#the blank looks i get deal me actual psychic damage

[secretlyofthefeywild]

gahhh none of my friends have the same music tastes as meee :(((

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 6: Heart Monitor

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

P.S. Scott and Stiles are back to being terrible at keeping secrets, Jackson is en route to creepyville, and Derek is super duper probably dead.

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

“A spiral.” I said slowly, to make sure we were on the same page. 

Scott nodded frantically, his fists tightening around the straps of his bookbag. “I-I thought it was Derek, but it wasn’t.”

He’d practically bolted toward me the second I walked into the school this morning. After yanking me away from Allison, who was very confused might I add, he proceeded to tell me about the events of last night. 

“Then who was it?” I asked, even though I could've guessed the answer. 

He leaned toward me and looked around before whispering harshly. “The alpha. It had to be him. But why didn't he kill me?”

“Wait. He?” I stopped walking. “Do you have any suspects?”

“No. No, I’m just saying...” I quirked an eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes with a sigh. “He or she didn't kill me. Which is weird, right?”

“I guess.” I shrugged, continuing down the hall at his side. I honestly had no idea what the alpha’s deal was. It had killed before, almost randomly, and according to Derek it was after Scott. So maybe it was weird that he was still alive, or maybe it wasn't. “You’re apart of it’s pack, right? So maybe it wants to kidnap you, not kill you.”

“That’s reassuring.” He huffed and returned his attention to the hallway in front of us. 

Stiles turned a corner a few feet away, his gaze trained straight ahead. Scott’s face lit up in recognition, a relived smile pulling at his lips. “Stiles, dude. You didn’t answer any of my texts. You have to hear...”

His greeting trailed off when Stiles continued walking past us as if we didn't even exist. I winced, watching as Scott turned on his heel to follow him. I had no choice but to join in, because I’m nosy. 

“Stiles. Come on!” 

He kept his face blank, aside from his lips which twisted into an annoyed frown. 

“You can’t ignore me forever.” Scott tried again, his voice growing desperate. 

Stiles hadn't spoken to him since the parking lot incident two days ago. He was beyond angry with him for disappearing with Allison for a full day, plus having his phone off. I kind of understood both sides. Scott just wanted a normal day with his girlfriend, on her birthday no less. And Stiles is a spaz who freaks out if his friends can’t be reached in a timely fashion. 

Not to mention, his dad had somehow been hit by a car in the middle of the shitstorm at the school, and he was worried about him. There were a lot of dangerous things going on right now, so it honestly wasn't ideal for any of us to be M.I.A.

“Can you at least tell me if your dad’s okay? I mean, it’s just a bruise, right? Some soft tissue damage? Nothing that big.” Scott prodded, only making the situation worse. 

Stiles’ nostrils flared as he dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek in frustration.

“You know I feel really bad about it, right?” His eyes twitched, but he otherwise showed no reaction. “Okay. What if I told you I was trying to figure this whole thing out? And...and that I went to Derek for help.”

My head whipped in his direction. That was news to me. Did he just conveniently leave that part of the story out? He avoided my gaze with a sigh. 

“If I was talking to you.” Stiles spoke up suddenly, surprising us both. “I would tell you that you’re an idiot for trusting him. But obviously, I’m not talking to you.”

“I second that.” I added with a raise of my hand. 

Derek was just straight up bad news. He may know more about being a werewolf than Scott, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy. A few tense beats of silence passed between the three of us. I watched as Stiles had an internal battle with himself. His lips rolled inward and his head tilted to the side, his eyes pinching shut for a brief moment. I knew he was about to crack. He turned to Scott with a jerk, practically causing a traffic jam in the hallway. 

“What did he say?” He sighed, seemingly disappointed with himself for giving in. 

Scott smiled gratefully. “He said I could learn to shift by tapping into a primal animal rage.”

“Uh, correct me if I’m wrong, but every time you do that you try to kill someone. And that someone’s usually me.” Stiles started talking with his hands like he usually does, a good sign that he was back to normal.

“Wait. What?” I looked at the two of them with wide eyes. How did I know nothing about this? They shared a secretive glance before Scott sighed, his shoulders hunching in defeat. 

“I kinda lose it when there’s a full moon. I’ve only been through one before and it wasn’t pretty. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Derek said he won’t help me unless I stay away from Allison.”

My brows furrowed in question. What does she have to do with any of this?

“Because of her family?” Stiles asked, coming to a more logical conclusion than me.

“No,” Scott shook his head, looking troubled. “He said that she's a distraction. She makes me weak.”

“You know, the whole women make you weak thing is a little too spartan warrior for me.” Stiles rolled his eyes with a huff. I couldn't agree more. That was one of the biggest copouts I’d ever heard. “It’s probably just part of the learning process.”

Just then, the warning bell rang through the halls. We all went our separate ways, and I made a mental note to confront them about their habit of keeping secrets the next time I saw them. 

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

I walked through the halls, glancing between my phone and the floor in front of me. I was supposed to meet up with Allison and Lydia in the library during our free period to study. I was waiting for them to tell me they were ready. I sent them another text in our group chat and decided to just head in that direction without them. They could catch up.  

I narrowly missed running into someone, but looked up just in time to stop before faceplanting into their broad chest. It was Jackson, looking sick as ever. His green eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept in days, and he was covered in a thin layer of sweat. I took a tentative step back to put some distance between us.

After a few long moments of him awkwardly staring at me, I cleared my throat. “Hey Jackson. You have a free period?”

“No,” He chuckled, although it didn't reach his eyes. “I just don't like sitting through chem.”

“Understandable.” I sent him a small smile and, when he didn't respond, sidestepped him to continue on my way. 

The few other people in the hall had wandered off by now, leaving us alone. He moved in front of me, blocking my way, and once again only stared. There was something weird swirling in his eyes. I couldn't quite place it. It was like he wasn't completely himself. Maybe he had a fever, sometimes that can cause mood changes. 

“Did you...need something?” I asked slowly, beginning to get a little creeped out. 

“Actually, yeah. I wanted to talk.” I glanced away from him, the intensity of his gaze making me uncomfortable. “I realized that I've been a jerk to you. And Scott, especially. I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise, and he huffed out a laugh. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay...” I really didn't know what to say. He had been a huge jerk since the day I met him. But that was just Jackson. That’s how he was. Why he had the sudden urge to apologize to me, I had no idea. 

“Do you know what it’s like to be the best player on the team? To be the star, to have every single person at the game chanting your name? And then some kid just comes along, and everyone starts looking at him instead of you. Do you know what that feels like?”

I just blinked for a long moment, surprised by his sudden outburst. It was obvious that he was talking about Scott. He’d recently been named co-captain along with Jackson, effectively knocking him down a peg. The distaste he had for Scott wasn't subtle, but he’d never seemed remorseful about it until now. 

“No, I don't.” I admitted, not sure what else to say. 

“Well, it feels like something's been stolen from you. And then you start to feel like you’d do anything, anything in the world...” His eyes slowly trailed over my face as he spoke, and I shifted away a few inches. He was seriously being weird. “To get it back.”

“Haven’t you ever heard the saying there’s no I in team?” I quipped, trying to lighten the mood. I took a miniscule step away from him, hoping he wouldn't notice. He’d gotten way too close to me during that monologue. 

“But there is a me.” He barked, and my shoulders immediately stiffened. Then, he laughed. But it didn't exactly sound genuine. “That was a joke.”

I forced a chuckle, just wanting this weird conversation to be over. 

“Gosh,” One of his hands came up to rub at the back of his neck. “You must really hate me.”

“I don’t.” I reassured slowly. It was the truth. I may not particularly like the guy, but he was dating one of my best friends. He was mostly harmless and I could put up with him when I had to. 

“You sure? Because I’m not a bad guy.” His eyes danced around my face as he spoke, and he’d somehow gotten way too close again. “I mean, yeah. I make stupid mistakes. A lot. But I’m not bad.”

My lips twitched into what I hoped looked more like a smile than a grimace. I glanced down at my phone, praying that one of the girls would text me so I had an excuse to walk away.

“I really like you.” He said suddenly, and my eyes snapped back up to his. My breath caught in my throat. He likes me? He cannot like me. He’s dating Lydia. And I have...okay, no. I don't have anyone. But he still can’t like me. That is so many types of wrong. “And Scott. I really like you both. And I want you guys to like me.”

I relaxed slightly, but still felt majorly weirded out by this whole thing. I also noticed that he hadn't mentioned Stiles at all and wondered if he had ever even acknowledged his existence. I guess he was more aware of Scott because he saw him as competition, and he was dating his girlfriend’s best friend...but still. 

“I want to get to know you guys better.” I just nodded, hoping he was done talking. I’d never wanted to crawl out of my skin more than I did right now.  

I felt my phone vibrate with a notification and silently thanked the heavens. I lifted it up and tried to smile regretfully as I stepped around him. “This has been...nice. But I gotta go. I’ll, uh, see you later.”

I walked away briskly, feeling his eyes watch me the whole way. Once I turned the corner, I felt a shudder move through me. I was so put off by that whole conversation. Had he always been that weird? I remembered him being a charismatic asshole, not whatever that was. I tried my best to forget about it as I walked into the library and immediately found Allison and Lydia at a table. 

I sat down quickly, running a hand through my hair to collect myself. 

“Where have you been?” Lydia asked, and I paled. She had this glint in her eyes that said she somehow knew I had just been talking to her boyfriend.

“Uh...” I wracked my brain for a believable lie. “Just had to stop at my locker.”

“Whatever. Guys, listen.” Allison’s full attention was on a small book in her hands. “The Beast of Gévaudan was a quadruped wolf-like monster prowling the south of France in the years 1764 to 1767. La Bête killed over a hundred people, becoming so infamous that the King, Louis XV, sent one of his best hunters to try and kill it.”

“Boring.” Lydia sang, but Allison continued unfazed. 

“Even the church eventually declared the monster a messenger of Satan.” Her eyes lit up in excitement as she read.  

“Hmm,” Lydia hummed, pretending to think. “Still boring.”

“Cryptozoologists believe it may have been a subspecies of a predator—”

“Slipping into a coma bored.”

“While others believe it was a powerful sorcerer who could shapeshift into a man and a monster.” I stiffened at that, my breath catching in my throat. That sounded familiar. What were they even talking about?

“Does any of this have anything to do with your family?” Lydia pressed impatiently.

Her family?

Oh. 

Oh no.

“This. It is believed that La Bête was finally trapped and killed by a renowned hunter, who claimed his wife and four children were the first to fall prey to the creature. His name was Argent.” She looked up with a triumphant smile, and I cleared my throat while trying not to give anything away. 

Did she already know, and this was her way of telling us? Or was she just now starting to put the pieces together?

“So your family killed a big wolf...” Lydia drawled, clearly not understanding what she was trying to say. 

“Not just a big wolf.” Allison shook her head and turned the book around so that we could see inside. “Take a look at this picture. What does it look like to you?”

My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest. It was a werewolf, clear as day. And it looked just like the alpha. Same glowing red eyes. Same terrifying teeth and claws. Same black fur atop bulging muscles. Lydia’s face dropped at the sight, her lips parting and eyes going wide. I knew she was remembering what she saw outside the video store. But how much had Allison seen?

“Guys.” She huffed, her brows furrowing in concern. “Guys?”

“It looks...” Lydia trailed off before seeming to collect herself. “Like a big wolf. I’ll see you guys later.”

She stood abruptly, and we both watched her until she turned out of sight. My eyes found Allison again and she opened her mouth to say something right when the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. She began collecting her things with a frown, and I shook my head. 

I had more questions now than ever, but I couldn't just outright ask her. If she didn't already know, I’d be exposing not only her family’s secret, but Scott’s. She mumbled a quick goodbye and went on her way. I sighed and rubbed a hand down my face in frustration. I hate secrets. So much.

On my way out of the library, I stopped at a nearby table where Scott and Stiles had been eavesdropping the entire time, using books as covers. 

“You two aren't subtle.” I stuck around long enough to see their sheepish expressions before walking out the doors. 

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

I pressed my head into my pillow with a sigh, trying to get comfortable. My luck hadn't changed when it came to sleeping. Aside from the one night that Stiles stayed over—which I have decided to never speak of—I’ve been plagued by bad dreams and visions. I’d been laying here for what must’ve been hours now, and I was no closer to sleep. 

There were so many things weighing on me, and I had a feeling they’d all be coming to a head soon. Like the alpha. What did it even want and why was it killing people? And Allison. I was feeling more and more guilty everyday for not telling her everything I know. Then there was Scott and Stiles, who were still keeping things from me, apparently. And Jackson. He was just...off. 

With a frustrated huff I turned over onto my other side, but froze when I felt hard ground beneath me. My bed wasn't hard. My eyes popped open and I bolted upright instantly. I wasn't in my bed anymore. My fingers flexed in the soft grass around me as I tried to get my bearings.

My heart pumped harshly in my chest while my eyes scanned my surroundings. I was sitting in front of the high school, in the grass. My brows furrowed and I shook my head. I had to be dreaming or something. I was literally just in my bed a few seconds ago.

I froze as the sound of growling echoed through the building behind me. It was so loud that the doors and windows were actually shaking. It went on for several seconds, then stopped. I huffed out a breath, more confused than ever. I squinted my eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the darkness of the night. I caught sight of Stiles’ jeep, along with another car, across the parking lot. 

Great. What had they gotten themselves into this time? What had I gotten myself into?

“I’m gonna kill both of you!” I nearly jumped out of my skin as a sudden voice boomed from the dark.

I turned to see Scott and Stiles walking casually out of the school, as if it were normal to be here after hours. Derek emerged from behind one of the cars, putting a face to the angry yelling. 

“What the hell was that? What, are you trying to attract the entire state to the school?” 

“Sorry.” Scott shrugged, not sounding the least bit genuine. “I didn't know it would be that loud.”

Okay, so the growl had come from him. That was honestly impressive. 

“Yeah, it was loud. And it was awesome!” Stiles sang, clearly excited by the whole thing. 

“Shut up.” Derek hissed before shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. 

“Don't be such a sour wolf.” Stiles chuckled and threw a hand up dismissively.

They were talking so casually, as if they were friends...

The last time I saw Stiles and Derek interact, he was terrified of him. What changed?

“Hey, what did you do with him?” Scott suddenly asked, his voice becoming serious. 

All three of them looked at Derek’s car, inspecting the back door which was sitting wide open. What, did they kidnap someone or something? He whirled back around to face the guys quickly. “I didn't do anything.”

Then, without warning, a spine-chilling growl sounded from behind Derek. I just barely had enough time to see a pair of glowing red eyes before he was lifted into the air. A fountain of blood spilled from his mouth and I covered my own with a harsh gasp. It was hard to see in the low lighting, but I’d bet all my allowance money that the alpha was the cause. 

Scott and Stiles instantly bolted from the scene, running at full speed toward the school. I was still frozen in place, fear paralyzing me. Just before ripping the doors open, Stiles’ head jerked in my direction as he noticed me sitting there. 

“Y/N?” He was beside me in the blink of an eye, wrapping a hand around my bicep. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I...I don't...” I stammered, watching as the alpha threw Derek against a wall and stalked toward us slowly. 

Stiles dragged me to my feet painfully fast, and I had no choice but to run with him as he sprinted to the school. We ran through the door that Scott was holding open for us, Stiles releasing me so he could help hold one of them closed. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” He yelled at me, his chest rising and falling with each quick pant he let out.

Both his and Scott’s backs were pressed against the metal doors, keeping them closed with their weight. It was a good idea in theory, although it would never hold up if the alpha decided it wanted to come in. They looked at me expectantly and I realized I hadn't responded yet. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold now that some of the adrenaline was wearing off. I really needed to start sleeping in more than a t-shirt and shorts, seeing as this was becoming a habit of mine. 

“No, not gonna work this time.” Stiles shook his head angrily. “This is so not okay. You can’t be here.”

“Seriously, Y/N. What, did you follow us?” Scott added, his tone sharp. 

Okay, they needed to chill the fuck out. It wasn't like I meant to crash their weird after hours meeting with Derek. 

“By the looks of it, you shouldn't be either.” I huffed, my annoyance at an all time high at continuously being kept in the dark. “Since when are you guys talking to Derek? And coming here at night? What are you even doing?”

“Not important.” Stiles glared at me before turning to peer out one of the windows in the door. 

“Very important!” I raised my voice as anger shot through me at his dismissal. “You two better start telling me everything you’ve been hiding. Right now. Or, I swear, I’ll—”

“This is not the time!” Scott interrupted, suddenly panicking. I’d nearly forgotten that we were hiding from the alpha. “We need to lock the doors.”

“Do I look like I have a key?” Stiles barked, voice rising with his own anxiety. 

All I could do was watch as they started bickering. 

“Grab something!” 

“What?”

“Anything!” 

Stiles suddenly stopped fidgeting and lifted his head to look out the window again. Scott stood from his hunched position and did the same, before whipping his attention back toward our spaz of a friend. 

“No.” He breathed, seemingly understanding what Stiles wanted to do.

“Yes.” He shoved a flashlight that I hadn't even realized he was holding into Scott’s chest and popped open one of the doors. My eyes widened as I realized what he was going to do. 

“No! Stiles, don't!” Scott whisper-shouted, but Stiles didn't even hesitate as he squeezed out the door. 

I instantly ran to the place he had just been standing in so I could look out the window. My gaze landed on a pair of plyers laying on the ground. 

“Is he crazy?” I whispered, my heart hammering painfully in my chest. Those were so not worth his life.

Scott and I watched with baited breath as he jogged down the concrete steps. He had barely touched the plyers when the alpha suddenly emerged from behind the Jeep. Scott instantly started pounding on the doors and calling Stiles’ name to get his attention. He looked at us, kneeling on one knee, and swallowed slowly. 

He turned back around, and must’ve seen the alpha barreling toward him, because a second later he was back inside. We slammed the doors shut, and Stiles jammed the plyers between the handles. A moment of tense silence passed, the only sound our ragged breathing. 

We all shared a wide-eyed look, knowing we were in for a long night.

Episode 5, Part Two              Episode 7, Part One

[traceemerald]

-December 28th, Thaumaturge’s Journal, Entry 36-

I started today with some creative mode testing, to see what kind of new attacking focus I want, and I learned 2 useful things.

First, if you attack an enemy with 2 of the same attack, at the same time, it deals the damage of both attacks combined, despite what vanilla minecraft knowledge would tell you.

Second, the focal manipulator doesn’t just accept blank foci, you can also use it to replace the spell contained in a focus you’ve already used, which is useful if you have a focus you don’t use anymore, which I have a few of.

The focus I used for the ocean monument, which I named Flamethrower, is useful to me right now, it deals the same damage as ice beam, but it has reduced cooldown and vis cost, but it won’t really be useful to me once I have something better, so I can use the same focus, and replace Flamethrower with Psychic.

When I did that, my focal manipulator glitched, and I got a pure black focus with nothing on it, and a vis cost of 0, I don’t know what it does, if anything, and I’m too afraid to test it out.

While I was heading to my old house to another set of the crystals I need to make the spell, I decided to take a picture of my empty focus, just so if I ever look back on this, I don’t doubt the fact that I somehow made this.

And I forgot to grab quartz slivers, I need those to make vis crystals.

Forgetting those wouldn’t be as annoying if I had moved my thaumatorium to my new base already, but I don’t have a room for it yet.

I know how I got a glitched focus, so it was easy to avoid getting one again when I fixed it, for some reason, if you exit the focal manipulator gui while a non-blank focus is in there, all the components you set will be unset, and since it takes a little bit of time to actually put those components into a focus, you can exit the gui while it’s doing this, the components are removed, but the process of making the spell is already started, it does not stop, and it results in that pure black focus you see in the image above.

To avoid this, just don’t close the gui until it’s done.

Anyway, I have a better attacking focus now, it’s a bit slower than ice beam, and doesn’t slow down enemies, but should deal twice as much damage, pierce armor, and it doesn’t make a huge mess if I shoot it into the water.

If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to name all of my foci after pokémon moves, but not necessarily ones that I know.

Actually, I just realized that psychic has a lower vis cost than ice beam, so it should actually be faster than it.

I’m going to do a bit more creative testing to see if I can make a break focus for general use, since I currently only have one for fortunable ores, and it’s pretty slow, I’d like one for general mining.

After that testing, I made reused the focus I had ember on, and I’m now using it for dig, which just breaks whichever block I’m targeting.

I decided to research spellbats, which are a focus medium that lets me summon a bat to hunt down enemies, and apply the focus effect until the bat dies, but they have limited lifespans, researching that gave me warp.

The only two visible things I have left to research are the plan focus medium, which doesn’t seem too useful to me, and the crimson rites, which requires a crimson rites book, which I still don’t have, but I really want one, so I’m going to go looking for crimson portals.

I don’t know where crimson portals spawn, so I guess I’ll just be wandering randomly.

I found a total of 3 portals, but didn’t get a crimson rites book, I decided to head home after that.

I think I’m done playing for today, I’ll continue my search tomorrow.

-End Journal Entry 36-

[tonysopranosfeverdreams]

What about...... prompts 76 and 2 for macden

2. “Because I love you!”

76. “You don’t need to pretend.” 

aIso, I  want to say this fic was influenced by an ask the lovely Michelle @globrights sent me about Dennis drunkenly confessing his love for Mac in front of the gang, and hours and hours of me and ellie @softglenn crying about Mac and Dennis’s relationship from Dennis’s point of view over the past few days.

“Someone’s wasted,” Dee snorts.

“Am not!” Dennis slurs indignantly, pointing an accusatory finger at Dee “Everything’s just a little spinny, s’all”

Five PM finds Dennis slouched over, struggling to stay upright on his barstool. When he’d woken up that morning, it was to an empty apartment, and a granola bar sitting on the kitchen counter next to a note in Mac’s haphazard  scrawl reading: “In sewers with Charlie. C u at bar :)- M.”

Dennis scowled. Charlie had been going on lately about some sort of gnome-type creature that  hid jewels and gold coins all over the city sewers overnight, convinced that if he were to hit the right locations at all the right times, he’d be sure to strike gold. Of course he’d managed to convince Mac to go with him. Idiot.

Dennis  starting to crumble the note in his hand before stopping himself, smoothing it out and running his fingertips over the creases of the paper, before abruptly shaking his head and stuffing it begrudgingly in his back pocket. He ignored the granola bar and let the door slam behind him on his way out.

It’s not like it was a huge deal, it’s just not the start Dennis had pictured to his day. Normally, Mac would wake up before Dennis and put the coffee on, filling up Dennis’s travel mug, and greeting him with a sleepy  smile when Dennis finally trudges into the kitchen. Normally, Mac sits next to Dennis in the Rover on the way to work, shoulders just brushing as Mac yawns sleepily beside him, babbling about what he wants to have for dinner that night or  something funny Charlie had said while high and trying to change the radio to his own favorite stations when he thinks Dennis won’t notice. Dennis usually pretends not to, listens to Mac hum along under his breath instead.

Dennis is just used to it, is the thing.

So,  when Dennis got to the bar, he had started with the half-empty bottle of tequila he kept behind the fire extinguisher (in case of an emergency), eventually moving on to whiskey once he’d polished the bottle off.

Several long, self-pity filled hours and approximately five beers later, Dennis finds himself seriously weighing the pros and cons of slamming his head repeatedly against the bartop to drown out the sound of Dee who, convinced she has some sort of superior psychic ability, has been having Frank think of a number between 1 and 100 and then trying to guess it for the better part of the day (she hadn’t guessed correctly once).

When Mac and Charlie erupt through the bar door, empty handed and covered in splotches of dirt, talking excitedly about a sewer rat they had seen that Mac swears was twice as big as Poppins, Dennis is  done.

Dennis attempts to hoist himself to his feet, accidentally wrapping one ankle around the  foot of his bar stool, and finding himself flat on his back, blinking confusedly up at his friends.

Mac rushes instantly to Dennis’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to urge him upright, and inspecting his head for any sign of a bump.

“Someone’s wasted,” Dee snorts.

“Am not!” Dennis slurs indignantly, pointing an accusatory finger at Dee “Everything’s just a little spinny, s’all”

“Up we go, that’s it,” Mac mutters, hoisting Dennis by his armpits into a standing position, apparently satisfied that Dennis hadn’t managed to give himself any significant brain damage. Dennis sways against him as soon  his feet find the ground, and Mac immediately slides one arm around his back, clutching at his waist to steady him.

In lieu of a retort, Dee simply raises one eyebrow. Luckily, Mac has his back. Mac always his back, Dennis thinks.

“Shut up Dee, it’s your fault for letting him drink so much this early in the day. This wouldn’t have even happened in the first place if I had been here.”

“Wait, wait…wait,” Dennis wrinkles his brow, frowning up at Mac and then looking back at Dee “you guys aren’t the bosses…. o’ me….”

“I know, buddy,” Mac replies, good-naturedly, giving Dennis a placating little pat on the top of his head. Dennis, too wasted to take it at anything other than face value, nods contentedly and smirks back at Dee.

“I’m his sister, not his babysitter,” Dee retorts, “in case you’ve forgotten, some of us actually have other things to do than sit and worry about Dennis 24/7.”

At this point, Dennis’s head is lolling against Mac’s shoulder, and from this angle he can see Mac’s expression contort with anger, brow furrowing. He’s about to reply to Dee when Dennis cuts him off.

“Y’ shouldn’t… do that, y’know” Dennis prods Mac in the chest with one finger. Mac immediately looks down, his anger fading into an inquisitive look.

“What’s that, Dennis?” Mac asks, genuinely curious.

“Your face, it gets all…..squished up….. when it’s mad……….s’not as pretty.”

Mac gawks at him slightly, mouth agape.

Distantly Dennis hears Charlie squeal “Oh shit” in that urgent, high-pitched tone of his.

Dee narrows her eyes, pausing for a moment before asking  “Are we sure he doesn’t have a concussion?”

Mac’s still staring speechlessly down at Dennis, who’s still peering up at Mac’s face with an almost cartoonish look of concentration on his own face.

“Your eyes are pretty though…….they’re always pretty…..” Dennis hiccups here, “s’like they’re brown but they’re not brown……they’ve got these flecks of gold and there’s green around the rim. Like the edge of a…a big muddy  puddle…” Dennis finishes, solemnly.

Mac shakes his head, apparently  snapping himself out of whatever trance he was in, and  laughing.

“Okay, Robert Frost, let’s  get you home,” he readjusts his grip on Dennis’s waist, so Dennis’s weight is resting more securely against him. “Charlie, can you grab his sweater for me?”

Dennis yawns into Mac’s shoulder as Charlie hurries to get Dennis’s pull-over sweater from where it’s hanging by the door.

“‘M tired.”

“I know buddy, we’ll be home soon, then you can rest,” Mac grabs the sweater from Charlie.

“Arms up now,” Mac mutters, soothingly, holding the sweater over Dennis’s head, and working Dennis’s arms into the sleeves as gently as possible, “that’s a good boy.”

“There,” Mac proclaims, smiling proudly once Dennis is fully donning the garment “Good to go.”

Mac starts steering Dennis toward the door, when he notices Dennis stopping, not moving with him quite as easily. Mac frowns, finding Dennis stood looking at him with an odd, indiscernible look on his face.

“You okay, dude?”

���Mac…Mac….you’re so nice…even when….. I’m not that nice to you………why are you….so nice to me?”

Mac snorts, incredulously, like the question had never even occurred to him, like there was never another alternative.

“You’re my best friend, dude,” Mac replies, simply, cheerily “someone’s gotta make sure you  don’t pass out in your own puke, and that’s gonna  be me.”

Suddenly, Dennis’s face breaks out in a giddy, knowing smile.

“Oh dude. It’s because you love me…..” Dennis giggles, delightedly, playing  absently with the collar of Mac’s shirt “it’s because you toootttttalllllly love me dude!”

Mac’s entire body tenses against Dennis , and his face goes blank, shooting  an anxious glance back  at the rest of the gang, who are watching on like they’re watching a car crash in slow motion.

Mac takes a moment, clears his throat, before making to move them toward the door again.

“Anyway, we really should be going..” Mac starts in a strained voice, before Dennis cuts him off.

“You wanna know a secret?” Dennis asks, in what he probably thinks is a whisper, but really is loud enough that the whole gang can hear, leaning close to Mac’s face, eyes wide and so honest Mac can’t help but give a genuine response, the tension slowly draining from his face.

“It’s like… it’s a  secret …okay?” Dennis starts, entirely seriously looking at Mac for validation. Mac nods solemnly, clearly eager for Dennis to get whatever’s going on off of his chest so they can finally get going.

“It’s a secret because…I know you don’t think I do….but I love you too.” Dennis giggles deliriously, like he’s just told a human truth so poignant, so groundbreaking, he can’t quite believe it himself.

Mac’s jaw hits the floor, catches Dee’s eye, who by now has gone completely white. Charlie and Frank exchange startled glances.

“Holy shit,” Frank swears.

***

The first thing Dennis is aware of upon waking is the weight of what feelings like a bowling ball bearing down on his forehead. The second is that something about the situation is different, out of place. Even with his eyes closed, Dennis can sense the abrasive late morning sunlight pressing heavily against his eyelids, which wouldn’t be strange, except for the fact that Dennis tends to keeps his blinds closed, curtains drawn to prevent exactly these types of occurrences. It’s once he opens his eyes that Dennis realizes exactly why the situation feels strange.

He’s in Mac’s room, still on top of the covers, but under an old fleece throw that he thinks Mac’s had since high school. Dennis eyes his surroundings warily, still struggling to get his bearings, and notices his jeans and shirt folded and piled neatly on a chair next to Mac’s bed, his sneakers set on the ground in front of them. Further inspection reveals he’s still in his boxers and wearing a large,  worn t-shirt that Dennis thinks he recognizes as one of Mac’s usual sleep shirts, from the mornings he’d trudge into the kitchen first thing, hair wild and face soft (from the particularly rough nights, the nights when sleep wouldn’t come and  Dennis would relent and climb into Mac’s bed and burrow into the space between his arms, sliding his hand under the soft fabric to rest against the small of Mac’s back).

Mac. Dennis’s heart plummets into his stomach as he recalls flashes of the prior evening; Mac’s hands gentle on his shoulders, his arms, as he helped Dennis into his jacket. The faint smell of Mac’s cologne mixed with sweat as Dennis leaned heavily into his shoulder. Mac, sitting him on the edge of the bed getting to his knees in front of him to untie his laces, help him out of  his shoes. The indescribable, indecipherable look on Mac’s face when Dennis had said….

Dennis jolts upward on the bed, feeling the bile rising in his throat, thinking, for a moment. he’s going to get sick all over Mac’s blankets and pillows, right here in front of God and all of his saints, and the statue of Jesus on the  cross that’s currently staring him down from his position on Mac’s dresser.

The first thing Dennis notices when he emerges from Mac’s bedroom is the smell of slightly burnt toast, mingling with freshly brewed coffee. He glances over at the living room couch, noting a cocoon of blankets and a single pillow on the sofa. Where Mac must have slept, he thinks, absently.

Stepping  gingerly into the kitchen, he spots Mac at the stove, back to him as he works his spatula across a pan of what appears to be scrambled eggs, one of the few foods Mac knows that Dennis will eat when he’s having a bad eating day or extremely hungover. It’s when Mac pauses in his ministrations to snatch the toast out of the toaster that he notices Dennis standing across from him, eyes unfocused and blinking, looking small and disoriented in Mac’s big t-shirt.

“Hey,” Mac offers softly, giving Dennis a small smile, guarded but sincere. Dennis manages a weak smile back, desperately wishing, suddenly,  he’d had the presence of mine to run a comb through his hair, at least, done something, anything,  to make himself look slightly less like death warmed over.

There’s a cup of coffee accompanied by a glass of orange juice and a bottle of aspirin out on the table in the place where Dennis usually sits, and Dennis slowly makes his way over to his chair, gulping down the aspirin and juice gratefully as Mac places plates of scrambled eggs and toast at the center of the table. Mac stops to pour himself a cup of coffee, before sliding into the chair across from Dennis.

Dennis is quiet, sipping cautiously from his own mug. The fact that the coffee is fixed up exactly to his liking (a splash of french vanilla creamer, one sugar) doesn’t escape his notice. Something in his chest aches for reasons he can’t explain, and when he puts his mug back down on the table, he finds Mac’s eyes already on him.

“You should eat, you know,” Mac offers, matter-of-factly, “it’s the only cure to a hangover. The grease from the eggs neutralizes all of the alcohol in your stomach, and makes you feel more better.”

Dennis raises an eyebrow,  looking skeptically back at Mac, but Mac looks so earnest, so concerned, that he helps himself to a spoonful of eggs and a piece of toast with only  minimal grumbling. Dennis can still feel Mac watching him, and under his open, searching gaze, Dennis feels flushed and clumsy, suddenly, staring resolutely at his plate.

“Dennis,” Mac starts, and the tone of his voice is almost unbearably gentle, like he’s trying to sooth a spooked horse, and one misstep might cause Dennis to run as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. “I think we have to  talk about this.”

Dennis laughs, not necessarily cruelly, but as if what Mac had just proposed was truly absurd. He’s trying to avoid direct eye contact, but he doesn’t miss the flash of hurt laced with confusion that crosses Mac’s face. He wants to apologize, suddenly, but for what exactly, he isn’t sure. Instead, he shovels a forkful of runny eggs into his mouth instead, silently willing himself not to gag  as his stomach lurches in protest.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous. Pass me the jam.”

Dennis was attempting to deflect, to intimidate Mac into stopping the conversation before it even started, but he knows his voice comes out choked and thin. Mac, for his part, doesn’t appear ready to give up so easily. Dennis is using his fork to pick at his food, almost aggressively, but  stills his movements as Mac reaches careful across the small table to softly, softly, set rest his hand on top of the fist Dennis has formed around his fork in a death grip. Dennis stares, helplessly, at the places where the tips of Mac’s fingers rest gently against the back of his knuckles. Mac’s voice gets somehow softer.

“Den, it’s just me. Please, talk to me”

Dennis pulls his hand back like it’s been burned, fork clattering to the ground, Mac watching on, mouth slightly agape in confusion.

“Fuck, Mac,”  Dennis rubs the back of his hand wearily across his eyes, barking out a weak, deflated sort of chuckle.

When Mac speaks next, it’s evenly and with great effort, his voice heavy with sadness.

“You say you love me, and then you push me away, or say you hate me and don’t want me near you or whatever. I don’t know what to do, man” Mac’s voice breaks, here, and something does a somersault in Dennis’s chest. “I don’t know what to do to make you happy.”

Dennis sees red.

“You want to know what the funniest part is?” Dennis starts, before he can stop himself. “Do you know what’s the most hilarious thing about this entire goddamn  dumpster fire of a situation? You always say I don’t do anything for you.”

Dennis pauses, shaking his head on a deep inhale, before finally lifting his gaze to lock eyes with Mac.

“Dennis,” Mac breathes out, feeling like he’s suffocating, like Dennis had sucked the breath right out of his lungs.

“But this entire time, I was doing it for you. It was all for you. And you fucking ruined it!”

There’s a beat where everything’s silent, and a cold wave panic crashes over Dennis, as he watches Mac struggle to digest his words.

“I’m sorry…I…. I really don’t know what you’re talking about- ,” Mac starts, helplessly, eyes wide and sincere, and the earnestness there, the genuine desire to understand what’s going on in Dennis’s head is too much; like almost everything about Mac and the way he makes Dennis feel,  it has always been too much.

Dennis snorts abruptly, and it comes out less derisive and more incredulous, more  a cry of distress, like a wild animal realizing he’s caged and cornered on all sides.

“Of course you don’t understand. Why would you understand? I’ve spent the past 25 goddamn years being who I thought you wanted me to be!”

At this, Mac looks even more bemused, looking up at  Dennis like a kicked, puppy while Dennis continues, starting to pace  the length of the floor next to the table, the words spilling from his mouth one after another before he even knows what he’s going to say next, before he can stop himself

“You think you changed who you were at your core? You’re the one who made me change. All these years…I pretended you’re straight, pretended that I couldn’t see this thing that’s been going on between us since the first goddamn day we met. Do you really think that made me happy? You think that’s what I wanted?”

Dennis runs his hands wildly through his hair as he paces faster, tugging on the ends over and over.

“Living with you was like living with a fucking time bomb I spent years trying not to set off, because you were so convinced whatever you felt for men…whatever you felt for me must be so goddamn sinful, so disgusting, that you’d rather spend your life  pretending to be someone you’re not than owning up to the truth.”

Mac is standing now too, hands spread helplessly in front of him like he wants to touch Dennis, calm him, somehow, but doesn’t know how. Dennis stops pacing and sighs, leaning heavily against the table, shoulders heaving. His voice shakes when he speaks.

“I never thought you’d do it, man. Come out…. Stay out. Not for me, and not for a fucking lottery scratcher, that’s for goddamn sure.”

When Dennis catches Mac’s eyes, they’re wide and wet around the edges. He gives Mac a sad smile.

“And the sad fucking thing is, even then, even after I knew I was never going to be worth it to you, even after I tried to move on again and again,” Dennis pauses, laughing a little bit like he can’t believe the words himself “I still came back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Dennis,” Mac walks, very slowly, toward him, not breaking eye contact. Dennis can count the freckles on the tip of his nose. You can’t see them, if you’re not up close.

It’s only once Mac traces  the pad of his thumb across Dennis’s cheek and it comes away wet that Dennis realizes he’s been crying. Dennis is instantly hot with embarrassment,  trying to turn away and hide, bury his face in his own shoulder. But Mac’s hands don’t let go of his face, and before he realizes what’s happening, Mac’s got his own forehead pressed lightly up against his. Choking back a sob, Dennis feels more vulnerable, somehow more exposed now  than he’s ever felt in his life even though they’re fully clothed and barely touching.

“Dennis,” Mac exhales, so quiet it’s barely a word. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

Slowly, cautiously, Dennis winds his arms around Mac’s torso, letting his hands rest flat against the fabric covering his shoulder blades.

“Dennis, you don’t need to pretend anymore.”

[lillaxtrigger]

Young Hope: Chapter 19 (Pt4)

From within the dim halls, a pair of twin doors quietly creak open; a bright luminescence pouring out from the other side. Beyond one of the doors does the blonde head of the psychic peek in; her navy blue eyes beholding the lobby of books set before her. Gazing towards the top of the shelves, she found them to tower dozens of feet, halting upon the pipe covered roof of the library. From the doors, all she could witness was the high shelves set before her; the tables and chairs decorating the middle of the room. Delving from the lobby are what seemed to be the endless tunnels set along the sides, the shelves of hardback acting as enclosed paths. Seeing this, it strikes Priss as an enigma on how massive this archive may actually be.

With that in mind, she readies to venture forward within the library; silently pulling the doors behind her shut as she enters. Taking a glance along the shelves, she decides to fancy a closer look towards the books that they house. Pulling out one of them showed a hardback book baring an image of flaming tree etched in gold upon the cover. Within its pages were words describing the origins of an event, one that involved a blue jay consuming the seed of a mystic tree and morphing into living oak. To most, this would seem like nothing more than a grand tale, but to the psychic was clear to be the catalog of a mythical demon. Some of the biographies of these beasts cloak themselves within what seem to be storybooks. An old cult trick used to hide hell bound knowledge such as this out from undesired hands. One that the psychic is all too familiar with, as some of the books back in her old manor sported similar writings. Twas simple for someone of her archaic mental caliber to decode them. Looking along the rest of the shelves, a smooth grin draws across her face. If what she holds in her palms shows to be true, then this archive may truly house the prize that she seeks. Such a vast collection may even hold some information regarding...his whereabouts.

As if you’ll find anything worth value in this massive waste of paper.

But before she can set off deeper into the library’s vast depths, the sound of footsteps reaches the psychics ears. Blast it all. Of course a collection as valuable as this would not go unguarded. The question being who, or what, might be taking the mantel of patrol? In any case, cover must be taken, post haste.

Out from one of the hardback hallways strolled out a single man, sporting blank white librarian attire with pitch black letters crawling along his clothes. Upon his bald head form specific words such as enlightenment, cultivation, philosophy, ideals, change, and other similar words. Beyond his glasses does he find a book laying upon the polished wooden floor, the pages of which lay exposed to the open air. Approaching the text, the letter covered figure quickly swipes the hardback off the ground. Flipping through the many pages of the tome, they find not a single hint of damage to speak of among the paper.

As the librarian flipped through the books contents, Priss peeks out from under the table towards the figure. Her gaze squinting upon the bibliophile, she musters what psychic energy she can towards the librarians direction. Pain killers are finally working just enough to take a crack at mind jacking, might be able to find the way to the book of Garlov peering into this creeps consciousness. Though no matter how much mental power she conjures, the psychic can’t break into the book keepers brains by even a crack. Damn! Not even a single inch can she penetrate into this weirdo’s mind. He looks sentient enough. What could possibly be keeping her influence out? A spell? A charm? Those letters crawling on his skin? No matter what might be guarding his mind, it’s safe to say that he won’t be susceptible to mind control anytime soon.

Finished scanning through the tome resting in his palms, librarian closes its pages. Turning his head towards the table, he manages to catch a glimpse of yellow retreat under the robed mahogany. Throwing the book cleanly back into its shelf, the man garbed in white begins to approach the reading space. Slowly, he nears the table; his hand gripping upon the edge as he kneels down to his knees. Finally, his head lowers under the wood, beholding nothing but the seats scooted under the ruby red cloth. A question mark crawling on his cheek, the librarian wonders what kind of foolish interloper dares to trespass within these scared archive. With seemingly nothing else left to check, the word decorated bibliophile continues to patrol deeper down the depths of his hardback lair.

Unbeknownst to him, his little blue intruder was just above his head, floating near the corner of the roof beside a set of glass pipes. A quiet breath passes through her lips once she knows the coast to be clear. Lowering herself near the polished wood, Priss fancies drifting towards the path opposed to the one the librarian ventured into. If anything served as a warning for the psychic to steer clear of that weirdo, it was his resistance to her mental control.

Passing through the countless columns of tomes at her sides, the small medium flies through the sea of seemingly infinite knowledge. She soon comes to a halt however upon finding the intersection; the three corridors set before her twisting and bending in supernatural and otherworldly ways. The path to the right corkscrewed around to the point where the ceiling turns into the floor and vice versa. In the middle, Priss found the hall to sprawl as wide as she could see; columns of bookcases stretching out and connecting along the walls. Finally, the left path presented a corridor consisting of a shrinking hallway; the end as far as she could see reducing itself to a mere pinhole.

Good lord. This place is an absolute madhouse. Figures that these freaks would have their archive structured like this. The question being how exactly they get around this shotty example of Picasso fan art. Nobody can simply just memorize the layout of this abstract mess, they have to have a directory of sorts stowed around here someplace. Though given the unorthodox behavior and memories that she has witnessed of the castle’s residence, it wouldn’t be much of an expectation to dismiss. These nut fuckers could make people do anything upon the promise of paranormal mastery.

Before she can decide on which warped path to travel down, the sound of sliding hardback catches her attention from behind. Turning back, Priss watches as one of the tomes dislodges itself from the bookcase; Priss grabs hold of her blade to prepare for whatever the book does. Levitating before her, the hardback opens its cover to the psychic; the contents swiftly being flipped through. Finally resting its pages upon the middle, its words lets out a magical glow. The light from the page soon starts to take form before the psychics very eyes; the luminescence morphing into a woodland sprite. Watching the freshly formed fairy flutter about the halls soothes the psychics guard; the sprites dainty dancing causing her to lower her blade.

The fairy soon halts its dance in the middle of the air, drawing in a deep breath. From the depths of his lungs does the sprite sound off a booming opera; the intensity of his symphony shaking not only the halls, but the psychics head as well. Swiftly does Priss shield her ears from the shrill song of the sprite, raising her blade once more towards the fairy. Best to silence its song quickly, before it catches any unwanted attention or worse yet, another migraine.

Attempting to end its booming theatrical song, the blue psychic rockets towards the sprite with her blade in hand. Her thrust proves ineffective as the sharp tip of the sword simply phases through, the fairy continuing in his trembling melody. Priss’s assault having failed, she quickly takes aim for her next best guess; the source of the sprites origins. The psychic tosses her weapon towards the book floating above, her prized sword piercing through the hardback. Upon the tomes destruction does the sprite burst in a flash of light, closing the curtains on its performance.

Though relived that the sad excuse for an opera singer has been silenced, Priss knows there is no time to celebrate. No doubt that its booming song as attracted some unwarranted attention by now. Might be best to get a move on before something even worse pops out from these shelves. With that thought, Priss bolts down the right hall of the corridor, swerving along as she follows the twisted polished floor.

Within the confines of their mystical cages, the demonic brothers sit along the back wall of their cells; the blue tinted barriers at the fronts acting as filters for their scornful glares towards one another. “So...You wanna tell me what the hell was your deal back there?” Savage starts off. “My deal? You were the one who threw shit at me first. If you didn’t decide to toss that arm at the back of my head, we wouldn’t have been crammed in this hole!” Carnage deflects. “I kept telling ya it was an accident. But you just couldn’t let it slide, could you? Had to just try and get back at me rather then hold off all those freaks?” “Those freaks caught us because you up and fucking tackled me! Admit it! You’re always the one starting shit!” “Dude, quit being such a damn baby. I said I was sorry, okay. We wouldn’t even be stuck in here if you didn’t decide to go off to try and nab the book instead of trying to find Sis.” “Shut up! I’m sick of hearing you go on about Priss all the damn time!”

Soon, their rising bickering starts to echo through the stone walls of the dungeon; a woman in torn robes walk towards the source with a rune covered prod to her back. “Quit yer bitchen, you two! Gonna rile up the whole damn zoo.” she demands. The brothers halt in their arguing, watching as the keeper stops at their cages with a big grin drawing upon her face. From that smile does a chuckle soon escape as she looks upon the two. “What the hell you findin funny?” “Ah, nothing. Just amazed is all. You two wound up killing a pretty big chunk of our army. Worried for a minute that both of ya would run our forces dry into the ground. But once you two went and started beating the hell outta each other, it was a piece of cake to round you guys up. Probably could have made it outta here with your demonic hides if you two weren't such fuck ups.” Rising from his seat, Carnage approaches the front of his cage, his claw pounds on the blue barrier as he looks upon the keeper with a glaring scowl. “You want come in here and say that shit?” “Oh, I don’t have to.”

That said, she pulls out her rune covered rod and jams the tip straight into the transparent field. From the prods tip does a blue energy serge within the inside of the cell, the glow inflicting waves of terrible pain upon Carnage’s entire body. Witnessing his brother’s torturous agony does Savage sprint to the front of his prison, furiously beating upon the barrier keeping him trapped. “Cut that out, you torn up cunt!” Hearing that rude demand does the warden turn her gaze towards the red demon, her prod detaching from the green ones cage. Twirling her rune rod in the air like a baton, she soon pierces the tip of her prod into Savages own cell; sharing a similar sting through his hulking figure. The surge of utter agony urges the red demon to back away from the barrier, hearing the chuckles of their torturer as he retreats. “You best start learning who’s in charge now, boys. If you wanna last long in this army, you’re gonna have to get used to doing as your told.” Having generously given her piece of advice, the keeper leaves the duo to the aftermath of their punishment.

Rising from the floor of his cage, Savage looks on towards his brother, a relieved breath leaving through his lips. Glad to see that bitch didn’t fuck Carnage’s brains up too bad; not that he had much to start. If he did, then we wouldn’t have are asses handed to us by that horror show back there. Come to think of it, if Priss was here, then we wouldn’t have even landed ourselves in that Broadway of freaks to begin with. But no, this jolly green jackass just had to have something to prove, didn’t he? Couldn’t go looking for sis first, no. Just had to try and find that stupid book just to show her up, huh? Sure hope she’s is having a better time in this hellish nightmare suite they call a castle, wherever she may be.

Rocketing through the twisted bookcase decorated tunnels of the, Priss begins to wonder where exactly these mad cultists could stow such a crucial tome within this labyrinth like archive. Any typical mortal would likely die off of starvation before coming close to such a prize. It’s fortunate then that this girl isn’t that typical when it comes to such.

It might be best for the psychic to try and find that librarian again, might actually be able to pry some useful tidbits out; probably knowing the way towards the prize she seeks. Still, it might prove quite the challenge to come across him again; maybe even more of one to confront. His resistance to the psychics mental manipulation has shown to be a growing concern. If he’s that prepared to have a counter measure like that, who knows what else the book keeper has up his sleeve.

Lost in these thoughts, she fails to take note of the several books free themselves from the warped shelves behind her; the hardbacks quietly pursuing the psychic.

Swiftly does Priss turn at the curve, finding before her a dead end sporting a glass case full of demonic charms and talismans. Damn! Traversing through that whole abstract maze of occult knowledge just to come up short. Well, at least its a reassurance that she’s simply not going in circles. Guess, there can’t be that much in the way of stopping her from going back; you know, aside from vomit inducing physics.

From the glass casing housing the gems does Priss notice something in the reflection, something of wood careening towards her back. The psychic sidesteps just before the object could collide upon her, finding the oak arm of a bear crashing through the glass case in a shower of shards. Grasping at the handle of her blade, something to her side grabs her attention. To the left does the psychic find a flock full of wooden animal puppets, all suspended by glowing string leading to thin air. The puppets before held no charm to speak off, no. But rather gnarled bodies and demented sharp toothed maws; their splintered limbs spinning and spiraling in place. From the remains of the glass case, the bear arm retreats back towards the set it matches with; a whole oak grizzly with its beady eyes aimed towards its little blue prey.

Although the pack of mangled wooden animals proves to be the unsettling site, the small medium could spot several of the books that hosted the whole puppet theater of horror. With haste, she springs towards the least guarded tome; aiming to the front with the tip of her blade. Her assault upon the hardback comes to an abrupt stop however when one of the wooden animals shields her target; the psychics blade digging into the puppets solid body. With the other animals nearing, she tempts to push her weapon out from the body of her wooden foe. Casting a telekinetic push, she dislodges her sword out from the wood of the puppet; just in time to evade the splintered antlers of the timber elk.

Retreating from the assault, she looks towards one of the nearby tomes and focuses her powers on the hardback. If you can’t come to them, make them come to you. The wise words of some deplorable douche bag looking for action. With her mental prowess, she halts the bunch of wooden limbs right in the air, the splintered timber inches from her figure. Pulling their books towards her, she grasps on the handle of her blade, eager to slice the tomes into meager party confetti. But an attack from behind interrupts her concentration a the head of an elk striking its horns to her back.

Smacked against one of the bookshelves, the blue psychic looks upon the mystic lumber as they lunge forward; their claws and horns baring towards her. Right before they could lay in their timber fury upon her mentally attuned head, Priss disappears before them; their ramming charge causing the books overhead to tumble down. The avalanche of texts collapses upon the collection of puppets, burying the pack in a pile of hardback. Reappearing in front of the mound of texts, a smug grin paints itself across the psychics face. Seems these beast took “hitting the books” quite a bit too literally.

In her moment of triumph however, the heap of tomes before her explode. Bursting out from the pile be the detached parts of the puppet troupe, the pack of mangled lumber clustering before the psychic. The jagged jaws of the heads snap right off their joints; the spiraling splintered limbs began to form together. In the midst of this transformation, she fails to see the source books anywhere in site. With their weakness nowhere in site, Priss decides to flee from the transforming puppet show while they’re distracted and bolts away from the dead end.

Zooming back through the twisting halls, the sound of booming pounding reaches her ears from behind. Turning to her back, the psychic is urged to pick up the pace; racing away from a hulking abomination of timber and wood. Behind her be the malformed combination of the puppet troupe formed into a massive, gaping maw, clawing through the floor in its pursuit. The horror lets out a bone chilling roar; its screams echoing through the hardback halls. Finding the warped ways of the halls ahead, the psychic hopes to lose the beast behind her with the confusing layout of its own lair.

Up a set of shelved steps does the medium ascend; hoping it’s misshapen claws could fail to rise after. But alas, the beast climbs up the bookcase steps, tearing its way up towards the fleeing medium.

Coming to a set of revolving shelves, Priss pushes through in hopes of cutting herself off from the pursing lumber. However, the massive mass of puppet parts squeezes through each and every single spinning bookcase.

Fleeing from her wooden pursuers, Priss rises towards a glass pipe hanging overhead; a line of tomes flowing through the clear pipe way. The timber abomination is unwavered by her rise; its splintery body jumping towards the ascending psychic. The small medium flies around the glass; hoping the transparent piping would be hard enough to halt the timber terror. Her little plan fails to prosper however; the horrifying puppet show smashing straight through the glass; countless books gushing out from the broken pipe. The shelved tunnel lowering, Priss descends with the wooden freak show right at her back.

Soon, she sets her sites upon a warped hallway; the tunnel baring resemblance to a kaleidoscope. Priss presses on through, hoping the mixed up pathway would help her shake off the wooden beast. The lumbering mess of lumber, chases its prey all through the warped halls, the pursuit taking them both through the floor, the ceiling, the walls, the shelves, even some of the books. But to her disappointment, the small medium still had the beasts on her tail. Why won’t this sad excuse for abstract puppetry just abscond already. This encounter can’t possibly last all night. There’s work to be done. A plan to escape from this amalgamation must be made soon.

Coming to a hall with spherical bookcases floating above, the puppet chimera soon begins to close in upon its prey. Feeling the wooden terrors pine scented breath on the back of her head, Priss readies to stave off the chimeric lumber for a chance to flee. Turning to face her pursuer, she pushes the puppet amalgamation back as far as she can with as much telekinetic strength as she can muster. Her mental shove proves just strong enough to make the mashup of mangled marionettes tumble backwards; its claws tearing apart the polished floor in its knock back. Regaining its balance, the wooden beasts witnesses its blonde prey turn the corner and resumes its pursuit.

Coming to the turn, the jumble of puppets lunges its jagged teeth upon the cornering hall. To its confusion however, none of its heads could find their hunt anywhere in site. Whether ahead in the halls or above to the ball of books above, the timber terrors target seems to have vanished before its eyes. In hopes of stumbling upon the their prey, the beast of bark and birch continues down the hallway; failing to realizing their hunt was behind one of the balls above. Floating down towards the corner, Priss takes a peek behind it to find the wooden horror to lumber deeper ahead through the shelved halls.

Having this many close call this evening alone, the psychics nerves were beginning to wear thin. It’d be in best interest to find that book soon, before another one proves to be too close for her comfort. However, to find that tome in this accursed labyrinth of hardback and paper is already enough of a problem. Wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for it in this hellish maze. Such endeavors would waste the night away, mayhaps take even longer. And time nor luck aren’t exactly being friendly allies tonight. Soon or later, she’s gonna wind up running out of both. Best find a way to locate the book of Garlov’s whereabouts in a swift manner; but how? That librarian probably won’t be too keen with sharing directions anytime soon. Going to need to find another way through this maze of bent space and broken physics. It might not be the most elegant solution, but she’ll might need to borrow another page out of Alisha’s manuel.

Crawling through the halls be a pack of huge chimeric caterpillars of flesh and steel; their parts originating from various land mammals and mechanical apparatuses. Upon coming to an intersection do they split off; a lone cyborg chimera ventures off one its own towards a looping hallway. The massive bug of horror crawls through the bookcase walls with its feet, hooves, and metal sticking upon the shelves. Coiling through the looping hall, it fails to take note of the little shadow tailing it’s behind.

Soon the lonesome caterpillar comes to an odd statue; a lanky figure eating what seemed to be a walrus with its oversized maw. The chimeric monster attempts to emulate the figures maw; stretching out its muzzle as wide as it can. However, its maw soon snaps back into place with a painful smack; the living collage guiding its head down.

Turning away from the statue, it soon finds its source to be in the captive clutches of the little blue intruder. Priss guides her blade towards the open book; the weapons sharp edge mere inches from its pages. “One wrong move and your story ends here.”

Held captive within their arcane cages, both demonic brother sit against the opposite walls. In Carnage’s rest, he find his brothers gaze from beyond the two blue tinted shields; the red demons glare reflecting contempt. “The hell are you staring at?” the green demon wonders. “Oh nothing.” the red brother replies as his eye squints. “Don’t give me that shit. You think that this is all my fault, don’t you?” “Well, maybe if you went with me to try and find sis like I wanted to, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” “No one asked you to come with me, okay? That’s on you, bro.” “I stuck with ya cause I didn’t want any more of us getting lost in this freaky German castle of horrors. It ain’t gonna help if were all just aimlessly running around this place looking for each other.” “Oh, piss off. I can handle myself.” “Carnage, in the 17 years that I have known you, you have not once shown that. I mean for hell’s sake, you’ve threatened to beat the shit outta me over taco’s.” To all that, all the green demon could do in response was look away with an upset demeanor; his arms crossed along his chest.

“Man, what the hell’s up with you? You’ve been acting shitty ever since we lost Priss. I know she spewed crap at us back in that garden, but that ain’t no reason to just up and ditch her like that.” “Yeah, well you ever think that we’d be better off without her on our backs?” Carnage questions; staring back towards his red brother. “Dude, come on. You don’t mean that. You know both of us can get on each others throats without her around. I mean, look at where we wound up. All just cause we couldn’t stop pissing each other off. We need her just as much as she needs us.” “No we don’t!” Carnage barks, quickly rising from the floor of his cell. “Yeah, we kinda do. Did you have any kind of clue where that stupid book was in the first place? Both of us were pretty much running around in circles without her.” “Shut up!” “What is up with you? You’re always just rushing into things without thinking, not even stopping for a minute to wonder if you shouldn’t do it Why can’t you just admit that you’re not as right as you think you are?”

“You don’t think I know that?” the green demon admits; his voice inexplicably cracking. Savage draws back his scolding lean; witnessing tears roll down from Carnage’s cheeks. “You don’t think I can’t tell that you think I’m some kind of fuck up?” “That’s not what I-” “Well your right!...I am. Just some stupid dumb ass who can help but cause trouble...” The rippling of his snotty nose echoing through the dungeon, Savage can only stay silent as Carnage continues with his self deprecating rant. “Priss can think 100 things a minute and keep things from going ape shit. You have your sick ass art skills you use to make awesome sculptures and paintings. And what do I have going for me? Just a short temper and a god damn truckload of personal problems and insecurities.” “Carnage...” “I just wanted one chance. One moment I can have to look back on and think to myself: “Hey, I’m not that big of a fuck up. I got one thing right.”. But I screwed that over too and got us throw into this freaky shit hole; all just because I wanted something to prove to everyone!” In his fury, the green demon punches the side of his cell; break straight through to the neighboring cell. Withdrawing his claw from the stone, a deep sigh leaves Carnage lungs. “Even myself...I’m just a fucking mess...compared to you two.” Having said all that was buried deep within his soul, the green giant curls back against the wall of his prison; his head tilted down on his knee’s.

Savage’s eye cannot help but stare towards his brothers slump from beyond the pair of barriers, tempting to recoil from the rant with: “Bro...I had no idea ya felt like that.” “Well now you do. All of my shit just dumped out like a giant mess of blood and guts from a hit and run accident. Just like how I am.” “Carnage, no; just listen.” The red demon stands upon the stone floor of his mystic prison; igniting the flames of his speech with: “You’re not a fuck up. No matter what you or anybody else thinks. I’ve seen you plow through stuff like nobodies business. Like, once you start something, you don’t quit until its done. I have to constantly go back to pieces that I haven’t finished cause the motivation just drains outta me halfway through. But whenever you do something, you don’t stop until the job’s done, without taking a single break. Your like a fucking machine, man. It’s nuts.” This praise reaching Carnage’s ears, the green demon lifts his gaze up from his knees; staring towards his red brother. “And I know I harped on ya for this earlier, but your reckless determination can get you through stuff that Priss would spend hours on just trying to think through. Like sis tries to unlock a temple door locked by an ancient puzzle. Bam! You just punch through without much thought.” Soon, Carnage begins to rise back from his recessive sulking, a smile beginning to form across his face. “You are honestly one of the most hell bent bastards I’ve ever met. Just plowing through motherfuckers like flesh pinatas filled with blood and guts. It honestly amazes me every time I see you go- What the fuck is that?”

Hearing that come out of his brothers mouth causes Carnage’s smile to shatter; taking a glance from behind to find tendrils coming out from the wall that Carnage had made. The green demon grasps at the multiple limbs, pulling upon the tendrils through the hole until the wall had collapsed. The dust of the rubble settling; Carnage’s eye’s lay upon a distorted face; smiling towards him as its tendrils squirm in its hand. Upon the site of this grotesque horror that flopped into his cell, he flails the freaks tentacles out from his claws. “Where in the ever loving hell did this Lovecraft brainchild come from?”

Neighboring his brothers cage, Savage look towards the next mystic prison; the wall between them reduced to rubble. “Think it was from the cell ya busted into” “The fuck?” Past the twisted tentacled face does the green demon wander within its cell; sporting almost the exact layout of his, aside from the slime splattered along the floor. From the side does the lumbering demon notice the small gap in between the barrier where the wall once stood; the tip of his claw just squeezing through.

Glancing towards the wall of his own cell; Savage charges through to the prison neighboring his. Breaking through, he is met with but a small box lying upon the ground. Lifting it from the stone; the red demon inspects the box from bottom to top; finding note even a speck of detail upon its sides. “Who the hell just puts some box inside a mystic monkey cage like this?” he wonders; his eye gazing upon its top. Out from its lid sprang out a twisted horror, taking the form of a fast food employee with an oversized set of teeth. Those chompers bite down hard upon Savages shoulder, the red demon struggling as more of the demonic patty flipper erupts out from the box. Within the facing cage, Carnage bangs upon the blue barrier keeping him trapped. “Savage!” Soon, he sees his red brother pry the teeth of the hellish minimum wage worker off and start to push back. Once he got the freak far enough, Savage starts to beat the demonic employee into submission; halting not a single second of his assault until his foe was stuffed back into the box it popped out from. Once sealed back within the cardboard; Savage stamps out the container until it was completely flat.

“God damn, this place houses some freaks...Well, time to bust outta here.” Carnage declares, his claw ready to swing as he aims for the next wall. “Hang on” he hears his brother command. That demand reaching his ears urges Carnage to smash the breaks on his smash happy claw; turning towards Savage with a squinted gaze. “What is it now?” “We can’t just smash through this place like fucking coked up bulls. Remember what Priss said about charging through shit without using yer noodle? How the hell are we gonna deal with the rest of the freak shows cooped up in this hole?” “Who says “we” gotta deal with them?” Such a counter questions sparks wonder within Savages head; curious to know what his green brother was stating. If we aren’t gonna fend them off, who will? It’s questioning this that the pieces within his thoughts finally click; a devious grin stretch across the red demons face.

The chimeric caterpillar scuttles throughout the wondrous archive of demonic knowledge; its metal feet and hooves sticking firmly upon the polished floor. From around the corner does the beast spot a pack of lumbering silver human heads; their pear shaped bodies rattling the googly eyes on the front of their faces. Those eyes catch the bug peeking from the corner and the horde of heads soon start to crawl forth with their feline like legs. Waving its hands while shaking its head, the chimeric beast makes the horde come to a stop. Seeing some of the pack tilting their gaze, the caterpillar glances back; its book entrapped from within the psychics grips. Back towards the silver head, the spliced together beast ques for the pack to leave with its gorilla hands. Seeing the bugs arms waving, the horde of heads continue on their way, the beasts false smile slowly fading upon their departure. With the coast clear, the abomination resumes its venture through the library, the blue psychic behind it holding its source of life hostage.

A little further ways into the archives tunneling halls, the luminescence starts to drain from the shelves the deeper they go. Priss holds the tome in her hands close so her hostage tempts not to flee within this growing darkness. Turning the coming corner, the flood of shadows is broken by a far dim light ahead. Approaching the blazing glow, the amalgamation begins to gradually slow its stroll. Glancing at its back, it finds Priss nearing her blade upon the spine of its tome, urging it to continue.

Finally, both the caterpillar and the psychic come upon bizarre chamber; its walls lined with curved, glowing pillars forming inwards. The pillars aqua blue glow shine upon a golden pedestal that held a sizable tome. Upon the texts black hard back bared only a single word etched in white: “Garlov”. A light giggle escapes from underneath her breath as she begins to approach.

Finally, she found it. The source of this cults vast knowledge and power over demon kind. Right before her navy blue eyes. It might have been a more of a painfully rough venture than she desired, but she managed to make it to their objective singlehandedly, all without her brothers shenanigans to weigh her down. Returning to them with this in her grasp will cement her place at the top of their trio; reminding her brothers who the top bitch really is.

Before she could near the tome she seek, Priss felt a slight tug holding her back. The mystic book in her arms pulls itself towards the beast that it gives life to; the chimeric cyborg caterpillar refusing to move into the chambers. Looking upon the creature, the psychic stars upon the pitiable gaze in its bird eyes; the monsters muzzle quivering in fear. The poor amalgamation is really putting on quite the show, ain’t it? Fine, it has already fulfilled its purpose anyway. With those thought does she release the abominations tome from her grasp; the beast and the book fleeing out from the chamber the moment it is set free.

That interruption having been dealt with, the psychic turns back towards her prize with a small smirk. Nearing the tome set upon the golden pedestal, her palm reaches out for the unholy text. The book of Garlov, the potential answers that she seeks, so close.

But before her hand could rest upon the texts hardback cover, an odd force pushes back her touch. Her smirk having been broken, she cautiously reaches out for the tome once more. The psychics palm rests upon what seemed to a barrier of arcane origin, blocking her reach from her prize. No matter, nothing a little telekinesis can’t work around.

Focusing upon the hellish text from beyond the mystic blockade, the medium casts forth her telekinetic powers upon the book of Garlov. The tome before her however fails to budge an inch, instead the barrier sending a small shock upon the psychic. Priss reels herself back from the unexpected counter; gathering her baring from the shock. Should have expected as much from these freaks. This is their most coveted treasure. They wouldn’t just put up any kind of arcane blockade behind it. But no matter. There hasn’t been a barrier that this psychic has yet to warp behind.

Attempting to bypass the mystic barricade, she phases out from thin air. But soon, the magic blockade flashes a glow of white, putting Priss’s supernatural infiltration to a grinding halt. Once she reappeared at the very same spot that she vanished from, a small hiss escape from her teeth as she rubs her temples. Well, seems that these unholy enthusiasts know their arcane arts. Even so, no barrier is impossible to shatter. Surely destroying its source of power should make it dissipate. The question being where exactly its source might be.

Upon those thought does the sound of sliding hardback reach her ears. A glance from behind showing a wall of tomes forming upon the entrance; holding the psychic within the chamber. Of course, it should have been obvious that the barrier was not the only trap set in place.

From deep within the demonic dungeon, a few of its keepers were lounging from the entrance of the cell blocks. Near the door, two of them sit upon a table, with one aiming a piece of paper folded into a triangle between the others fingers. The first flicks the pointy piece of paper through the seconds finger, but winds up flying into his eye. Reeling back from the shot, the second one gasps as she hears the firsts grunts. That worry soon vanishes once the first begins to calm, pulling the paper out of his eye. He soon flicks the paper back towards the second, the oncoming triangle making the second keeper flinch. Hitting her forehead, she soon hears giggling escaping from the first keeper lips; the second soon joining in her partners guffaw. The third leaning on a wall from across the small entryway lets out a sigh as he shakes his head back and forth. From the wall does he stroll towards the door to the dungeon; his hand place firmly upon the handle.

Right before the keeper could even get the door open an inch, the pair of lumbering demons smash through the walls; the demon brothers mowing the keepers down in a swift gore fest of broken bone and rags. Soon to follow them would be the horror show that those cultist weirdo’s had been keeping down there; pouring out from the depths of the dungeon like overflowing hell made fresh sugar cereal from the box.

Charging through the dark dungeon, Savage and Carnage burst through whatever stood in their way; be it the walls, demons, or cultists. “So, you actually know where the exits at in this overblown stone circus?” Carnage questions, plowing through a huge sown together crow goat and punching it back into pieces. “Eh, not really. Kinda just going wherever and hoping to stumble on it.” Savage admits; flattening a pack of prison keepers as they fruitlessly attempt to fight back with whatever weak weapons they hold. “He he. Fine by me. The more demon we bust out, the better. Lets turn this place into a fucking wreck.” “Ya mean like we always do?” “He-Hell yeah!”

The demonic duo continue their reign of terror across the cults hellish dungeon; breaking and busting through cells and cages in their rampage. Their destruction sets the other demons within the cults grasp free from their mystic imprisonment; the monsters rampaging through the prison alongside the brothers. The countless prison keepers attempt to herd them back with little success; the hell born freaks tearing the taking bites out of the cultists that kept them captive.

A couple of keepers stand their ground as a massive blue head with oversized eyes. Try as they might to resist, the dungeon keepers succumb to the heads carnivorous eyes; slurping the down like a floppy, meaty, piece of spaghetti.

While some stand and fight, others run like little bitches; an example being a couple of the dungeon keepers facing a three legged metal cow in the shape of a star. But try as they might to flee from the steel steed, the keeps are ultimately impaled by the bovines sharp celestial horns.

As the horde of demonic terrors rages on, the warden scrambles through the stone corridors of the dungeon; watching as her keepers are torn and bitten to chunky meat pieces. She soon darts into the dungeons entryway, and races towards the exit out of this house of odd and grotesque horrors. Reaching the door, she presses her open palm upon a glowing plate set to the side; a blue tinted barricade similar to the one that were keeping the beasts locked in front of the escape. Now it doesn’t matter what kind of freaks hobble this far; ain’t nothing getting past this ironclad blockade of arcane goodness; and coming in a cute blue tint to boot.

Turning from the door, she jumps at the sight of the demons brother that she had not too long ago tortured, with vengeful grins stretching across their cheeks. “Hey there, sunshine.” the green one greets. Although lightly shaken, the warden draws her prod; ordering the two with a stern tone to: “You two!?...Both of you best just waddle back to your cages this instant. I ain’t afraid for this to get dirty.” “Oh?” Right after Savage utters such; he begins to slowly lumber towards the warden in the torn garbs; the keepers confidence draining as the giant approaches. “You wanna try and make me?” Although stiffened by the red demons presence, she ultimately thrusts her rod towards the hulking monster to her front. Inches from his chest, Savage grasp the wardens arm before she had the chance to stab him. Caught within his claw, the head keeper attempts to jerk her limb out from the demons grasp; her arm not budging a single inch. Her desire to break free from his crustaceous grip is soon granted, but at the cost of one of her precious limbs. Savage effortlessly severs the wardens arms with but a single snap; the head keeper drawing away from the red demon with ragged breath and groans.

Her hasty retreat is soon halted however, feeling the ominous warmth of a giant from her backside. “What’s the matter, Raggedy ann?” A glance from behind revealed to her the other demon; garbed in green with a sinister grin drawn upon his face. Before she could escape from his reach, Carnage grabs hold of her other arm and lifts her from the stone floor. “Thought you weren't afraid for this to get dirty.” The warden could do nothing but writhe within the green demons claw; her legs kicking in the air as she tries to shake out from his grasp. Like with his brother before, Carnage cuts the keepers other arm right off; his victim falling upon puddles of her own juices. “Or was all that bitchen you were going on about back there just that?” Flat on the floor in her own blood, she attempts to rise from the floor in hopes of escaping from this living nightmare; but her fleeting escape comes to an abrupt end as one of the opposing monsters pins her to the red stained floor. “Just being a bitch?” Gazing above; the warden witnesses Savage standing upon her back; trapped under his heel. That same heel begins to crush her spine; her final moment staring up towards the demon brothers with despair in her eyes.

Savage soon finishes the warden with a gooey crunch; a satisfied breath escaping from his lungs. “Oh, that felt good.” “Ye-eah!” On their murder do the two brothers bump their chest; cheers of their victory echoing across the entryway. “So, now that we’ve put that sad joke of a warden under us, how the hell we getting outta here?” Carnage questions. “Watch and learn, bro.” Savage answers; spinning the wardens arm like a baton. Approaching the plate set aside the door, the red demon slaps the keepers detached palm upon the seal; the blue barrier keeping them from escaping dissolving before their eyes. “He he. Nice. Time to scram from this shit hole.” “Yeah. Best to beat it before our cellmates start getting the same idea.”

Priss swiftly grabs hold of her blades handle, ready for whatever bizarre horror was planing to burst out from the walls of the books chamber. Whether its some kind of terrifying amalgamation of indeterminable parts or a grotesque abomination beyond imagination; the psychic was ready for whatever this chamber plans to throw at her pretty blonde head.

Suddenly, the pillars set around her flash a bright luminescence; out from their holes sprout out beams of aqua blue. The scattering rays soon begin to form within the middle of the room, the light taking a humanoid shape before the psychics eyes. Soon, the light of aqua blue formed itself into a faceless man garbed in light blue belly dancer robes decorated in fleshly eyes and mouths with a large vase perched above his head. No doubt that the beauty before her is inhuman, but the true question was where the source of its power lurked. As the eyes sown upon the man’s dress gazed upon the psychic, the mediums own site search through the chamber. Try as she might to find the aqua blue beauty’s source, Priss saw not a single page of an open book anywhere. Perhaps this man be not from the shelves, but rather from a cultist cowering nearby. The question being where they cower. Given previous encounters, its likely that they’re housed within these very chamber so as to foresee to their pets commands. If that is the case, it’s only a simple matter of meeting her blades steel with their flesh.

An Arabic melody soon pierces Priss’s ears, snapping the psychic out from her train of thoughts. Looking over towards the man, she found the tune to be singing from his very robes; his countless mouths chanting out as the man himself shakes his hips to the rhythm. Alongside this entrancing tune does the medium hear the sound of sloshing; glancing overhead to find the pot perched above to be gushing out aqua blue liquid. In his dance, the man grasps the vase from the top of his head and throws out the slime within towards his navy blue intruder. Cast out into the air, the waters forms itself into clear serpents; their sharp blue fangs primed towards the psychic. Priss quickly flies above the snakes watery bite; the serpents eager to follow her ascent. With but the swipe of her blade, the blue medium slices through the liquid snakes; reducing them to nothing but a light drizzle

Raining down alongside the drops of the defeated serpents, Priss dive bombs down towards the dancer; her blade ready to plunge into one of his dresses eyes. The danseur evades the psychics descending thrust like flowing water; shooting out from his pot aqua blue wolves that lunge forth. Warping away from the aquatic beasts bite, the psychic reappears behind one of the pillars decorating the chamber.

Peeking out from the column of stone, she attempt to gauge where the dancers master might be lurking, hoping to end this charade quickly. Alas, the psychic finds no trace of anyone else in the room besides her and the light blue singer. However, her ears do manage to pick up the faint beat of flesh from her side. A hint of the familiars master perhaps?

Keeping her from investigating any further, she feels something grasp her from behind. Pulling her out from the safety of cover, a large watery tentacle drags the psychic back into the fray once more. She soon finds that tentacle to belong a gooey octopus erupting from the dancers pot. The limb begins to squeeze the small mediums body; Priss’s breath leaking out from her nose. Before the rest of her air could depart, the psychic slices through the tentacle in one clean slice; the octopus breaking apart upon its severed limb.

Upon her escape does the psychic quickly rocket towards the aqua blue dancer. Right as she swing her weapon, the man in the dress of eyes and mouths leaps overhead, hitting a high note in his Arabian serenade. Determined to not let her foe go on the counterattack, Priss halts his retreat with her telekinesis. Having stopped the dancer right in his tracks, the small medium lunges forth. His little blue foe on the approach, the dancer erupts from his vase a shroud of mist that covers his entire body. Thrusting through the mist, Priss fails to feel the impact of flesh upon her sword; glancing back to find both the dancer and his pot having vanished.

The mist soon covers the entire chamber; the very walls that make up the room leaving the psychics site. The navy blue medium tightly grasps the handle of her blade; her eyes darting around the fog surrounding her. As Priss scans through the mist, she notices the clouds shifting towards her left. Looking in the opposite direction, the psychic soon finds a swordfish bursting out from the shroud. By the skin of her teeth does she manage to dodge its thrust, the water fish’s nose grazing the side of her head. Alongside the nautical assault, a barrage of manta storm out from the mist. Although she manages to slice through some of the rays, one of them socks her square in the stomach. The aquatic blow sends the psychic flying into the pillar from behind; smacking Priss upon its hard stone. Reeling back from the impact, Priss witnesses the mist shifting once more; erupting from it be a blue hammerhead shark. Swiftly does the medium duck out from the sharks lunge, the predator slamming upon the rock.

From the base of the pillar, Priss takes the moment to catches her breath. Good lord, this dancer is pumping out some furious rhythms. How much energy do those hips of his possess? That tacky vase above his head is proving to be quite the troublesome piece of pottery; firing out barrages of slimy creature from its insides. If that dancers master cannot be sought after, then that aquatic entertainer song must cease once and for all. To end this water fight quickly, that sad excuse for a decoration must be swiftly shattered. Then putting an end to his dance should be child's play. The question being how to approach such a geyser without getting soaked?

Above does she feel the slight drop of liquid touch the top of her head; the unexpected drip urging her to step back. Turning towards the pillar, Priss finds the aqua blue liquid to have dripped out from its stone surface. She starts to approach the structure, dabbing her hand upon the dripping hole. Fancying a taste of the mysterious dripping, her lips smack upon the oddly familiar taste. Hmm...bit of salt, some protein, a hint of iron? This pillar is dripping out blood. But...how is that possible? How can stone even bleed in the first place, and why of all colors is it such a sickly shade of blue? Gauging a closer look, her pupils widen to find that the inside of the stone was made of flesh of the same color. Why would these pillars have need of organs. Could it maybe…

Before she could inspect further, something pulls her away from the living pillar and back into the mist. Jerked away, Priss find what had barbarically grasped her being what seemed to be sea man built like a gorilla. With its ape like arm, the sea monster flings the psychic away from the column. Priss regains her balance in the midst of her unplanned flight; putting the breaks on her careen towards the wall in the nick of time. Noticing the fog in front of her shifting away, she flies to the side; just in time to avoid the sea mans heavy tackle. Retreating from the watery beast, she readies her blade; the base of its neck clear in her view. Right before taking the chance to deliver her counterattack, an idea popping in her head makes her hesitate.

As the slimy water gorilla jumps from the wall, it finds its little blue foe to its side retreating deeper into the mist. Waiting not a moment to pursue, the aquatic ape charges towards the fleeing medium. The watery beast swings its massive limbs, hoping to knock the psychic out from the misty air. But the medium before it proved difficult to strike, Priss swerving away from its watery arms in her flight back. Soon however, the sea man does manage to make contact with something; the hard rock surface of one of the pillars. From behind the water apes fist does aqua blue blood begin to spurt out; drawing back its arm to find the organs exposed. Upon this site does the ocean gorilla begin to tremble, soon swelling to the verge of bursting. Soon the beast pops like a comically oversized water balloon, the mist rapidly lifting upon its demise.

The fog clearing out, Priss lays site on the dancer once more, the familiars rhythm having been shaken to a dizzying stumble. Near the psychic be the exposed flesh of the column, aqua blue blood dripping down the stone. Seeing the dancer grow fatigued from the pillars harm, the psychic quickly puts the picture together. These columns that decorate the tome’s chamber are that demons master, doomed to guard the cults most sacred text in a shell of stone.

Not even bothering to wonder how that could make any kind of sense, the blue medium has only moments to act. The living pillar being the closest, the medium charges forth with her blade in hand. Priss stabs her steel into the columns exposed muscle, plunging her weapon deep into its flesh. A trembling high note escapes from the dancers mouths, a whirlpool erupting from his vase that swirls towards the blue psychic. The maelstrom pulling her from the column, Priss is soon swept up in the slimy vortex; the miniature medium tumbling through the swirling stream His mentally gifted foe trapped within a storm of his making, the dancer aims his vase towards the whirlpool. From the decorative pottery blasts out a killer whale; its slimy body slamming into the storm in a massive splash.

The maelstrom having been broken into puddles, the dancer sees not a hint of the little blue intruders washed up corpse. Upon staring at the site, the demonic entertainer is struck from behind; feeling the cold slice of steel upon his back. Retreating from the sting, the dancer turns to find the psychic behind him giving chase. In his escape, the demonic dancer bursts out a scattershot of piranha towards his blue pursuer. With nothing but her telekinesis, Priss redirects the school of meat eating fish back towards their sender. As the aqua blue familiar was busy evading the storm of piranha, the blue psychic darts in the direction of the pillars exposed tissue. Finished dodging his own school of carnivorous fish, the dancer gushes out a huge leopard seal; its slimy body smacking the psychic away from the pillars wound.

Careening towards one of the unbroken colomns, Priss attempts to break its stone cold shell with her sharp steel blade. Upon coming to the column, she spirals down the stone with her swords edge upon the surface; her blade trailing sparks on the way down. The steel of her weapon however fails to cut through the pillars rocky surface; her sword not even leaving a single stratch. Looking towards other columns, the psychic could find the dancer casting slimy jelly fish upon the open wounds. Didn’t take them long to catch on, did it? Seems like she needs to find a way to break through the stone.

While the dancer showed himself to be distracted, Priss rockets towards the nearest column. The psychic thrusts her blade into one of the pillars exposed hole, hoping to draw blood from the stone. Instead, what she was delivered was a terrible shock; Priss releasing her grip from the handle of her sword. Seeing the demonic entertainer launch forth a volley of slimy serpents, Priss flees from the column; retrieving her blade with her telekinetic powers.

In her withdraw, she directs her blade back into the palm of her hand; just in time to ward off the approaching sea snakes. The psychic dicing the serpents into nothing but droplets, the horde soon starts to overwhelm her. Priss soon pushes the pack of serpents back with a telekinetic blast; the force of which launches her towards another of the columns. The psychic swiftly climbs up the pillar with her steel cutting against its hard stone; the ascending sparks lighting up the chamber. Rising away from the living rock, the psychic saw that her slicing uppercut gave little damage to its stone shell. Blast, its stronger than anticipated; not even a full force swing could not put a single scratch on its rock hard surface. Is this blade not strong enough to cut through pierce through its stone.

Perhaps you should ask yourself the same question.

Below the psychic does a squid cast its tentacles upon her; the cephalopod wrapping its limbs around the small mediums body. Entangle in its slimy grip, the squid slowly begins to draw itself back into the pot it originated; the dancer below it shaking his hips to the Arabian beat. Being pulled towards the dancers vase, Priss struggles to free herself from the squids grib; her blades edge against her skin. Right when the psychic was on the verge of being sucked within the pot; she soon warps out from the cephalopod’s grasp. Upon the psychics vanishing act does the dancer take a look through his surroundings; his arms waving as he ventures around the chamber in search if his cowering prey.

In truth, the small medium was hiding from behind one of the living column, tempting to chip away its stone surface with the tip of her blade. As she fruitlessly picked at the stone, Priss thought back to her previous encounters ever since departing from her brothers; her navy blue eyes overshadowed by the darkness. Breaking out of her metal prison down in the dungeon. Hiding from the gluttonous eye taming cultist. Fleeing from the abominable horror of puppetry. Each serving as a prime example of her lack of physical strength, ones that frustrate the psychic to no end. So many obstacles that could have been bypassed in such little time with Savage and Carnage by her side. Its almost sickening to recount how many close calls could have been avoided with their aid. Even now, their incredible strength dares to overshadow her intellect.

Thinking back to when she was scolding them in the garden, regret begins to settle deep within her soul. Of course they care about finding Him. They’d do more than anyone else. Why did I have to say all that to them? Why didn’t I go look for them as soon as I busted out? What I wouldn’t give to take back everything I said. To have their goofy smiles back at my side once more. Surely their overwhelming power working with my brilliance would destroy whatever this castle, or anything beyond it stood in their way.

Upon the thoughts of power does her mind flashes to the moments the stone pillars broke; the heavyweight slime of the dancer crashing upon the rocky pillars. Those thought get her gears working; the shadows lifting away from her eyes as they stare towards the familiar in question.

Around the chamber does the demonic dancer sway through; its mouths letting out low, anticipating tones. Soon; however, he sees his mentally gifted foe bolt out from hiding; lunging straight for the dancers tone figure. In hopes of intercepting her charge, the dancers shoots out from his pot sharp starfish that lob towards the approaching psychic. Spiraling towards her, Priss dispatches the starfish with but the swipes of her blade and prepares to plunge its tip straight into the familiars flesh. Once again does the dancer swerve his way around the mediums thrust, witnessing the psychic vanish from thin air.

Reappearing from behind the demonic dancer; Priss slashes at his fleshy robes; the mouths screaming out in harmony as they fall from their master. Aiming his pot towards the psychic; the dancer casts forth an aqua blue narwhal; its sharp horn aimed towards the mediums head. Swiftly does Priss ascend out from the sea unicorns thrust; tossing her blade towards the entertainer. With his pot pointed towards the chamber floor, the demonic singer rocket way from the sword weapons descent with a spiraling twirl. Coming to the apex of his ascent, the dancer launches out from his pot a barrage of spiny sea urchins. The psychic drops down towards the floor; away from the wave of sea spines and retrieves her sword.

From above, the dancer tempt to drop down a huge sea turtle right on the mediums blonde head. Priss dashes out from the tortoises heavy slam; her head grazing its solid shell in her escape. Swiftly rising towards her dropping aqua blue foe, Priss zips past and slices off another piece of the dancers dress. The remaining mouths make up for the missing singers; chanting out a loud chorus. Having the last of this ungrateful guest’s shenanigans, the dancers lands upon the ground with a furious shake. Something begins to bulge out from the top of his pot; Priss ready for whatever plans to erupt out.

Bursting out from the depths of the vase be a slimy whale; its massive body rocketing toward the psychic. Priss flies aside the oncoming sea mammal, focusing all of her telekinetic abilities on the oversized spritzer. Redirecting the monstrous whales flight, Priss sends the sea mammal careening into the pillar on the side; breaking the column immediately upon impact. Soon, the psychic sends her slimy sea dwellers into the rest of the columns making up the chamber; each one of them shattering in a mess of aqua blue organs and rock. Once all the columns have met their end at the hands of their familiars own attack, the blue psychic lifts the whale in her telekinetic grip overhead. The dancer below suffering fatigue upon the ironic demise of his master; the demonic entertainer can do little as his own whale is slammed down upon him like a slimy blue hammer.

Descending from the air with her hands at her head, Priss witnesses the oversized sea mammal melt before her eyes. From the slime whales dissolving goo does she find the dancers lifeless corpse; his remaining mouths having sung their last chorus. From beyond the demonic cadaver, Priss beholds the arcane barrier guarding her objective dissolving before her very eyes. Upon the mystic blockades end does a devious smirk flash across the psychics face.

Slowly does she levitate her coveted prize towards her grasp; the potential answers held within its text wondering within her head. The briefing had mentioned that this tome held the cataloged biographies of thousands of hell born creatures. Surely such a vast volume of unholy knowledge could house the key to uncovering the bastard responsible for the disappearance of her aunts.

The book of Garlov finally rests upon the psychics palms; a hopeful smile stretching across her cheeks. Her celebratory find is broken when the ominous voice echoes through her head.

Do you really think you’ll find anything of worth in that sad excuse for a library book?

Indeed it will. Once the time comes to inspect its pages; the books text shall prove to be the first step to finding you. The start of our vengeance will finally takes its first step starting with this precious tome.

It’s honestly adorable how you actually think you can track me down. Face it. I am beyond your grasp.

Liar! Surely there must be a way to uncover your whereabouts. None of us will stop until your reduce to nothing but bloody meat chunks. After all; if it weren't for you, Savage and Carnage’s mothers would still be by my own’s side.

Hmph! If it weren’t for me, you and your brothers would not even exist in the first place. It strikes me as rather ungrateful to go on a crusade to destroy the very father that had bestow you life.

“You’re not my father!” Priss screams, her outcry echoing beyond the chamber of the unholy text. Realizing her emotional outburst, she swiftly closes her mouth; looking back towards the entrance of the chamber. Dammit all! The entire library must have heard that cry of unrivaled fury. Should have known better than to let that spiteful fiend get the better of me like that.

Hoping to leave the bookcase halls of this twisted archive, Priss bolts out of the book of Garlov’s odd chambers; the tome itself held behind her back via telekinesis. Best to take her departure quickly so as not to get cornered.

[darkzorua100]

I would like to know your predictions on Windy's partner what kind of peraonality he will have and his relatinship with others and his deck. Since Windy is a joker but also very cruel and sadist his partner will be the opposite I can see him havong Shun or BS persona given all the trauma he went through he will likely be very serious,emotionless,cold hearted and selfish with deep hatred towards ignis and AI. He will use stromrider deck with storm acess being his skill I hope he is alive

Windy’s partner is going to be a fascinating one when we finally meet him. I mean, all of the Lost Children dealt with the Hanoi Project differently on the mental side, and who knows how that affected him first off on that end, but Windy’s kid also has to deal with the physical damage that has been done to his body because of Windy’s attack on him. If he isn’t dead, or in a coma because of the accident, he definitely has to have some severe burns to his body and maybe even paralyzed because of the accident. I can’t remember on the top of my head but have we ever had a handicapped or a servery burned duelist before in any of the Yu-Gi-Oh series? I know IV got scarred because of the fire damage during his duel against Rio in Zexal, and if Rio wasn’t a Barian she most definitely would be severely burned on her end, but I’m drawing a blank on anyone else that might have a physical condition, related to those two, in Yu-Gi-Oh. It is even more interesting in this case because this Yu-Gi-Oh Vrains we are talking about here, where anyone can become anything in Link Vrains. A physically disabled and burned character, such as Windy’s kid, can enter into Link Vrains and boom, no burn scars and he can walk again. I seriously hope they go this route with his Windy’s kid first off because damn, that always brings a smile to my face whenever I see this trope in media. Vrains might be showing the dangers of advanced technology but things like that, giving those with a physical disability that they lost or never had to begin with in VR, will always make me happy.

Now we don’t know when exactly Windy caused his kid’s accident. Could have been a few days after the Hanoi Project, could have been a few years after the Cyberse World was created, could have happened recently when the Cyberse World was destroyed. We just don’t know timeline wise until Ryoken feels generous enough to give us more info on the Hanoi Project and the Lost Children/Ignises. Regardless of when it happened though, I think Windy’s kid has been in a hospital this whole time, similar to Jin, but more on the physical side because of his injuries. Like you said, anon, I think Windy’s kid has to be filled with so much hate, caused by fear probably, for anything and everything technology based, even more so then Ryoken and even Blood Shepherd. Technology has brought this kid just nothing but pain and agony for as long as he could remember from his days during the Hanoi Project, where he was locked up and forced to duel in a virtual world, to his accident where a self driving car drove him into a building, caused by Windy. Heck, if that wasn’t bad enough, Windy even appeared in the screen for a split second to see if the damage was done, and if his kid was somehow still conscious when that happened, he could have saw Windy and maybe put the pieces together that the Ignis did this to him. Because of his injuries, I see him being super self-conscious about his burns, maybe wearing a mask in the real world, figuratively and literally, to hide behind. Similar to how Yusaku built an emotional wall around himself to protect others from getting involved with him, I see Windy’s kid doing the same, only this wall is used to protect what’s left of his fragile mind from the outside world. Not like in a Jin kind of sense where he just completely shut down, or Takeru who just became super depressed and didn’t want to do anything with his life, Windy’s kid is just mean, like super mean, to protect himself from getting hurt ever again. He just wants the whole world to stay away from him because all the world has ever done to him is just hurt him and has never stopped hurting him. I can only imagine his reaction when he is finally brought into this war. Unlike Yusaku, Takeru, and Spectre who all chose to be apart of this of their own free will, he definitely wasn’t given that choice and more then likely will be forced to play his role in all of this as a Lost Child, and as Windy’s partner, similar to how I think Jin was forced into all of this because of Lightning.

Dueling wise, I don’t think he’s going to be using Windy’s deck, similar to how I don’t think Spectre is going to start using Earth’s deck when they finally join forces in the future. If him and Windy do end up making up and teaming up together, I see Windy giving his kid some Wind Cyberse cards to work with his archetype, but not completely changing it, similar to how I think Earth will do with Spectre’s deck with Earth Cyberse cards. I don’t know what kind of deck he will be using, other then it being Wind to go along with the rest of the Lost Children attribute themes (Takeru and Spectre both using decks that go with their attributes and Yusaku has been going more into his Dark theme as of late with all of his new Extra Deck monsters). Monster type, it would probably be Winged-Beasts, since a majority of Wind archetypes are that type, but I personally like to see him use Psychics, maybe something similar to the Gusto archetype, Thunder, some kind of Storm deck to go along with Windy’s Stormriders, or maybe even Wyrm, since I don’t believe, on the top of my head, that any characters, since the introduction of them in ARC-V, has used the Wyrm Type in the anime. As for his Skill, I seriously hope it isn’t Storm Access. Other then me being biased because it is supposed to be Yusaku and Ryoken thing (once again, they are called Datastormshipping for a reason), Storm Access is supposed to be this all powerful Skill that only certain duelists are able to use. If everyone is suddenly able to use this Skill, regardless of the reasons making sense behind it, it wouldn’t make it feel special anymore. He is the Wind Child though, so I do see him getting some kind of variation of it however. Instead of pulling out Cyberse Link Monsters, maybe his variation instead pulls out Cyberse Spell/Traps? I think that would be cool to see.

Not to sure on his relationship with other characters at the moment until we actually know his personality. If anything I’ve said above is even close to being accurate, he more then likely will just be super hateful to everyone, especially to the Knights of Hanoi, for obvious reasons, and especially to Spectre, who he might just think is a crazy person for being able to side with the Knights after everything they put them though, similar to how Windy thinks Ai and Flame are insane for being able to side with humans. I am looking forward to him and Windy meeting though, and if Windy’s damages are permanent, I like to see them bond over their mutual injuries.

But yeah, I think that’s about all I can say until we learn more about Windy’s kid. I name would be a nice start, or even a silhouette (looking at you ED 4 and OP 2 if you get updated tomorrow). On another note, I did not expect this to be so long 0-0

[themeowsticvigilante]

Episode 3 : The Encounter

The thing stared directly to me with its single red eye as if to intimidate me and prompt me to stay away.

I could stay away to prevent myself from facing it but I can’t just abandon this opportunity to finish the job.

I thought of the most rational thing I’d do to deal with this creature without attacking it.

“Hello t-there, I-I come at peace.” I finally said after a moment of silence.

The creature immediately slashed at me as I said that. I barely dodged it as I jumped aside.

The creature then emerged from the shadows and revealed itself. It was a Trevenant, it stood there towering over me and glared menacingly with its single red eye.

The creature managed another Shadow Claw at me to no avail.

I backed away in order to create a gap between me and the Trevenant.

The Trevenant still went on with its pursuit as it readied another attack at me.

It fired off a barrage of Shadow Balls at me in which I unfortunately got hit by one to which almost knocked me to the ground.

I quickly got up and readied my counter attack. I figured the best way to subdue this thing was to use a Psychic type attack so I used my Psyshock which hit it directly but it looked like it had no effect.

I fired off another attack before it managed to get up. I successfully hit it again but someone unusual happened.

The Trevenant seemed to vanish and was nowhere to be seen. I saw a little figure from where it once stood, I immediately approached it in order to examine it.

It looked to be some sort of a doll like the ones used by someone who knows Substitute. I quickly took it out with my Energy Ball and it vanished into thin smoke.

I then sensed someone approaching from behind me and it seemed to be growing nearer. I felt strong vibrations on a steady pace and I didn’t hesitate to turn around.

As I turned around, I was met with a Shadow Claw which directly hit my arm. Luckily, it didn’t hit the bandaged one which was on the right but it still felt painful.

The Trevenant then readied another attack, a Hyper Beam which was targeted at me point-blank. I struggled to get out of its way but the pain in my arm kept me from moving quickly.

I immediately readied another attack instead in order to cushion the Trevenant’s attack at least a little bit. We both let out our attacks but the Trevenant’s attack surprisingly didn’t hit me which made my attack hit it successfully.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

It was then that I noticed the translucent sort of mirror that was in front of me. It was a Light Screen, which was obvious since it was colored magenta unlike Reflect which was entirely white.

“You alright?” A different but rather familiar voice was heard.

It was Elaina, who wasn’t wearing her vest but was holding her staff.

“I heard a commotion coming from here as I went outside earlier to get some fresh air. I figured it was you since you were still on duty.”

“Yes, I am fine. Just a painful arm, nothing serious to worry about.”

“Can you get up at least?”

“Yes, I definitely can.” I said as I strained slightly to get up.

I then noticed that the Trevenant was readying an attack at Elaina to which I quickly warned her.

“Elaina! Behind you.”

Elaina then turned around and fired off a Fire Spin at it which greatly hindered its movement. I took this as an opportunity to fully subdue it.

I then paralyzed it with my Thunder Wave which knocked it flat to the ground. It made an attempt to get back up but the paralyze took effect as it slightly raised itself from the ground.

Immediately, I approached it to see if it can be negotiated with verbally while Elaina followed me from behind.

It struggled to speak as it was still paralyzed.

“C-can’t m-m-move. W-what i-is t-thi-”

Its words came to a halt mid-sentence as it was still paralyzed. Its grunts seemed to sound like the Trevenant was male and was really upset that I paralyzed him.

“I think you might have overdid it.” Elaina said who was also staring at the Trevenant.

“At least the problem was solved, in a way.”

“Speaking of which, you live here in this area?”

“Yes, I actually live there, about a two house distance from here.” She said pointing to a house with its lights still open.

I heard the sound of a door opening from behind us with a familiar voice calling.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“Are you alright out there?” said Ms. Gallius.

“Don’t worry about a thing Miss, I am perfectly fine. Just a minor gash in my arm, nothing serious.” I answered in response.

“Oh thank Arceus, I was worried for a second. That huge commotion from outside sounded like it can cause serious damage.”

Ms. Gallius then approached us and looked curiously at the aftermath.

“Oh Elaina, almost didn’t see you there. I thought you were asleep.”

“Hi there miss actually, I was catching some fresh air outside of my house when I heard what was going on here. So I hurriedly went and investigated what was happening.”

“You know each other?” I asked.

“Yes, I usually see her tending to her garden almost every morning.”

She immediately noticed the Trevenant and eyed him as if she was examining him.

“So that Trevenant was the one who was haunting my house?”

“Yes, that stare of his almost got me completely off-guard when I saw him face to face.”

The Trevenant just laid there while we were talking, silently staring with its red eye.

“I think we should un-paralyze him and ask why he is staying here.”

“Good point Elaina but how are we going to do that? I am no medic.”

“I have something that can help.” Ms. Gallius said as she held what looked like a reddish square fabric and offered it to me.

“It's a sort of bandage used to treat paralysis, made from Cherrie berries of course.” She added.

“Oh yeah I almost forgot, you have a berry garden. Thank you for this.” I said as I received the bandage.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I then immediately went to the Trevenant, who was still eyeing us from earlier and look slightly worried as he saw the patch I was holding.

His body was still under the effects of Thunder Wave as I was still seeing sparks generating from his body.

“Don’t worry about a thing buddy. This will not hurt you one bit. I can assure you that.” I said as I applied it to his forehead.

He struggled for a little bit upon applying the bandage before realizing he can actually get up. I readied my Psybeam in case he attempted to attack me again.

I was in full alert of his mobility as he let out a sigh of relief. He quickly approached me to which I thought it meant he was readying an attack.

I was dumbfounded when instead of attacking, he cleared his throat as if he was about to talk.

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Someday Your Child May Cry

Previous: Question | Preparations | Irrational | Confession | Collateral | Thoughtless | Interrupted | Recovering | Irresponsible | Possibility | Devastation | Confrontation | Generous | Confirmation | Understanding

16. Sight

It’s not all immediately sunshine and roses between them, after Arcadia, after an emotional appointment with Dr. Sabarwal, who confirms Scully’s pregnancy the week after they get back to DC. They’re still cautious and wary around one another, and occasionally, Scully still finds herself snapping at him, or questioning his judgement perhaps a bit more harshly than she might have before the Diana fiasco. The case in California with Karen Berquist, certainly, causes some of those emotions to come flooding back, but for the most part, Scully manages to deal with them. She’s getting more and more confident, lately, that things between them are going to be just fine- an impression that’s encouraged by the amount of time Mulder tries to spend kissing her.

And then comes Philip Padgett.

If it weren’t for the events of the past several months, Scully would have simply assumed that Mulder’s response to Padgett was nothing more than his usual over-protectiveness. But now, she can’t help but feel that his jealousy is almost in retribution for her own reaction to everything that has happened with Diana. It grates on her, his presumption at barging into Padgett’s apartment with his gun drawn, trying to hide his possessiveness behind concern for her well-being. When he has the nerve to actually ask her whether she had slept with Padgett or not, it takes every ounce of her self-control to keep calm, to keep her temper in check. 

By the time Mulder leaves her in his apartment, struggling to pull on her boots, while he tears off to the basement in pursuit of their suspect, they’re hardly speaking to each other at all. 

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

Scully lies motionless on the floor, her skin stained with blood, and for the space of a heartbeat, Mulder stands frozen in the doorway of his apartment as the world falls away around him. He steadies himself against the doorframe as lightheadedness overcomes him, the edges of his vision actually darkening… and then he’s flying across the room to her side.

She is white, so white, her already-pale skin nearly translucent, and the blood, God, there is so much blood, can she possibly be alive? Her chest isn’t moving, and in the face of the enormity of it, the very idea of her loss, like this, after everything, now….

He suddenly remembers the way he’s acted today, the things he’s insinuated about her. He’d never said that he was sorry for not trusting her, and it’s insane to be thinking about that now, to be lamenting that he’d never apologized for doubting her, as though his apology would make her any less-

No. His mind refuses to even permit the word. Not in relation to Scully.

All of this flashes through his mind in the breath of time between him arriving at her side, and his knees hitting the floor by her ribs. Dimly, he feels the blood, her blood, soaking into the knees of his jeans, as he reaches out for her.

With a shudder and a gasp, her eyes open.

For a moment, she doesn’t seem to recognize him, and she jerks her arms back against his hold, her eyes full of panic and terror, but he keeps a firm grip on her until she sees that it’s only him. She doesn’t calm, though; instead, she dissolves into the most violent sobs he’s ever heard from her, worse than when she’d been saved from Pfaster’s clutches, worse than when her mind had been tricked into thinking he had betrayed her, worse, even, than after Emily’s funeral, when she’d cried into his suit jacket outside of the church for nearly a half hour.

Mulder bends down as far as he can, even though the angle is excruciating for his back and knees, mindful of the fact that she could be gravely injured, and slides his arms carefully around her, helping her to sit up. She clutches at him with a desperation that nearly breaks his heart. Her hands scrabble at the back of his shirt, move higher, past his collar, and he suddenly feels a sharp sting as her nails dig into his neck and scalp, hard enough to draw blood.

He doesn’t care.

He thinks, dimly, of the defensive wounds murder victims leave on their killers, and it seems appropriate that she’s marking him in much the same way, because isn’t it his fault, as always, that she’s here? He had torn off to the basement without a second thought, knowing full well that Padgett’s accomplice had still been at large, that the writer’s attention had been focused tightly on Scully, that she could be at risk. He could have waited long enough for her to pull on her boots and follow him to the basement, but no, he had run on ahead, without a second thought for her. Just like always.

Scully is, at last, beginning to calm in his arms, her uncontrolled sobs subsiding into sniffles and hiccups, but she’s trembling violently, shaking against his chest, and with most of the feeling having gone from his legs and his lower back screaming, Mulder can’t remain in this position any longer. Without stopping to worry that Scully will be angry at his presumption, keeping one arm at her back, he slides the other under her knees and stands, cradling her carefully against his chest. She keeps her arms locked behind his neck and doesn’t protest. He briefly contemplates where to put her while he calls for an ambulance; the couch is closer, but she’ll be more comfortable on his bed.

She shivers violently in his arms, and he opts for comfort.

For once, Mulder is glad that he’s careless about the state of his bedroom, because the unmade bed makes things much easier, allowing him to set Scully down without first turning down the covers. He sits her on the edge of the mattress and gives the comforter a sharp yank, pulling it around her shoulders, keeping her warm while he surveys the damage. He looks, hesitantly, up at her face, and she meets his gaze.

“We need to see what he did to you,” he says, and after a moment’s hesitation, Scully nods. She reaches for the buttons at the front of her blouse, and the comforter, freed from her grasp, begins to slide back down to the bed. Mulder catches it and pulls it back up. “Let me,” he says, and Scully nods, returning her hands to anchor the blanket around her shoulders. Mulder carefully frees each button from its mooring, bracing himself for what he’ll find underneath the blood-soaked cloth… but the skin of her chest, under her ruined bra, is unbroken.

It’s far from unmarked, though. A livid bruise, at least eight inches in diameter, has bloomed on the left side of her chest, directly over her heart. Mulder sucks in his breath at the sight of it, and Scully glances down.

“I felt it happening,” she whispers. “I felt my skin tearing, I could feel my ribs separating, my heart being squeezed.” She shudders, tears threatening again, and pulls the blanket tighter. “I’ve never felt pain like that, Mulder. Never. Not even during the worst of my cancer.” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself.  “Why didn’t he finish the job?” she asks. “Why am I still alive? Where did Padgett go?”

“He’s in the basement,” Mulder says, and the thought of Padgett, standing in front of the incinerator with his manuscript, is enough to remind Mulder of what he still has to do. Reluctantly, he stands.

“Where are you going?” Scully asks, trying valiantly to keep the panic from her voice. Mulder can’t blame her; there had been no sign of Naciamento anywhere in the apartment, and it’s quite possible he’s still on the prowl.

“Padgett is still in the basement,” Mulder says. “He as good as told me you were going to be the next victim, Scully. I want him back in custody before he has the chance to do any more harm.” Bending down, he takes his backup weapon from his ankle holster and hands it to her, but she shakes her head.

“Mulder, I shot at Naciamento. I emptied my magazine straight into his chest and it didn’t even slow him down.” She pushes his gun back at him. “That’s going to do you far more good in arresting Padgett than it will protecting me right now.”  She’s right, of course; Mulder had heard the gunshots. Scully doesn’t miss shots at a hundred paces. There’s no possible way she could have missed her target at point-blank range. He bites his lip, weighing both courses of action: go after Padgett and leave Scully unprotected, or stay with her until the ambulance arrives, potentially letting a killer slip through his fingers?

He only has to look at Scully, really, to decide.

Mulder digs his cell phone out of his pocket and dials nine-one-one. Scully groans when she hears him requesting an ambulance, but he continues on, undeterred. He calls in for backup and to report an agent down, suspect still at large. That done, he tucks his phone away and sits on the bed beside Scully.

“The paramedics are unnecessary, Mulder,” she says. “I’m fine.”

“If that’s true, they’ll be able to tell us when they get here,” he replies.

“And what are we going to tell them?” Scully asks. “That the ghost of a psychic surgeon attempted to remove my heart from my chest and was somehow interrupted?”

“We tell them that you’ve been attacked,” says Mulder simply.

“They’re probably going to want me to go to the hospital,” she protests. “We could be there for hours, easily. Possibly even overnight.”

“Scully,” says Mulder, his voice gentle, “you need to let them check you out. You know you do. Especially now.” His gaze bores into her, and finally, with a sigh, she nods. “And if they keep you overnight, I’ll stay with you, I promise. You won’t be alone. Not for a second.”

“They won’t let you,” Scully says. “If I’m admitted, they’ll send you home, I’m sure.”

“Just let them try,” Mulder says fiercely. He wraps his arms tightly around her, and together, they wait for the paramedics to arrive.

An hour later, after a frustrating and uncomfortable question-and-answer session with a thoroughly confused ER doctor, Scully lies on her back, a sheet spread over her lap, Mulder standing at her shoulder, as an ultrasound technician slowly moves the transducer over her still-flat stomach. The tech frowns at the screen, and Scully reaches up, over her shoulder, seeking his hand, which he gladly gives. He can feel her shaking again.

“Is something wrong?” Mulder asks the technician nervously. The young woman gives them both a reassuring smile, but Scully does not relax.

“It may be too early to see the fetus this way,” the tech says. “What did you say your doctor placed you at? Nine, ten weeks?”

“About nine and a half weeks, yes,” says Scully shakily. The tech nods.

“We might have better luck with a trans-vaginal ultrasound, then,” she says, turning to a set of cabinets against the wall and removing a folded white square of cloth. “I’ll need you to remove all of your clothes below the waist and drape this over your legs, please.” Scully looks up at Mulder, her face white.  

“Do you want me to leave the room?” he asks her quietly. She bites her lip and shakes her head. If the ultrasound tech finds his question strange, she doesn’t say anything. Once Scully is settled back on the table, Mulder takes her hand again, giving her what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

The tech does some maneuvering, and Mulder tries desperately not to think too hard about what, exactly, is going on down there. Scully squirms slightly in discomfort, and the tech murmurs an apology. There’s a moment of silence as all three of them watch the shifting, snowy static on the screen... and then, suddenly, there’s a strange, rhythmic flashing, an impossibly fast fluttering of white in the middle of all that grey and black. Scully’s breath catches in her throat. Mulder tries to speak, fails, and tries again.

“Is that-”

“Yup, that’s a good, strong heartbeat!” the tech says, grinning. “The doctor will be able to tell you for sure, but if I had to say, I’d guess your doc was right on the money. I’d put you at about ten weeks.”

Mulder tears his gaze away from the thrumming image on the ultrasound screen and looks down at Scully. Her blue eyes are swimming in tears, and she’s shaking again, struggling to hold in her emotions. Mulder bends down over the ultrasound table and envelops Scully in his arms, and as she begins to cry in earnest on his shoulder, he dimly hears the tech telling them she’ll give them a moment, that she’ll be right outside.

They end the evening as they began it: with Mulder bending low over Scully, clutching her against his chest as she cries- as they both cry. But this time, they’re both crying tears of joy.

[imaginekpoplikethis]

7 years - BadBoy! Jeon Jungkook X Reader - Part 9

Early (but not early since it's 11pm here) updateeee. I honestly feel like I can't go two parts without making something bad happen.

Shall I stop the drama or shall I continue with it??? I don't really know, so I need you guys to let me know your thoughts on it.

Thanks for reading. Love you guys!

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9 - Here  Part 10.1  Part 10.2  Part 10.3  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16 Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20 - Final

You would like to say you survived through all the screaming from your family and best friend but to be totally honest it felt like you had been dragged through hell and back. You were sure that one of your ears had been damaged in the process.

Your mother seemed to be ecstatic with the news that you were dating Jungkook. Her 18 year-old daughter had finally managed to get her first boyfriend and it just so happened to be the one boy she adored as if he were her own son.

She made it sound like you were completely hopeless when it came to relationships.

When you had video called Areum and filled her in on what had happened, she smirked, which was something that shocked you to great lengths. Then she demanded you give her Shinee's new album and that was when it clicked in your head. You had made a bet, hadn't you? Who would have thought you would actually lose? Apparently Areum had.

You had to reassure her that you would definitely hold up your side of the deal and she begun cheering, jumping up and down. When she had finished celebrating, she begun to congratulate you which, in all honesty, kind of embarrassed you. She was making it out like it was some kind of life changing event. When you voiced your thoughts, she claimed it was and gushed over the next step of your relationship.

"It's been less than two hours, Areum."

Blinking, she closed in on the camera, staring straight at you. It made you mildly uncomfortable.

"Two hours is a long time! Soon it will be four and then eight and before you know it, you'll be married and have kids."

How she got from eight hours to marriage is beyond you.

"Are you psychic or something? What do you mean marriage? You actually think we'll last that long?"

Energetically nodding her head, she swung around on her seat before laying her eyes on you again.

"If I'm being honest, I don't think you guys will ever have a major fight now that your together. You've just known each other too long so you understand the intentions behind each others actions. Even if you hurt each other, which is highly unlikely, there will always be a valid reason behind it."

"Do you analyse your schoolwork like you do with my relationship? That could pass as an essay."

Areum chuckled and you thought over what she had said. You understood what she was getting at. You would never intentionally hurt Jungkook, not because he was now your boyfriend but because you didn't want to lose his trust and friendship. If you ever came to a point where you broke up, you would want to be able to continue being close friends.

Why were you already thinking about breakups?

"Anyway, Y/N. I need to finish the maths homework. I'll see you in school tomorrow. Bye!"

She waved at the camera before ending the call, leaving you staring at the screen in thought.

Despite what Areum had said, you still felt that it was possible you would end up hitting a bump in your relationship. The thought made your stomach turn.

It would probably be better to avoid thinking about topics like that.

-

Heading to school the next day, you weren't as excited as you thought you would be. Possibly because you had spent so long freaking out last night. You were drained, having got no sleep. Not even ten minutes.

Upon arriving at the schools entrance, you felt a couple of eyes on you. People were still feeding off of your fight with Hye Mi apparently. Trudging to your classroom, you slid the door open to find Jungkook asleep on his desk and three girls from your class sitting around him. Upon closer inspection, you realised they were admiring your boyfriend.

Too tired to actually care, you slumped into your seat. It wasn't causing you any harm due to the fact that nothing was even happening. You didn't want to have relationship problems on your official first day of dating. Instead you focused your attention on your unopened messages. You hadn't gotten a chance to check them as you were dedicating your morning to trying to keep awake long enough to leave the house.

Areum had messaged you asking if you had remembered to bring your homework, to which you replied a quick 'yep, thanks Areum.' Your next message happened to be from none other than the idiot currently sleeping on the other side of the class.

'Hey, Princess. Make sure to come to school early.'

So much for that. Glancing in his direction, you took in his dozing, slumped figure. You should probably wake him up.

Dialling his number, you watched as he shot up in his seat and whipped his head from side to side in confusion. When he realised his phone was ringing, he all but wrenched it out of his pocket, answering the call without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?" He croaked his greeting through the phone, taking notice of the dumbfounded girls seated around him. Sending them a slightly dirty look, they hopped up and shuffled away, embarrassed to be caught staring.

"Rise and shine, Jeon." Hearing your voice coming from within his phone and the other side of the classroom, you were pleasantly surprised to witness a grin spread on his face at the realisation.

Hanging up on you, he scraped his chair back and stuffed his hands in his pockets, strolling to your desk whilst emitting a cool aura. Taking his usual seat in front of you, Jungkook draped his arms on the backrest of his chair and then laid his head upon them. Gazing up at you from between his eyelashes, he presents you with a faint but handsome smile.

"I can't believe you fell asleep after ordering me to come to school early. That's impolite."

A boyish laugh escaped him and the corners of his eyes crinkled the tiniest bit, taking on a more crescent shape. He reached his hand out towards your hair, grabbing a lock of hair and twisting it between his fingers.

"You're pretty when you're annoyed..."

Huffing, you let your eyes fall to the side, avoiding making eye contact with him.

"Are you implying that I'm not usually pretty? Wow, I am so lucky to date you." You tried to suppress the grin that was threatening to make itself present but Jungkook still noticed.

"My princess is always pretty." You pushed his face to the side and stuck your tongue out, scrunching your face up in mild disgust. Jungkook merely chuckled at your reaction, his plan to make you flustered succeeding.

"Major cringe alert. Please refrain from saying things like that. At least in public." A sly smirk replaced his grin and he wiggled his eyebrows.

"So you wouldn't mind if we were alone? Noted. I'll save it all for when we're alone." What kind of nonsense is he spouting now? Grabbing his ear, you gave it a quick tug which caused him to release your hair and place his hands on yours. He winced in slight pain but his smirk never left his face.

"Pervert. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours." Releasing his ear from your grip, you rested your head on the palm of your hand and stared right back at him. His bunny-like grin grew and a delicate smile spread on your lips. You hadn't taken notice of the students who filed into class until your teacher had arrived, calling everyone to their seats.

Jungkook reluctantly stood from the seat in front you and returned it to the slightly annoyed and intimidated student who lingered beside the desk. Ignoring said student, he placed his hand on your head affectionately and bent down, pecking your lips. A wave of loud whispers emerged from the rest of the class and you hung your head, letting your hair partially cover your now reddening face.

Jungkook seemed to be having a hard time fighting the blush that was slowly spreading over his cheeks.

-

By the time lunch had come around, you were sure everyone had heard the news of your relationship. Obviously, this irked you as it was your private buisness. You supposed it was unavoidable. Jungkook was the schools most difficult and intimidating student whilst you were one of the best students. Of course news like this would spread like a forest fire amongst teenagers. This information didn't stop you from feeling self-conscious. You had almost adjusted to the few stares you used to receive but having everyone's eyes on you whilst you were trying to eat your lunch was another story.

Areum seemed to notice that you were on edge as she tapped you on the arm. Looking up at you with concern filled eyes, she offered you a worried smile.

"Y/N? Are you uncomfortable?" That seemed to gain Jungkook's attention as he immediately stopped his conversation with Seokjin and studied you. His face remained blank but the worry he held in his eyes was evident.

"I'm fine. I just... don't really like all the unnecessary staring." You stabbed your fork into a piece of meat, a light sigh leaving your lips. Jungkook's eyebrows creased and his head shot up to the many students staring with no shame. Sending death stares in every direction, he clenched his jaw and balled his fists. This didn't go unnoticed by the nosy students and they each turned back to their food, terrified at the holes Jungkook was burning into the back of their heads.

When he was satisfied with the outcome of his actions, he switched his focus back onto you and flicked your forehead. You flinched and placed a hand on your head, peering up at him.

"Don't let these pieces of shit get to you."

Taehyung's face moved into your line of sight and he grinned at you. "Yeah! We'll deal with them later!" Giggling, you felt yourself relax at their somewhat reassuring words.

"Deal with them later? Please don't."

Areum nudged you and you turned to face her, a determined look set on her face.

"Don't worry, from now on I'll protect you too."

Areum was just too cute for words. Your smile broadened into a warm grin and you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her in for a quick hug.

"Gosh you're adorable."

Jungkook let out a small whine, grabbing your attention.

"What about me?"

You pinched his cheek and he frowned at the childish way you were treating him in.

"I guess you are too."

-

You decided to enjoy the good weather as much as you could and convinced Areum to come with you to the nearby bubble tea café after school. She was currently gushing over your interaction with Jungkook this morning, having caught word of it in the school hallway.

"You guys are so cute! You're not too clingy but you don't awkwardly avoid each other either. You're right in the middle." Rolling your eyes, you felt your cheeks heat up for the second time that day. Areum rambled on and you opted to listen to her in silence.

When you arrived at your destination, you told her to find a table whilst you ordered your drinks. The line was longer than you had expected it to be so you ended up waiting for ten minutes. As soon as you were presented with your order, you grabbed both cups and searched for Areum. It took you awhile to spot her and when you did you had to refrain from gaping in shock. A boy you didn't recognise had wrapped an arm around her shoulders and seemed to be chatting away, not taking notice of her extremely uncomfortable figure. Speed walking to the table they were situated at, you caught the last part of the conversation.

"Come on, you don't have to lie to me. You're obviously here alone. I think you're pretty cute so let's go chill out somewhere else. Get to know each other." He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive way and you had to stop yourself from giving him a good punch to the head.

"Actually, she's not here alone. She's got company so do you mind leaving? Thanks." You tried to remain as polite as possible but this boy just screamed 'douche'.

"What's wrong baby, you can join us too. Don't be a cock-blocking bitch."

Yeah, he's definitely a douche.

Placing your drinks on the table, you wrapped your hand around his arm and slowly lifted it from Areum's shoulder.

"Well, I'm going to be a cock-blocking bitch and maybe even a batshit crazy bitch if you don't leave my friend alone." He seemed to be taken aback by your reply but soon recovered and stood up, looming over you in what you assumed was meant to be intimidating. It didn't work since he was quite literally a centimetre taller than you.

"Y/N, stop! Please don't get into trouble for me again." You took notice of Areum's extremely worried tone and your determination wavered. You returned your attention back to the problem at hand when you heard him scoff at Areum's innocent plead. This only angered you further.

"Just leave before I lose my shit."

"Woah, what's with the hostility? Maybe I should to teach you some manners..." Proceeding to grab your wrist, he narrowed his eyes at you, daring you to fight back. You felt the grip on your wrist tighten and you were jerked forward, making contact with the boys chest. Right when you were going to show him what hostility looked like, another hand grabbed his wrist in a vice like grip and you looked up to find Jungkook's seething face.

"That's my job. Who the fuck are you and why are your hands on my girl? Can't she have a fucking drink with her friend without lowlife shits like you bothering them?"

The boy stiffened and released your wrist, your hand unconsciously rubbing the partially sore mark that was left.

"J-jeon?"

Jungkook raised an eyebrow and you noticed the knuckles on the hand that was around the boys wrist were turning white.

"Yeah, what? Have you got something to say?"

The boy threw his arm out of Jungkook's grasp and took a couple of steps back.

"Not really, I was just leaving..." Navigating his way around Jungkook, he avoided all eye contact with you and shuffled out of the café. It was then that you noticed everyone's eyes were on you for the umpteenth time that day. Quickly glancing in Areum's direction, you saw Jimin calming her down. Sitting down opposite them, you placed your hands on your head and let out a heavy sigh. Movement from your right side let you know that Jungkook was now sitting beside you. He enveloped you in a hug and buried his face into your hair, mumbling to you.

"Forget about everyone. They don't matter..."  Nodding your head, you wound your arms around his waist and embraced him back. After half a minute, you released each other and he grinned at you, grabbing your drink and sipping some. Hitting his arm, you snatched your drink out of his hand.

"Hey! Don't I get a thank you drink?"

You stuck your tongue out at his pouting face and you heard Jimin and Areum chuckle at your childish antics.

"Not mine."