#so why keep the reeds? show me the metal that can be That Thin against someone’s tongue WITHOUT slicing it open and while ALSO

[extreme-technicality]

Hi, former band kid here to tell you that saxophones are classified as woodwinds because they have reeds to help direct and produce the sound instead of the simple mouthpiece brass instruments have - saxophones, clarinets, etc. are all held in the mouth, while trumpets or French horns are played by puckering up and blowing. The notable exception to the “woodwinds have reeds” rule is the flute, but they’re still considered woodwinds because before metal became widely available and manufacturable, flutes were made out of wood.

Are players of other brass instruments jealous of the saxophones inherent sexual swagger

[cerebrumrott]

Obey Me! Shall we Date?

Brothers x MC

Synopsis: Demon Form Head Canons

Lucifer

Is not shy about sharing his demon form in the slightest.

More than happy to show off his wings for you and every compliment and awed look you give him just strokes his pride.

He gets taller in his demon form, not by more than a few inches but its enough to have you craning your neck to look him in the eyes.

His horns are not nearly as sensitive as some of his brothers but he still quite enjoys when you pet them.

Specifically likes it when the base of his horns are scratched, he could just melt into your hands.

His wings are prone to molting when he is stressed and seeing as he is stressed almost all the time. It's fairly common to find black feathers around the house.

When Lucifer later finds out that you had been collecting his discarded feathers in a small vase in your room he can’t help the blush on his cheeks having forgotten the entire reason he went into your room in the first place.

Seeing as you are so entranced by his feathers you might as well help him preen when he is molting.

It is totally cause he wants you to just have a nice collection, not because its a massive boost to his ego to have you doting over him.

Straighten his tie and flatten out his collar. Even if it doesn't need it. These little gestures will leave him flustered and blushing.

Mammon

His horns, due to their peculiar shape, are extremely sensitive. To the point where just blowing on them sends a tremble racing down his spine.

Pressing a finger between the grooves or into the center of the horn's spiral will have him practically howling from the sensation or more accurately leave him a stuttering and flustered mess.

Despite being essentially shirtless in his demon form. Mammon is like a walking heater. Just standing next to him for too long can cause you to break into a sweat.

If you were to ever trace the white lines that cover his torso he would just stop functioning entirely.

He would of course vehemently deny any such claims stating that, he was simply… thinking… about things… shut up.

Mammon is also extremely ticklish and with so much exposed skin from his questionable choice in a shirt. Do with that what you will ;)

His wings are restless, always flickering, fluttering or some variation of the two.

The only time they had ever truly stilled was when Mammon had agreed to let you touch them for the first time. In that moment as you ever so carefully ran your hands over the thin membrane of the wings, they didn't so much as twitch under the touch.

While his wings aren't necessarily sensitive to touch they are slightly delicate, being as they are made from a thin leathery membrane.

Leviathan

He also gets taller in his demon form by a few inches. Though due to his terrible posture you are likely to not notice.

He regularly sheds his antlers each year and grows back new ones.

He used to be extremely self conscious while his antlers regrew due to teasing from his brothers but after hearing how much you liked them they were now a point of pride for him.

I can also totally see an MC who collects his shed antlers like, it's 2 am and Levi texts them like ""Hey normie you want my old antlers I know you asked about them before so...""

Leviathan would get such an ego boost from it though. His face growing reed each time he walks into your room to see his old antlers nestled about the shelves like decor.

His tail also sheds its skin every so often (like a reptile would) another reason as to why he is always showering or taking a bath.

On that same thought, Levi has to take daily soaks in either the shower or tub to keep his skin from drying out or getting irritated. Being in the sun for too long can also irritate his skin.

Uses this as an excuse to not go outside despite there being no sun in the Devildom.

Both his horns and his tail are rather sensitive to touch. Though he loves the idea of you petting them his self consciousness prevents him from ever initiating such a thing.

The markings on the side of his neck are also highly sensitive. Running a hand or dragging your nails over them sends shivers down his spine every time.

Satan

Not only does he get taller but he also physically bulks up in his demon form. Its hardly noticeable under the sweater and boa he wears but on close inspection you can see the defined lines of his muscles straining under the fabric.

Similar to Lucifer, his horns are not all that sensitive. Though the area where they connect to his head are very mush so.

Satan is not shy in the slightest about asking MC to pet his head when he is in a bad mood and needs someone to stop him from doing something potentially stupid.

Satan often subconsciously purrs when he is happy or content.

This habit may have stemmed from his obsession with cats

His tail for the most part is hard and senseless, though the green end is softer and more pliable like cartilage. It is also extremely sensitive to both touch and temperature.

This is why he keeps his tail wrapped around his leg to protect it from being accidentally trampled on or whacked.

Since his tail extends from his lower back rather than the base of his spine the exposed skin surrounding the base of his tail is extremely sensitive and ticklish.

Asmodeus

Asmo of course loves any kind of affection, especially if it is coming from you of all people.

The tips of his horns that are pink in hue are extremely sensitive to touch. He is not shy about asking you to touch him obviously but you would note that he does get extremely flustered when you do so without having to be asked.

Asmo will just melt into your touch if you walk up to him and just randomly cup his face or pet his horns.

When he is especially flustered the pink hue of his horns will even darken

His wings are velvety and soft to the touch. He loves to have kisses pressed to the soft membrane of the wings.

The easiest way to turn him to putty in your hands is to go straight for his wings. They are his weak spot.

It's really little affectionate things that get him going. Adjusting the metal chain of his scorpion brooch, pushing a stray piece of his bangs back into place, even something as simple as picking a piece of lint off of his jacket has him beaming with affection.

I don't see Asmo as getting to experience these little things as often as the more prominent things that come with his sin. So when you go out of your way to make sure he does get to experience these little things he falls hard and fast.

Beelzebub

He physically bulks up when he transforms. If you thought he was shredded normally wait till you see him in demon form.

His horns are extremely sensitive, almost like little antennas. Turns into the biggest puppy when you rubs his horns. Just all smiles and happiness from him.

Sometimes he will even rub your cheeks together so his horns brush against your hair.

He is a bit hesitant when it comes to his wings being touched just because of their nature. It's not that he doesn't trust you it’s just when he gets excited he unconsciously buzzes his wings.

If he were to catch his wing on your hand and rip it he would feel bad for making you think you hurt him. In reality it does not hurt him all that much, akin to like a paper cut or bad scratch.

Beel is really just a big push over for you, scratch him behind the horns and he will just become the biggest lap dog.

Belphegor

His horns and tail are not sensitive but that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to pet him.

After he falls asleep to you petting his horns one afternoon he now demands that you do this at least once a week. If you don't he will bother you until you cave to his wishes.

Also loves to have the fluff of his tail brushed / petted, although he would never admit it outright. His brothers already think he is spoiled so how would they react to knowing he has you pampering him each week? Braiding his tail hair and brushing out the tangles while he snoozes.

On the rare occasions he can’t sleep or when he is awakened from a nightmare he will seek you out and ask you to pet him so he can get to sleep. There are many mornings you will wake up and just find Belphie in bed next to you curled around his pillow with his face buried in your shoulder.

He promises to pay you back later though. Totally...

The cow spots on his neck are extremely ticklish, to the point he borderline passes out from wheezing so hard when Beel tickles him there.

Bonus:

Diavolo

He is much, much larger in his demon form than he is when he appears as human. He is normally tall but like this he is borderline massive.

He tends to keep his wings folded into his sides due to their large span. Though is more than happy to show them off to you when prompted.

They are thick and velvety to the touch, the metallic jewelry that covers the tops of them a cold contrast to the warm skin.

He adores any kind of attention from you, more than content to sit and chatter about whatever comes to his mind as you sit beside him or stop him petting his wings.

He bent down once so you could see his horns and as a joke lifted you off the ground while you were holding onto them. He laughed so hard you thought he was going to drop you on your ass.

His horns are not sensitive in the slightest, hence why he has no problems with decorating them with tight metal pieces akin to a piercing on a person.

Diavolo is a super loving guy normally and this holds true to when he is in his demon form. So whenever he gives you a hug you end up smothered in his pecs. Not that your complaining.

Barbatos

Barbatos would never say it aloud but he very much enjoys when you spend time just running your fingers ever so softly over his horns. Their unique shape and varied textures can leave you entertained for what feels like hours but in reality you love the soft expressions you can pull out of the normally stoic butler.

Loves having soft kisses pressed to the joints of his horns.

His tail is his one weak spot as once one learns what certain movements mean. You can always tell how he is feeling.

The unbridled joy you feel well in your heart when his tail begins to curl up upon seeing you letting you know he is feeling the same way has you biting your lip to hold yourself back from running into his arms.

[allegedlyanandroid]

Pairing: Allen60 Prompt: Cold Types: Found Family, Fluff AU: Angels and Demons, Sixty as the little devil he is, and Allen just being human.

I am so late 😅 I wrote an entire thing before realising I hated every word of it and started over from scratch. Anyway... excuses aside, I hope you like it @yayen-chan <3 `(‾◡◝)´ 

“Okay, bookshelves first,” Allen mutters, following the intricate maze of arrows and concrete as he tries to navigate the local IKEA. “Or rugs. That works too,” he sighs when he glances up and finds himself in the wrong part of the store. Looking through the copious amounts of different rugs Allen rapidly finds himself overwhelmed. He tries reading a few of the ridiculously complicated names, stuttering over them when trying to read them out loud. “Ra- raskmol- mölle?”  

Giving up on the fifth time trying to pronounce it correctly Allen rolls the grey-and-black striped fabric up and tosses it on the cart, already dreading trying to find the rest of the items on his list. There’s only one really but when passing through the plant-section he stops to pick up a potted plant. The other one is beyond salvaging from lack of water. “Ilex, foreeneling? För-enlig. What are these names?”  

After another dead-end and some frustrated grumbling, he does find the bookshelf he needs. Honestly… this trip alone solidifies why he’s never getting a puppy. The one he took in to foster was a sweet thing but very demanding and unaware that he weighed quite a lot for a pup. He’d knocked Allen’s bookshelf over, thus breaking it, and also had an accident on his rug. If being petless meant never having to go here again then that’s a price he’s willing to pay. At least the shelter had found a family for him quickly and, while he did miss the little rascal, the puppy was undoubtedly in better hands.  

“Kallax, hemnes... gersby?”

Too caught up in his own head he doesn't notice the strange scent of warm brimstone and ash filtering through the air nor does he notice the young “man” standing behind him, a man who seemingly appeared out of thin air, until he hears the sound of a throat clearing. Allen jerks his head up from wrestling with the cardboard box and offers an apologetic smile over his shoulder. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Or, you could tell me why I’m here and spare me the mundane small talk you humans seem so obnoxiously fond of.”

“I’m sorry?”

The man squints. “You summoned me.”

Allen pauses to take a good look at the man. He’s tall with black, artistically tousled hair and endless amounts of freckles. A few moles are scattered across his skin and his brown eyes are filled with irritation. Dark jeans with a long-sleeved shirt tucked into it, a black overcoat ending at about mid-thigh and a purple scarf hanging unknotted around his neck. Allen thinks long and hard yet finds no recollection of ever seeing this man before in his life let alone speaking to him. “I have no idea who you are.”

“You-” the man pinches the bridge of his nose, inhales deeply and slowly let it out before starting again. “You read the incantation to evoke me and you what… didn’t even realise it?” he asks and receives nothing but a blank stare from Allen in return. “Ugh, humans.”

In the blink of an eye the man transforms. Horns curve with the shape of his skull, producing from close to his temples, before ending in sharp tips that blend in with his raven hair. A black tail is wrapped around his leg which ends with a jagged spear-like point. The tips of his fingers look like they’ve been dipped in charcoal, fading into dark grey about halfway up his fingers, with claw-like black nails top it all off. They tap against the metal shelf next to them as the demon slowly advances.  

Too shocked to move, Allen’s jaw is taken in a firm grip and when the demon smiles his teeth are pointed blades. “So… are you going to tell me what it is you want?”

“You can let go of my face for a start,” Allen says, adding a quick “thank you,” when the demon does as he’s told. “What’s your name?”

“You may call me Sixty.”

“Sixty,” Allen repeats. “No offence but I quite like having my soul intact. I’m sorry for dragging you from… whatever circle of hell you reside in, but I’m not interested in making any sort of deal with you.”

“Sucks to be you then because I’m not leaving until you do,” Sixty says and from his tone of voice alone Allen knows he’s a hundred percent serious.  

‘Fucking IKEA.’

-

“Really? You couldn’t have chosen to live somewhere a bit warmer?” Sixty asks with disdain, thankfully back to looking human. His feet sink into the four inches worth of snow dusting the ground and he can already feel the cold seeping in through the gaps in his clothing. “Or somewhere nicer in general.”

“No one’s forcing you to stay.”

“No one’s forcing you to live here.” A pause. “Or if they are, I am more than willing to kill them for you free of charge.”  

Allen sighs.

-

Having a demon for a housemate isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Sixty mostly keeps to himself whenever he isn’t trying to get a rise out of him or complaining about the cold or putting things on tall shelves like the little shit he is. Until Sixty gets bored that is.

Because when Sixty gets bored trouble ensues.  

-

Emerging from his office after a long day of meetings to see his demonic housemate casually chatting with parts of his team in the breakroom is a bit out of left field and the sight of Sixty’s mischievous eyes boring into his own is enough to quicken his pace. “What are you doing here, Si- Silas?” he asks, forcing a smile on his face.

He hates how no one else can look past the innocent brown eyes and syrupy grin to see the smugness beneath. “I thought we were supposed to eat lunch together? Did you forget?”

“No, of course not,” Allen hastens to say, ignoring Willis and Clark’s knowing grins, as he wracks his brain for a response. “Though I distinctly remember asking you to wait outside.”

“It would have been rude of me to decline Julie’s offer of getting coffee,” Sixty replies and raises his mug as if to show it off.

“No need to be jealous, boss. We just wanted to get to know the guy better,” Julie says.

“Yeah, it’s not like we’ve ever seen you hang out with anyone outside of work apart from Reed,” Clark pipes up. “We got curious.”

“I’m not jealous!” Allen tries to defend himself, latching on to the word, but the agitated tone does nothing to help his case. Sixty smirking behind the rim of the coffee cup like a cat who got the cream isn’t helping to improve his mood either.

“You are the pettiest asshole I’ve ever had the unfortunate luck of meeting,” Allen says when they’re safely away from prying eyes.

Sixty snickers, knowing full well the amount of endless curiosity and ceaseless questions he’s unleashed on the human. “There’s an easy way to get rid of me.”

The fistful of snow he gets shoved in his face shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

By the time he manages to blink the melting snow out of his eyes Allen is too far away to retaliate, though that doesn’t stop Sixty from trying.  

-

Despite his best efforts Sixty’s irritation with being unceremoniously dragged into the mortal plane dissipates after the third week of staying with Allen. By the time he’s been there for a month and a half, Allen’s team have adopted him as one of their own and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered. They genuinely care about his well-being and often invite him along on outings. As someone whose family is… overbearing, their light-hearted ribbing is a nice change of pace. Their easy dynamic is the very opposite of stifling. No one ever pries when he declines to answer a question. No one touches him after he made it clear he dislikes physical contact. No one quizzes him about his every movement.

It’s… nice.

The next team building exercise and subsequent photo op, proudly displayed on the communal fridge, includes him and Sixty doesn’t cry even a little bit upon seeing that.  

Not at all.

-

In the end, the shift in their relationship is near seamless ‒ from reluctant roommates to friends to something more.  

What hits him first is the metallic scent of fresh blood and Sixty is halfway across the room before he can even process rising to his feet. He gathers Allen up in his arms and leads him to sit down on one of the kitchen chairs. Part of his dark shirt is tacky with blood and Sixty feels no remorse when he shreds it to get it off as quickly as possible. Something, a bullet or knife, must have grazed his side. It’s bleeding sluggishly though it thankfully isn’t deep. Sixty takes the ruined shirt and presses it against the wound. “Keep putting pressure on it.”

Allen doesn’t answer and in the end he’s the one who has to move Allen’s hand to take over while he dashes to the bathroom for the medkit. Sixty plunks it down on the floor and fills a bowl of lukewarm water to put down beside it before fetching a clean towel. He kneels down between Allen’s legs and cleans meticulously around the area, noting the patches of skin where bruises are slowly forming. Swiping over the wound with antiseptic earns him a bitten-off hiss and Sixty puts a hand on Allen’s sternum to steady him after the first involuntary flinch.  

He keeps it there, soothed by feeling the steady thrum of Allen’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips, until he needs the use of both his hands. In its absence, Sixty’s tail comes up to wrap loosely around his thigh for comfort.  

Butterfly bandages instead of sutures, his tail instead of his hand. Allen doesn’t say a word about either choice though he is smiling down where they’re connected once Sixty chances a quick peek.

There’s nothing left for him to do after covering the wound with gauze, taping the edges down, yet Sixty finds himself lingering there regardless.  

It’s easy to trace around the gauze with the very tip of a claw and when he catches Allen’s dark eyes the urge to lean down to place a gentle kiss over it wins out. Allen sighs quietly and coaxes Sixty up to kiss him properly ‒ a chaste press of lips against lips followed by a sincere thank you.  

Sixty blushes and knocks his forehead against Allen’s, mindful of his horns, in a silent show of affection.

-

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“Because I literally stepped in the door a second ago?” Allen laughs and pulls Sixty in for a quick kiss.

“Excuses,” Sixty sniffs and steals another kiss, one that quickly devolves into a dozen pecks being pressed all over his face until Allen plants a last lingering one to his lips.

“I love you,” Allen says when they break apart for real.  

The shy smile spreading over Sixty’s lips is one he’ll never tire of seeing.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part two)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1

Word count: 2862

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

In a whirl of spears and flicking ears and stomping hooves, the stranger had been ushered away from the village. Several people looked nervous, while others were outraged at the idea of an intruder in their territory; there were only two entrances into the town, one in the very front and one in the back that led to the interrogation area and holding cells. The rest of the perimeter was covered in a wall of thorns that Katherine’s father had enchanted to grow. That meant the stranger had to fight off the painful, prickling plants to get into their village.

And that was not good.

Katherine rubbed her forehead tiredly. She had to spend several minutes calming down townsfolk (and stopping Anne from singing a way-too-jolly doomsday song), assuring them that everything was going to be okay. After all, what’s one little Tiefling to all of them?

When she finally finished her “forest princess duties”, she walked back over to Faedi’s hut to check on Catalina, only to see the Aasimar outside, on her feet, wearing her steel-plated shoulder paddings and holding her sword. She almost looked silly in the armor with her protruding pregnant belly, but her face was serious and she looked ready to stab someone.

  “Catalina,” Katherine sighed. “I told you to stay inside.”

  “I did,” Catalina said. “But then I got bored and wanted to come help. So I still kinda half-obeyed you because I stayed inside for awhile!” Her shoulders slumped with a rattling of metal; if the pads hindered her because of her pregnancy, she didn’t show it. “But I missed everything! What happened?”

Katherine couldn’t help but laugh slightly at her friend. Even in a time of possible crisis, Catalina still knew how to lift her spirits just by being herself.

  “There was an intruder, that’s all,” Katherine told her, steering Catalina back into the hut. “A Tiefling.”

  “Oooo,” Catalina said in interest.

Katherine wondered if she felt for the stranger or was fearful of her like the others. After all, Aasimars and Tieflings were very similar to each other, with just one being of celestial touch and the other being of infernal touch. 

  “Why are they here?” Catalina asked.

  “I don’t know,” Katherine answered as she began unbuckling Catalina’s shoulder pads. “I’m going to go see them after this.” She caught Catalina opening her mouth and quickly added, “You can’t come with me.”

Catalina pouted, ruffling the golden feathers in her hair. “That is SO unfair! I can be useful! Look, I can be intimidating, watch,” And then she made an intimidating face. Katherine laughed loudly.

  “You are so cute,” Katherine said, earning a wrinkled nose and glare from Catalina. “You just stay here for now, okay?”

Catalina huffed and slumped down onto the bed. “FINE!”

Katherine smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, love.”

After making sure Catalina wouldn’t escape and follow her, Katherine headed out to Ghent’s prison.

Not that it could really be considered a prison. It was a giant tree that her father had hollowed out with his magic. The prisoner would be stuffed inside the trunk and then the hole would be wrapped in enchanted thorny vines to keep them in. 

Maggie was standing guard outside the tree, still holding her spear. She was probably the only other person in the entire village who believed they needed a security system, and she wanted to be head of the guard. She was very cunning and ambitious, always wanting to prove herself, like how she jumped into a proper position when she saw Katherine coming.

  “The prisoner has been safely detained,” Maggie said. 

  “Thank you, Maggie,” Katherine said. “I’ve just come to see them.”

Maggie nodded. “Just shout if you need anything stabbed.” She gripped her spear and smirked.

Katherine thanked her again, then walked over to the cell. Inside, hugging their knees as far away from the vibes as possible, was the Tiefling.

Unlike the rest of her kind, her sweaty, dirt-spattered skin was a strange pure white color that gleamed like polished pearls in the faint light. Scraggly, white-blonde hair stuck to her lean face, falling around her bony shoulders. Strands of thorns were tangled around her stubby horns, which curved back over her head, and long, whip-thin tail, and there was mud stuffed in her cloven feet. She was small, thin, and lithe, and looked very tired.

  “Hello there,” Katherine greeted softly as she sat down in front of the tree. “My name is Katherine Howard. What’s yours?”

The Tiefling didn’t answer. She didn’t even look over at Katherine.

  “Why are you here?” Katherine asked.

Again, no answer. The Tiefling showed no signs of being cooperative.

Katherine sighed. “Sweetheart--”

That got the Tiefling to glance up. Her eyes were a startling grey color.

  “Sweetheart,” Katherine said again, slower this time. “I need you to work with me. I don’t want you to be hurt. Can you please tell me your name and why you are here?”

The Tiefling looked at her for a long moment, then curled her tail in close and hugged her knees tightly. The poor thing seemed very shaken, or perhaps she was just too exhausted to speak. Katherine sighed again.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to be interrogated, then. I wish you luck.”

So, an hour later, the young Tiefling was hauled out of the cell and to the place of interrogation. For Ghent, that was a pond.

The pond was further into the forest, where the trees opened up to the sky. Paths were cut through the surrounding shrubbery for easy access to places to watch. Thick cattails and reeds lined the edges of the water, which rippled peacefully with aquatic life. Several rocks led up to a large, flat stone at the center of the pond, and there was a larger, sloped rock in front of it. Katherine’s father took his place on top of that one, while the prisoner was prodded onto the flat stone with sharp spears.

The area was soon packed with people. It seemed as though the entire village came to watch and see the weird-looking Tiefling, not that Katherine blamed them. A Tiefling had never been to Ghent before. Several children were gawking at the girl with wide, adoring eyes, pointing and whispering things to each other. As Katherine passed by, she heard a small faun say something about the Tiefling’s tail.

Katherine climbed onto the tall rock where her father, Edmund, was already perched. He was an old, but wise wood elf with neatly-combed dark brown hair, even darker brown eyes, and ears like knives. Clad in animal furs and wielding a heavy wooden quarterstaff, he held himself like a real king and not just the chief of a forest village.

In the crowd, Katherine spotted Maggie and Anne near the back. For once, Anne didn’t have any instrument in her hands, but Maggie still had her spear and she was shifting from hoof to hoof, her gait haunches bursting with energy. Closer near the rock Katherine was on, was Catalina, who had stubbornly attended despite Faedi’s orders for bed rest. Catalina caught her gaze and flashed her a smirk that said, “No baby is keeping me from missing drama.” Katherine chuckled in reaction.

One of the villagers in charge of leading the stranger, a big, burly Tabaxi that had the pelt patterns of a cheetah, leaned down and clasped a pair of metal shackles around the Tiefling’s wrists, then quickly stepped away. The Tiefling glanced back at him with a wounded expression, then frowned down at the restraints. Edmund thumped his staff on the rock, and she squinted up at him.

  “I am Edmund Howard, Chief of Ghent,” Katherine’s father said, his voice booming around the clearing, resonating with the wind. “This is my daughter, Katherine. We welcome you to our village.”

The Tiefling just blinked at him, then tugged lightly against the shackles. The tip of her tail flicked back and forth like a calculating cat’s. 

  “Have nothing to say?” Edmund said. He waited, but got no answer. “Hm. Not to worry.” He tapped his staff twice on the rock. “Shall we formally begin? What is your name?”

Grooves and swirling symbols engraved around the shackles lit up white and the Tiefling’s body shuddered. She wide-eyed them, now tugging more frantically against them.

  “Hyurk..” She grunted.

  “I don’t think I specified,” Edmund said, “Those shackles are enchanted. If you lie, the pain will worsen. So advise you to tell the truth.”

Katherine always hated the shackles. They seemed cruel, forcing people to say things against their will. Though, she did fine Catalina’s experience with them the first time she came to the village extremely entertaining.

( “Does it really hurt when you lie? I wanna see! Ask me a question, Kat!”

  “What’s your favorite kind of pie?”

  “Apple-- OW, DRAGON SHIT--”)

  “Joan,” The Tiefling forced out through gritted teeth. She was shaken, clearly in pain. Her voice was soft and youthful, but also hoarse, like she hadn’t drank water in decades.

Joan, Katherine repeated to herself in her head. What a beautiful name.

  “Surname?” 

  “Meutas”

  “Where are you from?”

  “A-a small village. Near the ocean. I think it was called Shul? Yeah, yeah... Shul. I was from there.” Her neck tendons strained as she spoke.

  “Are you a traveler?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you parents? You’re awfully young to be on your own.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How old are you?” Katherine butt in suddenly, earning a scolding look from her father.

  “Fifteen.” Joan answered, and Katherine felt a wrench in her heart for the little one.

  “Why did you come here?” Edmund regained control of the interrogation.

Joan looked like she attempted to fight back and not answer, but it didn’t seem to go well from the way her body jerked with massive discomfort, like she was about to be sick. Her tail slid across the top of the rock and dipped into the water.

  “Didn’t mean to,” Joan gasped through a wave of pain. She must have hesitated slightly. “Was running. Stumbled in. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

Edmund raised his eyebrows in interest. Katherine glanced at Catalina, who was giving Joan a pitiful look. Her hands were folded protectively over her pregnant swell.

  “Running from what?”

  “Just travel-- Agh!!”

In response to her lie, Joan’s thin body crumpled over on itself. Her tail lashed like a snake on fire, and she moaned in obvious pain. She almost fell into the water, but the Tabaxi held her up firmly by the shoulder. Katherine could see his claws digging in. Through heaving breaths, Joan let the truth spill out:

  “Th-these people. I-I really don’t know their names. Th-they just don’t like me ‘cause I’m a Tiefling and I look funny. I-I think they w-want to hurt me, s-so I avoid them.”

Katherine didn’t like this anymore. This wasn’t interrogation, it was torture. This poor, innocent child was being stripped of her will and humiliated.

  “And did you just lead these people to us?” 

  “I-I-I don’t know,” She was stammering horribly. A sheen of sweat glistened over her milky white skin. She looked ill, like she was being forced to function with a fever. That was the effect of resisting the magic.

  “Do you want to hurt us?”

  “Nnnnnggg...” Joan moaned as her stomach appeared to cramp. “N-no... J-just wanna...rest...for a little while...”

There was a hissing sound, and Katherine realized that was the shackles. Smoke was rising from Joan’s wrists. 

  “I-I’m gonna throw up...” Joan gurgled.

But nobody except Katherine seemed to notice or care.

  “Hm.” Edmund studied the girl closely. Then, he waved his staff in front of him and whispered an incantation that sent ice through Katherine’s veins. “Let me look into your head, Joan. I must know what you’re hiding.”

The whispers that eddied throughout the clearing sounded like thunder in reaction to the statement. Some people looked fearful, while others looked excited. Katherine glanced at Maggie and Anne, and saw that they were both wide-eyed in interest.

It was unknown if the fragile living psyche could stand such a trauma of having someone look through their head. It was a violation that nobody, no matter what they had done or who they were, should have to go through.

Katherine exchanged nervous glances with Catalina. This was cruel, they both agreed. The stranger was just a girl; she didn’t deserve this. They watched as their chief held his hands out to Joan and closed his fingers into fists.

  “Who are you really, Joan?”

Joan’s eyes popped open wide. She rasped, “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “Do not resist.”

The words did nothing.

Joan’s head jerked back before her whole body hauled forward, doubled over on her knees. Only the whites of her eyes could be seen, with a faint glow coming from the sockets; blind.

  “No. Please stop, I--”

She cut herself off with a heartbreaking whine. Blood snaked from her nose. Tears soon joined them.

  “P-please stop,” She panted. “Please...”

  “Submit.” Edmund growled.

But the girl did not.

She began shrieking, body seizing wildly, tail spasming out of control. Her eyes, blank and white, faced the grey sky, but were unseeing. Tears ran red, and she cried blood. The vessels in her ears burst, next, then her mouth, and then her entire face became a horrific shiny red because she was bleeding from every orifice in her head.

Katherine grabbed her father’s arm and shook him. “Father, stop!” She yelled. “You’re hurting her!”

Edmund didn’t hear her, though. He was lost, too.

  “That’s enough, Father!” Katherine tried again, but to no avail.

Thunder rumbled deeply overhead. Small tide pools of blood collect on the surface of the stone. Joan’s fingertips and nimble claws flushed crimson and then bled; the spell was starting to attack her extremities. If Katherine had to take a guess, it was probably to make her submit to the investigation of her mind. 

Katherine gave up on her father and jumped down from the rock. She landed heavily in knee-deep water, but ran through it as fast as she could to get to Joan. Catalina hurried over a moment later. 

  “For a pacifist village, you guys got some brutal interrogation methods,” The Aasimar said in an attempt to lighten the mood. But Joan was still suffering under the spell, so Katherine couldn’t think about humor at the moment.

  “We have to free her,” Katherine said. “My dad is going to kill her. She can’t take this.”

  “Don’t worry, I got this,” Catalina said as she took out her sword.

  “Are you going to STAB my DAD?” Katherine yelped.

  “No!” Catalina snapped. “Just trust me! Oh, and cover your ears.”

Katherine obeyed, immediately slapping her hands over her sensitive elf ears. She watched as Catalina raised her sword skyward, noticing the way the silver seemed to glow with charged energy, murmured an enchantment, and then brought the blade down onto the stone.

The resulting crack of thunder was like nothing Katherine had ever heard before. Even with her ears covered, she still felt like she went deaf for a moment as a booming, apocalyptic crash exploded throughout the area. It rattled Katherine’s bones in her body, and then she realized that was just the ground and water quaking with the noise. She nearly buckled underneath the overpowering sound, but managed to stay on her feet as her ears rang painfully. Rain began to pour down heavily. 

Behind her, Edmund gasped sharply, staggering backwards from the shock of being startled out of the spell. His eyes were wide, bulging in their sockets. Many loyal villagers ran to his aid, while others pointed their weapons at Joan, who was laying face-down on the stone, unmoving. Katherine fanned the closest Tabaxi and his spear away as she propped Joan up in her arms.

  “She’s alive,” Katherine told her friend. She unlatched the shackles, revealing bright red blisters burned in Joan’s wrists. “She needs to be tended to. Come on.”

Scooping Joan up into her arms, Katherine hurried through the water, back down the path to the village, and to her treehouse as quickly as possible. With the help of Catalina, she dressed the blisters around Joan’s wrists with old man’s beard lichen and cleaned her face off with a wet rag. By the time they were done, the storm had turned into a mini hurricane outside. Katherine shut the shutters on her many windows, which usually aired out her home when it wasn’t raining, while Catalina watched over Joan closely.

  “I think you may have flooded the forest,” Katherine said.

Catalina shrugged innocently. “I helped. I think I did good.”

Katherine smiled at her. “You did do good, Lina. Thank you.”

Catalina puffed out her chest proudly. “Hell yeah I did!” She then looked down at the little Tiefling laying in Katherine’s bed. “What are you going to do with her?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Katherine said, sitting down next to her friend. For now, Joan looked peaceful as she slept. “I don’t think she has anywhere else to go. Maybe Father will let her stay here. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Live Wire --The Dirt--(3)

Tagging a few people who may possibly enjoy this. If you do, give it a share and help a girl out please.

@triplehaitches​, @prettyyoungandbored​, @oskea93​, @hot-young-runningfree​, @crue-sixx​

Two more parts coming today due to chapter two on my computer being extra long. Feedback welcome even if it’s just “asdfghjk”

Summary: Wren Ledden, Tommy’s best friend from high school has had a rough life and she intends to keep the nitty gritty details of her suffrage to herself until the day she dies. Only Tommy has gotten her to open up about a small portion of her troubles, and it’s only Tommy who she trusts with her life. That is until her life gets turned around sneaking into a concert one night...the same night Motley Crue is born.

Read the Previous Chapter HERE

Tommy and Nikki had been meeting up more and more with each passing day. At first Wren found it odd that Nikki was even interested in what two recent high school graduates could offer, but after a week of accompanying Tommy on his trips to Nikki’s apartment, Wren eased up on her skepticism.

“Just sing for us today,” Tommy whined as Wren pulled up to the curb outside Nikki’s place.

“No,” she grumbled as she switched off the Blue Öyster Cult cassette as well as the car’s engine. Wren pushed the heavy door of the car open and then allowed it to slam shut behind her as Tommy sprang from his seat, eager for today’s rehearsal.

“Why not?” he continued to pester as they climbed the stairs up to where Nikki was smoking on the balcony of his apartment building.

“Give up man,” he sighed through an exhale of cigarette smoke. “You’ve been on her ass for how long about singing and she’s yet to even hum two fucking notes.” As he reached the butt of his cigarette, Nikki lowered his eyes to Wren and leaned against the railing with that damned smirk on his face as he said, “I’m starting to believe she can’t sing.” Once again, his attempt of riling up Wren Ledden was fruitlessly met with a shrug of her shoulders and the roll of her eyes.

“I guess no one will ever know,” she sighed and took a step inside the apartment she desperately tried to keep clean. Dirt and grime never bothered her, but after living on the streets for nearly a year, Wren came to appreciate a clean home, so when Tommy and Nikki practiced, she would clean as much as she could. At first it bothered Nikki to have someone going through his home, but he quickly came to appreciate Wren’s habit, especially one night when he got out of the shower to a fluffed towel instead of the rough, unwashed one he’d been using.

“Hey, before Rick shows up, I’ve got something to ask you two,” Nikki said as he looked up and down the street cautiously. Wren got the feeling that Nikki didn’t like the band’s current, yet most likely temporary guitarist, Rick, very much, hell she didn’t care very much for him as a musician; she’d often hear Nikki complaining about Rick’s playing and even tried to give Rick a few pointers before ultimately bugging Nikki and Tommy once again about the guy from the newspaper ad. Even now as he closed the door behind him, Wren could tell Nikki was hesitant to speak in fear of Rick showing up and feeling as though he was included in whatever conversation the three were about to have. “I’ve been cutting it close in rent lately and was thinking about if you two would want to move in. Even if you say ‘no’ I’m going to have to find roommates, so please don’t make me put an ad out for some fuckers I’m probably going to hate.” That was about as nice as Nikki could put his proposition. Was it true? Partially. He did have problems meeting rent, but that was nothing new, and it certainly wasn’t something he was going fix by finding some random people to live with him. Big, blabby mouthed Tommy had let it slip to Nikki one night that Wren was technically homeless after Nikki asked why the pair always traveled with one another. He explained how she had been living with him and his parents for roughly half a year and how they’d been trying to save up to get an apartment together when Nikki extended the same offer he’d just made to Tommy.

Tommy looked over Wren’s shoulder, past the back of her head and muttered a thank you to his newest friend as he placed his hands together in a prayer-like fashion before his eyes fell back to Wren as she turned to face him. Nikki took this opportunity to shrug, as if to tell Tommy it was nothing, but deep down, something inside him was terrified of hearing Wren’s answer.

“What do you say?” Tommy asked with a wide grin on his face. “I mean, we’re here all the time anyway.” Wren turned back to Nikki and noticed Rick’s heavy breathing as he hurried up the steps towards the apartment door.

“Fuck it,” she sighed with probably the first genuine smile Nikki had ever seen cross her face. “I’m already cleaning this sty anyway.” And that was about as nice as Wren could put her acceptance. Of course, she knew Tommy had opened his big mouth about how she had been living with him; Nikki had been casting awful glances of pity her way for about two weeks now, and she was too intuitive to allow this mannerism to go unnoticed. She was, however, thankful that Nikki’s stubborn pride rivaled her own. He would never admit to having any other motive behind inviting her and Tommy to live with him, which meant no heart to heart, softie conversation was necessary—something neither of the pair were particularly good at.

For once, Nikki found himself thankful for Rick’s presence, because just as he thought he saw a hint of a heart-felt smile forming on Wren’s lips, the large, strawberry blonde excuse of a guitar player opened the door with his case in tow behind him. “Quit ogling Tommy’s girlfriend and help me, Nikki,” Rick complained as he embarked on his recurring struggle to connect his guitar to the amp that lived in Nikki’s living room. Wren rolled her eyes at Rick’s comment and Tommy sprang into action—it was always like him and his kind heart to help whatever sorry soul was in need. Nikki too rolled his eyes, but he reluctantly made his way over to Rick, who was trying to turn his guitar while Tommy and Nikki set up the amplifier.

Wren pursed her lips in slight aggravation. Tommy’s generosity coupled with Nikki’s animosity and her own tolerance toward the man was sure to cause a riff in the and if Rick became more long-term than any of the three initially presumed. In an attempt to ignore the arguing that was destined to ensure, Wren began to unpack and piece together her saxophone. It had become a habit of hers to distract herself with her own music, so she frequently practiced various jazz and concert solos she bought from second-hand music stores. Only Tommy had ever heard her play; Wren had a deep-seated fear of judgement and even deeper trust issues that manifested through standoffs whenever someone tried to listen to her play or sing without her permission. The other reason as to why she’d been seeking refuge through her instrument was to keep from subjecting her voice to ridicule.

Nikki and Tommy were amazing musicians, even if Rick slowed them down, and Wren often lost herself in their sound. She’d heard Nikki sing along to his own lyrics so many times she knew them by heart, and she constantly found herself being restrained by her own crippling anxiety. She wanted so much to be able to throw her concerns into the air and jump in to join her friends as a temporary lead vocalist, but she feared being told she wasn’t good enough—one of the many negative side effects that came from her narcissistic vicariously living parents.

As Rick began to practice the same damn progression Nikki had demonstrated three times in the past week, Wren slung her neck strap over her head and allowed her reed to dangle between her lips. With one last glance toward the band before she disappeared from their sight, she noticed an energetic thumbs up from Tommy and a desperately pained look in Nikki’s eyes once the room filled with Rick’s attempt to play metal. In his own plea for relief, Nikki locked eyes with Wren and made a bold couple of strides toward where she stood with her golden instrument hanging just below her chest.

“Do me a favor,” he said as his chin dipped down so he could whisper into her ear, “kill me.”

“Just when you’re starting to really come together as a band?” she asked as what Nikki learned to be Wren’s taunting grin spread across her cheeks.

“Better yet, call that number we found in the diner and have him get his ass over here now.” Wren could feel Nikki’s frustration against her neck in the form of choppy, hot breaths.

“Now, now?” she questioned as Nikki brought his hazel eyes to meet her perpetually stormy grey ones.

“Before I blow my brains out would be great,” he huffed before he staked off to grab his bass, making sure to give Wren the up and down before pulling his eyes away from her. That was something Wren had gotten used to, Nikki’s quick intake of her appearance. It became almost like a joke to her: Nikki would look her over really quick, maybe even wiggle his eyebrows at her, and she would roll her eyes and swat his arm. She’d been through the same thing with Tommy, so she knew that sooner or later Nikki would come to the same conclusion Tommy had: she was one of the guys and nothing more.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Wren said softly in reply before she disappeared into the kitchen and pulled the phone from its receiver. The ad had been hanging on Nikki’s fridge under a Bowie magnet ever since the night she found it, so Wren was able to punch in the number quickly as Nikki and Tommy launched into one of their songs.

“Huh?” A man’s voice grunted over the line.

“I’m looking for a loud, rude, guitar player,” she said under the rumbling of Nikki’s bass and the thumping of Tommy’s drums as they rattled the small apartment’s thin walls. “Know where I can find one?”

“I just might,” the voice responded. “Mick Mars.”

“Wren Ledden,” she responded quickly to use Tommy’s drum solo to hide the rest of her conversation from Rick’s potentially prying ears. “Can you be here in fifteen?”

“Make it ten,” Mick responded before he added a curt ‘goodbye’ and hung up. As Wren hung up the phone, she could hear Nikki grumbling as he wailed the proper progression of chords on Rick’s guitar for the umpteenth time that week. Wren laughed at her best friend’s awestruck face; she thought that after hanging around Nikki for this long Tommy would at least be a little immune to the starstruck gleam he currently wore.

Nikki’s face perked up in curious anticipation when Wren entered the room, and Tommy’s expression quickly mimicked that of their new friend. Nikki had already familiarized himself with the fact that Wren was wearing a pair of tight blue jeans with a Rolling Stones t-shirt tucked into the waistband, yet he still had to fight his instinct to let his eyes trail over her chest and hips. Wren approached him with a few gingerly strides before she raised up onto her toes to whisper in his ear, “Your boy will be here in ten,” and then sink away into the back bedroom of the apartment, leaving only hope and a fraction of an old marching band solo with the boys in the living room.

Wren’s parting notes hung in an air of mystery around Nikki’s ears as Tommy nostalgically began to play his accompanying part from the show on the trap set’s snare drum. Tommy chuckled as his mind traveled back to memories of him and Wren goofing around on their instruments, and Nikki felt a wave of yearning nostalgia wash over him as he imagined being a part of their world.

Nikki’s eyes followed Wren as she walked away, his mind distracted with thoughts of what they could be if it was him who had grown to know every part of her over the past six years, and not Tommy. He’d almost forgotten about everyone else’s presence, but he didn’t care; if simply having Wren around was enough to curb his frustration and temper, everyone else could wait on him to decompress with the imaginary ‘what ifs’ circling his head.

“What the fuck do you think you’re looking at?” Tommy’s gasp sent Nikki’s stomach spinning and he quickly pulled his attention to the people he’d been ignoring. As his eyes flicked over to Tommy, he noticed that he wasn’t the subject of the kid’s outburst. “Yo, Earth to Rick!” Ease fell over Nikki’s muscles, and he felt safe enough to loosen his grip on the fret of his bass. Normally Rick avoided Wren at all costs—both Tommy and Nikki found it hilarious how clammy he poor man became whenever Wren entered the room, but neither knew if it was due to an obviously unrequited sexual tension or a genuine fear of her.

“Nikki looks at your girl all the time, and you don’t say shit to him,” Rick retorted in his own defense.

“She’s not—” Tommy jumped from his seat at the trap set and wandered into the kitchen in search of a beer while Nikki let out a small sigh of relief over the fact that Tommy was more concerned in making sure Rick knew he wasn’t dating Wren than to address the looks Nikki often exchanged with her. However, with Tommy gone, Rick lowered his voice and moved closer to Nikki.

“Do you both hit that?” he asked softly.

“What the fuck, man?” Tommy again gasped in shock at Rick’s words, only this time he retaliated by throwing one of his drumsticks at the pudgy guitarist.

“You and Nikki,” Rick restated as he thought of a way to rephrase his question to appeal to his slightly younger counterparts. “You’re both sticking it in her, right? Like all three of you are a ‘couple’.” The man again paused as he took in the look his band mates were giving him. Tommy’s body was as still as it had ever been as his mind tried to process how Rick had come to that conclusion. Nikki on the other hand had a cross between a look of perversion as well as a smug grimace. “I mean, I’m not judging or anything if that’s what you’re all into, but how do I—?”

“Don’t even finish that question, or we’ll have to kick your ass,” Nikki grunted low enough to keep Wren from hearing him in the other room.

“Better yet,” Tommy interjected with a smirk, “we could let her kick his ass.” He chuckled as his words sent a wave of crimson flowing through Rick’s cheeks.

“He’ll probably get off on it; fucking pervert,” Nikki scoffed as he watched Rick’s moderately confrontational behavior subside into total submission. Nikki’s smirk widened as he noticed the embarrassment coursing through Rick’s body. “Fuck, he’s getting a semi just thinking about it!” Tommy laughed along at Nikki’s insults until Rick rolled his eyes and made yet another attempt at the intro to ‘Live Wire.’ The other two band members stifled their laughter and rushed to hit their opening notes; all the while, Nikki toted his bass across his body in a way to block his own slowly growing erection as his mind went down the dangerous path that was Wren Ledden.

Within seconds of the song’s opening notes, or rather Nikki and Tommy’s opening notes, since Wren could hardly hear Rick over them, she reappeared, curious to see if Rick could nail the proper chords, but also interested in watching the pure look of ecstasy overwhelm her best friend whenever he performed, and the grimace of irritation that always flooded Nikki’s face during Rick’s performance of ‘Live Wire’. Not even fifteen seconds into the song, Nikki had his hand held up in an attempt to silence Tommy and Rick’s instruments.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called out, his eyes fixed on Rick. “What the fuck, dude? That’s not what I showed you, man!”

“Yeah, I know but,” Rick took a small pause as if evaluating his tone before he continued, “it’s not like anything I’ve ever played before.”

Nikki’s eyes widened as he looked past Rick to Wren with disbelief radiating from his posture. In an exasperated sigh, both Nikki and Wren muttered, “That’s the point,” in response to the sad excuse Rick had offered, subsequently forcing him to hear their complaint in surround sound. “Let’s just take a break,” Nikki sighed as Wren walked past the band. She pinched the bridge of her nose and quickly exited the apartment with Nikki at her heels and Tommy following him.

“You’re overpowering him,” Wren muttered as she sipped on a fresh, cold bottle of beer.

“I’m hardly playing,” Nikki snapped back, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the outside wall of the apartment. Wren offered him a sip her drink and he took the bottle eagerly. As he pressed the cool glass to his mouth, the taste of peppermint lingered on his lips from the residue of her Chapstick, and suddenly the anxious ache that manifested in the pit of his stomach when he initially thought Tommy was snapping at him for staring at Wren was back.

“Come on, he’s trying,” Tommy said in an attempt to ease tension.

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Nikki murmured to no one in particular as he handed Wren her drink, careful to not graze her fingers in the process.

“He’s a rhythm guy, anyway. We’ll sound better when we find a lead.” Tommy lit a smoke and they both watched as Wren took three large gulps in an attempt to quickly finish her drink. As she pulled the bottle away from her lips, she watched as a faded orange piece of shit pulled up to the curb in front of Nikki’s apartment.

“Holy shit,” he said with a laugh as Wren shoved the beer bottle into his hands.

“Check this dude out,” Tommy commented as he skipped down the stairs to help the man unload his car with Wren not far behind him.

“Ask and you shall receive,” she teased as she glanced upward at Nikki from where she stood below him on the steps. He couldn’t help the thin smile that overcame his face as he watched her bound down the steps, and he again tried to suppress the feeling that came over him as he watched Wren’s fingers comb through her long brown hair as it fell down her back.

At the bottom of the steps, Tommy grabbed hold of the stranger’s amplifier as Wren helped him ease it out of the trunk. Nikki maintained eye contact with the man who had pulled himself from the driver’s seat, and began to make his way down the steps as well with a slow saunter in his step.

“I got a call from Wren,” the man who had introduced himself on the phone as Mick said as the two youngest people—a tall gangly boy and a plainly dressed girl—immediately heaved his amp from the trunk of his car.

“That’s Wren.” Tommy took one of his hands off the amp to point at the girl across from him, only to receive a grunt of irritation from her followed by swift chastisement.

“Both hands, Tommy,” Wren huffed as she heaved the amp up onto her hip during Tommy’s lackadaisical assistance. “Even though I’m already carrying most of the damn thing.” Her final comment earned a small chuckle from Mick, which was probably the first facial expression he shared besides the foreboding scowl that seemed to permanently rest over his face. Wren brought her eyes to the man again. He was older--not old by any means--than she and Tommy were, and probably even slightly older than Nikki. He had pale skin with frown lines framing his lips, dark, overly teased hair that seemed to match Nikki’s, and wore smudged eyeliner around his pale blue eyes.

“I’m Tommy, the drummer,” the youngest man introduced himself.

“You’re a little scrawny for a drummer,” Mick stated, his voice dry and outwardly indifferent. A laughing smirk rose to the girl’s face as she continued to listen to Mick drag her friend about his size and previous performing acts. Anyone who could shoot the shit with Tommy and get him as riled up as she could was a solid character in her book, so she gave him a kind smile once the trio reached the top of the stairs and Mick tenderly took over the tedious task of carrying the amp indoors and setting it up.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this guy,” Wren said as she heard Nikki’s boots thump against the stairs the closer he grew to her position in front of his apartment.

“I bet you do,” Nikki said in a sultry voice as he bit his lower lip, gently thrust his hips against the air, and then moaned. Wren rolled her eyes shoved her palms against the part of Nikki’s chest that was covered up by his tucked in, black button up shirt.

“Shut the fuck up, Sixx,” Wren laughed as she pulled the bottle from his hands, tipped her head back, and finished off the bottle.

“Is that why you and Tommy aren’t a thing?” he pestered as Wren continued to narrow her eyes at him. “You like ‘em old?” Again, Wren slapped his chest and narrowed her eyes at him.

“-er. Old-er,” she specified.

Boys her own age weren’t interesting and had little to offer in any respect: financial, worldly experience, emotional support, sexual prowess, you name it. Not that her sexual or dating preference mattered in the least considering no one was ever interested in her. She’d spent her life as one of the guys—a bro with boobs, Tommy with tits. Romantic relationships weren’t a strong suit for Wren so she avoided them as much as she could, leading to most of her relationships with guys to become what she has with Tommy, except on a much smaller scale. Tommy was a brother to her, and she could never imagine getting as close with anyone else. He knew her at her ups and downs, he stayed by her side through the good and the bad, and she had done the same for him. Nothing could separate them, and she’d be damned if anyone ever tried to. But Nikki would never understand Tommy’s ability to be so emotionally and physically close to Wren and not feel something for her. Even now, standing outside of what is technically their apartment, Nikki couldn’t fathom how Tommy has woken up to see Wren in his home, fallen asleep knowing she was a two second walk away, and not want to at least know what it’s like to kiss her. Hell, he’d wanted to lean down and figure that out the moment she wised up to him in the men’s room. If he didn’t have a semblance of self-control, he’d do it now; but Tommy was watching them, Mick was waiting, and Rick had been suspicious of him from the second he saw the way Nikki’s eyes landed on Wren whenever she wasn’t looking.

“Older, not old,” she recapped as Nikki generously took the empty bottle away from where Wren’s nervous fingers were spinning it.

“I’m older, y’know,” Nikki said as he puffed out his chest, arranging himself into the same upright posture he’d stood over her in during their meeting in the bathroom. Wren took notice of Nikki’s changed demeanor and pretended to give Mick the same up and down examination she knew Nikki gave her.

“Mick’s not old though,” she said as an addendum to her previous comment. The arrogant smile over Nikki’s face fell and a small laugh escaped his lips--the first true laugh Wren had heard from the man since meeting him. She couldn’t help but smile upon realizing she was the reason such a kind and gentle noise came from such a dark and brooding man.

With a cocky smirk, Nikki turned around and slung his arm over Wren’s shoulders and took a step toward the open apartment door. It took a week for Wren to grow accustom to Nikki’s protective gestures, and another week afterwards when she discovered he only acted this way whenever he felt threatened in some way. Tommy only acted protective over Wren when he felt she’d gotten herself into a dangerous situation, or if some creep was trying to cop a feel. Nikki was different. Whenever someone passed him a sideways glare, commented on his outward appearance or attitude, or did something that would make Wren feel like shit had she been on the receiving end, Nikki would slip an arm around her or look into her eyes for a moment longer than he normally would.

She was certain Nikki didn’t know she knew about this, and in all honesty, she wasn’t sure he knew why he felt drawn to her in these moments of vulnerability. When she first figured out what he was doing, she felt strange; it was awkward for her to even consider she was a lightning rod for someone. How could she, of all people, be the person another human being felt safe enough around and had enough trust in to ground them in moments of stress? Regardless of her disbelief, in this moment, as they entered the apartment together, his arm draped across her shoulders, both laughing at some hidden joke between the pair, a gnawing thought entered her mind:

 He’s insecure. He’s holding you because he’s insecure. He’s insecure because of the conversation…because of the joke about Mick.

As they crossed into the threshold of the apartment, Wren slipped from Nikki’s embrace and leaned her shoulder against the door frame. Through the light raucous inside, she could hear Nikki ask Mick if he’s looked over the music yet and if he was ready to start. The man hardly skimmed the page before he plugged in his guitar and let out a low and gravely command, “Let’s just fucking play.”

Continue Reading: Next Chapter

[ms31x129]

Chimera

Woohoo! Time for Chapter 2! I had to make a DJ! I felt compelled! @cultureisdarkbeer @monikafilefan @today-in-fic

Chapter 1 - Courage to Jump Tumblr LINK or if you like AO3 it is HERE. 

Chapter 2: Luck of the Irish  (Click on the name for AO3) or if you like Tumblr just clickity-click on the Keep Reading link below.

{Summary:  Months after watching the death of his adoptive parents and Mulder and Scully’s tearful exchange on the pier, Jackson decides to take the risk and head back to his home. He is in search of answers left behind and possibly something worth keeping as a remembrance before the house is sold and all is lost forever. In the attic he finds a letter from his birth mother and as he reads each line, the power and love each word possesses causes his mind to connect with the letter's past, one that he shares, and through visions he relives each moment including an answer to a familiar quarter that his birth grandmother would later carry on a simple chain around her neck only for his birth mother to do the same after his grandmother’s death.}

"My task, which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel--it is, before all, to make you see." -Joseph Conrad

The handwriting drew him in first—elegant and delicate. The shapes of the letters remarkably strong, written with expertise and confident symmetrical lines. Beautiful strokes, both straight and curved, the letters flowing into one another with care and precision. His own handwriting was jagged: no artful roundness or discernable style. Sometimes his Os looked more like As and Ys like an S. They did not have that in common. With a deep sigh he dared to plunge forth, to jump and read the first line.

One day, you’ll ask me to speak of a truth of the miracle of your birth; to explain what is unexplained.

He paused at the word “unexplained” . Something within that word haunted him. His heart inexplicably raced, vision blurred and his mind blazed. Like a great rush of water, the memory returned as if he entered a time machine.

February 5, 2002  - "Handle them carefully, for words have more power than atom bombs" -Pearl Strachan Hurd

Silver. A quarter.

The delicious smell of something baking in the oven. A smile came into focus that was highlighted by lines and age. Security and warmth when he was cradled within her arms. She was an older woman, holding him tenderly with dark hair and a glimmer in her hazel eyes that matched the shiny quarter she had retrieved from her purse. After setting him down in his bassinet, she displayed it in front of his eyes. The woman flipped the quarter over like it held pure magic. As if she had never seen one before. Her features cracked into a familiar grin.

“This is luck, William. A coin in a baby's hand means they will never want for money. It’s an old Irish tradition. I put one under your Uncle Bill’s pillow when he was a baby. Same with your Uncle Charlie and your mother.”

Baby William grabbed hold of the coin. Jackson recalled the feel of it in his hand. Cold metal, yet warm in places where she had touched. With both small hands he tugged the solid object from her grasp.

A worried look clouded over the woman’s brow as she stroked his fluffy hair.

“William, I know you are special, but you will always be my grandson. You will grow to do many great things. Change the world in ways only you can dream. Always remember my dear, sweet grandchild, you can survive the unexplained—survive anything if you feel loved… and I do love you.”

The older woman with the hearts in her eyes took one last heavy breath before reasserting her smile. Even at his young age, her eyes and mind communicated to him and the words resonated making him bubble with laughter and kick with joy. The woman let out a laugh, loud and beautiful. Her face was aglow with new beginnings of a world he was ripped from and would never get to see. Their moment was interrupted by the front door and a familiar voice: Mother .

Her face bright and cheery as she finally came into view. “Mom, watch so that he doesn’t put that in his mouth.”

Mother knelt down as she took the quarter from his fisted baby hands and it angered him. He began to fuss and kick, desperate to feel the coin’s texture against his skin again.

“Shh, look,” she soothed while she held the quarter near his face. He let out a laugh as he reached for it, only to make it disappear. Jackson felt himself frown as baby William. Then his mother squeezed his button nose and out popped the quarter. She then held it out in the center of her palm for him once again, and a squeaking giggle rumbled out of his little chest as she laughed along too."Your daddy showed me that trick," she said and smiled so bright it warmed his body from his tiny rounded toes, to his now drooling, smiling mouth.  

“I was going to place it under his pillow. Give him some Irish luck,” the woman answered softly while coming back into his vision, drinking from a steaming cup.

“You know I don’t believe in superstitions, Mom, but I guess it would be alright.”

His mother’s hand gently stroked the swell of his cheek with her thumb and her bright blue eyes danced between his, connecting. A quick electric-like spark ran through him as if he were shocked. Her eyes narrowed onto his at the realization of the connection made while her hand jerked away from the softness of his face.

Jackson’s head snapped back and he found himself staring at the attic’s wooden ceiling, inhaling the musty oak while the past scent of his mother mingled with the present. He gripped his thighs and forced his breathing to slow.

“What the fuck?”

The length of the memory freaked him out. He had experienced snippets or clips of what he knew to be memories of his life as a young boy, but never to this amount of detail, and not even close to lasting that long before. His mind had never worked in a manner that society had deemed normal and this was just another example shoved in his face of how screwed up his head really was.

He scoffed and kicked the box next to his foot, angry as he glared at the letter that had floated to the floor.

“Why am I even doing this? I’ve lived my past and it certainly wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine.” Jackson shook his head and stood to pace the floor, tucking his chin to his chest as the low beams brushed along his wild chestnut hair.

Questions overwhelmed him.

“Who am I really?” he huffed, biting his lip and running a hand down his face. “Jackson or William? Some kind of freak with alien DNA? A Changeling? A Chimera? And do I even wanna find out?” Truth was he did. He wanted to know who he was and get his life back, take control of what could happen in the future. But in order to do that, he knew he had to look to the past no matter how painful it may end up being.

Overall his life was a happy one, for a kid who felt like an alien in his own skin a little more as each year past with no idea as to why. He’d laughed, played practical jokes, had friends, took family vacations, and learned life lessons. But, the bad soon followed the good.

At times, it certainly wasn’t the happiest of childhoods and sure as hell wasn’t normal; the unexplainable powers he’d just happen to acquire growing up put a wrench in the standards of normalcy. Beyond that aspect, his parents loved him and they showed it. Sometimes embarrassingly so. Perks and downfalls of adoption, he supposed. But after shit hit the fan as his powers grew and was forced to switch schools, he utilized his above average intelligence to hack into the State of Wyoming’s county birth records. That had only spurred his curious mind into overdrive. Searching high and low for clues within the confines of his bedroom, where is parents hovered less often, was his only real way to find his own answers. The answers that his parents nor doctors could ever truly give him.

The only way to find the truth was to seek it. And seeking it through unauthorized channels, after finding out his genetic material was not shared with his parents whom were raising him, was his only choice to answer the questions firing through his mind every hour of every day and throughout each night laced with dreams he couldn’t explain.

“Follow the breadcrumbs, Jackson,” Mrs. Wilson told him as she leaned over his desk, thumbing through his advanced science book. “There are always clues left behind to help guide you when you lose your way. No matter how small they may seem or how cloaked in misdirection they are, the truth is out there.”

And that is exactly what he was doing now: searching for his truth.

An average day in his grade school science class had turned into a room full of shocked classmates and a seriously freaked out teacher calling his parents to pick him up when he had hatched an egg out of thin air. Jackson cringed at the memory of being picked up from school that day and seeing the look of what he now knows to be apprehension plastered across his mom’s face. That incident only spurred his parents into action, calling the genetics specialist at the Children’s Hospital of Wyoming to make yet another appointment.

Jackson stopped pacing and slammed his eyes shut, recalling the very occurrence that flipped his childhood world upside down and had finally given him his very first breadcrumb he was unknowingly searching for already.

“Come on, come on, Jackson! Get your long legs moving!” his dad teased as he ran ahead through the reeds of the waving grass.

“You cheated!” he hollered, his golden brown hair that frizzes in humidity flopped into his eyes with each pound of his foot into the ground.

He was taller than most kids at age eight but still hadn’t honed his ability to use the length of his legs the way he wanted. The new spring sun shone brightly into Jackson’s eyes as he ran through the rolling hills of their farmland behind the house.

The competitive side of him ached to catch his dad laughing at him from the bottom of the hill and a sudden surge of anger rushed in as he picked up the pace. He was known for his swift shift in temperament recently and had even unintentionally shattered the sliding glass door after his mom had scolded him. That same anger resurfaced and Jackson stretched out his limbs as he raced down the steep hill, leaping over a branch only to fly awkwardly through the air and land crushingly hard on his arm.

“Jackson!” He heard his dad yell and run towards him. The pain shooting through his forearm was overwhelming and when he looked down, he saw the bone had broken and was protruding out jaggedly beneath his skin. “Oh, my God! It’s broken, Son.” His dad gently touched his wrist and told him he was going to get help.

No tears came while his dad disappeared into the house. He only stared hard at the bone and endured the pain as he narrowed his eyes, focusing on just making it go away. “Please go away, go away, go away…” As soon as he chanted that, a searing sharp pain lanced through his head and down to his arm, heating and mending the break right before his widened eyes.

Jackson sat in the grass, covered in damp smelling dirt while he watched the bones in his arm straighten back out in utter shock. It was like nothing ever happened. He had done it. He had just healed himself; and he felt completely alone.

Even as his parents arrived and hovered over him, shocked and confused, Jackson had never felt more different, alien—knew in his intelligent mind that his life would never be the same again.

And it hadn’t. Not one day since then. That was the day he had overheard his parents speaking in hushed tones through the doctor’s door at the Children’s Hospital, telling them that more testing should be done since his birth parents might hold the detailed answers to their son’s medical history and the key to his future health.

The rest of his life had been spent rebelling and testing his powers in some sort of weird competition with himself. Jackson had been trying to fill in the gaps on his own and it just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his mother, questions to which they needed to find the answers. There was only one way to get them now.

The question still remained: was he ready to receive them? And was she?

A loud bang and muffled noises caught Jackson’s attention and he moved to the attic’s window.

“Shit!” He jerked away from the glass and gasped as he saw two men in suits walking up the driveway.

Closing his eyes as he listened to the sounds and movement of the men outside, he heard the “For Sale” sign creaking in the wind again. An idea struck. He fisted his hands and scrunched up his face in concentration. In a matter of seconds and an exhale a breath, he was now the man shown on the sign sporting a fake smile and a bad haircut.

The front door rattled and Jackson knew that the men in black weren’t going to give up until they did a full sweep of the home. He moved to the doorway of the attic but just before he exited, he looked longingly at the letter written only for him. The decision to take the letter with all the beautiful words of nearly two decades ago etched into it with him, or let it collect dust and age without knowing every single word his mother had meant for him to read ended up being an easy one for him to make.

He lunged down and snagged the letter, folding it up in his pocket just as the back door flung open and smashed into the wall.

Using his illusion, Jackson stood before the surprised men and asked, “what can I help you with? If you’re here to see the house, another walk through is happening in a couple hours.” His voice was deceptively calm since his heart was pounding in his ears. The fact that he could easily kill them where they stood didn’t mean he wanted to do so. He felt like a monster enough already.

“You’re the realtor?” The man with thinning hair and glasses asked as he palmed what Jackson assumed was a gun at the spine of his back. “No one else has been here?”

“No, but who are you?” Jackson made his way casually to the front door and narrowed his eyes at the man’s hand. When he got no answer he unlocked the door and flung it open. “You should leave before the authorities notice that piece behind your back. And since you’ve basically broken into a home up for sale, I think they’d have probable cause to search you.”

The men shared a look and stiffened at his icy tone. Silence hung in the air until the decision of whether to explain anything to him finally came.

“We’ve been monitoring this place since the event of last year for classified reasons. No need to waste your time on a worthless phone call.” Spinning around in place, they stared up toward the landing on the second floor, as if they expected him to just pop out of his room and wave. “Seems hard to believe a house like this is still on the market,” he chuckled and nudged his partner with a smug expression. “I guess the multiple homicides might turn people off.”

It took all of his strength to not beat the hell out of these assholes standing in the exact spot where his parents’ killers stood, aiming their murder weapon at his own head from the stairway.

“Then go,” he sneered. “Unless you plan on buying?”

Attitude and rage oozed from his teenage mouth and he didn’t give one shit. His control was waning at a faster rate than he had anticipated and if they didn’t leave soon, he could only imagine how the entryway walls would look with a fresh layer of red blood painted across its pristine eggshell white.

The taller man took the hint and made one final glance around and nodded for his partner to follow him out the door and down through the front lawn. They slowly got into their car and drove off, but not before tossing out a look that could kill. And Jackson had no doubt that the men had done just that multiple times before.

He slammed the front door and locked it. His head banged against the heavy wood.

“Jesus,” he exhaled as he dropped the illusion. “I gotta get out of here.” He ran a hand through his longer hair now and slid his fingers in his pocket, brushing them along the letter he had yet to finish. “That’s just it, man… you never finish what you start,” he laughed, annoyed and frustrated with everything including himself. “But maybe now, it’s time to try.”

[thatfairyfangirl]

Part Of That World Chapter 1

Steve strode into the battle room, dropping a file onto the table surrounded by his teammates. “We have a hit on another one.” He announced as he leaned against the table, pulling up a 3d map of the globe, honing in on a remote part of the ocean. “The strange part is it’s on no known land mass. Buck, you have any incite on this” He asked turning to his best pal.

The sun pouring through the window glinted against the metal of his arm as he shrugged his shoulders. “Not much outside of this is the third time I’m aware of that they’ve tried to build there. So there’s definitely something out there they want.”

“Maybe they found Red Scull’s remains?” Nat offered.

Steve shook his head. “No, he’d be in the Arctic. This is too far south for that.” 

In the back of Bruce’s mind he had another idea what it might be, he remembered hearing rumors of aquatic people in WWII...but he quickly dismissed it as myth or war hysteria. 

“Well no matter the reason it’s our job to stop them.” Clint added as he screwed a new head onto one of his arrows. They all nodded in agreement before suiting up.

~ ~ ~ ~

Deep under the sea the ground shook as building took place above a small subnautic cave...home to a tribe of Atlantean people. The blue skinned aquatic dwellers huddled in fear as a group of warriors emerged, lead by you. This wasn’t the first time they had to keep their secret home safe, armed with tridents and harpoons your troops made their way to the group of surface dwellers, entering their half finished base from below.

As the Atlanteans launched their defence the Avengers’ quinjet hovered above as the assault team dropped in. Though the attacks on the Hydra base were by no means coordinated they were enough to spread their forces thin, making it easy pickings for the both of them. You broke a hole in the metal of the submerged base, letting water flood in. With a wave of your hand you bent the water to your will, forcing it down the throats of the hydra soldiers as Clint shot down member after member until he found his arrows pointing at a blue skinned gilled man holding a trident menacingly. “Uhh hey guys, since when does Hydra employ blue fish people?” Clint asked as the Atlantean shouted in his ancient tongue, swinging for the surface dweller, not knowing anyone in here was on his side. Clint dodged and blocked the shots as he looked around, seeing blue men and women all over chopping down Hydra agents. You turned, your blue and blond hair falling in your eyes as you watched the interactions. “Hey wait! I think we’re on the same side!” He called out. 

You rushed to the archer’s side, stepping between him and your warrior, blocking a strike to the side of his head with your arm, the trident clinging against your dense Atlantean flesh. “What do you mean same side archer?” You asked as you both moved back to back with each other, helping each other fight as you spoke. 

“Well it looks like we’re both fighting Hydra here.” Clint explained as his arrows flew. ‘Umm the guys who built this.” 

“Then yes, we are.” You confirmed before shouting in Atlantean, informing your aquatic brethren that this time they have allies. As you spoke Clint watched you push a rush of water, forcing it into the mouth and nostrils of those they were working against, making him glad you were on the same side.

Soon enough there were no Hydra left standing as the two groups moved toward each other, though the Atlanteans were careful to stay within the water, breathing in deeply  “Who are you people?” Tony asked with a wonderful curiosity in his eyes. 

“They are Atlanteans.” You answered stepping forward. Bucky’s eyes widened as he looked on the only one of them that looked remotely human. If it wasn’t for the blue streaks in your hair he’d swear he was looking at a ghost of his past. “I’m sorry but they don’t have many dealings with the people of the land. I do hope my troops didn’t hurt anyone too badly before we realized we were fighting for the same cause.” You offered before your eyes found the winter soldier. Your heart stopped as you looked on the ghost of your past, clutching your harpoon tightly, tempted to strike him down right now.

Bruce stepped forward, examining you, finding a set of gills under the edges of your jaw which were quickly closing up, letting your lungs take over. “A genetic offshoot of humanity evolved for water and surface dwelling...This is amazing!”

“You said they are Atlanteans...then who are you?” Bucky asked with narrow eyes, not trusting what was in front of him.

You blinked in disbelief at the question...he didn't recognize you? “My name is (y/n). I suppose I’m what you would call best of both worlds.” You explained as you pulled your blond and blue hair out of your eyes. “My mother was an Atlantean, but my father was a human mutant.” You paused turning to the one examining her. “Which is why I can breath...they need water.” You paused turning back to the group as a whole. “Atlantis thanks you...I wish we could show you some hospitality for the help you have given us in saving our home below. But…”

“But we need air.” Steve said with a nod.

“It is important to my people that we stay hidden. Please do not speak of this to anyone.” You added as you began to move to the water.

“They’ll just keep coming back you know. Hydra has a fix on you now. Why don’t you come with us? Powers like yours, we can help each other keep your home safe.” Steve suggested, holding out his hand in friendship.

Your eyes glared towards Bucky, recalling the day your father died by the Winter Soldier's gun, the day you were sure Hydra followed you to your aquatic home. “They've had a fix on us for quite some time now." You shook your head. "I'm sorry, but I am needed here.”

“You should go with them.” A strong masculine voice from the hand full of warriors spoke up as he stepped forward. He looked nearly human if it wasn't for his blue skin and hair tangled in a watery mess. Though you could understand the Atlantean language the team of heroes stood at the ready, unsure what the words meant. You turned your head, eyes wide in shock. “The humans have returned before and they will again. If you go with them you can find why and stop them.”

You nodded, knowing why...Hydra wanted your people. If they were to ever be at peace Hydra needed to be gone for good. “Wait for me here. I will be back shortly.”

As they watched the aquatic people swim away at great speeds Bucky spoke up. “Are we sure this is a good idea? I mean, what do we really know about this girl?”

“I know she saved my life, and made peace between us and them with just a few words.” Clint said as he slumped into a seat, soaked and sore. “At least I think they were words.” 

As the two discussed it Tony tapped at the computer, looking for any information on this new species that has been discovered. “Well, we know they are a genetic offshoot, they breath with a set of twin gills, have a thin layer of insulated tissue under their skin making them less sensitive to the cold, dense muscles enabling them to live at any ocean depth, eyes adapted for seeing in extreme conditions...And it is estimated they are about 30 times stronger than the average human. Hmm...she said dear ol dad was a mutant, that must be where she got the water bender trick from.”

“And when did you become an expert in aquatic humanoid life?” Steve asked with a raised brow.

“Right now.” Tony quipped back as he moved the information he was pulling from into a 3d image. “It seems Reed Richards ran into them in the early 90s. Their capital is located much further south but it seems we have stumbled upon one of their colonies. Lucky for us they typically don’t want to be where the people are.”

“So is this like a little mermaid thing? Is she even going to be able to talk when we take her back?” Bucky asked curiously as he leaned back in his seat.

“Um...yeah no...that’s fiction. I’ve lived on land very comfortably before Hydra killed my father.” You answered clutching your harpoon and a small box of your things with a hint of disdain for the thought that that movie was aquatic law or something. The blue and black of your armored suit shimmered as you moved into the quinjet, blond and blue hair clinging to your face, water dripping in your eyes. Bucky and Steve both looked you over for a moment before looking to each other, trading a thoughtful glance. 

“Hey pal, what was the name of that girl you used to see before the war?” Steve asked in a hushed tone as they took off back for Avenger’s Tower. 

“Pearl…” He said with his arms folded, his guard up for the first time since his brainwashing had been truly broken. You looked just like a ghost from his past and you were found in a hydra base...it was more than enough to unsettle him. “Pearl Turner.” The one girl to run off on Bucky without a word of goodbye.

“Doesn’t she-” Steve started.

“Yeah. Yeah she does.” Bucky answered sharply, not needing him to finish the question.

You turned toward the two. “I’m sorry did you say Pearl Turner? You knew my great aunt Pearl?” They both looked up with surprise as they nodded.

[reddeadtrash]

Ghosts

Summary: There is something strange about the woman they find in the winter wilderness. She is cold, unwavering, and strangely menacing. Arthur Morgan finds himself pulled in by that vivacity. Unbeknownst to him, she knows many things that elude this cowboy. Like magnet to metal, no matter how far he throws her away, he always finds himself going back.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC

Rating: M

Word count: 2000

A/N: final chapter for today, then it’s weekly updates hunnies

CHAPTER TWO: HAVE FAITH

He said one of these days you'll get out of these hills. Keep your nose on the grind stone and out of the pills. See the ways of this world just to bring you to tears. Keep the lord in your heart you'll have nothing to fear.

“What fresh is hell did you bring upon me, now, Dutch?”

              Arthur looked back from Dutch’s cabin, the harsh wind of the mountains whipping at his face. His cheeks were bitten red, skin around his mouth raw, and rashes had begun in the corners of his eyes. If they ever made it out of this mountain alive, Arthur would delight in the warmth of a good bath.

              Mrs. Grimshaw stood in a tight black dress, breasts pushed up almost to her chin. Back in her first days, Arthur had found it particularly hard to avoid the old-woman’s bosom, especially when she put it on display as such. She had such fine taste in clothing, and she knew how to make people work, but it seemed that people were more scared of a nip-slip than Mrs. Grimshaw herself.

              “What are you talking about, Mrs. Grimshaw?” Dutch asked, walking out of his cabin. The door clanged shut behind him.

              “That girl you brought along,” Susan went on. “She’s impossible. Dresses like a man and doesn’t want any of the clothes I usually reserve for the girls. Where exactly did y’all find her?”

              Dutch’s face split into a grin. “Oh, Mrs. Grimshaw,” he chuckled. “Let the woman be! We are headed out now anyway. Is everything in order?”

              Susan’s face went flat. “Of course!”

              “Then let’s ride!”

              The entire caravan was on the move when the sun had barely made its ascent into the sky. Slow flakes trickled from above to settle onto Arthur’s shoulders, who was riding the last wagon. Beside him, Charles, and sitting among the stocks was Hosea and Arya. The latter was dressed in a huge black woolen coat she had taken from one of the men’s closet, a red union shirt, and black pants held with thin suspenders. She still had on those strange leather boots.

              Arthur was pretending not to listen, but his soul still harbored the nameless doubt about that girl. When he sneaked a look back, noticing how she’d fashioned her hair into two braids running tight along the curve of her skull, her saw her bent towards Hosea.

              “A train?” she was saying.

              “We planned to hit it before coming down,” Hosea answered. He was wrapped in many woolen layers, but his cheeks were red, and his breath puffed out in thick white clouds. “We decided to take more time. Our dynamite line was broken anyway. We will settle down here, and then come back up to hit the train when we’ve got all we need.”

              He must have been showing her a map, Arthur wasn’t sure, as he was looking forward. They were traveling further south, and the warmth was beginning to seep into his coat. They rode along the sharp decline of the hills some more, bodies jostling simultaneously, Arya and Hosea whispering on about plans and places. All of this was giving Arthur nausea. As they rolled down from the snowy tops and onto frozen mud roads, Arthur’s stomach roiled with doubt.

              Telling her all these plans. All the places they had in mind to hide out from the law. Arthur didn’t like it. In fact, he never liked strangers. His mind had been trained to doubt everything. And now, his chest was burning, and he wanted to tell Arya to sit in the other wagon.

              Just at the instant where he was going to propose it, the wagon shifted to the left and crashed onto its rear haunch. The sound it made, as they exited the Cumberland bridge, was metal and wood grinding against each other. Arthur made a deep sound in his throat, stopped the horses, and jumped down from the seat.

              “Aah, I broke the Goddamn wheel!” he cried out in anger.

              Everyone jumped down, gathering behind the wagon to examine the broken wheel. It lay against the wagon, out of its socket, soaked in mud.

              “That’s an easy fix,” Arya mumbled.

              Charles gave the woman a side look while Arthur bent beside the wheel. From his vantage point, he saw the weird exchange of eyebrow game between Charles and Arya, and then she sighed and picked up the wheel.

              “Can you big boys hold the wagon up?” she asked, plunging her fingers into the dirt on the wheel to bring it upright.

              Arthur’s growl stayed stuck in his throat. He nonetheless joined Charles to hoist up the end of the wagon. Straining, he watched from the side as Arya hooked the wheel back on and hit it with a few swings of her hips until the wheel clanged into place.

              “There it is!” Hosea exclaimed, hands in the air. Arya’s face did something strange. It split and splintered into a smile, and Arthur saw just how white her teeth were, how full and red were her lips. For a brief instant, very brief, he forgot how to breathe.

              He’d seen many beautiful women in his days. Blondes, brunettes, reds. Light skin and dark skin. Tall and short, stout and elegant. He’d seen the variety of body shapes, of eyes, of smiles, and of cheeks. He’d tasted those lips and caressed those curves. Arthur Morgan had been with many women that he considered beautiful, yet none could compare to his Mary. His Mary. Brown-haired beauty. Freckled nose and cheeks. Heart-shaped lips that always looked wet. His Mary.

              Arya was coming quite close to eclipsing his Mary. That smile, dimpling her round cheeks, softening the almost perpetual angered look on her face, was going to be imprinted in Arthur’s mind for a very long time.

              He found himself sitting in the driver’s seat, frigid fingers clutching the reigns, Arya and Hosea still talking it out in the back of the newly-fixed wagon.

              By now, Dutch’s wagon was way ahead. Arthur had to follow the wheel tracks in the dirt to know the path, because dear old Hosea was too busy letting the new girl in on their plans. He thought about her running off in the middle of the night, bringing that breathtaking smile with her, and giving all that information to Colm.

              Arthur spotted Javier hanging off the road.

              “Climb on in, cowboy!” Charles joked.

              Javier crumbled something in Spanish yet swung along the edge of the wagon to sit among the stock. “Miss Reed,” he greeted, tipping his hat towards Arya.

              Arthur mulled that over. Arya Reed.

**

              Somewhere in the afternoon, they’d arrived at Horseshoe Overlook. Susan Grimshaw had arranged every single little detail; the kitchen wagon, healing kits, and respective tents. Dutch’s monster of a tent, complete with the vinyl player and Molly’s things, gloomed on the outskirts. Hitching posts. Cleaning wagon. Empty tables. It looked like home, or as close to home as it could get. This was camp.

              Arthur’s own tent was off beside Dutch’s, not far from the man’s protective glare. They’d spent a few days settling in, scouting ahead to see if the coast was clear. There were no lawmen in effect in the perimeter of camp, and the only bounty in town was on a dog slayer in Valentine. They were as safe as they could get.

              Arthur had used the down time to hunt. Alone with his horse and his bow and arrow, he scoured through the lands. At peace, serene with nature, Arthur felt at home within the wilderness. The weather was chilly in the morning, but with the warm sun, it got very comfortable during midday. Nights were cold, but on good days, when the sun had become more than warm, the night tended to stay warm too.

              When Arthur rode back into camp, his skin crusty and hair dirty, he smiled at the usual praise from the women.

              “Good one, Arthur,” Karen cooed in that cracking voice of hers, motioning to the white tail deer on his horse.

              “That’s gonna make some good stew!” Mary-Beth cheered, showing pink cheeks under the hot sun.

              As Arthur hitched his horse and slid off, he spotted a caramel-haired woman sauntering against the blue horizon. Dressed in a mud-stained black union shirt and black pants, Arya was helping Sadie hoist tin bins of water to Pearson’s wagon. She kept readjusting her suspenders and flipping her braids behind her back. Mud had stained her cheek where she’d had absentmindedly wiped at her face.

              The two women made a hell of a pair. Sadie with her rough ways and untamed attitude. Arya with a calm coldness that sent chills to the core of the soul. Arthur watched them interact; Sadie going on and on and on, while Arya nodded along with a look of murder written on her features.

              “Arthur!” Dutch was calling him from his tent, waving and smiling.

              Gathered around him were Micah, Hosea, Lenny, Javier, Bill, and Charles.

              “Arthur, now that you’ve joined us, we can start the preparations for the train heist.” Dutch cleared his throat. “With the information so nicely provided to us by the O’Driscolls and Miss Reed, we know the train will be crossing into the Grizzlies.”

              “We were just there, Dutch,” Micah grumbled. “Why couldn’t we hit it while staying there?”

              “Because Bill’s stupid detonator was broken,” Charles answered, giving the former man a side glance.

              Bill put his hands up. “It’s the detonator’s fault, not mine!”

              “Now that everything is in order!” Dutch bellowed over the bickering. “We will ride tonight. Charles and Javier, you ride ahead right now to scout for us. I don’t want any surprises.”

              The two aforementioned gave a sharp nod to the rest of the gathered bodies and walked off.

              Dutch continued, “The rest of us will ride tonight. We will camp at the halfway point. In the morning, we will wait for the train, who, according to our information, arrives in the early afternoon.” He produced a small stack of papers from his vest and started handing them out. “Hosea has made makeshift maps if ever anything happens.”

              Arthur grabbed his and was surprised when Dutch handed one to Arya and Sadie, who were quietly standing behind the group of men.

              “Miss Reed and Mrs. Adler!” Micah sing-songed in that grim voice that was between a rasp and a growl.

              “Probably a better shot than you,” Sadie grumbled back. Arthur smirked at the way Micah frowned deeply.  

              “Why is everyone convinced I’m a bad shot!” he growled.

              “We leave at dusk!” Dutch exclaimed, before closing the flap to his tent.

              Arthur watched as everyone dispersed. Sadie and Arya went back to their chores with Pearson. Micah disappeared to the edges of the cliff beyond the trees, twiddling something woody between his fingers. Hosea grumbled on about plans and money but stayed somewhat close to Dutch’s tent.

              Arthur wasn’t sure if bringing the women on such a high-stake heist was a good idea. He had no doubt that they could fend for themselves, but he was still not sure if Miss Reed had clear intentions. As he thought that, he watched he roll up her sleeves and hoist up more buckets. She stopped once she held a bucket, cocked her head, birdlike, and in a swift motion, locked eyes with him.

              Blue met black and Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. He turned and walked off, thinking he should start preparing his bag for the ride ahead. All the while, he could feel the heavy dark stare of Arya burning holes into his back.

[frankensteinsmobster]

The Stalker

Louella Reed lives in the apartment next to mine. She can’t be older than twenty five, but she has an old woman’s name. I want to call her Lou, but it just doesn’t suit her.

She keeps her strawberry blond hair tied up in a chignon even when she’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants. She stands straight baked, regal, and modest. Like one of the models in those old Victorian portraits. Her eyes are the palest gray I’ve ever seen, like clouds before a light drizzle. Almost white.

When she first moved in I just watched her as much as I could. I studied her mannerisms until they were embossed on the surface of my mind. She only leaves her apartment about three times a week. The walls in this old building are thin as cardboard, so I can hear when she goes out. I don’t think she even has a job. She goes out at around nine dressed to party, her eyes shining with hunger for a good time. She gets back in the early hours of the morning, but she’s never alone.

Louella is always accompanied by a young man or woman, and the person is always completely drunk off their ass. I can guess what the two of them get up to once they’re inside, but I can’t hear a thing when I’m leaning up against the wall of my bedroom that faces her apartment.

It’s nice that she’s willing to accept anyone.

Anyone, that is, who isn’t me.

The first time I asked Louella out for drinks she offered me nothing but a lighthearted shrug of her shoulders a bell-like giggle.

“I’m actually not much for drinking. Alcohol doesn’t really do anything for me.”

So she goes out on the town and hangs out with drunk people, but doesn’t even drink herself? I don’t buy it. But I’ve been blown off by beautiful women before, and I don’t know why I thought she would be any different. For now all I can do is watch her when she comes home and think about what could have been.

I’m finishing up my bowl of frosted flakes for the morning when there’s a knock at my door. I make the idiotic decision to keep eating and maneuver the door open with my elbows. Unfortunately Louella is standing there when it swings open, chewing at her bottom lip and studying her fingernails. My mouth drops open. The spoon drops to the floor with a clatter so loud I immediately cringe.

“Hey.” She grins. My stomach flutters. “Um…Chance, right?”

My name is Chris, but I’m not about to correct her.

“Yeah. You’re Louella, right?”

I haven’t fought this hard to keep my voice from cracking since I was a teenager.

“You can call me Lou.” She chuckles, and leans up against my door frame. I don’t want to tell her that I’d rather call her Louella. “Listen, I know we haven’t talked much yet. Or, well…at all, really. So if you’re uncomfortable with this just let me know.”

I’m suddenly aware of the ringing in my ears I can tune out most of the time. Is this really happening? I lean forward just slightly. I can’t help it.

“I can’t get my computer to work at all. It keeps freezing up. I was wondering if you could come take a look at it.”

Shit.

I try not to let my disappointment show on my face. I nod, my grin strained. I tell her that I get off of work at five and will come over to her apartment at five thirty. She agrees and is gone before I can even nudge my door shut with the hand that isn’t holding my bowl of cereal milk.

—

I arrive at the restaurant where I bus tables and slip into my apron, but I can’t shake Louella from my mind. Her skin I’ve only seen but never touched. Her home I haven’t seen, let alone entered. This afternoon I’ll be standing right inside her living room. Hell, I might even get into her bedroom if that’s where she keeps her computer.

I almost drop a stack of places while I go over the situation in my head. I fidget more than usual, and I usually fidget quite a bit. But it doesn’t matter. By the end of the day I’ve made up my mind.

This is an opportunity I can’t let go to waste.

—

It’s not quite 5:30 when I get home. I rush straight to my room and start tearing apart my drawers until I find the little black USB stick I created months ago in case I ever gathered up the nerve to use it. I’ll have to hurry or I’ll end up throwing all of this hard earned nerve right out the window.

I’m standing in front of her door with my fist raised ready to knock when it swings open before I get the chance. I jump a little bit and yelp. Louella grins up at me, her eyes flashing. I guess she saw that. No time to readjust myself and try to look like a badass.

“Hey! I heard you coming.” She says, and steps aside to let me in. I blink. Heard me coming? These walls are thin, but I don’t think I was being that loud.

I shake my head to get rid of the thought and take in the sight of her apartment. It’s much more…populated…than my own sparsely decorated bachelor pad. Her furniture looks antique, almost old. Her coffee table has clawed feet. I have to wonder how many mugs have sat on its tarnished surface, or how many people have napped on the rustic brown sofa. I don’t see her computer. Unless she has a dedicated computer room, there’s nowhere else it could possibly be but—

“The computer’s just through here. In my room.” She calls from the hallway. I swallow and grab the USB stick in my pocket with my sweating palms. I hope she doesn’t hover over me while I work.  

Louella’s room is the only bedroom, just like in my apartment. She stands at the doorway while I sit down at the computer—a two year old Hewlette-Packard machine with decent enough specs for someone who’s just going to use it to go on Facebook and watch Youtube videos. Her desktop doesn’t look too cluttered. That’s not what I usually expect when I get asked to fix a computer. People don’t realize the problem is almost always the half gig of adware they’ve downloaded, and that removing all of it doesn’t make me a computer genius. Honestly? I don’t even know how to open up the command prompt.

“I’ll leave you alone so you can work. Come get me if you need anything, okay? I’m going to be in the living room.” Louella flashes me a smile and then she’s gone.

Christ, I can’t believe my luck.

Before I do anything else I’ve got to download a free antimalware program. She wasn’t kidding about the thing freezing up. I spend a solid two minutes twiddling my thumbs and dicking around on my phone while I wait for the web browser to open. Halfway through the download it stoops responding and I end up nuking it from the task manager and opening the browser all over again. I lose track of how long it takes to actually get the thing downloaded and run a scan, but it ends up finding three Trojans and a worm. Once it’s gotten rid of them I uninstall the antivirus software immediately.

I don’t know if it would have been able to find my little surprise or not. Like I said, I’m really not as good with computers as people think. But I’m still not going to take any chances, because what I’m about to do might get me put in jail.

I slide the USB stick into the port and navigate to the drive in the computer’s file system. Then I click on the executable and wait for it to run. If the guy I bought this thing from wasn’t lying that should be all I have to do. I eject the USB and slide it into my pocket, my fingers shaking. A quick restart of the computer is all it takes to confirm it’s running good as new. I force a neutral expression onto my face before going into the living room to tell Louella the job’s done.

“Oh, what was the problem?” she asks. She gets off the couch and raises an eyebrow to feign interest—something I’m used to seeing people do.

“You had a couple of viruses.” I explain. “I got rid of them, so everything should be fine.”

Louella cocks her head to the side like a puppy does when it’s confused. “Viruses? Like a human would get?”

I’ve honestly never heard of someone who didn’t know what a computer virus was, so it’s hard to not sound taken aback. “No, not at all like that. Not entirely anyway. It’s…hard to explain.”

Mostly because I don’t really know what the fuck I’m talking about, myself.

And, because I’m a jackass with no filter at all, I decide to tell a condescending joke before I can stop myself.

“Don’t worry though. You won’t catch it yourself.”

Way to go, dickhead. Girls love being talked down to. She’ll totally bang you now. Ugh.

Surprisingly, Louella just chuckles. Something strange flashes in her eyes. She looks like someone who’s remembering an inside joke, and I’m not sure I like how it makes me feel. Just…all wrong inside.

“Not a problem for me at all, dude.” She says, winking.

I chalk it up to the weight of what I’ve just done finally settling in when all at once I want to head for the door as quickly as possible.

“Well, I’d better get home and start dinner. I have work early in the morning.” I say with a nervous laugh.

I don’t have work until tomorrow afternoon, of course. Judging by the amused smirk Louella throws my way, I think she knows.

She doesn’t say anything else to me, so I just turn around and shuffle out the door. As soon as I’m in the hallway I feel like someone just removed a metal rod from my spine. Louella had never made me feel so on edge before. This was the longest I’d ever talked to her, of course. Maybe this is what large doses of the girl felt like. Like I was a rabbit, and I had been talking to a wolf.

I shake my head. I can’t believe that’s where my thoughts are wondering when I’ve literally just uploaded malware onto the girl’s system.

God, I’m such a creep. I should be ashamed of myself.

But I’m not.

————

Making dinner (if you could call instant Ramen with frozen vegetables that) helps take my mind off of what just happened and what I did. Well, it does until I’m sitting down to eat, that is.

Should I wait a few days before I try and see anything on it? If I uploaded it right she shouldn’t be able to tell when I’m watching. I don’t think so, anyway. I still haven’t gotten over the jitters and sense of regret I have in hindsight.

My question is answered for me later that night. I’m leaving my apartment at 2 a.m. to get fast food dessert (sad, I know) when I see the elevator doors open. Louella crosses the threshold supporting a stumbling and completely wasted young blond woman about her age. I duck back into my doorway before she sees me, my stomach shriveling up like a dead roly-poly.

This is the exact situation I dreamed of when I bought that spyware. My last minute regrets can only stop me for so long. If I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it.

I shut my front door softly so it barely even makes a click, and then lock the deadbolt and chain for good measure. After a few seconds of deliberation I run to the computer in my bedroom as quietly as I can manage. I hold my breath as I turn my computer on and open up the other end—my end—of the program I put on Louella’s computer. While it’s still loading the thought occurs to me that she may not even have her own computer booted up. Some part of me secretly hopes that’s the case.

But when it isn’t, and I’m greeted by a video feed of her bedroom, I’m obviously not disappointed. Before I have time to process that this actually worked, the door to Louella’s room swings open and she strides in carrying the drunk girl from before bridal style as if she only weighs as much as a pillow. She lays her down on the bed and walks in front of her computer to shut the door. I almost duck beneath my computer as she does so like an idiot before I remember that the software doesn’t go both ways. Or at least it shouldn’t.

Louella creeps toward the blond lying on her bed and straddles her. I can’t help but notice that the girl isn’t just barely moving, she actually isn’t moving at all. I can’t tell if she’s just had too much alcohol or she’s been given something else. I frown, concerned about consent, before I realize how ridiculous it is for me to ask that question while watching the two of them through a hijacked webcam. I’m debating just closing the thing out and going to watch TV when I notice something else.

That isn’t a comforter on top of her bed. It’s a tarp.

Louella’s entire head is a blur as she ducks down and plunges her teeth right into the girl’s jugular. It happens so fast I barely even register what I’ve seen . My jaw just hangs open. Blood gurgles out from underneath her teeth before disappearing as she sucks it up into her mouth. Literally. Sucks up. The girl’s. Blood.

My chest aches like someone’s squeezing my heart so tightly it can’t even beat. Like anyone else, I talk shit at people in horror movies that just stand there like idiots, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel like I’m made of wax right now. When I was trying to figure out whether or not I should do this at all my hands shook so badly I barely managed to turn on the computer, and yet as I watch this scene unfold I’m frozen. Shit, am I really even seeing this?

The blond girl on the tarp grows paler, but Louella doesn’t even come up to  breathe. Why the hell did she even put that tarp down? She’s sucking up every bit of blood that comes out.

I catch sight of her eyes and cover my mouth with both of my hands to stifle a shriek. Louella seems miles away from any semblance of humanity, her eyes burning with predatory rage I’ve only seen on nature shows. There’s something about that look on a human face that rubs me all kinds of the wrong way.

My stomach rolls inside my diaphragm. My teeth dig into my tongue. I can’t even feel it in my mouth anymore. I don’t know if this thing doesn’t have sound or if Louella simply has her microphone turned off. Thank Christ for it, whichever one it is.

The girl still doesn’t even twitch. I don’t care how drugged someone is, there is no way this bullshit won’t wake them up. It doesn’t matter. Even as Louella detaches her maw from the girl’s neck and straightens up, she stays as still as midnight.

She’s dead. She has to be. I force down waves of nausea as Louella scrubs the blood from her mouth and then licks it off of her ands. Then my eyes fall on the blonde’s neck. How ripped open and mutilated it is, and how I can’t tell where te blood ends and the flesh begins. I can’t help but let out an involuntary, half-stifled, warbling shriek.

Louella’s head snaps to her right—the direction of my apartment in relation to her room—and her eyes are smoldering with fury. Ghostly claws clutch at my heart again. How did she hear that? How the hell did she hear that?

She bolts from the room like a jungle predator moving in for the kill. Instinct yanks me to my feet and to my front door less than a quarter of a second later. I get it locked, but as soon as I finish bolting it someone pounds on it from the other side. I jolt away from the door. I can feel my pulse throbbing in my throat in the following silence. I wait for another series of knocks, but they never come.

Is she gone?

I stalk back over and push my eye up to the peephole.

Louella stands inches away from the door, her eyes howling black voids and her bloody mouth stretched into an inconceivable grin. Her canine teeth, stained pink, protrude into carnivorous fangs.

Did she always have those?

I’m sure she knows I’m looking at her right now.

“Let me in, Chance.”

I start backing away. It feels like I’m wading through jell-o. She knocks again, three times, very deliberately. I dish off in the direction of my room. I shut and lock that door too, but it still feels like she can see me. I scramble into the far corner of my room and crouch down there with my hands clamped over my ears. I can’t hear anyone knocking from this far into the apartment, but I don’t want to take any chances in case she decides to keep it up. Surely she won’t stay out there all night.

She doesn’t want someone to see her, does she?

I blink, and when I open my eyes again rays of sunshine are streaming through my bedroom window. So I did manage to fall asleep. After listening for a few minutes to make sure everything is quiet, I shuffle to my feet and slink out into the rest of my apartment.

The digital clock on the microwave reads 2:01 p.m.  That’s understandable. I can’t even remember when I actually did pass out last night. I have work at three, but I don’t even want to think about going out into the hallway.

I make way for the door and check the peephole again. Nothing. Then I unbolt it and open it just a crack to look up and down the hall in both directions. Nothing. And no body.

I’m not leaving for work at all if there’s no one on the floor when it’s time to leave at 2:30, but I go inside and get dressed for work all the same after bolting and locking the door again.

I check the hall once more when it does come time to leave, but it’s still empty. Shit. I’m going to be late if I even make it in today at all. I stand with my back to the door and listen for several minutes, eventually sitting down when my legs get tired. If nobody else comes by before 3:30 it will make me an hour late for work, so I might as well just not go.

A door opens and closes somewhere to my right. The opposite direction of Louella’s apartment, thankfully. I scramble outside, lock my door with shaky hands, and rush to fall in step behind my neighbor before e gets to the elevator. He doesn’t notice how closely I’m following him. I’m grateful. Once I get out on the street I call my boss to let her know I’ll be late, but that I’m on my way.

I made it today. I won’t even think about what I’m going to do tomorrow, or even tonight. Not right now, anyway.

—

The past week of my life has been a living hell.

I won’t go into the main hallway at all unless I know there’s going to be someone in it with me. I’ve been late for work every day this week. There were two days where I didn’t even go at all. When I get back to my building I wait at the front door for someone from my floor to walk in so I know we’ll both be in the hall at the same time. There have been nights when I’ve waited outside until past midnight just to see a familiar face. What happens if one night nobody comes out? Am I just going to have to stand on the street until morning? Will Louella come out to get me if the street goes empty?

She came out one night and even locked eyes with me. Her first night out since I saw her mutilate the blond girl. She smirked at me, but she didn’t say anything. Didn’t even approach me. There were other people standing on the street, so that must have been why. Too many witnesses. I know she has it out for me now.

If I get close enough to my front door in the early hours of the morning before the sun rises I can hear her outside talking to me from the hall.

She asks me to let her in. All night long, I think. I don’t stand there to make sure, and I definitely don’t look out the peephole anymore.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I simply want you to allow me to explain.” She’ll say, or something to that effect. Bullshit. I’m not ending up like the girl on the tarp in her bedroom.

I can’t even get a break from her when I’m at work or when I go to the store. Or at least…I don’t think I do. I stick to crowded places, but I’ve noticed that everywhere I go when I’m out in the city during the day I see a person in a hoodie who’s about her height.I know I don’t have any proof that it’s her, but it’s a pretty big coincidence that I always see them. Even if it’s only out of the corner of my eye.

I can’t see their face because they’ve got the hood pulled forward way too far. Why is she following me? I she worried I’ll go to the cops? She has to know better than that. What would I tell them? That I hacked my neighbor’s webcam so I could see her naked and then watched her suck every ounce of blood out of a girl’s body through her neck like she’s been doing it her whole damn life? She can’t be that dumb. She must want something else with me.

I picture the blond girl’s dead, ashy skin and murky, lifeless eyes. I’m pretty sure I know what it is.

It’s late Friday night when she stops just begging me to let her in and starts knocking on my door again. She’s been going at it for an hour now. How is nobody else hearing this?

What if they already know and they’re all scared of her? She was strong enough to carry a girl at least the same size as herself. That might mean she’s strong enough to break down my door and just hasn’t yet.

I go to my front door and rest my forehead against it. As soon as my skin touches the wood her knocking stops. My throat might collapse in on itself. She’s obviously some kind of vampire or demon. Can’t those things not come into your house unless you invite them in?

It sounds crazy, but so does the idea of a human draining every last drop of blood from somebody in under two minutes. If that little tidbit of folklore just so happens to be true then I’ll be fine as long as I stay in my apartment.

But I can’t live like this forever. I can’t make the rest of my life revolve around not being somewhere alone where she can grab me. Maybe she really does just want to explain. Maybe if I do let her in we can work things out and I can go back to my life.

Or maybe she’ll rip my throat out.

I mean, either way this will all be over.

Jesus Christ.

[ausaplenty]

NaNo Drabble Dump

Midnight, Aroma, Crimson, Falling, Mortal, Breathless, Classic, Desolate

Midnight - Future AU

"You should be asleep," Kiara murmured, glancing over her shoulder to see Inali peering around the corner of the hallway. "It's after midnight, starshine."

"I couldn't sleep," the seven-year-old replied, padding forward. She climbed up into Kiara's arms, snuggling against her. "Couldn't you sleep either?"

The blonde wrapped her arms around her oldest, hugging her tightly, before she looked at the date that glowed green in the corner of the clock.

A week until the nine-year anniversary. Nine years since she first saw the blank expression on Lilian's face. Since she'd first tried to kill herself.  Nine years since Kiara had started worrying about no response from her best friend.

"No, I couldn't sleep either," the mother said, kissing the top of Inali's raven locks. "Do you want to go visit Aunt LiLi?"

"Will she be up, too?" Inali asked. "I don't wanna wake her."

"It's fine," Kiara promised as she rose, carrying the girl with her. It struck her how big her daughter was getting, because she had to adjust her grip to hold the seven-year-old on her hip.

They slipped through the darkness, Inali's arms tight around her neck – struggling to not slide down Kiara's hip.

Kiara set her down when they reached Lilian's apartment, looking around the dark rooms. The blonde forced all thoughts about Lindsay from her head.

The telepath would know why they were here, she didn't need any more reminders of the date.

Lilian appeared at her bedroom door, a small smile on her lips as she looked down at her oldest godchild. "Hello starshine," she murmured, crouching so that Inali could run into her arms.

"We couldn't sleep," the child explained, hugging her Aunt LiLi close. "Mama said you wouldn't be sleeping either."

"For once, she was right," Lilian replied, shooting Kiara a teasing look. "C'mon. We'll get some milk and cookies, and then we'll try again."

She guided Inali to the kitchen, her hand clenched tightly in the child's grasp.

"You don't have to worry, Kiara, not right now," the telepath informed her as she passed the blonde. "Maybe later."

"I'm always going to worry, LiLi," the shadow walker replied, following the pair. "I just needed to be reminded that you were better."

Aroma - Captain America AU

Kiara curled up into a ball, her face pressed against the pillows in her parents' bedroom. Their closets were still full, minus the clothes they'd packed to take with them to London. Despite the weeks since their departure, her mother's lilac perfume hung in the air – lingering on the blankets and furniture like it was a ghost to haunt Kiara.

Kiara opened the door, happiness surging through her at the sight of her brother standing on the doorstep. It took her a second to realize that his eyes were red and raw.

"What is it?" She demanded, pulling him into a hug. "What happened, Reed?"

She could hear Alexa behind her, and the slight intake of breath as Reed pulled away.

"Let's go sit down," he suggested, draping his arm around Kiara's shoulder.  

"No," the blonde protested, refusing to let herself be babied. "You keep acting as if I'm a kid, but I'm not. I'm 23 and I don't need to be protected."

Reed stared at her, exhausted, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Tabitha and Quinton are dead," Alexa announced before he got a chance. "The Germans bombings increased and your parents weren't able to avoid the blast."

Kiara stared at them, her body shaking. "Reed?"

"I-I'm sorry, starshine," he said softly, nodding regretfully.

The blonde didn't say a word. Just struggled to stay upright. To prove that she could handle this.

Alexa was at her side, rubbing circles on her back, as Reed pulled them both into an embrace.

"Ready?" Alexa asked from the doorway, dressed in a simple black frock. "They're waiting for us downstairs."

"You don't have to do this, Lexie – neither Reed or I would blame you," Kiara muttered as she sat up and wiped at her eyes.

"If I can survive the Great Depression, then nothing is stopping me from being here with you," the brunette assured her. "Besides, I owe it to Tabitha and Quinton. For letting you bring home a stray all those years ago."  

Crimson - Nightclub AU  

"I've got something for you," Kiara teased as she slipped inside her bedroom. Lilian had partially claimed it weeks ago, saying that it'd be a waste to go home before show time when she was going to be with Kiara anyways. So half of the closet was filled with her evening gowns and a small vanity sat in the corner of the room, lit with candles.

The brunette met her gaze in the mirror, a pleased smile on her lips. "You shouldn't have, darling," she purred, shadows dancing across her face as the candles flickered.

Kiara broke out into a delighted grin as she offered the blue velvet case to Lilian. "I saw it, and thought of you. A present, so you can remember your first day at the Blue Siren."

"As if I could ever forget, beautiful," Lilian said, opening it to reveal a sapphire drop necklace on a silver chain. Her eyes gleamed with pleasure. "It's gorgeous."

The pianist removed it from the silk pillow and moved to stand behind Lilian so she could fasten the necklace. The delicate chain settled around her throat, it's jewel resting in the hollow at the base of Lilian's neck as it sparkled against her tanned skin.

"Stunning," Kiara declared, studying her lover's reflection in the mirror. Her eyes weren't on the jewelry, but on Lilian's face. "Absolutely magnificent, beloved."

"I agree, sweetheart, but I know we're not talking about the same thing," Lilian laughed. She caught Kiara's hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. "Do you have anything in mind for how I can repay you?"

The shadows purred in pleasure at the telepath's teasing lilt, tendrils curling around Lilian's ankles like a cat seeking attention.

"I was just doing it out of the goodness of my heart, but if you really wanted …" Kiara dipped her head to place a kiss on the singer's cheek. "I'm sure you can think of something that I'll enjoy."

Lilian rose, pressing herself against Kiara as she kissed the woman. Her tongue slipped between the blonde's lips, coaxing her mouth open.

Kiara moaned in pleasure as her hands slid to Lilian's sides, gently caressing the telepath's ass through her blue evening gown. A shadow journeyed up the brunette's leg, brushing against the inside of her thigh.

LiLi pulled away, leaving a crimson stain on Kiara's lips. "I've only got one rule, sweetheart – I need the dress to remain intact. It's my favorite."

"Whatever you want, beloved," the blonde promised, her voice deep with need.  

The telepath kissed her cheek and then pulled back, admiring the way the rich red hue of her lipstick stood out in stark contrast to Kiara's porcelain skin. "Lovely," she murmured, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons on the blonde's shirt.

Falling - Captain America AU

Kiara screamed with effort as she struggled to lift the heavy iron beam off of Alexa. Her muscles, especially the ones with bullet holes in them, burned in protest.

"C'mon Alexa," she pleaded, her voice breaking.  

The brunette scrambled out from beneath the beam and Kiara dropped it with a yell.

"You know me," the blonde panted, every inch of her body protesting as she forced herself to her feet. She felt lightheaded and she glanced down at the wound in her midriff, blood staining the white stripes of her uniform.

Her opponent staggered to her feet, her hair blowing in the wind as she stared at Kiara like a caged dog.

Instinctively, Kiara blocked the blow with her shield, wincing at the jolt of pain that shot up her arm.

"No, I don't," the soldier insisted, her voice raspy from not being used.  

It was only the second time Kiara had heard her speak. Both times, the words were rough and raw, as if her vocal chords were never used. She wondered how many times Hydra let their assassin speak.

It was still Lexie's voice, strangely melodic even when it was like metal grating against steel.

"I don't know you!" Alexa cried, punching her again.

Kiara skidded backward, spider web-thin cracks forming beneath her feet. She stepped onto a beam, wavering slightly.

"Lexie," she gasped, one hand on her abdomen to staunch the blood flow. "You've known me for practically your whole life."

The brunette panted as she stared out the window, her eyes wide with confusion. With a grunt, she backhanded Kiara with her metal arm, knocking the captain back.

Kiara picked herself up, wincing. Her jaw stung from the blow.

"Your name is Alexa Myers," she explained, working through the pain and exhaustion.

"Shut up!" The assassin demanded, arm whirring as she decked Kiara.  

The blonde cried out in pain as her back hit a beam. She took a moment before she haltingly got to her feet. Her body screamed in protest as she took off her helmet and pushed back her hood. The helicarrier's angle prevented the sunlight from reaching her face, but it was still riddled with bruises and blood from Alexa's blows.

"M'not gonna fight you," Kiara grunted. She dropped the shield, listening to it ricochet off the debris as it plummeted to the river below. "You're my friend, Lexie."

The assassin stared at him, shocked, before a snarl marred her face and she barreled into Kiara. She pinned the captain beside a crossbeam, holding her down with her weight. "You're my mission."  

Kiara ignored every instinct to fight back, the shadows howling in rage as she held them back.  

"You're. My. Mission!" Alexa roared, her fist slamming into Kiara's head. One. Twice. Thrice.

"Then finish it," Kiara groaned, tasting the copper taste of blood in her mouth. The blonde could feel her eyes swelling and it hurt to move her jaw.  

Alexa stilled, panting. Her fist poised to slam into the Captain's head. Her sapphire eyes were wide as she studied Kiara's face.

"I'm with you. Til – til the end of the line," the blonde promised tiredly. She closed her eyes, ready for the pain.

Instead, she felt the glass beneath her give way and felt her body fall. She opened her eyes to see Alexa clinging to the beam, realization beginning to dawn on her face.

Darkness started to creep around the edges of her vision as she hit the water. The icy temperature numbed her pain and Kiara let herself go deeper into the river.

Mortal - Immortal AU

Kiara closed her eyes as Allegra brushed the blonde locks away from the vampire's face. She leaned into the touch, enjoying the heat of human contact.

"How old are you?" The Vestal Virgin asked, in the dark for once about a person's history.

Not that Kiara was a person.

"I have outlived Alexander the Great and his conquests, to see Greece fall to Rome," Kiara explained after she thought for a moment. "Nearly 800 years."

"What were you like? Before you were bitten?" Allegra's fingers ran over the two puncture scars on her neck. The last wounds she'd ever received.

Kiara laughed "I was considered beautiful, if you can believe it – They had yet to see anybody of your beauty in my time."

"You are still beautiful, my love," the brunette assured her.  

"I didn't dwell on it when I was alive – My people believed in gods who were the predecessors to the ones Romans worship. The veil I wore to shield myself from the sun worked well to add to rumors of my beauty. The villagers whispered that I was so beautiful that I hid myself so not to offend Aphrodite," Kiara explained. "I was happy with my family. My father allowed me to shun marriages and suitors that did not please me. My brother argued with philosophers until they were speechless and I …"

"You were surrounded by people who loved you," Allegra finished. "Who you didn't have to hide from."

"I have not been this alive since I left them, beloved," the blonde murmured, drawing Allegra's arm up to kiss the inside of her wrist. Her lover's pulse throbbed beneath her wrist. "You make me feel mortal again."

Breathless - Liara Future

Kiara hugged her father as they waited behind the doors at the back of the chapel, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne.  

Tabitha slipped into the room, shutting the heavy oak doors behind her.

"It's almost time," her mother informed her, wiping at tears. She fussed over her daughter, straightening her veil and adjusting her cape sleeves over the under sleeves. "Are you ready?"

"I'm terrified," Kiara admitted with a shaky laugh. She took Quinton's hand and reached out for Tabitha's, who squeezed it comfortingly.

The attendants opened the doors to the swell of the bridal march and Kiara's gaze immediately went to the alter. Her breath caught in her throat.

"If we're going to do the church wedding thing, you should be the one to walk down the aisle," Lilian said. "One, because your father has been terrified that you'd skip that tradition, and two, because we all know you're a dramatic attention whore."

"Because you've never done anything dramatic," Kiara teased. "We could walk down the aisle together."

"No, it'll be nice to have a moment where nobody is thinking about me," the telepath replied, a mixture of sincere and playful."

"I'm okay with anything, just so long as you're standing there with me," the blonde answered, leaning forward to kiss her fiancee.

"You're so cheesy."

Lilian smiled slightly from where she stood at the altar. Markus and Reed were beside her, with Ren and Skye across from her. Waiting for Kiara to stand at her side.

Classic - Liance Mainverse

"I would not have pegged you for a car enthusiast," Alexa commented as Vance held the passenger side door open for her. She slid onto the white leather seat, examining her reflection in the mirror.  

"Then you underestimate me," Vance answered, closing the door of the 57 Chevy Bel Air. "Cars are one of the first tools that can be used to convey a message. Looking for security? Steel reinforced doors. Tinted window. Want to tell bystanders that you're important? A limo. Rich? A Porsche Boxter."

"And what does driving a 57 Chevy tell people?" The telepath asked as Vance started the engine. It purred happily, promising hidden power beneath the stylish exterior. The vehicular embodiment of Vance Elliot.

"It tells people that you have flair," he told her, revving the engine. "Nobody is going to miss seeing this when it drives by them."

"So it tells people that you're a showoff," Alexa retorted, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"If you've got it, flaunt it," Vance informed her as they pulled into the street. "Beautiful car, beautiful woman – I'm going to be the envy of every straight man in New York City today.”

Desolate - Apocalypse AU

Kiara stared out at the smoldering remnants of the city, her scarf wrapped over her mouth and nose to prevent the ashes from getting into her lungs. She could feel Morpheus's worried gaze on her back.

He'd fought her intentions to go out and explore the city tooth and nail, telling her that it was dangerous – even for a powered. Much less a recent invalid who still looked weak enough that a strong wind would blow her over.

"Is it like this everywhere?" Kiara asked. "Even in Europe?"

"We're still trying to piece together how other places were affected," the redhead answered, glancing out at the desolate cityscape. There were bags under his eyes, a testament to how sever the situation was if a dreamwalker was exhausted. "And it's not that simple. This place may look like a hellhole, but there are powereds out there who are forming gangs to loot and take control of abandoned areas. It's become a turf war that SPSRA is having a hard time winning."

"Can I go back to my house?" The blonde pre-teen asked. "I haven't seen it since SPSRA came for me."

Morpheus shook his head. "It's too dangerous. We don't have enough control in the suburbs to guarantee your safety."

"I don't care! I want to go home, Morpheus," Kiara argued, folding her arms over her chest. "It's obvious that I don't belong here."

"What do you mean?"

The blonde rolled her eyes. "I'm not powered, so I'm a freak. Whenever you aren't around, I get picked on. I'm tired of it. I want Reed and I want to go home."

"I know it hurts, Kiara," the redhead sighed, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. "We're all doing the best we can. But that means we're all learning how to cope.