#reminds me of that pill asking who would die first after being stranded on an island

[astrobei]

cringefail mike truther in that he is not always good at flirting On Purpose (but luckily will loves it anyway) and gets flustered easily and says the most out of pocket shit and cracks bad jokes to lighten the tension and has a train wreck of an internal monologue and is so well practiced at running mental gymnastics to avoid his issues that he could win gold at the olympics. NOT a cringefail mike truther in that he is bumbling and useless and incapable of holding a weapon without killing himself and screams like a little girl in the face of danger and is a total damsel in distress and, for some reason, wins every poll asking “who’s the worst at ___” even if it’s something he’s canonically good at

[morganaspendragonss]

The Broken Soul of TK Strand 3/?

there's a little bit more torture in this chapter, but a lot less than in last 😊

ao3 | 3.4k

“TK, babe, wake up.”

It took him a few moments to open his eyes; he was so tired that he just wanted to sleep.

“Come on, it’s time to wake up, there are a lot of things to do today.”

Carlos’s voice was soothing, almost like a siren’s song, but not the kind that smashed ships against rocks, sending sailors to their deaths. This song was pleasant and warm and exactly what TK needed to feel better.

At last, he was able to open his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming or if he was awake. A figure moved next to him; TK turned, though the simple movement of his head provoked a tidal wave of sensations, all terrible and painful, and he closed his eyes again.

“Yeah, you have a bad concussion and if you don’t deal with it, it’s going to get worse. It could be irreversible.”

“Thanks, babe. I already knew that, you don’t need to remind me that I’m in a horrible mess.”

“I’m only telling you because with every day, every hour that passes, you get weaker and your brain is only going to want to sleep and rest. You can’t let that happen.”

TK opened his eyes again. Carlos looked at him, smiled, and TK saw him kneel down next to him. He could feel the touch on his cheek, though he knew that Carlos wasn’t here; he knew that it was part of his dream or the concussion. Still, it made him feel better all the same—it made him feel protected and that everything was going to be okay.

A loud ringing inside his head made TK clench his teeth so hard it hurt, but not even that got rid of the pain caused by the noise, which pierced his head clean through. He tried to curl his body into a ball, as if that would solve the problem.

TK didn’t know when the pain passed—or, rather, when he began to lose consciousness again without realising. Once awake, he tried to get to his feet, but it was an almost impossible task in his weakened state. Now, he was almost sure that the guy intended to leave him here to die.

He still didn’t understand the story about the ritual, probably because nothing about this dark lord made sense. Much less so now that TK was practically seeing double and could barely distinguish between what was real and what was in his head.

Whatever the case, since the previous day’s nightmare with the heart he had to eat and the wine he’d been forced to drink, not to mention whatever had been done to his shoulder blade, the guy hadn’t come back to pay him a visit, and TK feared that he had abandoned him to die.

(TK would give anything for a mirror to see what was on his back—it hurt horrible, it burned, but maybe that too was because of the concussion)

He tried to remember what he knew about concussion and how much time a person could suffer one before it became truly dangerous. Something told him that he had already passed that limit, but he had to keep fighting, because if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that Carlos and his father were doing everything they could to find him and save him.

So TK had to use all his strength to fight against everything inside of him that told him to just give up.

“Yes, yes, my lord. His blood is perfect, I did that test that you asked and it is exactly what we were searching for… what you were searching for, forgive me, what you were searching for.”

TK got closer to the door, dragging himself along the floor so he could listen to the man’s voice.

“Tonight we will get his tears and the blood we need for the ritual and tomorrow… Oh, my lord, tomorrow you will rule this world.”

TK only heard his voice—he must be talking to himself, or worse, he thought he was talking to someone else. He was crazy enough to hear voices in his head, after all.

He lay back down on the floor and gazed up at the ceiling. It was interesting how the smell of blood and all the other things around him didn’t bother him anymore; how easily humans get used to horrible things like that.

“He’s going to kill me here and leave me to bleed out.”

“And you’re going to let him?”

Carlos sat by TK’s side and took his hand, stroking and kissing it. TK could feel the actions clearly, which was definitely a bad sign; he was getting worse, as everything that wasn’t here seemed all too real.

He smiled—it felt like the times when he had taken pills and then lay on the sofa, calm and happy from the substances running through his veins. It was like being drugged again and, just like then, as if he had gotten too carried away that he could end up dead.

“I’m so scared, babe.”

“I know; that’s why I’m here. You created me.” Carlos stretched out his hand and, when TK took it, pulled him close and hugged him. It felt so real, and TK would have given anything for it to last forever. “I know you think that you aren’t strong enough to fight and beat this by yourself, but there are few people as strong and brave as you, TK. You can do it, you can hold on until your father and I find you.”

“I don’t know, babe, I’m so tired.”

“Do it for me.”

Carlos’s figure began to fade as TK’s brain took control again. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out before he short-circuited again.

TK decided not to lie back down—if he forced himself to stay sitting up, then maybe his body would fight for longer to stay awake, thus giving Carlos more time to find him, just as his boyfriend’s image had said.

*

“Carlos,” Nancy called, upon seeing him leaving. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

The cop turned around—he’d spent half of his time in the station, and the other half in the precinct, as the idea of going home hurt too much. Knowing that TK wasn’t there and wasn’t going to return at the end of his shift… Carlos couldn’t do it.

“Of course, I was just going to the precinct to see if they had anything new. Is everything okay?” He huffed a bitter laugh after saying that—of course nothing was okay. “Sorry, it’s a habit.”

“It’s okay. I actually wanted to see how you were.” Nancy offered him a cup of coffee. “The truth is that I didn’t know who to talk to. I don’t know Captain Strand very well so it would feel weird talking to him, and the others… They’re all busy all the time; if it’s not work, it’s trying to find TK. I think they’re trying to do anything so they don’t think about it, but I can’t. I don’t know how, I just feel paralysed.”

“I understand.”

“I’m so sorry, Carlos. You’re going through something so awful and here I am, going on about my stupid problems.”

“They’re not at all stupid.” They moved to sit in the now-empty kitchen, and Carlos smiled. “Really, I’m happy to talk about how other people are doing; everyone is treating me as if I’m made of glass so they don’t tell me anything and only talk to me if it’s to ask if I need anything. The only thing I need right now is to have TK here, with me; everything else is irrelevant.”

Nancy sighed. “Do you know, the last time I spoke to TK before...before all this happened, it was to argue with him?” She took a sip of her coffee, not looking at Carlos. “I’d put the bandages in an order in the ambulance drawers and he was changing it. I told him that my way was easier, he told me his way was the rule, and I said that we would end up losing time when we couldn’t afford to.

“Then he said that we should ask Cap and I got angry, telling him that I was the one who’d been in the team for longer and I didn’t need anyone to tell me how to put away the bandages. I’d had a bad day, my roommate left and only told me that morning. I took it out on TK and I never got the chance to tell him how sorry I was. It was really stupid, and it was the last thing I said to him before…”

Carlos reached out and placed his hand on top of Nancy’s. “Me too. I didn’t argue with him but I know that I made him feel bad the last time we talked.” He scoffed. “How little an anniversary matters when you don’t know if your boyfriend is going to come home again.”

Nancy nodded. She didn’t know that feeling exactly, but she did have an idea of what Carlos was going through. “We’re going to find him, right, Carlos?”

“I won’t stop until we do.”

Carlos stared down into his half-empty coffee cup for a moment, as if he could read the grounds and have them tell him where TK was.

“You’re still here?”

Carlos turned again, seeing Owen with a look typical of a father whose son didn’t pay attention to him and continued playing video games instead of getting reading for school.

“I’m sorry, Owen, I just…” Carlos sighed heavily and slumped his shoulders. “I can’t go home, I can’t even open the door without… I’ve always had anxiety attacks, but it’s been so long that I’d almost forgotten what they were like. Now, everytime I go home, I try to open the door, but knowing that TK isn’t there, that he isn’t coming back—that he might never come back… I can’t do it, Owen.”

The captain approached the table. Nancy prepared to leave, but he gestured for her to stay. “I understand. I haven’t been able to go home either without thinking that...that TK has escaped and come home. I know he hasn’t, so I can’t go in. I’ve been sleeping here—what little sleep I’ve managed, anyway. Go up and lie down for a while. You need to sleep.”

Carlos nodded because he needed to sleep, because he wanted to stay here, and because Owen felt exactly the same as he did, though they hadn’t been able to talk about it until now.

He accepted the offer and said goodbye to Nancy, thanking her for the talk. He headed to the bunkroom above and lay down in the first bed he found, knowing that it didn’t belong to TK.

He must have fallen asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow; he didn’t even have time to take off his shoes. He was so tired, and he had spent so long fighting it that once he decided to sleep, he fell completely into dreams.

Carlos felt himself fall, like Alice down the rabbit hold, ending up seated on the floor. He heard a sob that he recognised immediately and got to his feet, spinning around to find him. But he didn’t see anything; it was so dark that Carlos could only hear the sobbing voice as it came closer and closer.

“TK! Babe, I’m here, can you hear me?”

The cries became more intense, followed by a shout that had Carlos’s hair standing on end. There was no doubt that it was TK’s voice—someone was hurting him. Carlos spun around again, searching for something, anything, in between the total darkness.

“No, please… Don’t hurt me.” TK sounded like he was behind Carlos, but when he turned, TK wasn’t there.

He walked everywhere, but he still saw nothing. The only thing that caught his attention was the floor he was walking on—it seemed like old wood, and at the same time like the forest floor. He was in a cabin that had been abandoned years ago.

Carlos was at the point of screaming when he noticed hands wrapping around his waist from behind—just like he would recognise TK’s voice anywhere, he also knew the feel of his hands and his mouth which now kissed his neck.

Carlos turned, and there he was. But it wasn’t the same TK he remembered from two days ago. Although he was smiling, this TK was emaciated and tired-looking, he had many cuts and wounds, he was pale, and it seemed like he had lost the flow that always surrounded him.

He caressed his cheek and TK pressed his face against Carlos’s hand, like a dog seeking comfort from their person.

“What have they done to you?”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m waiting for you… I’m tired and I know that he wants to kill me but I’m waiting for you because I know you’ll find me and save me.”

“Of course I will, babe. We’re all doing everything we can to get to you; Grace is pulling double shifts in case she gets a call that could help and the others…”

“Only you can save him, Carlos.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I’m tired, that man...he’s crazy. We should have realised that first day when we saw him at the fire. I recognise him now. I saw him when he took me, he’d covered his face with a hood, but I saw him and I know it’s him. Remember?” TK came closer, legs shaking; if it weren’t for Carlos holding him, he would have fallen.

Carlos sat down and held TK in his arms. If he could take him away from here through the dream, he would do it; instead, he squeezed him tight and kissed his head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, Ty.”

“The man from the fire. I pointed him out to you, remember? I told you that he was weird and he seemed too interested in what we were doing.”

Carlos shook his head; he had too many things on his mind to remember a conversation from three days ago.

“It’s the same guy who took me. He covered himself so he wouldn’t be seen, but when he hit me, I saw his face. You can see him too, my love. You can see him...you can see him...you can…”

TK’s body vanished. Carlos shouted and called out, but TK didn’t return. He shouted and screamed until his throat was sore, until he was awake in the station, surrounded by Owen, Tommy, and all his friends. They were looking at him as if they were seeing a ghost.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to sleep,” Carlos said, smiling as if nothing had happened, but his breathing was still shaky and faltering.

Marjan handed him a glass of water which Carlos almost drank in one.

Then he realised.

The vision, the dream—it had been his own mind working. He had been so worried, hoping that someone would give him any clue as to TK’s whereabouts that he hadn’t realised that he himself had seen the kidnappers face. He had seen him twice, as the TK in his dream had said, and he had the image in his head, but it was also in the video.

“We know who the kidnapper is, we have his face.”

Carlos leapt up and raced down the stairs, asking Owen if he wanted to accompany him to the station, though there was no need for a reply as the two climbed into the car. They only had to watch the video of the kidnapping and find the videos from the fire—that man would be in both.

*

When the guy finished the next part of the ritual that night, TK wasn’t aware of his exit. He’d taken even more blood, too much to remain awake and alert. TK had begged him not to kill him, to let him live, but nothing had worked. The guy’s mind was high on the idea that some creature from Hell needed TK’s blood to come to Earth.

There had been nothing TK could say or do to make him change his mind.

The final part of the ritual was terrible for TK. If he thought that drinking wine and eating a raw heart had been the worst that could happen, he was sorely mistaken—the worst was yet to come.

After listening to him talk, TK had wondered what he meant by getting his tears, but the answer was so simple that he didn’t even think of it.

The guy, covered by a hood, entered. He didn’t say anything this time, like he was in a rush, but TK didn’t have the strength nor the will to ask. He had a box in his hand which he left on the floor next to him. TK tried to sit up—putting a few centimetres wasn’t going to make much difference, but he needed to fight until the end.

Little good it did him. The man kept watching him, and TK realised that his eyes had changed. Last time he had seen him, the man seemed to love him like a sacred idol, but now he had the look of an animal, like someone prepared to do anything without remorse.

He grabbed him by the neck and pushed him against the wall; TK was so weak that the guy barely needed to make any effort to move him. He took out the same knife from last time and pressed it against his neck.

“Give me your tears.”

“What? You want me to cry?”

“You have to cry,” the man demanded, pressing the knife a little harder against his neck. “I can hurt you until I get them as long as you’re still alive for me to extract the blood I need.”

“Please…”

The blade dug into TK’s skin, causing a small cut.

“I have you under my control. I know who your boyfriend is and, if this ritual goes wrong, if after everything I’ve done, my lord can’t come to this world, I assure you that what I will do to your boyfriend will be much worse than anything I’m doing to you. I suggest that you give me your tears; your blood I can take when and however I want.”

As is emphasising his words, the man delivered a blow to TK’s abdomen, making him bend double.

“You’re beautiful, kid, the best possible offering to our lord, so I hate to hurt you. But if you give me no other choice, I will have to take longer to finish the ritual.”

“Please...stop.” The pain in his head was killing him and his vision was blurred, little white lights dancing everywhere, and he felt like he was going to throw up.

Whether it was for fear that something could happen to Carlos, fear for himself, the pain, or the exhaustion, TK began to cry, and the man placed a small flask to his cheek to collect the tears.

He left him lying on the floor for a moment. He hadn’t collected more than a few tears, but he seemed happy, until, without warning, he made a deep cut on TK’s arm and held it over a tub.

“This won’t take long.”

“What are you doing? Let me go, please.”

TK didn’t know when he lost consciousness again, but he thought that it would be the last time, that he wouldn’t wake up. He could tell; he was too weak to stand another session of this torture.

Either way, he was sure that the stranger was going to let him die, or would finish the job soon enough. That closed the window of probability that his father and Carlos could rescue him.

However, if he had been conscious, TK would have heard the sound of vehicles in the distance and the two helicopters that were beginning to close in on the area. He also would have noticed that his kidnapper was rushing desperately around the house; he would have heard the sound of his feet hitting the floor, and he would have seen the agony he felt over being discovered before he could finish his ritual.

But TK was fighting for his life with a concussion that clouded his thoughts and blood loss that could kill him while he slept. Time had run out, and it was better to sleep and dream of Carlos than it was to bear even more pain.

[august-diehl]

I Know What’s Best - Part 1

A/N: This is my first attempt of writing Dark!Steve, tell me what you think about it, I love feedback. :)

Summary: Being the only daughter of wealthy politicians, your life reeks of privilege. You would do anything to make your parents happy, and then you meet Captain America, how much is your life gonna change?

Dark!Steve Rogers x Innocent!Reader

Warnings: Extreme manipulation, stalking, dub con (non con) in next chapters.

Tags: @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​.

I Know What’s Best Masterlist.

Main Masterlist.

This is your second year of college in NYU, you want to become a lawyer just like your parents, your whole you wanted to make them proud, and you have. Your parents are politicians, successful ones too, your mother was one of politicians that installed The Reproductive Health Act, she is an avid pro-choice woman, and your father is running for mayor of New York, and the polls are saying that he has great chance of winning. One of his biggest supporters is your brother, Ian. He is thirty-six years old and his lovely wife is seven months pregnant with their first son, and you couldn’t be happier for them and to be an aunt.

Your parents insisted that you didn't have a room in NYU, since they live so close to the university, and you agreed, it didn't make sense to spend money on a room when you were blessed enough to have your parents to guide you in this turbulent time that was college, your grades were near perfection, your relationship with your family was great, your sister-in-law, Kaia was a great friend to you, her parents moved from Norway when she was still a baby. You’ve been in her home country a few times, it was gorgeous, especially in the winter.

To be completely honest, you were quite introverted, you didn't had many friends since boarding school, you knew a few people in your classes, but you never interacted with them outside of classes, sometimes you felt lonely, but Kaia was always inviting you to buy things for the baby, so you weren’t as lonely, Kaia was your best friend, you told her everything. One boy in your class asked you on a date, but after discussing with Kaia, you refused. You were sad because of that, but Kaia said that he might be one of those frat boys that just wanted to take advantage of your sweet nature, that made you feel better, after all, your family always knows what’s best for you.

You never had a boyfriend before, your parents always encouraged you to find a nice boy from a good family, but honestly, you never felt so strongly about a boy to the point of open yourself up to someone that wasn’t your family, it felt wrong in your eyes. It always has been difficult for you to have friends, especially having a romantic relationship. Kaia was Ian’s first and only girlfriend, he met her in high school, you were just a child the first time you met Kaia.

Now it was summer, you were on a break from college. You were going with your parents to a lot of galas, meeting new people, other politicians that work with your mother and possible allies for your father’s campaign. It was mostly older men and women, no one even close to your age, the youngest ones were around Ian’s age. To be fair you didn't want to go to those tedious events, but your parents needed you, and your support, and you would do anything for them.

You and your parents were in the limousine, Ian and Kaia had to leave earlier because she wasn’t feeling very well. You were tired, the light pink dress that your mother choose for you was making you a bit uncomfortable, and being in high heels for hours, didn't help your situation. 

“It was a great event, I was able to get many supporters for my campaign. Did you enjoyed yourself, Y/N?” Your father cut the silence, he was now taking off his bow tie, your father had a real distaste for them.

“It was a great event, as you said. The food was incredible, father” Truth was that you hated those events, the galas, the dinners, and the people as well. But you did it for your family, they needed you, and you would rather die than disappoint them first.

“Tomorrow we don’t have any event to attend to, what do you think about you, me and Kaia to go out to buy some clothes for you, Martha reminded me that your clothes are getting quite old, we can pick new ones for you.” Your mother took a strand of your hair and put behind your ear, she was smiling sweetly at you.

“Yes, that’d be incredible, Mother.” You smiled back at her.

“It would be a perfect way for you ladies to spend the day, me and Ian have many things to discuss tomorrow.” Your father smiled and gave his credit card to your mother, and she gently put it in her tiny purse.

“I almost forgot to give your medicine, dear.” Your handed a small piece of cloth and a bottle of water that was on the limousine compartment, you have a very rare and genetic disease, your body doesn’t produce certain hormones, so you have to take the supplements that have those hormones that your body doesn’t produce, but other than that, you are completely healthy.

“Thank you, mother.” Another reason why your parents insisted of having you at home while you go to college, you often forget to take your pills, so your mother zealously reminds you, and she makes sure that you take it every single day at the same time, she even keeps the bottle in your parents’ room. 

“Of course, dear.” Your mother kissed your forehead, you don’t remember much of the ride back home since sleep came with full force.

************************

You woke up with the sun hitting your face, you looked at the watch and it was 7:30 AM, you looked at your body and you had your pj’s on, your mother must’ve changed you when you fell asleep. You remembered that you would spend the whole day with Kaia and your mother, you came down from your bedroom and went to the kitchen. The house was silent, your parents were still probably asleep, you liked the early mornings, it was always quite peaceful. The smell of pancakes hit your senses when you were on the stairs, you smiled to yourself, Pierre was already making breakfast. You entered the kitchen and it was, the small and happy frenchman, preparing breakfast for your family.

“Good morning, Pierre.” The chef turned around and gave you a smile, the man was on his forties, and cooking was his greatest passion. 

“Miss Y/N, breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes, why don’t you sit and wait for it?” He gestured at the table.

“Thank you, but I’ll take a shower first.” You went back to your bedroom, you took a cold shower since it was already starting to get hot, you put on a summer dress that your mother bought for you, it was a light shade of yellow. You thought that the dress was lovely, and so did your mother.

You started reading one of the books that it was required for you to read for one of your classes, you looked at the watch again and twenty minutes has passed, you went back to the kitchen, your father was already sitting down, reading the news on his iPad. You went to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning, father. How did you sleep?” You sat down on the left side of the table, you put the napkin on your lap, and one of the maids was bringing all the things for breakfast.

“Very well, Ian and Kaia will be here in a few minutes. And your mother is getting ready to out with you and Kaia, I’m sure you’re gonna have a lot of fun together.” He smiled and you smiled back, you wished that you could spend as much time with your father as Ian does, you love your mother, but most of the times, you miss spending more time with him. You heard the elevator open and Ian and a heavily pregnant Kaia came through the doors. 

“Hello, father, sister.” Ian gave you a kiss on the cheek, and helped Kaia sit down next to you on the table, she sat down next to you.

The breakfast was delicious, the conversation was nice, Ian and your father were discussing things about his campaign. Kaia was asking you what things you wanted to buy, and she told you that the baby was kicking her a lot, everything was ready for the baby to come, the only thing that Kaia and Ian haven’t figured it out yet, was his name. He was going to be born in the same hospital that you and Ian were born. 

“You’re still having difficulties to find a name, Ian?” Your mother asked, and Ian signed.

“Yes, we are trying. But there’s not a good name that caught our attention yet, we still have a few weeks.” Ian laughed, and looked at Kaia, who was laughing as well.

“Well, we must go now because is gonna get late.” Your mother looked at her watch and you and Kaia agreed, leaving your father and Ian. Your mother kissed your father and Kaia kissed your brother.

*********************************

After shopping for most of the day, your mother suggested that you stopped to have a late lunch. After all of you were satisfied with the restaurant, you entered, despite the time, it was quite busy. The hostess took you to a table in front of the window, the view was really nice.

“May I be excused? I need to use the restroom.” Both Kaia and your mother nodded, and quickly went back to their conversation.

You entered the bathroom, not realizing that you were being watched. After you finished peeing, you left the stall, only to be scared by a man looking at you, curiously.

“I didn't mean to scare you.” He declared, after seeing you jump.

“It’s quite alright, but this is the ladies restroom, sir.” The man took a hard deep breath, you had no idea the effect that calling him ‘sir’ had on the man.

“I know, I was after you, I saw you entering the restaurant, you are a gorgeous woman.” He came even closer to you, he was towering over your frame, you quickly looked at his deep blue eyes, but their intensity made you look away, he seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it from where.

“Do we know each other, sir?” He put his hand on your chin, and made you look at him.

“No, but we will, doll.” He placed his nose on your neck and took a deep breath, your lips parted, no one has ever done that to you before, but you couldn’t deny the tingles all over your body. “You will be mine, Y/N.” He whispered in your ear, with a low voice, goosebumps erupted all over your skin. 

And the blonde and strange man left you in the restroom, what could he possibly mean with being his? You laughed, maybe he was just being silly, maybe he knows Ian and decided to pull a prank on his little sister, you decided. Maybe that’s the reason he looks so familiar, you went back to the table, after washing your hands, but you couldn’t see the man anywhere. It was definitely a prank, you laughed to yourself.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Unexpected Perks of War | Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!OC

Part 2

Summary: Allys Baratheon is the only trueborn daughter of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. After the explosion of The Sept of Balor and the death of Tommen, Allys grew tired of the ghosts that hung in Kings Landing and set off to Dragonstone, hoping to find a semblance of safety.

Note: Masterlist for this series here🤍

A loud knock on her door is the first thing Allys hears upon waking up. Sitting up, her dark hair, tangled and matted from tossing and turning all night, obscures her vision. She breathes in a deep breath and pushes away the hairs. Tangles get caught in her fingers, causing a few strands to get pulled from her scalp. Cringing at the pain, Allys simply tucks her hair behind her ears, careful to not pull on any of the knots and wipes the sleep away from her eyes.

“Come in,” she calls out, her voice croaky and uneven from lack of use. The door clicks as the person on the other side pushes on the handle. The wood creaks as the heavy door swings open, revealing a bright-eyed Missandei. Her attire is similar to what she’d been wearing when Allys first came to Dragonstone and her hair is styled the same, but somehow she brings a sort of...freshness to it. Allys has never seen Missandei look dull and lifeless, no matter the color palette of her attire due to the soft smile and beaming eyes she pairs with it.

And it didn’t take Allys long to figure out why.

In her time in the East, Daenerys went from city to city, using her dragons and an army that quickly grew each day to liberate the people of Astapor, Yuanki, and finally Mereen. Missandei had been in Astapor, as a slave translator to some master there. When Daenerys came to purchase the Unsullied she took Missandei as well… and then proceeded to kill all the masters and free the people. So it is no surprise that she and Daenerys are like sisters, something that makes Allys subconsciously smile, but also bringing a ping of sadness, reminding her of her own sister. Myrcella had been kind and good and so unlike their mother, and the world chewed her up and spat her out, as it does with all genuinely good people.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow when Allys’ uncle told her that the woman who poisoned Marcella, Ellaria Sand, was an ally of Daenerys. One she invited to Dragonstone to form an alliance with. It had felt like poorly made ale pouring down her throat whenever she wandered through the large castle and happened upon one of her daughters or Ellaria herself. Her fist clenching and unclenching at her side in anger, but without the power to do anything. So she was forced to let it go. And eventually, karma caught up to her when she was captured by Euron Greyjoy and dragged to King’s Landing. Allys isn’t sure what happened next, but she knows her mother did something horrible to the woman. But Allys couldn’t bring herself to feel saddened by her death. For once, her mother’s viciousness played in her favor.

“Good morning, My Lady,” Missandei said, beaming at Allys as she glides across the room towards her windows. Her heeled boots clack against the stone floor, the only proof that her feet were making contact with the ground. A stray curl rests on her forehead, bouncing with each movement. Upon reaching the windows, she throws aside the thick curtains that once blocked out the early morning sun rays. A flock of birds flies into view as they soar through the sky, unbothered by the storm that’s been brewing since Daenerys got her dragons. Missandei begins to move the curtains to their respective sides and ties them into a knot, forcing them to stay put.

“Good morning, Missandei,” Allys replies, her voice still shaky and groggy sounding. Finished with the curtains, Missandei turns to face Allys with her fingers intertwined as they rest in front of her body.

“I’m here to help you dress this morning,” Missandei said as if this was a normal thing.

It wasn’t.

“Don’t you help Daen - I mean, The Queen?” Allys asks, stumbling on her words when Daenerys was mentioned. And Allys cursed herself and her ancestors as the heat began to rise on her cheeks. A part of her hoped that the fascination she felt towards the Dragon Queen would fade with time, not wanting to become emotionally invested in someone who may die. But instead of dimming, as time went on and days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months; all the while, Allys’ affection for Daenerys only grew. And while a part of her was convinced Daenerys felt the same, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything.

It was irrational really, considering the kiss they’d shared the first night Allys came to Dragonstone.  Daenerys was warm and welcoming, often spending hours upon hours of her free time roaming Dragonstone and its surrounding island with Allys. They spoke about anything that came to mind; from the color of the sky that day to childhood trauma hidden behind porcelain masks and a gaze as hard as stone. Allys told Daenerys things she’d never dreamed of telling. And Daenerys returned the favor, whispering of the times with her brother Viserys - when she was a soft flower and nothing like the dragon breathing fire she is now. Yet still, Daenerys made no further moves, so like a coward, Allys shied away from her feelings, unable to open herself up to hurt if Daenerys had changed her mind.

“The Queen is away with Drogon and the Dothraki,” Missandei answers, throwing Allys a knowing look with a twinkle in her eyes. This only furthers Allys’ blush, turning her face Lannister red.

“Right, how could I forget,” Allys answers, eyes darting around the room, unable to meet Missandei’s gaze.

‘She knows. Of course, she knows, how could she not.’

“If you would prefer I can leave?” Missandei proposes, slightly quirking an eyebrow, but otherwise maintaining an even expression. Most time Allys couldn’t beleive that Missandei had endured all she did, being dragged away from her home as a young child and forced into slavery, serving vicous men who enjoy the suffering of those beneath them. She was so light and bright, bringing a warmth akin to the burning sun in the South. But there were times her past slipped into her actions. It was there in the way Missandei could quickly change her expression, schooling her facial expressions to reveal nothing.

“Oh no! That’s not - I just - I and - you usually - ” Allys stumbles over her words like a fish out of water. It seemed every time she opened her mouth, something ridiculous would come out. And not for the first time, Allys wishes she paid better attention to the lessons her Septa attempted to instill in her. The soft laughter coming from Missandei pulls Allys from her jumbled mind. One of her hands covers her mouth in an attempt to conceal the smile tugging at her lips. “Right, I um would love your help this morning. If you don’t mind, that is,” Allys manages to answer.

“Then I shall pick out a dress for you, My Lady,” Missandei replies, not missing a beat as she moves towards the wardrobe that now holds various outfits for any possible occasion. Gifts from her new host. It didn’t escape Allys’ notice that most were in black and red - the colors of House Targaryen.

“Missandei,” Allys said, watching as she opens the wardrobe and begins moving around the dresses.

“Yes?” she answers, not moving her gaze from her current task.

“Do you think you could braid my hair? I’d do it myself, but my hands are so shaky it never looks good. AndtheQueen’shairalwayslookssonice,” Allys said, saying the last sentence in one breath, her anxiety growing with each word.

Missandei watches Allys with an unreadable expression, causing Allys to immediately clam up. And before she can frantically spit out an apology and attempt to hide in her blankets, a beaming smile forms on her face and she gives a single head nod.

“Of course, My Lady.”

_______________________

“My niece you are practically glowing!” Tyrion Lannister calls from across the room, closing the distance between them. She begins giggling softly, unable to control the noises as they echo in the entrance of the castle, the tall ceiling carrying to sounds through the hall. Her footsteps click all around them as Allys lifts her dress slightly and runs towards Tyrion. As they meet Allys bends down slightly and embraces him in a hug with a contented sigh. It’s warm and comforting as she wraps her arms around her uncle, basking in the familiarity of his presence. After a moment he pulls away, taking in her full appearance.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Allys says, managing to stifle her laughter. She brushes her hands down the sides of her dress, feeling the small embroidered flowers dance up her dress. It was pale pink with delicate white details. The design and colors are similar to something she’d wear in King’s Landing, though this dress is thicker than the light airy dresses she used to wear. “Missandei helped me this morning.”

“I could tell from the braids,” he points out, smirking slightly as he notices the braid style is similar to Daenerys’ hair. “You’ve always been hopeless when it comes to those things,” he teases, referencing all of Allys’ failed attempts at needlepoint. What was intended to be a flower, looked like a blob in pretty colors. And don’t even bring up the lion she attempted for Tyrion’s nameday. Instead of a proud lion in red and gold, it looked like a half-dead lion someone cut open. Allys would like to use her age of nine as a defense, but the point would be moot, considering her needlepoint never progressed past that age.

“I make up for my unsteady hands by being a master at chess,” she teases back, reminding him of the countless times she beat her uncle at chess. She used to play every waking hour, almost entranced by the game, attentively watching the tactics of each opponent. She’d play anyone willing: her Uncle Tyrion, Uncle Jaime, her brothers, at one point she’d even played Ned Stark. Yet the only person more insistent to play than her was Joffery, but for all the wrong reasons. One day they played and she crushed him. Joffrey, unable to let his pride be wounded by his sister - seeing himself as superior to her for the simple fact that he was a man and she was a girl - played her every single day. But with each loss, he grew violent and would throw the chess set on the ground, his face red with anger. After he broke the fifth set, Allys settled on only playing Tyrion, preening at the praise he offered after each victory.

“Something you never allow anyone to forget,” Tyrion said. A soft smile on his face as they both reminisce about simpler and much happier times.

“How was it?” Allys asks, referencing the battle her uncle had just returned from. Daenerys, along with Drogon and the Dothraki attacked the Lannister and Tarly army while they were on the road to King’s Landing after taking Highgarden.

“It was -” he begins, but trails off, unable to find the words.

“War?” Allys butts in.

“Yes, it was war,” Tyrion replies as he nods his head. A deep sigh escapes his mouth, his expression downcast. Allys feels the urge to change the subject, pretend people aren’t dying, and live in a world where everyone’s happy, but something grips her tightly, not allowing the words to leave her mouth. Not those words at least.

“And Uncle Jaime?” she asks, her mouth moving before her brain. Another sigh from Tyrion and this time, he rubs across his face with his hand.

“Not dead… I think,” he replies, his voice muffled by his arm.

“You think?” Allys questions. While the more distant of her two uncles, Allys still greatly cared for her Uncle Jaime. She understood his facade was a means to block away the pain; a way to be unbothered by the venom lacing the tongues of the people who whispered about him, their words like a whip lashing him. He covered his pain with arrogance and bravado, but Allys would see his facade slipping through the cracks in the quiet moments. When the harsh words of the court were absent and her father wasn’t being belligerent. Jaime Lannister was softer than he’d ever admit. Even if he and her mother did questionable things, their bond just a touch closer than normal, he’s family. One of the few remaining on the list that grows shorter each day that passes.

“I didn’t see him die… I also didn’t see him after the battle,” Tyrion explains, moving his hand from his face.

“So an ambiguous ending… I’ll take it,” Allys said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m dying to get out of this dark castle and feel the sun,” Allys said, moving towards the exit.

“Of course,” Tyrion said, stepping away from her. “And Allys,” he calls out, stopping her in her tracks. She turns to face him, a bright smile once again upon her face.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. And with a single nod and her smile getting even wider, Allys opens the door and steps out of the castle.

___________________

The sun while bright and inviting is far more deceiving than it had been in King’s Landing. While Allys assumed with the sun out, the air would be warm, the biting wind that whipped around her meant differently. But not even stray hairs smacking into her face and getting stuck in her mouth could stop the dopey grin on her face nor the warm fuzzy feeling slowly building into something more.

Standing exactly 20 paces from Allys was Daenerys, looking as regal as ever. Her silver hair was pulled back into an intricate style, suited for a queen riding into battle on a dragon. Her pale skin glowed in the soft sunlight, reminiscent of opal. Her clothes are dark in color, with a stark red cloak hanging off her shoulder. The cloak was held in place by a three headed dragon clasp, the silver shining in the sun and nearly blinding anyone who dared look at Daenerys. The dragons fly high above, but never get too far from her. And not for the first time, Daenerys seemed more like the Fire Goddess the Dothraki revered her as than the human girl Allys knows her to be.

The only damper to her mood was Jon Snow standing two paces from Daenerys, a touch closer than Allys ever dared get - in fear that Daenerys would hear her pounding heart. The newly named King of the North originally came here for an alliance, but upon refusing to bend the knee, he hasn’t left yet. By choice or by force, Allys isn’t sure. Either way, he’s always there, with his puppy eyes and brooding stare, constantly in Daenerys’ presence. And while Allys never felt any particular emotion towards him, an unreasonable disdain bubbles inside her whenever she sees him. And yet even with this perceived threat, Allys found herself too cowardly to say a word to Daenerys.

Daenerys’ purple eyes move from Jon, panning across the landscape until they land on Allys. Her eyes widen a fraction, her blank expression melting away as her lips curl into a sweet smile. Allys’ heart beats erratically at the small gesture, her lips turning upward to mirror Daenerys’ expression. With mumbled words to Jon, not even bothering to look at him, Daenerys moves towards Allys. Her pace is quick, crossing their distance in 10 strides as opposed to 20. And before Allys can speak or even think, Daenerys throws her arms around Allys. Her embrace is welcomed, her warm body fighting away the chilling air surrounding them. On instinct, Allys snakes her arms around Daenerys as she soaks in their closeness. Her heartbeat is loud and more frantic to the point Allys fears it might stop.

But she’ll take the risk just to spend another moment in Daenerys’ arms.

And for a split second, she is convinced that Daenerys' heart is pounding as loud as hers, but quickly dismisses that notion. Instead, determining it was simply her own echoing in her ears.

Daenerys is the first to pull away but stays a pace away from Allys. And with an alarming revelation, Allys realizes this is the closest they’ve ever been. Her cheeks heat up again, as bright as they were earlier in the morning. Allys just prayed to any god that would listen that it could be passed off as a result of the cold. Either way, Daenerys doesn’t bring it up and for that, Allys is grateful.

“I missed you,” Allys said, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. Daenerys’ smile raises a fraction, bringing a hand up to Allys’s face. With bated breath, Allys watches out of the corner of her eye as her hand comes near Allys’ cheek. She lightly caresses it, her touch so light it could be mistaken for the wind, before tucking a few stray hairs behind Allys’ ear.  

“I missed you as well,” Daenerys said, her voice so soft it was concealed by the wind, only to be heard by Allys. “Your presence would’ve been a welcomed changed to an otherwise dull event.” Her hand trails from Allys’ face down her cheeks before faintly resting on her jaw.

“I never knew a battle to be a dull event,” Allys said, managing to keep her tone semi-steady even though inwardly she was bursting with each touch.

“I’ve found in the recent months any affair is dull when you are missing,” Daenerys replies. Her purple eyes watching Allys, soaking in every reaction on her face. Allys’ flush gets deeper and the warmth spreads to the entirety of her face. And suddenly she found it incredibly difficult to breathe. Yet the feeling wasn’t unwelcomed, as butterflies flutter in her stomach and her breathing wavers in anticipation. The anticipation of what? Allys isn’t sure.

“That’s a relief. Wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of the woman with three dragons,” Allys manages to choke out, hoping to play off the excitement building in her.

“No I suppose not,” Daenerys replies, not fully paying attention to the conversation as she continues watching Allys, and Allys makes no moves to stop her. “Your hair is different,” Daenerys points out. Her hands move from Allys’ jaw to her neatly braided hair, playing with the strands with her fingers, gently pulling on it.

“Missandei did it for me. I’m hopeless with my hands,” Allys said, finding herself once again entrance by Daenerys.

“It’s beautiful,” Daenerys said unconsciously, twirling the strands around her fingers.

And for a moment, Allys loses all sense of time. Blue eyes meet purple, both entranced by the other. Goosebumps cover Allys’ body as the hairs on the back of her neck raise, but not necessarily in a bad way. The anticipation within her builds, but doesn’t go anywhere even as it grows larger and larger. The whistling of the wind goes in one ear and out the other as Allys basks in the close proximity of Daenerys, memorizing her scent and the small freckles covering her cheeks. A mixture of lavender and rose with a hint of ash, three scent she will never be able to smell without remembering this exact moment, despite it seeming so miniscule. But any moment with Daenerys is noteworthy, something to diligently take note of and hold onto forever.

Then suddenly Allys is snapped back into reality. Daenerys drops her hand and steps back from her.

“I have to leave, but would you mind meeting me here tonight?” Daenerys asked, her eyes boring into Allys’ once again.

“Of course,” she answers without hesitation.

“Until tonight then” Daenerys said, Allys watching as she walked away completely unaware of Jon Snow as he passes or the Dothraki lingering near.

[itsshansy]

bad child

“I thought I knew you,” she croaked into the phone

As her voice accuses me of selfishness.

Because why should my safety and mental health trump her desire?

Who is the parent and who is the child?

I am always the child,

That bad child

Who never misses her parents,

Who never tells them of her life,

Who avoids seeing them.

Only a bad child 

Would refuse to mediate her parents’ separation.

So selfish to not want to hear about how her father drank himself to sleep again.

Would he have tried to kill himself if you picked up the phone when you were asleep?

And with all the training you received as a child;

Negotiated the pills out of his hands

(Because your mother didn’t care enough to do it)

And then go into work the next day, sleep-deprived but acting like nothing had happened.

A typical experience of a bad child.

Aren’t we lucky 

That it ended up being just a ploy for attention

From his self-loving wife,

From his son who despises him,

From his bad child who brought his glasses to the hospital in order to read the magazine she bought him

And no one knew why I took a half-day off suddenly.

I’m a bad child who learnt her lesson the first time around.

I feel that even my past traumas 

Can also be called mediocre and are unworthy of anyone’s time.

“But at least they didn’t beat you with their fists.”

“But at least they didn’t starve you.”

“But at least they didn’t force you to work to earn their drug money.” “But they paid for your school and ill-advised wedding.”

But I see how people’s eyes turn wide

When I talk about the night the police came

And it was all my fault, not theirs

Because only a bad child would tell family secrets to her friends

Who then feared for her safety.

I tell people how in a moving vehicle, I was given a choice

To leave forever or stay

And had fear of being left in the countryside not been present

I would have left.

At age eleven.

(Isn’t the greatest fear of most eleven year olds

Their parents?)

And how I never told anyone family issues again

So that my new friends wouldn’t be taken from me as well.

Maybe there is something extraordinary in me after all.

Even if there is bad in me.

Bad children will want to watch inane cartoons aimed at children her age

Age seven

And not read the scientific books she was forced to choose from the library.

Bad children need to learn

How to eat everything off their plates and not get fat

In order to be good.

Such a bad child,

To tell her mother about a classmate who turned down a scholarship because it was in a field of study she didn’t want

And remind her poor mother

That you didn’t get any scholarships

Because you didn’t apply yourself to your studies because you clearly hated your parents more.

And then remained a bad child 

For not talking to your mother about your friends anymore.

I thought myself weak and pathetic

To have stayed as long as I did

Because as a fifteen year old child

I should have had the means to support myself to go into the world alone.

Break your mother’s heart

When you ask to do a gap year to figure out what you want in life

When she has already informed you of your path in life

Break your father’s heart

When you quit university

Rather than keep flunking classes you don’t care about

Break both their hearts

When you move out

At the very young and most tender age of twenty-one

Ungrateful child

Why would you leave where you had been provided with everything including misery

Why do you consistently refuse to come back at every turning point of your life

They ask for nothing

They don’t want rent money, favours, or an identity of your own

Meld with them and become a unit that sprawls on a couch.

Do nothing but watch TV and bicker and take offense at every decision the other has made without you.

Spread your despair until the home becomes thick with it and it’s too painful to be in.

Bad children make excuses not to visit.

Even now, how dare you refuse to come.

It’s only a hoax that drives your fear.

Who cares if only last week

You spent hours calculating

Whether life insurance payouts are enough to cover the mortgage

If the worst happened;

That you and your love talked

About who would get the condo if you both died

And you made sure all your beneficiaries are up to date.

You stupid child,

Your fear is irrelevant to their wants.

“Are you afraid of meteorites that could strike at any moment?” he jeered.

No, but I am afraid of losing the only loving support I’ve ever known

And being forced to go back to the place where it is void.

Only bad children have fears

Collected from childhood like trading cards

And wonder why they don’t seem to function like their peers.

Why do you have a fear of abandonment?

Your parents would never leave you stranded;

They only threatened to do that as a child to straighten you out.

You shouldn’t have guilty pleasures and shame in enjoying small things

Just because everything you liked was mocked and ridiculed.

Your father only told you

That you would grow up to be a single mother on welfare

As a reverse psychology trick.

And it worked!

But why won’t you have any children?

Wicked child, robbing her parents of a great joy in their coming twilight years.

You think you’re not interesting enough and worthy of bringing out your own stories

That’s impossible, you were only isolated constantly and told you weren’t doing enough

You were never enough.

You still aren’t enough.

You’re not strong enough to look them in the eyes

And say “No more.”

And walk away.

You deserve this anger and guilt

For being such a bad child.

When they die, my relief will be so immense

That the multitude of tears will be mistaken as grief

And people will think, “What a good child, mourning her parents.”

But I will feel free and light.

Their ghosts will rise up,

(I know this because my spite is inherited from them)

And follow me, whispering,

“bad child; bad child; bad child”

But here’s the thing about sounds you hear your whole life:

They eventually fade into the background, like white noise, and you can’t hear them anymore.

And ghosts’ voices are so small.

They will become a memory of a time

That I had to overcome to become strong and independent.

And like all memories,

Good or bad,

Fade into nothing,

Because that’s what they meant to me.

Nothing.

And then,

Maybe then,

I can finally be nothing too.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Write It Down

strawberryfields-forever said: Ok so I absolutely LOVE your writing!! I was wondering if you could another roger Taylor Imagine where the reader gets really drunk and ends up at Rogers Place and he takes care of them and then she ends up confessing her feelings and you can take it from there? Please and thank you! Xxx

(a/n: i’m SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG I CAN NEVER HELP MYSELF FUCK also this layout might be fucked when i first post it but i’ll try to fix it ASAP)

“Roger, it’s barely midnight, you’ve got to be fucking with me!” you complained, nearly tripping over yourself as he pulled you out of the pub and away from the guy who you’d just been chatting with. “Just one more pint!”

Roger ignored your incessant complaining as he got out onto the sidewalk, the pub door swinging shut behind you, and he began to look for a cab. Cursing at the lack of cars around, he quickly realized there was no way you were making it all the way back to your flat, not tonight. “My place, then,” he mumbled, letting go of your wrist to wrap his arm around your waist, starting to lead you towards his flat that was just over 7 blocks away.

“My flat is the other way!” you protested, almost being dead weight against his side as he used all of his strength to guide you down the street. “Where are we going, you silly goose?” you laughed, leaning even more on him and making him chuckle at how sloshed you were.

Despite your embarrassing situation, you were quite enjoying Roger’s arm around you. Of course, you were using all of your willpower left to keep your mouth shut, because even in your inebriated state, you knew this was not the time to clue Roger in on your little crush.

“Goose? Is that what you think of me?” he teased, helping you across the street and flipping off a car that honked at you both. “We’re going to my place, you can sleep there.”

“OoooOooOh,” you drew out, wiggling your eyebrows. “I get to go to the goose’s nest tonight!”

“My God,” he laughed, trying not to drop you as he continued to lead the way down the sidewalk, your arm wrapping loosely around his shoulder.

As he walked the 7 long blocks with you, you blabbered on and on about the guy at the bar. He had to hear about how he was an old friend from primary, and how he’d bought you drinks and asked if you’d been to a late night chips place down the road. You said you told him you hadn’t, so he offered to take you but you didn’t want to leave, and that’s about the time the “big boss Roger” showed up to end the fun.

As you walked up to the tower block Roger was living in with Brian and Freddie, you sighed dramatically and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I tried to make you stay longer,” you mumbled, slurring your words quite a bit, but Roger already knew how to decipher your drunken ramblings. You loved that about him. In fact, there were quite a few more things you loved about him that you hadn’t told him before. It was a pity you’d become such close friends, because you reckoned that was the only thing preventing you from telling Roger how you felt about him.

He chuckled and shook his head as you both approached the stairs, Roger wondering to himself how he’d get you up to the 4th floor. “Hey, let’s crawl up the stairs, that’d be fun, right?” he suggested, hoping you’d take to the idea. You groaned before starting to crawl up them, knowing the alternative was being carried and that would kill Roger before you got to the 2nd floor.

Roger followed, snickering a bit at the state of you, but encouraged you all the way to his floor, where you decided to lay down. “Rog, I’m beat,” you complained, pressing a hand against your head and closing your eyes. “I think I’m going to sleep here.”

“No, no, Y/N, don’t be a drama queen, that’s Fred’s job,” he ordered, grabbing ahold of your hand and pulling you up to what could be considered a standing position. Throwing your arm over his shoulder, he managed to drag you down to his flat as you apologized for trying to sleep. He then unlocked the door kicked it open gently, calling out for his roommates.

You decided to join in. “Freddieeeee,” you sang, your eyes still halfway closed and heavily lidded as you laughed at how terrible you sounded. “Briaaaann, come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Roger carefully sat you down on the sofa, patting your head gently before heading off to their rooms to find them empty. They must have decided to stay longer at the pub than they had originally planned, which made Roger groan softly. He was alone in getting your drunk ass to bed.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” he said as he came back into the front room, where you’d managed to pull off your shoes and sprawl out on the couch. Your heart fluttered as you realized you were truly alone with Roger, and anything could happen. Jesus, I must be really drunk if I’m thinking we’re going to do anything but go to sleep tonight, you thought. “Let’s get a glass of water in you, eh?”

You nodded once, smiling lopsidedly up at him before closing your eyes and humming to yourself. As Roger grabbed a glass of water and some Tylenol for you, he heard you start to quietly sing off-key, then suddenly, you stopped. After a pause, you called out to him. “Rog, come sing your harmony, you bastard!”

You then began to sing Doing All Right unbearably loud, Roger trying to shush you and try not to laugh as he reminded you of the upstairs neighbor who hated how loud they were. As if on cue, the upstairs neighbor stomped on the floor, which made you shut up and look at Roger with an impish grin. He looked adorable tonight, and you hated yourself for noting that. He was supposed to be your best friend and confidant, and now here you were wondering why you hadn’t made out with him already.

As you admired him, he couldn’t help but grin back at you. Shaking his head, he helped you sit up, handing you the water and Tylenol before sitting next to you and pulling his shoes off. You gratefully took the pills and water, then sat the glass on the nightstand next to you before laying down again, sprawling over Roger’s lap and making him raise an eyebrow at you. “I’m sorry for being loud,” you practically whispered, running a hand over your face before giving him a guilty look. “I promise I’ll be good now.”

“You’re awfully apologetic tonight,” he remarked, relaxing back against the couch and spreading one arm out along the back while the other hand rested on your stomach lightly. “How come you never want to apologize to me when you’re not a shitfaced mess?!”

“Oh, fuck off and die,” you automatically replied, reaching out to smack his chest playfully. As soon as you did it, your jaw dropped and you began apologizing profusely, becoming a babbling mess again.

He began to shush you again, laughing in between shushes and finally resorting to putting a hand over your mouth. Quieting again, Roger gave it a moment before moving his hand to play with a strand of your hair instead. “I think it’s time you went to bed, sweetheart.”

“No, I’m finnne!” you swore, though your drooping eyelids told him otherwise. He gave you a look, which made you whine and roll off his lap, crawling to the floor and starting to make your way towards his bedroom. “You’re such a bully,” you whined as you slowly crawled your way down the hallway, Roger following close behind and rolling his eyes.

“Do you want to sleep on the floor tonight?” he warned, which made you crawl faster and scramble into his bed when you got to his room. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry, Rog, I didn’t mean it,” you whined, crawling under his covers and peeking out at him as he started to get ready for bed. “Thank you for taking care of me tonight,” you added, wanting to get back on his good side. “I really ‘preciate it, honestly. You’re the best.”

“That’s my job,” he reassured, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in his dirty laundry as you watched him. You admired his remarkably slender build that contradicted somewhat with his status as a drummer. He didn’t have any remarkably prominent muscles on him, but he was still toned, and though his hair was longer, he didn’t seem too feminine to you in the dim light that was coming through his blinds from the city lights outside. Though, would it matter if he did look feminine? You found yourself thinking that Roger was attractive to you in any state, drunk or sober, angry or happy, mean or nice, any way, any day.

“You’re my faaavorite, Roggie,” you said affectionately, overwhelmed with admiration for him all of a sudden.

Roger laughed at that, glancing back at you before going over to his closet. “I’d bloody hope so.”

“You don’t have to take care of me, like this, you know?” you mumbled, still watching him as he searched for some pajama pants in his piles of clothes. “I know I can be a bit much, and you’re soooo fucking wonderful for putting up with me,” you continued on, Roger smirking at that. He found a pair of pajama pants, which he started switching into, so you looked at the ceiling out of courtesy and started to close your eyes. “I mean it, Rog. You’re the best, you treat me wayyyyy too well. There’s nothing keeping you here-”

“Well, it’s my flat,” he interjected, making you open your eyes again and shoot him a dirty look. “I’m sorry, go on about how I’m the best,” he laughed, starting to crawl into bed with you and making you scoot over as he laid on his side next to you, watching you expectantly with his head propped up on one hand. You were suddenly nervous, Roger no closer than he’d ever been to you before. You’d slept in the same bed before, but you’d never felt so much love for him all at once while in such close proximity. Unable to filter yourself, you continued.

“I meant, like, I’m just me and that’s alright, I guess, but there’s no reason for you to stick around and take all my bullshit like you do. Like, you’re not my boyfriend or anything,” you rambled, both you and Roger not sure where you were going with this. The alcohol still coursing through your body propelled you, however, and you kept talking. “But I’on’t know, I always thought you’d end up my boyfriend, as much as you put up with me, but I’ve pretty much just given up that idea. You keep sticking around anyways, honestly kind of scamming yourself, you are,” you admitted, avoiding eye contact with Roger and instead looking at his collarbones as you played with the duvet nervously. You knew you’d started to say too much, but your stupid feelings wouldn’t stop coming out because you were so nervous and Roger being right there made you even more nervous.

“You thought we’d end up dating?” Roger asked, no hint of emotion in his voice to suggest he leaned either way on the issue. He was asking more for a clarification, which made you even more shaky as you tried to compose a response that wasn’t horridly revealing. However, that worked out about as well as it could, considering the amount of alcohol you’d consumed before leaving the bar.

“I guess, yeah,” you mumbled, still afraid to look up at him. “Fred’s always teasing me about when you’re going to ask me out, so I guess after a certain point… I didn’t mind the idea of it anymore?” The last part of the sentence came out as more of a question, and you squeezed your eyes shut, mentally smacking yourself for sounding so terrified. Fuck it. I’m already this far gone, why not just let it all out? “No,no, no, not I guess. I know I don’t mind the idea anymore. Actually, I’m a bit bummed you still haven’t asked me out. What’s with that?”

“Very subtle, Y/N,” Roger teased, reaching up to replace a stray hair that had fallen into your face. “Fred’s been bothering you about me, has he? I’ll have to tell him off tomorrow.”

“Oh, please don’t!” you begged, quickly looking up at him with a desperate look in your eyes. “He’ll know that I told you that I fancy you and then I’ll never hear the end of it!”

“Well, now there’s news,” Roger commented, a blush creeping on to your cheeks as you realized how stupidly you’d just told him how you felt about him. Shit, you’ve done it now, Y/N. “You never said you fancy me, love, not until just now. What’s with that?”

“Oh, forget it,” you groaned hopelessly, rolling over to face away from him and pulling the covers over your head. The room felt like it was spinning as you laid there in the dark, and you took a few deep breaths to calm down. “Forget I even said that, I’m sloshed and don’t know what I’m doing.”

Roger began to laugh, tugging the covers back down and booing you. “Oh, boo you, I was just taking the piss. Look at me, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again.” You reluctantly rolled back over, giving him the stink eye as you kept the covers pulled up to your shoulders, trying to hide as much vulnerability as possible. “Now, back to the asking you out thing, when did Fred start to bother you about this?”

You wracked your brain, struggling to pull memories through the muddle of alcohol and embarrassment, but you finally recalled at least an approximate date and managed to choke it out. “A couple months ago, maybe?”

“Damn! He was supposed to keep his mouth shut,” Roger cursed, mainly to himself. “Also, you’ve been taking this from him for two whole months?”

“Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly, sounding ashamed. Then, your brain latched on to what he said before, and starting racing as you tried to figure out what he’d meant. “Freddie was supposed to keep his mouth shut about what?” you pried, suddenly propping your head up on one hand too.

Roger chuckled, then shook his head and laid down on his back, his eyes lazily tracing around the ceiling as he answered nonchalantly. “Well, if you must know, I told him I’d been thinking about asking you out a couple months ago, when we were recording one night. But I’d honestly been having so much fun and going out with you anyways these last few months, I didn’t even think about it anymore. I thought he’d zipped it, but that worked about as well as I should have expected… Lead singers, they have such big mouths.”

Your face broke out into a wide grin as you processed what he was saying. “God, I better be sober enough now to remember this in the morning,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes to stop the room from spinning and hardly believing what had just went down.

“I’ll convince you it was a dream,” Roger taunted, looking over at you only to receive more stink eye from you.

“I’m going to write it down right now so I don’t forget,” you stated, climbing over him and out of the bed in a determined fashion, Roger trying to grab you to keep you from leaving but failing. You clumsily made your way over to his desk and grabbed a pencil and his journal that he wrote songs in, flipping through the pages to find an empty one while Roger untangled himself from the duvet that you’d gotten him wrapped up in.

“Hey, don’t read that!” he exclaimed, nearly falling off the bed as he tried to scramble over to you, so you ran out of the room, nearly slipping in the hallway as you made your way to the bathroom and locked yourself in. Roger got there two seconds too late, banging on the door as you leaned against the other side, knowing the lock wouldn’t hold long if he had a key. “Are you mad, Y/N? Give me my song book!”

You ignored him, figuring he genuinely didn’t want you to remember what he’d confessed, and kept going through the pages. On your quest to find an empty one, something caught your eye as you flipped through quickly, and you stopped. Going back, you realized that it was your name that had gotten your attention, and you got back to the page to find a song titled after you.

Curiosity got the best of you and you started reading his scribblings as best as you could. You realized it was a love song, and your heart soared as you smiled wider than you figured you ever had. Roger liked you as much as you fancied him, and now you had proof.

You heard Roger start to unlock the door with a key so you unlocked it anyways, swinging it open to find a disheveled Roger. His hair was unkempt, the duvet still caught around his foot, and he was looking at you wildly as he tried to rationalize what to do next. You were just smiling at him, his song book still open to the page you were just reading, and you held it up to show him. 

Visibly deflating, he snatched the song book from you and put a hand on your upper back, pushing you firmly but gently in the direction of his room like you were a small child in trouble for getting out of bed past bedtime.

“I didn’t write that,” he lied lamely, just making you giggle and laugh as you entered his room, crawling back into his bed. “It was… Brian. Yeah, Brian borrowed my journal and wrote that about you! Right weirdo, he is. I don’t write that mushy crud like him and Deacy.”

He leaned on his desk with one hand to reach down and unwrap the duvet from his ankle, and when he looked back up at you, you were still grinning and giggling at him. He sighed, mainly at himself, and came back over to the bed, tossing the duvet over you before reluctantly crawling back into bed with you and laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Whatever you say, Rog,” you finally replied, Roger groaning softly as he refused to recognize he was on the embarrassing side of things now. However, when you curled up against his side and draped your arm loosely over his stomach, he didn’t push you away. 

In fact, as you drifted off peacefully, he even smiled a bit and wrapped an arm around you protectively, drifting off himself as he realized that, no matter how embarrassing, he’d finally gotten what he’d wanted after all this time – you.

[hey-i-wrote-a-story]

Chapter 19 Roadside Confrontation

           The rising tension of anger, or suspicion and accusation, had broken. Now a new tension hung in the air. One of expectation. Brought on by just seven words.

           Stiles swallowed and then looked evenly at Freddie. “Say that again?”

           Freddie returned Stiles’ gaze and repeated, “We did it to be like you.”

           This was it, then. This was the truth, there was no denying it. Everyone felt it. Now they only had to return to Scott’s original question, which Stiles asked.

           “Why?”

           Kaitlyn sighed. The time for deception was over, and she knew it. “You have no idea what it was like for us, before”, she said. The sincerity was evident in her voice. “Our lives sucked like you wouldn’t believe.”

           “Being young criminals will do that”, Stiles said. He realized the harshness of his words as soon as he’d spoken. But the quartet of teens was unfazed.

           “Yeah, that’s true”, Aadesh agreed. “It does. The things that got us to that point weren’t all that rosy either.”

           “Is this going to be the sad and sorry backstory to make us sympathize—“, Malia began. Stiles met her eyes and sent a silent message through his expression. Let them talk. She did.

           “I watched my father slowly kill himself with alcohol, and my brother do his damnedest to join him—which he finally did”, Kaitlyn told them. “All before I was nine.”

           “I was kicked out of the house when I was 13”, Erin admitted.

           “What for?”, Lydia asked.

           “Because my mom finally fessed up that I was an accident”, Erin said without hesitation. “She never meant to have me, she never wanted me. She said she’d served her time being a mother, lost enough of her life to me and it was time for me to get the hell out. Her exact words. You tend not to forget something like that.”

           Aadesh spoke next. “My best friend convinced me that the only way to survive in our neighborhood was to run with one of the gangs. They’d watch out for us, we’d be less likely to get jumped if we were with somebody. I learned a lot of stuff in that time, none of it felt right. But I thought I had to do it to stay alive one more day. Didn’t work out so well for my friend.”

           “What happened?”, Lydia asked.

           “I honestly don’t remember”, Aadesh said. “There’s a chunk missing. I remember it had something to do with drugs. I don’t know if we were picking up, or selling, or whatever it was. I don’t even remember what kind of drugs they were. But I’m almost certain it started because of drugs.”

           “Almost?”, Kira prompted him.

           “The one thing I do remember was being hauled onto me feet by a cop. He was swearing, telling me what a piece of garbage I was and like that. The room we were in was in some old tenement. The place was pretty well covered in blood. Lying around the room were some of the gangbangers, a couple I didn’t recognize, and my friend.”  He took a deep breath, reliving the hideous memory. “There were a couple of knives out, but mostly guns. I had a couple broken ribs and a concussion. Don’t know why I wasn’t dead, too. Next thing I know, I’m in the system.”

           “Not jail?”, Malia asked.

           “I was eleven”, Aadesh said.

           “And you want to know about Freddie?”, Kaitlyn said.

           “Yeah, would you?”, Erin asked. It was clear they were eager to tell.

           “Guys, don’t”, Freddie pleaded.

           “They found Freddie in a dumpster”, Kaitlyn said. “Just left there. Out to die with the rest of the trash.”

           “Who left him there?”, Scott asked. “Muggers?”

           “His mother”, Aadesh answered. The young heroes were aghast.

           “They figure he was less than an hour old. Maybe a little more” Erin said. “If a bag lady hadn’t heard him screaming, he would have died there.”

           Everyone remained silent for a bit. Even Stiles. Freddie lowered his head, looking ashamed. Once again, it was Scott who broke the silence.

           “You said ‘before’. Before what?”

           “Before the visions of you”, Kaitlyn said. “We all pretty much figured we’d be in the system until we were kicked out, then we’d just deal with whatever came next.”

           “We knew it wouldn’t be fun, or easy”, Erin said. “Or pretty.”

           “I sort of figured we’d all be dead before we got to twenty-one”, Freddie admitted. The usual trace of humor in is voice was replaced with resignation.

           “But then you came along”, Kaitlyn said. “I have no clue why my visions started focusing on you, but they did. And once they latched on, they wouldn’t let go. I didn’t want them to.”

           “So it was like…you were spying on us?”, Scott ventured, cautiously.

           “No, nothing like that”, Erin interjected.

           “I can’t control when I see what I see”, Kaitlyn told him. “They just…come.”

           “But she can control what she does with them”, Aadesh smiled.

           “Which is--?”, Lydia asked.

           “Tell us about them!”, Aadesh beamed. “She told us everything. How you got bitten, the monsters, the adventures, your friends.” Scott mouthed a word to Kira. Adventures?

           “We’re all just stories to you?”, Kira asked.

           “Everyone has a story”, Erin pointed out.

           “But not everyone’s story can inspire”, Kaitlyn added.

           The five friends, Scott, Kira, Stiles, Lydia, and Malia exchanged glances. Inspire?

           “Think about it”, Aadesh said. “You have nowhere to go, your life sucks, nobody wants you—then you learn about this group of teenagers, same age as you are—who do all these amazing things.”

           “I don’t know that we’ve done amazing things so much as had things just happen to us”, Scott said.

           “But look at what you did with them!”, Freddie exclaimed. He went on excitedly, gesticulating with his hands as he spoke. “You could have become some crazed monster after you got bitten, but you didn’t. Your best friend could have abandoned you, but he didn’t.” Freddie looked at Stiles with open admiration.

           Aadesh picked up Freddie’s train of thought. “An amazing girl could have chosen to leave you, to stay stranded out in the wild.” Malia shifted her stance uncomfortably.

           “Or another deny the mystic heritage her mother told her about”, Kaitlyn added. Kira met her gaze, realizing the thought had never occurred to her.

           “Or another could’ve gone crazy when crazy-scary things happened to her as she found her way to her powers”, Erin said, meeting Lydia’s eyes.

           “You’ve had terrible, frightening, impossible things happen to you”, Kaitlyn reminded them. “But you kept going. And you stuck together.”

           “We wanted so much to be like that”, Aadesh said. “To be like all of you.”

           “Supernaturals?”, Scott asked.

           “Heroes!”, Freddie with enthusiasm.

           Again, the five friends looked at one another with some confusion. They had never thought of themselves that way.

           “I don’t really know that we would call ourselves hero—“, Scott began, but he was quickly cut off.

           “Oh, come on!”, Freddie protested. “How could you not?”

           “The way you outsmarted Gerard with the mountain ash in his pills? That was a hero’s move”, Aadesh said quickly. “Or how you stood up to that alpha pack!”

           “Like, when you were up against that force field that derratch witch put up around her”, Freddie commented.

           “Um, it’s pronounced Darach”, Scott corrected.

           “Right! The dorrock had that magic field up and you were all”, Freddie put up his hands like claws and mimed pressing forward against a strong opposing force. “Zzzttt!! Grrrrr! Rahr! Zzzzttt-zaaappp!! No way, bitch! I’m breaking through! BAM!!!” He slapped his hands together hard. “Knocked her on her ass!”

           “And when Derek wanted to kill Jackson because he was the lizard man but you insisted on saving him”, Erin reminded him.

           “Let’s not forget when that crazy hunter-turned-spotty-blue-were-woman tried to make you into one of her fury monsters”, Kaitlyn said.

           “Berserkers”, Stiles said.

           “That name’s way cooler!”, Freddie beamed. “I like that better! Berserkers.”

           “When Kaitlyn told us about you being tied on that altar and her bringing the bear skull down onto your head, while you’re screaming for her to stop”, Aadesh recalled, “I thought I was gonna have a freakin’ heart attack.”

           “I know, right?”, Freddie agreed. “I’m all NOOOOO!!” He waved his fists around in circles in front of him for emphasis. “But then he’s got the rookie up against that cave wall, the wolf cub, his First—“

           “I think he means Liam”, Malia suggested.

           “Yes, right! Leeum”, Freddie said. Lydia looked at him askance. Erin shrugged. They’d gotten used to Freddie’s enthusiastic storytelling.

           “The visions don’t always come with audio”, Kaitlyn said, her mouth twisted in an expression of mild annoyance.

           “It’s true”, Erin confirmed.

           Freddie kept on gushing as if no one else had spoken, but now he offered his narrative directly to Scott. “And Leeum’s all, ‘No, no, this isn’t you!’ and you stumble back all, ‘He’s right—I’m stronger than this!’ and you reach up and grab that bear skull—grab it all”, and he mimicked the gesture in front of his own face, “Cr-Cr-Crraa-aacckk! And there’s all that light shooting out of it, and you break the thing in half! And then you’re standing there all Tump-tadda-DAA!! And I’m going, YES!’”

           “There was cheering involved”, Erin said.

           “And it’s Beta”, Stiles said, once Freddie had paused for breath. “Liam’s his Beta, as in his second. Not his First.”

           Freddie jabbed two fingers toward Stiles. “I like that!”

           Scott held his hands up to stave off more exposition, which Freddie seemed more than prepared to continue. “Okay. So maybe I’ve done some things that may seem heroic, but I only did what I had to do because of those circumstances. Anyone else would’ve done exactly the same--“

           Aadesh broke into a broad smile and shook his head slightly. “That’s just what a real hero would say.”

           Scott turned to his friends.  A little help here?

           Lydia stepped in. “Okay, so let’s just say for the sake of argument that Scott has been pretty heroic here and there.” Scott shot her look. Don’t encourage them. “Just for the sake of argument”, she reiterated. “But that doesn’t mean that all of us can be categorized as—“

           “Who figured out how to stop the army of assassins?”, Erin asked her, arms crossed and eyes unblinking.

           “Well, now wait”, Kira began. Kaitlyn cut her off.

           “And who insisted on helping against a bunch of ghost ninjas all of two seconds after she first picked up a sword?” Kira started to say something, but knew she couldn’t deny it.

           Then all four of them then turned to look at Malia. She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me.”

           Erin grinned.            “You mean don’t look at the girl who spent most of her life in the wild but was still ready to travel all the way to Mexico to help rescue someone she barely knew. When you’d been walking upright for, like, a week?”

           “No one can argue that Malia isn’t amazing”, Stiles was quick to agree. “But you guys keep looking at me too when you go on about this hero stuff.”  He shot a quick glance at Freddie, who was particularly enamored with the resident smartass. “I don’t even have any powers. I’m just a guy.”

           “A guy who survived possession by a Noggit-Soony”, Freddie said.

           “Nogitsune.”

           “Yeah, that—which was the first time anybody survived being controlled by a Nogitsune in, I dunno, ever.”

           “Who also dove into a pool in full heavy sports gear to save someone he doesn’t even like from the lizard man”, Erin said.

           “That was a kanima”, Lydia pointed out.

           Erin raised an eyebrow. “Really? What an odd name.” Freddie’s eyes glinted briefly with understanding, as if to say, Oh, so THAT’S a kanima.

           Aadesh continued the checklist of Stiles’ feats of bravery. “You stood your ground when that poisoner guy had a gun right to your forehead”, and he tapped his own forehead to illustrate his point, “and you knew he was gonna blow your head off if you didn’t cooperate, and you still wouldn’t give up your friends.”

           Scott looked at Stiles in awe. “You did that?!”

           “I may have”, Stiles conceded. “There was a lot going on that day. I can’t be expected to remember every little thing I did.”

           “Then there was that time you ran your jeep right through that wall, Ka-BLAMM!”, Freddie began again. Lydia decided that someone had better stop the litany or they’d be there all night.

           “Okay, so maybe we’re heroes”, Lydia said. “Let’s go with that for the time being. That settled, let’s move on.”

           “You are so a hero”, Freddie said to Stiles. Then he pointed at him and winked. Stiles winced a little.

           “Don’t expect me to start wearing tights with my underwear on the outside.”

           Freddie’s eyes lit up. “You would look so cool that way.” Aadesh smacked him hard in the arm. “Hey!” Then, softer, as he rubbed his arm, “He would, though.” And then under his breath, “…with like a cape an’ stuff.”

           “How does summoning a monster have anything to do with you wanting to be heroes?”, Scott asked.

           “First you have to understand”, Kaitlyn said, her words very measured, “that we studied this extensively. For weeks. Hour after hour, day after day—we had everything covered. This should not have gone the way it did. There is no way it should have.”

           “And somehow it did”, Lydia said, pointing out the obvious.

           “What shouldn’t have gone wrong?”, Scott asked. “What can go right with summoning a monster?”

           “The monster we were trying to reach”, Erin said, “wasn’t actually a monster. At least not completely.”

           “So you were looking to hook a caffeine-free Monster Lite?”, Stiles ventured.

           “The creature we sought had the qualities of a monster physically”, Kaitlyn said, “but not viscerally.”

           “Meaning?”, Malia asked.

           “It was much closer to a benevolent spirit”, Erin said.

           “Yeah, definitely not the one you got”, Stiles sniped.

           “This monster, this spirit”, Erin continued, “was described—from multiple sources—“

           “Reliable sources”, Aadesh interjected.

           “From several reliable sources”, Erin said, “as one that would bestow a boon upon those who summoned it with good intentions and humble hearts.”

           “What kind of boon?”, Scott asked.

           “It would grant us the use of its powers”, Kaitlyn said.

Scott and his friends had to take a second to digest that. “Come again?”, Scott asked.

“If you call up this particular creature”, Erin repeated, “It would give you its powers if it understood how you intended to use them.”

           “Which was to be heroes”, Lydia said. “Like you see us.”

           “Exactly”, Erin said with a nod.

           “Which one of you gets the power?”, Scott inquired.

           “If the spell—the summoning—is done correctly”, Erin said, “We all do. The power would split four ways. So we called to our intended supernatural patron.”

           “And his angry big brother picked up the phone”, Stiles said.

           Aadesh sighed. “Something like that.”

           “Well, we can’t take them home, wherever that really is”, Kira said. “Not with that thing after them.” Then to the foursome, she asked, “Do you even have a place to stay? Anywhere?”

Erin responded with dolor. “We used to.”

“And you really don’t know why it’s after you?”

           “We really don’t”, Kaitlyn admitted.

           “Since they’re the ones who set it loose on the world to do whatever it wants, you’d think it’d be bringing them a box of chocolates and a dozen roses”, Stiles pondered aloud.

           “And you don’t know what it is?”, Scott asked. They all shook their heads or shrugged. They had nothing. “Luckily”, Scott said, “I know someone who might.” He gestured to the two vehicles, which appeared to be relatively unharmed. “Let’s get back in the cars and head back to town. We should do it fast, too. We have no way of knowing when that thing is going to come back after the way it disappeared like that.”  He reached out to take Kira’s hand, only to find her slowly taking a few steps backward, her eyes scanning the sky around them.  “Kira? What is it?”

           “I’m not so sure it has disappeared”, Kira said, her voice low.

           Scott looked at her with growing concern. “What do you mean?”

           “I couldn’t pick up on it before, with all the shouting and yelling, but now”, she spread her hands out by several inches, reached into the air, her fingers moving delicately, as if accessing some kind of unseen interface. “That electricity that was in the air…that energy the monster gave off. I can still feel it. It’s faint, but there are definite traces.”

           “Residual?”, Scott asked hopefully.

           “No”, Kira said. “Returning.” Then her eyes came into sharper focus as she said to Scott, “We need to get out of here.”

           “You heard her”, Scott said to the group. “Load up and let’s go.”

           Stiles was already behind the wheel of his jeep, motioning for everyone to follow him. Malia had the door open and was ushering their two charges to get inside.

           “Do you think you can do that trick you did earlier?”, Scott asked of Erin. “With the spell bag you and Kaitlyn used?”

           Erin smiled, very proud of herself. “Well, as it just so happens, you are talking to the one who urk--!”

           Erin froze where she stood, her head jerked back harshly, then lolled slowly forward. Before Scott’s eyes, two large orange talons made their way slowly, almost lazily, through Erin’s chest, each within an inch of her shoulders. Blood spilled from the large wounds as Erin coughed out a terrible choking sound.

           “Erin!”, Scott cried, but even as he moved to assist her, his attention was drawn behind and above her as the air came alive with electricity. The monster revealed itself directly behind her, its legs latched onto her upper back and shoulders. The front talons of its feet clamped down on her shoulders to secure its purchase, as its back talons drove all the way through Erin’s body.

           Amid a shower of light and eldritch energy, the monster reappeared in full, its jaws forming what could well have been a grin. As it clutched Erin tighter, spreading its wings fully, it opened its mouth wider, displaying the jagged teeth that lined its gaping maw in uneven rows. The sharp teeth glowed slightly, their luminance growing brighter as the creature sighed out a thick and rancid breath, soiling the air even as Erin’s blood soiled the pavement.

           Kaitlyn was the first in her group to react, her knees about to give way beneath her, she whispered, “No, no, no, no, no, no…”

           The monster let out a truncated roar, sharp and quick, and thrust its tail through the center of Erin’s chest. Scott and Kira were caught in a spray of blood and tissue that erupted from Erin’s body, and she hung helplessly staked on the monstrous creature’s bright orange appendage. A small arc of electricity lanced off the end of the tail, sending a shiver through Erin’s limp form. She strained desperately to say something, to speak to her friends one last time, her speech muffled by blood pouring over her lips and down her jaw. All she was able to muster was a single, final word.

           “…run…”

           Aadesh screamed at the top of his lungs. “ERIN!!!”

           Freddie, who had been half in and half out of the jeep, stumbled out onto the road and stared at his friend for perhaps ten seconds before he collapsed. He fell to his knees, lurched forward and emptied the contents of his stomach all over the highway.

           “…everyone get back…”, Scott tried to say, but his voice came out as only a coarse whisper. Again, he spoke, forcing the words out as strongly as he could, “Everyone get back!”

           In direct opposition to his words, Kaitlyn tried to rush forward, but her path was blocked by Lydia. Her voice was compassionate but firm. “Stop. You can’t help her.”

           Malia was less patient. She grabbed the still-sick Freddie by his collar and picked him up off the ground like so much luggage. She gestured angrily to Aadesh not to make her do the same with him, and he backed away.

           Scott stood strong, or as strong as he could, and said to Kira, “Make sure everybody’s safe.” Slowly, his claws extended from his fingers, his ears pointed, and wolfen fur sprouted around his face. His eyes glowed a blazing red, which he hoped would at least partially hide the terror he felt welling up inside him. The monster did not seem interested one way or the other.

           Its mouth already open wide, the monster swayed its lumbering head back and forth over Erin’s body. Out from the monster’s mouth spilled a cloud of shimmering thistles. They looked almost like bright orange cotton balls, pierced all over with small, glistening spikes of energy, not one of them more than five inches across. The thistles rained down on Erin, covering her clothes and her body, latching on to her long coat, her pants, her shoes, until she was enveloped in the glowing balls of energy.

           Once she was so covered, the thistles burrowed in aggressively, clenching against her body, holding her tight. There was a terrible cracking noise, and Erin’s head whipped to one side. Kaitlyn let out a pathetic cry and then covered her mouth, as if in attempt to hold back the emotions tearing through her. Slowly, inexorably, Erin’s head returned to an upright position, although it was still held at an unnatural angle. Her mouth opened suddenly, too wide and too fast, with another hideous crack. The blood that had been flowing from her mouth turned the same bright glowing orange as the monster’s energy, and the strange thistles that held her. The blood coming from her wounds soon followed suit. Her eyes, already dim and lifeless, took on the gleaming orange hue to stare sightlessly ahead. There was one last convulsion of her body, followed by a nauseating rattle. Erin’s mouth then formed into a half-smile. That was the worst part of all. More than this horrific monster killing her, but that he could then manipulate her body like a haunted marionette.

           Stiles let out a scream and slammed his foot on the gas pedal, which hit the floor of his jeep. The tires squealed and he shot forward toward the monster. He knew that he was too late to save Erin, but at least he could crash into the monster with enough force to make it drop her body. But Stiles made it no further than forty feet before the monster pulled its tail from Erin’s corpse and lashed out at the oncoming jeep. The gleaming tail ran right through the front of the jeep with no sign of entry or exit. The jeep came to an immediate halt without so much as a sputter, all the same. Stiles was nearly thrown against the windshield by the jarring stop.

           The monster stepped toward Stiles, still clutching Erin in one hand. It then guided its tail, snakelike, toward Stiles’ windshield. The tail passed through easily, like water through a sieve, and hung in the air just inches from Stiles’ nose. Stiles pressed back against the seat as hard as he could, his heart ready to burst from his chest. Slowly, the monster withdrew its tail, leaving the glass untouched. Then it drove that tail down into the pavement like a pile-driver, leaving a hole the size of a beach ball. It stared at the young detective, waiting to see if its demonstration had had its desired effect. Do you see, boy? You cannot possibly stand against me.

           The monster then took to the sky with lightning speed, leaving Scott to lash out against empty air. As fast as the teen werewolf was, the monster was faster. It was a speck high above them in seconds, and then there was no sign of it at all. Everyone stared up at the sky for some time after they all knew the creature was long gone. The air had returned to normal, all traces of electrical energy vanished. The remaining eight young people knew that they would take much longer to regain their composure, if they ever could.

           Aadesh and Kaitlyn held onto one another for dear life. Each hoped the warmth of their friend’s body would help ease their trembling. Freddie buried his head in Malia’s shoulder and wept until he could no longer stand on his own.