#that aside I would have liked to hear billy voice the ‘you abandoned me’ line that would have killed me. but that’s just me lol

[puppyeared]

I just skimmed through the art part of your blog and holy bajeebus your LMK art is so beautiful and the headcanon ideas you come up with are so good I wanna steal em-

Kinda wanna see like a part 2 of the little angst you did between MK and Macaque a while ago. It's so interesting and I wanna see Macaque's reaction in your art style. (You don't have to of course, it's just a suggestion [idk if i spelled that right])

Thanks for reading and hope you have a good day/night!

Hope this is to your liking ^^

Part one here

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Devil’s Backbone

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 1

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ 

Warnings: Smut, violence, flashbacks of past sexual assault, descriptions of torture and racial slurs

This story will contain spoilers for FATWS, and a few spoilers about Black Widow. This is not a Tony Stark friendly story.

I hope everyone enjoys the story :)

Pairings: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, Clint/Laura, and Sam/Sharon. Tony/Pepper, (mentioned only).

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a mystery woman, he starts to realize maybe his past isn't too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14

The Novosibirsk HYDRA base had been abandoned for at least a few years, but it had been in use recently. The rooms were vacant of any dust, something that James Buchanan Barnes noticed as he surveyed the building that had once been his former home as the Winter Soldier. He couldn't help but feel a sense of closure. He had insisted that the bodies of the five Winter Soldiers be given a burial. Plenty of the Avengers had backed him up when Tony had refused to do so. Anything that was of use had been taken away as evidence against HYDRA, seeing as they had been rebuilding their empire. Bucky couldn't help but remember Zola's words. "Cut off one head, two more shall take its place," the recording of Zola had said gleefully. Bucky had shot the machine to pieces in case the AI had planned on blowing them up. He was just about to leave when he found a file disregarded in one of the rooms that were used for medical use. It was mostly written in a mixture of Russian, Belarusian and Ukrainian. Before he could really take a look at it, though, a voice called out. "Bucky, you ready to go?" Sam asked quietly. He nodded and put the file in his backpack, before leaving the room. They joined the others, who were also ready to leave, and made their way to the quinjet.

The young woman's dark hazel eyes snapped open as she was awakened from her sleep. She looked around the room wearily, wondering where her handlers were and if they had fled? It had been so long… She couldn't remember for how long she had been, however…but the last thing she recalled was being taken away to have her mind wiped. If that was the case, then it had been 2016. What had happened since then? Suddenly, she heard a quinjet starting up above the base. She needed to board that plane, before HYDRA returned. That was her way out. That had to be. Quickly, she started running up the stairs, shielding her eyes from the blizzard, and shivered slightly. However, not even the cold could stop her from climbing onto this machine somehow. She found a back door hatchet in the quinjet, before climbing inside and locking the hatch. She made her way to the lower deck, before seeing a flash of red hair. Her eyes narrowed as she hid, but flashes of her mind came back to her. She knew that hair colour, but she couldn't remember who had it. Damn it. She sighed, before settling down, and prepared to get to her next destination.

Bucky sighed in relief when they landed at the Avengers Facility, but grimaced at the weather forecast. The news reporter said that it would be the coldest March on record and advised people to stay at home until the storm passed. He intended on going to his apartment, have a much needed warm shower and then watch the baseball game with Steve, Sam and Clint tonight. He was going to spoil Alpine. He loved the white fluffy cat that he'd rescued from the streets. He went downstairs to get his backpack when he noticed that it hadn't been where he had put it. He frowned, looking around and shrugged. It wasn't like there was anything important in there from before, but maybe he had left it at the base? No, that didn't make any sense. He lets out a soft sigh and glances away, turning back towards the facility. "Hey," he hears from before, feeling himself smile as Steve emerged, his brow raised. "What's going on? We got a whole pizza in here for you." Bucky snorts. "I don't need that much food." "Debatable," Steve states, chuckling lightly. "But you, okay? You look like you've seen a ghost?" "Eh…think I'm just seeing things." Bucky nods towards the base. "Come on. I'll take a slice and then we head back. We gotta get shelter before this storm hits." Steve nods, pushing him forward gently. "Now that sounds like a plan."

The young woman waits until everyone was gone and the voices had stopped, and only then did she allow herself to emerge from the cargo section of the quinjet, moving as quickly as possible. Jesus Christ, it was cold here too. Why couldn't they have flown to somewhere warm. She glances up at the giant "A" that sat atop this building, and with a start, she realizes that it was an Avengers base. Out of every damn place she could have flown to… You know what? It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting some form of clothing and getting clean. She quickly heads in, taking quick glances around to make sure no one was there. Strangely, there was no one around. But she had a feeling it was most likely because they were in a meeting of some sorts. Great. That gave her the perfect timing. The young woman moves as fast as she could through the halls, looking around, trying to pinpoint out the one spot that she so desperately wanted. And there, near the end, it was. A door with the label 'shower rooms.' She practically groans in pleasure before racing inside, locking the door behind her so she could be alone. While she would like to enjoy this shower as long as possible, she knew her time was limited. So today, it would only be for the basics. As soon as the water had turned warm, she stripped herself of her clothes and stepped in. She always had a regimen, even something she could remember with her fuddled head. Hair, face, body. Those three steps to get it done as soon as possible. And that was exactly what she did, watching as the dirt and grime began to roll of her body in waves. By the end of the shower, the drain was clogged. But hey, it wasn't her problem. And now she smelt of lilacs, so it was even better. She steps out and grabs a towel, unlocking the door and glancing out. There had to be rooms or something here with clothes of some sort. Maybe something she could change into. She had stolen a backpack from someone – maybe that could work. Quickly now, she runs across the hallways to what seemed to be bedrooms, cursing the ones that were locked and then finally finding a few that were open. As she steps inside, she pillages the drawers, finding some jeans, shirts, pajamas, underwear – the whole nine yards. Yes, this was a goldmine. The next couple of rooms seem to have the same amount of clothing, which she steals from as well. Usually, she was never one to just take people's belongings. That was always her caretaker’s orders. If she put one toe out of line, well…that was that. It was the end. But now, her caretakers weren't here. She could do whatever she wanted. And that meant this. As soon as she had changed into some clothes and stuffed several other pieces in the backpack she took, she grabbed some shoes and put them on, heading towards the hallway once more and then racing out. Thank God that this meeting was going on long enough. When she exited the building, she did see plenty of vehicles, waiting to be used. Maybe she could hot-wire a car of some sorts? But as she walked up to a motorcycle, she feels herself smile. Whoever had driven this left the keys in it. "Dumb fuck," she mutters, before getting on and straddling it as quickly as possible. She gives a mock salute to the base before taking off, leaving this area behind.

"What exactly did you find at the base?" Fury asks, his brow furrowed. "All I see here are some old techs that don't quite work anymore. You said this meeting was for something important." "It is, sir," Sam says. "Bucky found this." He brings over the folder that Bucky had found. "He didn't have the time to read it while in the quinjet, but I did, and what's in there is…real fucked up. I don't know if this is going on anymore but…. just read it." Fury takes the file with interest, putting it under a projector so they all could see what was inside.

The file detailed a program called the Black Widow Ops Program that began in the 1950's. It took orphaned young girls as young as five years old to be trained at the Red Room Academy, which was located in the Maryina Horka Forest in Belarus. "The Red Room has ties to an agency called Leviathan. Leviathan is a Soviet deep science and espionage agency. S.H.I.E.L.D had a run in with one of their operatives - a woman called Dottie Underwood. The Leviathan program was shut down in 1963 but the Red Room was already functioning," Steve explained quietly, his voice grim. Fury flipped through the file, his face turning grave at every turn of the file. Everyone at the table was given a copy. Most of the names were crossed out, having died during missions or from training. Bucky glanced at the names, recognizing a few of them. Polina, Irina, Viktoriya, Zorya, Natasha and Yelena. There was another name, but it had been redacted. "All of the people on this list are dead aside from me, Melina, Yelena and Alexei. We shut down the Red Room once and for all after Taskmaster, along with Lukin, restarted the program in 2016. We destroyed the building, and all the girls were killed or had died," Natasha said firmly, her face giving away nothing. He knew better though. She and Yelena were hiding something. "How can you be so sure, Romanoff?" Tony asked snidely, glaring over at her from where he sat next to Bruce and Rhodey. He had been acting like an ass since the Decimation had been reversed. "Because we killed all of them, Stark. They were too dangerous to be allowed to live. Something that the Soldat would know," Yelena answered coldly, her brown eyes flicking briefly towards Bucky. "Don't you dare bring her up, Yelena! You don't have the right to mention her and neither do you Natalia!" Bucky said dangerously. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the room. Steve gave Yelena a look of disappointment while Sam ignored her, and both went to check on Bucky. Wanda followed shortly after, with Billy Russo and Grant Ward leaving as well. "We'll continue this meeting in the morning, everyone. Next time, Yelena, I suggest keeping your mouth shut," Fury said warningly, before leaving with his leather coat billowing behind him as he walked out the door. Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Tony, Kate and Yelena were the only ones left in the conference room. An uncomfortable silence hung over them. Clint was the first to say what Bruce and Kate were thinking. "Did you really have to bring up Bucky's past, Yelena? For Christ's sake, he's been through enough. I get that you're mad at him for beating Alexei, but it's not his fault that Alexei got sent to prison!" Clint said angrily, before leaving. Kate left with him. Bruce shook his head. He liked Bucky and didn't understand why Natasha and Yelena harbored so much distrust towards him. Tony hated the man and refused to let him stay at the facility.

Bucky had gone to the garage to get his bike. He just wanted to get away from this place. He knew he wasn't welcome at the compound, but neither was Steve, Sam, Clint, or Wanda for still agreeing with Steve on the accords to an extent. No matter how hard he tried, people were still afraid of him. Some even said on Twitter that Tony should have killed him in Siberia when his arm had been blown off. He sighed heavily, before starting up the engine and drove out of the garage, making his way home. It doesn't take long, thankfully, since they were so close to the city. He parked outside his apartment, heading up the stairs before opening the door and being greeted by Alpine. The fluffy white cat purred at seeing him. He crouched down to stroke him tenderly behind the ear. The cat purred loudly before he locked the door and went to wash his bowl. After finishing that, he gave Alpine fresh water and fresh food and biscuits. He smiled as he watched Alpine eat happily, before turning on the TV and started cooking dinner. "You don't deserve to be an Avenger, you murderer!" Tony had snarled at him when Fury announced Bucky was being added to the team. All he could did now was prove all of them that he did deserve to be an Avenger. It was all he could do. He made sure to text Sam and Stave that he was alright. He didn't want to burden Steve and Sam, or Clint and Wanda. They were good to him, along with Yori and Leah, even though Yori knew it was him that had killed his son.

Anastasia had dumped the bike at the nearest garage before going to a long-abandoned HYDRA safe house in the Upper West Side. She checked to see if anyone had been there lately, but luckily, no one had ever checked the place out. She took off the black leather jacket before checking the office and logged into the computer. She typed in the password, relieved when it was correct and was greeted with a very large amount of money. "You were a bastard, Pierce. I fucking hated you, but at least you didn't lose the money after all this time," she remarked coldly, before deciding to make her way to Madripoor, converting the money to cash just as quickly through the machine. It was probably the safest place for her, considering that the Avengers would soon find out that the HYDRA safe house had been slept in and the money was gone. She counted the notes carefully, stunned that she had over 4.29 million dollars in cash. She intended on donating some of the money though to a few charities that she genuinely liked. The Red Room and HYDRA had always hated how she was still soft despite the brutal training they put her through. Not to mention the days of starvation and having broken bones from sparring sessions.

Natasha had gone to her room to have a shower and get changed into more comfortable clothing, only to realize that some of her clothes were missing. Namely one of her black leather jackets was missing along with a pair of her size seven black combat boots. Did Yelena or Wanda take her clothes? Her brow furrows before she moves outside. "Wanda?" She calls out as she sees the Avenger pass her. She looks up as she does. "Did you take any of my clothes?" Wanda's brow furrows before she shakes her head. "No, not at all. Is your stuff missing?" "Stuff from me is missing too," Yelena says, emerging from her room. "Couple of my shirts." "Huh," Natasha mutters before turning to Wanda. "Sorry for bothering you. Think we might have just misplaced stuff." Wanda smiles a bit. "We all do that sometimes." She waves bye to her as she heads back towards her room, but as soon as she had moved around the other side of the hallway, Natasha pulls Yelena into her room, before closing the door behind her. Instantly, Yelena's eyes turn to her. "What's going on?" "You and I both know what I'm thinking," she says lowly. "Why do we think that our clothes are missing?" "Could just be some kid who broke in." "Come on, some kid can't break into an Avenger's base," Natasha chastises. "Barely anyone knows where this place is unless told…it had to be someone who had tailed us back all the way from…you know where." Yelena's eyes widen a bit. "You don't think-" "We didn't see anyone there but…but what if? There might have been someone who has escaped the HYDRA base when we left and is now just…roaming around New York City. How else would our clothes be missing? They must have stolen them to get clean and then taken off." Yelena bites her lip and then nods her head slowly. "It does make sense." "Fury," she says quietly, bringing Yelena's attention back to her. "There are hidden cameras in the hallways. We could ask him for security access to see who it was." "Fury isn't really in my good graces right now," Yelena mutters.

"It doesn't matter. If the safety of our organization is at stake, he will let you go through his cameras. He'll go down for SHIELD, you know this." She glances towards the door. "We need to try and take care of this. As soon as possible." Yelena nods, sighing. "I know…I know."

She had to admit that New York City was nice. It had been years since she had been to this place, only with the intention of missions, and even then, she could hardly remember what it was like. But with the money she did have now, she might as well buy a few things before she was on her way to Madripoor. As she walks into a tiny coffee shop that seemed to be below an apartment building, she asks quietly for a cup of coffee black and two cookies – might as well get some good stuff in her prior to a long flight. "What's the name?" The barista asks politely. For a moment, she froze. Her name brought back so many painful memories. So many that she wanted to forget. She hated even thinking of her time in that spiteful, horrible prison. So, she makes a change, right here and now. "Ana," she says softly. "It's Ana." The barista nods, writing her name down on a cup. There, a refreshing new start. She was no longer Anastasia. She was Ana. Fair and square, no ifs ands or buts. She wasn't going to be HYDRA's puppet anymore…even if her memory wasn't the same. She moves to take a seat over in the corner, waiting patiently for her food and drink to be done. In the meantime, she saw someone else come in, a man that looked to be slightly older than her but not by much. He had a jacket and gloves covering his hands. She had to admit he was quite handsome, but the last thing on her mind was to get infatuated with a random stranger. Quietly, she listens to his order, what seemed to be a sweeter coffee with a cookie as well, but then he reaches into his wallet and is unable to produce the money for the second item. He sighs and only pays for the coffee, going to sit down. She glances over at him as she hears her name called. "Ana!" Quickly she gets up, grabbing her hot coffee before looking over at the man, quietly glancing down at his phone. If she wanted to start new, she'd start new. She heads over to where he sits, and he looks up at her in surprise. "I…know you don't know me, but I overheard you and-I'm not good with this, just here." Ana gently lowers the cookie onto the table, and a kind smile comes over his lips before he looks up at her. "You didn't have to do that." Ana shrugs lightly. "I heard about the storm that's going to be happening soon…we all gotta look out for each other, right?" She asks. He chuckles a bit and nods. "Indeed, we do…wish others saw it that way." He looks back up at her, his brow furrowed. She tilts her head. "I'm sorry, you…you just look familiar." "Strange…quite sure I've never met you," she chuckles a bit, rubbing the back of her head. "I must sound so weird," he states, shaking his head. "It's okay," she responds lightly, but she had to admit inwardly the stranger did have a nice smile. A part of her wanted to sit down and talk with him more but she knew she had a flight to catch. "But enjoy the cookie, stranger. I have to get out of here. Stay warm." He offers another smile to her. "You too." Ana smiles at him before heading out the door, holding onto her bag tightly and her coffee in the other hand. For a second, she pauses, glancing back at the coffee shop. Strange…he felt familiar too. But that was impossible. The only person she ever knew was long gone…or at least she thought he was. Maybe she was just crazy. Yeah, she was crazy. Ana shakes her head and quickly heads back towards the street, whistling out for a cab. It was time she got out of this town.

"It's nine at night," Wanda mutters, angrily coming into the briefing room with the other Avengers. "What is it that you all could need at this hour? We're supposed to be resting for the upcoming mission." Fury sighs as everyone takes a seat. "We got a big problem – wait, where's Barnes?" "Who cares?" Tony mutters. Steve glares at him before sighing at Fury. "Bucky went home after the incident this afternoon." "Goddammit – get his ass back here. We can start then. And Yelena – keep your mouth shut!" Yelena rolls her eyes but nods, crossing her arms against her chest. Steve grabs his phone, quickly making the call to Bucky. And hopefully, he wouldn't face the wrath of the Winter Soldier when he returned back here. Thankfully, the snow hadn't started yet but soon enough they'd be snowed in.

"Really?" Bucky asks as he comes in, his brow furrowed. "I literally just settled down to relax." "Sit your whiny ass down," Fury states, gesturing to the spot next to Steve, which he does. "Now that everyone is here, I didn't want to wake you all up or bring you in for nothing. We've had an issue here at the compound. Something that all of you need to be aware of." At that moment, he pulls up what seems to be security came footage, and there in the hallways was a girl.

tag list: @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @sapphirescrolls , @americasass81�� @marvelfansworld , @connie326 , @joannaliceevans-fanficblog , @queenoftheunderdark @navybrat817 and @threeminutesoflife , @lex-the-flex, @world-of-aus, @avintagekiss24 and @the-soulofdevil, @gogolucky13 and @kenzieam and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​

[mrsalwayswrite]

It’s Always Been You (Eugene Roe x f!Reader)

I have mixed feelings about this piece. But who doesn’t love Soft Roe?

Warnings: couple swear words but PURE FLUFFY FLUFF

Words: 2700

Tag List: @happyveday​ @saritanotserena​ @sydney-m​ @evelynshelby​

  I stood in front of the mirror, unable to believe the person looking back was actually me. I brushed my hands down the front of the gown, enjoying its smooth, silky texture. Such a contrast to the stiff, dirty ODs I had become accustomed to. Light makeup on my face, something I had not indulged in for years. I looked… dare I say… beautiful. Even as I witnessed myself dress up in the mirror, I doubted my own reflection. It felt like I was someone else. Today, though, that was what I wanted.  

 It was a Sunday and everyone was still celebrating being in Zell Am See. We had thought Germany was beautiful but it had nothing on Austria.

 In his pilfering, Captain Speirs had found an abandoned, wealthy home that he thought I might enjoy. He purposefully pulled me aside and told me to investigate the master bedroom before anyone else got to it. At my questioning look, he just gave a wink and said he would stand guard until I was done. Without another word, he lit a cigarette and rummaged through his newest acquisitions. 

 Intrigued and still confused, since everyone knew I did not care much about finding treasures, I wandered into the home and up the grand stairwell until I finally reached the master bedroom. My jaw dropped when I saw what he was referring to and purposefully left for me. I owed him a huge bottle of liquor after this. Whoever the wife was that lived here had expensive taste. There were racks of beautiful gowns and dresses, ranging from whimsical day dresses to breath-taking evening gowns. I spent about an hour just touching all the beautiful gowns, in awe that clothing like this was even real. Even the heels and few pieces of jewelry left behind boggled my mind in their quality. It was a fairytale. It had to be.  

 So, I had decided while all the men were continuing to get drunk, blow things up and joy ride…. I was going to embrace my femininity. Something I had not enjoyed since Albourne, so long ago. 

 Now here I stood, having spent entirely too long getting ready for some kind of elegant ball. The gown I commandeered was an emerald green color, making me feel like I was wearing a gemstone, with wide straps but left my arms bare and dipped low in the back. The red lipstick I found made my lips pop in the bright light of the bathroom. My favorite thing was the small gold chain necklace I discovered half hiding under a dresser, as if dropped and forgotten by whoever was leaving quickly. I wondered if in another life this could have been me regularly, attending socialite functions and dressing up like a princess. Instead I was used to dirt and blood marring my skin, ill-fitting ODs and a helmet that constantly slipped over my eyes. 

 For this moment, just for tonight… I could pretend otherwise. Pretend I was someone important, someone elegant. 

 When I finally stepped out of the wealthy house, Speirs took one look at the gown draped over my arm and the pair of black heels dangling from my hand, and suggested I use the officer's house to get ready in. 

 Taking a deep breath, I took one last look at myself in the mirror. If only my family could see me now, I thought. I slipped on the heels and walked out of the bathroom, the gown trailing lightly behind me. 

 Tonight was about me. Doing something special for me. To remind myself I was more than just a soldier, more than the scars I now bore from our time in combat. That I had not completely lost myself to war and its carnage. Beauty could still be found in the little things...the stolen moments. Like a stunning gown and red lipstick. 

 I could hear the officers downstairs, talking about something, followed by a sharp bark of laughter from Nixon. Before I disappeared into the upstairs bathroom, I had told them I was going to watch the sunset by the lake and if I came back after dark to not worry about me. 

 Being extra careful in the gown, I descended the stairs. One foot at a time. One nervous breath at a time. Beyond aware of how different I looked. 

 As I stepped into view of those lounging around, most playing poker at a table in the middle of the room, silence struck. I could feel their eyes land heavily on me. 

 "Holy shit." Nixon said, mouth dropped open. 

 I stepped down the last two steps, brushing down my gown to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles. I tried to tease, their amazed looks making me uncomfortable. "I swear, it's like you guys have forgotten I am in fact a woman."

 "Uh huh. Can't forget that right now." Nixon took a sip of his drink in hand. 

 Harry asked, a smirk on his face as tapped his cards against the table. "Where you going dressed like that?"

 "Going to watch the sunset." I reminded them. 

 "Dressed like that?!" Nixon sputtered then narrowed his eyes at me. "Looks like you're planning on meeting someone."

 "Does a woman have to dress up only for a man?" Before anyone could answer, I pointed a finger at the officers. "The correct answer is no. I can dress up for myself. I'll be back in a while." 

 "Y/n?"

 I looked at Winters, surprised to see him sitting in an armchair near the fireplace reading while the other officers were playing cards. "Sir?"

 "You look beautiful."

 "Thank you, sir." I smiled at Winters, receiving a soft one in return.

 "You got a weapon on you?" Speirs asked around a cigarette between his lips. 

 "Maybe." 

 He froze, then slowly pulled the cigarette out and started to rise from his seat. 

 "Christ! Yes! I've got my knife! Anything else, dad, or can I go now?"

 "Be smart, don't stay out too late or talk to any boys." He deadpanned, shuffling the cards in his hand. The gleam in his eyes let me know he was just teasing, but would also have no qualms stabbing anyone who bothered me. 

 Amidst the others chuckling, I groaned. "I'm leaving now."

 Quickly, I walked out before anyone could try and convince me to stay or worse- go change. 

 Thankfully, even in the fading daylight, the air was still somewhat warm where I did not need a shawl. I could hear some faint cheers from the enlisted men but I slipped behind the rows of houses and headed down the lakeside path. I walked towards my favorite spot overlooking the lake. Colors danced upon the water, making it appear as if on fire. A few ambitious stars peeked out from above in the sky painted by angels. Never before would I have imagined finding myself somewhere so absolutely gorgeous. If heaven was real, I hoped it looked like Austria. 

 Standing there, I found myself humming and gently swaying to a Billie Holiday song. My arms wrapped around myself loosely, I tried to soak in everything. I wanted to remember this moment forever, to create new memories to replace the bad ones. The nightmares. 

 "Blue moon you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own…"

 "Y/n?"

 I turned to look over my shoulder, not expecting anyone else around. The voice was a dead giveaway but I was shocked our Cajun medic was down this way. "Hey, Gene."

 He stood several paces from me; his medic satchel, that he never went anywhere without, hanging off his side. He stared at me for a long moment, eyes dancing over me in a way that made me self-conscious of how much skin showed. Suddenly, he blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream. "What…" he cleared his throat, "what are you doin' here?"

 "Watching the sunset." I glanced over my shoulder at the lake then looked back at him. 

 "Mmm...dressed like you should be in the pictures?"

 I laughed, even as I felt my face warming. I ran my hands over the gown, still in awe that I was wearing something so expensive. For the most part of the past 4 years, I had been caked in grime and sweat; even though my skin was clean now, I felt too dirty to wear something so fine. 

 "I've never worn anything like this. I just...wanted to do something...for myself."

 "Mmm… well, I'll leave you be. Goodnight." With a single nod, he hesitated then turned around, beginning to walk up the path back to the houses. 

 "You know…" I said loudly, watching his feet still as he turned back around to look at me. "It would be a shame to be dressed up and not able to dance."

 He ducked his head slightly, a bashful smile on his face. I could see the uncertainty on his face. The desire to dance, to hold me close but also the concern for crossing that unspoken line separating us. For two years we had been tiptoeing around our growing feelings. Both aware but never acknowledging. It was in the secret looks, the subtle soft touches, the constant desire to seek one another out amongst a crowd, the solace our presence created when together. The knowledge hung there between us, with one slip we would both fall headlong over that cliff. So we kept back, together as friends but separate as lovers, even if we could read the desire in one another's eyes. It was safer this way. 

 Until now. 

 Without a word, he slowly approached me, as if waiting for me to change my mind, to tell him no, to maintain our status quo. My lips only turned up in a smile as he drew closer, encouraging him, telling him I wanted this. He dropped his satchel carefully on the ground. Our eyes locked, both aware of how this moment could change everything we had built. Carefully, he reached forward and clasped my hand, pulling me into his body. My lips parted on a quiet gasp, feeling his warm breath span across my face, his hand holding mine… and for once, neither one of us was covered in the blood of a fellow paratrooper. I lifted my hand to his shoulder, the muscles tensing underneath my palm. When he made no further movement, I grabbed his other hand and placed it on my waist. For a moment I thought he would reject this, to walk away as he seemed to stay frozen. Then with the softest whisper of my name, as if that was the key to unlock this moment, he pulled me even closer and took the lead. 

 In the stolen evening gown I found and Gene in his ODs, we danced. Like there was no war to haunt us. No rules against fraternizing. No fear of the future that lay before us. It was just him and I, in this moment of beauty and joy and life. We danced. He led me in a simple box step. Our pounding heartbeats, the fluttering of my gown and the soothing sound of the lake lapping on its shore, the only soundtrack we needed. 

 "You are beautiful."

 My face heated up at the compliment. "It's the dress and lipstick."

 "Non, mon chérie." He drawled in that perfect accent and tipped my face back to meet his soft gaze. "It's you. It's always been you."

 I stared into his soulful eyes, a new burning in them. Where once it had only been a candle trying desperately to beat back the darkness; now a bonfire replaced it. Something darkness knew it could never defeat. This man who held me so tenderly, like I was some kind of priceless gem, who had seen the brutality and horrors of war but still kept going, still trying his hardest to save his men even when others would have given up. He was beautiful, both inside and out. 

 "You need to stop lookin' at me like." He whispered; eyes glued to mine. 

 It was when he spoke, I realized we were no longer dancing. When had we stopped? Our bodies were still pressed together, our fingers now entwined but our feet rooted to the path. The air between us felt anything but still. An ardent intensity hovered between us, binding us to the moment, preventing us from escaping it. The sounds around us disappeared. All I could see, all I could feel and sense and taste… was him. 

 "Why?" I asked, my voice breathy. 

 "I might be tempted to mess up your lipstick."

 A nervous giggle escaped me. Instead of dispelling the profound moment, it only seemed to enhance it. With deliberate slowness, I moved my hand on his shoulder to the back of his neck. "I wouldn't mind."

 His hand moved to cup my cheek, holding me still as he leaned in. His lips ghosted over mine, the sweetest of sensations. It sent sparks shooting through me. After he leaned back just out of lips reach. Our eyes met once again, our breathing quickening even from the faint touch. As if our bodies were synced, I rose up at the same time he leaned forward. This time when our lips met, it was with a kiss long overdue. Our lips molded to one another, basking in the taste of the other. Both my hands slipped to the nape of his neck. His hand on my cheek drifted to the back of my head, keeping me from moving away. His other hand slid to my lower back, drawing me closer… and closer.

 The kiss deepened, pulling long dormant feelings from both of us, now finally exposed without reprimand. In the midst, his hand snaked up my side to brush a thumb over the underside of my breast. At the sensation, I gasped in the kiss, surprised by his forwardness. Surprised by the pure wanton need it shot through me. As my lips parted in the gasp, his tongue thrust into my mouth like he owned it. As if he needed more of my taste. Needed more of me. As if a simple kiss would never be enough. Not to him. He quickly drew my own tongue in a dance that soon left my knees weak and wobbling. I found myself clinging to him, not just in desire, but also to keep me upright, else I melted into a puddle of sheer bliss. 

 All too soon, we were forced apart by our lungs screaming for air. He pressed his forehead to mind, his hand still skimming my side from my hip to the underside of my breast and back down. 

 "It’s you. It’s always been you." He whispered as if finally able to confide his deepest secret. The words spilling forth like water out of cracks in a dam, held back for too long. "Since I first talked to you in Toccoa about tryin' to sneak a laxative into Sobel's coffee. And in Bastogne… you were always there for me. Checkin' on me. Makin' sure I knew I wasn't alone. But we're in a goddamn war and I couldn't say nothin'. Seein' you standin' out here, lookin' like an angel, I just...I had to…"

 I pressed a finger to those kiss-swollen lips of his, silencing the onslaught of secrets. "Gene, I'm going to need you to stop talking and kiss me again."

 He smirked, nuzzling my neck for a second. When he spoke, I could feel his hot breath and lips against my skin. "Yes, ma'am."

 This time there was no hesitation, no wavering in dilemma. Our lips touched and it felt like it was meant to be. No great fireworks in the night sky, no great orchestra announcing our love. It felt more like two puzzles pieces finally fitting together. Like the sun peeking through on a cloudy day. It was perfect. 

 When we broke apart again, I felt delirious with joy and the look on his face said something similar. I laid my head on his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist. Bodies pressed against one another, molded together like clay. Without a word, we began swaying. The soundtrack of our shared heartbeats and the lake's waves drowning out anything else. 

 Nothing in the world had changed. We were still paratroopers occupying Austria. Men were still dying. The war was still going strong in the Pacific. Evil endured. 

 But in this moment, in our own little world. 

 Everything changed. 

[kindkindling]

better me than you

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles

pairing: mason/nb detective (billie vale)

rating: T?

warnings: some description of a knife wound, but it's not super gory.

word count: ~1.8k

summary: Billie takes a blow meant for Mason. He isn't keen on it.

ao3

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

Mason is busy with three other Trappers, his back turned; even if he can hear the one coming up behind him, he can't do anything about it without leaving himself wide open. Dammit, Billie has to do something, think —

The Trapper turns the knife in her hand, and as the light glints off the blade, they see the ominous shine of a deep red liquid coating it.

DMB.

No time, then.

They move with a speed they wouldn't have thought themself capable of, abandoning their own fight as they lunge for the assailant. She doesn't seem to expect them to change direction so quickly, her eyes wide as they crash into her and send them both tumbling. Her head hits the floor with a heavy thud just as Billie lands on their elbow the wrong way. Groaning, they quickly roll to pin her down with one arm while reaching for their stun gun with the other; but the Trapper recovers faster, and just before she's zapped, they see her arm jab out towards their midsection.

They only have a split second to consider how, oddly enough, being stabbed doesn't seem to feel like much at all — they know they saw the knife go in their abdomen, a bit off-center, but there's no pain? To be fair, this is the first time they've been stabbed, maybe that's normal — before their stun gun reaches its target. The Trapper seizes as the volts course through her body, and as her arm spasms, her hand unconsciously grips the blade tighter and forcefully rips it through Billie's side, tearing through their flesh in a jagged, bloody line.

That hurts much, much more.

The woman collapses, unconscious but no worse for wear, while Billie grits their teeth as they rise to their feet, one hand immediately applying pressure to try to stem the bleeding as best they can. The damn knife finally seems to have fallen from her hand, laying just next to her still body, and they clumsily maneuver it with their foot to hide it underneath her. No need to tempt any other assholes into thinking it somehow might still have enough DMB on it to be effective against a vampire.

At that thought, they look to check on Mason, and they're dumbstruck.

He's like a force of nature. Any restraint he had been showing earlier in the fight has been thrown aside; his face is twisted in a snarl as he kicks one Trapper in the knee, and when they fall to the ground, he brings his own knee up to crack into their jaw, and Billie thinks they can hear something break. Mason turns immediately, grabbing another by the shirt and throwing the man into the brick wall with such force that Billie has to wince; yes, there are definitely broken bones.

They take a step towards him — to help him, or stop him, they don't know — but either way, their legs seem to have decided they don't want to work anymore. They stumble and just barely make their way to the wall, their breath coming shorter and shorter with each attempt at a small, trembling step, before colliding against it and sliding to the floor with a groan.

They try to keep an eye on Mason, but their vision is getting blurry. It's a shame, it's always nice watching him. Even just walking from one room to another, he always moves with such a languid kind of purpose. It's mesmerizing. Not that they would ever tell him that. Or maybe they should? Is that the kind of thing you can tell someone you're having casual relations with? Hm.

Fuzzy as their sight is, they can still see that when Mason finishes up with the Trappers, he doesn't hesitate to turn towards them. In a flash, he's crouching next to them, and they can finally see his face properly; his eyes are wild — scanning their face with a kind of terror they think they've never seen before, his lips pressed so tightly that they've lost all color, and that was a shame, too, he really had a very nice mouth, one more thing they maybe should tell him? — locking on to where their hand is still doing what it can to keep their blood where it's supposed to be.

"Fuck," he whispers.

They take a breath to say something, to reassure him, but it doesn't come as deeply as it should and brings on another wave of pain and nausea, so they settle for a quiet hum instead.

"What the hell were you thinking, sweetheart?" He's still quiet, and his hands are hovering over theirs, like he's unsure if his touch will make it worse, somehow. What an idiot, the thought comes, unbidden. There's never been a time his touch has hurt them. "You trying to get yourself killed?"

"She was... coming at you," Billie gasps, adjusting their hands over the wound. They can't bring themself to look at it, but they can feel that the gash tearing their side open is long and blood-sticky, now, and it hurts - the adrenaline is cooling off, and with its absence, the pain is free to fully take its place, bringing with it a spinning dizziness and stars behind their eyelids. "DMB on the knife. No time to think."

He scoffs, even as he gently moves their hands to examine the wound for himself. "So what, your best plan was to get your own ass kicked first?" Whatever he sees, he doesn't like; his face twitches like he's going to snarl but thinks better of it, and he places their hands back over the cut and holds them firmly in place.

It's hard to answer when they can't take a full breath. Each time they try, they just get a new bout of pain shooting through their body. Still, it's Mason. They have to try. "Better me... than you."

Mason makes a face at that, and... it's not a face Billie has seen him make before. It's angry, for sure, but it's not like his 'Felix just slammed on the car horn as Mason walked by' face, which is admittedly an extremely murderous variation on the standard. It's a face that belies a truly deep, intrinsic kind of fury, a response to something that has offended some core tenet of his being, but... they don't understand where it's coming from.

He looks like he's going to say something, opens his mouth to do it, but the only thing that comes out is a low, rumbling growl. His hands, still covering their own, are trembling, and they can't tell why; they don't understand and it's maddening, but their mind is too foggy, their thoughts getting lost as they travel between synapses.

The little pressure they're able to put on the wound isn't doing much to staunch the flow of blood escaping between their fingers with every breath, and they let their head hit the wall behind them in frustration. "Mason, I can't - I need to... stop the bleeding."

They don't see him, their eyes squeezed shut as they are, but they finally hear his voice again, low and close.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Wish I knew," they chuckle humorlessly. A fresh round of pain bursts from the wound, and they clench their teeth to try to reign in the scream that threatens to tear out their throat, almost doubling over from the sheer force of it. It's blinding, sending a searing heat through every nerve ending, and they're unsure through the haze clouding their mind how they manage to stay upright - but when they finally come back to, they're leaning against Mason's chest, that heady scent of sandalwood enveloping them as his arm wraps around their shoulders, pulling them in close.

Sandalwood, but no smoke, they think, the words moving like syrup through their head. Odd, that they almost miss the smell of tobacco now.

They can feel vibrations reverberating through Mason's chest as he says something to... someone? Hopefully it isn't them; they can't make out the words. But he sounds upset, frantic? It's so damn hard to think when they're so sleepy. Mason is pulling away, now, and that's not good, he was so warm, but he's lowering them to the floor, and they can see his shoulder holding his phone to his ear, a tinny little voice coming through it, and he looks so focused on whatever they're saying -

- and another burst of pain courses through them as Mason presses his hands harder against the wound, breaking through their drowsiness and ripping another scream from them. He's speaking again, now, and they can make out some of it, just barely, underneath their own cries and whimpers filling the air.

"— No, it's only been a few —" "— I don't know, fuck, I can't take my hands off to check —" "— I've got you, sweetheart, I'm right here —" "— eyes open, Billie, come on, not much longer, fuck, they've gotta be here soon —"

They do their best to keep their eyes open, and they don't know how well they succeed at that, given the rising panic in Mason's voice, but eventually they can see someone else's face next to his, a stranger, and Mason leaves their field of vision, damn shame, but they can feel his hand wrapped around theirs, and it stays there even as the stranger moves them, and it stays as their eyes fall closed, and it stays as they drift off to sleep.

—————

When they come to, Mason is there.

He's laying halfway over the hospital bed from his chair, his head buried in his arms, one hand over their wrist, thumb slowly moving back and forth over the pale skin; he can feel when their pulse picks up, announcing that they're awake long before they even open their eyes, but he keeps his head down.

He can't look at them.

If he looks at them, everything he felt will come rushing back.

The fear that spiked when he could smell their blood spilling onto the floor.

The anger and terror that he had turned back on the Trappers he fought, tearing through them as quickly as possible to get to their side.

The horror at seeing just how badly they were hurt, the blood seeping out from under his hands, and not knowing how to fix it, if he even could.

The cold fury at hearing them say, "Better me than you."

It was too much. It had made his breath stop and his hands shake, something taking hold of his heart and gripping tight, putting such constraint on his chest that he couldn't speak, the words strangled in his throat as they tried to escape.

If he looked at them, it would all come back. So he doesn't.

He keeps his head down, and he holds on to them, and the only thing he lets himself feel is the immense relief that they're alive.

[catharrington]

1. Cream in my coffee

2. Honey in my tea

3. Rum in my cola:

Steve’s not in the best of shape to hit a party the next night, less than 20 hours from his walk of shame and he’s sporting bruises on his wrists and a migraine— but he’s a high school senior. Even if fallen from grace, has to keep face. Even if the only thing he’s had over the entire day was a couple cups of tea with way too much sugar dissolved inside the mug.

Steve knew if he drank on an empty stomach it wouldn’t take long to get drunk, and a part of him is counting on it.

The stainless steel kettle is still out on his stove top. The lights leading to his kitchen are all still flipped on. He doesn’t want to touch anything. Doesn’t want to disturb the cloud of cigarette smoke and bad boy attitude Billy left lingering when he came and went. Steve doesn’t touch anything for those 20 hours because it will feel too much like he’s trying to hold Billy’s hand.

Instead, he stayed in his room, washing his skin until it rubbed red and then washing it again. Running his fingers through his hair to work his organic, name brand product in fresh. No more somber burnt coffee feelings of itchy bed sheets on his skin.

Steve comes out of his bathroom with a towel tied low on his hips. He traces his hands over the back of his desk chair where he laid out Billy’s jacket. He didn’t ask to keep it, also didn’t offer to give it back. Just kept it.

That night, when he decides he is going to keep face and show up at the graduating class’ senior year bash, he reaches for the jacket again to slip it on. It goes on much easier than in the Camaro where he gingerly grazed it over open wounds. Now the marks on his wrists are sore purple and black, and less burning red, but he’s happy to have the longer sleeves to pull down. To cover up.

He backs his expensive BMW out his driveway, he flipped all the lights off so his house looks decrepit, abandoned, as he pulls away.

Tina’s house is big, not as big as his, but big enough to come to a party and go unnoticed if you tried hard enough. Steve’s plan was to swim in, drink some beer and mix it with harder liquior to get him drunk faster, say a few short quips to make someone anyone laugh, then leave where he came. Maybe stumble home and find a sickly grey, dripping blood from the knife edges of teeth it calls a mouth, demogorgon he can sink his boiling anger into.

But now, he felt along the floral wallpaper as he made his way to Tina’s kitchen. He gets there and wraps his hands around the bottle of a chilled beer right from the fridge when the remote control hits pause.

“Thought I might find you here,” a voice dribbles down the back of his neck like burning alcohol. “I’m happy you got home safe, Steve.”

The long sleeve shirt Steve picked for the night feels too high up on the collar for him now. Feels choking and painful as he hears that voice again. The voice that was disappointed, not mad, even when Steve wanted to fight.

“You gonna look at me?” The man asks. An uppity tone to his voice. Makes Steve whip around his head to level him with a glare. The bruises on his wrists move with how hard he’s gripping the neck of his beer bottle. If it was any weaker, if he was any stronger, he could shatter it in his hands.

“What’s to look at?” Steve says quiet. They’re mostly alone in the kitchen. But the fluorescent lights are much brighter than any light that should shine down on their relationship. “I told you yesterday, I’m finished.”

The guy sighs out, stirs his mixed drink he’s nursing before he pushes it towards Steve down the counter. Steve doesn’t touch it, doesn’t even think of touching it. If the little gesture has done anything, it’s been to make his teeth grind down.

“You’re really gonna throw this away,” the man says smoothly, scooting close as his drink.

“Yeah,” Steve flicks dark brown eyes from the drink to the man’s face, “I guess I’m just not cut out for what you want.”

“You don’t know that until you try. Experiment-.”

“We tried plenty, decided I didn’t like most of it,” and Steve’s vision doesn’t waver even if his voice slightly does, “decided I didn’t like you.”

The guy swallows thickly. Takes his plastic cup and takes a swig long and loud. He’s obnoxious in the way he gulps it down, licks his lips to chase the dark liquid from the corners of his mouth, and leans in close enough so Steve can smell the mix on his lips. Rum and cola, the easiest fucking thing. The cheapest fucking thing. He’s had it at lots of parties, now he just feels sick about it.

“Back off me, man,” Steve whispers.

“Don’t be scared,” he slurs, reaching one hand that isn’t swirling his foul smelling drink and uses it to cup over Steve’s arm. Slides his big hand down around his wrist, squeezes denim into bruises, drawls out a hiss Steve doesn’t have time to muffle. Squeezed again when he figures it out.

Steve yanks out the hold quickly, pulling his arm back to his stomach to protect it, the other one pushing his beer bottle between them as if that’ll protect him. Maybe he will smash it over this guys head. Maybe he’ll smash it over the counter and use the sharped neck to carve away the mold growing over this guys skin.

That would take all night, so Steve only throws a glare before he’s moving off the counter and into the party.

He gets lost in the waves of people on people, grinding and pushing and laughing and drinking all together. Steve bumps against a guy, dark hair and freckles on his face, gets a plastic cup poured down his shirt for his troubles. But Steve isn’t listening to the empty threats. He scowls, shoots a “fuck off, Tommy,” before he keeps going.

Ends up on the back porch, the nighttime air trying to curl it’s fingers into the warm denim of Billy’s jacket. It doesn’t stand a chance. But there are real fingers chasing the air. They wrap around Steve’s wrist again and again dig into his tender skin. He’s got the beer bottle still in his hand and it swooshes around as he grips it like he’s ready for a fight.

But when he turns around: it’s Billy, Billy Hargrove, curly blond hair and dark eyelashes. Groomed brows drawn to a straight line of worry on his face. His hand drops from Steve’s wrist quicker than Steve can drop the beer bottle with a clatter to the ground.

The amber liquid pours out like honey between the wooden deck to the grass below.

“Gonna take a swing at me?” Billy asks. His voice humored, gentle, infuriatingly relaxing.

“Don’t touch me, Hargrove.” Steve warns.

Billy holds his hands up in the air. He’s wearing a new jacket, soft brown leather that’s worn almost down to the thread, thankfully, he’s not missing his denim jacket that got adopted out too much.

“You can take a swing, I won’t punch back. But you’ll be stuck on full nerd car ride duty if I die so good luck with that, Stevie,” he says with a wink.

Steve doesn’t reply. Just glances around the porch until he finds a rail to lean against.

“Hey,” Billy keeps his soft voice low.

He follows Steve with the moonlight midnight blue dancing on his dark tanned skin. He lays a hand over Steve’s shoulder. One hand goes to touch his jaw so lightly Steve’s thinking he’s imagining it. Until Billy’s thick fingers slide up the bone and curl behind his ear. Tangled with the longest parts of his hair. It’s too familiar, far too familiar, for what little they are. But Steve can’t help but lean into the touch.

Coming to the party was a bad idea. He’s got half a beer in his stomach and a drink spilt down his shirt, and Steve’s already feeling sick enough to purr under Billy’s touch.

“What happened?” Billy asks. Steve doesn’t reply, lets his eyes slide closed and his skin soak up the warm fingers.

“It’s not... God- it’s not some monster shit again?” Billy’s voice is hushed.

Steve doesn’t know how to reply. No, he wants to say, of course not, but with the clawing rage building inside him mixing stiffly like a cheap drink with the fear he felt as he ran out of the kitchen; maybe it was a monster.

He doesn’t get to reply though, before the screen door to the porch is creaking open behind them.

“Steve?” the man, monster, calls out for him.

Opening his eyes, Steve sees the wild back of Billy’s hair, curled tight and sticky with hairspray, and golden, so fucking golden, in the single naked bulb on the porch. Steve doesn’t have to see him to see him. He’s been on the receiving end of Billy’s glare enough, just last night before he got in the Camaro. It makes his toes curl in his socks.

“Glad I found you, babe,” the man leaves the door open, the pollution of light and noise spilling out over Billy’s gentle touch. Turns his shoulders rigged. Steve wants to cup them as comforting as Billy did to him last night, but he can’t. Only holds his own hands, his bruised wrists in his cold fingers, while he watches.

Billy doesn’t step aside, says, “what’s it ya lookin for, buddy?” while blocking Steve’s view like a wall.

The man catches himself for a second, he’s older but not by much, not by enough. And nothing the rum in his cola wouldn’t have equalized. “Steve,” he groans annoyed, “let’s go, we need to talk this out. Like two adults.”

And that gets Steve’s skin itching, scratchy, wants to rip a bat hammered through with nails into something soft. “There’s nothing more I have to say to you, oh- except maybe one thing: fuck off!”

“Don’t be immature about this-,”

“Didn’t you hear him?” Billy doesn’t let him finish. Cuts off that tone of disappointment like he was made to do it. Sends a shiver down Steve’s spine. He sits up on the railing just enough to see the man over Billy’s shoulder.

He notices the way the open door let a few curious eyes gather. One red flushed freckled face and curly red hair stand out. Steve looks between Tommy and Carol and Billy’s lip turned up into a snarl.

“Pretty boy here said fuck off, bitch,” he snarls, dog like, and each word is angrier than the next.

Tommy smiles wide, Steve recognizes that more than he should. And it’s familiar in a familiar painful sort of way. He wishes he was back in his kitchen away from all this. With the Billy who made him tea. Now he’s with Hawkins High tip of pyramid, wolves looking out for their pack with the same fervor they have to taste blood on their fangs.

Steve doesn’t know if this is about him anymore, a part of him knows it is, a part of him wants to think Billy is doing this singuarilly to defend him, but a shadow from his past is creeping in the open doorways yellow light smirking as if it knows better.

“Let’s go, Billy,” Steve says. He’s tired of thinking so much. Exhausted from it. Just wants to sink into leather Camaro seats and upturn the collar of Billy’s jacket and smell again. “Let’s get out of here,” he repeats, stepping forward to get a hand on Billy’s back.

“Oh! You’re not going anywhere!” The man slurs out as he zeros in on Steve’s hand, but those were the wrong words.

Quicker than Steve can think through his headache, quicker than the man can see through the haze of alcohol, but just as fast as a high school student’s hyena laughter; Billy’s hand balls into a fist and cracks against bone.

Snap, and the man is lurching backwards, his hands flying up to cup around his nose. Blood pours down his face and between his fingers red like the plastic cup he dropped on the ground. More dark brown liquid sloshes around his feet.

Billy moves without mercy. He scoops the man up by the collar of his shirt, yanking him to attention, getting real close.

“No one tells me what to do,” he hisses.

Steve can’t fucking take it. He reaches forward again, this time getting a fist in Billy’s jacket and pulling the fabric tight to get his attention. Feels like he’s pulling on a wild animals leash but he keeps pulling.

“Let him go, Hargrove, he’s not worth it,” he tells him what to do. Voice quiet under Tommy’s laughter and Carol’s cheers.

“Let’s go,” Steve presses the point of his sharp nose into the soft spot behind Billy’s ear, whispers right to him.

It’s easy as pressing a button on the other boy. Billy drops the man heavy on the ground. Listens to Steve above all the noise. He turns into the touch, allows it when Steve’s hand slides from where his jacket is bunched in the back and down to his wrist.

Steve wraps his hand around Billy’s wrist and pulls.

They stumble together down the steps of Tina’s back porch. They stumble together across the dark grass in the middle of the night and search blindly for a baby blue Camaro. Billy finds it first, pressing his overheated skin against the chilled metal. Steve walks around the front, leading with his hands over hands across the hood to keep his balance. They drop into the leather seats. Steve takes a gulp of air that’s just as satisfying as lighting up his own marlboro red.

The engine starts to life, vibrating under his ass and pushing the blood through his slug stiff veins. Billy growls along with it. Throws his head back. His curly hair flattened on the back by his headrest as he opens his pretty mouth wide to holler. One hand gripping the wheel is skinned on the knuckles, blood just starting to drip out.

Steve lets his head fall back same as Billy. His chest heaving as hard as it was in the boys locker room showers, when his vision was orange glow and California sun kissed skin. And all he could think about was how mustaches feel when you kiss them.

Billy turns to him. Smug smile on his face. Trying to get a rise out of him.

“How’s that for fighting monsters, pretty boy?” he shouts.

Steve takes a second to breath. Closes his eyes and opens them slow just to make sure he’s got his head on right. Then he replies, “I fucking love fighting monsters with you, Billy,” and he means it.

[grim-faux]

24 - Morphogenic Engine

“The Engine.  The Morphogenic Engine.  It gets in my head like a song you can’t stop humming.”

The air is cool and fresh, filled with the scent of fallen rain.  Dusk is fast approaching and the lights from the lamp posts burn with a clarity I’m not accustomed to.  I take a breath smelling the moist soil, pine, soggy leaves.  I stare at the edifice before me, my adversary, a world of untold horrors, consuming nightmares as they manifest in fractured minds.  I couldn’t know any of this staring at the covered windows, the compliant walls.  The wind picks up and I pull the collar of my coat closer to my neck. That sense of foreboding returns. The place was unnatural, but I couldn’t decide how. It was just a tall building of brick and wood, with the mountainous region backdrops. The tall buildings thin spires stretched high overhead into the heavens, where men once flew to touch the sun. It was hard to imagine the warmth of the sun with the chilled air swarming. In my ears was a humming. It had always been present, unending and livid with cadence. But I had ignored it. Ignored it like I had ignored my instincts about this terrible place. Something was in the air, a charge, a warning. When did it become so thunderous in my ears? Or was that my heartbeat? I ran my thumb along the inside of my palm counting my fingers. When I reached the fourth digit I turned my head down and stared at my shoes. It buzzed in my bones, until my outer extremities were numb. My skin and muscles felt hot and cold all in the same sensation. It was too much. Or was it the sound? That persistent din, rising above the still forest and jagged mountains that surrounded me. Driving into my skull until I could hear nothing but the booming howl in my ears. I felt my consciousness waver, it was impossible to stay upright. Where did that sound come from? Who was making that noise?! Why?! Why did it follow me!? My lips pulled back over my teeth as my jaw clenched.  Why?  Why any of this?  Moisture rolled down my cheeks, a few drops hit my coat turning the brown into a black spot.

A sudden presence is at my back.  I could hear his breathing, soft but ragged.  I jerk my head up terrified to turn, frightened by what would be there, what I would see.  But the fear fades when the actions fails to come, and once again I was staring at the Engine of nightmares.  Mount Massive Asylum.

“Little ghost.” The voice crooned behind me.  “Little ghost.  Time to wake up.”

My eyes open a crack and I found the edge of my face pressed into my bloody shoulder.  Where Trager had clipped me.  The fabric of my coat felt sticky against my cheek, though the blood had dried hours ago.  I exhaled slowly letting myself reacquaint with the pain, my reluctant return to the muggy and distorted world I had come to inhabit.  A ghost to pragmatism.  It took a brief moment for my mind to catch up, reload the most recent events.  What had I been doing?  It was painful to recall.  How long had I been unconscious?  Enough to help me carry on.  I had no choice, there was no telling where Billy was.  I would get moving and leave the nightmares far behind. The air felt cold and my shoulders shook.  Needed to move.  Needed to get up. As I used my hand to brace my body up and leaned forward, I looked to the sheet of paper set on the computer desk beside the keyboard.  It was a single page, stained with a ring of coffee.  I focused on it reading through the lines over and over, even when I had it memorized.   Please find attached the “Permission to Proceed” form for patient William Hope, of the Murkoff Charitable Psychiatry program at Mount Massive Hospital in Colorado (USA). The form is standard, and all relevant lines have been signed. It appears Billy is unaware of his mother’s recent guided cardiac arrest. He is submitting to the experiment with the understanding (unfounded) of financial remuneration to his mother and a charitable contribution to her church. Wernicke, having read the boy’s dream reports, believes he has enormous therapeutic potential. Was Billy’s ‘success’ as an experiment, because he refused to die?  I couldn’t say.  He took the therapy they gave him, he bought their bullshit, and now he and his mother were no better.   Damn you Murkoff.  Damn you for this.  You reap what you sow, now choke on it. A drop of water stained the page, and I quickly rubbed the dampness from my face.  Carefully, I folded the sheet up and inserted it into a clean space of the notebook.  Not as evidence, I’m not sure what to call it.   I didn’t bother to zip the pocket shut.  I pressed my hands to the terminal as I straightened my back, working the stiffness from my muscles and feeling that piercing tingle in my ribs.  My feet felt firm under me but my heart was aching.  I was hollow and lost, despite the resolve that had solidified in me, for what must be done.  One task left to remedy, then I could wash my hands of this place. Aside from the alcove with the desk of computer terminals, there was no other space to explore, but for a short catwalk beyond the desks.  The grate extended out above the cavernous expanse of E Block, below extended the catwalks and paths I had dragged my broken body up.  The present lamps anchored to the walls gleamed with ferocity, I squinted my eyes against them as I stared out over the open gap I had thrown myself across.  The pain flared through my chest and I exhaled that stale coppery taste.  It barely registered in me that I had been up here for god knows how long, unconscious and Billy had an abundance of time to finish me off.  My dire state was somehow lost to my sense of self preservation, or maybe I was too focused on the humming of the generator.  I told myself Billy was weakened when his anesthesia was cut off, I had the advantage.  He was forced to wait.  Bide his time and wait for my return, and that was when I would fear for my life.  That was when I would run.  When that eerie shriek reached me.  Until then. Until then…. I checked through the cameras feed to view what was visible in the thick fog gathering.  The Morphogenic Engine must have been overheating, that’s the only explanation I could conclude for the condensation.  I bit my lip as the image in the visor flashed.  The power in the camera itself was getting low, and that could further contribute to its failure.  But there wasn’t much more of this to endure.  Another white lie to keep me going. The catwalk ended beside metal cabinets built into a cement shed, which extended from the floor somewhere below and up into the ceiling overhead.  This was it, it had to be this.  The generator for the Engine.  I was a bit shocked that it wasn’t more impressive, but perhaps I was only seeing the surface of it.  There would be a panel, a door to open and access the wires.  I secured the camera as I fumbled with the other hand, it was difficult to see but I attributed that to the steam.  One panel had a set of hinges along the crease in its side.  This was it.  There was no visible latch so I just gave the panel a good smack and the door popped open, allowing access to several large bundles of cables hooked into a transformer.  Which ones did I pull?  It was always a good policy to start with the middle of anything, if you’re not certain.  I took the middle bunch and put my other hand up.  It shouldn’t spark if I was careful, and don’t hold it too tight.  I winced as I snapped the clamp free.  Nothing happened.  Good.  I popped the rest free with reckless abandon.  

A soft whirring faded with the connection now severed, lights dimmed as emergency lamps activated in the same power shift.  Sirens chime a warning of the sudden interruption, the cavern groaned with the power loss as distant generators failed.  The experiment would perish, and the howl of something more rose up among the catwalks.  I couldn’t decide if the echoing call was the machine weakening, or the thing it kept alive.  I stood at the rail listening, as I poked my thumb into the cut in my coat sleeve.  Caused when Trager had endeavored to take my head off.   It was eerily silent, and wondered if at long last Billy would locate my position.  There was no doubt in my mind that I could reach the purge chamber before he reached me, but there was nothing.  No scream, no rippling distortions in the steam, no malevolent presence.  Only the soft chatter of the generator as it sputtered into silence.  I spun around and began my way back. That could have been it.  The memo did warn a possible interruption in the experiment, if sufficient distress was introduced.  The life support fluid and the anesthesia had been disabled, and Billy seemed unable to reach me despite my exhaustion.  Maybe cutting the power had been enough to stop him. I would still disable the Fail Safe.  That was the only assured way to terminate the Walrider swarm.  But that would be a simple matter once I reached the Morphogenic chamber.  It remained a ways on the other side of the facility, and I wouldn’t gamble that Billy wouldn’t be waiting on the other side of purge doors when they opened. My feet stumbled when I moved off the last step and crossed to the open doors, and the light within.  The purge doors gave a soft hiss as they shut, and I leaned on the wall as the mist filled the small space.  I was ready to bolt when the doors opened, my muscles were not ready to resume, but I wouldn’t stop.  I had to get around and keep going. When the panels scraped open, there was no shrill hiss to greet me, no vaporous form lingering beside the doorway.  I dithered, before I peered out with the camera.  I had to change the battery, but the replacement was full on power.  Enough to grant passage out of here. Nothing was there.  I made my slow trek through the corridor, unable to decide if there was this much blood when I first came through.  The pain in my skull intensified, I muttered something to myself.  I was trying to coax myself to keep moving.  It wasn’t much further, and then I could puke and pass out if I needed that.  I doubt it’d get me away from the pain for long. Despite the heaviness in my gut, my pace quickened.  Maybe that was it.  Maybe disrupting the life functions of Billy stopped the swarm.  It was too good to be true but I was making progress, as long as I didn’t let my guard down.  I didn’t need to get ahead of myself and fall into a trap.  That’s happened to me too many times.   The end of the corridor came into view and I slowed my pace to gaze out, straining my eyes to see through the blazing light in the damn visor.  Nothing to indicate the presence, no sound.  All was calm.  The visor did flash but it just did that.  I clasped a hand to my eye, that impossible pain.  Why my right eye?  Once I was moving again I could block it.  But why? As I began forward I hear it, very close.  That awful taste coated me throat, something about seizures.  And a light.  He wasn’t gone yet!  Where was it coming from?!  I spun about and saw the wavering ripples coalescing above the open expanse across from the catwalk, skimming towards me.  Shit.  Shit!  My foot caught on the rung of steps that elevated up to the grated walkway.  For god sakes Miles, PICK UP YOUR FEET! I shoved the knuckles of my camera hand into the gaps in the grate and pushed myself up, stumbling to get onto my soles.  Had to cut the corner, it was going to cut me off.  Gotta jump!  Secure the camera!  Gonna— jump— secure the camera! The edge of the walkway was under my feet and I launched off into open air.  I had no idea where I put the camera, couldn’t care in the moment.  It didn’t feel like I had enough momentum behind me when I jumped, but— I gave a sharp yelp when I was torn out of mid leap and dragged backwards.  I couldn’t overcome the terror that choked me, now that I was suspended high-high above a hard floor without a solid surface to latch onto.  And in so much pain!  My spine was somehow being flossed between my ribs.  I gagged and whimpered, Christ, the unnatural sensation!  My feet jerked beneath me and dangled, I couldn’t feel my toes.  My arms pin wheeled out from my body as I tilt backwards, disorientated by the violent movements I was being spun in.  The camera!  My mind automatically locked onto that.  I felt the cameras weight in my upper arms sleeve.  I found my camera!  It was safe! I snapped around and suddenly the apparition was at my face.  It was expressionless from what my distorted vision could make out, but I could FEEL it sneer.  Its anger.  I stare wide eye trying to take calm breathes, its ‘hands’ tighten around my chest and I let out a whimper.  The pressure was intense, digging through my coat and shirt and piercing into my muscles.  I couldn’t help but let out a pitiful sound. No.  No.  NO!  Guts and gore!  Liquefied Murkoff!  Chris’ final squeal of agony as his body scattered over white stone.  A blast of cold pulses through my body as I try in vain to kick free, but I can’t feel my legs. The Walrider fades and I give a short cry as I’m propelled backwards, my neck snaps back on my shoulders and the sharp pain flares through my skull.  I can’t see where the Walrider has gone, but I’m twirling through open air, falling past the rungs of the steps I had hobbled up earlier.  The light flashes over my eyes as I plummet, screaming as the ground is coming up fast.  For some reason I wonder if my camera will survive the impact. Then it’s there in an instant, I can’t keep track of what’s happening with my ears ringing.  One of my arms plasters to my side as the other flops out, searching for a balance, some sort of hold.  I can’t decide if I’m still falling or rising, but I open my eyes and to take in the light.  I squint against the bright lamps, and its then that I feel its arms digging into my midsection.  The cruel shriek blasts through my ear, as it flips me over.  The edge of the metal catwalk is right there!  I snap my eyes open and claw out for the metal edge, desperate and panicked.  I’m positive I could reach it!  An inch more!  Even if I don’t have the strength to pull myself up, I have to get free of its painful clutch! I yowl out as the Walrider constricts, I could picture my organs popping one by one under its ‘fingers’.  There was a sound, I’m unsure it if was the Walrider or me, but I’m flung away.  My heel smashed over something metal as I spiral, tumbling down through the muggy steam.  I see the light and shadows pulse by my eyes, mixing until I’m dizzy and sick.  I let loose a sob when I see the pallets and barrels on the floor below, come into focus.  NO!  NO!! Somewhere in the dark it snags me and I struggle wildly against its grip.  The cruel hands twist deep into my chest, its sharp fingers coil over my collar bone.  Ice.  It’s just like ice!  My jaw snaps loose and I gag, and howl, anything to drown out the pounding in my ears.  The electrical plague surging through my body.  Its hold loosened then, and I plummet through the dark before smashing into the light.  And the stone floor.  I try and brace my fall by throwing my arms up, to protect my head from the lamps.  Keep my teeth from scattering.  My elbows absorb some of the blow, and I hit with all my weight onto my bad side.   It probably wasn’t the best action, but I immediately thrust myself upright from my hands and try to stand.  To walk.  I moan in my throat as the world tilts, I can barely see with the way the colors distort in the light above.  My ribs shift back into place and I gasp, struggling to catch my breath without choking on my tongue.  God… can I walk?  Am I able to— Not done!  I’m not done yet!  I lean on my leg as I take a step closer to the stacks of bags on the pallet, covered in the blue tarp.  My body swings to the side, but I manage to stay upright.  It’s a massive accomplishment for the effort I put in, and I don’t want to fall again.  I plant my feet apart and scan my current whereabouts over.  The steam has gotten so thick, and it’s become hard to breath without choking. I’m across from the double doors that lead back to the Morphogenic chamber.  I stare at them groggily as I take a step, and promptly lose my balance.  I hit the tarp covered materials and sprawl over the blue surface.  I’m hurt bad, but not done, not by a long shot.  My breath wheezes and I barely get back up on my feet, ignoring the small wet patch of red I’ve left on the plastic cover. Somewhere overhead the Walrider shrieks.  Its hurt or it is dying at long last, one of the two.  If it wasn’t it would have killed me then.  If it has a second chance it will succeed. I manage to reach the doors and get one open.  I leaned on the doors edge as I pushed it open, then slumped on the cool metal panel as I force it shut.  I take a slow breath.  Pick up the pace Miles.  Almost done.  Promise. I pushed away from the door as the Walrider came into view below, driven by its unrestrained fury to paint the walls with my blood.  I took another breath, doing my best to ignore the pain chewing in my skin.  It’ll hold for a minute tops, but only concluding this would save my life.  I spun away and pushed myself into a steady jog, and blocked.  Blocked out the hum, blocked the pain.  I blocked out my humanity. The corridor seemed shorter, or maybe I remembered it wrong.  I skipped to a stop at the barrels and wedged myself through, and grunted through clenched teeth as my side rubbed on the rough pallet.  I dropped to my knees on the other side as my mind swam.  Pain.  Have to get up.  But the pain dragged me down.  A mere few feet away was the metal door, the Morphogenic chamber.  Everything I had wanted.  Everything I had tried to accomplish.  I pushed myself to my feet and gripped the handle, and used it to pull myself up until I was standing.  “Get this done.  Get it done, and I can leave it all behind.  All of it.” The inhuman cry of the thing from the dark followed me, echoing in my ears.  It was coming. I stumbled through one door and dragged it shut after me.  I tried not to cough on the thick vapor, as I staggered to the edge of the steps.  We’re good.  We’re good.  Keep it together, almost there.  I took a few deep breaths deliberately agitating my ribs, and focused on Wernicke’s machine.  This was it.  This was the end to all this madness.  Find the control panel.  Deactivate the machine.  Kill the creation. The chamber looked to be in distress, the air was now clogged with dark smog.  Lights flared across the ceiling, arks of electricity sparked over the dodecagon structure that dominated the center of the room.  Monitors for computers regulating the machine flashed errors, probably indicating the test subject.  Throughout the chambers panic, a siren blared to summon the doctors in and correct the error.  But all the doctors were dead, their remains scattered to the furthest edges of the facility.  There was no one left to hasten in and aid the experiment that had destroyed them. The stairs winding to the Engines base were excruciating to rush down, but I’d rather be on them.  I supported myself on one arm while the walls continued to tilt, the pulsing lights didn’t help either.  The camera stuffed in my shoulders sleeve was becoming obnoxious and I risked pulling it out, to have… in case.  I ignored the damp spot in my coat.  I’d be fine once this was done.  Like magic or something.  One choir I had to complete.  Billy’s pod was in fail safe mode, but I would fix that shortly.  I’d give him the closure he deserved and I could go on with my life elsewhere. Or what was left of it. I made it to the floor and stumble around the barrels situated by the copper tanks.  Immediately, I began hunting for the front of the machine.  The primary terminal regulating control over Billy’s pod.  The dull thrum bore deep into my brainmatter, but I only realized then that I’d left the sound behind in the corridor.  The white noise had followed me. I winced and held my chest as I scanned through the gray fog, struggling to stay on my feet as I sought both apparition and its control.  Embers shot off the metal plates of the Engine and I could smell burning.  God, I hated that smell, but I think it was the best thing I could have in my nose right now.  The Engine was overheating, it just might burst into flames when I shut down the systems.  Wouldn’t know until I initiated it.  I neared the front of the room with the glassed in upper floor.  Where the scientists monitored the Morphogenic Engine systems through the computers.  It was here, at the front.  I remember that much. When I escaped I’d have to find a safe place to lay low.  This was more than what I had bargained for.  With knowledge that Dr. Wernicke was alive and well following this, would only invite an unfortunate ‘accident’ for me in days to come.  Couldn’t risk losing my camera in the process, though it being so beat up might deter a theft.  But I needed to make copies of the files.  I needed medical attention foremost, someone I could trust.  I don’t know if I could make it that far.     Too much to think about.  Plan it as it came.  I located Billy’s pod at the front of Wernicke’s machine, and no more than three feet away the panel ablaze with sparks.  Frantic warnings all surging, demanding attention.  The experiment was doomed.  I dashed to it, jarred my side, didn’t give a fuck, and smashed the panel with my hand. Done and done.   The Engine gave a remorseful hum that rumbled through my body, as it clashed across the chiseled interior of the Morphogenic chamber.  It felt good.  I clasped the camera between my palms and leaned back as red warnings burned on the screen.  WARNING.  WARNING.  FAILSAFE SYSTEM OFF.   I shut my eyes against the offensive messages and gripped the camera a little tighter in my hands, focusing on the gaps between my fingers.  Like hell it was, let him die.  I braced my elbows on the panel and turned my head to witness as Billy began thrashing within his pod.  It looked painful.  As he withered the restraints in his chest and throat tore free, releasing his blood within the nutrient fluid.  I raised my camera to get all of this in, and exhaled a small breath.  It was over.  This nightmare was over and I could get the fuck out of here.  Nothing to stop me now. No more deformed giants, no more naked twins, no more fanatical priests.  Just the road ahead and me.  And my camera. The pod was turning black with blood and my stomach turned.  I looked away for a brief moment when something solid smashed into me from behind, causing my body to smack chest first into the pod.  My head was pounding and I felt the vision distort in my left eye.  My muscles stiffened, charged with energy and pain.  No.  No…  He was dead!  I tried to push myself back, while keeping in mind to LOCK my fingers on the cam— A powerful force wrenched me around and I let out a snarl as my ribs rubbed into my skin.  Staring me right in the face was the Walrider, or what was left of it.  The swarm was beginning to disperse, mutating the dark vapor into an insubstantial skeletal frame.  Each of its links and joints were exposed for scrutiny, even the network of miniscule tubes in the dark bone.  I couldn’t make out where its arms were but I could feel them dig through my coat, within my shoulders with needle like ends.  My vision flashed as it shoved me back against the pod, the back of my skull cracked on the hard surface and I saw a flash of red.  I smelt something odd, scorched cloth or blood.  Fluid dripped from my nose and slid across my lip.  The salty taste overwhelmed my senses. The swarm flashed out of sight and I found myself yelling, as I accelerated with alarming speed through the air by that piercing pain IN my arms.  A wall came into view through the steam, and I instinctively raised my arms before my skull could smash to bits.  I hit with such force my arms and coat sleeves barely absorbed my face.  My chest plowed HARD into the jagged stone, and an audible crack sounded somewhere in my muscle, over my strangled wail.  The Walrider vanished, for good I doubt.  I tumbled off the stone wall and hit the floor, rolling out of control.  The room was spinning, even when I came to a rest on my side.  I tried to hold my weight up off my tender ribs.  The plastic shell of my camera scrapped the polished floor as I shifted.  It was still in my grip…  This wasn’t over.  I needed to stash it somewhere safe.  I put my hand over it, feeling the fresh wet blood now spilling from the reopened wounds on my hands.  I needed to get away from here, get away from this area.  Who the fuck knew how long before the swarm dispersed completely. As I was getting off my knees, the insubstantial form materialized to some degree before me.  It gave a grinding hiss as it grabbed me by the shoulder, tearing into my muscles with its cold clutch and flung me high across the room.  I screamed as I sailed unaided through open air, until gravity delivered me to the floor and I flopped over and over.  Once the momentum abandoned me, I blinked and felt my consciousness dim.  ”Up Miles!  Get!  UP!” In my fall the cameras strap had loosened over my hand, I should try to fix that.  I braced my arms under my side and pushed up, and focused on the spherical pod full of dark matter.  Wasn’t that Billy’s pod?  It was getting hard to see because of the smog.  This is what I told myself.  In truth it was becoming difficult to see my hands beneath me.  It was because of what I’d done, but I had no choice. I had to fix their mistakes.  I had no idea how to finish it now.  How to kill Billy. I had only hurt him the worst way imaginable.  The only way he COULD be hurt.  I had become Billy Hope’s Nightmare.  I was now the Horerczy.  I was the only thing that could kill a Walrider. And he would prove to me, how wrong I was.

The shrieking wail shot through my eardrums, and the remains of the Walrider’s dark shape loomed over me.  The world became inaudible, in the one way I hated seeing the world.  Far away and under water.  I tried to focus on it and what it was up to, but all I managed was a wet cough.  This seemed to upset it, for when I looked up it had swept over the black pod and descended onto me.  It snared my midsection in its powerful grip and dragged me along the white floor.  I yowled and released the camera.  The bone in my finger tore at the cement as I tried to claw for a bump, a niche.  Enough to knock me loose!  Even if it descended upon me in the next moment and ripped me to pieces, I just wanted that one last second!  A pause in this torment! 

The Walrider ascended swiftly to a staggering height.  I gawped wide eyed and stared at the shrinking floor below, as I dangled upside down.  I moaned through my teeth as my weight bore down on its sharp form, and it repaid in kind by crushing my sides.  I felt something pop in my throat as I let out an agonized sob.  When we arrived at a desirable height I was flopped up, and crashed my back into the stone wall behind me.  My legs kick out seeking solid surface, some comfort that I’m not so high up.  In no way can I thrash free and dislodge my body from the unnatural grip tangled deep throughout my organs.  I lose some of my fight when the agony constricts my chest, and I give a weak twitch as this odd tingle works from my forehead down to my toes.  Death.  I’m dying.  I can’t believe I’m dying. 

The dimming form of the swarm pinned me here, and worked its hands into my chest.  I grappled with my coat, unable to feel or grip and dissuade its punishment.  Oh god, the sounds I made as its unnatural extremities wound through my cells and tangled with my nerves.  Pain.  Too much.  My legs kicked and twitched in a vain effort to dislodge my body.  The Walrider chattered and pressed deeper into my muscles.  No god, please….  I looked down to where it had buried its arms up to its elbows, and let out a choked sob.  No, please….  

”I don’t want to die…”

 The bloodshed throughout the Asylum, Chris Walker, ruptured corpses and scattered innards.  Everything I had been subjected to.  The images I had seen pulsed white hot, intensified in my mind like wild fire. Death, the insanity, the pain.  All of it burned through my mind as red soaked my memories.  How long ago had it been?  When was it last that I was alive? 

An anguished sound spilled from my throat as I was held there, suspended twenty feet above a stone floor. The swarm reinforced its inhuman grip on my sides, or slid deeper into my guts at its leisure.  Fuck, this was no damaged mind of a child.  This was a wild animal devoid of remorse.  This was pure evil. 

This… was my end. 

Gazing into the broken horror of science, my last sensations would be immeasurable pain followed by the release of the void.  I had fought this far, to die in the end.  What cruel irony.  With my fading strength I focused on its ‘face,’ and I swear there was a connection.  I don’t know if it recognized it, if Billy understood.  But I swear.  It was there. 

The Walrider paused in its reprieve to confirm my comprehension, my reservation for the fate it had planned for me, as all of its victims shared.  It could make this last forever if it wanted.  To ensure I had learned my lesson, that I knew my place.  It would let me die only because it allowed it.  But maybe I had already suffered enough.  Then, it lurched, or that could have been me slumped in its grip.  I watched blearily as it dispersed, dissolving from sight.  I sobbed out in revulsion as I felt the chilling sensation of its presence grind through my bones, into my muscle.  I gained enough consciousness to seize at my chest in a futile effort to hold my innards together the moment before they were expunged outwards, off of my skeleton.  

I became aware that something had gone wrong about two seconds later, when I was howling against the sudden exhilaration that override the pain in my body… as I fell twenty feet to solid cement.

My shoulder hit first and my leg came down hard next, and I actually heard something snap.  I felt the pierce of pain through my spine when the bone cracked.  I was stunned when I couldn’t decide where the injury occurred, my entire body burned with raw agony.  And yet, I was still conscious and alive.  I lay for a moment groaning, my mind resetting slowly as everything cleared.  The alarms still wailed.  Flashing red and white swirled through the room, but it wasn’t the grinding howl that had pounded my senses.  My migraine had suddenly cleared!  Instantaneous relief flooded my skull like waking up in a soft bed, after a long, deep sleep.  What happened?  Why? Carefully, I propped myself up to look around, stunned yet amazed.  The air was thick with burning computer components, the smog was growing heavier.  But of the threat.… Nothing. There was no swarm.  There was no Walrider.  Only the barrage of warnings and system errors as the stasis pod failed, and within it, its prisoner.  Billy was dead. I had done it.  My mission was over.  I had succeeded in surviving my final errand.  Why didn’t I feel good about it? A few feet from where I had plummeted was my trusted confident, my camera.  Did it still work?  I don’t think it mattered anymore.  I attempted to rise, but a sharp bolt of heat traveled up my leg.  The break.  I turned with sluggishness to check it, and noted the large black spot along the side of my coat.  No doubt the rib was exposed, I had no idea how bad the lung was punctured but with heavy despair I tasted the copious stain of copper on my tongue.  I had to get out of here.  Had to get up! How easy it would have been to lie down.  I braced my elbows on the cement and inhaled a careful breath, then let it out.  The floor was cool to my fevered body, and all the aches and breaks could just fade away.  I might never wake up, but that seemed fine.  Doctor Wernicke himself told me, I was meant to die here.  The moment I set foot through the open window of the Asylum, had sealed my fate.  I would never be allowed to leave.  Billy had made sure of that. Braced on my elbows, I pulled my body over onto my good leg and rest my weight to the knee.  I repeated this process, shuffling little by little until I had reached my camera.  Everything was on this.  Everything that was done here.  I’d be damned if I didn’t waste some precious energy to ensure its safe extraction.  However far I…. I fumbled a bit with its options, while I collected my fractured mind.  The camera clicked and the image was a bit distorted, but it worked.  I assured myself that the vital operations would continue to function, and I could lift the images off…. later.  Evidence.  Proof.  It needed to be confirmed on camera.  I did it.  I had done this.  I braced my side with an arm and leveled the camera to capture an image of the murky pod, and the now deceased William Hope.   “Billy is dead, the Walrider, the swarm, whatever it is, unmade with him.  Whether I escape or die here, I am free.”  For a beat I paused to look up from my notes and gaze distantly on my surroundings.  Gone.  Everything the scientists had hoped to achieve, undone by their creation, and executed by my hand.  I felt no pride in this, I just wanted out.  Out in any manner fate saw fit for me.  It would be a long walk to the exit in Block… in Block…. Fuck.  I knew where it was, and that’s what mattered.  I’d find my way there eventually. I secured my camera in its pack and pressed my palms to the floor, then inched my good leg under me.  Satisfied with its stability I pushed up, stumbling as the world spun.  The winding coil of pain worked through my bones and buried deep into my nerves.  Even if my legs were chopped off, I’d still walk out on those stumps.  Fuck you Trager.  Fuck you.  I would stand up.  I would walk out of here. The ringing in my head was near silent, and I didn’t take this as a good sign.  It felt like preempt shock.  My body was steady enough to stay upright, but my metabolism was crashing.  I was poisoned by the chemicals in my head and I needed medicine, something to stabilize my body before it killed me. Once I had my bearings I turned, making a slow trek towards the steps that rose to the Plexiglas chamber.  Shapes blurred around me, but I was certain without a doubt those were the steps I had staggered down at the beginning of the mad race.  If they were not, I had plenty of time to reflect as I made my way to them.  One careful step after the next, just take it easy.  There was no hurry.   Only the outer bone of my leg must have snapped.  I could get some weight on it but very little.  It allowed me to shuffle along, without grieving my ribs any more than necessary.  If I stopped moving at this point I might not be able to rouse myself from passing out The floor along with the yellow rail faded and I collapsed over the steps, coming up short on the metal grate as I caught myself on my elbow.  The shattering pain that I had anticipated upon my fall was absent.  Perhaps my adrenalin was out of control.  My body was in survival, panic mode.  The chemicals in my blood were poisoning my brain, from the overdose of adrenaline to whatever infections I might’ve picked up in the hellish sewers.  I took a breath and winced, feeling the tickling itch in my side where the rib had breached the skin.  There was little hope in my mind that I was going to live to see tomorrow. But damn, I would not die here.  Not here!  Not in the sewers.  Not in the basement.  Not here!  I pulled myself up by the rail and put my foot under me, I braced my knee over the next step and forced my good leg to lift my body, to burden my weight.  These were the last steps I would have to deal with, I could get up them.  It wouldn’t be the last thing I do here.  My feet were heavy, but I managed to get them over each rung and reach the clear sliding doors.  I braced myself along the edge of the doorway, and stumbled into the Morphogenic Engines control room.  My good leg for no other reason but to spite me gave out, and I crashed against the nearest desk.  I wheezed out a pitiful breath, it tasted like copper and salt had stained my throat.   C’mon.  The exit isn’t much further. I wanted to believe that.  Shove hope down my throat.  The exit was just down the hall, through the next set of doors after the first.  Those horrible doors.  It was, how many?  Fifty steps.  Fifty short steps, I could make that.  The desk was so comfortable though, sturdy and solid, and real.  I looked down at my knee crumpled under me.  The room whirled around my head, far away.  Hushed.  Beyond my dazed senses.  I was breathing hard, and a thin trail of drool had soaked a black patch in my filthy jeans.  Red drops were falling from my nose, and I barely realized that my nose was bleeding.  I wanted to pretend it was only a broken blood vessel caused by stress, but that was another one of those white lies.  I needed to stop trying to fool myself with those. Fifty steps.  I could make fifty steps.  What was fifty steps to me?  I’ve been running around this Asylum all evening.  It wasn’t that much further. I told myself this.   I promised myself these things. I had nothing left to keep me going on. The bright lights of the hall would have been comforting, if I wasn’t so burnt out on the clinical and detached feeling of the lab.  My vision distorted as I slumped against the doorframe.  Take a breath, a little pause.  Let my senses settle into place.  I thought I saw Dr. Trager waiting by the door, running his mouth like only he could.  But he looked the way he must have before whatever happened to him, complete with a fine lab coat blotted with blood.  He did dress like a white collar business douchebag.  Instead of golf clubs he had a syringe, and directed its sharp end into the side of my neck. I brushed Trager aside and persisted, he couldn’t stop me.  No one could stop me.  I felt myself falling again, my legs dissolved under my weight.  When did I become so heavy?  I braced my arm to the floor and tried to stay off the camera, I was slipping down to my side.  To just give in.  To just sink into the sleep and never wake up. The lights dimmed to some degree, or my eyes were shutting, but the Walrider hoisted me up and we continued.  We were so close to the doors, they were a few steps and a stumble away.  The chiseled white walls of the corridor seemed brighter, but its luminous intensity didn’t burn my eyes as it had in my previous trip through.  The air was calm, almost alarming to my overtaxed mind.  I tried to remind myself this was the way it was meant to be, when you were not cowering under a massive migraine.  This was sweet liberation from the pain.  I was just exhausted. I was getting near the exit of the Morphogenic wing now, and a wave of relief enveloped me.  A deadly contribution to my sick mind.  My steps faltered and I dropped, managing somehow to hit my cheek on the cement floor without cracking a tooth.  The Walrider waited beside me as my scattered mind cleared.  I heard Father Martin whisper something into my ear, the same as when he first found me.  I wanted to ask if there was a heaven waiting for me.  He only smiled, and the buzzing in my limbs murmured something with great urgency.  I just wanted the world to stop. The lights faded before I blinked back into clarity.  No.  Don’t sleep, don’t fall.  Not here.  I’m so close.  A small red puddle had gathered under my cheek, and I gladly lifted myself from it.  I took a moment to pull together, and swallow down the blood that lined my throat.  No more fading, no more pauses.  It was obvious by now I could not escape my fate, I had been fooling myself from the beginning.  For me, nothing lay beyond this place but death.  But goddamn it, I was NOT going to die inside these cold labs where so many had perished in the name of science.  I would get outside and I would die bathed in the warmth of the sun, knowing that I had beaten them all!  With that resolve whirring in my head I put my weight on my fist and pushed, rising up one last time.  Once and for all, I would make it out of this fucked up place.  I felt a bit of my strength returning as I shuffled forward, maybe I had been out for a minute, or an hour.  However long was enough.  I wasn’t stopping until I was finally in the sunlight. I was reminded briefly of my mutilations as I reached for the handles of the doors.  My index finger on my right hand, and my ring finger were— A sudden gust of air swept over my face as the doors swung outward.  I was not processing what was happening, as the click of weapons primed for assault were shoved at me.  Guns.  Assault rifles.  Held by soldiers.  MHS.  Special tactical cops, the same as the one that had warned me away seconds before his death.  Dazed, I wondered if he was still dead.  It took a half second before the panic finally latched onto my mind, the realization that this was happening.  This was really happening right here.  They were in my way, and they were going to kill me. Not armed!  I wasn’t armed!  Did they think I was dangerous, had they mistake me for a variant?  True, I had forgotten how god awful I must have looked, but I couldn’t help it!  I could hardly stand!  I put out my hands and limped back trying to warn them, but all that came out was a spray of blood as I exhaled a pitiful sound.  I sniffled, trying to clear the blood in my nose.  No!  Don’t do this.  Not when I was so fucking CLOSE! Then I saw him.  That man, whose corpse I had promised to fix nicely with a hacksaw.  Dr. Rudolf Wernicke amidst these militants, and waiting patiently for my requiem.  I fixed him with my eyes.  A look of betrayal?  A look of bafflement?  Why, after everything I have done for you, would you end me right here, right now?  I wanted to die in the fuckin sunlight! The first bullet hit before the piercing resonance shattered my thoughts.  I spun on my good leg upon receiving full impact, and manage to stay upright.  My vision blurred but I didn’t feel the pain, it hadn’t been recorded yet in my nerves.  Then, I thought I saw, right there.

My shadow….

Without a word, the hall is filled with the magazine chatter as the lead soldier emptied his arsenal in me. I was only grateful as I dropped, that about a fourth of the expense had lodged into my torso and hip.  Not like a concussion; not like a splitting migraine.  I’m still me, I can feel it settle deep in my marrow. 

This time it didn’t hurt to collapse to my backside.  A splash of blood hit me in the face, from about a dozen severed arteries. I had this odd sense of vertigo, an out of body experience as the darkness pooled over my eyes. Dying.  God, my bodies dying.  I can feel it - sliding off from me.  This is real, this is happening… In the now.  It’s sinking in.  The futility of it all… death.  My death.  It’s just… I’m losing touch.  Everything stopped inside me, and… I can’t restart it. 

 No.

In my last moments, I can ponder over the cruel irony. That no matter my hopes, my aspirations tangled into this god awful place.  Even the soldiers with their guns could not steal it all away.

I am free.

My consciousness drained out, and coalesced… elsewhere.  It was all over.  I was done.  Lost.  My vision blurred, dimmed.  I’m too damned tired to resist any longer.  Give in.  Sleep.  The world became a far off impression, a recollection in a pool that I could gaze down into, and saw only my reflection. It was all I had come to expect in the end; ragged, soaking red, and broken.

Forget….

Somewhere.  Someone stuttered in utter disbelief, “Gott im Himmel. You have become the host.”

That hissing whirr.  The static in my camera that I had grown accustomed to, filled my skull. The sounds of gun chatter persisted, and the frantic shrieks of men met my dulled senses. This crushing thought came over me as I accepted the void, the shadow, the emptiness of my failure. There would be no light waiting for me on the other side. There was no afterlife, no rest for my weary soul. Instead, I only saw red.

[tastefullynefarious]

Torment never looked so goddamn fine

Chapter 3 / 10 - Kansas - Carry On Wayward Son 

Words:  3,387

Warnings: Stuff!, you can kinda see what to expect from the moodboard lol, SMUT!, emotions i think?, probably typos.

I was going for something, not sure how well it translated from my head but hope ya’ll enjoy! 

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Masquerading as a man with a reason

My charade is the event of the season

And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know

On a stormy sea of moving emotion

Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean

I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say

Carry on my wayward son

For there'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

Billy had no idea if she'd still be there, but he didn't know where else to go, didn't have where else to go. In hindsight, it hadn't been his initial choice. He tried the quarry first but it was buzzing with horny teens basking in the late afternoon sun. He even went to stumble into the forest hoping for some alone and quiet, but he almost bumped into the chief of police, a trail a yellow flags in his wake. Billy didn't know if he had the energy to explain his bloody face nor to find out what was the cop doing. So he just hopped back into his car and drove aimlessly for a while, warm blood seeping from above his right eye. Passing by Motel 6 had been nothing more than pure coincidence. Sandy had been a good fuck, a great one even, but she was not his friend and definitely not his savior.

Despite his little rant, as soon as he saw the sign he turned the steering wheel and entered the parking lot almost mechanically. He passed the rooms on the ground floor, 01 to 10, in a daze. Would she still be there? Would she even open the door if she was? He went up the metal stairs and counted the doors, 11, 12 and finally 13, the world slightly spinning, or maybe it was just his pounding head wound. She was still a stranger despite their little midnight encounter a few days prior, she owed him nothing. If she was behind that door, she would send him away. He was not her problem, not her responsibility. Not a charity case.

The door flung open before he beat down this pride enough to knock.

"Well shit. Come on in." It was all she said as she stepped aside and he didn't question her sanity for letting him follow. Even in his state, blinking briskly to keep the blood out of his eye, it was hard not to notice she was only wearing an almost sheer bathrobe, her lean legs in full view.

She guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, gathering the notes and pages scattered on the mattress with some urgency before coming back with a first aid kit and began checking on his bleeding temple. Her cool fingers were already doing wonders for his headache. He relaxed into her touch, hands moving his head to find better angles with a steadiness and dexterity that only came from experience. His eyes never left her, the question of what was her story resurfacing like an undertone in the storm of thoughts that was raging in his mind.

"It's not that bad, head cuts just tend to bleed a lot." It was strange, the way all his wounds seemed to hurt less when she was the one treating them, her hands not particularly light as she whipped the blood away. And stranger still that she seemed to be able to find all the sore spots that weren't even visible, pressing her fingers to his side to see if his ribs were cracked. She even poked at his knee, an old surfing accident that didn't usually bother him, but a weak spot that his father sometimes exploited, knowingly or not. "Nothing's broken, but you should really watch yourself for a while. Stay off that leg as much as possible."

"Doesn't hurt much..." It was more of an afterthought. He knew the pain of broken bones well and that was not it. But she gave him a half smile, her eyes averting from his fast. His hands balled into fists at his side, anger running hot beneath his skin. He hated it, the pity, the walking on eggshells around him like he was one step away from breaking. He loathed himself even more because it was very close to the truth. But Sandy didn't seem to notice his fury, or chose to ignore it completely, picking up his left hand instead. Her brows furrowed as she examined the fast forming bruises on his knuckles, his fingers loosening at the unexpected touch.

"You should take a shower first. Then I'll bandage this up." He opened his mouth, but she was faster. "No complains, Billy! Get in that shower."

"You just want me naked." She faked an overly dramatic gasp, hand brought to her gaping mouth and wide doe-like eyes, but she was already moving backwards towards the door Billy assumed was the bathroom.

"Even if you discovered my wicked plan to get in your pants, you're not getting out of this, mister." There was a deafening silence left behind her as she disappeared from view and it rubbed Billy wrong. He shouldn't have come! Why did he? His usual routine would have been to seek an abandoned place where he could lick his wounds in solitude. So what brought him to this stranger's room? Sure, a part of him had been certain that he would only find an empty space, no traced left behind the mystery Florida girl named Sandy. But she had been still in town, still at the cheap motel, so what was he still doing there, sitting on her bed, waiting for her to dress his wounds for him? The damage was not even that bad this time around, the pain having mostly subsided already. He was left… numb, an endless black void inside of him screaming to be filled with something, anything, else.

Billy got up from the bed faster than he intended to, stumbling on the short distance to the bathroom. She was slightly bent over to reach the faucets, adjusting the water temperature. "Fucking finally. Get it."

Sandy sauntered towards the spot just past the doorway where he seemed to have caught roots. His eyes were dark, face set in all hard lines and jaw clenching. Paired with all the bruises and overall scuffed up appearance, he looked dangerous, the bad boy mothers warned their daughters about, the hungry wolf stalking the pen. The corners of her lips curled in a playful smirk, hands already tugging at his shirt. She pulled it over his head, her powers alerting her of the strain in his shoulders so she turned his dial lower. It was a risk, too much and he would start noticing something was off. Billy had other things on his mind though. One swift pull on the cord that held together the thin robe covering her and it was pooling at her feet, only a pair of lacy panties underneath. The snarl that came out of his sinful mouth was all kinds of cruel, his shoulders straightening as he inched even closer into her personal space.

"Were you already expecting company, doll?" She batted her eyelashes, eyes all big and feigning innocence.

"I was hoping you'd come around-" It seemed to be the correct answer, his mouth on hers barely letting her finish the last word. He pushed her backwards towards the shower and she made fast work of his jeans and boxers. In turn, he ripped the fragile lace than hung on her left hip letting the panties slide down her other leg just as they reached the shower.

The water was steaming, leaving their skin red and raw. Sandy turned their pain down another notch, breaking the kiss to wipe the blood from her nose, but masking it by quickly starting to nip and kiss down his throat. He let his head fall backwards as she went lower and lower, nails digging in his sides. A small groan escaped his lips and she thought he was enjoying it, but was surprised when he pulled her up and pushed her against the tiles rather forcefully, both her wrists caught in a vice like grip above her head.

On any other given day Billy would have more than welcomed her to wrap those lips around his cock, but he was desperate for something else. He lifted one of her legs, a jolt passing through his wrecked arm, but he ignored it, the pain already fading under the boiling water. He was inside her in one swift motion, her back a perfect arch and head pushed back against the hard wall. They settled in a frenzied rhythm, bodies slamming into one another with a ferocity that could almost be mistaken for passion. She moaned loudly and his eyes were drawn to her face, eyes half closed and lips parted. And blood flowing from her nose, still evident even under the heavy stream. She must have caught on his worried expression, his pace slowing down.

"Shit! Don't you dare stop now, Billy!" She rolled her hips with force and he followed suit, his thrusts becoming long and deep rather than fast. He let go of her wrists and wiped the blood off, her arms snaking around his neck instantly. She kissed him as soon as his thumb brushed away from her face, biting his lower lip and sucking on his tongue, teeth clashing as they rushed towards their releases. His now freed hand found her waist and pulled her even closer, fingers imprinting five dotted bruises on her skin. He wrapped her leg around, freeing his hand to tease her clit and she let out something between a moan and a scream as they both came, seconds apart. She rolled her head forward, resting it gently against his. The gesture was far from new yet somehow still foreign and he took a sharp inhale, the steam filling the minuscule motel bathroom making it particularly difficult. He checked her face for any signs of distress, but her eyes were closed and there was no more blood.

"You okay?"

"Better than." She lifted her eyes to meet his, but started coughing almost immediately. "But we should really get out of here before our skin melts off or we suffocate."

She untangled herself from him and turned off the water, the absence of both her body and the hot pour making him shiver despite the temperature still high in the small fogged up space. He followed her into the room, his eyes settling on her back. In better lighting he could finally see the long gashes marring her skin and they looked like anything but accidents. His hand shot up to trace one, but a baggy shirt was covering her before he could. She picked up the first aid again and sat on the edge of the bed, one leg underneath her. The burn-mark on her leg ran all the way from her the middle of her upper thigh to her waist line where he'd felt it.

"Sit." She patted the spot besides her, the tone of her voice sparking a little defiance in him. No one told him what to do! But he sat down nevertheless, towel wrapped around his waist. She was only helping him after all. She'd done nothing but help, taking his mind off of his father, off the aches in his beaten up body. He stared at her concentrated expression as she applied some cream on his shoulder, delicate fingers massaging it into his skin. When she moved to bandage his hand, he snapped at her a little, eyes averting from her when he thought she hadn't deserved it.

"Are you not even going to ask?!"

"Are you going to be honest if I do?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"Well, that is refreshingly sincere." She continued her little ministrations unaffected by the exchange, while Billy was having a small breakdown on the inside, thoughts forming in his head only halfway through before another idea took their place, all mixed with images of his mother donning identical bandages and bruises to his own. Sandy's voice silenced the madness, cutting through it like a beam of light in the dead of night. "It's not hard to guess though. You already established your father is an ass, I just didn't realize how much of one."

Sandy let her hand fall on his chest and trail all the way down to where she knew the ribs were injured. She read his cuts and bruises like braille, each ache on his body mapped in her head and telling a story. Her powers allowed her to see the big picture better, distinguish between what was new and old. Her voice came out a little shaky as her eyes finally shot back to find his blues. "It happens often, too."

"It was my fault."

"I sincerely hope you don't mean that." When he gave no response, she caught his face between both her hands, thumbs pushing away some of the wet strands of hair. "There is nothing you could have done to deserve this from your dad. Any of it." He would have looked almost cute, a lost little puppy, if his eyes weren't so tired and sad. She could see in them that he didn't believe a single word she had uttered.

Billy stared back at the young woman, a range of emotions washing through him. It started with a seeping anger: who did this girl think she was? She knew nothing about him. It went on to a polar opposite calm curiosity: what had she been through? She looked like she'd seen some shit. It did a back-flip to annoyance: she was acting all high and mighty, but she was running away from her problems just as much as he was, she admitted it that night at the quarry.

Finally, Billy decided he wasn't up to reliving the 'fight' with his father, the memory still just a few hours old. There was no need for her to know how he disrespected Susan, reminding her that she'd never compare to his mom, and the unfortunate matter of Neil hearing him say it. In truth, he had no quarrel with Susan. She was the one who convinced his father to eventually let him buy the Camaro and not just take his hard earned money, arguing it would be useful to have another car. He just- he couldn't think clearly when she was trying so hard to replace her. There was also nothing heroic or dignifying about his torn knuckles, the wall he'd punched repeatedly in frustration the clear winner of the altercation.

Sandy's hands finally slipped away from his cheeks, accepting that he was not going to open up, and rested on her lap. He found his eyes drawn again to that little scar in the corner of her upper lip.

"What about you? Done anything to deserve that?" He gestured to his own lip, resisting the instinct to feel it with thumb. He was expecting some kind of sob story, but her face lit up with laughter.

"Never run around with scissors, that shit is real." He lifted an eyebrow, her words making close to no sense. Had she injured herself? Was she that big of a klutz? She just shrugged in turn. "What can I say, I was a bit of a mess a few years back. A walking danger zone." He wanted to ask more about that particular time of her life, but she shook her head dismissively before he ever got the chance. So he moved on to the next scar.

"And that?" He traced his fingers this time along a long gash peeking out of her short sleeve. It wasn't too obvious, barely a faint line a few shades lighter than her skin.

"Hmmm, got it in a bar fight."

"Bar fight?"

"Yeah. Believe it or not, some men are offended by my personality." There was an implied 'unlike you' at the end of her sentence, her eyes burning into his. Or so he liked to believe. "You should have seen the other guy though." The corners of his lips curled into a proud smirk. He could almost picture her, spunky and wild, breaking a bottle over some douchebag's head, taking no shit from anybody. He reached for her thigh, brushing his fingertips from the normal, soft skin to the rougher, scorched patch. It was almost three of his hands spawns wide, red and angry. He couldn't even begin to imagine how it would feel, the flesh sizzling and shriveling up.

"Must have hurt like a bitch." She shrugged again and he couldn't quite make it if it was bravado or she genuinely was over it.

"I don't really remember. Feels like it was a lifetime ago." She touched the mark herself, her eyes following his to it but not really looking. Her fingers brushed against his and he caught her hand without thinking. Which brought him in an odd stance, caught between wanting to pull her in and realizing he should push her away. The latter won by a landslide.

"I should go." It was getting late and there was no more reason to stay, she had served her purpose. He'd already spent more time with the chick than he usually did after a round of sex and he didn't want her to get any ideas. He went straight to the bathroom to gather his clothes, still damp from the steam and water they splashed around. It mattered little, the need to bolt out the door rising by the second.

Sandy didn't know what she'd done to offend him so, but it was not like she had been expecting him to stay over. From her experience with people in general, limited as it was, she thought she had a pretty clear picture of Billy's type. It was, in retrospect, not so different from her own. They both had walls put up, thick and high and mighty impenetrable. She was proud to be getting better at opening up and accepting her past as a lesson learned, but she had the advantage of breaking free of her torment. Billy stilled seemed to live it on a daily basis.

She was rummaging through some leftover pizza boxes when he came out of the bathroom looking confident and stone cold, ever the charming devil, but he wasn't fooling her. He went straight to the door to get his leather boots and Sandy took the opportunity to feel his sore points again, making sure she could keep the pain levels lower for him even from a distance. It was going to be a bit of a struggle to keep that up long term, but it was something she could at least try. When he nodded at her and opened the door, she crossed her arms.

"Billy!" He turned towards her, one foot already out the door, eyes wild with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She worded her next sentence carefully, not wanting to sound neither needy nor indifferent. "My offer still stands, you know? Come over anytime."

"Already miss me, doll?"

"You read me like an open book. Can I hide nothing from you?" She couldn't resist rolling her eyes. He was such a duffus. A drop dead gorgeous one, completed with the emotional fucked up baggage. He chuckled at her deadpan expression, the sound pure and honest. She'd succeed in not scaring him off. Probably.

"See you around, Sandy."

"See ya, Billy."

She watched him go from the doorway, followed him while he crossed the parking lot and started his car, her eyes narrowing when he drove off into the setting sun. He was still on the back of her mind when she was arranging the files on the lab and ever present in her thoughts as she brushed her teeth before bed. She was convinced she had Billy all figured out, but he was not the problem. She wasn't sure what her next move was with the whole Upside Down situation, or where to start looking for El and the other MKUltra kids. She didn't even know for how long she'd be in Hawkins. Only one thing was beginning to be certain though, the idea forming and cementing itself deep into her brain.

She had to pay Neil a visit before she skipped town.

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I now have a Tag list, OMG, so precious  (*≧ω≦*)

Let me know if you want to be added (or if I’m doing this wrong O_O)

@letsloveimagines ; @nightcraver

[hazeofhearts]

Smoldering Blue

Hello readers! Before we begin, I would like to say that I do not own any of these characters or you.

Hope you enjoy!

(I just need some soft!Billy please. All of it.)

Warning: very, very smutty. Approach with caution.

You heaved yourself out of your window onto your roof, crawling across the shingles to the flat part of your roof you knew to meet your boyfriend.

The clatter of the ladder on the side of the house made you wince and crawl even further to the edge of the roof.

“You moron, my parents could hear,” you hissed.

“Relax, babe. This happens every time i come over and every time nothing happens.”

The curled hair that you loved so much poked over the edge of the roof and you couldn’t help but soften your demeanour. Billy crawled onto the roof, his jeans and boots scraping on the sand papery tiles and he situated himself behind you, his legs stretched out on either side of your crossed legs.

Billy’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back into his chest. You reached a hand behind you and tugged at the curl you knew would be hanging exactly within arms reach.

A sigh escaped your boyfriends lips and caressed the back of your neck, making you shiver. Billy’s hands rubbed your stomach and teased themselves upwards.

“Hargrove,” you warned.

“I can’t help it baby.”

You twisted yourself around and kneeled in front of Billy, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders as you touched your forehead to his.

“I know, baby. But let’s just have ten minutes to talk about our day.”

Billy nodded and let you go first. You happily chatted about your part time job filing papers at the police station. It was an easy way to get money and guaranteed none of your classmates would do it either.

“That chief giving you any trouble? I heard he can be an ass.”

“Any more than you?”

“Ouch, baby.”

You giggled and asked Billy about his day. As usual, he had a much shorter list of things to say. Only mentioning certain things, like the health of Max, when asked.

You sat in silence then, his legs crossed and you sat in his lap, your arms around his neck. You pressed a gentle kiss to his Adam’s apple and heard him chuckle.

You trained your eyes to the stars, trying to locate the new constellation you had learned today, just for him.

“That’s Canis Major. It’s also called the Great Dog. You can see Sirius right there. Here.”

You grabbed Billy’s hand and traced the lines of stars with his finger, knowing his eyes were following your directions.

“You’re so smart baby,” he murmured, his lips tickling your ear.

“Only because you let me show off,” you replied, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. You trailed a hand down his clothes chest. Lately, he had been wearing shirts that didn’t require buttons so he couldn’t unbutton them basically all the way down.

He knew that you got a bit jealous when some girl would let her eyes go down down down so he cleaned himself up a bit.

“It’s been 15 minutes, baby. You wanna go inside,” you asked in a whisper.

In response, Billy heaved you into his arms and stood, walking over to your window and letting you crawl in before following. Billy immediately began undressing and you followed not long after. You both were taking your time but there was also this intense urgency under it. This time would be different for reasons you didn’t know yet.

You were in the middle of taking off your pants, already topless, when your boyfriend came over and snagged his fingers in your belt loops. He glided them gently down your legs, bringing your underwear with them. Then he traced his hands up your ass and squeezed it playfully.

You turned around and Billy scooped you up once again, laying you down on the bed, your legs crossed delicately.

Billy stumbled over your body and trailed his hands over your legs, spreading them and settling between them. You could feel a nervous breath fanning over your mound and this made your stomach flip. Billy was never this slow.

“You okay, baby?”

Billy traced your thighs with his fingers gently, making goosebumps appear on your legs. You squeezed your legs against the warmth of Billy’s waist and gave him a small smile.

“You know we don’t have to-“

You sucked in a gasp as Billy licked a broad stripe up your pussy. Without warning, Billy latched himself onto your clit and sucked. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging on it so you didn’t cry out. Your parents room was downstairs but they were both light sleepers.

You circled your thighs around Billy’s head as he eats you out. The sounds coming from his mouth made you more aroused and your hands began to shake.

He would flick your clit rapidly with his tongue at random intervals that made you buck your hips up into his mouth. He finally detached himself from your pussy, only to return to it with his fingers. He traced your folds before sliding them in and curling them. Your hand went to your abandoned clit and circled it, going in time with Billy’s fingers.

He quickly transitioned from soft thrusts to hard, his fingers barely leaving your pussy and making you breathless. The wet noises coming from you made you cry out softly, your other hand tugging Billy’s curls again.

Your orgasm washed over you and you shuddered heavily, bucking onto Billy’s fingers and squirming on your bed, lifting your hips.

Billy slid his fingers out of you and hovered over you, planting his elbows on your bed so his face was close to yours. He licked his fingers and lips and wiped his mouth, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

He reached down between you and took hold of his cock, letting the tip slide between your folds. You groaned quietly, moving to get any friction you could.

Billy dropped his forehead onto yours and looked into your eyes. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re okay Billy? You seem a little off.”

Genuine concern laced your voice and Billy slid into you slowly, trying to distract you from the topic.

“Ooohhhhhh,” you breathed out. “You’re not getting away that easily baby. What’s bothering you.”

Billy bit his lip and you reached up and released it from his teeth, rubbing your thumb across it instead, your trembling hand betraying your calm demeanour.

“I just love you so much. I…..”

Billy started thrusting slowly, going around in a circle each time he entered you. You spread your legs as far as they would go right then.

This was the most romantic sex you had ever had. It wasn’t fucking and it was just beyond normal sex. He was horny because when was he not but he was also really sweet. He was soft and slow and looked into your eyes for long periods of time.

His eyes were liquid blue. Dark and stormy, like what you imagined the ocean would look like. He’s described it to you so many times when you were up on the roof but you were more focused on the emotions in his voice. You knew he had fond memories of the ocean when he talked about it.

“T-Talk to me baby. I love you too but I need to know what’s upsetting you.”

Billy burrowed his face in your neck, biting and sucking a small hickey. His movements where hesitant and clumsy. He was really shaken up about something.

You ran your fingers through his hair and that got him going a bit. He scooped you up and sat back on his heels, making you sink all the way onto his cock. He held you like that as you cried out softly. It was a strange position, one that you had never really tried before. But it was bringing you pleasure so you didn’t mind.

“I love you. I love you so much baby. You know I do. I don’t say it as much as I should. I love you.”

With every word Billy spoke, his thrusts got faster. He had his arms wrapped around your back, pressing your chests together.

“I love you do, I know you do.”

Each upward thrust made you moan and squeak. You snakes your arms around Billy’s back and moved them to squeeze his ass cheeks.

“Oh baby. Please baby, please.”

You could have came right then by the needy noises Billy was making and how he begged you. You leaned back and took his cheek in your hand.

“Cum, baby. Cum for me,” you spoke into his neck.

Billy drilled into you, feeling his pelvic bone hit you every time he bottomed out sent shockwaves through your body. He had cupped your breasts and was currently tweaking your nipples every so often. Your hands were anchored to his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh.

“I-I’m, baby, I’m-“

“Yes baby, yes. Cum inside me. Come on.”

Tugging on Billy’s hair one final time, he emptied his load into you, rutting shallowly into you to work over his orgasm. When he was finished, he noticed you were rubbing yourself and he pushed your hands aside, taking over for you.

He rubbed your clit in fast circles, making you shudder and lean heavily into him. When he finally tipped you over the edge, you went limp, making him fall over at the foot of your bed.

His fingers were still moving and you had to push them away from the sensitivity. You were aware that Billy’s cock was still inside you but you just wanted to savour this moment for a little bit.

This was the boy you loved. The boy who you had broken through enough walls to find out why he was an asshole. You had patched him up, mentally and physically sometimes and he did the same for you.

Billy raised you up, sliding his cock out of you and setting you down on your pillows. He went into your bathroom across the hall and came back with a warm washcloth.

He nudged your legs gently apart and you allowed him to clean you, looking at him with possibly the most sickeningly sweet and loving eyes possible.

He cleaned himself off then and returned the washcloth to your bathroom before coming into your room, grabbing his t-shirt and sliding it over your upper body when you raised your arms. You burrowed your nose into the fabric, the same smell of cigarettes and his expensive cologne as was engraved onto his skin, greeting you.

He pulled you to his chest, rubbing his thumb up and down your upper arm. You allowed yourself to crane your neck to look at him. He looked extremely thoughtful at that moment. You pressed a hand gently to his pectoral to get his attention.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Billy returned his eyes to the ceiling, clenching his jaw for a second before opening his mouth slowly.

“Do you…. would you ever consider… staying with me? Like forever?”

You cocked your head to the side, not expecting the question.

“I mean, I’m pretty attached to you Hargrove. You’d have to do something pretty fucked up for me to not want to be with you.”

“But I mean forever. Like marriage,” the last word was uttered so quietly you feared you may have imagined it.

“Marriage?”

“Yeah,” another soft reply.

A beat of silence. You felt Billy shift under you, appearing to want to get up.

“Just forget I said anything. It was stupid.”

You smacked you hand down on Billy’s chest, startling him.

“I will not forget what you said, Billy. You just proposed to me!”

“Well kind of. I didn’t do it right.”

“Yes, but it’s not the process that matters. It’s the end product. I don’t even care if you have a ring or not.”

“I actually do.”

You startled back for an second.

“Wait a hot damn minute. You mean tell me that you bought a ring to propose to me with?”

A shy nod.

“Do you have it with you?”

Another nod, this one followed by his head buried in your chest.

“What the hell man! Go get it! Unless you spent a shit ton of money on it. Then I’ll sock you right in the jaw.”

Billy rolled off the bed to his pants that had ended up on the back of your desk chair. You curled yourself up a bit, your chin resting in your hand. You had a warm feeling overcoming your stomach and it wasn’t just because you had the most mind-blowing sex ever.

“I know it looks like I got it from a fucking cereal box but I promise I didn’t. I saved up a lot of my gas money for it. I know you deserve so much more. You deserve a ring that costs about a million dollars.”

Billy presented the ring to you in the palm of his hand and tears sprung up in your eyes.

The band was a rose gold and it had two sapphire teardrop gems on either side of the (birthstone) gem in the middle.

“Billy! It’s beautiful! I couldn’t ask for a better engagement ring.”

“So that means you’re saying yes,” an extremely hope filled voice made you want to tackle him.

“Of course it’s a yes!”

Billy slipped the ring on your finger and you threw yourself at him, burying your face in his bare chest.

After the excitement had worn off a bit, you laid back down and decided to try and get some sleep. You felt warm and happy all over, butterflies filling your stomach every time Billy shifted under you.

You were engaged! Engaged! You idly wondered what other kinds of surprises awaited you in the future.

(I JUST LIKE SEX AND PROPOSALS OKAY? SUE ME!!!)

[hermitknut]

Animorphs: The Musical

Okay first off, a disclaimer: I outlined this originally not as a musical that would exist as an adaptation of the books, but as something that is created, maybe ten-fifteen years post-war, within the universe of the books (or more precisely, within my own post-series AU that I roughed out here - TL;DR is that Rachel’s alive and the animorphs as a group aren’t big fans of the spotlight). This affected things in specific ways, but most importantly:

Ax doesn’t want to be focused on - he doesn’t like earth music, and he doesn’t understand this form of storytelling. As such, he plays a smaller role in the show than he might deserve to. 

I can’t imagine them ever telling people on earth certain things (David will be a secret taken to the grave, for example; Aftran/Karen’s involvement may have been kept quiet to protect the (still a tiny child) Karen; and while the role of the Ellimist has been shared with the Andalites it’s not exactly a well-known thing on earth because seriously can you imagine the amount of scepticism)

That said, there’s no reason this version wouldn’t work as an adaptation, it just leaves out certain things that I think we’d all miss if we were watching it IRL. I was thinking more about how the actual Animorphs would feel about their lives going on stage. 

Notes:

1. I’ve used songs from actual musicals as stand-ins, and none of them are exact fits. Mostly they convey the right kind of feel and pace for the moment.

2. Each animorph has a ‘keynote’ through the show; something life-changing that they volunteered. Jake’s and Marco’s were easy; Cassie, Rachel and Tobias elected to keep their real life-changing moments to themselves (Aftran, David, and Elfangor respectively) and so theirs are a little different. Ax asked not to be given one.

3. The morphs are done with puppetry, with little emphasis placed on the transition. For small morphs (bugs and birds), the child actors can operate the puppets themselves; for battle morphs, adult puppeteers form the shape of the animal around them. This means you can see the child actor performing/emoting even within a fight scene. For the style of puppets I’m thinking of, check out the stage adaptation of His Dark Materials that was done a while back by the national theatre (some images here and here). 

4. I’m also working under the assumption that we’re using pretty minimal sets, so big set changes aren’t hugely necessary.

This got SUPER long, so I’ve put it under a cut.

Act 1

The house lights go down. Over the speakers we hear a confused buzz of communication: some thoughtspeech (Marco! On your left! Keep moving!) and some radio communication (military instructions and people panicking). This cuts when the lights slam up, and we’re on the bridge of the Yeerk mothership; everything is frozen; Tobias speaks up, asking how everything came to this? [feel of Mama Who Bore Me from Spring Awakening]

A quick shift takes as back three and a bit years, it’s a busy mall. We see the kids as they are that night: Jake and Tobias bickering over the arcade games; Tobias tagging along; Rachel having dragged Cassie out shopping. There’s a chorus number here to set the mood [feels a little like Hard-Knock Life from Annie, upbeat but work-a-day], interrupted once for each animorph as they explain who they are. Tobias tells us about Jake; Jake tells us about Marco; Marco tells us about Cassie; Cassie tells us about Rachel; Rachel tells us about Tobias. They’re just one-two line descriptions (‘that’s Cassie, who Jake fancies but won’t admit it. Animal nerd.’), just enough to get a feel for who these kids are. The kids meet; decide to walk home together through the construction site.

The whole scene at the construction site has the kids at the front of the stage, looking out into the audience. We never see Elfangor (Andalite diplomatics felt it would be disrespectful to hologram him, so the director worked around this). But Tobias speaks to the audience, narrating the events of the scene (it stays fairly brief, but meaningful) and speaking Elfangor’s words (after all, he’s the one who has the right to). As they flee the scene, Chapman (whose name is changed for the show) is identified as a controller, and Tom with him. 

The next day the kids end up at Cassie’s barn. They’ve all tried morphing, and now it’s time for the debate about what they’re going to do. The song of this argument is reminiscent of My Shot from Hamilton, but less solo and more alternating between the characters. Marco cutting in (like ‘Geniuses, lower your voices’ and later ‘I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory’ in the original) in counterpoint, arguing to protect themselves and their families, Tobias impassioned, Jake mediating, etc. They conclude, of course, that they’ll fight - and Marco will be with them, for now.

The first keynote is Tobias’s, opening when he comes to Jake after their first mission (not seen on stage) and can’t change back from hawk. He sings us through his journey from book #3, describing his first kill and the mall fly-through as the chorus shows us it in freeze-frame behind him [my closest match is with Deep Into The Ground from Billy Elliot, but it needs more fear/climax in it to work].

Montage time! The fighting and spying begins in earnest [Solidarity, from Billy Elliot]. As the music shifts between its two threads, we have quiet moments that continue the story - Ax is rescued in a brief scene, and Eva is revealed as the host of Visser One - but the fight returns and there is no time to stop and recover. Marco’s character shifts towards the end of the song and Cassie remarks on how much more dedicated he is now.

Rachel’s keynote now [imagine something similar to Your Obedient Servant from Hamilton, but sung all by one person swinging between aspects of their personality] consists of some emotional elements of #32 blended with #12; no plot as such, just Rachel trying to establish herself as rightfully furious with the world as it is as her father moves away and her life becomes more violent.

Go straight to Cassie’s keynote, which incorporates parts of #29; her friends are no longer there and she is going to the Yeerk pool alone, cooperating with the Yeerk Peace Movement (her interaction with Ilim standing in, in the show, for the big shift of perspective in #19) and struggling between not wanting to hurt anyone and not wanting to abandon her friends [feels like Burn from Hamilton].

The build of the end of Act 2 is largely instrumental [feels very like Angry Dance from Billy Elliot] - it’s another montage sequence, but this is darker and faster and much more violent. The kids are thrown about, they lose limbs in morph and get back up; the stage is relatively dark with flashes of dracon fire; hologram hork-bajir and taxxons storm across the stage; Jake comes within an inch of having to kill Tom only to be pulled away by Cassie. Human controllers are out in force, trying to hunt them down. Visser Three is heard over the speakers. The final moment of the sequence sees the kids crawl, exhausted, into bed (the beds are a level up, right at the back of the stage), only to jerk awake; their parents call out and ask if something’s wrong; the kids reply together ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’ Lights out. End of Act one.

[interval where the actual animorphs in the audience eat way too much ice cream and cling onto each other a lot]

Act Two

A startlingly bright open [think The Nicest Kids In Town from Hairspray [warning for racial slur in that song], and even some of the lyrics work] - it’s the Sharing, posters and flyers everywhere, full on Disneying it up with upsetting cheerfulness as the Animorphs slip between them at school, battling exhaustion and deadlines. We see Marco forcing himself to grin at the mirror; Cassie pick out a sliver of Hork-Bajir flesh from between her teeth; Jake trying to act normal around Tom; Rachel flipping off someone trying to flirt with her. 

We ease straight into Marco’s keynote as he skips school to get away from all of this stuff, ending up in town where he sees Visser One. Marco’s keynote is then #30, compressed into one song [feels like The Room Where It Happens from Hamilton, with the idea of the ‘bright clean line’ of ruthlessness repeating through the song]. When the song stops we get the ‘Mum’ ‘It’s the boy’ exchange; Eva falls and all the lights cut except a spot on Marco, who tells us that he doesn’t remember how he got down from the mountain. Cut to Marco and Jake in the forest when Marco comes back to himself. They part.

Some indication that time has passed, then we move on to Jake’s keynote - which is, of course, #31. Jake walks in on Tom and his father arguing (Tom: ‘FIVE DAYS?!?!’ Jake, aside: ‘...Five days?’), slips the other animorphs and we have the build to the scene on the docks - use a stage-revolve to show Jake frozen and Tom with the knife behind his back. It ends in chaos, and Jake pulling Tom out of the water; and meeting Marco’s eyes from across the stage, a nod of acknowledgement. [I have And All That Jazz from Chicago as a stand-in for this because of the way it builds, but really I need something with more spirals of desperation and less pizzazz].

We then move quickly through the big reveal - rescuing all the families except Jake’s - and go to living in the Hork-Bajir valley. The kids decide to recruit the auxillary animorphs, and go to the hospital [Right Hand Man from Hamilton]. For logistical reasons, James is the only one you actually see on stage.

We have a moment of peace/tension on the brink of the final mission [Who Wants To Live Forever from We Will Rock You, but probably shorter].

The final fight is shown in glimpses and flickers, until we’re on the bridge of the mothership again where we started. The Blade Ship goes down but Rachel and Tom survive (I’ll write why into an AU one day, but for now I ask you to just go with it). The six kids end up on stage, pulling close together, holding hands, frightened of the world to come [probably an unholy mix of Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story from Hamilton and Stay I Pray You from Anastasia. Everyone is sobbing]; the lights narrow until only they are lit, and they’re asking if they’ve done enough...

Lights down. End of Act Two.

~

So uh. Yeah. That was super long and now I’ve got to dash, but please do let me know what you think XD

[magpiewritingthing]

the hush moment

Story: silent hill: lullaby (working title)

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Summary: The library’s open. There’s no-one else around. They hope.

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Warnings: mentioned/implied attempted sexual assault with a lesbophobic lean, other lesbophobia & homophobia mentioned/implied/referenced (as well as compulsory heterosexuality/heteronormativity), suicide mentioned --- i tried to keep at least most of these implicit rather than explicit (except for the suicide warning, which is more of a hypothetical scenario explicitly stated, but still)

Other notes: A snippet of something I have in the works (read: my brain, not yet on paper or electronic words)

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The fog tastes like a jacuzzi electrical fire’s smoke, like when she was twelve and the neighbours had gone on vacation to the Bahamas or something and had apparently left their outdoor kit running. Mom had panicked like a fluttery bat when she had to call the fire brigade. Now, the taste coats the insides of Lucy’s cheeks, her gums and teeth seemingly slathered with the thickness of it, like she’d walked right up to the fire and stuck her tongue out, all madwoman.

She’s trying to run away from it. Cillian mentioned a library somewhere in town but she's got no fucking clue where it is, hasn’t even got a map, and she’s just running fuelled by pure panic and a will to live, a need to stay sane. (There’s no such thing as monsters, my silly-billy.) No such thing as a man who keeps walking even after setting himself on fire and started to chase her, laughing with outstretched hands and his fly undone. No chants of come back baby, come back baby, come back baby. Pretty girl, birthing hips, find yourself a good man to marry and have lots of little grandchildren for Mommy. Spoil them little bastards rotten, spoil them to death in the crib, spoil them spoil them spoil them while Lucy hangs herself in the attic of the neat little with the pretty little garden with the white picket fence while Husband is at Work, working for the Money. Another housewife dead, how sad.

Lucy’s still running even though it hurts, even though she wants to collapse and cry herself to sleep and wake up at home in Chicago in her and her mom’s apartment and Mom’s coming around to the idea of a lesbian for a daughter instead of a birthing machine to carry on the genetic line. Yeah, she’d like to just take it easy instead of running with lungs short of air, panicking for a library when she has no idea what it looks like.

“LUCY!”

A familiar voice, shouting from her left. A howl turning into a scream from behind (how far behind? safe? going to die?). She trips over her own feet. How so like a shitty horror movie protagonist! Honestly! Her hands are skinned by asphalt, her jeans scuff at the knees. A familiar pale and freckled hand, then arm helps her up, the stinging sudden and unwelcome in her palms and knees. Try not to think about how else it might’ve turned out, but she thinks it anyway, her breath coming in staccato hiccups. Panic.

Cillian looks like he’s been strung and kept together by wire, any muscle lean and spare against his otherwise lanky frame, and his limp in his left leg doesn't help matters either, not when he needs to be able to outpace whatever’s after him (and there is something after him, as there is something after her). Lucy’s still surprised when he’s able to pick her up in a fireman’s carry, and hurries into that godforsaken motherfucking library that she must’ve passed at least twice. Or maybe not at all, because everything in this shithole of a town looks shuttered up and brickworked all the same. And no-one would answer, no doors would yield, everywhere seemingly abandoned under the thick taste of ashy fog. She spits once Cillian slams the doors shut (silly-billy might hear that and kill me and fuck me, we’re dead, oh god, oh god, shut up be quiet, oh god), the taste making her retch.

“Lucy?” His tone is hushed now as he comes near, one hand on the loosely-attached flashlight and walkie-talkie. “Oh god, Lu, you alright?”

She shook her head and swatted at him, still spitting gobbets of what looks like black ash onto the brown-orange tiled floor. He backs off with a sharp inhale, and probably a pinched pair of eyebrows. She wonders if he knows something about this town, and decides an interrogation would do no good -- this town is Hell, she’s sure, and it’d only work to destroy them both if she took a side against her only ally (when did he get downgraded from a friend?). She only pays half of her attention to where Cillian steps away to as she spits out the last of the black and now-inky residue. At least it’s not white. Lucy almost cries at the thought. Cry-laughter, almost, but the panic’s left her numb, left her legs aching from the running.

Cillian returns with a plastic cup full of clear water; she half-remembers the repeated fills-and-empties from what must be a nearby water fountain, and notices that the water appears clear. Thankful for at least the illusion of untouched water, she gulps it down, swishing it around her mouth and teeth and gums.

“Something happened to you down there.” An educated guess barely disguised as a question, Cillian’s tone deflated like a popped balloon. She nods. He doesn’t ask any more, even with his equally burning need to know what the fuck is going on, the same as her own. No, an interrogation would do no good, but sharing what they know might. But only after they’ve recovered some, after Lucy shakes off the tremors and the want to cry and curl up into a fetal position.

“There’s nothing in here.” Right now, he means, because it’s just a matter of time. “And I’ve got a couple things we can use to defend ourselves.” She hopes he’s still got that axe -- all metal, no wood, should stand a chance so long as he doesn’t lose it. “And some more food and water.” He sounds panicked himself -- barely, like it’s fraying the edges of his voice. “And... and...”

When she looks up, finally, she sees that he’s looking at the noticeboard in the foyer where they still are. Or, rather, staring beyond it. Like he’s lost, his mouth seeming to move, but only a clicking coming out.

Her voice is still hoarse, timid. “Cillian?”

Like a broken spell, he comes back, surprise on his face, then irritation at the twinge in his leg because he’s been standing for too long. He plonks back down on one of the foyer’s benches, kneading at the epicentre of the pain in his leg. “I was just trying to think,” he says, as if to assure her that he wasn’t sinking more than he was continuing his thought, “if I had anything else, but my brain’s coming up empty right now.” Then, “Oh, actually -- I saw a girl before.”

“A girl?”

“Yeah, like twelve, I think. Yeah, she said she was nearly thirteen.” A sudden thought seemed to cross his mind, then apparent dismissal; it worries her. “I think she was... her name was Diletta, I think. Dark brown hair, dark-- I think she had dark eyes--”

“I haven’t seen her.”

“No?” Worry is plain and concrete on his face. “She-- she saw something, said the ‘monster’ was trying to get her.”

“She might be OK.” Lucy thinks it might just be another of the town’s puppets. But she might be wrong, and being wrong might cost them both.

“Maybe.” Cillian doesn’t sound convinced.

She needs a little help off the floor, her hands and knees (don’t think about it, but do think about it) still stinging, and he still needs a moment to make sure the pain isn’t going to come back and bite him at the most inopportune moment, and both head towards the computer booths where Cillian’s held the food, water, and weapons. Bread, mostly, and snack bars he must’ve devastated a vending machine for; the all-metal axe, a wooden bat, a heavy-looking wrench, and a police officer’s pistol with additional ammo set aside. She doesn’t ask.

When he slumps down into a seat (it seems the least painful way for him to sit down, instead of ‘taking it easy’), she asks, “Did anything happen to you?” Lucy is starkly aware of her half-looming over him and the table, and takes note of the way he does not look her in the eyes, the way he hesitates then bites into a slice of bread. Avoidance. She understands, but they need to understand what’s at play in this Hell of a town.

“Cillian--”

“Please.” His voice is meek. Begging for his life.

She wonders if it was anything like hers (like William).