#tars fuckers rise up

[meowpy]

super quick thing cause i feel like shit lately but uhhhh hahahha yeahhhh. tars...............

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 8k+ | cw: fem!reader, DEATH of characters/animals/monsters, POV shifts, mentions/depictions of violence, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional constipation, miscommunication, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ❗❗please proceed this chapter with caution. i killed a bunch of characters/animals (well and monsters but i think deserve lmao)!!! ALSO POV SHIFTSS!!!! originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here. also fyi i post this story on ao3 first

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @j3nn-1

The Hound found himself wrong about the thieving, wrong about the missing livestock. He was so wrong it nearly cost him lives, including his own.

He was so sure about himself when he went into the woods, so sure that he was going to find at least two men, at most five, luring sheep there. It was the men he was prepared for. Fuck the livestock, the farmers can get them back after he killed the fucks stealing them.

Ah, the farmers, barging into his wife's estate... into their house, into house Clegane. 

Fuck 'em, fuck the lot of them, complaining again, complaining about their sheep and their cows. He had enough of their yapping, now was the time to act.

Fuck 'em twice for being shocked when he said he'd go into the forest to kill the fucker causing all of them trouble.

The superstitious peasants warned him. The Hound heard; he even humored them by letting a few spring chickens, boy-soldiers in the making, 'aid' him as he went to the forest.

Between the young farmer's lad, Andrew, and the man-boy, Carter, who he had been training be a soldier, it was actually the Hound who was the one most frightened by that thing that stared back at them.

It looked as though it was twice his damn size. It was darker than tar, and stinkier than shit. It made an unholy sound before attacking them.

He doesn't remember what happened after that in all honesty. His instincts kicked in and he can't recall what he had done. All he knew was, in the end, the two boys were cheering and dragging a black corpse all the way back out of the woods.

The villagers looked at him. They walked towards him and shouted. It was not an unfamiliar greeting-- being pursued by villagers, and yet, it shakes him; it takes him off-guard. They come upon him and begin to weep at his feet. They thank him. They thank them as they hug each other. The thank him as they wave at him. They thank him as they touch his armor like a devout would touch an idol.

The Hound is perturbed.

"Thank you, milord! You killed the beast!"

"You saved our sheep!"

"You saved our families!"

"You saved our lives!"

The Hound was never one to back down, but Sandor found himself taking steps back when a group of children ran up to him and began to ask him how he killed it. Their little hands and big eyes demanded answers from him. His insides rise up to his mouth.

The children begin to talk about how they can go to the woods now.

"Oi!" Carter calls to the ones in front the Sandor, "you do know there's more than one woodland monsters, aye?!"

"But now milord Cligay killed one! He'll teach us how to kill the o'vers."

"It's Clegane. Lord Clegane! And even then, you buggers can't just play in the forest. The brown bears still live here."

"I haven't seen a brown bear!" a little girl cries out. She looks to the Hound, walking up to him, grabbing his hand, "there aren't any brown bears in the woods, right, milord?"

Sandor looks at the small thing. His hand burns at her touch. Her hand was not even hot, not even big enough to grasp half his palm and yet he feels lightheaded. He feels like he's going to pass out.

The Hound finds their sentiment to be all too much at one point. He grumbles he's going home; he's got much work to do. The villagers thank him as he leaves.

When he gets home, just as he gets near the gate, he beholds Lady Clegane, the people's champion, his poor bride. She is outside, speaking to some peasants; it was all she did as of late.

A breeze blows and her dress dances with the wind. Her hair follows as well, and along goes the air from his lungs.

She is the sun. He is a mountain trying to reach her.

Sandor, who hadn't realized that he stopped in his place to gawk, is shaken out of his trance when the stable boy opened the gates for him. The small child named Polly, about as old as his wife when she fled this place, nods at him and motions, "pardon, milord," he says nervously, "I didn't know you were waiting for me to open the gates."

The Hound looks at the boy as he walks in, "I wasn't," he gruffs, eyeing him as he passed, "don't worry about it, laddie."

Lord Clegane looks away from the stable boy when he hears the shrill cry of a babe. He spots the maester walking over to his wife with a wailing child in his arms.

He thinks about the letter he had to write to the Citadel, requesting a maester come to Brown Wood.

Lady Clegane thinks her husband's initiative for it stems from his sense of duty as a Lord, but she'll never know he did it for her, for her to know if she really did have a late blood cycle, or if she lost a baby. Maester Yannick told him it was, regretfully, the latter.

The Hound waited for his lady wife to tell him about it, to ask him to hold a mourning ceremony for the unborn child. She never did.

Sandor watches Lady Clegane willingly embraces the woman who thanked her up and down, over and under, for saving her baby. She tells the weeping woman that it was not her work but maester Yannick that saved the babe. Maester Yannick says it was not his work but the gods.

Sandor tastes something putrid in his mouth when his wife coos at the child, who immediately calmed when the maester reunited the small thing to mama. His insides tingle at the sound of his lady's laugh.

He curses under his breath when she turns to him. He realizes then he had stopped in his tracks again.

The Hound begins his march.

Lady Clegane greets him, but he is not strong enough to reply with a greeting himself. He doesn't know why he stops to tell her that he killed a woodland monsters though. She looked very shocked after hearing that.

He wonders if she was disappointed. He wonders if she wanted him dead.

She touches him and questions if he was injured. Sandor flinches and steps back. She recoils her hand quickly and wipes it on her skirt-- disgusted.

The Hound says she shouldn't worry her pretty squirrel head, then walks away.

His footsteps are heavy as he heads to his office. He didn't want to go through the fucking endless piles of paperwork, but the apprentice he had couldn't grasp basic mathematics quite yet, so, there he went, to go through paperwork in a musty office.

He wonders if doing this shit made a difference to her, or if she'd always see him for what he was: a groom, forced upon her as a joke from a stupid blonde boy; a beast with ill features and temper; a Hound.

He is almost tempted to look over his shoulder at the loud sound of baby's laughter. He doesn't, cause he wouldn't see anything but a wall of he did anyway.

He wonders when she'd ask him again, when she'd ask for a child from him.

He promises he'd be gentler this time, gentler.

He doesn't mean to be so rabid with her.

She just had such an ablaze spirit, she was so fierce, and so vivid that he found himself wanting to devour her whole-- a true predator.

He wishes he could be more than that. He could be more than that to her, but it's so hard to fill in to be someone you're not. The Hound was not a proper lord, he was not that pretty boy Alistair. He can only do so much.

Sandor would do much and more for her than that scrawny, faerie pretty-boy ever could.

She might not like it, but he'll do his best to give her what she wants, to give her a family in stead of the one she lost. She will never love him, but he knows she'll love all the children he could give her, and that was more than enough, more than he could ever hope for or deserve. 

I carefully walk up to the office, clutching my hands together as I prepare myself to knock on the door.

I clear my throat and retell myself what I mean to tell my husband. My palms begin to gush like geyser. I dread the fight I know will be had because of this topic.

I let out a soft gasp when someone calls me from behind.

It was the stable boy, Polly. He had run up to bow and greet me good morning. I smile at him and reach out to him. I brush his hair back, "good morrow, Polly, dear."

The boy grins and bows again, "I'll be learning how to ride a horse soon, milady!"

I link my hands together as I chuckle, "my! Will you now? How awfully courageous of you."

The boy pushes his shoulders back, "it's no'ffin, milady. Just what a man ought to do. I would go to war for you, milady, I would!"

"My boy," shake my head, "I pray you never need to do such a thing. I hope you enjoy riding though. I find that I do not."

"Do you find riding scary? I wouldn't! I'll let you ride with me once I know how, promise," the boy nods as he places a hand on his chest.

"You are very kind," I smile, "I thank you for it, Polly."

The boy puffs his chest out and bows, "I'll be goin' then, milady!"

I chuckle as I watch Polly run off as quick as a rabbit.

My soul nearly leaves me when I turn around and see the Hound looming over me.

I gasp and step back. He reaches out to me and grabs my arm. He keeps me upright and leans down, "you better stop calling the boy dear." He releases me and begins to walk off, "he's already in love with you as is."

I blink rapidly at his words. I turn to him and watch him march away before scurrying after, "he's a child."

"Aye," says Sandor, "all the children adore you."

My stomach curdles at his words; I am unsure why. I rub my hands together, not sure what to make of myself, or what to reply.

"What were you doing outside my office?" he asks.

I run up in front of him and grab his arm, "there is something I needed to discuss with you."

Sandor stops. He looks at my hand on his arm, "can't it wait?"

I pull my hand away and shake my head, "I understand that you are very busy, my lord, but I-"

"Fine," he mutters, "I'll lay with you tonight."

My eyes widen and I topple back at his words, "what?"

The Hound steps forward, keeping me upright again, "that's why you're here, aren't you?" He releases me, "your bloods have waned."

I feel my face burn. I gulp and force a smile, "I-" I chuckle nervously and straighten up, "y-yes. My bloods have waned."

Sandor watches me closely.

I rub my neck and blink rapidly, "I thank you for your thoughtfulness," I dig my thumb nail into my pointer finger. I turn from my feet then to Sandor, "but that is not what I wished to speak about."

His face falls. It's not anything noticeable but I have become quite good at it, reading his face. He purses his lips then says, "be done with it then, I've got work to do, pretty squirrel."

I feel my face burn even more at his horrible nickname.

A group of women had been complimenting my dress when the Hound passed. I knew they did not know he would react that way, but it did not help the embarrassment I felt when the women asked my husband if he thought my dress suited me and he replied 'pretty for a squirrel'.

"I wanted to tell you that I... I still very much wish to be the one to speak to the people about their concerns," I am unable to look at him when I say this, "it is not because I think you are unfit for the task, my lord, but I have seen the way you act around them."

"Like a dog?"

I knit my brows deeply and look to him, "Daisy is a dog. And I love her very much."

"That makes one of us."

We stare at each other for a long, blistering moment. My throat constricts at his words, "... Sandor."

His face contorts. He scoffs and averts his gaze, "don't say my name like that."

My heart begins to race, it twists and clenches. I step forward and reach out to him, "I see how you try to listen, how you try to help, but it scares you-"

I gasp when he rips his arm away before I can even touch him. He grabs me instead though, ripping me close as he leans down, "I'm not scared of peasants."

My eyes water. It's not even because his grip hurt, but because it was as painfully clear as it could get that this man did not like me at all, no matter what I did.

The Hound mutters softly, "do what you wish," he releases my arm, "you want to do my work so badly then? Fine. I didn't want ya to do anything you're not meant to, but have it your way."

I scratch my eyes before my tears could fall. I try to look at him as I speak, but the tears threaten to fall when I do. Instead, I fix my eyes on the floor, "I do not do this to upset you, Hound. I do this because I mean to help you. I swear it."

He is deeply disturbed by the softness in which these words are spoken. Hearing himself be called Hound was unreasonably heart piercing.

"I do not like it when you are angry," I whisper, "it would have been fine if it was only directed at me, but you spur everyone around you."

I flinch when he calls my name.

I shake my head, "if it pleases you, lord, I will do as you said the other day. I will no longer speak to you. I will not bother you. I will not stand in your way." I step back and pick at my fingernails.

Sandor holds back from stepping forward.

"Maester Yannick has been giving me herbs to help with conception, but he said that I should be in good spirits when... consummating... I do not think we should do anything tonight--" I look to him through my wet lashes, "unless you want to--"

"No, I do not," he says coldly.

I gulp. Tears begin to stream down my face. My lips quiver. I shudder. Of course he doesn't want me.

I curtsy and walk off. I break into a sprint after a few steps, as I am no longer able to hold in my sobs.

Sandor watches this. He furrows his brows, unnerved by the interaction, gutted by the fact it ended in tears yet again. He replays the conversation. Was his touch truly that hard? He looks at his hand. He curses loudly and storms off to fuck all.

Sandor wakes before the sky does. He opens his heavy lids and sighs. He turns to his right on instinct; he watches his wife stretch out her arms in the expanse of nothingness between them. He likes to think that she is reaching out to him. He likes to think that if he reaches back, it'll make everything fine between them.

But then again, it had never been fine between them in the first place.

He makes sure not to touch or move her. Last time he did, she woke up. She truly was a light sleeper.

He slowly gets up. He quickly gets dressed. The moment he gets out of the room, he heads to his office.

He's finished his work by the time he hears a dog barking. He looks to the window, the sun looks back at him. He stands, stretches, and walks over to the sill, pushing the curtains open. He sees her, Lady Clegane, cuddling the mutt she named Daisy. Fucking Daisy. Polly, the stable boy was waving a stick, but the bitch could not care less about it, too preoccupied by her master.

He watches Daisy lick her neck. He watches how she scolds the dog for it but giggles anyway. Sandor sniffles. His mind wanders to the one time he had his face pressed on her neck like that. Fucking dog.

He watches the pair go inside. The Hound heads to the dining room promptly after.

He mutters to himself, trying to decide how to start, "I don't meant to make you cry-- I keep making you cry-- Fuck-- .... I know you don't like me," he stops in his tracks before he can get to his destination. He mutters to himself some more.

Fuck it.

He hears the telltale patter of Daisy's paws. It makes his fingers tingle.

When he gets to the dining room, he furrows his brows at the emptiness.

Lucy gasps at the sight of him. She topples back then regains her composure. She puts the plate of food she was holding down on the table with a bang. She looks at him and curtsies, "your food, milord."

"Where is she?"

Lucy's glare darkens, "she is dining with the servants."

He chuckles drily. He feels disappointment. He feels hurt. He immediately plays it off, "pretty squirrel's finally had enough of me."

"WILL YOU STOP CALLING 'ER THAT!" Lucy bursts, taking the Hound off-guard.

They both stare at each other, as if equally as shocked by the outburst.

Lucy fumes. Sandor freezes. The former decides she's already spoken, so she might as well continue, "she is a lady! You took her for this," she motions vaguely. "You need her," she speaks firmly, "just as much as she needs you."

The Hound scoffs. His insides burn and curdle at the idea of the little girl needing a beast to keep her safe. He snaps, "well, go ahead and tell her I will gladly be her hound and breed her little monsters as thanks for her nice, warm castle!"

Lucy makes no attempt to hide the revulsion she feels at the sound of the hound's words.

"You know what," he snarls, "why don't I breed her right now as a thank you?"

Lucy's face drops. She runs up to the Hound when he begins to storm off. She crumples like paper when he shoves her away. He doesn't do it hard enough that she shoots off to the table, but it's enough for her to get the message: he was deadly strong.

Lucy does her best to stop him. She cries and begs and screams. She digs her heels into floor and yanks him back but it doesn't do much, it doesn't do anything.

The Hound only stops when he finally sees her.

Lady Clegane is laughing with the servants as they watch Daisy roll on her belly for food. She feeds the dog just as Lucy runs up in front of him, severely distraught and tear stained. Lucy pushes her hands on his chest and begs him to punish her instead.

The Hound is sickened when Daisy runs up to him and whines. He recoils his hand when the bitch licks it.

"Lucy?"

Sandor flinches at the sound of his wife's voice and turns the other way.

I was in the middle of playing fetch with Daisy when she caught wind of something and ran off to the gate. Usually, this meant Sandor was home. Lo and behold, this moment was not any different.

I turn away immediately when we lock gazes.

The Hound had a large cut of meat on his shoulder. He grunts as Daisy barks and runs up to him, "fuck off, bitch."

He does his best to avoid the dog, nudging her away firmly with his leg as he walks up to a wagon and plops the hind of a cow on there. He hisses at Daisy when she gets on her two back legs and rests one good leg and bad one on his hips.

"Daisy!" I call.

She ignores me.

Sandor looks over his shoulder, "your mam's calling you, dog. Go on!"

Daisy clearly doesn't understand, or doesn't care, and barks at Sandor when he shoves her away. 

"Daisy!" I call and jog up to her when she follows Sandor out of the estate. I run up to the gate and watch as she is chased by the Hound. She runs as fast as her three paws will allow, clearly enjoying what she thought to be a game.

"Come here, you stupid bitch!" the Hound screams.

I turn to one of the men near me. I call Arron over and tell him to tell the Hound not to chase after her. He does just that, "milord! She will stop running if you stop chasing!"

I make a face as Lord Clegane curses and does his final attempt at catching the dog.

"Shall I bait Daisy with some meat, milady?" Arron asks.

I am about to respond but then there is a loud shriek from afar. It makes my blood go still.

The Hound immediately stops, straightens up, and looks at the distance.

I turn to Arron in a panic and tell him to get bait for Daisy. He quickly does that and calls for the dog to come back.

A bunch of peasants run and scream towards the estate; they scream milord.

Sandor goes to them.

When he reaches the panicked townspeople, he tells them all to shut the fuck up and explain what's happening. The old one clamours out that her daughter's been taken, says she was herding the cows then she was suddenly screaming, and he tried to reach her but it was too late. He says his son went to the woods to try and save her sister.

The Hound nods. He easily decides to go into the woods. The man's other son to leads the way.

In truth, the boy didn't have to go with him, he could just head to where the animals were fleeing, but he allowed it because he recognized the boy to be one of the ones in training. He has no idea what his name was though.

He was glad to hear the screams when he did, at least the ones that sounded human.

The Hound sees a lad and a lass running up to him, "RUN WHILE IT'S DISTRACTED!"

The boy by his side screams back, "the Hound is here! He's going to kill it!"

Well, Sandor was only meant to save the girl, and now that the girl was about to run past him, he didn't have to do anything, really. For some reason, he felt compelled to press on. Maybe it was the lack of his sense of self-preservation as of late, or no, don't call it that; it was his need for a distraction, his need prove something.

He sees it, the monster and its fresh kill. It must have been one of the girl's cows, or at least what was left of it. Gods, the abomination was a messy eater. He was glad, at least, it seemed to be starved and solely focused on eating.

His boots stomp into a puddle of blood when he charges at the thing and cuts its head off. That's was quick... and simple...

He's shocked when he hears a hellish scream behind him and gets knocked into a tree.

The Hound is dazed. He hears the battle cry of two voices. He watches the brothers do their best to stab at the thing that towers and claws at them. He promptly gets on his feet and charges at the disgusting fuck, managing to chop off its arm before it chops off the boy's head.

Just as he thinks he's about to get the upper hand, another vile beast pops up from the shadows. He fixes his footing and slashes his sword for his life.

One of the boys get injured. The boy's scream attract the monsters towards him, allowing the Hound to stab through one of them when it's attention is averted.

By the time one of the two vile cretins drop to the ground, the two boys are running for their lives with one monster on their tail. The Hound is forced to chase after them and curses the boys for running. He's not as quick as he was before.

He screams and grabs a rock, chucking it at the slimy tar creature. He throws and shouts some more until the monster is turned back and running towards him.

He slashes the stupid fuck with his sword when its close enough. It still picks a fight though.

He's losing his breath.

The next thing he knows, there's another monster screaming from behind him. The Hound prepares for the one behind him, but it doesn't reach him because its busy ripping something off it with a growl. It chucks something to the side. There is a separate whine that hisses with the wind.

The Hound finally kills the first monster that attacked him. It doesn't take much for him to kill the other as its belly was already gushing with viscous blood.

Once he's the only thing alive and standing, catches his breath and curses. He looks upon the fallen black creatures before him and reckons he ought to get out there before more come out.

But then he hears a rustle to his side. He immediately goes on the defensive and readies for another fight.

He follows the sound of heavy breathing.

His face drops when he hears the way the dog whines when he's spotted.

The Hound sheathes his sword and drops to his knees. He looks at Daisy, her one front paw bent, the other one not. Her hind legs were twisted unnaturally, her side was clawed. She was soaking in red, both hers and otherwise. She was panting and quickly losing blood.

Sandor reaches out to her. Her eyes were wide and teary. She leans into Sandor's touch and licks her nose in a panic.

He begins to feel a rage burn in him. He begins to feel loathe. He whisper-yells, "you stupid dog. You should have stayed home."

Daisy's breath quickens. He realizes see that she is trying not to whine. Gods, the pain she must be in.

He is about to tell her she was stupid for doing that, he is about to tell her she didn't need her help, he is about to tell her she was so fearless for no reason, but then Daisy whines. It was the most horrible thing he's ever heard.

Sandor huffs like he had been stabbed. He grips his hilt tightly, "thank you for saving me, Daisy."

Sandor screws his eyes shut and decides on what he has to do.

He draws his sword. Daisy does not flinch when he presses the sword onto her neck. He thinks about the day they'd first met. 

Fearless.

He strokes her face with his hand once. He screws his eyes shut when he feels her shiver. 

So afraid.

"You're a good dog."

His next stroke pulls Daisy's final breath.

The Hound stands. He looks upon his dog.

He screams.

He screams.

He screams, hell-bent on summoning more monsters. He kills three more stupid fuck, particularly enjoying how he butchered killing a young one.

He takes Daisy's body after. She is rigid against his chest when he reaches the village. He barks out an order to the villagers: burn those fucking monsters he killed. They were more than happy to oblige.

He passes the family he had helped. They are about to come up to thank him but they don't when they see what was in his arms.

He is swarmed with dread with what he is faced with when he reaches the estate. It was very clearly as search party for Daisy.

"SANDOR!" I cry out when I spot him from the distance. "DID YOU SEE DAISY WHEN-" I stop myself when I realize he is covered in blood. Suddenly, I feel awful for not asking him if he was injured before anything else.

His form becomes clearer as I jog up to him and call, "ARE YOU AL-"

I stop in my tracks when I see him adjust something in his arms. I knit my brows and continue walking towards him. Was it a head of a monster? Why was it brownish and not black?

The Hound gives me a solemn look as he inches closer. I furrow my brows at his expression.

It takes a second then suddenly, it clicks.

I let out a horrified cry.

The Hound buries Daisy in the garden himself. Everyone in Brown Wood watches. I force a glance at my poor dog, even though I wanted to do nothing but turn away. Her injuries chill me to the bone. Lucy stands beside me, clutching my arm as she weeps, but does not look at Daisy once.

Maester Yannick speaks some words for her, as per my request, before Sandor covers the grave.

Once it was done, maester Yannick comes to me and says he will plant daisies at her grave come morrow. I cannot find solace, I cannot find myself to care.

"Did you have to slit her throat?!" I demand lowly, voice aching and angry. I eye the Hound with hot contempt and cynicism, "was there REALLY no saving her?!"

"My lady," the maester holds me back, "I saw her body. Lord Clegane showed her mercy."

"Did you enjoy executing your mercy?!" I wail, ripping my arms away from Lucy and Yannick. My gaze does not trail to them at all, as I am intent on getting answers from my dog's executioner.

The Hound's face is blank, it enrages me.

I snarl through tears, "gods, I hope you did! I hope you savored finally being free of your bitch!"

Lucy calls after me as when I storm away. She means to run after me but shoots a glare at the Hound before doing so. She is momentarily stunned when he sees how distraught he looks at the moment. 

Sandor marches out of the estate.

I jolt awake when I hear the front door opening. I wipe my face and quickly stand from the chair in the middle of the living space. The fireplace near me had already burned out.

After the sound of locks disappear in the darkness, I take the unlit candle on the table beside me and walk up to the burning candelabra to light it.

I hear heavy footsteps draw closer.

Boots skid, "fuck."

I look up after lighting my candle. The Hound looks back at me.

"What are you doing?"

I purse my lips and turn to my feet. I clutch my candle, finding it hard to speak. 

"Lucy kick you out of her bed?" he mutters then begins to walk off.

I look up and follow after him. I finally muster out, "you arrive later and later."

He scoffs.

"It's been five days. I fear you'll not return by the tenth."

I pull my head back and stop in my tracks just as the Hound turns and chuckles, "don't worry, little girl. I like the wages of a Lord. Your hound isn't running."

"I know you're not running!" I snap, "I wonder why you think so poorly of yourself!"

"I think poorly of myself?" he hisses and points to his chest.

"Yes!" I bark and push myself up on my tiptoes to prove a point, "and since you are so keen to put words in my mouth, I hope you shove all the fucking pie the unwitting peasants gave you down your blasted throat!"

The Hound is shocked by my profanity. His face slips into confusion.

I heave and pull back, intent on walking away. And I do. I should have never waited for him.

"What fucking pie?"

I snap and turn back at him, "the one you could have eaten fresh had you spared a moment this morning before leaving for a monster hunt!"

Sandor is wholeheartedly confused.

I am aggravated by his expression. I wave my hands, unintentionally putting out the flame of my candle, "they love you, Hound! They're thankful and grateful!"

Though it was darker now, I see his face pinch in to a sort of disgusted disbelief. The sight infuriates me, it squeezes my heart, it pricks me frustration. I wipe my face and repeat the words that were spoken to me, "tell Lord Clegane that without him my children would be dead. Tell Lord Clegane that he has saved me family from hunger. Tell Lord Clegane that me, and my sons, and my sheep are happy to-"

"I didn't do it for them," Sandor cuts me off with a hand raise.

I purse my lips and slowly pull my head back at his words.

He lowers his hand and eyes me for a moment. I see how his gaze drinks my figure. He clenches his jaw and looks away, "you should be asleep."

My jaw slacks.

I wait for him to look at me. I wait for him to ask if I was going to sleep with Lucy again. I wait for him to apologize for keeping me up worrying. I wait for him to bring up Daisy. I wait him to do something, but he doesn't.

My eyes water, "my lo-"

"Good night," he dismisses and turns around to walk away.

"Aren't you-" my voice cracks, "-going to ask me to go to bed with you?"

He stops in his tracks. He does not look back, "do you want me to?"

I furrow my brows deeply. I feel like I was drowning. I let out a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself. I shake my head and turn away. I chuckle dryly, "forgive me for even asking."

Sandor turns back, jaw hanging, hands clenched. He does nothing but watch.

"Do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"

"Yes."

"What's going to happen?"

"You're going to fuck me."

Sandor laughs lowly, placing his hands on my cheeks. He swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."

He kisses me deeply.

"Tell me honest," he mutters through kisses, "have you ever done this before?" he speaks as his hands paw at my sides, "I would not judge you if you did."

I squeak when he touches me between my thighs.

He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't; you're a good girl."

I gasp at the sound of thunder. I jolt up from my bed-- I turn to my side, seeing a sleeping Lucy's form-- or I mean, Lucy's bed. I look for Daisy in the room as I slowly push the blankets off me. I still when I realize she wasn't here.

I huff and wipe my face. I try to push away the thoughts of Daisy out of my head. I try not to think of her so much because I end up melancholy and furious. I, instead, find myself drifting to the dream I just had-- been having.

The mind can be so treacherous. I nibble my lower lip and rub my belly.

I tried, you know. I went to the Hound the morning after we fought about his coming home late. I tried to make peace with him. I tried to persuade him. I tried to kiss him.

I gasp again when another crack of thunder echoes through the room.

He wasn't having it though. He pushed me away and told me it was wrong, that we shouldn't be doing that. He left the estate shortly after. He hasn't been home since.

I get out of bed and light a candle for myself. I walk to my bedroom and light any of the candles that went off on my way. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my skin. I open the door to room as softly as possible, though it didn't really matter in the end because it was pouring outside and the noise wouldn't be loud.

With a barely audible creak, the door opens.

And it was also empty.

I sigh at the made bed. I walk towards it and smoothen out the already smooth sheets. I decide to get dressed for the day.

I head to the office, which as empty as the bedroom. I light the candles there.

I sit down on the desk and go through the papers, the letters of requests, the list of complaints, the finances, the works. I rub my eyes, willing my sleep away. I look out my window, seeing barely any hint of sun through the dark clouds.

I don't know how exactly how much time passed between then and when Arron burst in, but it must have been a while, considering how nice it felt to stand after hearing him shout, "HE'S HOME, MILADY!"

I immediately blow out the candles as Arron tells me the Hound was in the living area. I thank him for telling me, gather my skirts, and jog out of the room.

I cannot hear the click of my heels over the sound of the persisting rain-- the persisting storm.

I stop in my tracks when I see a trail of water in the corridor that led to my bedroom.

A crack of lightning bolts through the sky when I walk in and ask "where have you been?!"

The Hound is dripping in rain water. He has his back turned to me. He is undoing his armor.

I clench my fists and storm up to him. I circle in front of him the same time he walks towards the closet. He stops there, still undoing his armor, back turned to me again.

I scowl, "Hound! I'm speaking to you!"

He looks over his shoulder, the one he was trying to undo, "what? I can't hear you over the rain."

I burn hot with anger and march up to him, "I asked where you've been!"

The Hound looks down at me. He releases the grip on his shoulder, "does it matter where I've been?"

"Yes!" I snap, "you haven't come home in 7 days."

He scoffs, "thrilling to know you've been counting," he points to the window, "well, as you can see, it's fucking storming."

"It wasn't storming the day you left," I hiss.

"Well, it was when I decided to come to my beautiful wife," he leans down and jeers.

I knit my brows at him and pull back when I smell the alcohol in his breath.

He takes my chin between his fingers, "come on give us a smile."

I pull away from him, heart racing, chin burning, even though his touch got my skin damp with rain water.

The Hound straightens up and undoes his armor again.

I step away from him, "Job said he saw you in the next town over."

"Who the fuck is Job?" he asks, not bothering to look at me.

"Polly's father."

"The stable boy?" he turns to me.

"Yes," I hiss and I feel anger build up in me.

He says nothing.

I nearly choke when I say the next words, "he said he saw you coming out of brothel."

The Hound stills. He drops his hands to the side.

Both of us just stand there for a moment. The rain seems to intensify, and so does the tension between us.

"Tell me the truth," I mutter, "do you-"

"It was the town with the fucking unavailable inn," he shifts in his spot to turn to me, "I went to the brothel instead and paid for lodging there."

I purse my lips at his words. That was not what I was going to ask him. I battle with myself, trying to find the words I want to say. I revise my words over and over again in my head. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet so little ways to make it easy to speak out.

I shake my head, "am I very hard to want?"

Sandor feels rain water drip from his fingers.

I don't know how I feel about the bewildered and perplexed expression that spreads across his face. I do know one thing at least, I feel too exhausted to cry.

I sigh and shrug, "I am no fool, Hound. I learned through the gossip of my maids and my aunts growing up that men are simply like... this. It is their nature to stray. Of course, I hoped different for myself, but we cannot have it all, can we?"

"But I didn't do anything," he snaps. He deflates, "I swear by the gods, old and new."

I press my lips into a tight smile. I slowly walk up to him. He watches me intently. I hear his breath hitch when I begin to undo his armor for him. I half expect him to make me stop. He doesn't.

Sandor steps forward. There's barely any space between us anymore. His heart is racing. His hands itch to touch. He releases a breath when his hand comes to my side.

My stomach swirls at the feel of his palm but I do nothing. Neither do I look at him when I mutter, "maybe you should."

Sandor watches me remove his armor. He furrow his brows and whispers, "what?"

I drop the steel plate to the ground with a clank. It is loud even with the sound of pouring rain.

He doesn't like it when he receives no reply. He takes my wrist. I stop my task. His hand is warm albeit the dampness, and so very gentle. 

I finally look up at him.

He leans closer and speaks louder. He shakes his head and furrows his brows, "what did you say, pretty squirrel?"

I raise my brows, "maybe you should."

"Should what?"

"Do something in the brothels."

His face falls. We stare at each other for a moment. He is clearly in disbelief.

I pull my hand out of his grip. He almost doesn't let me.

"It's not a trick, I swear it."

"What are you saying?" he shakes his head faster and finds himself playing on the offensive, "you want me to be with someone else?!"

"I want a baby," I mutter.

Sandor's face falls again, but then it twists. It is unbearable to look at.

"Find a woman you desire," I turn away from him, "and give her your seed. You may keep her here if you like, and I will let her take care of the babe, but the babe will be mine."

His lips part.

"You're right. I don't want the memory of my family to be tainted by monstrosity-"

He shakes his head once more.

"-and I am the last of my line. My line lives on with House Clegane. People remember names, not blood."

He takes my hand, "I desire you."

I cannot help it. I begin to cry because of that. I break into both tears and laughter, "you needn't shield my heart, Sandor."

Sandor's stomach drops, both at the fact his own words have been used against him and with how his name was spoken.

I place a hand on his cheek.

His knees go weak.

"We've both hurt enough," I smile, "I know you think otherwise, but I'm not a little girl. I know sometimes winning means admitting defeat when the loss is great."

He grabs both my wrists when I try to pull away. I gasp when he does so. He holds me for a second then releases my wrists to capture my cheeks instead. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. He swipes my lips, "I love you."

I screw my eyes shut and cling onto his forearm. I let out another laugh, "I don't think you hurt people that you love, my lord."

The Hound is pierced through his armor.

He doesn't put up a fight when I pull his hands off me.

I continue to undo his armor. He doesn't move an inch.

"Will you sleep with me tonight?" he whispers. The sound of the rain is too loud that only him and the gods heard it.

Sandor had been out of it ever since his pretty squirrel ate his insides. He was thick faced, literally and figuratively; he's learned to take pride in it, to find solace in the fact all the years of flesh ripping torture-- figuratively and literally, had made him indifferent to what people think, made him apathetic, numb.

And yet her smile that day was worse than a sword through the spleen. Her disbelief in his words-- because she was right, you don't hurt people you love-- was heart wrenching, blood draining.

What do you say to that? How do you fix that?

You don't.

He knows you don't. You can't fix something like that.

And since this truth has dawned on him, since this truth has slit his throat, he's been a headless, mindless fucker. He was a dead man walking, and one more unwitting monster attack away from making it real.

"MILORD!" Carter cries, raising his sword to hack at the monster who managed to swipe his lately-been-aloof Lord Clegane.

The boy is fired up; his blood is pumping enough to enable him to cut the black demon's arm off and sequentially pierce it through its heart. Carter does it with a scream and regrets it a moment later; after all, they were in the middle of the woods.

They have to get out of here.

Sandor makes a pained noise. He feels heat surge down his arm and cold shiver up his spine.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" Carter gasps, mortified that his lord's armor was scraped off his back. The boy realizes suddenly that his Lord, the fearsome Hound, was not invincible. This newfound truth rips into his ribs the way, he thinks, the monsters would.

The boy immediately takes the Hound in his arms, though it wasn't like he could actually carry him if he wanted. Sandor steadies himself on the boy; Carter struggles even with that task. 

Still, the smaller manages to support his Lord out of the woods.

The next thing Sandor knows, he's screaming and thrashing. He vaguely hears the sound of footsteps skidding away from him.

"What's happening, Maester Yannick?!"

A deep sigh, "he probably feels the pain now."

Sandor realizes he's sat down on a stool, leaned against a table, or at least he was before he started flailing his arms around. He lets out a guttural cry as he pushes himself up. He realizes he's in the ward, being attended by the maester, and his wife was present and very troubled.

"My lord!" Yannick exclaims, raising his hands in both surrender and an attempt to soothe, "it's alright. I have stitched your wounds closed. Do not tear them open "

Sandor huffs through his nostrils. He turns to his side when he hears the soft way his name was spoken. Lady Clegane walks closer, hand wanting to reach out to him. He almost reaches back but then she digs her nails into her palms.

He sinks into the stool and watches her look at him. Her eyes are glassy. Why are they always glassy?

"My lord," Yannick walks towards him, "I'm going to wrap your wounds now."

Sandor huffs in agreement, or more accurately, acknowledgement. His eyes are still fixed on her though. He watches her hover around him, evidently unsure about approaching him.

He wants to reach out to her. He wants to touch her, to soothe her so, so badly.

He's shocked when she decides to take his hand and whispers, "shall I get you milk of the poppy?" 

Sandor looks up at her. Her voice was shaky and he hates how worried it sounded, how desperate. He hates how her eyes were constantly red. He knits his brows, "no."

She hisses, "are you certain? Your gashes are deep. No one in the world would fault you for wanting something to relieve the pain."

"I want to feel it," he mutters, "I want to feel."

She looks between the two of them in a panic, "but you've lost so much blood--"

"Perhaps," Yannick interrupts firmly. He starts binding his wounds, "he wants to feel precisely because he's light headed after losing blood."

Sandor straightens up slowly as he is instructed to. His attention is solely focused on the sensation on his hand though, on how the jittery squirrel was rubbing her soft fingers on his calloused skin.

She persists with this action until his chest and back is bound, she persists until Maester Yannick leaves the room, she persists until, next moment, she drops on her knees beside him. The Hound reacts in an instant.

He gets on the floor beside her, uncaring how it hurt his back, and clutches her face. He calls her name in horror.

"Are you punishing me?" she whispers as water in her eyes threaten to spill.

Sandor knits his brows deeply. He can't speak. He's too afraid to. Everything he's said up until that point has done nothing but rip them both apart. He was a hound after all.

"Are you trying to kill yourself to get back at me?" she mutters, distressed, pained, and defeated.

His face contorts even more. He hesitates but then shakes his head, "no."

"The boy said you've been acting differently as of late!" she grabs his wrists, "ever since I told you what I wanted from you."

His lips twitch. He looks away.

She tightens her grip, "please."

He is suddenly so acutely aware of his injuries. The pain throbs all the way through his heart.

"Please," she begs softly, "just tell me what you want from me-"

"Everything."

The way he responded was quick, as if it was practiced, as if it was reflex.

He avoids her gaze. He takes a deep breath. He waits for a response he somehow knows will never come.

When he turns to her, he notices how her face dropped. Gods, Sandor. Get it together.

"I want-" he starts but cannot continue because of how guilty he feels over the sight of her wobbling lip.

Sandor's hands loosen. They melt from her cheeks, down her shoulders. He grips the area, as if she was water about to slip through his fingers. He releases a breath, and with it, it seems, his thoughts escape. He mutters somethings that mean nothing. She doesn't understand anything.

She whimpers, "I have nothing left to give; you already have it all."

The Hound freezes when his cheek is touched, when his scar is touched. It's like it's being burned all over again.

"Is there something I can give you now?" she huffs uneasily.

He sighs. He feels the wounds throbbing; he feels his head pounding, "no."

"Then will you let me go now?" 

No. No, no, no, no-

"Or, please, at least loosen your grip."

Immediately, Sandor releases her shoulders. She sequentially lets out a breath and rubs the area. There is an imprint on the area of her exposed skin.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Do you want me to stay?"

Yes. "Do you want to stay?"

"I had planned to finish some errands before going to bed."

Sandor averts his gaze then slowly crawls back to his stool, "then leave."

It almost hurts as much as his cuts how quickly she stands. She looks down at him, "I will leave you to your solidarity."

Please don't go.

"I will tell Maester Yannick to come back to attend to you, Hound."

Hound. It sounds like shattering glass.

Sandor listens to the click of her heels as she leaves him.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Royal Red

Have you ever seen blood BURN like the sun?

I'm not even sure "burn" is the right word for it. Writhe? Scream? HATE? Like a standing on a cliff, staring down at a valley consumed in flames. Old forests full of life... burning. Dying. Wrong.

The sky choked with thick black smoke. Tar-like and staining. The ROAR of it. Moisture ripped so utterly from the air, it hurts to breathe. Heat so absolute as it rises... you can not imagine there was ever, EVER life here.

But there was.

And it was once beautiful.

Ancient and green, bird song and morning mist. Moss beneath bare feet and the gentle quiet that is no quiet at all. A thing ALIVE. Breathing. Whole. Now gone beneath the flame. The carnage and hunger. As animals flee for their lives and your men die, desperate to hold back the all consuming spread.

Nothing but FIRE remains.

But have you seen BLOOD burn? The weeping wounds of a soul? The... WRONGNESS inside a man, catch light? A shade of ever overlapping crimson. Drying blood somehow just as fluid as the fresh. Old wounds and new. Somewhere, the depth of scars...

BURNING.

I have.

I do.

I wish I did not.

There is something... WRONG with his Highness. Now, the Crown Prince. He... He HAD brothers. Some were awful, others indifferent. But all of them? All of them are gone. Terrible accidents, allegedly. One after another. And they were NOT the only one's. Consorts, lovers, mistresses and supporters. Allies and anyone unfortunate enough to be in his Highness' way.

But of course, I can prove nothing. And to SUGGEST such a thing? That would be Treason. Defamation of a Royal. That it is TRUE? Holds no bearing. Is utterly irrelevant. Even if I HAD had the proper training, even I'd my Gifts WERE formally recognized, ultimately? Politics is King.

It's not supposed to be. But when has life ever been so kind? When has "supposed to" EVER won the day? No. Such talk gets men killed. And dying once? Was quite enough for me.

Though I HAD to wonder...

How does a Protagonist fuck up SO BADLY, that they somehow send their Hidden Route target, into an empire conquering, murder spiral? That's not "a few bad choices" levels of making a mistake. THAT'S? Damn near deliberate sabotage and I just wanna talk. Violently.

I WOULD too, if I wasn't pretty certain they were either on the run or in exile.

All I had wanted? ALL I HAD EVER WANTED?? Was to just be set dressing. Soldier A, the unimportant background gaurd. A nice, faceless, grunt. Maybe chat with my equals of plot significance, a potted plant and yonder chair. Then? I could take my pay, go home, and live quietly.

But NO!

I get stationed following the Seventh prince. Mr. Hidden Route himself. Which? Okay, fine. Was HOPING for gate duty, cause NOTHING happens on gate duty, but FINE. But THEN? Half my co-workers are ASSHOLES. Like... child abusing assholes! The FUCK?!

So? Oops. Accident on the stairs! Whoops! Lemme help you there, man. Oh? Did I ACCIDENTALLY crush the hand you used to hit that kid? Golly! Gee, I sure hope the healers can fix that for you! (I fucking know they both can't and wouldn't if they could. You can't afford SHIT.) Lemme HELP you there, AGAIN, BUUUUUDDY~☆!

Threatening you? Why I would NEVER! That's illegal!

You know... like hitting kids.

And OTHER shit they try to pull. Never DID get around to updating my Gaurd Forms. Whoops. Turns out being able to literally SEE the malicious intent on a fucker? Makes it pretty easy to know who to watch. DID get jumped a lot though. Stabbed a few times.

I just? Wanted to watch my favorite Otome game play out, you know? Get payed while doing it. Sunk cost fallacy kicked in. I've been here since I was a PRE-TEEN. Signed up for training, a ten year contract, and everything! I can LEAVE now... but like? Go WHERE? And honestly... I'm not actually sure I CAN.

Things are... Tense.

Or maybe they're just tense for me? 'Cause... Cause something isn't right. It's that burning blood color. The way it fills a room. Reaches, covetous, like staining hands. Writhes and drags itself against everything. Something unholy, between a lustful grind and the dragging of the wounded. It's not even demonic. No... somehow? It's WORSE for being utterly human.

There is something deeply wrong with the man I am sworn to obey, and I do not know how to escape him.

Because I definitely SHOULD.

I'm not stupid. He's been... been keeping me, SPECIFICALLY, close at hand, since becoming Crown Prince. The SECOND he was able to assign his OWN gaurds? I am suddenly honor gaurd. Yet not. I have basically no job but to stab just behind and to the side of him and look pretty. (For the given quality of THAT.) And...? Even the other gaurds are looking nervous.

It's NEVER a good thing when powerful people suddenly pay attention to an individual gaurd, servant, or maid. They tend to end up... hurt. Dead. Worse. And given recent behavior? Well... I've been getting offers to quietly arrange an "accident" for me.

Not so sure it won't get everyone involved killed.

He wasn't always LIKE this. Yeah, he was... different, but it wasn't BAD. Just... off. A bit weird. A color I hadn't seen before and couldn't for the life of me figure out. It had been... well, nothing. Not even grey. I KNOW grey, it's apathy or depression. Emotional flatness.

But his Highness? Like mist. The lite distortion of water droplets. Colorless and near weightless, drifting gently along. It was as though he DIDNT have emotional responses to anything. Not even flat. Just... non-existant. Which? If so? That's okay! Really. Takes all types. Something to NOTE, yeah, maybe accommodate? But fine.

It's not like there were psychiatric meds or doctors we could get for him. If he was different, so be it. We just had to work around that. Plan accordingly. Worst case scenario, maybe keep him away from small breakable things. But? He seemed benign. I shrugged and moved on. Accepted him as he was.

Maybe went out of my way to explain things with logic more then feelings. Even when I WAS explaining feelings. Ethics. Pretty much anything else he asked. Which... wait a second...

Fuck.

A nameless gaurd SHOULD NOT know that much about psychology or politics. Economics on the macro or micro scale. Oh god DAMN it Wikipedia! You betray me a lifetime away?! Et Tu random research binges!?

Okay. Okay! So maaaaybe? THATS why he's keeping me close? Cause yeah, I'm pretty stacked these days. No internet kinda leaves nothing BUT time to train and read... and books are kinda hard to get, at my level. So like? Maybe a second set of eyes?

....doesn't feel right though. Close but missing the obvious mark-ish.

I try to think of my interactions with the prince. BEFORE murder-spiral kick-off. He sought me out a lot. I interfered so many times when his Tutors crossed lines, they got me kicked out of the main building. He started skipping lessons to self-study. I got put on patrol? He learned my patrol schedule. Would invade the gaurd mess.

Got punished for that, I think. Vicious cycle. I get punished, he gets upset, wants to make sure I'm okay, I get punished for his basic empathy and being a kid. They kept reassigning me. I got stabbed that first time. Sent too...

Wait.

I try to pull up what I know of the Game in my brain. The Hidden Route and the other Routes. We are.... WAY off script. Not off GENRE... just...?

Mentally I set the Game aside. Shifting in my guarding position at the Crown Prince's side. He continues to work. The soft rustle of papers and the scratching of his pen, filling the silence along side the clink and shift of my armor. We are in the sun room, surrounded by flowers, supposedly for the better light.

To be honest, I hadn't ever BEEN in this room until I was basicly expected to tail the Crown Prince like a glorified, armor wearing, pet. And too be honest? Given that the REST of his honor gaurd were ACTUAL KNIGHTS? It was well beyond ridiculous at this point.

I was a club bouncer surrounded by elite special forces, in fancy little armor, that I could in NO way, have ever afforded on my own. Oh, and I wasn't really allowed to talk to them. So... WHY? Why, EXACTLY, was I here? There was no realistic way anything could get PASSED all those knights. I certainly wasn't PROTECTING the Crown Prince from SHIT.

And... and he hadn't attacked me, thank God. No touchy hands "service to the crown" shtick. Demanding things I couldn't refuse him. So THAT wasn't it...

Right?

My brain insisted it wasn't. That I should keep going over the list of possible reasons. Consider This or That. But... Something in my gut? Rang like a struck bell. Some non-physical part of me. That peice that twined, like gentle golden ivy, up through my body, too wrap around my eyes from the inside. Not enough, maybe, to get me into some high and mighty school or apprenticeship... but ENOUGH.

Because Magic was, is, and always has been? Divine. For all that HUMANS fail while using it. For every MORTAL error in it's implementing or understanding. It's a drop of the Divine. And? You can not LIE to the Gods. Hide, perhaps, but not LIE. Even then, you'd have to know what you're hiding FROM.

Kinda hard to hide from "using past life knowledge to deduce motivation" when that's not exactly a thing people can easily guess I HAVE. I get away with shit. Know things I really shouldn't.

Am.... am desperately trying to convince myself that the twinge I just felt? DOESN'T mean what I think it means. Even as a cold sweat breaks out over my skin. As I desperately keep my expression placid and my stare straight into the middle distance. Ha ha.... oh god. No no no, oh god, no...!

Okay. OKAY! Lying to yourself will NOT keep you safe! We can do this! Nothing is happening. We just... just have to play it cool. NOT. PANIC.

He DID want us for sexual reasons.

But... more? More, maybe. I poke at the feeling. Try to frame my thoughts as absolute statement as see if I get a twinge again. To get a feel for the edges of whatever is happening. I can not protect myself, if I do not KNOW from what I protect AGAINST. Just sex? No. Was I a convenience choice? Also No. Revenge for something? A sudden certainty that I'd be DEAD if it was.

Oh, THATS not concerning at ALL!

Okay, keep prodding. Uuuuh... He has a thing for big muscle-y dudes with scars? Strong yes. Okay! Getting somewhere! Kinda thought he liked the petite, girly girl-ish typ-? Weirdly hollow No? Strong. Okay, what the FUCK. See THIS? THIS is why I wanted to be a fucking GAURD. No weird Protagonist of any adventures bullshit! Just a 9-5 with a paycheck at the end!

Uuuugh. Okay, soooo... likes? Strong dudes.... and I was the closest? No. Okay! Getting somewhere! Other strong dude... isn't available? Yes, but I am looking at it wrong. Great. At least I know what that feeling MEANS. Still wish it would just follow up with a "and btw, here's the answer~☆" but, fuck no! Why would life make anything EASY for a guy?

Fuck it! Random shit at the wall time. He's definitely in love with the Protagonist? No. Wait, really? Then why...? No. Stay on track. He's in definitely in love with ME? I wait, utterly expectant, for the twinge that will mark a negative. Half cursing myself for not checking with the Divine sooner. There had been no excuse. Distractions, yes, but no excuse.

It feels like getting sucker punched in the gut. HARD.

Takes everything in me, not to wheeze and double over. That... that wasn't a "yes". That was so FAR beyond "yes" I'm not sure there are spoken, written, or even conceptual WORDS for it. As absolute a CONCEPT of Yes as I have ever felt or probably ever will.

It... It did NOT feel good.

That was a WARNING.

Like the Gods them selves had taken me by the back of the neck, stepped close, to whisper in my ear as they drove their fist into my gut. "Pay Attention To This. RUN. You Need To RUN. There Are Monsters Here."

My eyes feel like they are burning. Like I haven't blinked in too long. Colors a bit too bright, details too sharp. The edges of reality cutting like splintering, glittering, glass. Everything has a GLOW to it. It's never done that before. Is... is this panic? Fight or Flight forcing me to draw deeper then I ever have before?

Or are the Gods paying attention? Displeased by what they see?

The room around us is... is so quiet. Beautiful. Rare flowers, teeming with life. Decorative and pampered little song birds, flitting from roost to roost. The rich scent of rare tea and expensive cologne, mixing with armor polish and the scent of green, living things. Sunlight makes his Highness' hair glow like it was made of it. Pale gold and filled with light.

If I could not SEE... his Highness would be beautiful.

But I can, and instead? He's terrifying.

I think I'm shaking. I don't understand. The room around me picturesque. Peaceful. Golden and filled with gently beautiful things. Light. It feels mocking. Paper thin. Like some cruel trap laid out over a pit of tar. As though, like in the cartoons of my old childhood, the INSTANT I become aware... acknowledge the reality of my ACTUAL surroundings?

The paper thin veneer will rip, no longer able to hold my weight, and I will be plunged into the horrors just beneath the lie.

How.... HOW did-?! I... I CAN'T-!

I put everything I am, into letting nothing show. E-Everything is FINE. Do not turn around. Please. Please, Gods, do not notice me or turn around! I breathe. Breathe. Can't do nothing now, but breathe. Panic is the mind killer. I remind myself of that. People do stupid things, when they act in panic. Think. THINK! Plan. THEN act! Breathe.

How? HOW did this happen? Trace it back. Find the source and we can... can maybe unhook the noose. Fix this? Escape? Run and keep running. Find the edge of the map and keep going. Where did it...? My brain, maybe my magic, finally takes pity. Connects the wires that have long been JUST missing each other. My mental list of Genre Troupes. My history with the Prince.

The blood drains from my face.

Oh fuck. Shit! Oh fuck, oh SHIT. Yandere. He was a YANDERE hidden route character! Wasn't he!? It's the only thing that makes sense with the-! No, no, he should still-! But, wait. No. No, no, NO. Oh god! I pulled a combo attack. "Childhood best friend" even though we WEREN'T. I was basically the closest in age to him! AND the only non-asshole! So that's "Different From The Others"!

Oh mother FUCKER, I pulled a "Only One Who Cares About Me" while SERVING him! His fucked up little squirrel brain would have taken that as "belonged to him" only to have me "taken away" when I was assigned elsewhere! Every time I kept someone from ABUSING him, I was making it WORSE. Every time they reassigned me, somebody was "trying to take me away"!

Oh sweet merciful FUCK, I got STABBED!

No WONDER he lost his absolute shit! He was unhinged to begin with! But instead of latching on to Protagonist and being HER problem, he latched on to ME! Why did no one warn me he was-!? Actually, I have no idea. Non-Just-Straight?! That! One of the THAT! Like FUCK I'm asking! He'd think it was an invitation, probably!

Because he NUCKING FUTS! Squirrels in the brain! Def Con OH SHIT!!

Yandere! Shit! I'm gonna di-!

"Something's upset you." The crown prince's surprisingly deep voice says, breaking the silence. I flinch. "I can feel your magic moving. An attack, perhaps? Or is someone saying something they should not."

He... oh, great, amazing! He can FEEL my magic. The magic INSIDE me body. That magic. Yeah, I don't feel stripped naked and on display AT ALL. Thanks! Definitely not invasive, your Highness! Still, I have to answer. Carefully. Very, VERY carefully.

He hums, disbelieving, as I reply. Lifting his pen and setting it aside. A graceful hand lifts. The mere flick of his fingers. "Move" it means. "Come where I can see you". Imperious and royal. Casual in it's assumed control of me. Why would he believe anything else, after all? He IS a prince. The CROWN Prince. Future KING.

He DOES own me.

I keep my breathing even. Keep my hands from visually shaking by tightening my grip on my spear. Even, professional, steps. Forward. Turn. Face your ruler. Your BETTER. No eye contact. Even breathing and eyes to the horizon. You are a statue. Just... just be a statue. No thoughts. You can do this.

It doesnt help. I can FEEL those pale, pale eyes. Striking and blue. Rare flower petals or glacier ice, they have been called. Compared to all sorts of haunting things. The Crown Prince is a beautiful man. That dangerous sort of pale beauty, that make for excellent portraits, of bright and holy things. That fools the eyes into thinking surely, SURELY the soul before your is Good. Trustworthy.

How could anything so beautiful be DANGEROUS?

Be corrupted and insane? A killer. A madman.

A MONSTER.

I stand at attention. Where he can observe me. His little toy soilder. Kept like a PET, I know realize, and try not to feel like I am being picked apart. Like a mouse in some tigers cage. The far wall sure is fascinating. Mmmmhmm. Very... very wall-like. Glass and artfully arranged flowering vines. Very pretty. What a wall! Ten stars for wall-ness.

The near silent shift of fine fabrics. A tap. Nail on high grade armor alloy. Just the smallest of sounds that nonetheless seems deafening. I barely stop myself from jerking back in alarm. Can't prevent my gaze from snapping downwards. To the arm outstretched, the elegant hand curled, the well manicured finger nail on the single outstretched finger... that has placed itself right over my heart. I freeze, utterly.

"You're getting nervous, aren't you? Growing uncertain. I've been so busy planning ahead, I've forgotten the here and now, haven't I?" He muses. That finger I should not be able to feel, that somehow feels like a knife trailed along my skin, glides slowly down. A meandering path down towards my belt. "I've neglected you."

The finger hooks into my belt. I am dragged forward a few stumbling steps with a deceptively strong tug. There is significant muscle, hidden by the almost waifish cut of his Highness daily wear. The eyes watching for my reaction are predatory. Intent. It was as though there should be fangs, in that pleasant, politician's grin...

"My steadfast knight, warrior of my heart, you've been so patient for me... so LOYAL." He rolled the word across his tongue as he said it, eyes locked on me with the sort of interest hunter keep, more a sigh then a word. Somehow.. Somehow the concept became OBSCENE, once in his hands. "So good for me. Even after all this time. Soon, Dearest. Soon we won't have to hide. I promise."

I had NEVER been a knight. Not even CLOSE to qualified for the training. Not even a single branch, magical or otherwise. Worse? I knew for a FACT? We had never, not ONCE, been lovers. No stolen glances. No fumbling youthful hands. No "hey, let's explore this closet!". Nothing. I? Had been studiously professional, if a decent human being.

This was ALL him.

What narrative had he painted in his head?

My heart pounds. My brain somehow both gibbering hysteria and unnatural calm. I... I think I may be disassociating. But all I can think, all I KNOW, is that I can NOT, Under ANY Circumstances, break the illusion. Do NOT argue. Why YES, deeply insane FUTURE KING, I DO love you so VERY much! Hey, don't mind me, just left the phone running. Gonna go for a walk. Buy some milk.

I watch, pleasant service industry smile feeling plastic on my face, as he leans forward. Rests his head against my armored chest, as though we were lovers. Just stealing a quite little moment alone. His hand slides along my belt, fingers hooked into it, the brush of his knuckles feeling far filthier then any groping hand. I can HEAR him breathing me in.

Obscene. How is he making such chaste contact so deeply obscene? He let's out a pleased hum and I want a shower.

"Kneel for me?" So soft I almost don't catch it, it takes a moment to register the words. This time, I can not stop myself from tensing. I know he feels it, but can not bring myself to care. "Shhhh shh shh, none of this, my Darling. To your knees before your King. Sweetheart, my dearest. You're going to be serving me there for the rest of our lives. It's okay. Your King won't rush you. He knows how shy you are. How nervous."

W-Well THAT wasn't treason! At ALL! Ha ha...! Oh god.

Hands at my waist. When did the other one-?! I'm shaking. Smile. D-dont set him off. This is fine. I... I shouldn't be ABLE to feel their heat, through my armor. Somehow I do. I want to back up. If I got to do this? At least let me-!

But, no. Pressure. Hands on my hips dragging me down, watching eyes expectant. In stops and starts... like a seizing automaton, my knees bend. Down I go... I guess.

Almost instantly, there are hands unbuckling my helmet. Sliding it off. Stealing it away. Fingers slide through my hair. Cup my cheek. A thumb running itself across my mouth. The prince seemed to loom. Hungry as he stared down at me.

"Beautiful. My loyal knight is so, SO beautiful. I am going to give us the world. Take what is ours. No one will EVER hurt us again, Dearest. I will keep you forever. Dress you in armor and roses. Mine and mine alone."

There was madness in his eyes. Obsession. Is...is that what that color meant? That burning, terrible blood? It's too late. Oh god, it's too late for that to help me. I smile. Do not argue. Fear and fear and fear. I have to get out. On my knees, it is a terrible view of what's to come, should I fail. The Games's utterly fucked. I no longer care.

I have to get out.

The King, after all, has gotten sick lately.

[smutty-ki113r]

🎥It’s been so long 🎥||

Comfort one-shot reader x creepy pastas (Slenderman, Jeff, Toby, E.J, BEN, Sally, Masky, Hoodie, Jane and L.J.) ((Beauty and the beast spoilers))

Inspired by: The living tombstone

The following morning you got ready to go to Hollywood studios. It was pretty chilly so you wore a jacket, bunched up in the car with everyone else. On the way there BEN wouldn’t stop talking about the new Star Wars exhibits.

Parking in one of the spots you all rode the tram to bring you to the entrance. All of the creeps stood in awe at the decorations at the entrance. Slender had to shoo them to disperse before they could hold up the other people coming in. Jeff looked irritated, probably cause he left his knife at the hotel as instructed.

A lot of people were dressed as people from the 50’s and such for Halloween weekend. Some of them gave strange looks at your groups’ costumes, but there was definitely compliments too. At least L.J was happy because there were less annoying children.

First up was the tower of terror, which you guys had a hard time finding since it was to the farther side of the park. BEN kept whining that he wanted to go to the Star Wars rides, but Jeff and you were pretty headstrong on wanting to go on this one.

The line was long too, about an hour in the hot Florida sun. Thankfully it was windy, and you sat on the ledges for the wait. Hoodie and Sally opted out since she was too short and he had a slight fear of heights. Slender could actually fit this time so he was pretty excited.

Jeff was pretty restless the whole time, fiddling with his hands in his hoodie pocket. BEN sat next to you on the ledge with his head on your shoulder, he seemed tired. Probably because he brought his Nintendo and played it all night even though you advised him not to.

Eventually you all made it inside where you looked at the “spooky” decorations. If slender had a face he would have one of disgust at the cobwebs. There was no comparison to his mansion, not creepy at all -in his opinion.

“Spooky does not mean unclean” he kept muttering to you guys telepathically.

Jeff rolled his eyes and Masky nodded his head, his arms crossed as you guys moved along. Then you were moved in to a separate room to watch some recording giving a backstory to the hotel. You were really focused on the video, there was even ominous music in the background.

There was this annoying whirr in your ear, you had to swat off the wind blowing on it. If the place really was haunted you were the victim. You felt a pair of hands grab your waist and you jolted, looking behind to find a cackling BEN.

“YOU SHIT” You slapped his arm- obviously- he deserved it.

He kept trying to fend you off until Masky gave both of you a really dangerous look. At least you didn’t need to be scared of ghosts anymore, Masky was the scariest thing there. Plus, BEN wasn’t exactly a terrifying ghost with those cute ears of his.

Finally it was time to get on the ride, slender looked really excited in his own way. He had his hands over his lap, the seatbelt buckled securely. You sat on the end with Jeff next to you and BEN next to him and then Toby after.

LJ was on the row behind you with Masky and EJ, you gave them a look as the cart moved. Then the doors opened and there was a stiff in the movement. Abruptly it shot upward, staying still for a second. You got to look at the beautiful view of the whole park before it dropped.

You felt your stomach drop as you clenched your hands on the handles, screaming along with LJ in the back. Glancing at him you saw the feathers on his shoulders fly up at the fall, Slender had his arms up, it was adorable. Toby was CRYING, holding onto the handles for dear life just like you.

After a few times of rising and going down Jeff started yelling at BEN, “STOP TAMPERING WITH THE CONTROLS”

“I’M NOT” he screached, holding onto his hat and trying to shake off a clingy Jeff. The outdoor daylight flashing onto his face, making his wide smiling face illuminate.

“STOP IT BEN” he kept repeating until there was one last drop. He gave a sigh of relief.

The people on the opposite rows looked mortified, scooting past you as you checked the pictures. They were absolutely hilarious, Jeff was gripping on for dear life to BEN, with Slender blocking the family in the back row and there was an open mouth shot of you.

It was a bit dizzying, so you held onto BEN until you regained your balance. He was a bit shocked too, a look of terror displayed at how Jeff yelled at him 50 feet in the air. Toby was pretty petrified too, his ticking increased and you had to rub him on the back to calm him down.

“I liked it” E.J said, shrugging at the picture and moving to the exit. Masky agreed with him, going to find his buddy Brian outside.

Toby needed something to take his mind off of the ride, so you took him and Sally to the Beauty and the Beast show. E.J tagged along too, which was pretty bizarre but hey maybe he liked theatre. The others went to the guitar ride while you waited for the next show to start.

The four of you sat in a back row to have the whole view of the stage. Needless to say that Toby and Sally really enjoyed themselves listening to the actors sing. When the conflict started Sally got anxious and you had to hold her in your lap.

Jack was quieter than usual watching the show, occasionally shushing Toby’s whimpers so he could concentrate. Gaston got on stage and started singing about killing the beast. You looked over at EJ who had his fists balled up in rage, he was really getting into it.

Giving a snarl when Gaston killed the beast but a huff of approval when he turned out to be okay. He didn’t say it but he kinned the beast, and he secretly wanted the happy ending. When the show ended you could have sworn there was tar rolling down his mask, you have him a little pat of affection.

He smiled at you under his blue mask and stood up, excusing himself for a moment. You shrugged as he went behind the stage, probably to get a snack. Leaving the gaston actor with one less kidney than when he started the show.

Then you pushed him out of there with the other two creeps, going across the road to find the rest of the group at the guitar ride. Slender was outside waiting with Hoodie and Jane, Sally ran up to give him a hug.

“They’re in the line for another round” he sighed, “go join them” he called to you and E.J.

You swerved through the other people, excusing yourself because you had to find your group. They told you all about how exciting it was, in the dark and super fast. Jeff was ranting, impatient once again. When you got inside BEN played with the marbles on the door, Masky was shooting him a disapproving look.

Jeff and BEN went in the cart in front of you, you went with L.J who wouldnt stop grinning. It would have been creepy if you weren’t used to it, but the lady making sure you were buckled seemed pretty terrified. Masky and E.J were behind you.

The car took off with a blast, music bursting in your ears as it climbed the tracks. You were overwhelmed with glowing decorations and unplanned curves, taking loopdy loops and hearing BEN and Jeff scream in delight.

You had to give heavy pants when it finished, catching your breath from all your screaming. You laughed along with L.J, whose hair was messed up. Reaching over to make it neater as the cart reached the exit point. The pictures made you cackle, especially since Masky and E.J on the same row had the same void expression.

After that you all headed to the toy story world. Admiring the green army soldiers and amazing childish scenery on the buildings. There were giant abc building blocks and gears making it seem like you had really shrunk.

Upon seeing the Toy Story mania BEN was teething. For some reason Jane too.

Finding out soon enough when she made you ride with her. Basically it was you and Jane in one cart with Jeff and BEN in the next.

She ignored the objective of the game and instead focused on shooting Jeff with the lasers. You kept telling her she had to shoot them at the targets but she shoved you off.

“I need to shoot this fucker” Jane kept muttering.

“You’ll never get me Jane!” Jeff yelled back.

Jeff aimed his cart towards you guys and started fighting back with the light filled lasers. You and BEN looked at each other like 😐, it was useless to break them up.

So you tried to win as much points as you cold but eventually BEN got more, he probably cheated. He did a little victory dance as you exited, you would definitely hold that against him later.

Slender wanted to go on the movie ride, which Jeff protested against but he wasn’t given much of a choice. Slender really liked the infographics and the interactives. Appreciating the realistic scenarios from the Indiana Jones movie and the Wild West.

Jeff did have a laughing fit when he saw the Alien from the Alien movie, saying it looked just as bald as slender. You were sure to give him a smack at that too. Overall though, you all enjoyed it, even Masky did too.

Next was the muppet show, so you all headed that way. While you all waited for the next viewing to start Toby was playing with the 3-D glasses. He kept walking with his arms out and pretending to be dizzy. Then he started “accidentally” bumping into Masky, poor Masky.

Thankfully for him, the doors opened and he sat as far as possible from Toby. You were sandwiched in between him and BEN. You guys lightly chattered until the lights dimmed and you had to put on your glasses.

L.J was having a laughing attack during the show, joined by Sally who actually really liked it. Then there was a part where the little muppet started spitting water, landing onto the audience. Now here was the part where a certain someone started screeching like a little girl, and it wasn’t Sally.

Benny was shivering in fear trying to cower on the floor, your ears rung as you tried to calm him down. You had to assure him like 20 times for him to come back, drying his seat so he could go back. Jeff was laughing but you quickly shut him up.

“It’s gonna be ok BEN, the show’s almost over” you said, giving him your jacket to warm up.

To compensate for BEN’s panic attack you convinced Slender to go to the Star Wars world next. At least BEN was pretty excited for that one, so you managed to diverge his attention to that instead.

His eyes widened and he started jumping up and down when you guys got there. Since there were so many rides you guys started just by walking around. It was pretty incredible, like straight out of the movies.

The architecture was amazing, with rusted technological buildings and the makeshift rocky terrain. The roofs of each buildings were domes, most of them were circular and extraterrestrial.

The stone was so realistic, some the walls were painted with a light aquamarine and some buildings with a yellow. The roofs were made up of a chipped bronze.

Even the ship which stood at the center was unbelievable, Slender made you and BEN take a picture together. You could see the grin of a lifetime on his face follow as you waited in line for the live action ride.

It was so fun! Even slender loved it, he knew he intimidated the storm troopers and if he could grin it would be a smug one. The design of the ride was amazing, the inside was like the real ships.

After you bought BEN a green milk and got a Blue one for yourself. It was sweet on your tongue, cold like a slushee too. You let BEN try yours after he gulped his own down and then he nagged you until you let him have the rest of it.

The next ride was the interactive one, this time you went with Masky and Hoodie. He had been quiet most of the time but this really fired him up. It was a three person ride, the mission was to get to a certain planet in the galaxy while escaping an evil ship.

Masky took all the control on this one, he was the pilot. He put Hoodie as the repair guy and you were the ammo man. He was solely concentrated on maneuvering that ship, swerving left and right like a pro. When the other ship started attacking he began commanding you too.

“SHOOT” he yelled back at you. He sure was bossy sometimes. “ARE YOU SHOOTING?”

“I AM” you said, pushing the button a million miles a minute to see the red laser shoot out on the screen.

Your wrist hurt from how hard you pushed it time and time again. “SHOOT THE GODDAMN SHIP” he said before you landed a good shot and got it out of the way, giving a sigh of relief that he would stop telling you what to do.

Hoodie was on repair duty so he just made sure you guys stayed a flight, silent and concentrated on his task.

Coming out of the Star Wars world you guys moved on to the Indiana Jones show, leaving Toby and Sally at the Frozen sing along with L.J as a chaperone. He was in literal hell, with so many little kids. He did like any reasonable adult and left, leaving the irresponsible person and Sally alone.

The Indiana Jones was one of the evening showings, probably the last one of the day before the main event. The whole thing was really thrilling, full of action and suspense. It was very exciting, and Jeff got a little too hyper.

He saw the weapons and started bouncing his legs on the floor. You eyed him suspiciously for a bit, he got so pumped he started raging. Luckily you covered his mouth before he could start yelling.

The smiling killer gave you a deadly look as he took his illegal knife out if his pocket. The very knife he promised he left at the hotel. You wondered how he snuck it in, probably his pants this time.

“You fucker” you deadpanned, moving out of his knife range. This was all while Indiana Jones was rolling over makeshift buildings with that dramatic music in the background. Thank goodness for the music, or else people would start calling security.

“BEN, E.J, HELP ME” you whisper yelled at them. They took Jeff by the arms and made him calm down, through your hand he gave muffled remarks.

His lidless eyes only widened as swords came into view, he simped over those blades like no other. Pulling and fighting for you to let him go, he wanted to cause rampage with his knife.

“I COULD BEAT THE SHIT” he paused to lick your palm which you made a squirmy face at but refused to let him go “OUT OF THOSE GUYS” you took his knife at this point.

You had to keep him restrained until the show ended, meeting up with the other half of your group then as you were walking to the restroom your group was encountered by a double line of storm troopers.

They stopped to make a round, approaching Masky and E.J, since they had masks. First was E.J, where they interrogated him with questions about if he with the first order cause or not.

“Are you part of the resistance” the trooper asked in a filtered voice.

“No” he said calmly.

“How can we know for sure?” the man in the white suit asked.

“I’m not one of the good guys, trust me” he said with a light chuckle. You laughed a little too and they moved to near Masky.

“Trooper get back in line” they said. You almost levitated, it was so funny you had to take a picture. Side by side his mask kind of resembled the storm troopers’.

“I’m not one of you” he said, boiling with anger as a few other troopers marched their way over to him.

“So you’re a Jedi in disguise then?” Another asked, face inches away from Masky.

“No” he said, the boy was about to burst with rage, too serious to take this as a game and gripping his fanny pack in anger to refrain from punching the guy.

The commander in a black mask passed by and spoke “Cleared”, the troopers dispersed, leaving a less distressed Masky behind.

Jeff was laughing at least, and L.J too, who appeared behind you mysteriously. Slender towered over him and asked where Sally was, the monochromed clown just gave a toothy smile and told him he dropped them off at the little mermaid show.

When that was over you guys got good seats at the fantastmic show, with the exception of BEN who feared water and was still having flashbacks from earlier. He gave rounds on the guitar ride with Jeff who opted to skip out with him, its not like he could sit still any longer too.

You hoped they didn’t kill anyone (they probably did), while the show went on. It was a beautiful display of lights in the water. There was a story told on the mountain and then the dancers came out. You smiled at the sight, it was another heartwarming day spent with the creeps. Holding Sally in your lap as she squealed at the pretty lights you were happy and at peace.

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 502

Watched this episode after winning Wynonna Earp trivia (fuck yeah, The Shit Tickets!) at a bar, put on by a queer af podcast, followed by going to see a queer af movie, and was all ready to get my Beauchamp fix... And it was like oh here’s a taste and a hint that we’re gonna end up in a story line similar to what we’ve already done multiple times, but now on to the menfolk.

For real though, this episode was like an OL greatest hits clip show. It had all the stuff we’ve seen before. A time traveler who wants to go home? Check. Rape PTSD? Check. A man being a dad to a kid who isn’t/might not be his? Check. That same man being the absolute worst? Check. Claire being reckless with future medicine? Check. Townsfolk questioning Claire’s medical knowledge in favor of the local Man of Importance? Check. Jamie trying to be on both sides at once? Check. A villain who seemed to have died the previous season and should have fucking stayed dead? Check.

We’ve literally seen all of this stuff before.

For a show that spent the first part of season two claiming to be a political drama and then last season claiming that they “weren’t political” I see we’re back to just leaning hard into politics that have direct parallels today.

No fucks left to give about the system Murtz is kind of my favorite Murtz. Like this dude spent his whole life living by a code and an oath and was fucked over by the system so many fucking times that he’s ready to just burn it all down. Curious to see how they walk the domestic terrorist vs. freedom fighter line with him for the rest of the season.

Got all excited about the bread title card because yay medicinal mold, but of course, the lead character was relegated to the B story.

Old timey medicine baffles me. Like the fact that bleeding someone was like a catchall remedy boggles the mind.

I feel rull bad for Mrs. Whoeverthefuck though. She tried.

Also, shit like this makes me be like, yo Claire, you sure you wanna stay here? Jamie’s really not all that and a bag of chips. But you do you, boo.

Speaking of Jamie, his hair looks really good. A thousand fruit baskets to the new wig person.

Lulz at Knox thinking the Gathering was about being loyal to king and country. Dummy.

Srsly though, Murtz Valmurtz is really getting under their skin. Is he like the *only* Regulator leader?

The convo between Knox and Jamie is literally as relevant today as it is in the 1770s. But yeah, the show IsN’t PoLiTiCaL.

The fact that fuckers think those at the bottom should be happy with their lot because “lol it could be worse” need to be punched in the face and taken out of power. Stat.

Also any time someone in power talks about civility as a reason not to rise up against injustice, I want to punch them. Because they deserve it.

I want to punch a lot of things.

This whole episode is very Les Mis, tbh.

Literalol at Claire covering dead guy’s face and not his body cavity before Bree comes in.

Aw Bree, why you gotta be a buzzkill? We were cheated of badass Doctor!Claire in S3. Let us have this.

Also, yeah, Claire, Bree’s fucking right. Which you’d think you’d know by now what with alL THE FUCKING TIMES YOU’VE BEEN CALLED A WITCH. AND NOW YOU’RE UPPING YOUR GAME TO LIKE NECROMANCY?!

Also the more she says no one will find out the more annoying it is because *clearly* someone *is* gonna find out and we’re gonna be back on the “she’s a witch!” “I’m not a witch!” “you literally have a dead guy in your closet!” merry-go-round again.

Today in most on-the-nose shots ever: How convenient that Marsali just happens to be doing some butchering right there, right then.

Petition for the show to go full Shondaland and just turn into a backwoods medical drama with Claire and Marsali, and all the others (cough the men cough) can fuck on off.

Tarring and feathering is like the old timey version of #AlwaysPunchAFascist but dialed to 11.

Oh the baggage behind Jamie saying redcoat man will someday wear his scars with honor that none of these fuckers know about...

Ok so clearly the English know that Claire’s a doctor so whenever shit hits the witchy dead dude fan, can we please have a quick resolution and not that dumb af “Claire goes to jail and of course her cellmate is a lesbian because Diana sucks at writing queer characters” nonsense?

Man Jamie is *not* subtle with this convo at the jail. Like Knox is right there and he’s just like hey buddies, I have people and we’re Scottish and y’know how we feel about protecting people vs. obeying the English.

I AM SPARTACUS FITZGIBBONS!

Aaand, naturally, the fuckwit preaching civility is the one to kill a man in cold blood. Rise up, motherfuckers. Rise up.

THANK FUCK ROGER IS A TERRIBLE SHOT BECAUSE IF THAT SQUIRREL DIED I WOULD LEGIT QUIT THE SHOW. RUN AWAY AND BE FREEEEEE YOU PRECIOUS LIL WILDERNESS FLOOFER!

Roger is, and I cannot stress this enough, the fucking worst.

He’s like look how shitty I am at being a soldier but then bitches about having to try to learn. And then he bitches about how dumb it is to shoot at squirrels as if being able to hit a squirrel wouldn’t make hitting a much larger thing, like a man who is shooting back at you, that much easier. And also, how the fuck does he think they get meat to eat? Shooting it, you twatwaffle.

And he’s like so fucking butthurt about being left behind. Like no shit, asshat. You’re bad at being in the past and have made no real effort and you whine a lot and are generally the worst. Of *course* you were left behind. Stop being emo about it and maybe actually try.

“He doesn’t respect me, Bree.” Yeah, no shit. Because you’ve done LITERALLY NOTHING to earn his respect. WHY ARE YOU SO TERRIBLE IT’S LIKE THEY’RE INTENTIONALLY TRYING TO MAKE HIM SUCK.

He also is like butthurt that his wife is a better shot than him when she gets the turkey he misses. How the fuck are we supposed to ship this. Ugh.

#BreeDeservesBetter

Oh Bree, sweetie, Jem won’t get hit by a car, but there are like eleventy million ways to die in the past. Just stick with the “you want to stay with your family” stuff.

Roger clearly doesn’t want to stay and is gonna pull a Fred and make Bree feel bad about wanting to all season, isn’t he. Fahkin’ doucherocket.

“I want to go but I’ll stay for you and look how magnanimous I am as I whine about it and make no effort to acclimate to the time.” Take your martyr card and shove it, Rog.

Shorter Jamie Fraser: “If you stand for nothing, Knox, what’ll you fall for?”

I’m already over Roger singing all the time tbh. Mostly because it reminds me that soon he won’t be able to do that anymore and we’re gonna be subjected to like half a season of him being more insufferable than he already is.

Wait, was Joan already born last episode? Or was there another time jump? Is Marsali preggers with baby #3? I lost track.

I love this scene between Claire and Marsali with my whole heart. Marsali especially.

CAN WE PLEASE JUST HAVE A WHOLE SHOW OF THESE TWO BEING ALL BADASS AND DOCTORY TOGETHER!?

Although, quick question, how fucking long is Claire planning to keep that un-embalmed body lying around in an un-refrigerated surgery/root cellar? Just curious...

Because you know someone’s gonna find it eventually and that’s gonna be a whole to do and I really need to stop being preemptively annoyed at plot lines that haven’t actually happened yet.

And with all this talk of plowshares and swords, I really am going to be singing Les Mis for days...

How long have these biddies been living on the Ridge? The fucking Leoch folks spent like a minute with Claire before they were like yep, she knows what’s up. These folks have apparently been here for months and are like loool, pass. They live in the fucking woods. You’d think they’d be more open to Claire’s brand of medicine.

Omg are they like the accidental antivaxxers of the Ridge?

#VaccinateYourFuckingKids

I mean, Bree, I think there’s some difference between Claire pretending to be a dude doc and telling folks to wash their hands and Otter Tooth.

Season 2 Claire and Otter Tooth on the other hand...

Ok so Jamie needs more men so that means next week is AHS: Beardsley Farm and then maybe (hopefully) instead of being like lol jk you can all go home, it actually goes right into the battle thing. Still not sure if they’re gonna do Roger getting hanged as the mid-season big thingy and then do the Bonnet nonsense in the back half or keep trying to do both of those at once.

Hey, Roger, pro-tip, next time you see Morag MacKenzie, maybe don’t fuCKING MAKE OUT WITH HER YOU FUCKING DUMBASS.

Claire’s totally right about how they should go back. Honestly, they should. But instead of talking with her like Claire is now with Roger, he’s just being all moody about how he’s bad at the past and wants to go back. You’re shooting yourself in the foot, broski.

Oh hey Husband the Quaker. And is that a fellow Quaker named Hunter with him? Are we gonna get Denny and Rachel this season?! Please and thank you that’d be great, I love them.

Murtz talking to his squad is full on Enjolras being like don’t worry fam, Marius will stand and fight with us. His place is there, he’ll fight with you.

The two very different but very similar ways Murtz and Jamie approach being Laird of their squads is fun to explore.

Bree lecturing Claire about changing the future by saving a few backwater hicks like Claire didn’t spend years trying to fucking change all of Scottish history is a bit rich. Like writers, we get it, you’re trying to be like oh snap, wait for the consequences of this bread!science! But like come the fuck on. We sat through all of season two.

“You’re a good dad, you know that?” Oh man, I’m getting that déjà vu about a shitty man getting kudos for being a good dad to a kid as if that negates all of his shittiness.

Oh hey, Bonnet’s back. Clearly we couldn’t have just let him die last season. Gotta drag shit on for longer than it has to. This is the [Outlander] Way.

If they were gonna keep him around as a villain, they shouldn’t have (in addition to all the other reasons) included him raping Bree. Jamie, Murtagh and Bonnet all making choices within and outside of the law to various degrees in order to make their living in the Colonies would be a really interesting contrast. But nope, gotta just go all in. BeCaUsE tHe BoOk.

Also I hate with the passion of a thousand fiery suns the Jemmy’s paternity stuff. Le sigh.

Remember in season one when the show was about Claire and she was in episodes for longer than 10 minutes?

I miss Claire.

[beckstriad]

Huntress

Spike [Masterlist] CW: Swearing, as always Keep it cool man, keep it cool.

Bouncing slightly from one foot to another, Spike tried to not look as revved up as he felt. It’d been almost half a year since he’d last slept with someone - only a handful of times in all -  and too many false starts since. His mind was torturing him with images of what the girl who was coyly holding onto his waistband would look like when they… Gotta get to the place first man, keep it together...Shit! An angry looking girl wearing a plastic dress was giving him hell but he hardly heard, “Sorry!” He kept going, one thing on his mind gotta get out of here quick… 

Weaving through the crowd would seem easy for someone as ridiculously tall as him, but towering over the crowd meant it was easy to knee someone short if you weren’t paying attention.  It did provide a convenient excuse for the girl he was leading through the crowd to follow behind him  and play with his waist band as she clung to him so they wouldn’t be separated. 

Finally out in the cool air after collecting his backpack from coat-check he leaned against the signpost as they waited for a taxi to hail, mimicking being more drunk than he was. Spike missed the way alcohol let him relax more, but it also made him do stupid shit and he’d lost some tail because of it before. Plus he couldn’t afford it right now, so his rounds had been water shots for him, and Becky was fortunately a cheap drunk and willing to 50/50 the rounds. Speaking of, the cropped-black haired girl before him running her hands up under his shirt was driving him wild, “I’m cold” she giggled, and then attempted to jump up on his hips. Easily scooping her up he grinned stupidly, sloshed on the promise of what was to come and her plush skin under his hands, “I know how to warm you up…”  “Oh you’re strong!” She sounded surprised, then almost spit in his face as she giggled and tried to fix the hurt expression on his face “you’re just so scrawny...I mean! Lean! Or some shit I dunno.” It was true, and Spike had wanted to fix it but he’d always been the skinny kid, it only exaggerated his height further and gave him a beanpole look; he didn’t take kindly to Groot references no matter how well meaning they were. Now he struggled to eat two square meals a day so bulking up and fueling workouts was a pipe dream. “Runner’s build, baby.” Easy lies to cover up the werewolf strength, she couldn’t know about that. “Us tall guys, yea you know short guys bulk easy but we got these long limbs right? So the muscle spreads out, hides it you know?” The taxi pulled up shortly and they piled in, getting to the hotel without leaving too many marks on each other’s necks. Reaching into his back pocket, Spike’s face fell “mother fucker! Someone fucking jacked my wallet! Fuck!” He looked over at the girl who watched him with an unimpressed expression, “look uh...spot the cab and the room and I’ll just transfer you the cash once we got the total, yea?” She sighed but went for it and Spike prayed to every god he could name, though he believed in none of them, a prayer of thanks.  The light in the cab was dim as she pulled out the card and tried to quickly hand it to the driver, but as she tapped it down on the machine her surname was enough for Spike’s low-light vision to read. Cabrillo.  Benefits of being a werewolf in human form include, but are not limited to; increased strength, increased speed, low light vision and increased smell and hearing. Spike drew on the other supernatural feats as he burst from the cab and took off down the street. Fuck me fuck me fuuuuuuuuck me of course she’s a FUCKING hunter can’t I catch a break for fuck’s sake. How lucky had he been before? What if her last name hadn’t been that of the famous multinational hunting family that was well known for their ruthless and efficient extermination attempts on the supernatural community? What a stupid bitch though, haha! Dumbass. The roar of an engine cut his thoughts off as he pumped his legs faster, leaning hard as he careened into an alley but they didn’t stop. His eyes searched the alley in the bouncing headlights that were catching up behind him, and he spotted his chance in the form of a big green dumpster just up ahead. Jumping high and scrambling as his shoes slipped on the metal lid, he managed to stand just as the car squealed to a stop beside him. He heard the window rolling down as he jumped off and ran full speed back down the alley that was too narrow for them to turn around in. “SHIT!” His voice, high pitched with desperation and fear, was lost to the echo of gunshots as they fired a few shots in the hope of getting lucky at the retreating figure.  The world brightened as he ran back out onto the street, only to flinch hard as the bullet ricocheted off the bricks beside him. “FUCK, lady!” Becky stood strong, chest heaving but legs braced and arms steady as she aimed again. Taking his chances and knowing that running was what he did best, Spike took off into the street as a large dump truck came rumbling towards him. Grabbing the handles he cursed as a foot slipped and his heart stopped, but he managed to hold on and get his feet back under him. Standing on the bumper and ignoring his aching, twisted shoulder, he flipped a middle fingered salute to the cursing woman.  As the truck rounded the corner he saw the car backing out of the alley, fuck fuck shit! Climbing up the ladder, he cursed the fates that decided to mock him at every turn of his life one fucking joke eh? You all think this is fucking funny huh? Maybe he did believe in those gods afterall, and was going to do everything he could to spite them. The truck passed close to a fire escape and he jumped, heart in his throat as he flew with nothing under his paws, feet you fucking furry! FEET! Hands and feet landed with a clang and he made no attempt to quiet them as he scrambled up to the roof as quickly as possible.  Rolling over the edge and collapsing onto the tarred gravel, he tried to listen for the car through the rush of blood in his ears and wheezing of his breath. It came racing around the corner and was attempting to catch up to the dump truck, which was taking advantage of the lack of traffic to make good time. They’d clue in he wasn’t there a few blocks away, if they stopped the truck; he hoped they would just follow it to its destination instead. Peering over the edge he saw them fall in line behind it, assuming that he was hiding in its box. Fucking. Finally. It was a small break, but he needed anything he could get.  Pulling his hood over his head and taking his backpack off, Spike hugged himself and brought his knees up to his chest to try to ward off the wind that came suddenly cold and lonely, pressing his back against the lip of the roof. He hated how something inside kept thinking like a wolf, how he wanted to shift so he could tuck his nose under his tail and his fur could keep him warm. It colored his thoughts and actions if he dropped his guard, like thinking of paws instead of feet or trying to growl at a stranger standing too close. Gritting his teeth instead, he focused on the gravel digging into his bony hips and shoulders as he lay down, the fire in his gut that threatened to rise up and burn his throat and the hot tears he tried to not let fall. Fucking. Human. I’m not a monster I just...wanted to get laid for once. A warm bed, soft body and a few moments of bliss to brighten his otherwise bleak existence was what he craved, but then this wasn’t anything new. He’d always been like this, even before the change; forgotten, unseen, alone.  Trying not to think about the money lost, money he’d chosen to spend on a pretty smile instead of food, he focused on the next move. Fuck this town. No good work here anyway. He’d leave in the morning, head for the next city over before the local wolfpack caught wind of him and tried something unsavory. Like he always did. Like he always will.  No one’s fucking being the boss of me. Fuck that shit. Independence didn’t stop the shivering but it helped cool the fire in his gut as he fought for sleep. It was better to shiver in the cold than be fed by someone’s hand. 

[owlbebackhoothoot]

A Death Stranding Story

Two porters are standing under a Timefall Shelter, waiting.

Alvin Porter: So, she’s just going on and on, bitching at me and Ron for what felt like an hour. ‘You need to come more.’ ‘I haven’t seen anyone in a month.’ ‘I need my underwear.’

Dwayne Porter: What is it with all the underwear?

Alvin Porter: And I’m like, listen, lady, you chose to live all the way out here by the tar. You don’t get to move into a swamp and then be pissed we can only make it out there once a month.

Dwayne Porter: You actually said all that to her?

Alvin Porter: Well, no. But it was clear on my face. I...what is that?

A droning sound is rising from down the road, and the Porters realize at the same time it’s a truck. There’s only one porter who uses a truck.

Alvin Porter: IT’S SAM.

Dwayne Porter (twirling his finger around in the air): Great.

Alvin Porter: I don’t get you, man, how can you not like Sam? He’s the best of us!

Dwayne Porter: Is he, though? I once watched him tumble the entire way down a mountain side clutching a thing of metal while his BB screamed. Or what about the time he jumped off that zipline and fell face first into a river? Or that time he hit us with his trike!

Alvin Porter (laughing): Yeah, that was awesome.

The truck finally turns a corner into view. It’s an eye-seering purple with an illegally green top. They can already faintly hear the bass line from “Paradise City”. As Sam sees them, he starts waving and hitting the horn, the first line of “Dixie” playing over and over. He screeches to a stop in front of them and rolls down the window. A bunch of empties and a couple of packages spill out.

Sam (looking at the packages): Eh, those are for Junky, he can deal. Sup, losers?

Alvin Porter: Hi, Sam! Sweet ride!

Dwayne Porter: Have you been drinking?

Sam: NO. Baarp. Yes. Who gives a shit, I’m the only one on the road. Besides, I’m going over to that pissbaby camp, need some liquid courage. Gonna fuck up their day. Fucking pissbabies.

Dwayne Porter: ...you mean the Mules?

Sam: Fuckers stole a pen from the old man on the mountain. A pen? Like...what? Who steals a fucking pen? Pissbabies. I’m going to go over there and make ‘em take a pissnap. Then me and the old man are gonna do vodka shots. That old-timer has stories. Did you know he had sex with Eartha Kitt in an airplane bathroom? Fucking legend. Anyway...hey, can I have that BOLA?

Dwayne Porter (while Alvin hurriedly passes Sam his only weapon): You’re going into a Mule camp with only a BOLA?

Sam: I got a grenade launcher, it just feels like overkill for these chumps. I could knock ‘em out in my sleep. Hey, you guys want a grenade launcher?

Dwayne Porter: Maybe you should keep it. Just in case.

But Sam has already dumped it out the window, along with a few more empties, and Alvin has already scooped it up.

Alvin Porter: I’ll treasure it with my life, Sam.

Sam (opening another Timefall Porter): Fucking A, you will. Alright, losers. Keep on keeping baaarp.

Before either of the porters can answer, Sam guns it as “Paradise City” pours out the window from the beginning. They watch as he careens down the road, bringing the heavy truck onto two wheels a couple of times, and then he’s gone.

Dwayne Porter: Jesus H. Christ. I think the BB was flipping us the bird. Are you crying?

Alvin Porter (clutching the grenade launcher): The BEST of us.

[marvelmymarvel]

Promote Me, Love Me

Part 2/12

Ronald Speirs x Lieutenant!Reader (Mainly)

Carwood Lipton x Lieutenant!Reader (Kinda)

Synopsis: You have one goal in this war, to rise faster in the ranks than Ronald Speirs from Dog Company. The only problem, you’re hopelessly in love with the crazy man. Will it mess up your chance to be better than the arrogant careless man, or will it make you realize that ranks aren’t everything when it comes to love? But when you find out that your best friend Carwood Lipton has been hiding feelings for you, what will you choose in the end? Speirs, Lipton, or that Golden Rank you’ve dreamt of since you were a little girl, only war will make that decision.

He was stupid. You thought as you gripped your hair angrily while pacing in the room. You had all just come back from blowing up the guns and were preparing to move north to Carentan. “He risked their LIVES, LIP” you screamed at your best friend as he just sat there listening to you. A large glass mirror was behind you and he was eyeing you like a hawk, he knew you liked to punch things. Something you and Speirs both had in common. “No one got hurt-” Lip started and you stopped and stared at him with a look that stated ‘are you kidding me’ “HE ALMOST LOST SOME OF HIS MEN” You fought back, spitting the words out like they were venom in your mouth. “AND THEY WANT TO PROMOTE HIM FOR HIS BRAVERY. AND WHAT DO I GET” you continued screaming before quieting down, holding in your anger. Lip finally got up, he touched your arm and you snapped. “NOTHING” you screamed while tturning and angrily slamming your fist into the mirror, causing it to shatter and cut your fist. You stood there angrily, your breathing was heavy as you looked at yourself in the broken glass. “He’s going to kill my men” you hissed and Lip nodded, not because you were right, but because he understood. He grabbed your wrist softly and unclenched your fist. Cuts were littered all over your knuckles as you just stared at yourself, “Let me clean you up” He whispered before wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging you away from the glass, away from your shattered dreams.

As you sat on the countertop of the bathroom, you looked around. The light made the room look dim and it was quite small, forcing Lip to stand between your legs as he tended to the cuts. He managed to remove the shards that stuck and wipe down the cuts with alcohol, causing you to hiss and grab onto his shoulder. “You should probably stop hitting things, and we won't have to do this as often.” he scolded and you just shook your head. You were childish and reckless, this type of outrage was normal. While you would never hit anyone, you would always hit something else, be it a wall, door, or mirror. If you were angry, nearby inanimate objects were in danger. “I don't have gauze, so we will need to go to Doc” Lip sighed out before stepping back for you to drop down. As you did, you walked past him, anger still bubbling under your skin. You stormed across the way, seeing Doc talking to another medic. Your stuff was slung over Lip’s shoulder as he followed closely, afraid for another poor pole’s life. “Doc” you hissed out angrily. Eugene turned and his face made you soften as you cleared your throat. “I accidentally.... punched a mirror.... can you wrap me up?” You asked sheepishly while showing him your knuckles. He grabbed your hand softly with a concerned look on his face, “What did the mirror do to you?” He asked while looking up. “It was in her way” Lip called out and you sent a glare back. “I’m gonna load these up... I’ll save you a seat” Lip stated and you nodded before following Doc into the building.

Carentan was already bloody, and it just started. “GO GO GO” You screamed to the men as they all hid in the ditches, Winters kicked one of them and you shoved another out of the ditch. Running behind Lip you stood behind the wall, another private came up and was about to tell Lip that there was one in a window when he was shot. He went down and you lunged to catch him, causing Lip to yank you back as another bullet soared towards you, clipping your arm. “FUCKERS” you screamed as you clutched the graze, “Doc is gonna hate me” you grumbled as the other men slyly pulled him out of harm's way. “Be a little more careful then” Lip hollered back as he shot at another, “This is war sweetheart” he taunted and you rolled your eyes. “THANKS, SARGE” you teased before standing and shooting at where he was shooting, but higher up. You stopped once you saw Winters run towards the window with a grenade “no way” you whispered. Winters threw it in and killed the man, you were still in shock as Lip pulled you to move. You ran behind him as he called out to Shifty, “YOU OKAY SHIFT” you barked out, he threw up his thumb and had a childish smile on his face from taking out a snipper, causing you to giggle. “Hammer those windows” Lip ordered as you both hid behind a wall. Once Shifty took out the men in the building was when you and Lip finally started to climb the steps up the building when you heard the mortars. “Lip” you whispered as he threw a grenade in. He turned and watched wide-eyed. “Shit” you whispered as you ran forward towards the bar, “THEY GOT US ZEROED” You screamed as he took off down the stairs “SPREAD IT OUT! SPREAD IT OUT!” You continued to scream out to them as you waved violently in the air for them to move around. Lip was halfway down as he began to scream “GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE. THEY GOT US ZEROED GO GO” he continued as you raced quickly down the stairs. ducking at a couple mortars that fell nearby. He pushed some soldiers to their feet as he hollered for everyone to get out of the streets “MOVE MOVE MOVE” You heard as you finally got to the ground rounding the wall you saw him not far from you. You started off towards him when the tank shell hit in front of him.

You stopped in your tracks as you shielded your eyes from the debris. Looking up cautiously you saw Lip against the wall “Lip” you whispered to yourself as you took off towards him. The smoke began to clear as you dropped down to him, “Lip” you hissed as you grabbed his face, “Lip you okay?” you stated once more as you helped him sit a little. You examined his gash and let out a sigh of relief at the fact that he was okay for the most part. “Lip” another soldier screamed out and you looked up at him as you grabbed your little towel to clean off his wound. “Hey buddy” the man stated and you noticed Lip’s eyes were pointed down low. You gulped as you both turned your heads to the sight, you were expecting his legs to be hurt, but you realized there was blood around his privates. “Oh my” you whispered before looking back up from the area in embarrassment. The soldier ripped open the fly and looked for him “You’re okay Lip, everything is right where it should be.” You shook your head at the soldier's response and grabbed Lips arm, “Okay, come on upsy-daisy” you whispered as you both helped him up. You both helped him along while he leaned mostly against you for support, “I got ya Lip” you cooed as you drug him towards the edge of town. You told the other soldier to keep going, that you’d get him to safety and he left. Ducking a couple of times at gunfire, you held your handgun close, in case someone wanted to get you too and finish him off. You managed to get him to the medic station right as it all ended. You were ushered into the building in which they were about to put up shop for the wounded, you leaned him against a table. Putting your head to his as you shook your head realizing both of you got hurt as he pulled your jacket down a little. Your dog tags clattered as he looked at your grazed wound. Hugging Lip as you heard Doc call out to you, you seemed to grip onto him for dear life. Whether it was his life or yours, he didn't know. But he held onto you the same way. You backed out of his arms as another medic started on him, “I’ll see ya around Car” you whispered before following Doc into another room. Lip watched you as Doc closed the door. 

“You know-” he stopped talking as you hissed from the stitch, he continued though as you died down “Lip likes you” Doc stated and you rolled your eyes.”He’s my best friend” you groaned out as another wave of pain flowed through your arm and upper body. Your head was thrown back as you gripped the table, “And that changes anything, how?” Doc pushed and you looked down at him, more like glared at him. You were sick and tired of people thinking you and Lip had a thing, it wasn't true... Your eyebrows creased in confusion at the statement that formed in your head as your stomach swirled, was it? “I know you like Speirs-” he started and you pushed him off, your shoulder was done but not wrapped, but you were done. “I’m done here, thanks Doc” you grumbled before storming out. 

He watched you get up and leave, realizing he pushed too far, but not chasing after you. For what he said was true. Whether you liked it or not.

You walked outside, looking at your arm you realized you would definitely need to get it wrapped. You stopped a medic, “I don't want to bother, for I can wrap it myself, but may I have gauze please” you asked politely. He simply nodded at you before handing yo the roll, you smiled and nodded as a form of thanks and walked over to the curb. Sitting down, you pulled your jacket off your arm, you struggled to get the gauze around your stitch. Getting frustrated after the third attempt, you slammed your hand into your face, groaning into it. “Need some help” you heard someone call out. Recognizing the voice you raised your head out of your hand, staring long and hard at Ron as he stood there with a cigarette in his mouth. 

Sighing, you handed the roll to him, realizing that he was only trying to help, for once. He began to wrap your shoulder as his cigarette stayed put in his mouth. Craving the taste of it, you grabbed it out of his mouth with your free hand, inhaling slowly. It tasted of tar, and another flavor, him. “Whoa there princess, did I say you could have it” He teased and you rolled your eyes. “I’m not a princess” you grumbled and he just chuckled, “You sure do look like one” he whispered while finishing up the wrap. You gasped in shock but it masked your cheeks heating up, “I do not look like a princess, I am a soldier” you muttered out quickly and he smiled at you widely. Some of the men across the way hit each other as they saw their CO actually smiling, and at a female, more importantly, AT YOU. “You are a soldier, an awesome one at that” he agreed, your head cocked in question of where this was going as he stood up. “But your as pretty as a princess, and don't you forget it” he whispered out, leaving you speechless “Keep the cigarette,” he stated before winking and walking away, leaving you dazed and confused at the whole situation. “What the fuck” you whispered to yourself before finally noticing the men who stared wide-eyed across the street, “Keep walking men” you hollered out and they scampered. You threw the cigarette on the ground, looking at it as you realized what just happened. You had a taste of Ron, and you were craving it.

Part 3

tags: 

@hell-itwasyou  @desired-love-

[everythingisbetterwithpirates]

The Three Bells

Air.

A common element in this world. Even in deep pockets buried under the sea, it managed to persist rather than perish. It held up the clouds far above. Destroyed homes with violent whips. Caressed lovers cheeks in the absence of their counterparts. And right now, it was becoming harder to come by.

No matter how deep a breath, Margharette only found the scorch of a dry desert filling her lungs with it's corrosive splendor. A pair of bloodied hands scared her throat, pushing her back against an old wall. Her nails sank deep into the constricting wrists, but murderous intent ran deeper.

Blow after blow had left her with little air to begin with. Behind the average build, shaggy haired man were the signs of a previous struggle. A broken chair lay scattered to the left. To the right, an overturned table. Only one whole chair remained, and it was hiding somewhere behind the table. Broken glass crunched beneath her assailant as he pressed on. Marge's feet were inches from the ground, but to her, it felt like miles.

The upper hand slipped through her fingers.

And she knew it.

First came the stroke of fear. Like the spines of a cacti, it pricked all of her senses. This was the part where panic had room to slither in and begin to drive the nail further into the coffin. As far as Margharette was concerned, this was where she endured and pushed through the haze. Conditioned to hold discipline above all, she did just that.

Margharette stared at her opponent.

She stopped reaching for air, holding on to his pinning arms with all her might.

A wave of defiance pushed forth by wrath washed away most of the spines, allowing an equally strong force of Shadows to soothe her senses. All the while giving them the little boost of energy she needed in order to turn the tide. With what little air remained in her, the woman smiled and murmured.

"Choke me harder, Daddy."

Feasting on her anger, the Shadows aided their host and drove her legs forward. Margharette kicked at the man as hard as her body would allow. The first strike drove into his nuts. It was then that his hands fumbled, allowing Marge to begin grasping at straws. The second knee connected with his side, causing the man to begin buckling sideways.

Damp boots returned to the floor. There was a mote of riled dust gently drifting in the growing space between them. It was directly in the path of her incoming punch. Margharette moved forward, focused on speaking to the man with her hands while she was busy catching her breath. She could see one of his arms rising in hopes of providing protection.

But it was too late. Air now filled her lungs at long last, adding a bit of pep to her fortified steps. The punch connected, stunning the man long enough for the second fist to make it through it's flight. One after the other, Margharette carried on her assault, unyielding in her resolve.

When he was brought to his knees, her own picked up the mantle. In the end, when unconsciousness finally overtook him, a few teeth lay with the rest of the broken furniture. Both of Margharette's hands and knees were caked in his blood and spit. And a little of her own. Specs and drops freckled her face and her white, fuzzy coat.

20 MINUTES LATER

To Margharette, there was something about rope to be admired. Both simple and versatile. It was defined by two opposing natures. Able to save a life but to also end it. At the moment, it veered towards the latter.

"Wakey, wakey~

                  Tits and bakey~"

A splash of cold water startled the bound, bloodied man. Enough to wake him from his stupor. With panicked gasps, he struggled against the ropes keeping him on the only chair left complete. Broken, wide eyes searched for Margharette. Slow to focus. As was his gargled breathing. They found the woman looming close by, holding one of his now empty buckets. Next to the white clothed woman was a bag.

"N-no. Please! I didn't mean it!" he exclaimed, voice shivering. Same as the rest of him.

"You didn't mean... what? Which part specifically did you not mean to do, Toby?" Margharette replied with her more usual calmness. A far cry from the savagery displayed earlier. She turned the bucket around and took a seat across from Toby. His brown hair was shaggy before, but now, it was downright hopeless.

"The part where you open the door and try to bolt after I said I just wanted to talk? Or the part where you hit me in the boob when you were reaching for your sword?" Margharette continued, reaching for her duffel bag and pulling out a black box."Maybe it's the part where you almost killed me. Or maybe, just maybe, you didn't mean to blackmail Mister Reigns?"

At this, Toby Flinched.

"Look -  I didn't want to see you that night. But I did. You were just so beautiful with your blonde hair and that red dress. And then I put two and two together and found my chance to hurt that fucker. You and I --- we can take him down together ! I-I have it all. All the documents to bring him down. They're in there!"

Toby's bound hand wiggled, one of his fingers pointing towards the open door behind her. The one leading to his room. And the same one with the trip wire lined along the entrance. Marge's earlier slip up came from avoiding collision with just such a trap.

"Is that so.."

Margharette softly mused as her arms crossed over the box on which she then leaned. "You know..." The woman began with a reddened smile. Though the full extent of pain had yet to make itself known, Marge could feel the growing ache from the cut to her lip. ".. ever since I saw you at the payment spot, I wondered what kind of criminal you were. Given that the payment you were accepting came from blackmail, I figured you might know what you were doing. Then again, you did choose Reigns as your target, so there was some doubt. So tell me -- where exactly in the room are those papers?"

Margharette sat upright, soon reaching into her bag again.

"I-in the brown chest. Next to the bed." Toby mumbled in between the shakes. "Just let me go. I'll do whatever you want!"

The light from the nearby lamp glistened over the scalpel Margharette drew from her bag. "It's a deal." she purred in response before pushing from the bucket. In one hand, she held a blade. In the other, a box. "But first. Tell me. If you had to pick one, which would it be?" Margharette asked the man, playfully balancing her items before him.

Toby looked between her glistening blade and the dark box. His head jerked towards the lidded cube. Marge's red tainted pearls flashed as a wild grin overtook her features.

"Present from Mister Reigns it is then!" Margharette enthusiastically said. Toby's face further drained of color. His eyes widened with fear. She wondered how such an experience felt like for another. But Margharette did not wonder for long. The scalpel in her hand drove towards the man's stomach, creating a deep and wide opening. His cries of pain made the box rattle. Once a proper entrance had been carved into the landscape, Marge put away the blade and focused on the box.

"Were it up to me, I would have sliced your wrists while you were taking a bath, Toby. But such is not your fate." Margharette softly coo'ed, moving the box towards his bleeding stomach. The jittering mess that was Toby stared down in horror. Once she opened the lid, a scorpion crawled onto his skin. A Tanaris Drainer. Hard to find luxury item. Bloodthirsty. Hungry. And right now, heading down the path that has been presented to it.

TEN MINUTES LATER

The last several minutes had been filled with despaired screams and hopeless bargaining. Beneath Toby's hairy skin, a monster was left loose. On occasion, a small bulge deformed his torso as the scorpion moved and crossed. It also stung.

By now, Margharette sat on the bucket once more, silently watching the man suffer on the road to his death. Though he implored the Gods, none came to his rescue. Neither did Marge. While counting down the minutes, the dark haired woman absorbed the scene. What once were tiny splatters of blood now soaked her warm, wintry gear, creating large splotches.

Snow began to build up along the trim of the grassy roofed cabin's window. The light from the lamp dimmed as it began to run out of oil.

Madness stared deep and hard at Margharette. Toby's hatred at her passive stance in the wake of his woes guided his hallucinations. The pain wrecking his system only helped to make them seem more real.

A few minutes earlier, the Tanaris Drainer found it's way back to the world after it's evil began to feed on the man's insides. Margharette collected the exotic, deadly and useful creature, wrangling it back to the box before it was put away in her duffel bag.

"What does it feel like to you?" Marge began, the first time she had spoken since slicing a hole in Toby's stomach.

"Dying I mean. Everyone's time is different. What do you see, Toby?"

Toby's head rose from it's slump. His skin had gone from simple pale to ash. And though it began to harden, the man's lips painfully cracked with movement.

"Weeping willow..." His voice was as weak as the rest of him.

"It's everywhere. All around me. I can't... Nothing... --n't breathe..."

What began as coherent words quickly began to turn into a jumbled mess. Cracking, ashen skim crumbled over every joint. Little movements brought great consequences. A whistle passed. Then another. Toby wheezed, bound hands reaching for the air that never came. But before his last breath could be delivered, the man's head jerked back.

There was a definite shift in the atmosphere. Charged and oppressive. Margharette stayed put, reaching for something tucked away in her left boot. The crackle in the oil lamp was simultaneous with the straightening of the man's neck and head.

In his rise and fall, a portion of Toby's skull hollowed. Now, thick and tar-like Shadows filled up the holes. Previously unseen veins carried the vicious entity across his visage, making it's dark presence clear and visible.

"Round and round it goes. One debt paid and another owed."

The voice coming from Toby's lip-less mouth was not his own. It grated. Like the clash of swords in a battle field.

"Tick, tock, Tower of Terror. In your graces is our splendor. And when the bells ring three, our final union will be."

The continuous pile up of snow outside had nothing to do with the chill running up Margharette's spine as she listened. Toby's head slumped forward again after the message had been delivered. He was carried off by death to whatever world awaited him, leaving Marge behind to deal with the full weight of his words. The same Shadows which had given her another chance at life now reminded her of their cost with half sung rhymes.

Margharette stood from the bucket and checked the man for vital signs. There were none. The job was officially completed.

Unofficially, there was a possible loose end to tie. If anything, she'd sate her curiosity.

Boots thumped on the creaking floorboards as she made her way across the room. While the chair's broken leg would have made for an excellent bludgeoning object, it's purpose now was a bit more practical. Fodder. Margharette knelt behind the overturned table and tossed the collected piece of wood towards the rigged entrance to the room.

The loud bang that erupted rivaled Toby's earlier screeching and with twice the bass. Even though Marge was hiding behind a rickety but sturdy table, a piece of blown shrapnel found it's way between the planks and nicked her shoulder.

"No. I got it! Fragile. Death. Keep your minions and agents in line for eternity. You can stop now. I got the concept." Margharette sarcastically grumbled, looking at the space around her before she assessed the latest damage.

A scrape. It was nowhere near as bad as the rest of it. Without the trap in place, the woman came out of hiding and began to close the distance between her and the open door. Along the way, she picked up two things. The first was the rope tying the corpse to the chair. A deal was a deal. She untied the knots and began to coil the rough fabric, placing it in her bag. The second recovered belonging was said bag.

Toby's room was as barren as the rest of the hill hidden cabin. A bed. A nightstand and a brown chest were all that occupied it. Scattered all over were small and big pieces of shrapnel, some embedded into whatever was in their way when the explosion hit. Some pieces joined a few traces of broken glass to create a hostile work environment.

Because the dead guy slumped back in a chair wasn't enough.

Happy to find the brown chest unlocked and uncomplicated, Margharette dove in to gather some documents. Instead, what she found was far more valuable. A thorough supply of drugs. From potions to herbs and everything in between.

"... a fair consolation prize from Lady Luck."

Her words were spoken with reverence even through the onslaught of pains and aches that now slammed into her. Dark, blue eyes glistened with the spark of hope.

Temporary salvation.

The chest was taken after rummaging through the rest of the cabin for the legendary papers. Alleged papers.

But the survey said that was a lie.

Carrying the spoils of war, Margharette left the gruesome scene behind and headed for a nearby hill where a tree and a ram patiently awaited her return. Once the goods were secured, the reigns untied and her bottom rested comfortably over the saddle, Marge guided her rented transportation to their next point of interest. Somewhere she could dispose of her more than suspicious clothing before making it to a settlement. The rest of the journey would simply have to be made under the protection of a thick blanket.

The snow continued it's gentle bathing of the mountains and hills. And as she went over a tall one, the woman was taken back several years into the past. To a place with a climate similar to this one. Where the greater dangers hid in the cozy homes, holds and estates making up an isolated kingdom. Wanting to shake off the dreadful melancholia, Margharette reached into the saddle's large bag. There, she found a bottle of rum. It was uncorked and a large chug taken from it. Tired from the battle of body and mind, her soul sought to find peace wherever it could.

"Tick. Tock."

@mister-reigns not just for mentions but for building a world and letting Marge play in it.

This post contains clues that can link to this previous crime. Any and all detectives or guards are more than welcome to investigate. 

[royal-writer]

Sacred Place for the Insecure

Hold me tighter, love, and promise you won’t let go.

(( dropping this here: boop ))

He still had cold hands. Roughly textured and firm; frigid as the lake that tried to claim his life. Yet it was a kind touch, filled with hope. His words; so soft-spoken, a plea only for her ears. The glance he gave to her was private with sincerity and gentle as the breeze blowing off the lake.

“Stay with me. Please.”

It made her insides tie in knots.

She held her tongue to the ‘why me’ in that moment. Mostly, she didn’t want to draw a scene. Partly because she was certain his answer would sound as cryptic as the depths of his iris that she grew distracted by, trying to seek answers and fulfill curiosity. A small part of her was simply afraid to hear what he might have to say. Her own answers to his inquiries never seemed to satisfy his appetite to her consideration and attention for him, and she very much doubted his would to her.

It was probably just his way of paying back her thoughtfulness, anyway. He never had responded to her  gentle playful inquiry on their friendship.

Am I your project, Essätha? Your experiment, to see if- if you can redeem me, heal me, then you can do the same for yourself?

Her breath hitched as the cart jumped and bustled down the street.

You cannot rrrun forever, child, what you run from eventually catches up to you.

Essätha reached for her bag, and pulled it a little closer to her side.

Do you identify yourself as human, or half-elf?

Desperately, she tried to shake the thoughts out of her head as they emerged, clawing out from a tar pit of loneliness and self-inflicted disgust.

What do you want from me? What am I to you?

Focus. Focus. Inhale. Exhale.

Beneath her shirt, the spreading of scales like a grotesque infection subsided. The beastly act went unbeknownst to the clueless companions around her.

This wasn’t about her. No one here needed her. This was about survival, and that Raven fanatical fucker, and his sick obsession with murder. Destruction. Chaos.

But if Briarton’s protector would rather her presence then the scaly dragonborn who undressed him, or perhaps the assassin they took in, or even their elven-orc companion who could squash them all with his biceps by mistake in his sleep or the cursed high-elf, she understood that much. There was indeed, less soft-fleshed individuals in the group to appeal to who would make resting a nightmare. Or at the very least, highly unpleasant.

They all clamored out of the cart, and Essie had to resist offering her hand for the hundredth time as Amon nearly fell out and sagged uncomfortably at the knees. Her heart jolted with worry and lodged itself in her throat. Luckily, Caesar was quick to move to his side. The dog sniffed at his apparel as he had been since he’d set eyes on him with ears flattened.

She understood. She felt guilty, too. Shameful. Dirty. She hadn’t done enough. She hadn’t been there. He was hurting and struggling, and all she could do was swallow her worry and try not to drive him mad with her nurturers fretting.

He could have died, and none of them would have been the wiser.

He could have drowned and bled out, with them noticing and arriving too late.

Inhale. Exhale.

By the time they stepped inside the inn to speak with its keeper about room and board, she had perfected her mask again. Unclenching her jaw, relaxing her posture. The mastiff glanced up at her as she joined at his other side, waiting to confirm their room and board. He seemed particularly troubled, with those gentle giant brown eyes searching her features.

Essätha ignored the mastiff.

Lord Amon hobbled forward, coin purse at the ready. She hardly listened to him explaining the sleeping quarter dynamics, or requested rooms. The proprietor merely nodded through it all, only appearing mildly interested. A rather large, unique group of characters they were, traveling with a man clearly of wealth and power. Requesting rooms without windows, strategic placement of the building. But they knew better than to ask questions, at least. One by one, they scooted room keys across the desk as they accepted payment, giving information about some of the local areas, and letting them off to go find their quarters.

Lightly, she placed a hand to Amon’s shoulder. He was perhaps too tired to jump with statlement to the contact, his glazed eyes of exhaustion glimpsing back to her.

She smiled sweetly. “I’ll see about getting us something to eat and drink.”

He offered a ghostly smile of his own. “I’m just going to sleep.” He held out the room key, offering it to her. His knuckles were white. He seemed a little apprehensive.

After nearing being killed yet again, she could imagine why.

“I won’t be long,” Essätha urged encouragingly. She reached down, patting the burly furry monster at his side on the head. Caesar panted, and gave a swish of his tail as he let out a soft ‘boof’ of acknowledgment.

She stayed only long enough to arrange her things in a corner of the room, and listen with amusement; biting her lip to hold her snickering, as Caesar whined when Amon expressed he’d be sleeping beside the door. She did manage to find spare blankets in the trunk at the end of the bed to drop down in front of the door like a mat, but the dog still looked dejected as he was told to stay and lay whilst she departed. His loud huff as he flopped down with the door closing behind her had her snorting back laughter with a shake of her head. That dog was too spoiled with lounging on furniture and at his masters heels to find the floor acceptable, but he was well-behaved enough to only gripe.

He did try to persuade Amon though, to his credit. Briefly resting his head on the side of the bed, and slowly, gradually placing a paw on the edge before he was told to go back to his spot. Poor pup.

Much as her stomach protested at first, Essie managed to eat half of the baked goat flank and garlic butter potatoes she ordered, with a willow tea to calm her nerves. Wrapping up the remainders and a thank you for the service, Essätha hurried back to their stay with leftovers in tow. She wandered outside only look enough in search of creepy crawly critters to feed to one particularly voracious eater popping her head up in greeting from their fur-lined bag. The miniature young serpent had been docile and complacent in her hold for days, accepting the attention of a finger brush along her scales here and there without flinching.

At least someone was comfortable. It felt like nice, feeling understood.

Approaching the door, the Yuan-Ti woman recalled the awkward conversation a few hours earlier, and gave a gentle knock on the door once before entering. Twice. On the third time, she could hear Caesar’s nose from the underside of the door, trying to identify the knocker. His snuffling grew louder as she giggled, placing the key in and turning over the lock to step inside.

While the canine gave her a thorough examination with his snout, Essie skimmed her eyes across the room. Dim and dark, no lantern glow.

Caesar tried to survey the food she held up after a moment, raising his head to its highest point. She raised it up even higher above her shoulder, staring across the room at the figure wound up beneath blankets. Fast asleep.

“Not for you,” Essätha gently scolded the despairing eyes of the pooch. With a sigh as he flopped down once more on his blanket, sighing dramatically, she removed a portion of the flank to place before the dog. He gobbled it up in a flash of teeth and steady flop of his tail against the floorboards. Amon needn’t know.

Placing the remaining meal on the tall dresser out of reach, Essie removed the purse dangling at her hip. Green Bean swayed slowly from the surface, flicking her tongue before settling down back in her safe place. She had a relaxed and disinterested demeanor about everything it seemed, except for food time and the rare instances she’d try climbing up one’s arm in a burst of energy. They curled back within the folders of the fabric silently after a quick examination of the chest of drawers, and deeming it uninteresting.

Creeping slowly across the floor, careful not to awake the resting occupant, Essie shuffled over to her bag and pulled out some oversized plain clothes to slip into. She winced with the rustling of her limbs in the fabric, keeping an eye on the prone form, and the steady rise and fall of the comforter. His snoring sounded more escalated than usual. He showed no sign of disturbance as she unclothed self-consciously and swiftly tugged on a fresh set.

Gratefully, the bed was cushioned and accepted her silently as it dipped down. She wrestled the wound up blankets up just enough to weasel beneath them. Caesar groaned from across the room, and flopped over.

As she shimmied deeper into the blankets, Amon began to stir. His snoring rasped to a halt. She froze.

“It’s only me,” she offered, unsure if he was truly awake or not.

He twitched in his sleep, and began to snore once more. It was muted by the blanket tugged over his face.

A heavy sighed of relief exuded her. Reaching over, her hand loosened the dense blanket away from his head and face. He drowned in water already today, no need to wake up feeling miserably suffocated by covers.

“Rest well, m’lord,” she murmured quietly.

Slipping deeper beneath the duvet, her lungs felt ready to collapse. A sense of impending doom settled heavy on her like an elephant. She dreaded, and she doubted. It felt like success was going to always remain out of grasp. The clear blue skies would never come again. It felt like she’d be running forever.

Not one of these thoughts were new. Not one of these fears were new to her. She felt sick tonight as she did any other with it, perhaps worse. They were prey in a game no one signed up for. They didn’t know the rules or boundaries, hardly knew an inkling about their rival, and any potential allies they could make though them mad or too much a danger to hear them out.

Her eyes, a faded reflection from the torch light barely coming in beneath the door, moved from the ceiling to Amon.

It eased her, if only a little.

At least she was doing something right. She hoped. She prayed. Maybe she was making a difference, anyway. Even if it was only minuscule.

She turned over to her side and made her way past the no-man’s zone. Closer. Closer still, the smell of lakewater still in his hair. He was radiating body heat now, at least. Regardless, still uneasy about his condition, her body curled like a parenthesis, hugging to his bare backside. Her hands she kept close to her chest, too nervous to grow comfortably wrapped up against him. Awkward enough having seen his-

Her face enflamed, and she swallowed back a choked sound. Well. She was usually none-to-shy about such things, but the circumstances were everything against the norm for such intimacy.

Inhale. Exhale.

Essie closed her eyes slowly, hovering against the circumference of warmth Amon seeped out into the bedspread.

“I’ll be righ’ ‘ere if yo’ need me.”

Speech slurred as exhaustion summoned from the depths of her person. All the adrenaline from the rush of fear earlier began to crash down around her. And he was so warm; his presence like a summer’s day with the warm sun enveloping you in heat. He was so pleasantly comfy to be snuggled up against. Even vulnerable and asleep, the room still felt reassuring with him in it. Despite drab décor, despite plain and colorless design, despite the fact they were being hunted and stalked and at any moment it seemed someone else was going to turn and rip into them like animals, it felt… safe.

She fell into a dreamless slumber, grateful simply not to exist for a time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Drowsily, he lifted his eyelids. There was no telling the time of day, without access to a window. Everything seemed quiet, however. Still tired, Amon opted to believe that it still had to be night, or very early. There was no reason to rise. His entire body felt made of stone anyway.

His father would berate him for his tardiness to wake. Even deathly ill, he’d make a fuss. His lip curled. He pushed the thought away, and tugged on the covers closer to yank them closer to his face.

Something was touching him. Tickling? He squirmed a moment.

Warm breath exhaled a bit louder, fanning over his spine. He shivered unexpectedly, goosebumps breaking out all over. Every muscle locked and stiffened as the nobleman halted moving so not to disturb the figure shuffling beneath the blankets behind him.

Essätha finally settled herself again after a few heartbeats more. Her tangled mane of black hair was laying against his back as much as the rest of her was, the back of her balled-up hands against him and her forehead between his shoulderblades. Her knees curled to lock into the back of his. She fit against him in a perfect quotation mark. He couldn’t read and define exactly what it said; what she was trying to tell him.

Amon took a moment to consider how he felt, but it made no difference. He was sleeping well. She was sleeping well. Even humiliated what she may have glimpsed earlier; not realizing how much and how well she actually saw him, he couldn’t find a single damn reason to care. The bed was warmer, sharing two bodies now, and his spot was infinitely moreso with her curled against him.

Yawning as fatigue nipped at his groggy mind, Amon rested his eyes once more. His posture, little to his knowledge, began to mimic Essie’s until he was cradling himself like an infant in fetal position. He was back asleep in a span of a few seconds it seemed.

Unaware, the pair tucked themselves into one another in a tight spoon formation in their sleep. Essätha weaseled against the nobleman until a hand rested against his shoulder, and the other tucked in the gap between the pillow and his head. The Illiad heir’s snoring quietly rose again as he slept, with the bathing of warm breath against him and a nestled face to him.

Caesar groaned, rolled over, lifted his tail and wagged his tail with a single thump against the floorboards as the only witness to the trusting tender display.

The night otherwise rolled on, dangers holding distant in the night.

[weeping-gospels]

Silence.

The snowfall was coated in a blanket of unfettered, muted silence as thick as tar. Suffocating, agonizing, and a slow death.

The stars bore witness to the Dhampir’s sudden ninth demise and twinkled in quiet acknowledgment, offering up a consolation of beauty during her last breaths. The warp moon continued to bleed out a sickly green that reflected rays of radiated lime off the bloodied body, the red head’s eyes only partially open but still holding the absolute vexation over the fact she would soon rise again as if none of this had ever happened nor mattered. Immortality was a bitch and a curse ignited by the selfish, dim witted Gods who had nothing better to do than toy with the dead that simply could not rest in peace.

Normally, her mind would be at ease with little to no thoughts plaguing it in her final hour. After all, this occurrence was not new. This was the ninth time. All that remained was annoyance, embarrassment, and how badly she wanted to resurrect already to slaughter the poor fucker who outed her in the first place. Skewer him like a gutted fish and hang his sorry corpse like a fresh article of laundry for all to gawk upon.

Then, right before her vision went completely dark and her lungs seized to work…the vision of pristine white.

Snow? No. It was snowing, yes, but..it wasn’t snow. No, it’s soft. Soft like a fluffy blanket. Soft and white and..shiny? The lights blur like rain to her fogged glasses. No, not lights…jewels? Jewelry. And branches atop the head…wait, those are horns. Soft, white fur, horns, and jewelry….oh. Oh no. Anything but her as her last, dying thoughts, why HER —

Darkness.

Fuck.

[concussed-to-pieces]

High Rise

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Seth Rollins/Finn Bálor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday Crew, welcome back aboard! Another installment in the Suplex City universe for your time. And to save you the head-scratching, for all intents and purposes Finn Bálor is essentially Nightcrawler (of X-men fame). Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and OF COURSE, @hardcorewwetrash! And! A shoutout to @culturalrebel for the conversation many, many months ago that got this ball rolling. Enjoy!

The Brogue Kick Saloon

The Empire

Activate (Strong Style)

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains suicidal contemplation, paternal beatings and (greatly exaggerated) assumptions of character death. Stay safe everyone!]

“You want them t’ believe it was you that would burn the place down?”

The voice echoed and lilted, dripped into his ears and mind like tar. Seth found himself paralyzed, the empty gasoline can swaying to and fro in his hand.

“You want these silly, poor folk to tremble at’cher feet then? T’ fear ye as some terrible Prometheus creature, bringin’ them fire though they ask not fer it?” There was a shuffling through the pitch black and a pair of bright blue eyes glowed at him. “Ye would, I know yer heart's desire. I know everythin’ that goes on in yer head. Ye want t' say ye started somethin’. You want the history books to remember ye as a revolutionary.”

“Nah.” Seth finally managed to say. “Mostly I just want my ex-father to notice me.” There was a long pause. At least, he assumed it was a pause and hoped that whoever was talking to him hadn’t just disappeared back into whatever hole they had emerged from.

The eyes flickered to a different spot, barely in his field of vision. “…Ye’ve lost me, boy.”

“His building! His…archive. It’s the life work of the man who adopted me and I want to destroy it.” Seth spat. “He was content to toss me aside, hell, he’s giving me a funeral. I want to burn his life to the ground. Starting there. I’m not in this for anyone except me, so you can stuff that hokey bullshit about me starting a revolution.” He shook the empty gas can in the direction of those narrowed blue eyes. “I’ve got a king to slay. You gonna’ get in my way? Or are you gonna’ help me, Demon Bálor?”

“That all depends on what ye need.” Bálor replied after yet another contemplative pause.

“I know you can get into places. Places you shouldn’t be.” Seth took a deep breath. “Places you couldn’t be.”

“You know more than most, then.” Seth briefly saw a mouth filled with more teeth than he could count. “Revenge consumes, Rollins.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.” Seth replied grimly.

…

The day of the funeral was dreary. It poured for most of the afternoon, soaking the trash-riddled streets and their miserable denizens.

Seth sat on the fire escape of an abandoned building and watched the preparations get under way, canopies popping open over the cemetery far below. Cracked pots full of dead plants littered the deck around him and without really thinking about it he dug his fingers into the brittle soil of one such pot. It was like ash, crumbling away into dust in his hand. His brow furrowed. So much of his thoughts seemed to be taken up by fire and its byproducts nowadays.

Rain pattered on the boards clumsily placed over the gaps in the fire escape slats above his head, the noise dull and far-off as though it was from another world. Dead roots parted easily under the pressure of his absent-minded digging and then, there was something solid. Metal. Seth tugged at the object until it came loose, spent the next few seconds rolling it back and forth between his fingers. It was a coin, small, a thing to be put into a pocket and forgotten about.

Like me.

“Come up here, won’t you boy?”

Seth wasn’t sure if he would ever actually meet Bray Wyatt. Thus far in their interaction Wyatt seemed more than content to just speak through his Family. He claimed to have rescued Seth, brought him back from the brink of death. Rollins had hazy, sweat-soaked nightmares about plummeting off the side of the Spinnarooni to his landing on the concrete far below, pain shooting through his knee like a hot knife.

It was no miracle or benevolent act that permitted Seth to survive. He was to be held for ransom and Wyatt needed him alive if he hoped to get anything from his adoptive father.

But Hunter wrote him off. Cast him aside like garbage, actually. No manhunt, no media coverage, nothing. Stephanie delivered the surprisingly-teary announcement that he’d fallen to his death from atop the Spinnarooni, a cautionary tale to extreme athletes everywhere.

Watching his own funeral was…unnerving. Everyone had such nice things to say about him. People that he’d never met before, extolling his many talents and virtues.

The individual in a sheep mask beside him cocked their head when he made an irritated noise. “This is fucking stupid.” Seth snapped. “Why the fuck am I even here? It’s just one more nail in his coffin.” And mine, ha ha.

“My child, you must understand your purpose. You were built for so much more than some vigilante charades.” Wyatt’s voice crackled from the speaker in the mask after a brief hiss of static.

Seth shook his head. “You keep saying that, but I’m getting tired of the bullshit. Trips gave up on me so fucking fast. Didn’t even go to the cops with your ransom note, he just cut right to the chase. What the hell.” He shuddered uncomfortably. “Is there even a body in that casket?”

“You are a conqueror. The monsters have grown old and feeble in our deep domain.”

“You know I stayed on the rooftops for a reason, right Wyatt? I mean shit, I hate the Underground.” Seth groaned. “It’s dark and wet and it reeks like moldy garbage.”

“Is that why you abandoned your lunatic brother to us?”

Seth gritted his teeth. “I thought he was dead. Ro--uh, my other partner kept throwing himself at Acolytes and your Family and he made zero fucking headway. We had important things to-”

“Yes, nothing more important than getting the attention of your daddy dearest.” Rollins swung at that, his fist connecting with the jaw of the Family member standing beside him. They staggered back but Wyatt continued on unaffected, “Little lost boy, all you ever wanted was a family.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Seth shoved them back harder, closer and closer to the edge of the building.

“Listen to me, you scared child.” Wyatt demanded. “I dug you out of the garbage when your own brothers had forsaken you. I tended your wounds and guided you through the fever. I freely admit that I tried to use you as leverage to eke resources out of your father’s pockets, but I never anticipated that he would so callously abandon you like everyone else had. Seth, whether you like it or not, I’m the only person in your corner out of everyone in this whole damned city.”

Like everyone else had. Like everyone else had. Seth’s body felt cold all of a sudden. “Be quiet.”

“You have work to do to make up for me sparing you, boy. A lot of work to do.”

“I think letting me die would have been the better alternative.” Seth snarled. “You expect me to be fuckin’ grateful to you? For kidnapping me?”

“I merely found you--”

“Your sheep fuckers fucked me up and I rolled off the side of a fuckin’ Ferris wheel.” Seth ground his teeth together even harder. “Oh you found me alright, definitely dug me out of the garbage. But you can’t exactly claim you weren’t the one who put me there in the first fucking place.”

“--Alone and abandoned.” Bray continued smoothly as though Seth hadn’t interrupted him. “Now, I heard you’ve been tryin’ to get in touch with the demon prince. That’s an unwise choice. Bálor is not a bein’ to be trifled with.”

“It’s none of your fucking business-”

“Oh but it is, my dear boy. Every stir you cause puts me on the map. A map which I have done my best to shape to my own will. A map that requires more…delicacy.” The member of the Family put a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “You need me, just as I need you. Why do you fight this?”

“I don’t need anyone, you greasy shit. Not you, not Bálor, no one.”

“You would rail against your brothers forever, cut off your nose to spite your damn face. It’ll do you no good to push me away like you did to them, child.” Pain shot suddenly through Seth’s leg and he gripped the railing on the side of the building until his knuckles whitened. “You are mine, my dear boy. You’d best get that through your head. You’re much more useful to me like this, instead of in the vegetative state that the rest of my flock has been reduced to.”

“I will never work with you willingly.” Seth hissed, desperately trying to resist the urge to hold his knee and scream. It was agony, hot and searing as though that Acolyte from another lifetime was slitting his tendons anew. Rollins knew in the back of his mind that Wyatt was just toying with him, that the pain wasn’t real like he was.

It did little to alleviate the feeling.

The Family member finally departed, humming to themselves, and Seth was left alone to watch the rest of his ceremony play out. He was thoroughly soaked, his grip on the railing still tight as he tried to force his leg to hold his weight.

“Ye must find this spectacle odd.”

Seth didn’t even bother looking up. “Tonight. I’m doing it tonight.” He grated out.

“Oh?” Bálor asked, his tone nonchalant.

“Yes, I-” Seth almost dropped and he fumbled to grab the railing. “Fuck. I have to, have to prove that I’m payin’ attention. Prove I’m still here. Make a statement.”

“Yer set on this, then?” Bálor leaned against the railing beside him, his eyes searching Seth’s when the other man looked up. “Once I get ya’ in there, yer on yer own. No turnin’ back.”

“I know.” Seth dropped his head to rest on the railing. “I have to, though.” He breathed.

Bálor simply nodded.

And now here he was, winding through the building with a full can of gasoline. Room after room filled with memorials to colossi of old, ornate robes and glass cases of relics. Seth felt his gut twist with foreign guilt.

I shouldn’t be here.

The night watchman hadn’t been an issue. Seth had dragged his unconscious body outside to nap peacefully against one of the dumpsters.

While he meandered Seth couldn’t help but start to recall the good times in the Helmsley household growing up. Hunter had made sure he didn’t want for anything, indulging whatever fancy Seth showed interest in that week. With a fresh stab of shame in his belly Seth remembered how Roman and Dean had grown up apart from him, hungry and roaming the streets.

Rollins liked to tell himself that he hadn’t taken advantage of their trust. That he hadn’t used their loyalty to rope them into some ill-advised scheme. They wanted to join him. It wasn’t his fault.

He liked to tell himself that, anyway.

The gasoline scent clung thick to his nose and throat. Rollins regretted not eating anything before heading out, his stomach already in knots and getting worse. In a fit of irritation he wrapped his fist in his shirt, slammed it through a display case and picked up a baseball bat of untold importance. Barbed wire wound around the wooden body, the whole thing still bearing brick-red spatters from a more aggressive era. The black-taped handle sat wrong in his hands, but he barely even noticed.

The gas can laid forgotten on its side, spilling out onto the floor as Seth took the bat to the various set pieces around him. Rhinestones and sequins flew through the air while he destroyed chunks of the city’s colorful history, brocade and velvet shredded to tatters with the barbed wire. Seth realized dimly that he was yelling, infuriated animal sounds ripping from his chest to punctuate his blows. He couldn’t seem to stop it.

There was a puddle of gasoline on the floor now, splashing over his worn leather boots. Half-crazed, maddened by lack of sleep and old ghosts and the throbbing in his skull, Seth threw the baseball bat with all his strength and dug into his pocket with intent. The lighter clicked in heart-stopping disappointment before flickering to life and Rollins stared at the flame, through it to the display stand bearing a crown with a chainmail headpiece. Rage flared brighter than any inferno. Seth screamed at the display, his mind conjuring up the memory of his adoptive father wearing that ridiculous crown. “I’m burning everything you built to the ground!”

He pitched the lighter at his feet and for one breathless moment Seth Rollins welcomed death.

Arms wrapped around his waist from behind, gray fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt; the world slowed to a clarifying half-speed. The lighter continued its headlong tumble to the floor and the realization of what was about to happen hit Seth hard. Light refracted off the case of the lighter. He tried to lean forward, tried to catch it as it ignited the fumes lurking over the gasoline puddle.

Then they were gone, plunged through the silent in-between once more before exploding out the other side on a rooftop. “Yer fuckin’ daft, know ‘at?” Bálor hissed in his ear as he released him. “If y’ wanted t’ kill yerself, I coulda’ saved y’ the trouble.”

“What? I-I didn’t…I wasn’t going to…” Seth’s protests faded out as he realized that was exactly what he was about to do. He crumpled, propping himself up with his elbows and holding his aching head. “No, fuck.”

“Yer a fuckin’ idiot. So blinded by yer damn vengeance you never bothered t’ plan a way out.” Bálor snorted. “Fuckin’ stupid. I dunno’ if it’s worse that ye didn’t intend to kill yourself. Accidentally dyin’ on yer own arson scene isn’t much for sendin’ a message. ‘Specially since y’ know the man doesn’t give a toss whether yer still alive.”

“Shut up.”

“Nae, y’ need someone to tell you yer being a fuckin’ ass.”

“Nobody,” Rollins seethed through his teeth, “gives a fuck about whether I live or die. Not just Hunter. So it doesn’t fucking matter, now does it?”

“Yer a goddamn liar and a shit arsonist? Hit the jackpot with you.” Bálor grunted. “Too busy listenin’ to that poison-peddlin’ shepherd like the good sheep y’ are.”

“You were supposed to help me get in and that’s it, why the fuck did you come back?!” Seth snapped indignantly.

“I had a feelin’ you’d go tits-up. Figured that you’d choke more n’ anythin’.” Bálor shrugged at him. “Once upon a time we had a big fella’ who was real good fer startin’ a fire. He’s gone now though, otherwise I’d have sent him.” Bálor’s brow furrowed. “Instead I come across you tryin’ to self-immolate.”

“I got carried away.” Rollins muttered sullenly.

“Yer emotional about him. Good. Means that batsy farmer didn’t get all of you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I fuckin’ said.” Bálor growled, his eyes glowing in the darkness. “His flock are braindead. It’s reassurin’ that yer not even after all this time with him.” Seth looked away, not understanding Bálor’s game. A hand caught him under the chin and turned his head back. “It’s a good thing.” Bálor said, his tone a touch less agitated. “Wyatt’ll suck the life from yer fuckin’ marrow.”

“He seems more like he wants to suck the life from my-”

“Feck’s sake.” Bálor snapped.

“What, I can’t make a joke?”

“Y’ really want to be jokin’ about that man anywhere near yer naughty bits?”

Seth fairly wheezed with laughter, nerves making him giggly. “My…naughty bits-” Off in the distance, flames licked the skyline. The old archive had caught it and caught it good. The sick thrill made Seth laugh even harder, his empty stomach twisting with a combination of nausea and hysterics.

Bálor sighed heavily. “Yer over-exhausted. Quiet down before someone notices.”

“I want them to notice!” Seth practically shouted, grinning wildly. “I want them all to see what I did! I want them to know, I want him to know!”

“I said quiet.” Blue eyes crackled with strange energy, burning trails in the dark as Bálor circled him. “If I’d had any fuckin’ sense in my head, I’d hae left you t’ burn. I didn’t. Somebody out there wants ye alive, Rollins.”

Seth opened his mouth to retort and was abruptly halted by that twisting, ripping pain in his leg. He screamed out before he could help it, dropping to the ground and clutching the old injury. He was dimly aware of Bálor hovering over him but he couldn’t focus, couldn’t focus. You are mine, my dear boy. You’d best get that through your head. Seth grunted, biting back another cry.

Gray-tipped fingers touched his forehead. Brilliant blue eyes seared into his own from the darkness and there was a flash of too many teeth before Seth lost consciousness from the pain.

…

“Ye might have mentioned that he fuckin’ worked y’ over.”

Seth groggily pried his eyes open. Bálor was crouched across from him, his head cocked to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Seth was getting a little tired of their conversations starting in the middle.

Bálor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “He has his talons in yer knee.”

“It’s an old injury, I-”

“Ye mighta’ said somethin’ abou’ hi’ bein’ able t’ use it again’ ya’.” Bálor’s accent had thickened further. He was obviously irritated again.

Seth felt his own irritation flare. “Why the hell would I tell you? So you can figure out how to control me too?” He spat, struggling to sit up.

Bálor shoved him back down with one hand, making Seth sputter indignantly. “Ya’ misun’erstan’ me.” He said curtly. “I’m nae that kind of demon. Thought y’ knew that much.”

“Motherfucker bamfs through time and space, but expects me to believe that he’s above a little mental manipulation.” Rollins sniped.

“Only space. Can’t do nothin’ abou’ time.” Bálor gave him that smile with too many teeth. “So what’s your next move?”

Instead of replying immediately, Seth took a moment to stretch and look around. This was clearly Bálor’s living area. Seth was resting on a tangle of blankets all piled in a corner and, while the windows were mostly boarded up, a few slats had been removed here and there to let the light in. He could hear the sound of cars going by, as ever.

His stomach growled loudly and Bálor laughed, getting to his feet. “Hungry then?”

“Always.” Seth sighed, a little self-conscious. An apple was thrust at his face. “How long was I out for?” Rollins asked after he had taken a few bites. Food was like ash in his mouth, tasteless and gray, but he was always so hungry and thirsty. The apple at least took a little of the edge off.

Bálor shrugged, biting into his own apple. “Nine hours or so?” He seemed skittish all of a sudden, tearing chunks out of the fruit with single-minded fervor. “Look, I’ll be level wit’cha’ on this. Someone wants t’ see yer.” He said suddenly. “He’s asked me t’ bring y’ in. I…I think it might do ye some good t’ at least listen t’ what he’s gotta’ say.” Bálor fidgeted with the apple. “He jus’ wants t’ talk, y’know?”

“Somebody that could help me out?” Seth asked excitedly, his mind already a blur of fantastic ideas for the future.

“Ye, I hope so at any rate.” Bálor replied cautiously.

“Absolutely. When does he want to meet?”

“He mentioned any time after six. We’re only at half-past eleven in the mornin’ now, so if y’ don’t mind I was hopin’ t’ maybe catch a bit of a nap.” Bálor gestured at the pile of blankets. Seth hurriedly stood up, running a hand through his hair to straighten it out. “Thank ye.” Bálor murmured, slumping down onto the bed and wrapping himself in the many blankets before curling up like a cat. He was snoring in a matter of minutes and Seth was incredibly jealous of his ability to nod off so rapidly. He usually ended up laying on his back for hours, staring up at the ceiling and praying for sleep to find him.

Disgruntled, Seth turned to the windows. Peering out through one of the gaps in the boards, he realized they were up higher than he had originally thought. The skyline stretched out in front of him, interrupted by the occasional gap in high-rises. The city wasn’t dead yet, he supposed, watching idly as off in the distance an enormous crane worked to assemble another building. A plume of smoke still rose from the warehouse-turned-archive and Seth smirked.

The sun isn’t as bright as I remember. His smirk faded.

Seth put his back to the wall and slid down it to the floor, bringing one leg up to bend at the knee. His other leg, the one that the Acolyte had injured all those years ago, he left stretched out. The scar on the back of his knee shouldn’t still bother him but it seemed as though every time he was on his way to forgetting about it, the pain flared back up.

Seth rubbed his forehead wearily, resting the back of his head against the wall so he could stare at the ceiling. Sunlight filtered through the worn tiles over him. This place was clearly abandoned. Another skeletal structure for the neighborhood destitute to overrun, only to have it torn down and rebuilt over and over again.

He focused his attention on the man sleeping in the pile of blankets after a short eternity of studying the ramshackle tile framework. Bálor was a twitchy sleeper, it would seem, gray-tinged hands fluttering over the blankets and linoleum every couple of minutes. Seth wondered at the faded black marks on his extremities, wondered if it had something to do with how he could move through space.

And wasn’t that a thing to ponder, the way Bálor could Houdini his way around with no warning except for the nearly-silent displacement of air. That was definitely not a trait found in nature.

Seth propped his chin up on his hand, his head tilted to the side as he watched Bálor sleep. They called him a demon in the Underground, the Demon Prince. Could that even be possible? The only other identified demon Seth had ever come across was the huge man-machine, Kane. Their interactions had been mercifully brief as Kane didn’t seem overly interested in fighting him, instead usually getting caught in the crossfire of street scuffles. What if there were others like him?

Was Bálor more like Kane, augmented with science-fiction upgrades? Or was it just wishful thinking on Seth’s part, hoping in vain that logic could parse the unparsable? Was Bálor a demon? An honest-to-gods, hellfire and brimstone demon?

Did it even matter?

Reluctantly, Seth crept a little closer to where Bálor slept. For a so-called demon, he wasn't all that terrifying when he was asleep. Or when he was awake, if Seth was being honest with himself. Bálor had a strangely kind smile, well-accented by a thickly-stubbled jawline and of course, those piercing blue eyes and--

And nothing, Seth scolded himself for being so predictably attracted to someone like Bálor, all smoke and mystery with no substance. He folded his arms and grimaced sternly down at his knees. No, absolutely not. Bálor groaned, mumbling something in his sleep and snapping Seth's attention back up. His hands roamed aimlessly on the moth-eaten comforter, fingers digging at the fabric.

Seth glanced up a little higher, then squinted at a rickety shelf over the lump of blankets. Are those…? He pulled himself upright and tiptoed even closer, barely able to stifle a snicker when his suspicions were confirmed. Legos, a variety of sets posed out on the shelf. Off to the side, a small piece of paper read To Finn, from Saint Mick.

Seth’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest and he tore his eyes away, settling back down into a crouch and folding his arms.

At some point Seth must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake. “I tried t' let yer sleep as long as I could manage. We'll be late if we don't get a move on, Rollins.” Bálor extended a hand to pull him to his feet. “Shall we?”

Seth shook away the cobwebs and took Bálor's hand. For a moment, all he could focus on was Bálor's face and the way he was frowning. The demon looked pensive, almost worried. “Hey, if it would be easier for me to go alone...” Seth trailed off when Bálor shook his head jerkily.

“Y' need backup in case somethin' turns fecky.” The blue-eyed man said shortly, tucking Seth beneath his arm.

“Can...Can you go anywhere?” Seth asked.

“Nae. I have limits. And I need t' have either been there before, or seen the place in a picture. Need t' know where I'm goin'.” Bálor's grip tightened. “Time t' go.”

It was as dark as midnight in the brief in-between, Bálor's eyes the only light source. Seth wasn't sure if he would even be able to comprehend what the area looked like. He was, after all, only human, and according to his very limited understanding of dimensional traipsing, something like the in-between shouldn’t even exist. He wondered if he should close his eyes instead of risk the surefire insanity that would befall him if he tried to figure out the featureless space. He would have to ask Bálor--

An all-too-familiar room solidified around them and Seth realized as a fist connected with his stomach that he had been tricked. Behind him, he heard Bálor grunt. Seth dropped to the floor, his body already curling defensively in on itself. The side of an expensive dress shoe caught his shoulder, knocking him onto his back. “Welcome home kid.” Hunter said. His heel came straight for Seth’s face and Seth barely got his hand up in time, rolling the blow to his jaw. He bit his tongue and yelped in pain, feeling his lip split under the pressure of the smooth tread.

Hunter straddled his chest, pinning Seth to the ground with his sheer mass. “Helmsley, the fuck are y’ doin’?!” Bálor cried, sounding horrified. Hunter ignored him, obviously intent on pulverizing Seth’s face with his fists. Bálor tried to drag him off of Rollins and was thrown aside by a vicious shove.

“Wyatt promised me.” Hunter seethed finally, pausing in his onslaught. Seth choked in a breath, not daring to lower his hands. “He promised me that you’d been dealt with. Imagine my surprise when you turned up none the fucking worse for the wear. Good thing Bálor knows which side his bread is buttered on.”

“Y’ said ya’ wouldn’t hurt him if I brought him in quietly!” Bálor shouted.

“And you bought that story?” Seth coughed a mouthful of blood and spit up at Hunter. “Now who’s the stupid one?”

Bálor ignored him, still focused on Hunter. “We had a deal, Helmsley.” Hunter began to unbutton his cuffs, his motions slow and deliberate while Seth flailed his legs. “Y’ gave me yer word that all y’ wanted was to talk. Is that worth nothin’ to ya’?”

“What I choose to do with my property is my own business.” Hunter replied coolly.

“Yer prop--what?!” Bálor fairly roared, his mouth full of razor-sharp teeth for a split second.

“You’ve held up your end of the bargain, Little Critter. Payment was transferred to your account the second you popped in here. This is my show now. I suggest you scram.” Hunter made a shooing motion.

“I dinnae’ wan’ payment Helmsley, y’ swore t’ me--”

Seth missed the rest of what Bálor said when Hunter cracked him in the jaw hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Rollins’ vision slid sideways, the younger man almost passing out. Almost, until Hunter slapped him across the face. That snapped him back into agonizing focus. “You’re not getting out of this that easy, kid.”

“Fuck you.” Seth breathed.

“So quiet when you’re not fucking up my archives and wreaking havoc on my property.” Hunter growled. “We could hear you caterwauling even when we couldn’t see you on the tapes, you fuck-up.”

“’Member when I used to call you Dad?” Rollins murmured. “Shit, I woulda’ done anything for you. How times fuckin’ change.”

“You little asshole.” Hunter grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him upright, then shoved him back against the wall. Seth coughed up more blood, wondering if he’d bitten his tongue in half. Hunter seemed wildly frustrated, the vein in his forehead plainly visible. “Drawing attention to me with your free running bullshit, you and those gutter rats you hung around with!” He shouted, spit flying with every word.

“Enough Helmsley!” Bálor barked. “You said y’ wanted t--!” Hunter turned around and jabbed a finger into the middle of the demon’s chest, as if to shut him up.

“I don’t know how you do your little parlor trick and frankly I don’t give a shit. If you don’t get lost you’re going to be in the same boat as this little bastard.” Hunter threatened. There was that soft noise that Rollins associated with Bálor vanishing and Seth let his chin fall to rest on his chest, his heart sinking. Hunter grunted, seeming satisfied. “That’s more like it.”

A familiar body was suddenly wrapped protectively around Seth from behind, a handful of gray-tinged fingers extended in front of him to flip Hunter the bird. Seth barely heard Hunter’s infuriated yell before they were gone, pulled back through the in-between.

“I’m sorry.” Bálor said softly after a long silence. The area he had brought them to was as pitch black as the in-between; distant sounds of machinery and the oppressive, crushing heat told Seth’s shaken brain that they must be somewhere in the Underground. Seth silently pulled free of Bálor’s grip. “Please, Seth, I swear I d-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Seth screamed, his throat raw. “Just shut up! What the fuck did I tell you? What did I fucking tell you?” He wiped gingerly at his face, cringing when he caught the scape on his cheek.

“I know, I’m--”

“You sold me out to him! You dropped me right into his fucking lap!” Seth spat a mouthful of blood off to the side, fleetingly grateful for the lack of loose teeth in said mouthful.

“He played me, Rollins! He fuckin’ tricked me, alright? He said all he wanted was his boy back, called me a fuckin’ thief for stealin’ ya’ away!” Bálor shouted right back at him and Seth felt a hand on his arm. “I’m a weak bastard, the idj’it that I fuckin’ am, I believed he was concerned. I guess I…deep down, I wanted y’ to be able t’ reconcile with the man. So I told him I’d bring you. He promised he-”

“You could have fucking trusted me. Don’t touch me.” Seth growled. The hand on his arm tightened.

“I’m not touchin’ y--‘ey, hands off!” Bálor yelped and there was the sound of a sad little laugh.

“Wondered how long it would be before you noticed me.” Said an unfamiliar voice. White eyes gleamed from a spot by Seth’s elbow and he barely kept from flinching away.

“Fuck’s sake Jeff, y’ can’t just start a game a’ grabass out the blue.” Bálor scolded. “Rollins is liable t’ take yer arm off.”

“You’re the one who barged in without knockin’ ahead of schedule.” Rollins got the impression that he was being shrugged at. “Said you needed help with somethin’?”

“D’ya have a light in here?”

“Oh, yeah.” Seth heard skittering from both sides of the room and a nightlight clicked on, attached to an extension cord and held high by the tattooed hand of a man who looked exhausted.

The man (Jeff?) squinted at Rollins suspiciously, then gestured for him to sit down in the lone folding chair. Behind him, his shadow wavered on the wall. It seemed…darker than it should be. Seth quickly tried to dismiss the fanciful thought when Jeff handed the light over to Bálor and slid the leg of Seth’s pants up. “Knee, right?” Jeff asked, glancing up at Rollins and Bálor to confirm. “It’s hot to the touch. Red in the dark. You wouldn’t notice because you haven’t been down here as long.” He continued offhandedly, “We could see it though, plain as the nose on your face.”

“Ah.” Seth threw Bálor an irritated look. The other man grimaced.

“The sooner we get that trace off of you the better. I didn’t expect Helmsley to be so…hands on. I made an appointment for a bit later. I was goin’ t’ explain and such.” Bálor said hesitantly.

“He at least made an appointment. Normally people just…find me.” Jeff sighed.

“Jeff deals with a lot of things like this ever since Wyatt got his brother.”

“I’ll get him back.” Jeff fell silent then, probing over the back of Seth’s calf with his eyes closed. Seth watched him narrowly, wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve.

“How’s yer face?” Bálor asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“What, you concerned you won’t get money for damaged goods?” Rollins retorted, feeling a little guilty at how crestfallen Bálor looked. He quickly shoved it aside. “Obviously Hunter doesn’t care about a few dents or scratched paint.”

“I know I fucked up, alrigh’? I know it.” Bálor snapped back.

“Gently, princelin’.” Jeff murmured, giving no other outward indication that he was listening.

Bálor grunted out a breath, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. “I’m…I’m sorry, Seth. No excuses. I fucked up on this one, delivered you t’ the man you kept tellin’ me was no good. Intentions are irrelevant.” He said, his voice clipped and rough. “I ought t’ have listened t’ you.”

Seth shifted uncomfortably, flinching when Jeff dug his fingers in a little harder. He could have sworn he saw Jeff’s shadow move differently. He told himself he was imagining things, just a trick of the flickering light. “It wouldn’t be the first time that someone bought the crap Hunter sold them.” He finally muttered grudgingly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I fuckin’ will, actually. Yer a bloody mess on account a’ my sentimentality.” Bálor reached out and put a hand on Seth’s shoulder, and Seth surprised himself by covering the hand tentatively.

Jeff started to sing under his breath, half-humming a tune Seth felt like he ought to recognize. Jeff stroked carefully over his knee, fingers trailing neon purple in their wake. Is that paint? Seth wondered, confused by the way it shimmered when it caught the meager light. Jeff moved up slightly, rotating his wrist to cradle Seth’s leg. “Easy now.” He whispered, glancing over at Bálor. “Princelin’, could you…?”

“’Course Willa’, whatever y’ need to fix him up.” Bálor said gruffly, clapping his other hand down on Jeff’s shoulder after hanging the bulb from a rusty hook overhead.

Jeff’s eyes reflected like a cat’s in the light from the tiny bulb, the man blinking slow and thoughtful at Seth. “It’s worked upwards. I don’t know if we can draw it all.” He said worriedly.

“Do yer best. I’ll keep him from anythin’ else.”

“What’s gonna’ happen to me?” Seth asked finally, feeling a tremor of fear run through him at the unnatural shine of Jeff’s eyes and the grave tone of his voice.

“Close yer eyes.” Bálor ordered.

“I don’t-”

“It’ll be easier on you mentally if you close them. It can be hard to watch us work.” Jeff interrupted gently. Then, to Bálor, “Look, you can’t just demand that he does shit. Makes resentment, makes him think that you think he’s stupid.”

“Please, just…let’s jus’ get this over with.” Bálor muttered, looking appropriately chastised.

“Ready?” Jeff asked Seth, who nodded hesitantly and closed his eyes.

Another pair of hands settled onto his knee. Seth barely resisted the urge to leap to his feet and start swinging. He hadn’t heard anyone else in the room, who-?

“Trust them.” Bálor breathed, rubbing at the tight muscle in Seth’s shoulder. “Don’t need t’ trust me. Just trust them. Jeff won’t let anythin’ bad happen.”

“He’s a mess.” That was a new voice. Like Jeff, but also not. It sounded distorted, as though the person was speaking underwater. Seth clenched his fists nervously on his thighs.

“Don’t we know it, Willa’.”

“He needs us, Willow. Figured you’d wanna’ help. No bullshit explainin’, no run around. Just us and the princelin’.” Jeff’s voice was measuredly calm. “You don’t have to if it’s too much.”

“If he needs us…”

“Could help in the long run. Help us understand what Wyatt’s done t’ Matt.”

“The brother…of course.” Something flickered in Seth’s mind, the image of an older man with a single, jarring streak of white in his dark hair. “We can, yes.”

“Whatever y’ two want, Willa’, s’yers.” Bálor sounded immensely grateful and Seth wanted to wonder about that, but he quickly shoved the desire away.

“What happened to his face?” Gloved fingers brushed over Seth’s cheek and he cringed.

“My fault.” Bálor admitted.

“Not…entirely. You should believe him. Mostly.”

“Who…who are you?” Seth asked cautiously. God, he wished he wasn’t too scared to open his eyes!

“We’re Willow.” That gloved hand cupped his chin carefully, turning his head to the side. “Can see why the Princeling worries for you. Good face.”

“Willa’!” Bálor sputtered.

“Don’t tease him, Willow.” Jeff scolded. “Focus.”

“I am.” Fingers clamped down on Seth’s windpipe, cutting off his breath. He struggled to no avail; Willow’s grip was like iron. His eyes flew open in panic and he came face to face with…whatever Willow was. Seth got the fleeting impression of monochrome, then glowing white eyes had him transfixed, hypnotized into stillness. “It’s spread.” Willow hummed. Their thumb pressed to the side of Seth’s neck, his carotid thundering away beneath the skin. “Quicker now.”

“Wyatt’s on t' us, Jeff. We need to-”

“I know. Willow, keep up the pressure.” Fingers that Seth dimly assumed were Jeff’s traipsed up the other side of his neck. “Shh, relax.” Jeff soothed.

You are mine, my dear boy.

“I-” Seth wheezed.

Bálor placed his palm flat on the back of Seth’s neck, skimming the scar there and making Seth twitch inadvertently. “Three.”

“Two.” Willow blinked slowly at Rollins, blue-white eyes brighter than the lightbulb.

“One.” At Jeff’s words, it felt as though something jagged was pushed violently through Seth’s calf and out the front of his leg. He screamed, unable to turn his head to look down and see the damage. Jeff hushed him, pressing their foreheads together and breaking the trance that Willow’s eyes had wrapped him in. “Easy, easy. That was it.” Jeff whispered.

Seth couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop a few tears from escaping. “How bad is it?” He croaked. “How long am I out for this time?” How am I supposed to protect myself if I’m hurt again? Roman told me to only come back if I was in real trouble, maybe-

“You’re entirely fine.” Jeff assured him, breaking his frantic train of thought. “I know it felt ugly. I promise you’re fine. Do you wanna’ check it out?”

Mostly all Seth wanted to do was vomit and then sleep for sixty years. He chanced a look down, exhaling hard when he saw that his leg was none the worse for the wear. “Oh thank fuck.” He gasped, going limp in the chair.

“I told you two, whatever y’ want is yers.” Bálor reiterated, his hands fever-hot and steady on Seth’s shoulders. Seth realized with a start that Willow was gone, his eyes hurriedly roaming the room and then coming to rest on Jeff’s shadow with a healthy amount of suspicion.

Jeff’s eyes flickered white momentarily. “We want Matt.”

“I know, Willa’. I’ll ask Jeff too, if y’ don’t mind.” Bálor said softly.

Jeff blinked once. “We need your support by Mick’s. Acolytes are gettin’ too aggressive. Kane made it out of here but they kept savagin’ him when he would leave Mick’s.”

“Done.” Bálor promised, “I’ll circle a few nights, get ‘em to clear off. Make sure Mick knows it’s me. I’m not over-fond of gettin’ my teeth kicked in by a man wit’ broken hips.”

“Absolutely.” Jeff angled a glance at Seth, who was still trying to get his pulse down to a normal rate. “How you holdin’ up, Buttercup?”

“Want to puke.” Seth replied faintly. “I’ll be okay.”

…

“You didn’t have to come along, y’know. I’ve handled this lot before.”

“Oh, I’m aware. But Mick is an old friend.” Seth wasn’t sure if that was quite the right term. Bálor quirked an eyebrow at him, his disbelief plain. Seth sighed heavily. “Look, when I ran with D--uh, the other guys, we had some trouble with the Acolytes. That’s how I ended up with the…the leg issue. Mick patched me up.”

“Ah, yer a veteran of his stitchwork.” Bálor grinned suddenly, pulling up his sleeve and dragging a finger down the line of scar tissue on his shoulder. “Same here. When y’ threw me and I caught that guardrail head-on. Damn near took my arm off.”

“When I…?” Seth trailed off, furrowing his brow. We fought?

“Oh ye, months ago.” Bálor seemed more rueful now. “Long before y’ asked for my help gettin’ in an’ out. You don’t uh, y’ dun’ recall?” Seth shook his head. “Ah, so he’s had them claws deep in ye then. Wonder how many things he's taken.”

Seth's mind whirled, searching back and to his horror, locating numerous, glaring holes in his memory. Passing out, waking up in the wrong places with blood on his hands and bruises on his body. You are mine, my dear boy. “Oh no.” He said helplessly. What else have I done?

“Eh, it's in the past.” Bálor waved off his concern with enviable ease, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “Y' had that Wyatt 'dead face' on the whole time, di'nt say so much as two words t' me. I figured ye weren't at the wheel.”

“That's not really any better.” Seth replied, leaning against the wall and rubbing a hand down his face.

Bálor shrugged up at him. “Y' can't change it. But you're you again. No tricks.”

Motion caught Rollins' attention and he straightened up. “Shh, look.” He gestured down at the street and Bálor fell silent, the both of them watching intently as four Acolytes slid from the shadows to tail a lone individual who had just left Mick’s soup kitchen. “Shall we?”

“’Course.” Bálor loped along the rooftop and then vanished, reappearing on the roof of the next building over. “Y’ comin’ or what?” He called to Seth, smirking.

“Fuckin’ cheater.” Seth announced, smiling without intending to.

Bálor gave him a roguish wink, jogging in place. “Ye’ll have t’ do better n’ that!” His smirk slipped a gratifying notch when Seth easily made the jump and sprinted past him. “’Ey!” He protested, floundering to catch up.

Seth flung himself to the next roof, focusing on the Acolytes who were still following their lone target. This was where he thrived, thinking on his feet, bolting across the high ground and creating a path as he went. The night air seemed clearer than it had been in months, neon lights bright in the darkness. He had been in the dark for so long, being poisoned and manipulated in the quest for his revenge and redemption.

He suddenly thought of Dean and Roman as he plummeted down to land on an old fire escape. It felt like an eternity since he’d seen either of them and Seth swallowed hard past the lump that materialized in his throat.

“Might be easier if y’ let ‘em think yer dead still.” Bálor murmured from the shadows beside him. “Otherwise Helmsley might use ‘em against ye.”

“He still will. He knows I’m alive.” Seth replied bleakly. “After we deal with these guys.”

“Whatever y’ want.” Bálor hesitated, then put a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “I’m...glad that y’ want to touch base with ‘em.”

“They’re my brothers. After all my dumb antics, the least they deserve is a warning.” Seth shook Bálor’s hand off of him after a moment. “C’mon, let’s end this.”

“Lead th’ way.”

Rollins hit the pavement in a crouch and sprang forward, arms outstretched. It was a move he had watched Roman do hundreds of times; momentum, tackle, the punch at the end. Two Acolytes were down before the others realized someone else was there and Seth hissed out a breath through gritted teeth. He was so lucid it was nearly painful, edges crisp and bright. How long has it been? He wondered, easily parrying a punch and cracking an uppercut into the other man’s chin, all knuckles and wrist.

Bálor was suddenly there, gray-stained hand on his ribs to shove him forcefully aside. A fifth Acolyte had slunk out of the alley while Seth was preoccupied, Bálor’s push the only thing that kept him from a knife in the kidney. The blade dug into Bálor’s abdomen instead and the blue-eyed man snarled loudly, grappling with the Acolyte.

Seth had frozen at the sight of the knife and gotten punched in the jaw for his momentary lapse, reeling back from the blow. “Run home to your shepherd!” The Acolyte taunted, chuckling. “Go on, run!”

Run coward, run.

Rollins squared up, his teeth bared in a fierce display. “Not happening.” The Acolyte swung wildly and Seth ducked, countering by way of a vicious stomp to the other man’s instep that crumpled him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and Seth barely dodged in time, feeling the brush of knuckles against the side of his head as another Acolyte whiffed his punch. “C’mon!” Seth jeered, feinting forward with a lightning-fast right and then slamming the heel of his left palm into the other man’s nose just like Dean used to. “That all you got?”

The fact that he was able to enjoy fighting had Seth practically giddy, flinging his body into the combat without a care in the world. It felt like an eternity had passed since he had enjoyed anything. How long has it been? How long has it been?

Bálor was back in the fray, blood blotting the hole-ridden t-shirt he always seemed to wear under his leather jacket. His motions flowed between combatants, vanishing and reappearing with an ease that was supernatural, fluid, graceful. Seth wished privately that he could watch him closer.

It felt like it was over too soon, the two of them standing over five bodies waiting for any sign of consciousness. Bálor finally stepped back, grimacing and pressing a hand to his stomach. “Think that’s it.” He said quietly, glancing up at Rollins.

His breathing was more harsh than Seth would like and Seth was immediately on edge. “Are you okay?” He asked sharply.

“Little deeper n’ I expected, but I’m fine.” Bálor winced. “Been ages since I was hit, normally I’m too fas’ for ‘em.”

“You took that one for me. Why? You didn’t have to.” Seth asked, wishing he didn’t sound so petulant.

“Man needs a reason t’ not be an asshole now? Ah, I suppose y’ can chalk it up t’ common decency then.” Bálor offered wryly. “Does it really matter? The point is, I fuckin’ did it an’ that’s that.”

“Now I owe you.” Seth said uncomfortably.

“Lord Almighty, nách mór an diabhal thú.” Bálor huffed. “You don’t-”

“I definitely do.” Seth interrupted him, his eyes narrowing. “Also what the hell did you say?”

“En’t you th’ devil.” Bálor sounded far too amused. “Reserved for the fondly fuckin’ obnoxious.”

…

“You don’t get to come into my house and talk about Dean that way.”

A headache had been pounding behind Seth’s eyes for the better part of a month. Ever since they had their run-in with the Family, ever since Dean had gone missing. He grimaced and Roman noticed, the larger man’s stern expression softening a fraction.

“Seth, I’m not giving up on him.”

“Why not? Reigns, he’s gone.” Seth whined, rubbing his temples. “He was dead weight anyway, c’mon. You know it, I know it.” Since when did he talk like this? Seth could barely think through the throbbing in his skull.

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You can give up if you want, but I won’t. Not until I’m identifying him in a freezer.” He had always been so stubborn.

Seth groaned, dropping his head to rest on the desk beneath him. “Romannn…”

“No, and that’s final. What the hell is your problem, man? You’re the reason he’s--"

“I didn’t hold a fuckin’ gun to his head. He probably went down there because he was bored or something. You can’t blame me for the fact that he’s fuckin’ nuts, Reigns.” Seth protested. What the hell is my problem?

“You’re Hunter and Steph’s.” Roman said, his teeth gritted hard. “They’ve got a hell of a lot of money and influence. Dean is…he’s a few steps up from homeless, Seth. No family aside from us, no ties, nothing. It’s easy to make someone like him disappear. As his brothers, it’s our responsibility to--"

“I’m not going back down there.” Seth interrupted, trying his hardest to shove away the memories of winding tunnels, dark and hot, wavering lightbulbs in the distance. “He’s fuckin’ crazy and I’m not risking my ass because he’s finally gone off the deep end.”

“Seth, this guy has-”

“I said no!” Seth snapped, standing up quickly. “He’s always been a few sandwiches short of a fucking picnic, man. We’re better off without him. Stronger. Smarter.” This was awful, it felt like his mouth had been hijacked. What did I just say?

“His sanity didn’t seem to matter when he was taking punches meant for you.” Roman snarled. “Now all of a sudden we’re too good for him? I don’t think so, Rollins. Either tell me the real reason you don’t want to go back down there or get the fuck out and let me work.” He yanked open the door to the back alley and made an impatient motion with his hand. “You’re not welcome here, Rollins. Don’t come back unless you’re in serious trouble, got it?”

Seth was reeling. Roman looked more serious than he had ever seen him, the larger man’s brow furrowed angrily. “Well fine.” Seth replied lamely--

Seth shook himself all over, doing his best to shake the memories off with the motion. From his place beside him, Bálor shifted warily. “Sorry, I’m going.” Seth apologized for the sixth time, staring at the door to the storage room of The Empire and trying not to panic.

“Take yer time.” Was all Bálor said in reply, fiddling with the zipper of his old leather jacket.

Seth finally slid down the brick wall to land silently in the alley, skulking in the shadows on his way to the old wooden stairs. Bálor appeared at his elbow after a momentary hesitation and Seth found himself stupidly grateful for his presence.

Mustering up the nerve to press the delivery bell took another five minutes, Seth curling and uncurling his fingers over and over before he squared his shoulders and slammed the button with his fist.

Barely three seconds went by and then Roman opened the back door, his head still turned to call more instructions to Baron. Seth was somewhat mortified at the way Roman’s whole face went pale when he met his eyes. Seth raised a hand, wiggling his fingers in a meager half-wave. “Uh, h-hi Roman.” He swallowed hard. “I have some…um, some news. For you and Dean. Information, y’know. Like old times.” Roman still hadn’t moved an inch. Seth cleared his throat awkwardly. “Roman?”

“Seth, I…I mean, y-you’re…” Roman stammered, one hand shakily reaching out to touch Seth’s cheek.

“I know I don’t deserve to talk to you. I know that I let you down, fuckin’ abandoned you and Dean when we should have stuck together more than anything.” Seth rambled, trying to fill the empty space before Roman slammed the door in his face. “I know that…I mean, you told me not to come back unless I was in real trouble, but I--” The next thing Seth knew, he was grabbed by the arm and dragged into a hug that threatened to crack his ribs. Roman buried his face in his shoulder, fingers tangling in the shaggy curls at the nape of Seth’s neck. Rollins felt Roman’s whole body shake and he realized that Roman was crying. “Ro I’m so…I’m so fucking sorry.” He managed to say.

“I’m hallucinating. Or this is a trick.” Reigns muttered against the side of his jaw. “You’re dead.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, I guess.” Seth was horrified to find that he himself was tearing up. “I’ve had a wild time.”

Roman pulled back, cupping Seth’s face with his hands and staring at him anew. ��Christ, Rollins.” He whispered, still obviously not believing his own eyes as he wiped Seth’s tears away with his thumb. “I just…we went to your funeral, man.”

“Hunter was thorough.” Seth could almost pinpoint the second that Roman understood what he meant, the larger man’s posture stiffening. “I’ve had to keep a low profile.”

“Did you come alone?” Roman asked, all business despite his teary eyes and red nose.

Seth shook his head, beckoning for Bálor to come into the light. “Been a few months since yer holiday fête, Reigns. I trust yer keepin’ outta’ trouble?” Bálor inquired with a nod in Roman’s direction.

“Wonderful.” Roman sighed. “At least you’re a baby abomination. Small favors. Come in, both of you.” He urged, opening the door wider. “I’ll call up Shea, see if Dean is free.”

“Dean’s out front talkin’ with Zayn, what do you need him for?” Baron asked curiously from the door to the main room. His brow furrowed when he looked past Roman and spotted Rollins and Bálor darkening the doorway. “Uh. Boss?”

“Just ask Dean to come back here.” Roman instructed quietly.

“Boss is…is that--?”

“Yes, it’s him. Please get Dean.” Roman rubbed his eyes once Baron had bolted off to the front area of Empire. He looked exhausted. Seth awkwardly shifted his weight back and forth, old boots clunking on the floorboards of the storeroom.

“Alright, alright! I’m here man, you need somethin’ lifted o…or…” Dean’s words ground to a halt as he leaned against the door frame. “This is a joke, right? A really, really shitty joke?” He rasped after a moment. “There’s no way.”

“It’s me, Ambrose.” Seth felt like he was being studied under a microscope, Ambrose’s eyes narrowing to nothing but blue slits in his face. “I swear it’s me.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, not sounding convinced in the slightest. He shoved off of the door frame to saunter directly into Seth’s personal space, baring his teeth and tugging at the threadbare shirt Rollins was wearing. “You have a fallin’ out with Daddy dearest? This is a little less flashy than your usual black and neon green spandex number.” Casually, like he didn’t think Rollins would notice, Dean’s fingers slid to the back of his neck. “Pretty good fake, they got your scars right.” Dean said, slapping at the inside of Seth’s wrist. “And your tattoo! But did they get-” Ambrose easily spun Seth around and yanked up the back of his shirt to expose his other tattoo. “-Fuck, thorough. Even got those buns of steel right.”

Bálor snorted at that and Seth couldn’t choke back his own little cackle. Dean went still at the sound. “Jesus Christ, if you want me to strip at least let me do it by myself.” Seth complained finally, pulling away from Dean. “It’s me, Dean.”

Dean’s stare was wider now, less hostile. “Seth?” He asked, his voice slightly shaky.

“I told you it’s me.” Seth grumbled. “Why-” He was unable to finish his question after Dean threw himself at him. Ambrose’s fingers clawed for purchase on his back through his thin hoodie and Seth knew better than to ask whether he was crying, just resting his face on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s me, man. I promise.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can give you a really, really brief synopsis. The longer I stay, the worse it could be. If Hunter finds out that I’ve been here-”

“Fuck Hunter.” Dean’s teeth snapped down on his hoodie and Seth felt more than saw Bálor flinch.

Roman ushered everyone out of the storeroom and into his office. It was a bit crowded but Seth secretly luxuriated in it, feeling almost like he was back in a dogpile with his brothers. Once he was done giving his very quick summary and trying to answer as many of their questions as he could, he settled back into the couch and let the other two talk with Bálor. Seth closed his eyes for a second. Only a second...

Seth had no idea how far the damage extended, his body sunken into the dull ache of too much. He laid on his stomach, feeling the cool metal of the Ferris wheel frame through the material of his shirt and that familiar, splitting pain in his head eased off a little. Shadows struggled up the sides of the wheel, no doubt finding the footing even more treacherous than he had. Seth closed his eyes and waited. He was all used up. He didn’t even have the strength to raise his head when he heard a quiet chuckle.

“And now, we come to the end.” A ratty sneaker battered against Seth’s ribs and he wheezed painfully, the yawning chasm of darkness beckoning him ever closer to the edge. “You should have listened when Hunter told you off, my boy.”

“Fuck you.” Seth choked out. The shoe hit the side of his head. “Fuck you, fuck you and especially fuck Hunter.” He continued blearily, rolling onto his back and flipping the bird at the Family member before sliding the rest of the way off the top of the Spinnarooni.

The fall should have killed him. Hell, he’d been counting on it. As Seth dropped down, down, he had closed his eyes and waited again, this time for the inevitable impact.

But it never came.

Someone’s forearm slammed into his stomach and knocked the breath out of him; there was a sudden absence of noise that made his ears ring loudly and then Seth crash-landed on top of another body. The drop had apparently gotten significantly shorter, not to mention the fact that the pavement felt suspiciously like a pile of half-full trash bags. Seth struggled to inhale, his whole being in painful spasm.

“Feck's sake, fuck's sake. Ass. Fuck.” Whoever he had landed on was clearly displeased. Seth was pushed aside and he hit the ground with a thud. “Fuckin' shet.” Cold pavement met his cheek and he groaned. “Fuck, yer alive. Jesus.” One of Seth's eyelids was pried open and he did his best to roll his eyes forward, barely managing a twitch before the effort grew to be too much. “Jesus, y' bleedin' bad. Alright, alright, great catch.” The person appeared more than content to carry on both sides of their conversation. A hand cradled the back of his neck, supporting his head. “Look at ye, gods what a mess.”

Seth tried to speak and failed, swallowing hard and then licking his cracked lips. “P...Please...”  He managed to whisper.

“Easy, don't talk. Save it.” That voice murmured, a bottle of water pressed to his mouth. Seth drank greedily; he had been on the run for what felt like weeks without rest and the coolness of the liquid was welcome on his dry throat. “Got t' get y' patched, can’t have ya’ passin’ on ahead of schedule.”

Seth dimly recognized the sound of traffic going by.

“They’re goin’ t’ come for ye soon, I can’t stay.” A cloth continued to daub at the blood trickling from his nose. “He’s got a plan for ye, not sure what. But he’s not goin’ t’ kill y’. He said…he said y’ won’t remember that I was here, when it’s all said an’ done. I suppose that’s fine.” Fingers wrapped around his own, pulling his hand up to graze an ugly, thick line of stitches.

-flinging himself forwards at his opponent, the rasp of air in his lungs and the chafe of sweat-soaked fabric on his skin what’s happening to me, his jaw glued shut where am I-

Seth wanted to recoil desperately.

-finally catching hold of the demon bastard and just throwing him blindly with all his strength against the guardrail, the horror he felt when Bálor staggered back up holding his bleeding shoulder-

“Bá…lor…” Seth whispered, the name strange in his mouth.

“I imagine it’d be miles easier on ya’ t’ not recall. That’s alrigh’.”

-blue eyes glowing in the black as he fell, one soot-stained arm tattooed with haphazard stitches at the shoulder outstretched to catch him-

“I doubt this is the last we’ll be seein’ of each other.” The sweaty strands of hair stuck to Seth’s forehead were smoothed back, the familiar-unfamiliar motion making him relax slightly. “Sleep now.”

“Wait, please…” Seth tried to grab his hand, tried to keep him there. Bálor’s fingers vanished from his grip and his arm fell limply to the asphalt...

Seth’s eyes flew open, glancing around wildly as he tried to remember where he was. He had passed out on the couch in Roman's office, it would seem. Bálor's jacket was draped over him. Seth wondered when that had happened, shrugging the coat on and wrapping it around him. The jacket smelled like Bálor (or maybe Bálor smelled like the jacket), clean and sharp with warm leather undertones. Seth might have buried his face in one of the lapels.

Across the room at the door, Dean was speaking with Bálor in hushed tones. “...Sami got away, so did Kane and I. You think other people-”

“It’s gettin’ worse.” Bálor said grimly. “Acolytes are stalkin’ th’ ones that do escape, draggin’ ‘em back to Wyatt so he can make sure they can’t get free again. Goddamn farmer’s market down there, three quarters are vegetables wearin’ the masks. His mouthpieces, eyes an' ears.” Bálor panted for breath, his fingers raking at the bandage on his stomach. “Feck.” He hissed after a second.

“Is it bad?”

“Just…tickles.” Bálor half-groaned, giving Dean a wink and receiving a gentle cuff on the side of his head.

“Still an asshole, I see.” Dean snorted. “If it gets to be too bad, give one of us a holler. We’d be more than happy to knock you out.”

“It’s good to know that yer still all heart, Ambrose.” Bálor teased.

Ambrose chuckled, rumpling Bálor’s hair in a fond gesture. “I almost forgot to thank you for bringing our little bro back.” He said softly.

“He came here of his own will. I did nothin’.” Bálor protested. “En’t like I brought him back from th’ dead.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Dean replied, so quietly Seth almost missed it. “He would have died if you hadn’t grabbed him off the Spinnarooni.”

“Wyatt wanted him. Wanted t’ break him.” Bálor shrugged. “I hardly had noble intentions, Ambrose, was just-”

“You didn’t have to go along with it.” Dean interrupted. Bálor tilted his head after a silent moment. “You had every reason not to go along with it.”

“Guess I still got some a’ tha’ damnable human decency in me after all.” Bálor looked over and caught Seth staring at him. He looked uncomfortable for a minute, before he simply shrugged and extended a hand. “Ready?”

Seth nodded, getting to his feet. Ambrose slapped him on the shoulder, his expression incredibly serious. “Come back sometime, alright?” Dean said quietly. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“Likewise.” Guilt strangled Rollins and he swallowed hard, trying to avoid Dean's eyes.

Ambrose knuckled his shoulder, making a dismissive noise. “Cool it. What's done is done. We got lucky.” He said, his tone gently chiding. “Don't make it be all for nothin', Rollins. And don't you never pull this dead shit again.”

“I won't. I promise.” Seth's smile felt rusty but he did it all the same.

He was surprised when Bálor brought them back to the roof of the building where he slept. Seth had figured that since he had done what he set out to do, he and Bálor would part ways. But the demon seemed in no great hurry to push him out the door, so Seth made himself comfortable on the rooftop. Bálor sat down beside him after reclaiming his jacket and for a few blissful moments the both of them just...existed.

The sky overhead sluggishly lightened, stars fading into the backdrop.

“Are you human?” Seth blurted out. Bálor raised an eyebrow so high it threatened to vanish into his hairline. “I-I mean, what I meant was--uh, well-”

“’Am I human?’” Bálor repeated, sounding bemused. “I suppose tha’ depends on yer idea of what human is. I bleed, yeah? I breathe. I had a heart in my chest, once. Pretty sure it’s gone.” Bálor paused. “But a’course, I do another thing. I assume that’s what yer referrin’ to? The…other thing?” He vanished and reappeared inches from Seth’s face, his teeth bared. “The unexplainable, the unsolvable. Throwin’ my body through the fabric a’ space to get t’ where I oughta’ be.”

“You know what I fuckin’ mean. Not that.” Seth grunted. “Do you…y’know, do you feel?”

“Pain?”

“Oh for the love of--fuck, Bálor, you’re just gonna’ make me spell it out? I…what the fuck man.” Seth blustered, more and more embarrassed by the second.

“What?” Bálor looked genuinely confused. “I don’t think I un’erstan’.”

“Emotions. Interest. I dunno’.” Seth mumbled.

“Oh. You--oh.” Bálor stopped talking abruptly, his eyes flaring neon blue in the dim light of dawn. His whole body practically bristled with nervous energy and Seth swallowed hard.

“Yeah. Something like that.” Rollins said awkwardly after several minutes of Bálor just…staring at him, zipping and unzipping his jacket absently.

“Never thought about it.” Bálor whispered finally.

“Oh.” Seth hated how weak he sounded.

“Do…” Bálor hesitated momentarily. “D’ya want me to?”

“N-No! No, of course not. Hey, if you don’t then you don’t. It’s no skin off my nose, man.” Rollins felt panicky, his voice cracking. The last thing he wanted was to make the demon who could shift through dimensions uncomfortable.

Bálor cocked his head to the side. “It bothers ye.”

“Hell no, man, I’m-”

“Don’t lie t’ me. I’m not like you lot up here.” Bálor narrowed his eyes. “Spell it out fer me.”

“You…that is, I…” Seth floundered and then shook his head, grabbing Bálor’s lapels. “Tell me to stop if you want me to stop.” He said softly, searching the other man’s face.

Bálor looked as nonchalant as ever, simply inclining his head. Seth brushed their mouths together and he felt Bálor shudder. “Stop.” The other man breathed. Seth immediately pulled back. “Wait, not so far away.” Bálor amended, cupping his face. “Ye…wanted t’ kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

“No one’s ever wanted t’...look, I’m a demon. A-A freak.” Gray fingertips stroked through Seth’s facial hair. “Why d’ you...?”

“I dunno’.”

Bálor groaned and pressed their foreheads together, blue eyes boring into Seth’s brown ones. “There’s no comin’ back from me, Rollins.” He warned. “Y’ need a better reason.”

“Do I? Last time I checked, I’ve done smarter things for dumber reasons.” Seth retorted, earning himself a wry grin. “You obviously think very highly of yourself if you believe I can’t recover from you.”

“Of course, that’s what I think.” Bálor drawled. “Far be it from me t’ worry abou’ yer wellbein’, I’m only here t’ talk m’self up.”

“You make it sound like you have acid spit.” Seth teased.

“I suppose that’d depend on whether y’ want my mouth on ye, now wouldn’t it?” Bálor’s burr had taken on a husky, softer tone. “We might have incompatible bits, Rollins.”

“I find that extremely unlikely.”

Bálor took Seth’s hand and wordlessly brought it down to cup his groin. Seth’s eyes widened. “It seems I’ve discovered how t’ shut ye up.” Bálor commented dryly when Seth failed to make any sort of comment.

“A-Absolutely no compatibility issues what so fucking ever.” Seth finally stammered out once he regained his ability to speak. Bálor actually laughed at that, his eyes crinkled with mirth.

“’King Slayer’ sounds a mite bit more impressive than ‘Demon Fucker’. But it’s...it's difficult t’ hide my interest in ye, mainly because I have nae practice in doin’ such and I don’t particularly want t' hide my interest in the first place.” Bálor hummed in his throat, rubbing their foreheads together again. “I been curious t’ see how y’ might react. Didn’t want t’ frighten ye.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Seth was startled when Bálor caught his chin and kissed him hard.

“Yer the furthest thin' from a disappointment, Seth.” Bálor said firmly between pressing kisses down his neck. Seth closed his eyes and dug his fingers into Bálor's shoulder blades. “M' serious.” Bálor took his hand again, but this time he pressed it to the bandage on his stomach beneath his shirt. “I don't move like that for just any ol' reason. I don't step in the line a' fire for no one, an' yet here I am lettin' myself get banged up for you. The hell have y' done t' me?”

“I don't want you getting hurt.” Seth managed to say.

“First one is free. Make it wort' my while an' maybe you'll get a few more outta' me.” Bálor's smirk was wicked. He was a creature stained by in-between, full of too many teeth for anyone to feel safe near him. And yet...

Seth stood up and offered Bálor his hand. The smile that he got in return was blindingly, achingly grateful. Bálor all but threw himself at him, trembling gray-tinged fingers winding through Seth's shaggy hair when he kissed him again. Rollins managed to open the door behind him and they both stumbled into Bálor's living space, Bálor seeming reluctant to part from him for even a moment.

“No one's ever touched me like this.” Bálor breathed when Seth grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged his head back so he could mouth over his neck. “Fuckin'...gods, yer makin' me a mess Rollins.” He admitted shakily.

“How much of a mess?” Seth asked, delighted when Bálor clung to his shoulders and ground their bodies together.

“A desp'rate mess.” Bálor bit the words out. “I need y', need yer hands on my skin. Fuck, I don't know what I need but I need you, dammit.” He sucked in a breath when Seth pushed his shirt up, tearing his jacket away so Seth could finish getting his shirt off. “I've never...”

“You mentioned. It's okay.” Seth chuckled, smoothing a greedy hand down the expanse of Bálor's abdomen. “You're perfect.”

“Fuck, wouldn't I like t' believe that.” Bálor huffed. “But I suppose when y' have Adonis tellin' ye yer alright, y' ought t' take the compliment.” Seth fondled him gently through his pants and he went still, his fingers loose on Seth's shoulders. “Hah.” Bálor exhaled raggedly. “Differen' when someone else is doin' the gropin'.”

“Bad or good?”

“Good, good, Christ, more.” Bálor rambled and Seth felt him twitch against his hand. “I don't know what I ought t' be doin', I've seen a few things-”

“I'll tell you what, the first one is free. We'll see where this takes us.” Seth teased him, sliding his hand into the other man's pants. Bálor's head lolled forward and he groaned loudly when Seth wrapped his fingers around his cock. “Is that what you've been waiting for? Christ, you're a handful, aren't you?” Seth murmured in his ear, feeling Bálor shudder all over at his words.

“I...I guess?” Bálor stammered, his normally-cool demeanor seeming to go to pieces under Seth's attentions. “Haven't done much measurin'.” He moved a hand down Seth's chest, tugging at the hem of the other man's hoodie.

“Trust me on this one, then.” Seth easily maneuvered out of his sweatshirt and t-shirt, unable to keep from snickering when Bálor hungrily dragged his fingers over his abs with an awestruck expression on his face. “Returnin' the favor, Bálor?”

“Call me Finn.” Bálor mumbled, making the barest eye contact before looking back down. “M' name is Finn.”

“Okay. Finn.” Seth agreed, startled at the way the other man bared his teeth. He didn't have very long to wait before Bálor was surprising him anew, those teeth nipping at his jaw and neck. Seth made an incredibly embarrassing noise and Finn obviously heard it, if the way he smiled was any indicator.

He unbuttoned Seth's jeans and wiggled the tight fabric down over his thighs, freeing Seth's cock. “Feckin' hell, y' need t' size up.” Finn muttered, sounding exasperated as he struggled to peel the jeans lower.

“They're supposed to be that way.” Rollins tried to explain. “It's a fashion thing.”

“Oh ye? Th' hell d'ya get 'em on in the mornin'?”

“Lots of prayer.” Bálor rolled his eyes at him, trying to stifle his laughter and failing miserably. Seth luxuriated in the happy sound for a second, stroking Finn's cock and letting his giggles dissolve naturally into moans. “You seem like you're enjoying yourself.”

“I am, fuck I am.” Finn licked his own palm and took Seth's cock in hand. “I know what I like, but what d' you like, mm?” When he closed his fingers down Seth lost his breath; it had been ages since he had been touched. He felt like every nerve in his body was standing at attention, Finn's grip providing a slick tug that had Seth wanting to beg for more. “Oh, that's good.” Finn said softly, “Gods, yer lovely t' look at. The sunrise comin' through t' boards over there, it's catchin' y' jus' right an' fuck, pretty as a fuckin' picture.”

Seth flushed, a little embarrassed by Finn's lavish praise. In an attempt to distract the demon Seth tightened his grip, smearing Finn's abundant precome over the sensitive head of his cock. Finn gritted out a curse when Seth fondled his sac, his voice cracking as he cried out. “What's wrong, Finn?” Seth murmured, rubbing his thumb in a lazy circle. “Are you gonna' come?” Finn dug his forehead into Seth's shoulder, trying to stifle another cry while his hips rocked up to meet Seth's fist. “Are you gonna' come all over my cock, Finn?” Seth moved to jerk their cocks together, having to use both his hands in order to stroke them at the same time.

He felt Finn's dick twitch against his own, the sheer size of it still slightly overwhelming to him. Finn's breathing hitched and he latched his mouth down on Seth's neck. Seth didn't even care that he was going to have the love bite from hell, too overwhelmed by the orgasm screwing tight in his belly. “Gonna'-” Finn grunted, his facial hair teasing the sensitive skin he had just savaged. “Y' need t' fuckin'...gods, Seth, please-”

“I know.” Seth breathed, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back. Finn groaned and came hard, Seth not far behind as he felt his cock slicked anew by Finn's release. “Fuck, fuck fuck. Holy fuck.” Rollins gasped when he could talk again, loathe to let go of Finn's dick and choosing to rub against it for a few more seconds before he became too sensitive. “Fuck.”

“I like that word comin' out yer mouth.” Finn shoved the hair back from Seth's face, cupped his jaw and kissed him just as hard as before. “Christ, I'm fuckin' exhausted.” He said bluntly, his voice pleasantly gritty. “It's half-past my fuckin' bedtime, I imagine.” Seth tried to stifle his yawn to no avail, struggling the rest of the way out of his jeans after grabbing a tissue to wipe off his hands. “If y' have no qualms abou' bein' in the same bed, I...er...” Finn trailed off, shrugging awkwardly and simply gesturing at the pile of blankets.

Seth nodded sleepily, wasting little time before flopping down to hog nearly all the blankets. Finn weaseled his way in beside him, tucking Seth protectively into his chest after a momentary tussle. “Not so bad f' a demon.” Seth mumbled.

“An' yer nae so bad fer a bedmate, I suppose.” Finn allowed, snuggling him even closer. “Wouldn't mind y' stickin' around, if yer so inclined.”

I doubt this is the last we’ll be seein’ of each other.

A Very Suplex City Christmas

[lenfaz]

Thorned Hearts, ch. 1 (1/?)

A/N: when you love two side characters so much that you basically start a fandom

Fandom: The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Pairing: Leonie Hendricks/Desiderio "Drio" Rossi Rating: M with hints of E Summary:  Well, when all goes down, you need a half-demon to save the day

Dedicated to the wonderful @sambethe​ who willingly jumps with me into all these ships (I will get you into Billy Winston too, I swear)

It shouldn't be a surprise that they'd found her. Leo hadn't gone too far, and it wasn't long before Nava showed up, a beaten-up leather bag on her shoulder, an ancient witch trapped inside of her and tears in her eyes.

So here they were, in their pity party of two with gin and chocolate waffles, commiserating over the lack of third-party administered orgasms and obstinate Rashas. It wasn’t good but at least it was safe until Ari had barged into her room with Kane in tow.

Kane's features were blank as if he'd been just treated with the news of her nature and he was still processing it. There was a mix of pity and apprehension in his eyes and it was just about what Leo could take at the moment. The Brotherhood was getting on her last nerve with their brainwashing, first almost costing her two of the people she cared the most about in the world, followed by the best sex - and probably something more - she’d ever had. She wasn’t about to add more people to the list that refused to talk to her because of who she was.

Lifting her chin up, she treated Ari and Kane with the glaciest stare she could find. Kane could turn into glittery salty poison for all she cared, she would suck it out of him and throw it back to his face before he could blink. Just because she chose not to exercise her demon powers much, it didn’t mean she didn’t have them or didn’t know how to use them. She might be only a PD for them, but there were in for a run of their money if they thought she couldn’t fight back like the best demons out there.

Schooling her features to show she wasn’t afraid of them, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Ari, I have enough with one Rasha wanting to kill me. Did you really have to alert another one about me?”

Ari looked chagrined, his head lowering as a long exhale left him. He lifted his head, meeting her eyes again in an apologetic stare. “I'm sorry, I had no choice. There were extenuating circumstances.”

“The sex better had been worth you spilling the beans,” she bit out, not really giving a fuck. She kicked herself internally as she saw Ari’s wince and Kane’s nervous shifting. She didn’t want to be this person, the one lashing out at her friends - or the people she thought they were friends - but she was tired, horny and had to leave her entire life behind when she’d walked out of Nava’s room.

Ari kept looking at her, and a silent apology went back and forth between them before he finally spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “It wasn't like that. Malik found us… he's still fuming over this entire thing, determined to know where Lily is and he’s taking things up a notch.”

“Or two,” Kane added in a low voice. It was only then than Leo realized how close they were standing, Kane hovering protectively over Ari, his hand resting on his lower back and his body half shielding him. Ari was all but leaning into Kane, as if he was pulling the strength from him. Whatever had happened, had been bad enough to snap these two out of their bullshit phase and finally bring them together.

“What did exactly happen?”

“It doesn’t matter, not now,” Ari quickly brushed aside, running a hand through his hair as if he were trying to find the words.

“Just tell her,” Kane murmured, exhaustion making his voice thick.

Ari nodded before meeting her eyes again, his eyes so wide that Leo’s blood ran cold. “It's Drio.”

Just what she needed. The one demon hunter she was sure would kill her to show up in her life again. “Please tell me the fucker didn't torture this location out of you.”

Ari took a few steps towards her. “Malik set out a horde of demons against us.” He took her hand in his, his voice breaking. “Leo, he's been poisoned.”

All the air was sucked out of her lungs. It couldn’t be. Not like this…

Her vision blurred out and she swayed on the spot, almost crashing to the floor. Ari caught her, his arms propping her up and holding her against him.

“Look, I - we know things between the two of you are strained.” There was a snort from Kane behind them and Ari sighed. “Ok, I know things are fucked up between the two of you, but nothing I’ve tried has worked and he has little time left…”

Kane met her eyes, his hand clasping Ari’s shoulder. “What twinslay here wants to say, is that you, Obi Wan-Goblin, are our only hope.”

Drio was dying. Drio, the guy that had fucked her into oblivion, made her laugh, and brought her a hand painted scarf from Rome before he threatened to kill her the next time he saw her. Drio, the guy that couldn’t cope with whom she really was.

The Demon Hunter she’d all but gone and fall for was dying. And she was the only one that could help him.

She took a deep breath as she pulled away from Ari and quickly tossed a few things on her bag, reaching to grab the scarf she hadn’t had the heart to part with. “That shadow portal thing better work fast, Katz. Because we don’t have any time to lose. Where’s Nava?”

“She’s on her way to Rohan already.”

“Good. Now take me to Drio.”

/-/

One thing was true, shadow portaling was an effective yet nauseating traveling method. Although Leo wasn’t sure if the nausea that was currently upsetting her stomach was the result of portaling or the Rasha protection wards she’d just trespassed thanks to Ari and Kane. She’d felt bad the last time she’d been here healing Nava, but this was ten times worse. But as she rushed into Drio’s room, she realized that part of the dread in her stomach had nothing to do with portals or wards.

It was the sight of him - lying on his bed, his olive skin dull and sickeningly pale, his blonde hair lusterless and his eyes closed as he squirmed in the bed - that made the bile rise to her mouth. Nava was next to him, holding his hand and trying very hard to do something with her magic. But Leo knew it was a futile attempt. She could feel it in her bones, in the deep part of her that she’d always tried to keep at bay.

Rohan was pacing back and forth at the edge of the room, and Leo turned her eyes to him. “How long it’s been?”

Rohan’s head snapped to her, his eyes red with lack of sleep and remorse. “Almost a day… we’ve tried every single trick in the book. But we are not able to identify the demon, so we can’t possibly know…” he trailed off, defeat in his voice.

All these Rashas, all these knowledge, and Drio was dying in a room that wasn’t even in his home city. Her eyes searched the place, the first time she’d been in his room. The tickets on the vanity caught her attention.

“Whitecaps tickets? What the fuck?”

“He was planning to take you. Before - before he found out - he wanted to do something nice for you.”

Nava’s words sliced through her and Leo fought back tears. A Whitecaps game that none of them got to see and yet the tickets were still there.

“Get out. All of you. I need time alone with him.”

“Leo, the wards-” Nava started but she caught her off.

“We can’t take him outside the wards, we’d be prey to all the demons that are out there looking to kill all of you. Just - leave me alone, I’ll be fine.”

“You will not.” That was Ari coming into the room, but one look from her and he was backtracking. “Leo, this is dangerous….”

“You brought me here, Ari, now get everyone out of this room and let me handle it.”

Kane stepped in, exchanging a quick look with Ari as he went to get Rohan while Ari went to Nava. “Come on, let’s give her some space.”

“Leo, you don’t have to -” Rohan started but Leo was no longer hearing him, her steps taking her to the edge of the bed, her fingers moving a hairlock from Drio’s forehead.

“Drio…” It was all she was able to do before a tear spilled down her cheek and she quickly dried it with the back of her hand. This was no time for tears, this was time for action.

There was a soft click on the door, but Leo barely registered as her hand caressed Drio’s arm and she started to assess the situation with her magic.

The poison was deeply rooted, taking his blood and flesh and refusing to let go without a fight. It felt thick, like tar that had solidified and was impossible to remove. She needed to heat it, melt the poison until it was a thick and viscous grime that she could start pulling out of him, little by little. The task was strenuous in the best conditions and here, within the Rasha walls pressing her chest like lead, it felt impossible to accomplish.

But she knew she had to try. Leaning in, she pressed a soft kiss on his damp forehead. “Hang in there, caro. I’m on it.”

[surrealinkrpstories]

Surreal Ink

Vane: /A sea of lost whispers. Invisible walls caging me. Descended into a pitch-black abyss. Suspended in a nothingness. 

Paralyzed and faced down. The charged atmosphere causes my skin to tingle and prickle over; thick and almost tangible. 

A visceral hunger deep inside. Taunting...

A hooded figure just beyond my peripherals. I could sense him. Haunting me. He was always there. 

The demon that visited me each night. Using his control to clutch onto me. 

That voice is sharp as nails raking over the chalkboard. Somewhere in this tar-like ether it sounds all around me. 

‘Wake my child.’

A vision flat below my suspended body. Almost as I was seeing it through my own eyes. Yet I was all too aware that I was not myself. 

A shattered reflection revealed what I knew and kept buried deep inside. 

I appeared as myself but I was helpless to stop what was transpiring before me.

Flesh and bone under some other entity’s control. 

Midnight hour and /He/ was on the prowl. 

/He/ keeps taking over. I couldn’t take it anymore. 

The hunter buried below rising up. Rising. 

The dark tendrils of ink that once graced my forearms engulf me with slender slitherings. Pupils darkening their blue to a midnight shade I’d never seen before. 

The scenes play in broken sequence. He’s stalking. Hunting. 

For what? 

All revealed soon enough. 

Mind opening up for a different view. I was seeing from somewhere inside but this was nothing new to me. 

I wasn’t sure why I had not remembered this before, but as things played through, it was all too eerily familiar. 

/He/ was always taking what it wanted from me. 

I see the target. His movements are lethal. Stealth in the shadows. 

Struggling in an inescapable hold. I couldn’t fight my way out.

Was this an illusion? Some sick game for the hooded fucker?

I try to separate myself, the only thought rising in my mind is-

‘I cannot rest until I’ve fed the Fiend inside.’ 

Malicious thoughts stir within my soul. 

‘Why did I feel this way?’ 

I’d been fighting this battle for so long. 

I’m forced to continue viewing through the eyes of a devil. He’s in a large open room. An array of colored strobes of lights flashing through the haze. Bodies writhing, swaying to the hard boomin beats. 

‘A recreation for him?’

It was what we wanted. Always. An insatiable hunger. Consuming.

My darker self obeyed the demon’s commands. 

I was seeing double. The dark vision before me. 

A possessed version of myself finding enjoyment in hunting his prey. 

She wore a fitted short black dress and red heels. Her upper chest depicted some fairytale scene. Her slender arms covered in watercolor inks. 

She wavers on her feet as she speaks in a slurred tone. Red lipstick smeared at the corner of her bow lips. 

That sick grin. Dark and devious in the shadows. 

A predator stalking.

‘He is going to kill the girl’, was my initial thought. 

He follows as she exits the club. Soon she’s his sole focus as she wobbles down the dark alley beside the club. Watching silently as the dark being quickened his pace. Tentacles ripped from the familiar forearms. Sharp as razors. 

Too good to let go. He held her within a tentacled grip. My voice sounded like myself, yet a foreign grate that made me cringe. 

For fucks sake. I feel the long inked arms crawling within my very being.

I see the innocent blonde’s tears streaming down her once rosy cheeks. She was nothing against him as she weakly swipes at him in her inebriated state. Everything going from zero to sixty as the inky arms slash while she fights. 

Everything within her is going dark. Blue eyes once so vibrant with life now stained black, almost reptilian. 

The Greedy Fucker. 

My darker half taking whatever life she had. She had changed, the life flow seemed to diminish away. 

‘Where is your God? He cannot help you escape.’  

A bolt seizes me, body jolting. 

The hidden ground beneath me opens around the blacked-out scene around me. 

A wasteland of souls fighting in an endless underground inky hive-like domain.

I woke days later with the visions sticking clear in my mind this time. 

A night I didn’t want to remember. Unlike the ones that faded as soon as I awoke. 

The horror revealed./

[jadehqknb]

Hi! I just reqested bad boys au with s/o who dies but i forgot about character limit so I would like to cut it out to Kagami Kuroko, Midorima, Akashi and Momoi if GoM+Kagami is too much. Thank you!:)

Hi! I did imagine/reactions and tried to hit as many of your criteria as I could but noteverything made it. I hope you still like what I come up with.

Trigger warning: Mentions of death and violence.

Akashi

He’s away on business when news of your death reaches him.It was an assassination, one bullet to your forehead while you stood on thebalcony of his room. Reo’s crying can be heard on the other end of the line,but Akashi feels numb. He blinks, eyes shifting from one color to two. “Findthem, Reo. Bring them to me unharmed.” It doesn’t take long for the offendersto be caught, brought before the head of the Rakuzan. Akashi sits silent,staring at the scum responsible for the loss of the light of his life.Standing, he picks up a knife, checking its sharpness on the skin of his thumb.“Her death, was quick and painless,” he muses. Turning a murderous glare uponthem he sneers, “Yours will not be.”

Aomine

“You idiot,” Aomine mutters taking a seat upon the groundnext to your headstone. It’s his usual greeting to you now since one stupiddecision, yours, took you away from him. Why did you have to jump in front ofhim when that asshole pulled the gun? He could have taken the hit and kept ongoing but no, his foolish girlfriend just had to be a hero. Sighing, his headlands with a soft thud against the granite, your name pressing into his back.Memories of that rainy night flood his mind, a voice he didn’t recognizescreaming, “The only one who can beat meis me!” It wasn’t until later that he realized it had been own his voice declaringwhat he knew now to be a lie. There was one person who can beat him; you. Afteryour death, he left Too, walked away from it all to live a life of solitude. Withoutyou here, there really wasn’t a point to try anymore.

Midorima

Staring at your empty shell in the hospital bed, ventilatorsgiving the illusion you’re still among the living, Midorima allows one tear totrail down his cheek. “I told you to keep your lucky item with you at alltimes,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you one last time. You look sopeaceful despite the bruises upon your face, ugly reminders of the beating youunderwent that took your last breath. Inhaling one of his own and cursing thegods for their abandonment, Midorima gives the word to pull the plug. As theheart monitor sounds, Takao chokes back a sob, trying to stay strong for hisfriend and comrade. “Let’s go Takao,” Midorima announces after all the machinesare wheeled away, “it’s time to show those who would dare take from me the truemeaning of misfortune.”

Murasakibara

Murasakibara never thought he would reach a point in hislife where he hated food. But now, looking at your face from which all colorand life has been drained, he does. A box of chocolates, a fucking box ofchocolates seemingly sent to you from him and now you’re dead. Because he didn’ttake the threats seriously when he thought them to be directed at his ownperson. He never even considered they’d go after you. And in such anunderhanded and cowardly manner too, using poison instead of facing theirenemies head on. Standing up, Murasakibara’s eyes gleam with fury. “Himuro, getmy hammer. I’m going to crush them.”

Kise

Loud wailing sobs echo in the alley, Kaijo’s golden boy inconsolableas he holds your bleeding form against his body. Your spirit has long sinceleft, skin turning colder and colder as the seconds tick by. Kasamatsu stands rigid,mouth moving but no sound coming out, horrified that you’re dead. The stabbinghad been quick and visceral, your attackers scrambling up the fire escape tothe roof while Kise and Kasamatsu rushed to your aid. When Kise’s cries beginto die down to sniffles, his leader touches him on the shoulder. Kise looks up,eyes red rimmed and blood staining his shirt.

“Can you stand?” .

Looking down at you one last time, Kise caresses yourcheek, choking out, “Sleep well, _____cchi, I’ll…I’ll see you again someday.”He lays you down, grasping Kasamatsu’s hand with one covered in blood. “Comeon, it’s time to return the favor,” he vows, eyes going dark.  

Kuroko

“Kuroko, I…I’m so sorry,” Kiyoshi mumbles. Your body lays onKuroko’s bed, a vicious rope burn evident on your neck. The members of Seirinwho found you hanging couldn’t leave you like that, opting to cut you downbefore calling their leaders. Hyuuga reprimands them in the next room but he’s surprisinglyquiet in doing so, the loss of your life seemingly at your own hands weighingheavily on the makeshift family. Kuroko’s eyes fill with tears looking at you.Were you really so unhappy? Was there anything he could have-

His thoughts cut off when he notices something the othersmissed. Kagami sees the shift in his expression, leaning closer to try to see whathis shadow does. “What is it Kuroko?” he asks drawing the attention of Riko andKiyoshi back to the bed.

Kuroko points to a puncture mark in the side of your neck. “Shedidn’t kill herself, they sedated her then strung her up,” Kuroko announces tothe room as a whole. Everyone looks at him in shock.

“Who did?” asks Izuki.

“I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out,” he repliesstorming out of the room with Kagami in his wake. It doesn’t take long for therest of the gang to follow. They’ll go to hell and back again to send yourkillers to their graves for what they did to you.

Kagami

Promises. Kagami has always been leery of them and for goodreason. Making promises almost always ends with someone being disappointed andnow is no exception. How could he have made that stupid promise so callously? Becausehe never truly believed it would come to pass. Yet now, he here is, on a datewith someone who isn’t you because he made a promise. A foolish promise thatshould anything ever happen to you, he’d move on, that he’d find love again andbe happy because you couldn’t bear the thought of him going through life aloneand miserable. And that he wouldn’t seek revenge because an eye for eye justmakes the whole world go blind.

But he knows, just as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow,that he’s going to break both his promises in one night.

If only he hadn’t run his mouth at that rumble, if only he’dstayed home that night, then at least you’d be dead together, dual victims ofthe drive by orchestrated by Haizaki.

If only, if only, if only.

He stands, offering a half assed apology that he has to goand walks out. He keeps walking until he reaches the gang’s hang out. Hyuugadoesn’t question his early return, merely hands him his gun with a warning tobe careful and not get caught.

Momoi

For all her ability to anticipate her opponent’s moves, evenMomoi can be caught off guard and this time the cost of oversight is too much.Her ears are still ringing from the explosion, her body sore from being thrownviolently by the shock wave of the car bomb. Standing slowly, grit and tarclinging to her skin, she stares in disbelief at the mangled form of her lover’scar, his body completely obliterated. Hysterical, she runs towards the flames,caught at the last second by Aomine who she fights against in desperation. “He’sgone, Satsuki!” shouts the blue hair. She looks in his eyes, shaking her head. Withgentleness unknown to be possible, Aomine touches her cheek and nods. “I’msorry, but he’s gone.” He allows her to collapse in his arms, holding her up.Meeting the eyes of his fellow gang members he hisses, “Nobody sleeps until thefucker who did this is six feet under.”

[notsdlifter]

Addled Roots: Prologue

The Apocalypse Obsession

The apocalypse was a national obsession, you could say. People always talked about the end of the world. Every summer, Hollywood churned out blockbusters about robots pushing mankind to the brink of extinction. For a decade-long stretch, the most popular show on TV had zombie herds wandering across the country like the buffalo used to tromp across the Great Plains. People had fears galore: global warming, rising seas, super flus, super volcanoes, giant meteoroids, toxins in our food, air, and water. Y2K was supposed to signify the collapse. Then it was the end of the Mayan calendar. The sun itself was a massive flare away from frying all the electronics on the planet and sending us back to the Neolithic Age. It was just a matter of time before some flop-haired billionaire pushed us to the brink of nuclear annihilation. The apocalypse was right around the corner and we were all chewing our fingernails off waiting for it to arrive. Oh, those were the good old days. 

If I could go back to 2018, I would be the Apocalypse’s Paul Revere. “People,” I’d warn, “The apocalypse isn’t coming… The apocalypse isn’t coming. IT’S ALREADY HERE!” 

Here is a quick history lesson. The “first beast” of the apocalypse was invented in Japan in 1893 when a chemist used western science to understand ancient Asian medicines. The Nazis gave a synthesized version of it to soldiers during World War II and the drug-crazed Wehrmacht blanketed half of Europe in a furious Blitzkrieg.  The tentacles of the beast spread across America in the 1950s. It started as a simple pick-me-up, a good time booster that beatnik poets used for fuel. Then it was outlawed in the 1970s by the American government relegating it to biker gangs and hardened drug users. By the late 1980s, Americans were making it in their bathtubs and houses were exploding from Ogunquit Maine to the salt flats of California. It shattered rural American communities like Little Boy’s blast flattened Hiroshima. Crystal Methamphetamine, is far and away the most abused drug in the history of the world. 

The Drug Epidemic

In late 2018, while America was deep in the throes of a quarter century old meth epidemic, another drug started to wreak its havoc. A “second beast”—if you will briefly indulge my hyperbole—had legitimate roots, and many got it by prescription and in pill form. It had a handful of names: oxy, roxy, fentanyl, black tar, china, chiva, smack, heroin… call it what you will. All of them were from the same family of opioids. Unlike its bastardized brother meth, opioids reached into all levels of society. It hit housewives just as hard as street users. Unsuspecting patients were prescribed the drug by their trusted family doctor for an injury only to begin the spiral of addiction. People bought it in the mail, off the shadow internet, and had it FedExed to their houses. Pill mills were seemingly in every strip mall in America. Opioids were everywhere, more ubiquitous than the Golden Arches of McDonalds. 

A syndemic is the study of two epidemics and how they interact. Imagine, if you will, two massive epidemics each wielding a crippling outcome of addiction in millions of people. On the one hand, you have the meth scourge, arguably one of the worst in world history.  On the other, you have the opioid crisis that was rumored to be so debilitating both economically and socially that it alone have removed America’s status as a superpower. Now what if both of those epidemics fed off each other and exponentially magnified the negative consequences? What if they were spinning at breakneck speeds in opposite directions in a social particle accelerator and smashed together? New elements are born that have unforeseen consequences. That is a syndemic effect. And that is exactly what happened to the Great U.S. of A. 

The opioid epidemic was sucked into areas that were already ravaged by meth like light hits a black hole. And in the pressure and darkness of those afflictions, something truly malevolent sprung from the track-marked carcasses of dying addicts.  There was an interaction, an unexpected agitator that spun people into a specific mindset. It wasn’t pure rage, not exactly, because there was a calculating aspect even though they moved with reckless abandonment. These addicts awoke from a figuratively dead sleep with the intent to murder. They had—to borrow a word from the legal community—a “depraved heart” and singular purpose. 

“Oh, you poor fuckers,” I’d say, “you should have seen it coming.” 

A Rash of Drug Overdoses

The addicts called it a “goofball.” It was a mixture of meth and heroin heated in a spoon. The high was a combination of the warm bath sedation of heroin and the frantic euphoria of IV meth. A high-low lethal amalgamation that some addicts described as a tearing in half of the soul. Overdoses skyrocketed. There was a public outcry and a flurry of class action lawsuits aimed at the manufacturers, distributors, and the physicians who wrote the scripts. A hundred thousand died in a three-month period. And, in this little bitty town in the middle of nowhere, there were a handful of ODs that didn’t stay dead.  

It all began in a spot between Denver and Saint Louis. I’m not sure if it happened when some hapless local queued up a “goofball” in a dirty spoon and put a match to it. But I do know that it started with a new synthesis of meth. It wasn’t more powerful than the Mexican meth cooked in super labs or more potent than Walter White’s mythical “baby blue.” But this meth, when it was mixed with an opioid and heated, grabbed peoples’ brains and never let them go. It dipped its tentacles deep into the gray matter and molded the perfect soldiers of the apocalypse.

The signs were everywhere. While people were helplessly plugged into their phones and sprouting roots into their couches binge watching Netflix, America was deteriorating like a bad case of meth mouth. The epidemic hit the rural Midwest first. Addicts showed signs of “the shakes.” Oh, dear God the shakes. These addicts were like normal meth fiends: the rotten teeth, the open sores, hallucinations, advanced aging, the insatiable desire to find the next fix… the whole kit and caboodle. But they appeared only at night in rural areas and in massive packs. They looked like your general run-of-the-mill meth heads but they were different. Really different. 

So, yeah, about the “goofballs”—turns out that was an apt nickname. Do you remember Looney Tunes when Bugs drank poison? His eyes bulged out, arms contorted in lighting fast poses. That was the cartoon version isolated to a single subject. The real-life shakes were this twitchy, spastic shuffle that was eerily coordinated across groups of people. They moved as a unit like nocturnal predators. Once the shakes came, they always packed up and hunting for the living, all while burning swaths of homes to the ground. And these things, these fucking drug beasts, could cut and move like NFL slot receivers. They were dead addicts, with only one key difference. They didn’t eat brains or human flesh. Though they were not alive, they were not undead either. They seemed to exist somewhere between the planes of alive and dead in some biological limbo. These “dead addicts” had only one purpose: to head out at night in large, fast moving packs to murder, burn, and infect. The screams and the flames spread across the country like a viral advertisement.

A year into the syndemic, as the shakes exploded across rural America, there were probably only twenty thousand dead addicts. That sounds like a lot, but they were spread out. The government might have handled things. The larger cities immediately put up fence lines, thick walls, and check points. Martial law and the army’s use of nighttime firing lines and shoot-on-sight strategies were effective for a time. Most places could have ridden out the fires and roving killing herds. But there were issues that no one fully understood. 

These dead addicts didn’t drag their feet and listlessly moan while shuffling toward a meal. They moved in predatory packs and tightly controlled formations.  After they hit an area, they rarely returned. And there are other things, too. They sent out small groups to test the strength of a wall or estimate the total firepower of a defensive position. When they strike, they did it with such an awesome display of force. Twenty thousand rapidly-moving, living corpses, all pressed into and over cement barriers while under a barrage of machine gun fire. The dead addicts scratched and bit and bleed in their frantic, flailing way. It was all so militaristic, like they had a general. And they retreated into dark areas to wait out the day hiding in older sewer lines, in abandoned houses, or just buried themselves in the dirt. Only the most fortified places are still standing, but even they will eventually fall.  

The Troubled Children

Right after the outbreak of the shakes, before shit went south, a new wrinkle appeared. Something started happening with the kids. They were always children of a certain age, slightly older than toddlers and not quite teenagers. You know kids in that horribly awkward stage of life? The big elbows, comically skinny legs, and bad hair. Almost always they were grade-schoolers somewhere between second and sixth grade. These kids became susceptible, open to control. There were many stories of grade-schoolers stopping in mid-stride, always with their head tilted slightly and a thousand-yard stare, before engaging in a brief fit of terrorism. Out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, they threw open gates. They went on violent rampages. They broke into weapon stashes and fuel depos with catastrophic results. A minute later, the kids would be sitting, sobbing, completely oblivious to the world. Utterly unaware of their acts. 

City leaders came up with various plans to deal with the children, all of them equally flawed: (1) isolate, (2) segregate, or (3) eliminate. That would have been a fine plan if talking about a rat infestation or coyotes killing calves. But these were kids. You do not fuck with people’s kids. The slightest insinuation that the government was planning to “deal” with the “kid problem” turned soccer moms into suicide bombers. I honestly believe that Martha Stewart would peel the skin off your face with a butter knife if you threatened her children. All hell broke loose, and it never stopped breaking. No place was safe. There was chaos inside the cities. It always seemed like any place was on the verge of collapse. In the countryside, there was a desperate horror. If the killing herds found you—and there were millions of dead addicts tediously searching everything—they would kill you. 

Token-Oak

All this aforementioned shit started in the little town of Token-Oak. My hometown. And I’d like to tell you that no one saw this behemoth coming, that it was some chemistry accident stumbled upon by a bathtub chef who unwittingly created the batch that brought the greatest military in world history to its knees. But there was one person who saw this whole damn thing decades before it started. 

Before the emergency declarations and mobilization of the national guard, she knew. Before the major cities were surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers with check points every thirty miles on major highways, she knew. Before all rural America became uninhabitable and uncrossable, my grandma knew what was coming. She knew it all the way back in the late 1980s, the first time we saw a meth addict in Token-Oak. She saw the fall and, in her own way, prepared me for what was coming. And everyone thought she was crazy. 

God, I should have seen it, too. It was always right in my face grabbing me by the ears throughout my life. As a kid in Token-Oak, the meth crisis had just taken hold with bathtub cooks springing up everywhere. When I moved away as an adolescent, I saw it increase a little more each time I returned to the town. Little pockets of the apocalypse—lab explosions, rampant murder, and disappearances—were all over Token-Oak. And as an adult that got trapped in that pit of hell, I was at ground zero when the syndemic started. I was in the eye of the hurricane, a silent circle as the ferocious winds of the storm tore the country apart. 

I don’t think we will ever make it back, not to normal anyway. Once the world has been saturated with enough blood, it has forever changed. After the whole scale slaughter of the American Indians, a nation of roads and laws and good Christian morality sprang up in their place. But underneath it all—waiting in the shiny new world—there was this bitterness, the cold reality that human beings are capable of the gravest infliction of suffering and pain. And that is why we were all so obsessed with the Apocalypse. Because deep down, we all knew it was coming. Because it had been here many times before. 

But what I know now is that we wanted it to come, too. And the thing that keeps me awake at night is the thought that we needed the apocalypse in many ways. A fresh start. A clean slate. Call it whatever you want, but millions felt that way before the collapse. 

My story is not the most exciting tale of the downfall—hell, you will find any account of the survivors from the shake attack on Chicago more riveting. It’s not the sexiest, it doesn’t have the best intel on the government response, though there is a great deal written in these pages about how to survive a night in America when they come for you. And they always come for you. But my story is the most complete of all the stories. I was a child in Token-Oak during the syndemic’s humble beginnings in the late 1980s. And, in a blind stroke of luck, I was a graduate assistant at the University of Chicago when the government first tested human brains for the shakes. I was the first person, due to my professional training and location, to recognize that there was a problem with certain American kids. And, somehow, I ended up back home on the day the syndemic officially began. I was at ground zero every step of the way. There is not another person alive or dead that can say the same thing. 

I never thought my life would end up like this. Not in a million years did I think a child from Token-Oak would be on the forefront of the apocalypse. There is a good chance that everyone will be dead soon. The spread has done nothing but intensify since the outbreak. Each passing month, another small pocket of resistance, another American city, succumbs to the killing herds. 

If I told you that I don’t know why I am writing this book, I’d be lying. It will probably never be read by another human being. There won’t be awards, no reading circles, it will not be published. And I can tell you that writing these pages at night nearly drowning in sounds of screaming and the gnashing of teeth has not been easy. But I write this nightly for selfish reasons. It keeps me alive, pushes me to fight on, to scrounge food and keep my weapons clean. Because in these pages, buried somewhere in my memory of the downfall, is a secret. Something hidden that I somehow overlooked. And maybe, if I dig deep enough, pull out my memories, I will find something that will beat these ravenous bastards straight back into hell. 

I am going to take you back to the beginning. All the way back to where it started and walk you through everything step by bloody step. I’ll start with the smartest woman—the most simultaneously ruthless and loving woman that ever lived. And even though we never talked about it, she knew. My Grandma knew it was coming and did her best to warn me.  “Oh, you poor fuckers” I’d say riding from city to city, “the APCOLYPSE IS HERE.” 

Robert Warrington, Ph.D.  Token-Oak, Winter of 2026 2556 days after the Syndemic