle squeeze, he lifted their hands, pressing a kiss to the back of hers and maintaining eye contact with her as he murmured, "I love you, War... With every fiber of my being. My heart and soul are yours, as long as you'll have them." Her blush visibly darkened and his smile widened a bit. Wanting to keep the moment lighthearted and give her some sense of normalcy, he playfully winked at her, "And my body? That's yours too. By all means, help yourself to it whenever you want."

Her blush darkened even more and she rolled her eye lights, grumbling, "Pervert." Pestilence laughed softly, flicking his tongue at her, "Maybe. You love me though, and you know it." War made a face, still appearing flustered, "Yeah... I do. I can't deny that one." Pest's cheekbones became a soft shade of green and his smile widened.

Despite what had happened with 406, he had a feeling that things were going to be alright. To seal the deal, however, he'd have to ask one of the others to wipe the bad memory from his mind as well. As long as no one told him or War once it was gone, then they'd be able to move on.

He'd do whatever it took to make sure his lady love was happy.

[anxiously-introverted]

Fanfic of what you think what happened pre season 1 with The Byers family before Lonnie left? (If not what do you think happened in the family?)

I made a small drabble of what I imagined may have happened. Hopefully it’s alright. Sorry if there’s any mistakes, I typed this up pretty quickly!

(There’s a tiny bit of swearing)

           Angry voices hurled insults at each other from the living room, volcanic fury turning the air venomous with disdain. Heavy clouds obscured the sun outside, painting the space in a murky grey. The house was suffocating as emotional turmoil stained every inch of its surface. It was always like this, though. Always angry, always sad, always hopeless.

           Will Byers laid curled in the fetal position on his bed, blanket cast over him like a shield. Maybe if he closed his eyes and believed hard enough, the old comforter would become an impenetrable sheet of steel. Maybe if he just pretended that he was in the newest campaign map Mike had made, the floor would be swallowed by buttercups and ivy, and the walls would turn to acres of trees. Maybe if he stayed quiet and out of sight, the enraged beast outside his sanctuary wouldn’t hear him and he could spend the rest of the evening in a false sense of peace. Maybe if he were brave, he could have kept this horrible tears from scarring his mom’s cheeks.

           Something shattered against the hardwood. An enraged shriek carried over the glass carnage.

           “I’m done, Lonnie! I’ve put up with this shit for too damn long and I’m not taking it anymore! I want you out of my house!”

           The shouts were only getting angrier, slowly turning into the horrid snarls of grotesque beasts. It was dark in his room and it was cold. No matter how tightly he wrapped the blanket around himself, the chill still settled deep in the marrow of his bones. He was scared and miserable, and he was alone.

           Will startled at the sound of his doorknob turning, door squeaking as it opened before closing softly. The argument still continued to rage like a hurricane outside, but added to it was the sound of gentle footsteps coming up to his bed. A hand landed on his head causing his body to stiffen.

           “Hey, bud.”

           His brother’s whisper was delicate in the turbulent air. Hesitantly, Will’s head peaked out of the blanket. Softly, he whispered, “Jonathan?”

           Jonathan gave a small grin, “You doing alright?”

           The eight year old blinked before shaking his head. “Mom’s really mad.”

           There was a moment of quiet, the monstrous growls outside were still as loud as ever.

           “What’s this?”

           He looked up to see Jonathan had plucked a drawing from his bedside table, looking over the paper with curious eyes. Will said, “It’s my castle.”

           “Your castle?”

           “Yeah, Will the Wise found an old ruin in the Forest of Black Vines last night and he made it into Castle Byers,” he elaborated. His eyes dropped down bashfully. “It’s not great, but—”

           “It’s awesome,” Jonathan commented with a bright smile. “Your drawings are amazing, Will. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” The older boy shot a withering glare at the door, eyes narrowed in resentment at the sound of his father’s voice. He turned back to Will, gaze considerably softer as he said, “Come with me.”

           A sudden raise in volume in the living room rooted the younger brother to the spot, hazel eyes wide in fear. “Hey,” Jonathan said, prompting Will to look at him. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

           Another moment of hesitation passed before Will finally gathered the courage to sit up and leave his blanket’s protection. Jonathan took his hand and carefully led him out of the bedroom, down the hall, and to the back door.

           The air outside was cold, but didn’t weigh on his soul the same way the frigid atmosphere inside did. His brother led the way to the shed, disappearing inside for only a few moments. He emerged with the old wheelbarrow filled with wood, a saw, a hammer, a tarp, and nails. With a smile, he said, “C’mon, let’s go make Will the Wise his castle.”

           If tears dripped into Will’s blinding smile, neither boy mentioned it.

              Joyce was practically hysterical as she fled into the woods with a flashlight. Her wrist was marred with finger-shaped bruises and her throat stung from yelling, but she’d finally exorcised her home of the source of its agony. It took hours of shouting, fighting, struggling, but Lonnie was finally gone. She knew nothing was really fixed, not even close, but perhaps she was closer to making the home a place she wants her boys to grow up in.

           But after watching that rusting car rattle off down the road in the early hours of dawn while clutching a kitchen knife, Joyce had gone to get her children only to discover vacant rooms. So now, here she was, sprinting through mud and grass in bare feet and oversized pajamas while screaming wildly over the monotone downpour of rain.

           “Mom?”

           She’d almost slid directly into a tree at Jonathan’s voice. Her head whipped around, frazzled hair sticking to her neck and face as she took in the scene. There were her two sons, Jonathan holding a board up against the entrance of a lopsided fort and Will just barely keeping a hold of a large hammer in his thin hands. Both were soaked to the bone with their brown hair falling over their eyes like ungroomed puppies.

           Dropping the flashlight, Joyce’s feet barely even touch the ground as she surged forward to wrap her sons in a tight embrace. Her shoulders shook as she clutched them to her, but she refused to let her sobs pollute their ears. Tightly, she said, “I was worried sick! What were you two thinking, going out in all this rain?!”

           “W-We were building Castle Byers,” Will said, trembling as he hugged his mom back. “We had to finish it… We had to…”

           “We’re sorry,” Jonathan mumbled, looking every bit the twelve year old he was for the first time that night.

           Joyce let out a shaky sigh, squeezing the two with as much warmth and love as she could muster. The rain was freezing, her lungs were burning, her bruises ached, her head stung, she had no money and no support. She was broken and so were her sons, but their pieces had all ended up together in the end.

           And maybe, just for this moment, that was enough.

[ren-c-leyn]

Dearest Vengeance

 Continuing to clear out my drafts, finally down to under 350 prompts saved that I’ve always wanted to use but couldn’t find the motivation/inspiration for, so, yay. This one was writing these 1,2,3,4 prompts by @humdrummoloch, these 1,2 by @thependragonwritersguild, these 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 prompts by @givethispromptatry, this prompt by @gingerly-writing, this prompt by @scrawl-your-heart-out, this prompt by @unpromptly, this prompt by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor, this prompt by @write-it-motherfuckers, and last but certainly not least, this prompt by @scandy-inspo.

 So, this piece is most definitely on the darker side of my writing style. A tale of betrayal, revenge, death, and regrets. It’s probably the closest to horror I’ve gotten in a long time, but I don’t know if it actually crosses that line between dark fantasy and horror or not. There are several deaths mentioned. I try to stay away from the gore, but there is definite fight scenes and anticipation of the end bits.

~

 That day... that day had always haunted me. So long ago and so far away. I could still hear it, still hear the laughter and the screams. It never goes away, never fades. I still hear it echoing in my ears, particularly on cold, Spring days, like that one....

“She saved us!” I had shouted.

“She’s a killer!” the commander had replied, raising his hand to give the signal.

“She is our savior and if you wish to do her harm we will stand as obstacles. She may be a killer, but will you damn yourself to that label as well?”

 He looked me in the eye.

 “This is what must be done, by order of the princess.”

 His hand came down as he stared me down. I tried to jump forward but two others held me back while the rest of the party closed in on her like rabid wolves. To her credit, she fought as well as any other I had ever seen, weaving magic and blades together... but there were too many. Far too many.

“What have we become?” I had asked in a breathless whisper, staring down upon the bloodied remains of our former comrade.

“Who cares? Grab the loot and let’s go,” one of the cowards had replied, joy in his voice.

 Turned on my heel, practically snarling like a wild animal.

 “It amazes me sometimes how low you are willing to sink.”

 “I got the mission done, didn’t I?! Besides, she was doomed to die, anyways. Leave her to the land, I say.”

 They split her belongings, along with the treasures we had collected along the journey among each other. I took only one thing, her beloved pendant. It’s weight still feels so heavy, so cold, as if I’m carrying the burden of her judgement, of her betrayal, around my neck.

 I rubbed the smooth surface of the crystal, watching the clouds roll by just like the lingering memories when the doors to my quarters were flung open, the heavy oak slamming against the stone walls hard enough I feared it would crack. Spinning on my heels, I confronted the breathless man.

 “What is the meaning of this?!”

 “My apologies, but you have received summons to the war room by her majesty.”

 I growled at that. What I wouldn’t give to walk out of this damnable castle and leave her majesty, the former princess,’s command. But she would not have it. No, I would be hunted down and put to a worse fate than dear Evelyn.So I settled for storming through the halls, watching the servants and guards stumble out of the way before throwing the war room doors open just as roughly as the hapless servant had done to mine.

 Only, it had a far different effect than the outrage I had hoped for.

 Instead I was confronted by paled faces and drawn blades. There was a fear and nervousness that I was unfamiliar with. It dissipated only slightly when they recognized me and put their blades away, but I knew these men and women. I knew them not to fear anything alive, not even their own wickedness, for they were the group that was apart of the expedition that killed her... the monsters that murdered Evelyn. At least, most of them. Two of the faces were missing, but I cared not to see the pair that scored the finishing blow on her.

 “Now that all are present,” the queen spoke, pointedly staring at my former commander, “explain yourself, Richmond. What prompted this gathering?”

 He stared at her with wide and wild eyes, dark bags practically dripping from his eye sockets.

 “I saw her. And I know it was her.”

“Richmond, we can never be sure,” Lucy had begun, but her cut her off.

“You think I’d miss those purple eyes?! Those gleaming eyes....” He trailed off, slumping forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the lavish table to support his trembling form. “She killed them. Evelyn killed James and Sam. Just... just ran them through with her bare hands, those horrible, horrible glowing hands.”

 “You told me you had succeeded,” the queen snarled.

 “We thought we had,” he spoke, barely above a whisper. “She had no heartbeat, drew no breath... some sort of magic, I assume.”

 A frustrated growl escaped her majesty’s lips as she rose from her chair.

 “Then do not fail me again! The sorceress is to be slain, do I make myself clear?”

 He shook his head.

 “We cannot kill something like that.”

 “Refusal is not an option!”

 He looked her in the eyes.

 “Neither is success possible.”

 Everyone else in the room shuffled uncomfortably as he rose from his seat and began to wander towards the door.

 “I did not dismiss you!”

 “With all due respect, your majesty, I don’t give a damn. I’m going to spend my last few days, hours, minutes, the way I wish.”

 With that, he slammed the war room doors closed, only for me to fling them open seconds later. I had to know if it was true, if she lived. And if it was, I had to know where she was.

 I chased him down, trying to catch up with him.

 “Wait!” I shouted. 

 He paused in the abandoned corridor, my own voice and the echoes of our footsteps ringing out. Richmond turned to face me, face drained of all energy and resolve.

 “Where did you see her? Is she truly alive?”

 He opened his mouth to speak, but a third voice answered that stole both the heat in the air and our breaths away.

 “No, not in the traditional sense.”

 And with that, I saw it, a glowing purple hand reaching through Richmond’s chest, like she was grasping for me. He gurgled and sputtered, coughing and wheezing. The hand retreated and he fell to the floor, shivering violently as if he was caught in an ice storm.

 Standing just behind the fallen man was a figure I never thought I’d see again. She looked so familiar, so beautiful, I just wanted to step over the horrid man and hug her, hold her, never let her go... but something was terribly wrong. Her dark purple eyes held no light, frost clung to her lips, the air around her was cold enough to freeze my blood and soul, and the wicked smirk on her face.... No, no this wasn’t her. This was not dear Evelyn.

 “Three down, six to go.”

 And with that, she stepped over the convulsing man, walked right through me, leaving a terrible chill in the very marrow of my bones, and disappeared. I looked around with wide eyes, glancing down at Richmond and back up the empty halls. I found myself torn between what the right thing was. Her vengeance, which surely we all deserved, or saving lives. In the end, I found myself sprinting up the hallways, shouting intruder at the top of my chilled lungs.

 I burst back into the war room, heaving from my run.

 “How dare you run out like....”

 “She’s here!” I shouted at the queen before she had finished. “Evelyn has....”

 I was cut off by a peculiar sensation, a frigid hand gliding through my back to somewhere between my throat and lungs. Within the short second it took to realize what was happening, the cold had sunk beneath my skin and taken root somewhere under my ribs. As I breathed ice came forth and I found that I could not say a word. My voice had frozen in my chest.

 I pawed helplessly at my throat, turning to face her. Evelyn stood behind me, that blindingly brilliant smile on her face. She winked before walking past, entering the chamber.

 “Haven’t I killed you before?” the queen asked calmly, likely up to something.

 “I got better.”

 The atmosphere tensed as the others shuffled around the room, positioning themselves just so.

 “Seems impossible from the reports I received. Was I deceived?”

 “No deceptions, except your own, dear sister.”

 Instead of an answer, the queen’s hands crackled with magic energy and she shot a bolt of lightening at Evelyn, the specter of Evelyn, as my fellows cut at her with naked blades, just as they had before. But she only laughed, laughed as her form broke apart into a frigid mist.

 The rest, I did not rightly see, as a fireball burst within the cloud and sent me sprawling out in the hall. I coughed and rubbed at my chest, trying to break apart the ice, fearing I would suffocate if it continued to spread.

 There were screams, horrible screams, and the queen ran out with John on her heels. She grabbed my by the collar and yanked me onto my feet before dragging me down the hallway. We went through several corridors, my breath coming out in little white puffs as the echoes of battle and painful deaths chased us at a dulling distance. 

 She did not stop moving until we were safely tucked into a small room off the throne room. Using fire, she warmed my throat and unfroze my voice before grabbing my collar again and pulling me nose to nose with her.

 “What did you do?!”

 “Nothing, I did nothing. I... I went to ask Richmond where he had seen her and... she killed him.”

 The queen snarled before releasing me.

 “Who? Who summoned her back to the living plane if not you?!”

 “I know not the ways of magic, your majesty,” I replied.

 She just growled and paced, while I scrubbed at the place above my heart, trying to rub away the ache that had settled there. It was not long until we heard shouting down below. The shouts of sorceress and intruder did not fail to catch any of our attentions. John was at the balcony first, staring down at it all. The queen followed after him, gathering the velvet folds of her scarlet dress.

 “It was never meant to end like this…”

The murmur was almost lost amongst the screams, the queen staring out upon the devastation with an expression of grief and heartbreak, one hand clutching at the fabric over her chest, as if to stifle the pain she felt there. I was silent for a moment as I watched her out of the corner of their eyes, before letting out a deep sigh, the slightest of frowns marring my features as I finally turned to follow her gaze.

“No…. I don’t suppose it was…” I snarled as I watched Lucy running for her life on a frozen leg, the specter dancing and weaving through hails of arrows and sword slashes as she hunted her down. 

 The queen turned on me, eyes hard.

 “And it wouldn’t have happened,” I pressed, “if you hadn’t brought your own evil upon us all, your majesty.” 

 She rose her hand to slap me, but John’s shrill voice stopped her.

 “She’s going to die if we don’t do something!”

 “So? Let her. It’s not like she’d go out of her way for you,’ I spoke coldly, still staring into the queen’s dark orange eyes.

 I turned my back on them and started to walk towards the door. A wall of flames sprung up, stopping me.

 “I didn’t give you permission to leave! You can’t abandon your queen in a time of crisis!”

 I looked back at her.

 “You are not my queen.”

 She snarled.

 “Traitor!”

 “That is your title, sister,” Evelyn’s cold voice echoed in the room for a brief moment before her form rose up out of the floor. “You’re collapsing under the weight of your own lies, sweetheart. It was bound to happen eventually. That is why you cannot command loyalties, why you have never been able to keep friends.” Evelyn shook her head, her dark hair dancing around her misty shoulders. “Honestly, you never changed.  You only live to poison this world. That’s why father was going to pass the throne to me, instead of you. I wish I was sorry, but you’ve fucked me over one time too many. You already had your last chance. This ends here.”

 The queen started trembling.

 “So what happens now?”

 “Are you kidding me?” came the sneering reply. “Now I kill you. Or I die again trying.”

 “No, no you will go back to your grave!” the queen screeched. “John, kill her! Kill her again!”

 John hesitated. Being one of the ones that held me in place, he hadn’t actually killed her the first time, only helped. Now, seeing all whom did die... I doubted he wished to confront the image of vengeance we were now faced with. I had been her only friend on that fateful day, and I did not even wish to be in this freezing room with her any longer. But Evelyn gave him no choice. She glided towards him with a cruel smile.

 He swung his blade, catching only mist and air, but her glowing hand found it’s mark: his throat. I shuddered as I watched him claw helplessly at it, knowing the feeling he was undoubtedly experiencing. The queen, however, had no pity, no sympathy. She just attacked with magic, having little more effect than we had. But the blades of ice the specter conjured sent ribbons of red splattering across the fine floors. And when neither of them moved nor make any more sound, her form solidified and she collapsed to the floor, all of the old wounds from that terrible spring day reforming.

 Timidly, I went to her, kneeling by her form.

 “What did you do to them?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

 “What I had to.”

 “Did you have to?”

 “Perhaps... not... but here’s nothing quite like victory.”

 “This hardly counts as a victory, Evelyn.”

 She shrugged. I watched as pure black drained from her veins and arteries out onto the cold marble floor. I swore, as her eyes fluttered, as her breathing heaved, that I could see speckles, tiny little stars flecking the void-colored blood.

 “Why is it always you?” I asked, but my only answer came in the form of her body misting again, slowly turning to a cold fog before disappearing altogether.

 Years passed after the bloody slaughter at the castle, or perhaps icy slaughter is more apt. I got my wish to leave it, finally, after a cousin of Evelyn and the former queen stepped up to take the throne. He said he did not wish to keep a cursed person so close. At the time, I was too happy to be rid of the chains of my station to question it, but now... I wonder sometimes.

 Because on cold, spring days, I can feel her frigid hand on my heart.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Keyholes (spicyhoney)

Summary:  Nothing good ever came from listening through keyholes.

WARNINGS: How to warn for this...Okay, there is some implied non-con here. Not graphic, nothing more than some talking, but I want to warn. Some implications of LV, some dark humor.

There was a thing on Twitter briefly where people were discussing that it’s rather sweet when Red plays the overprotective brother with Underswap Papyrus, especially if he happens to be dating Edge. This is where my 4 am brain demanded I go with it.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was late by the time Red came home and he was pretty damn careful not to let the door slam shut as he crept in. Boss usually got pissy about him staying at Grillby’s till closing time, but since his bro had started dating the honey bun, he’d gone a little lax on a few of the rules. Not too lax, not yet, and was something to keep tabs on; pulling that stick in his brother’s pelvis out a few inches was all right, but there was a huge fucking difference between a little easier and going soft. Swinging too much in the other direction was a good way to end up in a dustpan. Not that Red thought Edge was gonna be ready for a soft-serve cone anytime soon, eh, but it paid to keep an eye out. For now, it seemed to be working out pretty well in everyone’s favor. Nobody’d asked his opinion, but Red actually thought Rus was pretty damn good for his bro. Gave him someone else to bitch at, finally helped clue his brother into the fact that not all afternoon naps were a bad thing and…aw, fuck it. Even Red could admit there was something to the way Edge looked at the honey bun, too. Rus made him happy and there were damn well few enough things in his bro’s life managing that. He could have a pass on this one. Red yawned. Fuck, he was tired. Not drunk, noooo, not on his own, he wasn’t that fucking stupid. Still pleasantly buzzed and he was looking forward to hitting his mattress. He still took the time to line up his shoes at the door, playing the odds that if he didn’t leave anything to piss his bro off in the morning, then he might just get to sleep in a little. Worth a shot. The stairs were daunting, and he was almost tempted to shortcut. Keeping ‘em quiet took effort though and in the end, he decided the stairs were the winner, if only to make sure he didn’t wake Paps. It was when he was creeping past his bro’s door that he discovered his brother wasn’t asleep, and what he heard made the marrow freeze in his bones. “no!” Distinct, even through the door, Rus’s voice and Red stilled, all the easy warmth of the evening draining away as he listened. “let me go.” Raggedly pleading, hoarse, like maybe he’d been crying or screaming, what in the name of fuck— “no more, please, i want to go home!” “You are home, pet, you belong to me.” His brother’s voice and the faint, feeble hope that somehow someone’d gotten past their security, broke in and—no, that was his brother like he’d never heard him, his voice rough, eager, even as he crooned, “Shhh, I’ll take care of you, give you everything you need. Be a good boy now—“

“no! i want to go home to my brother, let me go, please!” “You’re mine!” Snarled out, viciously enough to send a prickle up Red’s spine like a memory of sin. “Say it!”

“no!” Broken little word, said again and again, until it was little more than a sob.

“No? Oh, I think I can make you say it. I think you’ll be begging me soon enough.” Whatever else Rus tried to say was muffled, cut off, and Red forced himself not to think of how. Red stood, didn’t even notice he wasn’t blinking until his aching sockets reminded him. He could taste the sweat beading on his skull, dripping down his face and over his teeth. This wasn’t…this was all kinds of fucked up, this wasn’t possible. Edge was a hardass, yeah, he ran Snowdin like a fucking general, not just captain of the guard…and he made sure all the kids here had enough to eat, made sure all the supplies were divvied up equally, fuck it, he even checked up on that old Bun granny to make sure her walkway was cleared after a storm. He wasn’t like those LV-crazed loonies out in Snowdin woods, the souleaters who didn’t care who they killed or fucked, he wasn’t… Another cry came from the room, Rus’s voice, wild and pained and fuck. Okay. Okay, something had happened, something had obviously fucking broke, but he couldn’t let his bro do this. Maybe Rus would never forgive him, but if he stopped it, Edge might eventually be able to forgive himself. Yeah, and Asgore might declare Fridays as Spank My Fuzzy Ass day, but he had to try. Red stood at the door, not listening to the muffled whimpers as he summoned up his magic, breathing deeply and mentally clawing together his control before he kicked it in. The room was dark, but he could see enough; a pair of skeletal hands chained to the headboard, rucked up blankets, his brother on top, jerking towards the busted door too late as Red reached, turning his soul blue and yanking him away. He was moving before his brother even bounced off the wall, dodging the attack he already knew would be coming. Had to give the boss credit, he was quick, and the bones came close enough that Red could feel the virulence of his intent. He tightened his grip on Edge’s soul, dragging him down, up, dodging another attack and— “woah, fuck, stop! edge, it’s your brother, it’s red, stop it!!” Red felt as much as saw his bro go limp in his hold, dangling against the wall and didn’t let up, could be a trick, trying to get him to let down his guard and…wait. Red blinked owlishly as his focus eased enough to let him see more than the threat he had pinned down. Rus was…standing, and yeah, that was more bone than he’d ever wanted to see from the honey bun, but the cuffs were dangling from the headboard, empty. “red, let him down, yeah?” Rus didn’t get closer to him, only held out his empty hands, palms up as he said, soothingly, “c’mon, it’s okay. it’s all good here, it was only a game. you know, the big bad kidnaps the sweet little innocent, takes him captive, all that shit?” “a game?” Red echoed blankly, and then, “you, innocent?” Rus shrugged. “i work with what i’ve got.” He reached out, pressing very gently on Red’s extended hand, didn’t even flinch as Red’s magic arced, dancing across his pale bones like lightning. “but he wasn’t hurting me, we were only playing. let him down, okay?” Oh. Hastily, Red withdrew his magic, dragging it back in hard enough that he almost gagged. Edge slid down the wall, landing lightly on his feet, but Red didn’t stay to see if his bro had anything he wanted to add to the group chat. He just turned on heel and out, yanking the busted door mostly shut behind him. Probably should’ve gone to his room, but his feet were on autopilot and took him downstairs. Red plopped down on the sofa and hey, maybe it was time for a game of his own. See how long he could keep his mind totally blank before he either fell asleep or maybe the world could reset for him. Worth a try. He couldn’t say how long he got to play, but it wasn’t fucking long enough. He heard the rattle of the broken door opening above him and footsteps on the stairs. Untied sneakers came into view, shuffling along, before the sofa next to him sagged. “here.” A pack of cigarettes dropped into Red’s lap and he heard the rasp of a lighter, the first whiff of burning tobacco. “he’s gonna kill you.” Rus shrugged. “he already let me smoke one upstairs. might as well take advantage of it while i can, since i’m not getting off tonight. i’ve seen some wrecked moods, but that one was like tokyo after godzilla gave it an afternoon stroll.” “sorry.” He wasn’t, really, probably wasn’t a word outside of that jabberwocky poem to quantify how he felt right now, but it seemed like the thing to say. Red held out a hand and Rus dropped his lighter into it. “nah,” Rus blew out a cloud of smoke, “it was kinda sweet. thanks, cowboy. sorry my damsel in distress was less hollywood and more porn star.” “keep your thanks, it ain’t helping,” Red groaned. Rus ignored him and went on contemplatively, “just a heads up, edge might never be the same. think he’s testing if it’s actually possible to die of embarrassment, but i managed to talk him out of jumping into any of the lava pits in hotland.” Hastily, Red lit his own cigarette and took a hard drag. Nicotine wasn’t much, but when you were drowning, any straw you could grab looked like a cruise ship. A sharp elbow nudged Red in the ribs, making him cough, “know what i think? you two should start practicing the fine art of repression and bury this night under a rockslide. lemme know if you need help, i’m an expert.” Yeah, that was the best idea Red had heard in fucking years.

Rus stood up, clenched his half-burned butt in his teeth as he stretched with bone-popping force, groaning out, “welp, i’m gonna head home. that’ll learn us to keep it down. honestly, i’m looking at it as a positive.”

“a positive,” Red said flatly.

“yep. if it’d been my bro who heard us in there, edge might still be trying to wedge a boot out of his ass.”

Huh, that was probably true. Guess there were a few small favors left in the worlds.

Rus was gone with a wave and a shortcut, and Red finished his smoke, leaving the ash in a little pile on the coffee table because hell, at least he could stand to hear the boss bitch about that. He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he woke up to the feel of something soft being draped over him. Pretty damn tempting not to look; he’d probably be allowed to wallow in the blissful land of ain’t fucking thinking about it for a while yet. But eh, sometimes you just had to rip off that bandaid. Red opened his sockets, blinking up at his brother, who only finished tucking the blanket around him before moving to sit by his feet.

Welp, here was a tension you could cut with a knife and serve up with nice, cold glass of humiliation.

“boss,” Red started, then stopped, letting the word dangle between them.

“Shut up,” Edge said brusquely. His arms were crossed over his chest, his cheekbones stained garishly red, and he was grinding his teeth so hard Red expected him to spit out a mouthful of dust. But all he did was sit, looking anywhere but in Red’s direction as he muttered, “Thank you.” There were novels to be read between those lines, but Red could make do with the cliffnotes. Edge wasn’t stupid; he had LV, he knew what that could mean, the could happens and what ifs.

So Red only strangled out a gruff, “yeah, sure.” Then, louder, “all in favor of never speaking a fucking word about this again?”

“Aye,” Edge said dryly. “Would you like breakfast before we head for the dump to look for a new door?”

“breakfast would be great, boss,” Red said fervently. That was it. His bro didn’t say another word, only stood up and headed for the kitchen. Red glanced at the coffee table, the cigarette ash, and almost swept it away.

Nah, might do his brother good to have something he could actually bitch about and Red could stand a lecture today about keeping the house in order, please and thank you, if only to help scrub the inside of his skull clean of any lingering memories.

Repression: Start.

-finis-

[bleak-nomads]

Say you’re sick-ish, and fantasizing about soup, and want some comfort fic about your comfort characters being fed soup, except you can’t decide whomst you want to be doing the feeding

...well, maybe you don’t have to.

AU / later scene in @thatdeepandlovelydark‘s Confeitor. 

*

It’s the sharp snap of the fire that pulls me to waking. 

My limbs are heavy as I blink eyes I still cannot reasonably think of as my own open. A heavy blanket is draped across my still body, the fur rug beneath. The stove feels blistering beside me. 

Bellum omnium contra omnes. What the hell did you do now, Tuco?

Eerily, no answer. I shift our body, which is far more effort than it usually is -- his arms seem even more unresponsive than when I’d first inhabited the body, which --

How long did he have me for?

I have a shrouded memory of watching my hand scrabble to touch a loose rosary -- a flash of pain, then -- nothing. 

Bastard. I think, neatly and deliberately. Still nothing. 

“Tuco?” I hiss. 

But he isn’t gone, that much I can sense even with the body as incapacitated as it is. He’s certainly done something we might both live to regret, as I flex the left hand with an odd wince. Is that sensation from touching the rosary? I attempt to roll over--

“Oh thank go--”

I react all at once to the hand at our back, fist connecting to jaw with a speed I hadn’t been able to reach for, before. A clatter rocks the floor of the cabin. Blondie, hitting the floor. No movement. Damn this body’s strength, I must have knocked him out cold. 

I sit up, taking stock of the room. Our coat is lying stiff with frost by the door. Blondie is still wearing his. If I could stand without fear of tumbling into the stove, I’d make sure there was no lasting damage. 

Our shoulders begin to shiver, despite the warmth all around, a reaction that seems belated. A moan escapes my lips, now was that him? The presence I’m missing?

Cold. Christus, he’s let the body go cold, almost freeze to death from the look of things. What the hell happened, after he grasped the rosary?

What does Blondie know now, if anything?

I flex my other hand, now at least everything seems to be intact. Then I force myself to reach up, touch his ears. I can feel that as well. 

I’d chanced a blizzard before, lost a fingertip for my troubles. I was years a younger man then. But not so far from the age Tuco is now. See if I can’t learn from that, for the sake of both our limbs. There should be the cooked venison I stashed a day ago beneath the floorboards. Yes. Something warm to fill out the hollow maw of his stomach. 

Water from the kettle still has some warmth in it too. I sip that carefully before pouring the rest into the pot, setting the meat into it. It will take longer, for certain, but the important thing is that it will keep as I make certain I won’t scald myself out of clumsiness trying to eat it.

And it will be warm.

I cross the room to Blondie, examining the bruise raising on the back of his head. Seems like nothing to leave lasting damage, though perhaps a few days dizziness. That might be to our advantage, if he caused this --

I pause a moment, realizing I’ve implicitly sided myself with the soul whom I should at best consider a parasite on my continued existence, at worst, be holding him to trial for trying to snuff out my phantasma with the rosary beads. 

But of course, Blondie succeeded in his attempted murder, so perhaps that’s why I’ve no sympathy to spare for his fate. I do, however, drag one of the furs over and roll him onto it. That demonstrates the limbs are working. And for all that the venison would not be much of a soup, I know the sustenance will be restorative. 

I freeze. Inside me, it’s as if someone has let out a long sigh, something aching into every fibre of the bone marrow. 

Is that you? But still, met with silence. I frown, but refuse to be distracted, taking off the pot without bothering to separate it into a bowl. I let my hands linger around the heat radiating off the edges -- it’s as hot as the stove was, when I woke, but it doesn’t burn quite as much. 

When I spoon out the first bite, blow on it with breath that almost crystallizes, since I’m with my back to the stove -- then something inexplicable happens. 

Bringing the bite to my lips, it’s almost as if I’m feeding someone else. Who tastes the salt and tender of the venison with childlike wonder. Eager for the next bite, but helpless until I dip the spoon back into the pot, carefully let it steam to a safe temperature. 

For all the deeds I’d been bought and paid for, there were a great many that I held a man’s life, fragile and desperate as a trapped bird, completely at my mercy. But none of these had I ever needed, or wanted, to restore. Nor could I have imagined how different that chispa de vida felt through his veins. 

But it’s certainly that brash and irrepressible Mexican who I can feel creeping out of the labyrinthine shadows of the space we share, to feel his own body fighting back to warmth and something resembling contentment. I let him take the last few spoons himself, since he’s become so eager. It’s oddly captivating, to see someone so taken with a poorly salted thin soup. 

Then I set the pot down on the cold floor, seeing it empty, and wait a moment. The wind howls against the thick glass of the windows. But still, not a word. 

“Why did you do that?” It’s me that asks. 

It comes out of his lips, aloud, and it surprises us both, for all I can tell. Then our arms draw the blanket closer around the body that we share. I feel the shoulders shaking slightly. Not out of cold, this time. 

Don’t speak out loud. Blondie might hear you.

Does he know, then?

In my mind’s eye, a peculiar inversion takes my vision. It’s as if the cabin retreats out of sight for a moment, and a facsimile, with a fire lit in a pit in the middle, comes into view. I blink, studying my form a moment. Years younger, just as incorporeal in this landscape of the mind -- but still, it’s space for conversation. We hadn’t quite managed anything as civilized before. Or perhaps --

How long have you known, how to do this?

Since the first day, Angel. You were too busy trying to get control of the body. He shrugs, eyes shrouded in the firelight. I see a chair set out for me, laden with furs. 

Thanks for the soup. 

I sit, not entirely knowing what to say. Tuco tilts his head, his cheeks lined with misery.

No, he doesn’t know. Mierda. At least I don’t think so.

[themistyvibes4]

Where Everyone’s Feelings Stand in “The Skeleton Medley”

Sans: currently in love with her. However, if given the opportunity to ask her out he will 100% talk himself out of it ‘cause c’mon, commitment? He’s never had a serious relationship in his life, much less anything that lasted longer than a single night. He wasn’t good enough for you, and he has problems that you can’t even begin to comprehend. Maybe you should just ignore him and date his brother instead. Oh wait, you look really good today... And you smell nice... why are you smiling at him like that... uh oh. 

Nickname for the reader: Kitten

_

Papyrus: Absolutely smitten as well, and would be thrilled to take you on the BEST DATE EVER which would feature tons of hugs and exploring the city together, hand in hand, and maybe get a smooch from you as well, if you felt like it, that is! But uh... you’re not really in the best situation to make a decision like this, with your ex breaking your heart only a few weeks ago, so he’s just gonna give you time to heal first. It’s only right! But in the meantime, if you need anything, anything at all, just ask! 

Nickname for the reader: Bunny

_

Blue: Although he certainly has a crush, he isn’t exactly smitten. Blue knows that he gets crushes easily, especially if the person is sweet and kind like you, but he’s not getting ahead of himself because his crushes often don’t last long. But uh, his crush on you right now... Isn’t going away anytime soon, and Blue is starting to realize that. However, he doesn’t realize yet that the guy you were singing with was your ex, nor the details of the relationship. All he knows is that some guys broke your heart pretty badly, which is terrible! How could someone hurt you? That’s just awful! If you point Ryan out in public, then he’ll be sure to chase him down, make him apologize to you, and then give him a very stern lecture on how to properly treat your datemate!

Nickname for the reader: Maiden

_

Stretch: He... well...

He doesn’t really know. Crushing, maybe? I-It’s complicated! You’ve been really nice and friendly to him since he and his big bro got dragged to this world, and after his... um... meltdown in your room the other day, he’s starting to notice little details about you. What you like, the slight tone in your voice that you develop when you’re being sarcastic (which is very often), and how you... genuinely seem happy to see him when he greets you, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t warm his soul a bit. He’s never been in a relationship before (flirting with a snow bunny at Muffet’s was one thing, but actually leaning in when she tried to kiss him was another--he noped out of there real quick!), so he’s both scared and excited whenever he toys at the idea of asking you out. But it’s gonna be a longgg time before he actually musters up the courage to try that (he’s gotta figure out what he’s feeling first, damn it!), but in the meantime, he’s fine with this playful flirting thing you’ve both got going on. Also, who’s the guy you were singing with on stage? 

Nickname for the Reader: Honey, Hon

_

Edge: He will NEVER admit to anything. Him?? Having feelings for a lowly human like you?!! Preposterous!

...But you did look nice today, in that dress. A-and your voice was really smooth and strong, and you already admitted to wanting to be his friend--NYAH! He never said that! It didn’t happen! You’re nothing more than an acquaintance! That’s all!!! 

He’s crushing real bad. 

Nicknames for the reader: Siren, vile enchantress, sly vixen... uh, it’s gonna be a while until he decides on a permanent nickname for you. 

_

Red: Truth be told, he’d sleep with you if you’d just give him the green light for it. You had a really nice body, and the fact that you didn’t think he was a disgusting piece of trash like everyone else thought was kind of a win-win factor for him. However, from the beginning, he knew that you weren’t just some one night stand, so although he actively enjoys making lewd jokes with you, he stayed within his boundaries. But uh, the longer he’s in this world, with you... the more he realizes that his feelings might just be more than lust, especially when you flirt back. 

And that thought terrifies him, almost as bad as it does with Sans. H-he’s not the type to settle down, either! But the idea of you having an ex... someone you dated and spent time with... does boil his marrow a bit. 

Nicknames for the reader: sweetheart and doll

_

Black: You really won’t be able to make him admit to anything, but it’s not because he doesn’t want to! He just... also... has a hard time processing his feelings. Can you blame him, though? It was kill or be killed back in his world, and as the Captain of the Royal Guard, he didn’t have time to date, and he’s never even had his first kiss! 

Not to mention that actively showing feelings for someone would immediately place a target on his crush’s head if they were in swapfell. 

You looked nice tonight. That’s all that he wanted to tell you at the bar. It was sort of a mini goal for him in an attempt to get past his tsundere feelings, but the words just wouldn’t form. 

But then you started crying over an ex who clearly only wanted to use you, and Black thought that you were weak.

But then you smashed up your ex’s car in a flurry of rage and hatred, and he felt slightly turned on. 

Nickname for the reader: For right now, nothing! 

_

Rus: You sang good tonight, hence the pat on the shoulder that he gave you. Don’t come crying to him when your ex screws you over and leaves you out to freeze, though. 

He doesn’t really trust you or anyone that isn’t his brother, but at the same time, he doesn’t care enough to try. They just need to get that stupid machine fixed, and then they leave this happy-go-lucky world where you don’t have to worry about your neighbor running out of sugar and stabbing you in the middle of the night cause you wouldn’t share. 

It must be nice, living in a world with a bunch of copies of him and his brother waiting on your every want and need. 

It must be nice. 

Nickname for you: Calls you “That Girl” and “Spoiled Brat” in his head. Wonder if that’ll change soon, though. 

_

_

_

Like my writing? You can find “The Skeleton Medley” here!

Got a question? Wanna know how a certain someone would react to the reader smashing a car with a baseball bat? My ask box is open! 

[rainoverthemountains]

Twist Story chapter 4

As usual, Twist and all of Twistfell (and Swaptwistfell, which has a hint of relevance here if you know who Iggy’s major donor is) belongs to @itsladykit

Summary: There’s a cure for LV (probably). It’s completely safe (probably). It’s a highly unpleasant experience (definitely). Twist only cares about that first statement. He probably should have paid a little more attention to the other two. But what does it matter? He’s getting what he wants, and he has the best friends and family in any universe to help along the way.

chapter 1, chapter 3

Chapter 4

Twist groans as his sockets open and his eyelight lights. The brightness in the room is blinding so he quickly slams both sockets shut and brings an arm up to cover them with his sleeve. This is a lot more work than it should be, and does not produce the expected result. Bare bones are terrible at blocking out light.

“How drunk was I that I thought sleepin’ shirtless in a freezin’ room with no blankets was good idea?” he mutters, trying to lever himself up and out of the bed to search for some clothes. Trying, and failing, as a wave of dizziness washes over him at the movement and his arms won’t hold any weight.

“We’ll, fuck. Not sure this’s a hangover.” The headache that had been faintly pulsing in the back of his skull suddenly intensifies. ‘Er if it is, ‘s a hangover from hell.” He tries covering his eyes again, still to no effect. “C’n someone turn off that damn light?” No one answers.

He tries getting up again, this time by swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Pain flares in his ribcage as soon as he tries. “Shitshitshit, bad idea, fuck!” He ends up curled in a little ball, arms across his ribcage and legs drawn up as tightly as he can manage. He’s not sure how long it is before he manages to move again. He can only guess at what’s wrong. 

Not drunk, or not only drunk. Was he in some kind of fight? Shit, was he?! What if he killed someone? What if he gained LV? He can’t have gained LV, he’d know if he had, surely he’d know, he’d feel it. And anyway, it would have healed him, and he’s definitely not healed, and he’s still sane enough to worry about it, so that can’t be what happened, it can’t, but then what did happen?

“‘m I sick?” The pain in his chest has receded enough to let him talk again, but something definitely isn’t right with his voice. It’s raspy and strained, like he was screaming, why does he remember screaming? And it’s dry, and oh stars he’s just realized how thirsty he is, and unless there’s some water right next to this bed, there’s no way he’s getting any. A quick glance through squinted sockets confirms that water is nowhere within reach. He’ll have to put that aside, then, for the probably more pressing problem of what happened and where he is.

His brief glimpse of the room suggests that it might be some kind of doctor’s office. He hasn’t spent much time in places like that, really doesn’t like them and can usually take care of any injury without needing to go to one, but it would make some sense based on whatever is wrong with his ribcage and skull. Which is probably something he should find out more about. His skull’s a little hard to examine by himself, but he should be able to get some idea of what’s happening with his ribcage if he can just get his eyes open long enough.

Bracing himself for the light, he squints his sockets open again. It’s just as bad as last time, but this time he’s prepared, so he manages to keep them open. His neck is stiff, but he gets it to bend enough that he can look at his ribcage. What he sees there is disturbing.

His soul is there, easily seen from the sickly yellow light it’s giving off. It’s missing a lot of the calcification that would normally cover it, which should make it look better but somehow just makes it look damaged. He looks away in disgust. Even without the calcification, it’s still ugly. Which, fine, he should have expected that. If he could fix his soul by peeling it like an orange, he’d have done it a long time ago, but what’s with the color? Last he checked, his magic was gold, not yellow, and definitely not that weird, pale yellow. His head falls back on the pillow before he can take a closer look. Everything aches, but more than that, absolute exhaustion is really getting to him. But he has to figure out what’s going on.

The best lead he has is his soul. Something is wrong with it, and maybe if he can figure out what’s wrong he can figure out what happened, or where he is, or how to get out of there. Sitting up’s not working, bending’s not working, but maybe he can bring his soul to eye level instead. He quickly learns that magic’s not working either, ow, shit, ow, so he reaches in to pull it out by hand, only to get his hand tangled in string.

“What the fuck?” he gasps. “Why’s there-” but he’s cut off by a coughing fit, which does nothing good for the string that’s apparently pulling on his soul. Not string, he realizes as he gets the coughing under control, wires. Wires sticking into his soul, and the other end connected to a machine a few feet away. 

“Now this’s gettin’ creepy.” His eyes trail from the machine by his bed to the rest of the room, stopping on various equipment, some of which looks ridiculously modern next to tools that could have come out of some 19th century mad-scientist’s lab, and even what look like some kind medieval torture devices. He shivers at a creepy clamp thing with teeth without really knowing why it’s any worse than the things around it, before suddenly freezing as he realizes what all this means.

“A lab. ‘m in a lab!” Ice fills his marrow as he looks around with renewed awareness, noting the single exit, impossibly far away, the bars beside his bed, perfect for strapping in some unwilling research subject, though he’s not strapped in because why would they bother? It’s not like he’s going anywhere. He can’t even sit up, can’t even get these damn wires out of his soul, oh fuck get them out get them out get them out get them out, shit that hurts, but they’re out, they’re gone, nothing holding him in place anymore, this is his chance he has to leave has to get up has to…

“What is going on in there?” a voice demands from somewhere he can’t see. “You’d better be having a seizure or something because if you took those out on purpose and screwed up my readings I swear I’ll-”

The voice starts far away but ends up right on top of him. Who the fuck thinks she’s got a right to hold him here like this, thinks she can lock him away in a lab somewhere, doesn’t know who’s she’s messing with, a sharp bone right through her chest will take care of her. He starts to manifest one, and the world whites out in agony.

When he comes to, he’s still gasping, soul on fire, mana lines burning. He blinks up at the… lizard monster? standing over him, thinking he should probably know who she is, but not quite able to put together a coherent thought.

“Tried to use your magic, huh? Didn’t really work out the way you expected? I’d have warned you, but you decided to attack me as soon as I came in the room, so I didn’t really get a chance. You’re really not being a very cooperative research subject. The hard part was supposed to be before the injection. You really should be under better control now, so I expect better behavior.”

Research subject? Oh yeah, the lab, he’s in a lab, so she’s probably a scientist, and she’s calling him her research subject and telling him to behave. Only one response to that. “Fuck. You.” The effect is kind of ruined by the coughing fit that follows, though.

“Really? That’s how you’re going to talk to me? I’m curing your LV and putting up with all of your ridiculous behavior in the meantime, and all you have to say is fuck you? You should be thanking me!” Her rant is hard to follow as he struggles to get the coughing under control, but it seems like there might be something important in there.

“Thank? Why… wait. What?”

“I’m not repeating myself. You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, ya said…” he clenches his teeth, trying to hold off another coughing fit. She said something important, and besides, coughing hurts like a vice squeezing his soul, and he’d really rather not do it again. Water would be great, or maybe he should just stop talking. Nah, never gonna happen. “Said… LV.” A single cough escapes before he gets it back under control. “A cure? Ya said…” Any answer she might have given is lost as he loses control of the coughing fit he’s been fighting. It’s… not the worst thing he’s ever experienced, not by far, but pretty high on the scale of things that have happened lately, as his soul screams for air that he’s coughing too hard to take in, and he can’t get enough air to cough, but he has to cough, and his throat is burning and everything is burning and oh thank every fucking star, water, he has water! He gulps greedily, choking as he continues to cough but not caring as the cool peace of it soothes his throat and even his soul. He drinks until it’s gone, and by then the coughing has stopped and he can breathe, but he’s just so tired. He whimpers as the straw, apparently there was a straw, is removed from his mouth, but is too tired for further protest. Sleep, he just wants to sleep, but there’s something important, something he needs to ask about, something…

“LV?” he whispers. “Somethin’, said somethin’ ‘bout LV. What ya said…?” He can’t talk right, can barely form words, let alone put them in order, but he has to know.

“I’ve cured it.” She says it so matter-of-factly, like she’s not talking about changing his whole world.

“Really? An’ I… c’n have it?” It sounds familiar, but he has to know for sure.

“You already have it. This is it. It’s working in your soul right now. Did you forget?” She softens a little at that.

“Forget? Yeah, guess so.” A tiny spark of memory that he shudders away from, but still it grows, memory of his soul melting and parts ripped off and Muffet taking it, probably not Muffet, that was a long time ago, she’s not here, but it all feels like her so he’s not sure, and fading away and coming back, and it’s all rushing back now and he kind of wishes it wouldn’t.

“Do you remember now?” And now she sounds… encouraging? Is she mad at him or not? Can she just make up her mind? He can’t keep track of these shifts.

“‘member,” he agrees, and he does, kind of, but not enough to make sense of anything.

“Hmmm, temporary amnesia and ongoing confusion, pretty typical side effects, especially this early on. Is there anything else you can tell me? You weren’t in any condition to talk after the initial treatment.”

“‘bout what?”

“Your experience of the treatment! That was part of our agreement, remember, I give you the treatment early and you participate in my data collection so I can get this published and accepted for mass production.”

“Sucks.”

“What sucks?”

“Th’ tre’men’. Treat ment.” Too much work to makes the words come out clearly. He just wants to sleep.

“Really? That’s all you have to say about it?”

“‘s true.”

“Obviously, but I really need more detailed information. You wouldn’t believe how picky the review board is about these things. You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

“Sucks. ‘m tire. Gonna slee’ now.” There. Three, five, six? words. That’s as much as she’s getting.

“Hey, no, you can’t sleep yet! I’ve already let you get away with it once, but I can’t let you do it again. This whole thing is pointless if I can’t get any data out of it. Between not answering questions and not keeping those wires in, you’re being a pretty useless research subject. I need to get those wires back in, anyway, and don’t take them out again!”

“Mhm.” He doesn’t really care what she does. Sleep is calling, and he couldn’t fight it if he tried. He’s vaguely disturbed as he feels her reach into his ribcage, presumably to get his soul, but it’s not enough to keep him from much needed sleep.

***

Iggy is just plugging the last of the data from the monitor into the program that will analyze it and compare it to the data from her other subjects when she hears a crash from the lab. She rushes into the room, only to find Twist collapsed on the floor.

“What happened? Why are you on the floor?” Did he fall out of bed accidentally? She’s still not convinced seizures aren’t a possibility in his case, even if they haven’t been seen in other subjects. The alternative…

“Tryna go home,” he mutters.

The alternative is that he got out of bed on purpose, and, predictably, collapsed.

“Well obviously you can’t do that. How would you get there? You can’t even walk, and I’m not done monitoring the rest of the treatment,” she scolds as he blinks up at her in confusion.

“Rest? There’s more?” He sounds like the idea never occurred to him. At least he remembers that there is a treatment, this time.

“Of course, there’s more. Has your LV decreased? No, obviously not, so the treatment isn’t done, so you’re not going home.”

“Wanna go home. Sans… Blackberry. Blackberry’s waitin’.”

“No, he’s not. You told him you were going on vacation, remember?”

Twist snorts. “Not a v’cation. ‘s not.”

“Obviously not, but that’s what you told him. I sure hope this memory loss thing ends soon. How about we move on to a different side effect? This one’s getting old pretty fast.”

“I c’n pick my side effect? What kinda medicine does tha’? An’ where’s Blackberry?”

“Ugh, no, obviously I was just saying that because I was annoyed. Still, there are a lot of side effects to this and they can change frequently, and so far, memory loss is the most annoying. Now let’s get you off the floor. I’m really glad you’re a skeleton. You weigh, like, nothing for being so tall.” She reaches down to lift him up, only to freeze when he gasps. She quickly pulls back, concerned that she might have hurt him, only to realize that she hasn’t actually touched him. Even if she did, she certainly isn’t touching him now, and he’s still looking at her like some nightmare come to life.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He’s just staring her, sockets hollow, expression still, and she has no idea what caused it. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” This question gets through, though it does nothing for the look of terror.

“Sorry. Sorry. ‘M sorry. ’ll do better. Sorry. Sorrysorrysorry. Sorry.” He doesn’t look particularly contrite, but he does look desperate. For what, she has no clue.

“Enough apologizing. You’ve been a terrible research subject, but you’re not actually doing anything wrong right now. Just let me put you in bed and everything will be fine.” She reaches again to pick him up, which brings the terror back in full force.

“Sorry! Sorrysorrym’sorry ‘m sorry ‘m sorry so sorry didn’ mean ta sorry!” Now he’s sobbing, without tears of course because his LV won’t allow that, and she still doesn’t know why. He’s not actually resisting, so she ultimately just picks him up anyway and puts him back on the bed. He’s shaking so hard that his bones rattle, and he won’t stop apologizing, even after she steps away from him.

“Hey, it’s ok. I’m not mad at you. Look, you’re back in bed! I fixed it. Everything’s fine.” Her reassurances have no effect.

“Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry.” His body is rigid now, except for the shaking. When she gently touches his arm, he flinches away before freezing again, and that’s when she realizes.

“A hallucination! Something I did triggered a hallucination, maybe with some kind of flashback, and now you’re stuck in it. Combine that with increased emotional instability due to alterations in the substructure of your soul, and of course you’ll have some reactions like this. Ok, that’s not so bad. I’ll just leave you alone to let it fade or play out, and then you’ll be fine. I’ll just be in my office. I’ll check on you in a little while.” Hallucinations are a common side effect, but they always go away on their own. She feels some sympathy for this one, it looks bad, but since there’s nothing she can do to help she might as well get some work done. She reattaches the monitor wires again, which he doesn’t seem to notice, then returns to the office, leaving rattling bones and terrified whimpers behind her.

***

Twist doesn’t know where he is. He thought he knew, and is glad to realize he isn’t there, but other than not there he has no idea. There’s a door somewhere over there, and he can’t see what’s through it but it seems like the best way out. He pulls himself to the edge of the bed with considerable effort, tries to roll to his feet, and collapses to the floor, agony shooting through every joint. For some indefinable amount of time, that’s all there is, but at some point, he hears a voice and feels someone shaking his arm.

“Hey, hey! Can you hear me? What are you doing out of bed?” The source of the voice is a yellow blur. 

“Stop yellin’ an’ maybe I’ll answer ya,” he mutters at the blur. He knows that blur, and as the blur resolves into a familiar face he remembers where he is. “Damn, that’s annoyin’.”

“Well I wouldn’t have to yell at you if you hadn’t knocked yourself out by falling on the floor. When I say stay in bed, I mean it. You can’t walk. You also have wires in your soul that are attached to a stationary machine. How hard is that to understand?”

“Yer annoyin’ too, sweetheart, but I meant the forgettin’ what’s happenin’ thing.” He’d like to glare at her, but his eyes have gone from unfocused to over-focused somehow, everything distorted and magnified and too bright, and slightly nauseating.

“What, again? You’re having an unusual quantity of temporary amnesia. That will be inconvenient if it continues.”

“So sorry ta inconvenience ya, darlin’. Here I was havin’ a great time forgettin’ where I was an’ fallin’ on the floor every coupl’a hours, an’ not even realizin’ I was inconveniencin’ ya. I’ll make sure ta be more considerate in the future.”

“The memory loss wouldn’t be such a problem if you would just stay in bed. Why do you want to get up so badly? You have to feel terrible.”

“Ya sayin’ you’d stay put if ya woke up in some lab somewhere with no clue where ya were or why ya were there? Sorry fer not assumin’ whoever put me there has good intentions.”

“Strapping you to the bed would solve that problem.”

He glares. “No.”

“Oh, come on. I know you don’t like it, but how else are you going to stay in bed if you can’t even remember that you’re supposed to? It doesn’t even have to be chains; the way you are right now, we could probably get away with just some strips of cloth. It wouldn’t even be uncomfortable.”

“I said no.” What if she decides to do it anyway? He can’t stop her, can’t use magic, can’t even get to the door. She can do anything she wants to him; he’s helpless. Being helpless never goes well, people take advantage of that, make you helpless then they use you, then they-

“Hey, focus. You don’t need to freak out. I’m not strapping you to the bed. If I was going to then I already would have, with how you’ve been acting every time I try to help you.” Yellow again. Yellow Iggy. Not pink and black and lots of arms. This is Iggy. She’s here because she’s helping him. He chose this, and it’s worth it. It’s not even so bad, just a little pain, a little confusion, a little absolute terror nervousness, all completely worth it to get rid of his LV. He just needs to calm down and do what she tells him. 

“That’s better. Are you back with me now? Let’s just get you back in bed.” 

A good suggestion, and he’s only just decided to do as he’s told, but he really can’t help himself. He grins. “Ya keep sayin’ yer not in’erested, sweetheart, but then ya keep tryna get me in bed. So which is it?” A weak joke, but somehow he feels infinitely better for making it.

“Will you stop with the innuendo?! Just for that, you can get yourself back in bed,” she huffs.

“Fine, fine, I’ll cut it out an’ get in bed.” He’s still grinning as he struggles to roll over, the effort sending small spikes of pain through his joints but not dimming his mood. That’s as far as he gets, though, as his limbs won’t support him and pressure from trying to lift himself elevates the pain beyond what he can smile through.

“Think I… think ‘m gonna need some help.” He hates to admit it, but he’s not getting up anytime soon. Actually, maintaining this position might be more than he can manage for much longer, so he’s grateful when she sighs but leans down to lift him up. He’s not much help with getting himself in the bed or properly positioned, mostly trying to minimize the impact to joints that seem to have decided they don’t want him to move ever again.

“Wha’s wrong with me? ‘s like there’re spikes in my joints.”

“I don’t know. That’s not a common side effect. Maybe it’s due to the magic disruption and you being a skeleton. No one can use their magic during the treatment, but skeletons use magic to hold their bones together, which mainly occurs at the joints, so the magic in your joints is still present but easily disrupted.”

“Wait, does that mean my joints’ll come apart? If I can’t use magic and magic’s what holds me together, am I just gonna fall apart?”

“No, if that was going to happen, I think it already would have-”

“Ya think it already would’ve? Yer not sure? Don’t ya think that’s a risk I should’ve heard about before starting this?”

“Your magic isn’t gone, just damaged, so it still should be capable of primary survival functions. I didn’t warn you about it because I didn’t know it would happen. You’re the first skeleton subject I’ve had. That’s the risk you take when you participate in clinical trials, you may experience a side effect that hasn’t been discovered yet. This one really isn’t even that bad-”

“Unless my arms ‘n legs fall off.”

“You’ll just have to be careful about moving, and stop interrupting me. Now give me your soul.” While she spoke, she had retrieved the wires from where they’d fallen when they came loose when he fell out of bed, and now holds them in one hand while the other is held out expectantly for his soul. He gives it to her, knowing better than to resist by now, and looks away as she sticks both wires back in.

“Aren’t you glad I got all the calcification off so it’s mostly still clear? Imagine if I had to chip some more away each time you pulled these out. On the other hand, maybe that would motivate you to keep them in.”

“Not exactly pullin’ ‘em out on purpose, darlin’.” He scowls as she returns his soul. He knows this is annoying for her, but he’s not having a great time either, and he’s not sure what she thinks he can do about it. 

“Just stop doing it. I’m going back to the office to try to get some work done. Stay. In. Bed. Do NOT remove those wires. If I have to come in here again because you did something stupid, I might reconsider what I said about strapping you to the bed.” And on that horrible note, she leaves him alone.

***

“Hey, Iggy?” She’s busy doing something with some equipment, but she’s always busy when she comes into the lab, so this is as good a time as any to ask.

“What?” That doesn’t mean she’ll be happy to be interrupted, though.

“Any chance I could get somethin’ ta eat? Think I’ve been here awhile, an’ I’m gettin’ kinda hungry.” He’s a lot more than kind of hungry, but sees no reason to let her know how much. At least not unless he has to.

“You’ve been here a day and a half, so I’m not surprised you’re hungry. I’m actually surprised you haven’t said anything before now.”

“Wasn’ hungry then. I am now. Can I have somethin’, please?” There, a little politeness never hurt.

“Sure, just let me finish with this and I’ll get you some food.” Well, that’s better than if he hadn’t asked at all, but you’d think she’d be a little faster about feeding someone at risk for magic depletion who hasn’t eaten in a day and a half.

Iggy finishes whatever it is she was doing and goes into her office. There are some sounds; packages tearing open, water running, utensils clinking, and then she returns with a covered cup with a straw sticking out the top.

“A smoothie?” Twist asks hopefully. He loves smoothies.

“Kind of, but not quite. It’s mostly protein and concentrated calories. You’ll have trouble digesting anything complicated, and you’re probably going to have trouble eating anything that takes a lot of chewing, and if you swallow wrong, you’ll choke on it, so this way you still get all the nutrients you need just from drinking. It’ll help keep your HP up.”

“Protein and calories, huh? Sounds great. Let’s give it a try.” It certainly doesn’t smell great, and it tastes exactly like it smells. He grimaces, but he’s hungry, so he drinks some anyway. “No chance of makin’ this taste any better, is there?”

“I guess I could add some sugar.”

He grimaces. “No thanks. Last thing this needs is ta be sweet on top’a whatever else it is.” There really is no way to describe that taste. It’s just awful.

“Fruit, maybe? You said you liked smoothies.” Well isn’t she just being remarkably helpful today? Looks like cooperating with drinking her nasty smoothie might pay off.

“That’d be great, sweetheart. Don’t know if it’d totally fix the taste, but it’d make it a lot easier ta drink.”

“Ok, give it here. I’ve got a blender in the office, and I think I have some bananas I can mix in. But you drink the whole thing, understand? I’m not going to this much trouble just so you can take a few sips and decide you don’t like it.”

“Got it. You add bananas and I drink it all.” Honestly, he’d probably drink it all without the fruit, nasty as it is. He’s hungry, and talking about food is just making it worse.

She doesn’t take long to return with the modified smoothie. It’s better than it was before, even if nothing can quite cover up that taste. At first, he drinks it vigorously, but drinking is more work than it should be as his magic struggles to dissolve the food. It gets harder to coordinate drinking and breathing as he runs out of energy, so he keeps running out of breath and occasionally choking. He believes Iggy now about solid food being a bad idea. He makes it through the whole cup but he’s exhausted. He holds onto the cup long enough for Iggy to take it from him but passes out as soon as he no longer has a task keeping him awake.

***

They start to develop something like a routine, even though it’s only been a couple of days. Iggy checks his monitor, brings him terrible smoothies, and works in her office. Twist lies in bed, alternately confused, afraid, and bored. He’s very bored, so bored that he briefly considers risking Iggy’s anger by trying to get out of bed again. Not worth it don’t disobey you know what that gets you He really doesn’t feel too bad as long as he doesn’t move, except for all the random flashbacks that get triggered by absolutely everything and the inability to remember where and when he is, so maybe he’s starting to get better. Maybe it’s almost over and he can go home. It’s a little concerning that he hasn’t seen any change in his LV yet, but maybe it takes a while for the change to show up. Maybe that’s what Iggy meant when she said it could take days or weeks. Still, Iggy doesn’t act like it���s almost over. In fact, Iggy acts like whatever she’s reading from his monitor is weird. She keeps watching him like she expects something to happen. She seems irritated that whatever it is keeps not happening.

It’s late in the third day of treatment when Twist finally finds out what Iggy has been waiting for. He’s just finished dinner, and is happily using the little energy he has left to complain about the food. Iggy cooks about as well as he does, if those smoothies are any proof, and he’s happy to tell her so. Iggy is ignoring him, as she tends to do.

When it begins, he thinks he’s just having trouble digesting dinner. It really is getting annoying to have so much trouble with basic things. Then he notices how hot everything feels.

“Why’s it so hot in here?” Iggy ignores this complaint like she has all the others. She’s doing something with the monitor and doesn’t turn away from her work. Twist realizes he’s started sweating. “Seriously, ‘m meltin’, here. Turn the heat down.” This time Iggy turns to look at him.

“It’s not any hotter than it was before. Are you feeling hot?” She sounds kind of excited, which is a weird reaction.

“Really hot. Too hot. Reminds me a when this started, with that first injection.” He doesn’t want to think about that, has been trying hard not to think about it, in fact, but now that he’s thought of it, he can’t stop thinking of it. This really does feel like a lighter version of how that felt. The heat is even centered in his soul like it was then. “‘m hot.” He might have whimpered. He’s not sure. He’s just too hot to care, and something’s happening with his soul. Something that feels a lot like that hellish first treatment, something that’s seeming more and more like it with each passing second, something-

Something in his soul flares white hot, and he screams. It’s like acid, or his soul shattering, and he doesn’t know what’s happening, but then he doesn’t care what’s happening, just wants it to stop, and claws at his ribs, desperate to get to the source of the pain, and he knows that doesn’t help, knows it only adds more pain, and what’s he going to do, rip out his own soul? So he pulls his arms in towards his chest, pulls his legs in too, and now he’s curled up in a tight little ball but it’s so hot, joints are hot and soul is melting, not supposed to melt she said he wouldn’t melt! He doesn’t want to melt, wants to go home! Go home, fight it, fight what?! There’s nothing to fight, just pain and heat and please make it stop. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease and he can’t breathe doesn’t want to breathe breathing hurts everything hurts can’t breathe something on his face can’t breathe! Touching him someone’s touching him hands on his skull moving his skull, air! He gasps in relief as air rushes to his soul, then screams as it reignites the burning. Can’t breathe it hurts, have to breathe. So hot, breathe through it, just keep breathing but why if he’s melting? Doesn’t want to melt, she said he wouldn’t melt! Cold, needs something cold to stop melting, get up, find cold, can’t! She said he wouldn’t melt! Where is she, please make it stop!

“Help.” It might be scream or it might be a whisper. Either way, it rips out of his throat, and now that hurts too, but it gets a response. She’s here!

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. You’ll be ok. This is all perfectly normal. It just means the medicine’s hit a fairly large LV concentration, or maybe even a node, which means it’s finally doing its job. I was wondering when it would. It usually doesn’t take this long. I wonder if it’s proportional to the increase in overall treatment time? That would be useful to know.” It’s mostly a blur of sounds to Twist, but somewhere in there seems to be a reassurance, something about this being normal. Maybe he’s not melting? Then what’s happening? The pain spikes again, and he didn’t know it could get higher, but somehow it has, and then he doesn’t have any more thoughts for a while as it crests and crests again.

This time when the world comes back into focus, he knows where he is and why he’s there, and it doesn’t help at all. He’s shaking. He doesn’t know why he’s shaking, can’t really even feel it, but he hears his bones rattling so he knows he’s shaking. It’s dark, so maybe it’s late, or maybe his eyes are closed, so he tries to open them, and yes, they were closed, and it was better that way because this place is blinding. He closes them again, but not before glimpsing the yellow blur that’s become much too familiar these past few days.

“Hey, are you awake? How are you doing? That looked like a pretty bad one, not as bad as the first one because your HP didn’t drop too much; you’ll probably need to eat something soon but you didn’t even need an infusion, so it wasn’t too bad, although I guess it probably seemed pretty bad to you, so how are you doing now?” She talks a lot. None of it seems helpful. Maybe he should ask.

“Was… at?” That didn’t work, and now his throat hurts again.

“What? You’re not making any sense. Are you thirsty? I’ll get you some water.” She disappears for… a while, he doesn’t really know, and then there’s a straw between his teeth. He drinks it, and apparently he was thirsty because once he starts he can’t stop, and drinks until the cup is dry. He wants more, he thinks he wants more, but he’s tired, so tired. Maybe he’ll sleep, but… Wait, no don’t sleep. What happened? He needs to know what happened. What if it happens again? How can he stop it from happening again? He doesn’t notice his breathing speeding up until he’s hyperventilating, and he didn’t have enough air to begin with so now everything is spinning, and he’s still too hot and fuck is it happening again nonononono.

“Hey, you’re ok, you’re ok, just calm down. It’s over for now, just relax. You need to relax and recover. You’ll be ok.” 

Ok. She said he’ll be ok. She said it’s over, she said it, it’s over. No, she said over for now. For now! That means it’s coming back. It’s not over, not over never over it’s coming back he’ll be here forever, can never go home and he’ll burn until he melts, won’t ever OW.

“Are you listening? Listen I said you’re ok! Calm down. Just breathe, jeez.” She shook him! Fuck that hurts. But it breaks him out of the panic too, and now he can process what she’s saying. Calm down. He needs to calm down. Breathe. Breathe slowly. That’s not slow! That’s faster, that’s worse, he’s not listening not listening too fast can’t breathe can’t see it’s dark can’t breathe can’t- He passes out.

***

It must not be long before he wakes up, because she’s still sitting by his bed. He’s calmer now, almost lethargic, and slowly blinks up at her until she notices that he’s awake.

“Oh good, you’re back. And calmer now, too. I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to calm down. I was seriously considering tranquilizer options if you were still panicking that much when you woke up, but I really want to avoid that because I don’t know whether it could interfere with the treatment. But it’s not necessary because you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Does that require an answer? It seems obvious. He has a better question. “What happened?”

“You passed out after that attack. I’d say that one was definitely a node. Nodes are the worst, so if that wasn’t a node, I’d hate to see what an actual node would look like for you. I can’t totally rule that out, because I really don’t know enough about high LV in mentally intact monsters, so we’ll have to wait and see, but I’d really be surprised if that wasn’t a node.

“Wha’s a node?”

“Hmm? Oh, you know, an LV node.”

“Wha’s a LV node?” Is she going to start making sense at some point? There’s clearly something he needs to know here, but he has no clue what it is.

“Don’t you know how LV works?” She seems genuinely baffled.

“I know where it’s from an’,” he pauses to breathe, “an’ what it does, but,” another pause for breath, “nothin’ else.” What else is he supposed to know about it? If he’d realized he’d have to play twenty questions to find out what happened, he might have waited a while.

“I guess most people don’t actually know much about it. When you study something as much as I’ve studied LV in the past few years, you tend to forget what the general public does and doesn’t know.

“Basically, LV exists as a semi-physical part of the soul, with varying concentrations of each level dispersed throughout loosely interconnected networks. When your soul hurts, that’s the medicine dissolving various parts of the physical and magical components of LV. I’ve made it pretty specific to minimize damage to the surrounding areas, but with everything so connected in there, it’s impossible to avoid it completely. That’s where the side effects come from, including the mental and emotional ones since souls don’t really have any separation between the physical, mental, emotional, and magical. When the pain spikes, that means the medicine has hit a particularly high concentration of LV. When it gets to a node in the network, it actually connects to all the LV of that level in your soul at once, which affects the whole network, causing ‘attacks’ like the one you just experienced. Sorry, I don’t think that’s a great name for them, but it’s the best I’ve come up with so far. I’m open to suggestions. Anyway, what that means is that, as horrible as I’m sure that was, it was actually a really good thing because it means the medicine dissolved a node, which is great progress!”

“How many nodes?”

“Just one, I’m sure. They’re not right next to each other, which is good because can you imagine dissolving several at once? I bet that could break someone’s mind!”

“No, how many nodes are there?” If she could sound a little less enthusiastic about the idea of his mind breaking, that would be great.

“I don’t actually know, sorry. There are no definite patterns, and I think they can even shift a little. There are definitely a lot, especially with high LV like yours. We’ve still got a long way to go. But progress is progress, right?” 

“Yeah.” Progress is progress. They’re making progress, small as it is relative to the whole awful thing. He’s not going to think about more of those attack things. He’s not going to think about being here for some indefinite amount of time, pretty much alone, living in dread of when the next one will come. He’s not. Instead, focus on progress.

He’s getting closer to life without LV. His whole life, spent as close as he wants to be to everyone he loves, with time to do everything he ever wished he could do and no reason to be afraid of himself ever again. He can barely imagine it. It’s too much.

It doesn’t seem real, here in a lab with his soul burning, barely able to remember where he is and with old memories always threatening to overtake his mind, but if this works, it will be real. Everything he never let himself wish for will be real. That’s why it’s worth it. Whatever happens, he has to remember it’s worth it. He just wants to go home, but going home without LV is worth waiting for. It is. It doesn’t seem like it now, miserable and terrified of the next attack, but it’ll be worth it. It will be.

***

Twist drifted off into some kind of daydream after Iggy’s more thorough explanation of the LV treatment, so Iggy returns to her office for more data analysis. The monitor wires actually stayed in during the attack, which is a minor miracle given the way he was scratching up his ribs. She really needs to find a way to stop him from messing with them, and to stop him from injuring himself now that the medicine has started reaching nodes. She’s tried to respect his wishes to not be restrained, but it’s getting impractical and he’s not being reasonable about it. No one likes having their movement restricted, but all he’s doing is messing up her data and hurting himself. He really does seem upset whenever she mentions it, though, so she’ll wait a little longer to see how he does. At least he doesn’t seem to be attacking her anymore.

She’s actually pretty pleased with the results so far, despite the gaps in the data and the complete lack of any meaningful subjective report. She certainly has enough to start her weekly report to the major donor who is making all of this work possible. She doesn’t know who they are, but she’s sure they’ll be pleased with her progress.

A subject who meets the criteria set by the review board has been found. Subject is a male skeleton with LV of 17. Subject consented to all treatment and was given the initial injection with minimal complications (i.e. HP loss requiring correction with direct magic infusion, distress). Subject is currently under observation in the lab. Side effects are managed effectively and HP is being monitored. The initial node was reached 56 hours after the initial injection, suggesting an extended treatment time relative to other subjects. Progress will continue to be monitored.

She considers sending the report early, but that seems a little excessive. As exciting as this is, she’ll have better data by the end of the week, so there’s really no reason to jump ahead of herself. It’s so exciting, though. Twist really could be the key to getting the treatment approved for mass distribution. She’s sure the donor will be thrilled.

chapter 5

[yomo715]

Rated: T (slight violence/violence against children)

Word Count: 1662

Read it on ao3

Synopsis: What are morals to one who’s never known about them?

!!!WARNING, SPOILERS AHEAD FOR EP 15!!!

The instant Hyakkimaru puts weight on the leg, it shatters into a thousand pieces. The wood groans and shrieks. It buckles under the strain, and when he attempts a step, his foot caves in on itself. At first, the wooden marrow stops him short of a fall, but a jolting pain shoots up his thigh and throws him off balance. He lands face first in the dirt.

He groans. He still stinks of ghoul, blood, and sweat. The talon mark from the moth isn’t deep, but it still burns and stings and bleeds. Something else is hurting him, too, he notes by the throb of his right shoulder. He forces himself to his knees and the throb spreads down the back of his neck, causing a loud hiss to escape him.

He feels heat stir in his gut, rage boiling his blood. He wants to scream. The anger makes his teeth hurt, makes fire of his flesh and burns at every real bone in his body.

Damn them. Damn the demons. Damn Sabame. Damn them all, straight to hell.

“Bro!” Dororo shouts. Hyakkimaru hears the call, but doesn’t heed it, too absorbed by the pounding of his heartbeat rushing blood through his ears. It’s a strange sound that almost placates him, if not for the accompanying heat that radiates through him all the way to the core.

“Hey, you’re hurt!” Dororo tries again when Hyakkimaru lifts his good knee. “You need to rest.” The little soul grabs at his shoulder, unaware of the injury, and flinches away as Hyakkimaru jolts and gasps at the pain. “Oh, sorry.” Dororo retreats, quiet and apologetic.  

Hyakkimaru is still for the whole of two breaths before forcing himself to a stand. He shakes the whole way, muscles aching. The wooden remains of his prosthetic leg creak and moan, but, after bearing the weight for a few seconds, seem to be holding up well enough.

The same cannot be said for his body. Hyakkimaru was expecting pain, of course, but he hadn’t taken the loss of his foot into account. The peg alone holds him up, but the two or so inches of height lost from the prosthetic has thrown his alignment wildly off balance. He thinks it might be manageable until he takes his first step and nearly plummets right back to the ground.

Damn them!

He almost screams in frustration. How in the world is he supposed to fight the demons like this?

“Are you even listening to me?”

Hyakkimaru blinks, turning back to Dororo. The white soul twitches with agitation.

“I said to stop, stupid!” Dororo hisses.

Hyakkimaru says nothing, but gives his full attention, unnerved by the hostility in Dororo’s tone.

For the next moment it’s quiet. Well, as quiet as it can be with the fires raging behind them. He can feel the heat of the flames on his back, hear the cries of the villagers behind him. A symphony of agony rings in his ears. For some reason, it’s very satisfying to listen to.  

“Are you going to fight the demon?” Dororo’s small voice cuts through the tense atmosphere.

Hyakkimaru feels the pressure of his unaligned hips send a twinge of pain shooting up his spine. He nods.

“Shouldn’t you wait until you’ve healed a little?”

“I’m going.” Hyakkimaru’s voice sounds strained. His throat is parched and dry.

Dororo’s soul twitches, arms raising as if in anger, but he doesn’t speak just yet. He waits until Hyakkimaru has started hobbling away, to which he mutters, “When are you going to stop?”

***

Dororo feels the anger bubble up into his throat, spilling out into his teeth as he hisses the words.

Hyakkimaru stops. He turns to face Dororo again, face as stupidly placid as it always is. He doesn’t speak, because of course he doesn’t, instead waiting for Dororo to give him an explanation.

“Ever since what happened in Daigo, you’ve been like this,” Dororo snaps, clenching his fists. “Fighting and killing demons nonstop.”

Hyakkimaru waits a beat. “So?”

“So?!” The boy steps forward. He practically growls. “What about all the other stuff?!”

“Other stuff?” Hyakkimaru furrows his brow.

“Open your eyes!” Dororo scowls. “Well, not your actual eyes because you can’t see--whatever!! Can’t you hear that?!” Dororo points in the direction of the fire. “There’s a whole town on fire that we started because you’re here to kill the demons! Do you ever stop to think that you might be hurting other people, too?!”

“I don’t care,” Hyakkimaru mutters. His voice feels cold like ice, sending shivers shooting down Dororo’s back.

“What?” Dororo stammers.

“They’re none of my concern.”

Dororo is shocked silent. “None of your concern?” he echoes, voice small and quiet.

“It’s their fault for it,” he adds as if that was a proper justification for genocide.

The ice in Dororo’s core melts, giving way to a blazing heat. “What the hell kind of logic is that?” His voice is gravelly and low. He feels himself walking forward without realizing it, footsteps hardening into stomps as his tone shifts to one of rage. “They’re still human, Hyakkimaru! Even if they did stupid things and made deals with demons, they don’t all deserve to die! Especially the ones who don’t know about it! Do you even know what you’re saying?! Do you even--”

“What about me?” Hyakkimaru interjects, stopping Dororo in his tracks. When Dororo doesn’t answer, he adds, “Did I deserve this?” He waves a hand at his broken body, at all the bruises and blood.

Dororo can’t see souls, but in this moment, he feels like he can see Hyakkimaru’s. He looks past the body and sees the agony, the anger and the pain. He sees that it’s been eaten away almost to the point of nothingness. It’s scarred. It’s hurting.

Suddenly, he wants to cry.

“That’s different,” Dororo tries to protest.

“How?” Hyakkimaru’s voice thickens with emotion, and Dororo thinks he might see a frown trace against his lips.

Dororo can’t think of a good enough answer for him, so he says nothing.

Hyakkimaru turns away. “I don’t care what happens,” he hisses. “They’re the same. All of them.” Dororo just watches as Hyakkimaru shambles towards a tree, cutting at some of the sturdier branches in order to fashion himself a proper crutch.

When he finally connects the dots, Dororo’s dumbfounded. “Is that what all of this is about?” he finds himself whispering.

Hyakkimaru doesn’t miss a beat, beginning to whittle away at a good branch he’d managed to pick.

“Are you going after the demons to get back at your dad?” Dororo furrows his brow.

Hyakkimaru pauses mid-motion of the next slice. The freeze is very short, almost missable, but that’s all it takes for Dororo to get his answer.

The little boy’s eyes widen, feeling a new emotion begin to flit about his stomach. He steps forward, but flinches away from the crunch of splintering wood. Beneath his foot is the carcass of Hyakkimaru’s prosthetic leg. He frowns. “I mean I get it.” He kneels down to pick up one of the bigger pieces, voice hushed and low. “What they did…It’s cruel and unfair to you, so I get it.”

The sounds of whittling stop.

“But that doesn’t mean that what you’re doing is right, either.” Dororo steels himself, gritting his teeth as he faces Hyakkimaru. “You can’t just go around doing what you want all the time. People are getting hurt because of it, and you should care because if you don’t...”

Dororo sees Hyakkimaru’s brow furrow, but before the teen can speak, Dororo stomps his foot down on another shard of broken prosthetic. It snaps with a loud crack, effectively silencing Hyakkimaru. The young boy grimaces, puffing his chest and imagining himself hardening into stone because he knows that the next thing he’s going to say will hurt.  

“If you don’t care about other people, or what happens to them because of what you do, then you’re really no different from Daigo!”

Dororo hasn’t meant to shout, but the pressured heat building behind his eyes is really starting to sting. It’s silent now, but in his mind he’s started screaming because Hyakkimaru’s eyes are wide, mouth agape in stunned silence. The tree branch slips out of his hand and lands in the dirt with a dull thud.

“I’m,” Hyakkimaru starts, voice strained. “I’m different from him.”

“You’re not!” Dororo chokes out a sob.

“I am,” Hyakkimaru denies, voice louder as he starts to hobble toward Dororo. “I am different!”

“You only think about yourself!” Dororo cries, scowling.

“Take it back!”

“No!”

“Take it back!” Hyakkimaru howls, towering over the younger one.  

“I won’t!” Dororo shouts back.

He hasn’t expected Hyakkimaru to go so far as to actually hit him, so he can’t help but cry out in surprise when the teen’s wooden open palm connects with his shoulder. The impact is so strong that it sends the young boy flying. It knocks him into a nearby tree, and a shockwave of pain rips through his torso, stealing his breath away with a loud wheeze.

He can’t stop the onslaught of tears that follow.

Hyakkimaru looks down at him, eyes wide and teeth snarling in raw, beastial rage. Dororo’s only witnessed this expression on him twice before, and knowing that look is now directed at him fills him with ice cold dread.

Dororo can’t look at him anymore. All he can do is hide behind his hands and turn away.

“Brother,” he whimpers. “Brother, please.”

To his relief, it doesn’t escalate beyond that. Dororo hears the clumsy clanking of Hyakkimaru’s prosthetic peg hobbling away, the air thick with tension and hot with emotion. He doesn’t allow himself to catch his breath until he hearts Hyakkimaru start whittling away at the tree branch again.

It falls quiet after that. Hyakkimaru’s gaze is fixed on the branch, pointedly ignoring Dororo.

The younger thinks he should feel offended, but, oddly enough, he just feels numb.

[shatteringzimmermann]

part 3...remember that this is a write-and-post draft and will be fully edited before i post on ao3 (i’m inkfish there)

 part 1&2

No matter how much awareness he had, Jack could never quite see the face of the man he dreamed about. There was always a reason for him to turn away at the last second or Jack’s vision was blurry or the campfire in front of them was too weak to properly illuminate his face. He’d dreamt that way his entire life but had never been so frustrated by it before.

Jack sat with his knees wide, the man’s back pressed against his chest. The heat from the fire was nothing like the warmth radiating from each point of touch. The man sat cross-legged, sliding his fingers between Jack’s absentmindedly . He was speaking loudly, Jack could tell, but he couldn’t understand the muffled words from that beautiful mouth. His hands moved wildly in the air before them. Thin lips usually spread in a grin; that’s as much as Jack had been able to see. And his hair- a rich blond that was so soft against Jack’s stubbled cheeks and chin.

This dream smelled like honey and wood smoke. The man- his dreamed creation, his longing lonely soul’s desire- twisted slightly and snuggled closer, pressing his cheek against Jack’s shoulder. He sighed, eyes falling shut, those lips in a smile even when his breathing evened out in sleep.

Not bothering to try and see his face, Jack wrapped his arms around his dream. The front of his body felt like he was carrying a load of too-hot laundry fresh from the dryer, smelling good and wonderfully soft. Jack buried his face in that blond hair and committed to memory one thing from each of his senses. Smell: spices and soap, shampoo and cinnamon; touch: a warmth that’s just enough to peel away the dangerous freezing at his core; sight: a pair of well-fitted jeans, a brightly colored flannel, sneakers. The way he fit so perfectly in Jack’s arms. Sound: the way his voice had been a gentle hum even when Jack realized he was dreaming. Taste-

As much as Jack longed to press his mouth against those distracting lips he wasn’t going to do it when the man was still asleep. Dream or no- there were limits.

Soft snores were committed to memory a few minutes later. Jack chuckled, the only tension left in his body in his back muscles to keep them upright. The ground below them was dirt and twigs, not exactly the most comfortable area to stretch out.

He didn’t know what clue to look for in this dream. No visible tattoos, no colorblind vision. They were alone deep in some unrecognizable unremarkable woods. The sky was a deep blue overhead, nearly black save the stars and moon. If he listened beyond the snores and crackling fire Jack could hear crickets and owls hidden in the shadows. There was no task for them to do, some nonsense puzzle to try and see his face. There was only this. There was only now.

Jack carefully pulled his arms away, slipping out of his jacket while keeping his dream resting against his chest. He laid it out beside them and then shifted so that his dream could lay on his side, soft skin protected by the thick fabric. His face was hidden as always, but Jack didn’t care. This man, this warm sunny soul…he did more for Jack than he knew how to explain. Jack lay behind him, keeping a bit of space between their bodies.

Here, with Jack’s arm wrapped securely around the dream’s waist and his hand pressed flat over his heart, Jack felt the horrible crushing loneliness he felt every waking moment begin to dissipate. It would never be truly gone but here, right now, Jack pressed his forehead against his dream’s hair and inhaled deeply.  He kissed the perfect cowlick swirl in his hair.

His dream hummed, a vibration Jack felt in his hand and arm. He turned onto his other side and scooted close enough against Jack that their legs tangled and his long tanned fingers grasped the cotton of Jack’s t-shirt. He whispered under his breath so softly Jack nearly missed it. But for some reason these words weren’t muffled like his earlier chatter. His accent wasn’t one Jack was accustomed to but he’d spent enough time traveling to recognize the Southern lilt. These Jack heard and felt deep in his marrow.

“I wish you were real.”

Jack froze. Opening and closing his mouth he tried to order his brain enough to respond.

The man sighed. “I know you’re just made up in my head and all, but still, I wish you were real.”

“Who says I’m not real?” he managed. He kept his voice as low as he could. “I’m the one having this dream. You’re the creation.”

This time his dream hummed. He ran his palm over Jack’s chest, feeling the dense muscles twitching under his touch. “I’ve been dreaming about you for months. Pretty sure I’m the one making you up.”

Jack lifted a shaking hand to his cheek. “What’s your name?” His heart pounded hard enough he knew the man could feel it- how couldn’t he- but he only sighed again and didn’t answer. Jack tried again. “My name is Jack. I’m real. I live in Massachusetts-”

The man tensed under Jack’s touch. “What- this- this can’t be real, I’m having another damn dream-”

A cold wind blew through the space and the fire weakened enough it nearly went out.

“Please,” Jack said. “I’m about to wake up, what-”

He opened his eyes to his bedroom ceiling. His arms were empty and half his bed was cold but Jack smiled a wide, gleeful grin.

The last words the man uttered echoed in his ears. His name. Jack had his name.

Jumping out of bed Jack ran across the condo, banging on Shitty’s closed door. “Shitty!” he said, wincing at the volume.

“You better be needin’ a fuckin ride to the hospital, dude,” Shitty yelled back. There were a few thuds and then the door was ripped open. Shitty wore a pair of old Hanukkah boxers nearly ready to disintegrate that Jack was pretty sure used to be his and nothing else. Jack glanced over his shoulder and saw the clock on Shitty’s nightstand reading 3:47am.

“Sorry, sorry but- Shitty, I know his name. He’s real.”  

Shitty stared at Jack, his expression pinched. “Brah, are you okay? Did you take something?”

“What? No! I just woke up from a dream with that guy in it and I think he’s real.” Out of the corner of his eye Jack was pretty sure he saw the lump of Shitty’s bedding move. He shook his head. “I’m not on anything but my meds, you know that.”

“Yeah, but that was before you nearly broke my door down at ass o’clock rambling about some dream you had possibly being real.”

“He is! Shits, I swear to God, in our dream I couldn’t understand him if he was talking normally but then he whispered and I could hear every word out of his mouth like he was lying right next to me.”

Shitty’s eyebrows rose. “Lying next to you, huh?” His mouth cracked into a grin. “Do I want to know the details of this dream?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Remove head from gutter, asshole.”

“Nah, brah, come on, you can tell me.” Shitty leaned against his doorway, crossing his arms. “I know all the details of all your other weird, boring-ass dreams, I sure as fuck wanna know the juicy bits too.”

“His name is Eric,” Jack said. Shitty’s blankets were definitely moving. “That’s the important part. Eric Bittle.”

“What?”

The third voice made both of them jump, Shitty nearly falling over. “Jesus Christ, dude, can you maybe not cause me a second heart attack this morning?” he said, turning toward his bed.

Jack pushed Shitty’s door the rest of the way open to see a tiny dark-haired woman sitting on the bed in a t-shirt that was a crop top on Shitty but decent enough on her. Her wide, shocked eyes stared at Jack.

“What fucking name did you just say?”

“Eh,” Jack said. “Eric? Bittle?”

“Holy shit,” she said. “Holy shit. You’re him, you’re the dude-” She slapped her hands over her mouth. Jack wasn’t sure if it was still out of shock or because of the words pouring out of her.

“Lards?” Shitty asked, glancing at Jack with an incredulous look.

“Bits is my best friend,” she said, finally dropping her hands. “He’s been dreaming about you for months.”

[flightofaqrow]

cold without you here

qrow + Qrow ( @littleblackqrow​​ )

“so... still pretty pissed at Oz, aren’t you?”

“Aren't you?"

“don’t you think Oz had bigger things on his plate to consider than just trust? so when did yours for him become so fragile?”

“When did you become so forgiving?”

“heh. when i met him.”

“ ...I dont like this place.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

freezing cold air chills even deeper than bones. there’s hollow where marrow should be; holes in the soul; a heaviness in the very air where there used to be wings which could carry him through it. qrow wanders the grounds of brunswick farms alone with nothing to distract him. the wind howls and gates whine and wooden floorboards of an old barn creak, and the snow does not fall gently from the sky. no, it whips and bites, nips and stings not unlike the great black monster in his chest, consuming from the inside out.

“so,” even a soft grate of voice echoes loudly in the confines of his own head, “still pretty pissed at Oz, aren’t you?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Arent you?” Qrow asked himself. “All that time thinking that we were doing something worthwhile. Gave him our entire goddamn life, and he couldnt even be honest that anything was ever being accomplished. Raven was right, that insufferable bitch.” 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“harsh. but you’re not wrong. she was right. and maybe the work amounted to a whole lot of nothin’ so far, but tell me …what would have been the alternative?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.” Qrow sighed heavily, and had the strong urge to hug himself. It just felt so cold to be this disconnected from everything he’d built his life on, and he couldn't help but wonder if it’d just be worth it to give up. “Oz just used us though. Didn't he? He spent all that time saying he trusted us but he really just was stringing us along.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“don’t… don’t do this. you always do this. don’t separate your logic and your heart.”

it wouldn’t feel so cold if there hadn’t been warmth there in the first place.

“okay, yeah, he lied. and kept secrets. but did it feel like being used at the time? did he ever seem so motivated by selfishness to you?” he takes a moment to quite literally stroke his own ego, “…you and your undeniably sharp-even-when-dulled-by-the-liquor observations and instincts? it’s never been about that kind of petty shit with him, you know that. you knew you were signing up to be part of the major league players here. don’t you think Oz had bigger things on his plate to consider than just trust?

so when did yours for him become so fragile?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“When did you become so forgiving?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “Oz knew all of this was pointless. He set us up with a good life, and for what? To watch Salem inevitably hack away at it? Raven’s gone, Summer’s dead, the girls aren't even old enough to drink yet and they’re out here fighting for their lives and with their own battle wounds already. If we’d never been a part of this to begin with, maybe we’d be better off.” He didn't really believe that, but now that doubt had been planted.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“heh. when i met him. and Summer. they practically taught us how. don’t you remember? no, you conveniently forget because it hurts. but you want reasons, that’s fair. we can come back to that.”

his mind is spinning too fast again. spiraling. slow it down. it feels oddly slower already, even before the usual amount to drink… anyway.

“back to logic, then. like i asked before: what is the alternative? you have… whatever it is you want. you’re at the tribe with Raven. you’re in patch with Summer. your nieces are running around in a vast green meadow squawking like nevermores with too much energy and no direction because they’re not training for any fight. you all live in blissful ignorance. you don’t have to think about Salem, but guess what? she’s still out there, and she’s still closing in. think about it, man! that way you’re… doing what? you’re protecting what? sounds like you have just as much to lose either way, the landscape just looks different.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What’s the point of all this anyways?” he asked himself, not quite knowing where it was coming from. Despite his semblance, and despite everything that he’d gone through, Qrow had never actually contemplated giving up before. But he couldnt quite shake the feeling of its not worth the struggle, join these other poor souls who’ve already let it all go.

He needed a drink. Maybe then those sorts of thoughts would stop plaguing him.

“She cant be stopped. The Relics arent the answer, and neither are the Maidens. What did we give up so much of our life for if there’s no end goal?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

qrow has to admit to himself, it rings of truth in even in the scenario he just painted. always everything to lose, but a thousand different ways. his heart hurts. his head hurts. he’s tired. no choice seems to make a difference. no choice matters. he doesn’t have much of an answer for that one, just more muddy thoughts.

he presents the biggest dilemma of all, one everyone must face sooner or later. but still coaxing, leading, as gentle as that voice (beaten to shreds from screaming and crying out and burning his throat his whole damn life) can phrase. it is not a statement, nor concession. it is still a question, in want of an answer. even if he is not yet ready to find it.

“Salem or no Salem, what was ever the point of life if it just ends in death?”

but saying it is so hard. thinking about it is so hard. trying is so hard. he is tired, cold, and it is getting dark. he has to share his headspace with too many memories, and the sight of so many people he found in these buildings who look so disgustingly peaceful having laid down and given up, and too many encroaching shadows.

“…especially one as pathetic as yours.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“… My life’s never been that important. Especially not since the girls were born. Pathetic doesn't even begin to cover the bullshit we’ve been through.” Another outbuilding another set of corpses. At least Qrow had taken this responsibility on himself. The kids didn't need to see this, the didn't need to see the futility of everything they were doing in high def.

Again, dark thoughts seemed to press in with the shadows from sunset. He shivered, wondering why it still seemed so cold despite his aura being active. “I don't like this place. Something is super fucking wrong, even without the fact there’s no real reason these people should have died.” You cant leave, you cant struggle out there in the snow, the kids would never make it. Stay here, alone… No one will think to look for the Relic in such an isolated spot…

“… I don't like feeling like something is waiting to ambush us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“…and yet you’re still here. hm.”

cold, slow, dark, tired. just like these bodies. it would be so very easy to join them. everything fades away, it is all just a matter of time. …and how much energy gets wasted in the meantime. that still sounds like a pretty good way to kill time until morning, too.

“something’s always wrong. something’s always waiting. especially with that relic around. what are you going to do about it?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For a moment, the desire for self-preservation flared up in Qrow. If something felt off to him now, then he had to check every nook and cranny just to make sure that’s all it remained. A feeling.

There had to be some sort of correspondence laying around. Some sort of hint as to what happened at this farm. What Qrow ended up finding was an advertisement for the Brunswick Wine Cellar.

“Suppose we could drink until the feeling goes away. Its probably nothing.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

of course a farm would have a wine cellar. probably stocked to the nines too. feelings and intuitions are different, though. intuitions don’t drown as easily. but eventually…

“that would make it feel warmer for sure, huh?”

this is the last building on the farm. a wild goose chase, as everything, so far. dead bodies everywhere, lives gone for no purpose at all. but is it meaningless? there must be something. is it ever quite worth finding?

“don’t forget the kids are waiting for a report.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Alcohol is probably in the main house anyways. Wouldn't want just anyone to have access to it.” Qrow mused, and before he turned away from the last corpse, he sighed. “Poor bastards. Wonder if anyone else will ever come by here.” He looked around once more, marveling at how pristine the farm was. Aside from the disuse, everything looked like it was waiting for the farmstead to wake up and get back to work.

“Surprised the Tribe or some other scavenger group hasn't come through here already. There’s lien even if they didn't take the equipment with them.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“hm.” as if anyone besides himself would care about the wine. they knew better.

the bitter conditions outside wouldn’t even allow for a proper burial. but maybe that was for the best. to simply let time stop and drift away, safe in bed, asleep, not being a burden to anyone in life, death, or beyond… never having to worry about carrying the pain or inflicting it on anyone else ever again.

everything feels tight and heavy and choking. qrow has to fight to even pay that much attention to his surroundings.

“yeah, that’s odd alright. but counterpoint - the picture’s all wrong to be inviting, no matter the loot. we don’t even want to be here.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“There’s still food in the cupboards, and all of these bodies just laying around.” Qrow insisted. the feeling of something wrong pressed on him, able to keep the thoughts of whats the point? at bay for just a little while longer. “You’d think that scavenger animals would have been through here, but there isnt even mouse droppings on anything.”

Nothing but layers of dust and some cobwebs. Qrow didnt think he’d ever been somewhere that had just turned into a vacuum before. “… If the storm lets up, we should leave at first light. The less time we’re here the better.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“not even dead animals along with the people. yeah, the answers have to be back at the house, if there are any.”

he definitely hadn’t seen anything like this. and usually new places were exciting. this, though, this is just exhausting. food, drink, people… anything was starting to sound better than being in the middle of all this by himself and fading.

“agreed. at some point, maybe we should scrounge some of those supplies you were talkin’ about. but… later.” ugh, even any points he could find hardly felt worth acting on.

[austennerdita2533]

A/N: This is an AH/AU(?) set 5x11 during Klaus and Caroline’s romp in the woods, because who knows what else they may or may not have been said in the throes of passion. ;) 

P.S. I don’t write smut (as in I’d never tried before this haha) but this idea persisted until I wrote it down, so I hereby deem this my first NSFW piece. Enjoy!

xx Ashlee Bree

Rush of Your Black and White Love

His lips, soft, supple, and as titillating as Lucifer's himself, breached slope after slope of Caroline’s skin, starting behind her earlobe and nibbling along her neck and collarbone, then cascading down her abdomen diagonally until her toes curled; her lungs panting to describe this feeling—to put a name to this hammering, blissful rightness that transcended up and out from the inner reachings of her ribcage. Oh, God, what was it!? What was it? He peppered hints down her arms and across her bare back like a map, his calloused hands grazing across her deftly, smoothly, painting her like he would a goddess: in marble crafted from blue diamond and gold. He moved patiently but coaxingly across her body, almost as if waiting for the realization to ink itself in and shine like a sun that would never fade.

But it didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, Caroline’s thoughts tore and frayed into dust as another taste from his mouth electrified her veins, making her heart falter…then sway. She curled herself tighter into the fortress of his arms and melded into the universe of moonstars spiraling forward from some place far darker, and far more dazzling, than this dusky yellow day among the trees. With her back arched and her fingers tangling in curls at the nape of his neck, she allowed him to penetrate her like fangs which pierced the most lethal of arteries, welcoming the cinnamon sin of his tongue in places long forbidden to him. She let him lick and linger. She let him kiss and consider. She let him taste and savor. She let him cradle her close—so close that the smooth, salty flavor of darkness settled over them and carried their hearts away to some isolated, suspended space, a space only they shared.

“My God! This is ruin! Irreversible, unavoidable, orgasmic freaking ruin!” Caroline exclaimed, her legs hooked and clinging around his waist like a vise, yanking him in harder; deeper. Damp leaves slid and crinkled beneath her shoulder blades, dirtying them and what remained of their tattered clothing, but she was too impassioned to care. “I feel you threading through the marrow of my bones, firing across every nerve I possess; I hear your heartbeat purring my name inside my own head—what magic is this? What madness? What in the hell are you doing, Klaus, turning me into mush?”

“No,” he growled with lust as his fangs nipped her right breast and his hands skimmed across the bones of her pelvis, dipping in-between her thighs, “I’m making sure you never forget.”

“I won’t.” She murmured the words, breathless. “I know I won’t.”

“I intend to haunt your waking dreams, Caroline. I intend to invade your heart like a plague you cannot cure. I want to make sure you never forget the man who riles and ruffles you best, the man who slits you open from skin to skeleton clear through to your soul with one touch, one kiss…with one perfect swerve of his hips. I want to make damn sure you’re starved and always missing this, needing it so much you’re calling out for me through miles of fog, darkness, city lights, and these torturous passing years we’ll spend apart.”

“I will be. I—I promise I won’t forget this, but…more. I want more. Give me more of your love’s rush, Klaus,” she whimpered and shuddered against his neck, her fingernails digging cursive blood into the muscles of his back, “give it to me, please. All of it.”

“You can have it, love. Take everything.” Klaus pressed his mouth back against her body with urgency as he spoke, his kisses tickling and teasing in places that shot tingles from her ears to her toes, their limbs and skin and scents winding together until there was no separate her or him any longer. Just them, together.

Then his fingers trailed along her hamstring, soft as a feather, only to squeeze into her ass cheek in a sensuous way that made pleasure itself want to scream.

“I’ll give you all of it,” he breathed into her hair, his stubble scraping against her face, “all of me.”

“Mmm, why do you feel so wonderful? Like heaven? It’s wrong.”

“No.” His voice was steel, his gaze air-stealing. “It’s not.”

“No man has kissed me this way before, okay? Hell—” Caroline moaned as they rolled into another luscious position, “no man has touched me this way before. I’m molting…on fire…the flames burning me into feeling more alive than I’ve dared to imagine possible!”

Klaus stroked his thumb across her chin and his eyes flashed round with intensity, then softened into liquid gold pools. “Good. That means my evil plan is working.”

“Curse you for that, you ass, curse you!”

“I think you may be looking at this backwards, sweetheart,” he said with a low, rumbling chuckle. “Have you bothered to wonder if perhaps the other men in your life were nothing but boys without the expertise to truly please you?”

“Wow! Full of yourself much, Hybrid Hotstuff?”

“I have another explanation,” Klaus said with a pause, “if you’re interested.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. Scoffed. Then flipped them over so she could bury him, like the naughty old man he was, with forceful thrust after thrust after thrust into the forest floor from her knees.

“F-fine,” she gasped as he drew her forward onto his chest and plunged harder to the left, making her stomach quiver, “let’s hear it.”

“Perhaps…perhaps this is just how it is with us, yes? You, me, us. Together, sweetheart, you and I simply equal rhapsody.”

The way he cupped her head like a pearl and tucked stray hair away so he could look into her face, studying everything, all that her expression conveyed, made Caroline feel precious. Exquisite. Cherished. His tormented, tender eyes searched her to memorize every freckle of her nose, to erase any crinkle of doubt on her forehead, to learn each flicker of desire or pleasure as it crawled into the corners of her widening smile.

“Perhaps it’s only that I am the one man who inherently understands how you need to be touched and deserved to be treasured with fervent, unquenchable tasting, because the universe designed it that way?” Klaus continued. “Perhaps that’s why I feel heat now where once I used to freeze? Because you are my sweet, damning salvation and I—” his shoulders trembled, his words becoming thick and heady, “I am your beautiful, broken ruination.”

“Hm, and how do you suggest we solve this problem, my ruinous man?”

“There’s only one way, I’m afraid.” Caroline straddled her palms on either side of his head and looked down at him, waiting, his answer still dangling.

“We must accept it,” he said with surety etched and blazing in the lines of his face. “We must accept it and…give in.”

“Is that so?” She hoisted him up from the ground at this, her head lulling back and her eyes sliding shut, to encircle her arms around his head and press him into her wild, uncensored heartbeat as fear released its taloned hold; inviting him to chomp all the way through her walls as her body relinquished the rest of control to the delicious, damaged man her heart now demanded that all her secrets be shown. “And here I swore to myself I’d loathe you for the rest of eternity! Ha! But I suppose that’s all out the window now seeing as I refuse to let you or this ecstasy go,” she half-purred, half-panted.

“Elizabeth Bennet once declared eternal hatred for one of her suitors, too, I believe,” he replied. “It didn’t last for her, so why would you assume it would have for you, Caroline?”

At Klaus’ smug and resounding grin which he stifled by pressing a pleased kiss to her lips, Caroline blushed before twisting them sideways. She folded herself against him until they rested chest-to-chest, their breathing labored, and tilted her head to the left to expose the thumping blood in her throat.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me…bite me…freaking volcanic erupt me!” she begged in a clutching shiver as her mouth brushed along his jawbone.

“Don’t mind if I do, love. Don’t mind if I do.”

Danger swirled with delight and ardor mingled with relish as their hips rocked, bucked, and shifted together long into the moonless night, their movements perfectly attuned to a rhythm of just the two of us; fitting them together like a lock and a key that could never rust. And like the fresh blood evaporating on her tongue, Caroline knew one more taste of him would never be enough. Klaus’ loving rush swallowed every last one of her reservations up and pumped her full of his ancient, black and white plush until the words ‘my soul mate’ marked themselves distinctly and permanently inside not only her heart, but her head.

This was the end and the beginning for both of them—there was no better touch. There was no better shape of love. Falling together forever was better than everything, it was enough.

“With calloused hands

I tasted

the softness of the moon

        xx

in the coldest winds

I discovered my soul’s

warmest fireplace

          xx

in the roughness

of his stubble

the tenderest of love.”

—A Thousand Flamingos, Sanober Khan

I tried to highlight more of the intimacy rather than the physicality of their frolicking and elected a more figurative approach to describing it as much as possible. At least, I hope it came across that way…? *curls into a ball of awkwardness*

Comments are lovely

[geraldon]

under the lullaby of the birth of stars

And sometimes the Doctor heard she cried.

These were short and voiceless sobs, which imprinted on his hearts like traces of a cat and ached.

Relentlessly ached.

Probably, if he was brave, he would knocked at one of the TARDIS doors, leading to the Clara’s bedroom, but every time he finds himself near the right place, his hand for some reason freezes in the air, and he stops breathing, numb with an eerie fear, which streams down his spine with itchy shivers.  

Clara doesn’t do such things very often. She, having an ardent temper and this unbelievable human emotion, can control herself no worse than the Doctor, who always betrays his own mood only by menacing eyebrows, shifted on the bridge of the nose. Although she always understands his mood by his blue eyes, which look at her with understanding and tenderness even despite corpulence superciliary arches.

Clara always looked at him and smiled. And in a fit to embrace him for another saved life, she, knowing how he doesn’t like hugging, always stopped by the consol and looked at him with smile so worm, that the Doctor could not look at her, because it was very humanely. And he likes other people only because Clara was so special and fantastic.

But now the Doctor, who always restrained and pedantic, for some reason was afraid to knock at the door for comfort her in the minute of grief and sadness.

Clara.

His Clara.

So small, with these huge eyes, which look right into him, seeing trough. Clara, who smelled by a peach and a banana, so a typical teacher that he literally goes out of his freaking mind because of hers one snob, because of fear she suffers, she is hurt, she is felling bad, she needs help, his help. But he could do nothing but to freeze on the spot with his hand in the air. And every time he came back to the TARDIS’s consol, leaving his Clara alone, and he was so mad at himself that he was ready to destroy this time machine, only his Clara would never cry again.    

Clara.

Every time she came to him, she always smiled, looking at him. And her smile did not lie. So for what, Clara? Why are you crying?

And why he is standing here right in front of your door again, unable to push it and come into your dark bedroom, so humanized, that he thinks they’re not on the spaceship, but in a cozy apartment somewhere on the outskirts of the capital of the Kingdom? Why, Clara? Why is the Doctor, who saves worlds, galaxies, whole universes, cannot step over your threshold, when you are dropping tears on the pillow, barely audible and breathing that he couldn’t hear?

Clara, his poor, little Clara…

And he is sitting here, overhanging his legs overboard the time machine, looking at passing by galaxies, at exploding stars, and can’t stop hearing her crying, echoing through the cold corridors of the TARDIS. Crying, which, eating into his brain thoroughly, leaves traces, some seals, even scars, that make him remember her sobs again and again.

And in the moment none worlds and planets can help him to solve the main riddle – for what is Clara Oswald crying?

And there is no a drop of falsehood, and there is no a drop of exaggeration for sure. The Doctor is afraid he can’t save his Clara from those endless tears that tore him apart either.  

And once he heard this weak moan that torn from her lips so unexpectedly. And he could not restrain himself, rushed all the way to her room, confident he could open her bedroom’s door in this time, cross the threshold, full of enthusiasm, bravery and courage to do it, but suddenly he froze at the door jamb again, swallowing that heavy lump in his throat and frowning thick eyebrows from anger at himself, because he became so weak and powerless at once. And a wave of self-loathing swept over with such force that he had to go back to the control room.

Or maybe Clara just needed to talk to him? Maybe, she needed him to come in? And then she wouldn’t cry secretly.

Because it’s Clara.

And he knows his Clara.

But the Doctor doesn’t understand anything in her.

And sometimes the darkness becomes so unbearable, that it becomes difficult for the Doctor to breathe. And he, suffocating, falls on the steps, covering his face with shaking hands and trying to gather all the thoughts in his head, because at such moments the only thing he hears is as her tears break even more clearly about the cutting cotton cloth of her pillow.

Once the Doctor asked himself why can’t he cross the threshold of her room?

But he didn’t find an answer.

Maybe because he, the Doctor, is Scottish in a greater degree and it is not in his competence to console small women? Or maybe because it was Clara, his strong, independent Clara, who always wanted to seem to him just like that. And find her the Doctor in a broken state she probably would have broken even more. After all, for him she can’t be weak. For him she can’t be just like that.

Clara doesn’t cry often. Mainly she always shines. She glowed with this brilliance, lust for something new, these dangerous space adventures, vitally, itchy necessary missions. She breathes them.

She breathes him.

Breathes the Doctor.

And to him, the Scottish old man, the time lord, damn it, he was flattered to the very depths of his wrinkled soul.

And maybe that’s exactly why he can’t come in her bedroom – afraid to see her so broken, the girl, who always said him to be the Doctor and win, to see her so broken that he couldn’t help her cope with this. And the Doctor was really afraid of it.

And here he is, standing in front of her door with the hand in the air ready to knock at, but he can’t.  

Who would have thought that to knock at Clara Oswald’s door would be so difficult?

And from such stupidity, a grin full of despair is slipping off his lips, and anger beginning to boil inside him with a new force that he has never saw before.

But she was still crying.

Not for long, but he sat under her door, waiting for her to stop sobbing and fall asleep. And when this happened, the Doctor suddenly got up, adjusted his velvet doctor’s jacket and opened the creaking wooden door of the room. And here the air was filled with Clara: peach, banana and salt of her tears.

He froze in the aisle, swallowing a lump in his throat, and looked at the slim body rolled up under a thin blanket. And then suddenly he walked to her quickly, sat down on the bed, feeling the mattress sag under his weight, and stare at her tear-stained face for so long that he stopped breathing.

And trembling hands pulled themselves to wipe from her tender skin the wet paths of such bitter, thorny tears.

"So for what are you crying, Clara?" Hm, my Clara?” he asks hardly in a whisper. And she suddenly opens her eyes, and in them neither stars, in them galaxies explode, absorbed by the black holes of her chocolate. And she wants to answer him, opens her mouth, but he does not allow her to do it. She does not need to talk anymore. The Doctor already knows.

And the Doctor will definitely save her.

And he, the Scot to the marrow of his bones, embraces her and allows her to bury her nose in his chest, weep hot and scorching remnants of bitter tears, and then fall asleep on his shoulder, lulled in his arms under the lullaby of the birth of stars, softly humming him in the silence of the half-dark room .

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Fragile Things (ch1, baon)

Summary:  It’s been a very long week

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The sofa was empty when Edge first walked in from work, the television dark and silent. He took the time to hang up his coat and set his briefcase by his desk before calling up the stairs. “Stretch?”

No reply. It was not entirely a surprise. The past two days Stretch had been late coming home, working on some sort of project in the lab right up until dinnertime. He hadn’t mentioned what it was yet, but again, that was hardly unusual. For every project that he wanted to discuss in fine detail there was another that would be kept behind whatever mental embargo that Stretch put on it, until he’d worked his way past his own set of checkpoints enough to bring it up.

Strange that it didn’t seem to matter how important a project was, whether it was a secret one for Asgore or something ridiculous he was designing for the neighborhood children. Stretch had a certain goalpost that all his work needed to reach before he’d talk about it, some mental scale that needed to balance. It made Edge wonder how many were languishing down in his lab, exiled until such a time that they qualified.

Whatever it was, Edge was honestly looking forward to hearing about it. Not that he’d understand most of what he was told, but that hardly mattered. What he wanted was to see Stretch talking about it, the animated way he spoke with his hands, the flash of his grin and the bubbling excitement that always came when he’d made some sort of breakthrough.

He’d been tired but pleased all week so it must be going well. Perhaps today Edge would finally get to hear about the finer points. Until then, he took advantage of the empty house to turn on his preferred music station, contemplating dinner and perhaps dessert. There was a little time for him to come up with something.

It was easy to lose himself in the rhythm of cooking, chopping vegetables and setting a pot on to boil water for rice. Vegetable curry sounded delicious, it was a meal he made often since Stretch liked it as well, and it would come together quickly.

The heady aroma of spice filled the air and he breathed it in contentedly, soft magic filling his mouth. Lunch had been some time ago and he hadn’t had time to even grab a muffin, trying to keep up with both his own work and Janice’s. It was difficult to resist the urge to work through lunch as it was, the temptation lingering in the back of his thoughts, demanding that he not fall behind.

Learning to ignore that voice had taken him years and Edge wasn’t about to start obeying it now. Exhausting himself would do favors for no one and the other teams were more than happy to take on little extra work until Janice returned. He didn’t have to do everything on his own and time enough to eat his lunch was little enough to ask.

By the time the rice was done, fluffy and steaming, and the curry in a serving dish, it was nearly seven. Edge frowned at the clock, niggling concern starting to replace hunger. Stretch was never this late, even on his most distracted days.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text, letting Stretch know that dinner was ready, if he could please pull himself from his work long enough to eat it before it got cold. No reply; the flag beneath it stayed at delivered but never changed to read.

Food forgotten, Edge pulled up the tracking app. As he’d guessed, it said Stretch’s phone was down the road, at his brother’s house where his lab was still downstairs. When he’d moved in, the lab had remained since Stretch hadn’t wanted to go through the effort of dismantling everything to move it when he could shortcut the distance easily from their living room. It had its own entrance, a safety precaution against fumes, and Blue hadn’t minded, so there it stayed.

Not a problem, except if Edge wanted to visit the lab, he needed either a car or a jog.

He didn’t visit often.

With a sigh, Edge covered the serving bowls before he slipped on his boots and coat. He scooped up his keys on his way out the door, not that it was a far walk but he wanted to eat sooner than later. The drive was brief, and it was without a shred of guilt that he parked on the street rather than the driveway. As much as he liked Blue, if he caught sight of them, they’d be trapped for twenty minutes of chatting before they escaped. He was hungry, damn it, and manners could wait for another day.

The lab door was unlocked, and Edge added that to his mental list of complaints. There was a keypad for a reason, what was the point of a lock if anyone could wander downstairs at any time, whether or not they had good reason? Edge didn’t need a PhD to know that some of these experiments were delicate and one interruption could ruin weeks of work.

“Stretch?” he called as he made his way down the stairs, not wanting to startle him. The lack of reply was worrying, and he pushed aside the heavy plastic curtain in the open doorway, stepping into the lab proper.

Aside from the wild clutter of the desk which was a mess of papers and toys, a set of stuffed chickens sitting pertly in the middle, the worktables were all neatly organized, each one with a clipboard hanging on one end. Edge didn’t recognize any of the equipment or experiments, and didn’t care because Stretch wasn’t standing by any of them.

His phone was sitting on the last table and Edge started towards it automatically, only to freeze as he caught sight of a skeletal hand extending past the end of the table, fingers lax against the polished floor tiles.

“Rus?” Edge gasped, moving so quickly he stumbled over his own feet, falling with abnormal gracelessness to his knees where Stretch was sprawled out on the floor, pale and still. His sockets were closed, a thin line of marrow running from his nasal aperture was dried to maroon which meant he’d been here a while, he’d been lying here while Edge was chopping fucking vegetables, he-

Enough. Panic wasn’t going to help in the slightest and Edge pushed it aside and drawing on inner calm. Stretch wasn’t dust which meant he was alive.

A Check sent a quiver through that fragile calm, shaking him to his core. Stretch’s HP was into the decimals and his magic was vanishingly low. Edge wasn’t incapable of healing but no how much training he’d gone through, he was still terrible at it. It wasn’t an innate skill of his and with Stretch’s HP so low, it was possible trying would do more harm than good.

Any mental stability was slipping away and Edge knelt for too long, frozen in indecision, until he remembered where he was.

His fingers were shaking, he noticed distantly, pulling up his contact list and finding a number that was close to the top. It rang once, twice, and then a familiar voice answered.

Edge didn’t bother with a greeting. “Blue, I need you to come downstairs to your brother’s lab, right now, it’s an emergency—”

The phone hadn’t even disconnected when the familiar pop of teleportation came from behind him. Blue was moving before Edge could say a word, a low moan escaping him as he caught sight of his brother’s still form. Sans was at his heels, the source of his quick shortcut, and he stood back, his eye lights dim and shocked even as Blue laid his hands on his brother’s rib cage.

His hands flared, brilliant with magic and Stretch convulsed, his cry garbled and pained as healing was forced directly into his soul. His heels drummed against the floor, sneakers squeaking as he strained, arching up hard enough that his joints popped. Whether it was into his brother’s touch or a simple reflex, Edge didn’t know. He could only stand back, unable to touch for risk of that magic flowing into him instead of the intended target, his own sockets narrowed as he watched Stretch’s HP crawl back upward.

There were a few dark spots of marrow staining the front of Stretch’s sweatshirt, perfect round droplets, and Edge couldn’t stop himself from wondering vaguely if it would wash out.

Behind him, Sans was moving, and Edge glanced at him unwillingly, watching him study the worktable. There was a machine of some sort on it and that was what had Sans’s attention, softly glowing dials that Sans was looking over. He caught Edge watching him, the corners of his permanent smile curled tight and upset.

“he’s been using the magic distiller?” Sans asked sharply.

“I think so,” Edge admitted. He wasn’t certain on the name, but he knew what the machine was. Stretch had been working on a way to stabilize healing magic into a carrier, like an ointment or an oil, but that was an ongoing project Sans was supposed to have been working on with him, for Asgore. “He said it was safe.”

Sans’s expression revealed nothing, but Edge was accustomed to a much higher grade of deception.

“He lied,” Edge said flatly.

The hesitation was brief, and revealing, Sans’s eye lights flickering to the floor where Blue was starting to sweat, trickles running down the sides of his face as the glow in his hands wavered. Stretch was so terribly still again, the normal warm tint of his bones paled to starkness.

“wouldn’t say that,” Sans said, too carefully, too slow.

“Would I?”

Another hesitation but it seemed he’d reached the limits of Sans’s willingness to prevaricate. Instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “probably.”

A low whimper interrupted whatever he might have said, and later Edge would think that was for the best, the words hovering on the border of being spoken had been harsh, cold. Sans would have borne his undeserved anger without a complaint and he likely would have forgiven it, the circumstances being what they were. But he wouldn’t have forgotten it.

Still kneeling on the floor, Blue was panting, his own eye lights dimmed from their normal cheery stars. “That’s all I can manage,” Blue said wearily. “He’s out of danger but we need to get him to the hospital.”

Tired as he obviously was, Blue automatically started to pick him up and Edge reached out to stop him. “I’ve got him.”

Blue’s smile was weakly grateful. “I know, you take good care of him.”

“Not good enough,” Edge replied curtly. He didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t care to hear Blue trying to make excuses for any of them. Instead, he carefully lifted Stretch’s slight weight from the floor, shoving his own anguish at his stillness down, burying it beneath necessity. In his arms, Stretch was completely limp, utter deadweight that was difficult to negotiate past the stairs. Once he reached the sidewalk, Edge was forced to allow Blue to fish his keys from his pocket, Sans taking the passenger side as Edge lifted Stretch into the backseat.

With trembling gentleness, he settled Stretch in his lap, his eye lights focused on his still, silent form, Checking as often as he dared, taking what comfort he could in his unwavering HP, even with it being two points lower than his max. It was enough, he would be all right, Edge told himself. He was going to be fine, just fine, he’d recover from this, he would.

And as soon as he did, Edge was going to kill him.

-tbc-