#the horror of your best friend changing beyond recognition and trying to change you too.

[zombzgutzz]

being both trans and otherkin watching i saw the tv glow

[kinglazrus]

Dead Man Walking

Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @syrren: Instead of making him half-dead, the portal accident makes Danny unable to die. This....changes things.

(or: how canon changes if the accident leaves Danny with deadpool-style regeneration abilities to make for a horrifyingly self-sacrificing vigilante, or with some kind of reset ability every time he dies to equally horrifying implications)

Summary: The accident changes Danny in ways he never thought possible. Sam and Tucker watch him fall from the portal dead and burnt beyond recognition, but he doesn't stay dead for long. He never stays dead. Of all the things Danny expected to happen when he walked into that portal, getting unlimited regeneration wasn't one of them, but now that he has it, he's going to put it to good use. Deadpool AU.

Word count: 3606

The first time Danny dies, his friends bear witness. They will never forget the ominous whirr of the portal as it turned on, the warning crackle of electricity, the final throat-tearing scream of their best friend. There are other things, too, that burned into their minds that day. How his body hit the floor of the lab with a thud, burnt beyond recognition, burnt so bad there wasn't any blood. How it smelled, to their horror, not so different from charred barbecue.

They like to pretend that part never happened. It's easy when all they need to do is call his phone and hear his voice, unaffected by the savage electrical heat that brought him to ruin that day. When he doesn't stay dead, it's not hard to pretend he never died at all. It took minutes for his body to fix itself, blackened skin overtaken by fresh pink muscle, which then sprouted new skin, perfectly unblemished.

Even the scar he got when he was fell off his bike at six years old disappeared.

"I liked that scar," Danny says, pouting when he finally notices its absence three days later.

"I don't think that's the right thing to get hung up," Sam says.

"But it looked like a spaceship!"

"I always thought it looked like an upside-down nine," Tucker muses.

"Or six," Sam says.

"Upside down nine is more fun."

They proceed like this for three weeks, mentioning the accident only in the lightest of terms, joking about their new, shared trauma. They are content to move on with their lives, forget it happened, go on as normal high schoolers. Until Danny dies again.

—

"What do you mean you don't want to hunt ghosts?" Jack exclaims. He gapes down at the trio, wholeheartedly baffled by this confession.

"I'll stick with tech, thanks," Tucker says, holding up his phone.

"Ghosts just aren't cool anymore," Sam says.

"Can I go back upstairs now?" Danny asks. At his question, Sam and Tucker fall silent. None of them make eye contact, and neither do they look toward the portal innocently humming only a few feet away. Danny is very aware that this is his first time in the lab since the accident. The same thought runs through Sam and Tucker's minds.

Jack doesn't notice the sudden change in mood. "Nonsense, Danno! You love ghosts. Why, I remember when you were just a tyke, you wanted to be a ghost when you grew up." He clenches his fist. "It was unacceptable. But that's okay! You can hunt them instead!"

He turns his back on Danny and his friends, eagerly going over the array of tools laid out on the counter. Ghost detectors, ecto-guns, protective shield, and an empty space where a thermos should be. "I forgot the best part! Wait right here, kids." Jack charges upstairs, leaving the kids alone.

Danny glances at the portal, unable to suppress a shiver. "You think he'd notice if I snuck away?"

"Nuh-uh, if you go, we go, too," Tucker says.

No one gets to go. Two sets of slimy green tentacles poke through the portal, probing the empty air. Their soft bodies soon follow, revealing a pair of ghostly octopuses.

"Holy shit ghosts are real." That is all Tucker has time to say before the ghosts attack. They launch themselves forward, shrieking in excitement. One goes for Sam and the other charges Tucker. They try to jump out of the way, but the ghosts are faster. The ectopuses tentacles wrap around them, pinning their arms down.

"Danny!" Sam shouts.

In retrospect, a smarter person would have gone for the ecto-gun lying on the table, freshly loaded and ready for a demonstration. Or, they might have shouted for his father, a ghost hunter who has trained his entire life for this scenario. But Danny acts faster than he thinks. He dives toward Tucker, the closest of the two, and digs his fingers into the ghost's tentacles. It screams as Danny's nails dig into its flesh.

The ghost's body goes translucent. Tucker slips out of its grasp, dropping to the floor in a heap, but Danny's hold stays firm. The ectopus panics, thrashing and tugging, its flailing limbs cutting through Tucker over and over without harming him. No matter what the ectopus does, it can't shake Danny loose, and his nails are starting to cut.

"Dude, you're doing it!" Tucker says, too soon.

As it flails, one of the ectopus' tentacles smacks Danny in the face, making his head snap back. At that moment, he and the ghost have the same realization. If he can touch it, it can hurt him back. The ectopus gives another shriek and its remaining seven tentacles surge forward. They wrap around Danny's arms, his chest, curling so tight his bones ache. The last one closes around Danny's throat.

His throat, weak like the ghost's flesh, crumples in an instant. His air disappears. No sound leaves his mouth, not even a wheeze, and his eyes bulge as panic sets in.

"Danny!" Sam and Tucker scream. Sam struggles against her captor kicking and gnashing her teeth, but her boots can't reach its body. Tucker grabs Danny, tries to pull him away, to bat off the ghost’s grip, but it is no use. The ghost is too strong, and Tucker can't touch it in this state.

Danny loses focus of them, then. His brain goes fuzzy, everything blurring around him while his face grows hot. All he can feel is the burn, the ache, the need to breathe, breathe, breathe damn it! The haze of the ghost looming over him fills his vision, slowly overtaken by red, then black spots.

As everything goes dark, Danny's last thought is this:

I guess I'm dead after all.

—

He hears the sobbing first. It starts off quiet and distant, but quickly grows louder, great hiccupping coughs scattered between heart-wrenching cries.

"Mr. Fenton!" someone screams. It happens fast, after that. Thundering steps, a deep cry of shock and pain that cuts him to his core. A piercing whine followed by two quick blasts.

The ectopuses' retreating shriek cuts through Danny loud and clear. His eyes snap open and air rushes into his lungs, a hoarse, wheezing breath that he holds for a moment. Then he takes another, and another, and he's breathing again, and he's not anymore.

Sam and Tucker, kneeling at his side, cry out as one. They throw themselves on him, blubbering messes the both of them. Danny's father, facing the portal, turns disbelieving eyes on him.

Danny's gaze drops to his father's hand and the ecto-gun clutched in it. "Oh, right." The word scrapes against his throat. He swallows, twice, until speaking doesn't hurt and says, "I forgot we had the gun.

"Danny!" Jack dashes toward them, dropping to his knees beside Danny. Sam and Tucker scramble back, giving him room. "Are you alright? What happened? You looked..."

Dead.

Because he was. Again.

"I'm fine," Danny assures him. "Lost consciousness, that's all.

"Danny, your face was blu—" Tucker yelps when Sam punches him in the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. He rubs the spot, shooting her an offended look, but Sam's eyes are only on Danny.

Danny nods, just enough that she can see, a silent thanks.

"I think you kids should go upstairs now." Jack's voice trembles. He raises his hand, about to run it through his hair, but stops when he sees the gun he's still holding. "I'll take care of things down here. Call your parents and all that."

For the first time, Danny notices the green splotches littering the floor and the wall. Probably from the ectopuses.

Sam loops an arm around Danny's shoulders, hoisting him up. He stumbles when he gets to his feet, bracing himself against her as the room spins. It settles after a few seconds, but he still feels a bit lightheaded. A side effect of choking, maybe?

Tucker helps from Danny's other side. They go up to Danny's room in silence, their steps thumping up the stairs. Only once they're safely behind his closed door, and Danny is lying on the bed, does Sam speak.

"You died again," she says.

Danny touches his throat. "Yeah." Pressing gently, he feels is no lingering pain. Just like before, he healed without a trace. "Can I just not die now?"

"More like you can't stay dead," Tucker says.

"Tucker!" Sam hisses.

"What? It's true! Sorry that I'm not handling seeing my friend die twice very well!"

"Be quiet!"

Danny cuts in before they can devolve into shouting. "Let's just leave it at two, okay?"

Sam and Tucker share a glance over Danny's prone form and nod. The weight of that action is lost on Danny, whose only thought is that he wants to sleep for a very long time.

—

The knives don't kill him. They hurt like hell, but they don't kill him. He sees them flying toward him and leaps out of the way. Something strikes him in the gut, a solid punch that blows the air from his lungs and knocks him back into the walls. He thinks one of the frozen steaks got him, but when he looks down, he sees the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach.

He stares at it, stunned, not feeling anything at first. Then, his body jolts, like a shock of electricity is running through him, and his nerves scream, heat building, until every little twitch sends a jolt of pain so deep coursing through him that he can hardly breathe.

"Danny, look out!" Tucker, or Sam, he can't tell which, so lost in his pain, cry out a warning. Danny doesn't move in time and two more knives bury themselves in his body, another in his stomach, and the other through his chest. The Lunch Lady cackles with glee as Danny gurgles. The last knife got his lung, and he can feel it slowly filling.

The pound of Sam's boots on the tiles reaches his ears. She shouts something, but he doesn't hear it. Trembling, Danny grips the handle of the knife in his lungs. In first-aid, they tell you to leave whatever object stabbing you in. It keeps the wound plugged, stops you from bleeding out. But Danny's instincts cry out against everything he was ever taught.

Take them out! Take them out!

He braces himself, then yanks. It hurts so much worse coming out, now that he's aware of the pain, the sharp edge searing as it rips the wound wider. He drops the knife and goes for the next one. All three fall to the floor beside him with a clatter, their blades shiny and red. Danny can't breathe, can barely think through the pain. He presses a hand against his chest, feeling the wound beneath his shirt.

It stitches itself together beneath his fingers. The searing pain retreats, replaced by a dull ache. By the time Sam reaches him and rips his shirt open to see his wound, his chest is healed.

"Technically, I didn't die," Danny croaks.

Sam sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. There's relief in her eyes, beneath the horror, and she makes a noise that might be a laugh, choked and garbled as it is.

Danny dives back into the fight with renewed vigour. Twenty minutes and one Fenton Thermos later, the ghost is gone, but not before half the student body saw some bloody idiot fighting it bare-handed.

"Did you see who it was?" Dash whispers to his friends.

Danny, clean of blood and wearing his gym t-shirt, slumps against the wall nearby, listening. Someone called the police when meat started flying through the hallways, and they apparently called Danny's parents. Ghosts are real and everyone knows it now, but Danny doesn't care about that at the moment.

"No, man. I wasn't close enough," Kwan answers Dash.

"Whoever that was, he totally just saved us all," Paulina says. She clasps her hands together and leans against Star. "He's such a hero."

Hero. The word resonates with Danny. He can't explain it, but it pulls at him. A hero. The school is in chaos, the yard covered in raw meat, the hallways hacked and slashed, but everyone is safe and unharmed thanks to Danny.

"More like a dumbass," Sam mutters from Danny's left.

"Semantics," Tucker says.

Between them, Danny only grins.

—

Jack paces in front of the portal, a tub of fudge cradled in the crook of his arm. Every few steps, he grabs a square and pops it in his mouth, chewing furiously. Between bites, he mutters.

"I'm telling you, Mads. He must have been some kind of ghost," he says.

"I don't know, Jack." Maddie, staring at the computer screen, tilts her head. They managed to grab a few stills from the school's security footage of the figure who fought off the ghost, but they didn't come out right. The surroundings are a little grainy, but no more than a standard security camera, so they know there's nothing wrong with the film itself. The ghost, who called herself the Lunch Lady if Maddie remembers correctly, is little more than a green haze in the image. They expected this. Ghosts don't interact with most technology well, not unless it is designed to interact with them.

But the smaller figure is distorted, a twisted shadow obscuring their form. Not ghostly, but not human either.

She clicks to the next image, getting the same results.

"Are you saying it's a human?" Jack asks without breaking stride.

"It's humanoid, but I don't think it's human, either. Yet it bled, so it's not a ghost. And look at this." She closes the files, revealing a folder full of pictures, all of them taken over the past couple of weeks as ghost sightings increased. "They show up at most fights and leave lots of bodily fluids behind." Jiggling the mouse, she circles a series of four images with the courser, all pictures of significant blood splatters. "But the samples..."

As one, she and Jack turn to the sample tray sitting on the far counter. Where the blood is deep red in the pictures, the samples they took have slowly turned to a dark, murky brown, like thick mud. The oldest sample from the first sighting is black.

Jack grabs a handful of fudge and shoves it in his mouth. "Not to mention," he speaks around the chewy squares, "what does it do with the ghosts?"

The lab door squeaks as it opens. Maddie and Jack fall silent, gazes turning toward the stairs. A pair of red sneakers appears on the top step, creeping down, until the wearer slowly reveals themself. Their son, Danny, with what looks like a thermos clutched in his hand.

"Sweetie, are you only just getting home?" Maddie asks.

Danny yelps in surprise. He jerks the thermos behind his back and swivels to face his parents, freezing on the step. "Oh, hey. I didn't think you guys would be here..."

Maddie narrows her eyes. "What did you do, young man? You were supposed to be home from school an hour ago."

"Nothing! I just got held up." Danny tugs the collar of his jacket.

That's odd. Maddie doesn't remember him leaving with a jacket this morning. The sleeves drape over his hands, down to his knuckles, and he has the collar turned up to cover his neck. It must be cold outside, even though September is only just ending. "What held you up?"

"Uh, that's kind of why I thought you guys wouldn't be here? There was another ghost fight. It got pretty bad." He shifts, pressing his arm against his side. Is his jacket darker there, against his ribs?

"Another ghost?" Jack exclaims. He slaps the fudge down on the closest surface, rattling the test tube samples. "Mads, we gotta go! There might still be some evidence!"

Maddie's eyes widen. "Oh, shoot. You're right! We need fresh samples." They race to grab their equipment, snatching up sample gathering packs from their desks, and charge up the stairs.

Danny presses himself against the wall, offering them a nervous smile as they go. "Stay safe!" he calls. The front door slams as Maddie and Jack make their exit, leaving the house in silence. Still, Danny doesn't relax until he hears the rev of the Fenton RV and the familiar squeal of its tires against the pavement. His shoulders slump and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"That was close." Taking his hand out from behind his back, he looks down at the Fenton Thermos. "Now let's get you taken care of."

As he empties the thermos back into the Ghost Zone, his gaze wanders to the computer screen, still open to the photo evidence. Danny reads the title of the folder. "Challenger?" He snorts. "That's lame." As he skims the photos, a couple jump out at him. In most, he can barely make out the shape of his own body—something he tries not to think about—but in one or two, he can recognize the colours of his clothes beneath the distorting shadow.

Danny slaps the cap back onto the empty thermos before moving closer to the computer, frowning at the screen. "That might be a problem."

—

Danny stands in front of his friends, fists resting on his hips, and shows off his new look. "Well? What do you think?"

Tucker looks him up and down, body shaking as he suppresses his laughter. "Is that a paper superhero mask? Did you spray paint your hair white?"

Danny's hands rise to his head. "It's a spray-on dye! I thought it was cool!"

"Ten bucks says it's super crispy."

"Don't be mean," Sam admonishes Tucker. "I think he looks pretty good. For a discount Jack Frost."

Tucker snaps his fingers. "Emo Jack Frost! The real one would never wear this much black."

"We are no longer friends," Danny says, turning away from them.

"Come on, don’t be a spoilsport."

"Nope, too late. I'm already dead to you."

Sam and Tucker share a confused glance. "Don't you mean we're dead to—" Before Sam can finish the sentence, Danny turns and throws himself out his bedroom window. "Danny!" They scramble after him, falling against the sill as they lean outside, peering down to the alley below.

Danny lies face-first on the pavement.

"Are you dead?" Tucker asks.

Danny raises his arm and gives them a thumbs up.

—

Valerie holds back a startled shout when the metal suit crashes onto the sidewalk next to her. She is not scared, but anyone would be surprised if two tons of metal suddenly fell from the sky. A scream, rapidly increasing in volume, drawings her gaze upwards just in time for a black-clad figure to plummet inches from her nose and land with a sharp crack on top of the suit.

This time Valerie cries out because holy shit, is he dead? Her panic sputters out when she peeks at the possible corpse and gets a good look at exactly who, or what, came falling after. A human figure dressed in all black with poorly coloured hair. It looks crispy as hell.

Valerie sneers. What kind of cheap dye did they use?

She recognizes the Challenger on sight. By now, more than half of Amity Park can, although Valerie can't account for the sudden style change. Maybe they realized how lame their regular t-shirt and jeans are and decided to switch things up. This isn't much better, though. Black hoodie, black pants, black boots, no style.

No one knows their name, but the moniker the Fentons gave them seems to have stuck. Valerie thinks it's a little on the nose, though.

Something wriggles in the corner of her eye and she looks to the Challenger's fist. It clutches a bright green blob, with stubby limbs and a wide mouth.

"Let go of me!" The blob beats its penny-sized fists against the Challenger's thumb. "You are my prey!"

The Challenger groans. "Can you shut up for a second? I think my neck broke." They squeeze the blob until it squeaks.

"Hey. Watch where you're throwing this stuff around." Valerie kicks the arm of the metal suit. "You nearly crushed me!"

The Challenger jolts. Their head whips up, accompanied by a loud crack, and they lurch to their feet. A mask covers their eyes—cheap like the hair dye, probably from a costume stored—but judging by the way their eyebrows shoot up, they look at Valerie with wide eyes.

"Uh, hey, Va—citizen." Their voice drops a solid octave. "Sorry about that! I'll watch out next time." They are about to say something else when a loud squeal interrupts up, the signature sound of the Fentons' approach. The Challenger pales. "Sorry, gotta go!"

They dash into the nearest alley before Valerie can get another word in, leaving her with the empty metal husk and the sound of the Fentons from two streets away. She gapes after them, unsure what to make of the brief exchange.

"Actually, wait a second." The Challenger pops back around the corner, leaping over the ghost's suit to reach Valerie. They grab her shoulders in a cold grip. "Are people really using that dumb name for me?"

At a loss for words, Valerie nods.

"Ugh." The Challenger groans and lets her go in favour of rubbing a hand down their face. "Stop that. It's so boring. Just call me... Phantom. Okay? See ya!" They spin away, too fast, and trip over the metal suit.

Wow, Valerie thinks as Phantom scrambles around the corner once more. We have the lamest superhero ever.

[sam-roulette]

Recommending Free Old School RPGMaker Horror Games based on what Entity You Vibe With The Most

The Hunt: The Crooked Man. You play as David Hoover, a man going through a rough patch in his life who feels as though he has little prospects for a future and who cares for a mother who doesn’t even recognize him. After realizing that his house is haunted, he goes on a quest to see if he can find the previous owners and figure out what’s going on, all the while chased by a monster called the Crooked Man...

This ironically enough also applies as a recommendation to Martin kinnies. This is also one of the few games on the list where you’re expected to fight back.

The Slaughter: The Witch’s House. You play as Viola, a girl who must find a way out of the woods she’s trapped in. She eventually ends up having to enter the constantly warping witch’s house, where she has to figure out the mystery of the witch before the house kills her...

The character that’s being slaughtered is you. Literally anything can kill you and if you so much as look at an object wrong a random death will trigger. It is trying to hurt your character specifically all the time.

The Spiral: Yume Nikki. You play as Madotsuki, a recluse who refuses to leave her small apartment. When you go to sleep is when the game begins; your goal is to open 12 doors into a myriad of strange and unexplained worlds and collect artefacts which distort the main character’s body beyond recognition. I don’t know what else to say honestly; this is just as Spiral as it gets.

The Flesh: Porterminus. You play as Julie, a spunky teen who ends up getting controlled by an eldritch cat into fighting a myriad of terrifying flesh abominations to stave off an equally eldritch plot. A lot of the enemies look genuinely gnarly (especially since most of them used to be human) so big body horror warning on this one.  

The Lonely: Escaped Chasm. In this game by Temmie Chang (and the prequel to Dweller’s Path), you play as a girl who is wholly alone, waiting for her parents to come home as reality begins to fall apart around her. This one isn’t particularly long, but the atmosphere is genuinely lonely enough to make you ache, and there’s no save function, meaning you have to finish in one shot. The cut scenes also happen to be fully animated and are absolutely gorgeous.

The Eye: Your Turn to Die ~Death Game by Majority~. You play as Sara Chidouin, a kidnapped high school student who suddenly finds herself in the midst of a life or death game with ten other people. The name of the game is simple, really- after being given challenges with which to build trust and camaraderie, all contestants must vote on who among them will have to die, debating on the merits of each person’s life using all the information you’ve gathered at your disposal.

This one narrowly avoided being classified as The End by the virtue of the death game itself, which you discover more about as the characters try to plan an escape- the people running it just want to see what happens. And you, as the player, may just want to see how things play out as well.

The End: Mad Father. You play as Aya Drevis on the night of the anniversary of her mother’s death. She and her mother knew that her father was experimenting on humans, often using people deemed of little value to perfect his work in attempting to overcome death. On this night, his subjects come alive and attack, and it’s up to Aya to save her father- if he even deserves to be saved.

This one is mostly in The End for the theming of it- there’s a large theme running throughout the game, especially if you do side quests, about the meaning of life and helping people pass on to their deaths, and whether someone has the right to decide whether to hasten the inevitable.

The Dark: Forest of Drizzling Rain. You play as Shiori, a college student with amnesia who goes back to her hometown in an attempt to illuminate all the gaps in her memory. The village is haunted by the legend of Kotori Obake, said to be the ghost of a woman looking for her child, and whose arrival is always precipitated by rainfall... It’s up to Shiori and the mysterious museum owner, Suga, to figure out how to escape the spirit’s clutches.

This gets to be the Dark due to the fear of the unknown, which this game has in spades. This one also happens to have the plus of one of the protags, Suga, actually being mute but not a silent protagonist (as he communicates primarily through notes, which are displayed on screen), which was a really nice touch.

The Corruption: LiEat (1, 2, 3). You play as the lie-eating dragon Efina and her guardian, a con-artist whose name changes each game, as both travel from town to town to solve the mysteries surrounding a horror story. Each game centers around a different mystery, but the common thread is how Efina eats lies: by being in proximity to a liar, she can make lies appear as creatures to eat, and if the liar has deluded themselves enough, their lies will consume them and turn them into oil-smeared monsters.

These games are a little more tame compared to some others on this list, and are honestly a great ride for if you love parent-child interactions. (Fun fact: we loved these so much, we actually loosely based our eye-eating dragon Jon au off of it!)

The Buried: Mermaid Swamp. You play as Rin Yamazaki, a woman going on vacation with three of her friends when the car breaks down in the middle of the mountains. While they’re able to find shelter at an old mansion near a damp and dirty swamp, things start to go south when their friend Mika comes down with an unexplainable illness and a constant feeling of being drowned...

I’d go a little more detail into the Buried themes of it, but, well, that would run right into spoiler territory. Please heed the trigger warnings provided at the link.

The Vast: Witch’s Heart. You play as Claire Elford, an ordinary woman suddenly swept away into a manic search for the fabled Witch’s Heart. While every version of the story is different, every story has the same thing in common: the Heart has the power to grant someone’s deepest wish. Claire, now trapped in a mansion in the heart of the mountains with four others, must fight her way through a variety of monsters and spectres to try and find a way out, all the while exploring vast spaces hidden through portals throughout the house...

This one is Vast less because of the heights and vast places (though there are many here) but for the everpresent feeling that no matter what you do against the vastness of the universe and fate, it doesn’t matter. Getting further into it would be spoiler territory, and I feel like it’s best experienced without knowledge :)

The Desolation: OFF. You take control of the Batter, who has the sole mission of “purifying” the entire world of evil. The entire world, as it turns out, is also just incredibly unsettling.

It may not exactly be a horror game, but  it’s extremely disconcerting and you genuinely cannot get more desolate than this game. I don’t want to spoil the ending (even if the game is like over 10 years old at this point) but suffice it to say, when the credits rolled and “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” started playing for the first time, I felt like everything someone ever loved was burned to the ground, and like I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

The Stranger: Ib. You play as the titular Ib, a child trapped in a haunted art gallery who has to try and get to the real world alongside two friends she finds along the way. That’s easier said than done, however, with everything in the gallery coming to life and trying to kill you...

There are a lot of things that mark this as a Stranger game, but to avoid touching on the twist, the most genuinely frightening part is That Doll Room. You’ll know it when you see it.

The Web: Close Your Eyes (Original). In this one, you play as a bouncy little Marshmallow Monk who has just escaped death row and is currently running for their life. Before too long, they find themselves in a constantly changing, distorted world, egged on by a mysterious entity called the Narrator who watches their every action and guides their every movement. The goal: get out of this alive.

This one also very narrowly avoided being branded as The Eye due to the eye imagery, the spider, the manipulation, and the Narrator, who is fully voice acted. 

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

This year I lost my dear husband, James (QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I’M DEAD)

Putting this on Tumblr too bc it’s a oneshot (~3,000 word?), and I know Tumblr eats links, but if you want it on AO3 the link to my account there is in my blog header. 

It was a perfect day for the Lonely, damp and cold and foggy, and he knew Peter would be doing something interesting now that he was back on land, but he hadn’t thought it would be this.

Elias had expected to find him lurking outside the Institute, looking searchingly at everyone who left until he got some sign of recognition (okay, maybe Elias had fantasized about that a bit, and about coolly ignoring him for a few days before pretending to meet him for the first time, pointedly asking if he was lost). Or, if he felt like doing something sensible, maybe trying to identify the new Head of the Magnus Institute, not that Elias thought his nonexistent research skills and horror of human interaction would get him far there. More likely he’d pretend nothing had changed and simply go about his usual lonely business, waiting for Elias to contact him, too proud in his carefully cultivated self-sufficiency to seek him out at all.

But none of this had happened. Instead, he had scared the new tenant at James Wright’s flat half to death by appearing suddenly in her living room (she was convinced he was a ghost and had come to the Institute to give a statement, hilariously enough), and then, after a few hours of frenzied attempts at figuring out where his husband had gone, he’d finally found his obituary in a newspaper and disappeared into the Lonely to… sulk, or whatever it was he did in there. It took too much effort for Elias to watch him in there, and besides, it was impossible to do without making his presence felt, and he wanted to maintain the element of surprise, so he left him alone.

The next time he was able to find him, Peter was sitting on the still-bare mud of James Wright’s grave with a bottle of whisky, the mists clinging to him like the hands of ghosts.

Huh. Well, that was new.

Pothead filing clerk Elias Bouchard did not have good clothes, and the new Elias was still working on replacing his entire wardrobe with things more suitable for a Head of the Institute, but he could manage. He had his suit, and he’d kept one of James Wright’s long black coats. He flung it over his shoulders at the entrance to the graveyard.

He couldn’t see Peter from here, at least not with his human eyes, and that was all he was using.The fog thickened around Peter. But he Knew where he was, so he started walking. The grass squelched under his shoes when he stepped off the path, and he grimaced, placing his feet carefully to avoid slipping, trying not to get any mud on his shoes.

Slowly, as he walked deeper into the mist, a human figure appeared, slumped against one of the headstones.

He Knew that if he hadn’t had preternatural sight he wouldn’t have been able to find him at all, so it wasn’t surprising that Peter, who would usually hunch himself a bit deeper into the mist and will himself to be unnoticeable, looked up, confused by the intrusion.

Elias made a conscious effort not to Look at him, but only to meet his eyes and give a brief nod. Not a trace of Beholding. Just a man wandering the graveyard, intrigued at finding a drunken sailor sprawled across a fresh grave.

He couldn’t stop himself from staring a bit at the place where Peter’s legs slumped against the wet earth, mud soaking into his trousers. Why would he sit there. Sitting on the wet grass would have been bad enough, but right in the mud, really? And since when did Peter own a black dress shirt? Was he… he was. He was wearing all black. He was wearing all black, crying on James Wright’s grave. He was crying. He’d been almost certain he’d Seen it wrong before. After all, it was a wet day, he’d assumed it was rain. Peter would never let himself enter the real world in such a state. But here he was…?

Peter scrubbed his cheek with a muddy hand and screwed the cap off his bottle, clearing his throat with a distinctly dismissive sound. Elias, disregarding his implicit plea for solitude, walked closer.

“Friend of yours?”

Peter glanced at him briefly, coldly, before tipping the bottle back. Probably cursing himself for not noticing when someone broke through his shroud of mist, for not isolating himself better. But that was just a guess. Elias couldn’t look into his mind; the mist made it a gamble at the best of times and anyways Peter knew what it felt like. He couldn’t give himself away yet. The mystery was so exciting.

“I knew him,” Elias commented, looking at the fresh new headstone, granite shining under a pale coat of water. Peter was leaning against it, obscuring most of the inscription, but he knew what it said.

“Lots of people did,” Peter grunted. “Think I’m the only one who didn’t hear about it when he died.”

Ahaha! Was Peter Lukas lamenting his lack of connection to the rest of humanity? That thing he so carefully cultivated and was so very very proud of. That thing? Hilarious. Or, maybe he was just malingering to feed the Lonely. That was probably it.

“No?” Elias prodded. Peter sighed.

“I was away. No one took the trouble to contact me.”

Had he assumed that one of the more socially-integrated Lukases would have gotten in contact with him if something important happened? Funny. He was pretty sure the Lukases expected Peter to give them updates on Elias, if anything.

“That must have been hard. When did you find out?”

“Yesterday. What do you want?”

Elias considered introducing himself as Head of the Institute. Seeing his reaction would be lovely, but he wanted to drag it out a bit more, see if Peter could figure it out himself. If not, he could mock him later for not being able to put the pieces together.

“Some privacy,” said Elias, leaning one arm against the headstone, “but it seems you had the same idea as I. How did you know him?”

Peter considered this for a moment. “Work,” he said.

Hah. That was amusing. Did he really see it like that? It had been a long time since they had dropped that pretense. Not that the Institute didn’t still rely heavily on the contributions of the Lukas family, but their last several marriages had been private, more for personal reasons than for, as he so eloquently put it, work. Even when they were estranged, he and Peter stayed on decent terms, and after so many years he trusted Peter not to cause problems for him with his family; especially as he continued to offer them any useful information (and any lonely statement-givers) that came his way. The Institute and the Lukas family were allies. That didn’t mean that the two of them had to be married, yet they kept doing it anyway. It was stupid but Elias had long ago resigned himself to it. They both had a weak spot for the other, and like good allies they’d silently agreed never to talk about it. But here Peter was lying in the mud and grieving.

“Interesting, so did I,” said Elias. “Best place to meet him, I believe. The man hardly left the Institute.”

Peter chuckled softly. “Sounds about right.”

Elias thought about interrogating Peter about where he worked and how he’d supposedly met James, but decided not to. If he made him too uncomfortable Peter might just disappear before he could reveal himself, and that would be a shame. And he hadn’t come here to catch him in a lie, he’d come to ask him about James Wright.

“Did you know him well?” asked Elias.

Peter stared into the mist.

“Pretty well, yeah.”

“I think I did too,” said Elias, tracing the headstone’s inscription with his fingertips. “We… yes. We were close.”

He’d hoped to get some reaction with that. Peter considered for a few moments, then silently offered him the bottle. Elias, who’d tried Peter’s whisky before, knew better.

“Thank you, no.”

Peter took the drink himself, and Elias was… concerned about the amount of liquor he was consuming.

“Not planning on joining him, are you?”

Peter just grunted. “…You liked him, huh?”

Elias laughed softly. “Anyone would,” he said sappily, and was pleased to see him carefully not react. He was getting the message, and oh, how he wished he could see how he was reacting to it under that mask. Surely he wouldn’t keep the stoic act too long, he was already daytime drinking on a fresh grave, there wasn’t much lower he could fall. Elias let his voice drop. “I… loved him.”

“Mm,” commented Peter. He placed one hand on the mud beside him, gently pressing into the earth, and kept it there. “I wasn’t around much,” he said quietly.

Well what on earth was he supposed to make of that? He was trying to make Peter jealous and he had very rarely failed at something so completely.

“Do you know, was he alone when he died?” asked Peter.

“Yes.”

“Pity. He was terrified of death.”

“Isn’t everyone?” asked Elias, perhaps a little sharply.

Peter shrugged. “It scares me enough, I suppose, but it doesn’t bother me the way it did him… it seems restful. Resigning yourself to the way of things. I’m not rushing to meet it, of course, but there’s a kind of unflinching beauty in death. No one’s immune, much as we might pretend. In the end, we all face death alone.” He stretched one leg out in the mud, pressing his hand deeper into the earth so that his fingers started to disappear. “And frankly it would solve a lot of problems. Wouldn’t have to turn in budget reports, for one thing.” He chuckled. “yes, it seems peaceful.”

“Not to me. Have you seen people die?” said Elias.

“I have. Many times. The fear is felt by those who are left watching, the dead are beyond it.”

“Because they’re gone. Doesn’t that scare you?”

Peter tilted his head back, let it rest against the headstone, and looked at the dimly-visible silhouette of bare branches against the pale sky. His hair lay in damp strands across his forehead, and Elias Did Not think about brushing them back.

“In the eyes of death I’m already gone. Aren’t we all? We exist for a moment. Like bubbles in the stream. Here a moment, then breaking; always in motion. I’ve always known how… transparent it all is. You can’t really touch anything without falling through,” Peter said.

Well that was new. He was babbling, words starting to slur. Elias decided that he’d have to reveal himself soon, before Peter drank himself so deeply into incoherence that he wouldn’t be able to react to the surprise. That would be a waste.

“I’m sorry,” said Peter after a pause, “I doubt others see it the way that I do. But death has never held any particular terror for me. I’m more afraid of pain, or sickness. Being deceived. Those are things that happen when you’re alive.”

Especially that last one, thought Elias. Peter started to set the bottle down (thank goodness), thought about it for a moment… and started to unscrew the top for another swig. Elias, acting on impulse, swiped it out of his hands. Peter turned to glare at him.

“Listen, I know we’ve only just met but I’m not watching you drink yourself to death over some man you barely knew.”

Ah, finally, a reaction. A spark of rage appeared in Peter’s face, but passed before it could translate into motion. Elias, who’d been tensed for a fight, slowly relaxed.

“You’re right,” said Peter quietly, looking off into the mist. “I didn’t know him. No one really does.”

“What?”

“Know each other. You just… see the outside of someone, and you guess about what they’re really like, but you’re never quite right. People exist apart from you. And that’s very lonely. Almost as lonely as death.”

Elias muffled an exasperated sigh.

“Well, if that’s your belief, surely it can’t be hard to replace someone who’s left you. One person must be as good as another if you can never really—”

“No. I still miss him.”

A warmth spread through Elias’ chest. There, he had it loud and clear in plain words. He was going to hold on to this memory and the next time Peter tried to pull that “oh I’m an emotionless avatar of Forsaken incapable of human bonds” he’d beam it directly into his brain so hard he got a fucking nosebleed from the sheer amount of raw, human, embarrassing grief. Elias wondered if this would be useful blackmail material.

“I know that smile.”

With a start, Elias realized that Peter had leaned back and was looking up at him, frowning. Ah, he’d blown his cover. Well, this was as good a time as any.

“Do you?” he smiled. Peter looked intently at him. At his eyes.

“Jonah?” he said in a small voice.

Elias laughed.

“Took you long enough.” And as proof, he showed him a memory; James Wright’s stilled body with empty eye sockets, image blurred with pain as his new body adjusted to him. Elias Bouchard’s eyes, bloodshot, in his hand. Placing them in James Wright’s body and washing his hands, vision slowly clearing.

Peter sighed, closing his eyes. “Jonah. Were you trying to make me jealous of your narcissistic crush on yourself? I mean, it’s accurate; I’m just not used to that level of honesty from you.”

“Oh, “Jonah”? You must really be angry at me.”

“No, you just haven’t told me your name yet, handsome stranger.”

“Elias. Elias Bouchard, new Head of the Magnus Institute. Pleased to meet you, sailor.” Elias walked around the headstone to crouch closer to Peter, who was almost laughing.

“El-lie-as,” he said slowly, as if tasting the name syllable by syllable, and a chill ran up Elias’ spine. Huh. Very sensitive new body. Yeah, that was it. “It fits you,” said Peter. “Musical, pretentious, has the word lie in it.”

“Oh, shut up.” Elias leaned in for a kiss and Peter stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Elias, dear, why does this body smell like weed?”

“I’m… still airing the flat out.”

“Why does your body’s flat smell like weed?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Hm! Didn’t have you pegged for a stoner, Jonah. I’ll have to introduce you to some of my crew…”

“Don’t you dare.”

“You’re right, I don’t remember anyone’s names. You’ll have to introduce yourself.”

“Listen, I don’t think you have any right critiquing the habits of my body’s former inhabitant when I just found you lying in the mud trying to drink yourself to death.”

“Shut up. I thought you were dead.”

“Oh, that’s cute. Me? Really? You thought I was dead?”

“You’re not immune to heart attacks, Elias! They said it was a sudden heart attack, I thought you really died!”

“What, you think a little heart attack could kill me?”

“That is exactly the kind of attitude that makes me think your hubris is going to catch up to you one of these days.”

He was right, but Elias didn’t want to admit it. He tried to pick healthy bodies, but the thought that despite all his centuries of care and planning, one might just… break down on him…

“C’mere,” said Peter, tugging on his tie. “I’d better start getting used to that smell.”

“I’m not joining you in the mud, Peter, get up.”

“Too drunk. C’mon, you’re already muddy.”

Elias remembered that that was the hand Peter had gotten all muddy before touching him. Looked down at his shirt. Groaned.

“Oh, for—”

Peter chucked him under the chin, deliberately smearing mud on him, then grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him down in the mud while Elias was busy glaring at him. Elias swore.

“Oh, shut up. I think this is a very lenient revenge for letting me think you were dead.”

“Well that’s your fault for not being smarter.”

Peter pinned him against the solid cold of the headstone and kissed him and oh he could not let him know how much he was enjoying this or he’d never live it down. Peter was cold and smelled of grave dirt and whisky and still, faintly, of the sea. It was a new experience, but still Peter.

“You’re a mess,” said Elias, resigning himself to his muddy fate with a sigh. At least he’d fallen on top of his coat, and it was keeping the worst of it off him.

“And? I’m assuming your new flat has a shower,” said Peter.

“It does. Only a shower,” Elias complained. Peter laughed.

“Oh, noooo, no bath? You’ll survive, you spoiled Victorian. I’ll even show you how it works.”

“I know how to take a shower!”

“Turning down the offer?”

“…No.”

“Good.” Peter traced the shape of his face with a muddy finger. Elias grabbed his hand and pushed it away.

“Could you at least use your other hand? The one that’s not caked in mud?”

“No, I don’t think I will. This mud was the closest I thought I’d ever get to you.”

“And that bothers you? Really? Mr. Lonesome, Eternally Alone Lukas?”

Peter got an odd expression. He didn’t like Elias calling him out on his many contradictions. He could argue quite convincingly if he was in the mood, but he apparently wasn’t. “Shut up,” he said, and kissed him again.

This little experiment had gone well, Elias decided.

[pretty-in-roses]

The Black Bat | JHS

AN: I dont feel motivated to write at all :( I want to get better but this shit is HAAAAARD

WARNINGS: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE

It's a cold and clear night as Jung Hoseok is walking home after a long shift, he huddles further into his jacket as the wind picks up. The part of town is dark and lonely. The hairs on his neck stand as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. He picks up his pace and the footsteps follow, he wants to look behind him but can't seem to bring himself to do it. He rounds the corner and slams right into a group of men, one of them grips his shoulders tightly, digging his nails into his jacket. Hoseok is trembling with fear as they look around and shove him into the dark alley nearby. 

"Empty your pockets, give us all your money" the man demands pulling out a knife. Hoseok looks around for an escape but finds none, the alley is a dead end and the men have him surrounded. They are bigger than him in stature and all have weapons. He can feel the panic rising in his throat, the men draw closer and closer, ready to cut into him unless he complies but thinking about the bills he has to pay he can't bring himself to do it. He watches in horror as the man draws nearer with a blade in his hand. Something comes hurling through the air and imbeds itself into the man's hand making him drop the knife and a scream rips from his throat echoing through the alley, bloodstains his skin. He freezes in fear as the piece of metal in the shape of a bat shines ominously sealing his fate a dark shape descends from a rooftop landing right in front of Hoseok startling him. The sight of the bat insignia on their chest puts him at ease and he watches in disbelief as they stalk towards the men that were trying to rob him. He couldn't help but feel for them because everyone around here knew what happens to bad people that come across the path of the Black Bat. His trail of thoughts was cut short by the sound of their armoured fist connecting with flesh, followed by a loud cry of agony and the sound of his bones breaking is a sound that will haunt him forever. One man stumbles backwards and his back hits the wall as he slides down it leaving a trail of blood. His face mangled beyond recognition and the black bat turned to the man who managed to dislodge the bat-shaped shuriken from his hand. He's holding a gun with trembling hands he manages to fire a few shots which the bat avoids with ease and suddenly appears behind him startling the man into dropping his gun. The bat is quick to grab the man, slamming him against the wall and he screams at the impact. As the other 3 prepare to run, the bat speaks voice deep and menacing.

"You can run but I will catch you and when I do, I will kill you" the bat drops the unconscious man to the floor, he lays in a pool of his blood and like lightning, they're right in front of the men trying to flee. Fists flying at the speed of sound knocking them out before they even have the chance to react and Hoseok eyes widen as he takes in the Black Bat whom people have described to be a shadow. The elusive Black Bat is even more mysterious than their mentor Batman if that was possible and now to see them clear as anyone could in the night. Hoseok marvels at the sight of the black suit shining in the moonlight, the gender of the Black Bat has always eluded the general public but now as he looks closer he realizes it's a woman, he continues to examine the suit. The helmet has bat ears and the cape, a homage to her mentor no doubt but the intricate details set them apart. Such as the gold bat insignia on her chest, the katana sitting on her back and the full-face helmet giving nothing away. His thoughts get cut short as she speaks, a chill runs down his spine at the sound. 

"Are you hurt?" She questions him scanning his body for any injuries and Hoseok shakes his head, not being able to form a coherent reply. She tilts her head almost amusingly but it's hard to tell with the helmet and she questions him once again. 

"Are you able to get home safely from here?" Hoseok swallows and clears his throat before speaking.

"I'll call a taxi" he's surprised that he was able to form a coherent reply without stuttering and with that, she nods vanishing into the night leaving behind an astonished Hoseok to make his way home. Hoseok is too occupied with his thoughts to notice that she hasn't left as he thought, she's watching him from the rooftops as he calls a taxi and clambers in. The taxi leaves just in time for the police to arrive and the crime-fighting vigilante continues on her night patrol leaving the police to take care of the rest. 

The next day Hoseok meets up with his sister Mejiwoo, while they chat about their daily life and the family events that are coming up. She talks about her job as a detective when she mentions her friends, Hoseok's ears perk up at the mention of Yn's name. She smirks at his sudden interest, raising a brow sipping on her drink. 

"Oh now that I'm talking about Yn, you're suddenly interested?" She laughs, she loves teasing me about my crush on the woman. 

"Urgh shut up," Hoseok grumbles drinking his coffee, 

"Jesus, dude just ask her out already" she watches him blush violently and shake his head, she sighed knowing he won't do it. 

"Ya know, I met The Black Bat" Hoseok tries to change the subject and succeeds when his sister freezes. She looks over him to see if he is lying and finds no deception.

"What happened?" She questions almost cautiously. Hoseok furrows his brows at the tone, he staches it away for another time and tells her the story of how The Black Bat saved him that night. The whole time he keeps note of how her face changes, she seems surprised but there's something she's hiding, something she isn't telling him. Hoseok considers asking her but he knows that if his sister is keeping a secret it's not likely he'll get it out of her. As the sun sets on the horizon Hoseok and Mejiwoo decide to call it a night and watch movies at her apartment.

Hoseok almost has a heart attack as he sees a shadow move out the corner of his eyes but the angry grumbling reminds him of his sister's roommate and best friend. His sister paused the movie and called out to her long time friend. 

"Oi, what's got you in a mood?" Mejiwoo questions her and she snaps her head in our direction before groaning aloud. 

"My dad is hosting a fucking charity event and forcing me to attend" she's frustrated, her brows knitted in thought.

"Yn, chill. I'll come with, like usual" she shrugs nonchalantly. 

"No, you can't because it's on the same day as your fashion showcase" she huffs in defeat. 

"I'm gonna be stuck standing around in uncomfortable shoes as rich assholes kiss my ass or try to get into my pants." She groans, crossing her arms over her chest, throwing her head back. Mejiwoo doesn't answer, she seems to be deep in thought and suddenly she snaps her fingers. She turns to me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

"Hey, I have an idea" she exclaims gaining Yn's attention as well as Hoseok and he narrows his eyes at her. She's being pretty suspicious. 

"My brother is free and would love to accompany you!" Mejiwoo exclaims, winding her arm around Hoseoks and tugging him towards Yn. Hoseok is about to object but he's interrupted by Yn. 

"Really?!? You would do that for me?" Yn practically jumping in joy, grabbing Hoseok's face in her surprisingly calloused fingers and all thoughts leave Hoseok's mind. Any thoughts of objecting are forgotten as he gazes into her sparkling eyes, they memorize him and his words die in his throat. He nods dumbly, to which she wraps her arms around him excitedly and he relishes the feeling of her in his arms. He hesitantly wraps his arms around her and she nuzzles further into him, a content sigh echoing through the quiet room. Hoseok and Yn are so caught up in the moment that they forgot about the other person watching them gleefully. Yn's phone pinging brings them out of their little bubble and they both pull apart awkwardly. Yn clears her throat before speaking. 

"I'll get a suit delivered to you and pick you up, text me if you have any questions" she checks her phone and her face immediately hardens. Her face is stern as she gives Hoseok and Mejiwoo a nod before heading out the door. 

Yn's walking into Kim manor when her phone lights up with a message from Mejiwoo. 

[✨MJ💅🏻] : am I good or what 👀 

[Yn] : or what 

[✨MJ💅🏻] : Is this what I get for setting you up with Hoseok???? 😫

[Yn] : you know why I can't date, 

[✨MJ💅🏻] : Yeah, yeah, the life of a vigilante must be a lonely one blah blah blah 🙄

You roll your eyes at her response and opt not to reply. You make your way to the bat cave to get ready for the night patrol and your mins keep trailing back to your moments with Hoseok. The feeling of being wrapped in his embrace is something you don't ever want to forget, being in your line of work isn't ideal and you can't commit to a proper civilian relationship. Knowing that you won't get a chance to be with him causes your heart to ache a little, you sigh as you play the piano keys to open the secret door to the bat cave and make your way into the elevator leading to the cave underground. The sound of your brother's training gets louder as you get closer, the clanging of weapons echo through the cave as you make your way to your father, billionaire industrialist and notorious playboy Kim Seokjin typing away on the Batcave computer system. As he sees you approaching, he stands clearing his throat to get everyone's attention, you and your brothers stand ready for your assignments to be handed out for the night. 

"There has been an incident at Arkham and The Joker has managed to escape so I'm going to need all of you out patrolling tonight in pairs just to be safe." He crosses his arms over his chest standing tall, his tone cold as always. You stand next to Taehyung who for some unknown reason has his Red Hood helmet on and you roll your eyes at how immature he's being. You pray to God that Jin doesn't take Taehyung with him because you know that would end up in a fight. Taehyung feels like Jin doesn't trust him. You understand how he feels but at the same time, he doesn't understand Jin's fear of losing him again and your dear old father is emotionally constipated so he'd never admit it to Taehyung. Men are so fucking stupid sometimes, Jin speaking pulls you out of your thoughts. You notice Taehyung's shoulder tense and fists clenched at his side at the mention of the Joker, no doubt a painful memory for him so you intertwine your finger with his. Hoping to offer some sort of comfort for him, you can feel his eyes on you. His fingers are tense and slowly he grasps your hand and you give his hand a comforting squeeze. 

"As for the pairs, Namjoon you're with Jimin, Yn and Jungkook and Taehyung you're with me" you sigh and pinch Taehyung's arm before he can say anything. He turns his head to you but you can't read the expression on his face.

"Please don't start a fight," you whisper to him begging. He stares at you and says nothing. You sigh knowing full well what's about to transpire between the two. 

"I'm ready when you are, old man" Taehyung calls out to Jin climbing into the batmobile, you know he has a shit-eating smirk under the helmet. Jin nods and they set off in the batmobile. Meanwhile, Namjoon is holstering his Escrima sticks and Jimin is checking his red robin cowl before they head out. Jungkook is ready, his cape flowing as he gets on his motorcycle. You step into your suit as Jungkook calls out to you. 

"Hey sis, you ready or what" his Robin suit shines in the moonlight as he nears the exit. You laugh as you do the final checks on your suit, pull on your helmet and straddle your bike revving it, it reverberates through the cave as you speed off into the night. 

Before you know it, it's already the day of the charity event and you haven't seen Hoseok since the day he agreed to accompany you. The joker and his goons have kept you busy to the point you had to go out during the day, at the thought of Joker your side ache remembering your last encounter with him, you took a hit for Jungkook which ended up with you breaking 3 ribs on the same day you were meant to go with Hoseok to get him a suit for the event. Mejiwoo being the great friend she is, went with him instead. Thank God for that, you wouldn't want him to get suspicious as to why you could barely stand. Your phone lights up with a text from Hoseok. 

[Hoseok 🥰] : I've got my suit and I'm ready to party 🎉

[Yn] : pffffft, good luck with all the rich stifs around 🙄 BTWs be ready by 6, the car with come to pick you up. 

[Hoseok 🥰] : the car? Aren't you coming to pick me up? 🥺

[Yn]: no, I'm already here. I'm gonna get ready here, I'll meet you here. Don't worry you'll be fine. 😘

(｡・//ε//・｡)

When 6 comes around Hoseok is sitting in his lounge with his sister nervously twiddling his thumbs. She smacks his hand as he's about to run it through his hair again. 

"Stop it, you'll mess it up! Finally got it perfect." She fusses with his hair and the sound of the doorbell has Hoseok stiff as a board. To say he's terrified would be an understatement. Mejiwoo makes her way to the door and opens it greeting the driver.

"Hi Yoongi, Hoseok, hurry up." When he gets up she rushes over to him and ushers him out the door, shutting it behind him. 

"Mr Jung I'm Min Yoongi, the Kim family's butler" he introduces himself to Hoseok and ushers him to the awaiting car. Hoseok leans back in the leather seats closing his eyes hoping to get his nerves under control but alas he isn't so lucky. He tries to distract himself but once again he isn't so lucky, he's so busy overthinking it he doesn't realize that they've already arrived until Yoongi holds the door open for him. Hoseok marvels at the mansion in front of him and he stops breathing at the sight of you. You step out the front door making your way over to him and he's so captivated by you he can't seem to process anything. The way your dress hugs your body and the colour compliments your skin so well. You pry his attention away from admiring you.

"You look great," you compliment him as you grab him by the elbow and practically drags him inside. You're beyond ecstatic to have someone as handsome as Hoseok, you come to a halt in front of the doors to the ballroom that holds the charity event and you turn to Hoseok to straighten his tie. 

"You look gorgeous," Hoseok's voice almost a whisper but you manage to hear him and you smile, gazing into his mesmerizing eyes. You feel yourself being drawn to him, you see a glimmer of nervousness and something akin to love swirling in the depth of his eyes. You take a step closer to him, just as you're about to lift your hand to caress his cheek Yoongi rounds the corner and interrupts you. 

"Miss Yn, what're you still doing out here?" You snap out of the daze and straighten your shoulders. Hoseok clears his throat and holds out his arm for you which you take. Yoongi opens the door and all eyes are on you and Hoseok. You ignore them and stroll into the ballroom with Hoseok, you make a beeline to the bar. You and Hoseok get a drink and survey the room, looking for your family. All of a sudden the hairs on the back of your neck stands up, a chill runs down your spine and Hoseok immediately notices your sudden behaviour change. 

"Yn, how lovely to see you again. It's been so long darling" you body stiffens knowing full well who the voice belongs to, Hoseok observes your reaction and he slips his arm around your waist. You relax a little when you feel Hoseok's arm around your waist and you lean into his warmth, taking a deep breath you turn to the man leering at you. You can feel his beady eyes roam your figure as he licks his lips bringing his drink to his lips and you almost vomit but manage to hold it back. 

"I thought I made myself clear last time, I'm not interested" you bite out and he steps closer to you, Hoseok seeing your discomfort steps in front of you stopping him in his tracks. He lets out a chuckle as he takes in the sight in front of him.

"Why so serious?" He drawls out slowly his voice a few octaves lower and that's enough to make you spring into action. You grab Hoseok by the back of his collar and yank him behind the bar with you, you can hear the machine gun firing. The glass shelves filled with glass bottles of liquor shatter sending the liquid flying everywhere and all over the body of the now-dead bartender. The screams of the people in the ballroom are deafening and the maniacal laugh of the supervillain isn't helping. You don't know what to do, Hoseok is currently wrapped around you protectively giving you no space to disappear to change but you know if you sit here any longer people will die. A groan escapes you when you realize what has to be done, you push Hoseok's arms away and grab his face. Your lips meet and it's like fireworks, you have no words to describe the way you feel right now but time is short. You reluctantly pull away, Hoseok goes to kiss you again but your hold on his face stops him.

"Please trust me and follow me" you beg him, leaning your forehead on his and his face scrunches up in confusion. He nods afraid making any sort of noise might attract more attention. You wait for the machine gun to run out of ammo so you can make a run for it. Then the sudden click and the barrage of bullets are drawn to a halt. Using this moment you drag Hoseok to his feet and run towards the hallway, your first priority being Hoseok's safety. You burst into the library, dropping the hold of his hand, walking over to the piano. 

"Yn, what the fuck are you doing?" Hoseok marches over to you to drag you out the back door but halts in his steps as you play the piano keys and the sudden click of a door opening draws his attention. The door leads to an elevator before Hoseok can question it, the commotion in the hallway has you pushing Hoseok into it and the doors seal shut behind them. He's about to speak again when the sound of doors opening again interrupts him and you step out tentatively. Your gaze stays focused on Hoseok, closely observing his reaction which at first is just plain confusion then as he looks around it morphs into curiosity and just flat out disbelief when he makes his way further in. He stands there mutely taking in the batmobile, the past robin suits on display and all the previous batman suits. His features scrunch up as he starts putting two and two together. All your strange behaviour like all the times he's noticed you sneaking in and out of the house. That one time he saw a katana in your room and all the numerous injuries. This would explain everything, he turns to you eyes filled with astonishment but you don't have time for this shit. 

"Stay here, don't move!" You yell at him taking off towards your suit, you rush to put it on all the while cursing yourself for not grabbing the new prototype suit your father gave you that would have initially saved you the hassle due to the suit's nanotech. 

"Wait," Hoseok grabs you by the arm when you run past him.

"Please stay, I'll explain everything when I get back" you don't want to waste time explaining all this to him right now. 

"No, no, I was just gonna say be careful" he kisses your forehead and lets your arm go. You smile slightly before taking off towards your bike, you jump on giving Hoseok one last look and put on your helmet speeding out. Hoseok watches your figure disappear out the heavy metal doors he assumes lead's outside when someone clears their throat behind him. 

"Mr Jung please feel free to have a seat and enjoy the show" Yoongi smirks at Hoseok's confusion and takes a seat in the leather chair in front of the monitors. 

The thought of leaving Hoseok alone and defenceless almost makes you turn around as you're speeding through the tunnel but the sound of Yoongi in your helmet stops you. 

"Your brothers and father are being held separately" Yoongi informs you and that's enough to have you speeding up, knowing he's there with Hoseok. The tires of your bike squeals as you do a sharp turn back towards the house as soon as the tunnel leads you out through the waterfall. You rev your bike to go faster, the mansion comes into your sight.

"Lounge" Yoongi's voice is calm, your bike smashes through the window of the lounge and screeches to a halt on the linoleum floor. The two goons with guns immediately train their guns on you ready to fire and you're on them before they can pull the trigger. You grab the gun of the one closest to you and hurl it at the other man effectively discombobulating him. Grabbing the back of his neck and bringing him down on your knee knocks the man out while the discombobulated man stumbles around. You grab the remaining goon and throw him out the other unbroken window. A chorus of thank you and the hostages are gone as you cut each one loose. You curse them for not checking or asking about anyone but ultimately not surprised by the rich bastard’s selfishness and kind of relieved. You brothers are there as well, you cut each one loose last and they stand rubbing their wrists. 

"suit up" and with that, the boys are off.

"I found Jin, he's still in the ballroom and it's surrounded. You're going to need all the help you can get '' Yoongi watches on the screen as Jin is being held at gunpoint along with a bunch of other guests. Hoseok is anxious even though he just watched you take out two armed men. Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook rush past them when they come back in their respective suits, Taehyung gives Hoseok a once over.

"Taehyung, we don't have time" Namjoon reminds him, he growls and follows Namjoon knowing you need help. They meet up with you upstairs and you've managed to do some recon. 

"We've got 10 armed guards outside the door, 20 inside and the hostages strapped with about 10 kgs of c4. So we split up and take 2 each. Crawl through the roof and take out the men inside. Stealth is key" you signal for Taehyung to follow you while Namjoon takes Jimin and Jungkook with him. You and Taehyung watch the four guards they're all within arms reach. You can't take them out before they alert someone inside. Taehyung holds up 3 fingers and signals to take them out. You go for the men on the farther left meanwhile Taehyung takes the men on the far right. You kick the feet out of one while grappling the other and they both fall. You punch the closest one knocking him out cold and slam the other guys face into the wall the crack of his skull is unmistakable. Taehyung on the other hand has a guy by the throat and kicked the guard through the wall. He suffocates the man in his hold and drops his limp body on the floor. You all meet up in front of the doors and before you can climb into the roof, the double doors to the ballroom slam open. The bone-chilling laugh echos through the house, well there's no turning back now. You walk through the doors cautiously knowing that he must be up to something. 

"Well, well, well if it isn't the bat kids. Black bat, Nightwing, Redhood, Red Robin and Robin. How nice of you to join us but where is the main attraction, WHERE IS BATMAN?" he strolls closer and bows in greeting smiling like a lunatic. 

"We're not here to play nice Joker, let the hostages go and we won't hurt you." Namjoon steps forward spinning his Escrima sticks and getting into an offensive stance. You hear Taehyung cocking his gun and you know what he's about to do. You run towards the Joker and kick him square in the chest effectively throwing him to the ground, his head connecting with the floor. You're on him before he can do anything and slam his head back into the floor. His body lays unmoving as you jump up to assist your brothers with the rest of the guards. You pull out your katana and launch it handle first at one, hitting him point blank and spin kick another. You whip out 3 Batarang and throw it at one guy that's firing at Jimin, disarming him. The commotion comes to an end when punches the last man in the throat and kick him. During that time Jungkook has managed to free the hostages and escort them outside. 

"The police are on their way you all should go change back" Jin walks over to Joker and checks for a pulse. Taehyung walks over and gets a hold of his collar getting ready to drag him away when Jin reaches out to him.

"What're you doing?" He asks confused. 

"What does it look like? I'm taking him into the cave holding cell." Taehyung replies as if it's obvious.

"No, the police are going to take him back to Arkham so they can treat him." Jin insists. 

"So he can escape again? There's no curing him, there's no cure for evil" the sirens of the police cruisers are getting louder and louder the closer they get to the mansion. No one moves a muscle, Taehyung and Jin glaring at each other. You hesitate a bit before putting your hand on Taehyung's hand that holds the Joker by the collar, his glare softens as he turns to you. 

"Let's just go Tae, please. We have to hurry" you insist softly trying to pry his hand from the Jokers collar. As soon as you feel his fingers release slowly you yank Joker away and set him on the floor cuffing his feet and wrists together. Taehyung's shoulders slump in defeat but you know he's fuming, his fists are clenched. 

"Tae-" he stalks off back towards the cave and you run to keep up with him. He brushes off your attempts at talking to him and makes his way to his bike, giving you one last look before speeding out of the cave. You sigh in defeat and slump. Hoseok watches the scene, jealousy rising in his gut. You walk over to Hoseok, the suit retreats into the bracelet, you take a moment to breathe.

"Okay so I have some explaining to do, don't I?" You rub the back of your neck nervously. 

"You don't have to do anything, there's nothing to explain, darling." Hoseok caresses your cheek softly and you lean into touch, grateful for him not pushing you for an explanation. 

"How about instead I explain everything over dinner this week?" You suggest shyly closing your eyes. Hoseok smiles softly and leans his head on yours. His lips brush yours. 

"I would love that" 

[go-whump-in-the-night]

Two paladins - Lorenzo and Thaddeus - hide out in a cave on a rainy night, after escaping from a group of bandits who had a personal grudge against Tad. Both are grievously wounded, but Lorenzo has taken the brunt of the vicious torture that had been inflicted on the two knights. Now, Tad is trying his best to patch up a feverish Lorenzo’s left hand, which has been mutilated beyond recognition.  (A/N: This is an excerpt from a much longer collab between my partner and I. It’s got some nice cartaker fluff, as well as some painful healing and a good deal of caretaker angst. Enjoy!) TW: Graphic depictions of gore/body horror

Thaddeus smiled and glanced back down to Lorenzo, “Well, shall we lie you down and have a look at your arm then?”

Lorenzo nodded and braced his good arm on the ground once again, gritting his teeth and pushing himself off of Tad's lap and onto the bedroll. He felt an uncomfortable tugging from the sensitive flesh on his back, but ignored it and quickly rolled over.

Perhaps a bit too quickly; Renzo hissed in a sharp breath of air as he laid on his back and felt the fabric of the mat press into his injuries. He pushed past it though. Even injured as much as he was, Renzo's pride was enough that he wanted to do at least some things on his own.

“He really did a number on it, figlio di puttana…” Renzo spat, holding up his left arm and forcing himself to glare at the hideous mess that had been his hand.

Tad moved to sit cross legged at Lorenzo’s left side, holding his hands out around the arm, “Oof. Yes he did. Gods damned monster…” He gently grasped hold of the ruined appendage, careful to let Renzo see his movements so the ifrit could brace for the touch.

“Hm… Renzo I’m going to need to feel the arm and hand a small amount, just to assess the damage. Tell me if it’s too much at any point and I’ll stop.” Tad gave a serious sidelong glance, “And no bravado, alright? I’m checking the extent of the damage, I don’t want to accidentally cause any more! Anything more than a twinge or ache and you tell me.”

Tad began to press around the flesh of Lorenzo’s forearm, “Tell you what, let me ask a question whilst I check this. What’s your favorite kind of weather? Me, I actually like rainy days on most occasions. I find them soothing.”

“Tch…” Lorenzo winced, watching Tad closely as he pressed the badly bruised flesh, “I s’pose...I mean, sunny is pretty cliche, but I like sunny days. Bright sunlight at just before noon, when the rays are shining through the tree line.”

His voice took on a wistful quality and he smiled slightly, though his brows were still furrowed a bit with pain. “And those mornings where there's a mist on the ground and the sun sort of shines through it. What do you call that? Dissipates? I love that...It's sort of, I dunno, dreamlike.”

Tad smiled, “Ooh, I’d never considered that. You’re right, dreamlike is a good way to put it. So many different ways for the sun to greet the horizon…”

Tad tried to keep from frowning as he felt up Renzo’s arm. Gods, Kraes broke both forearm bones, and then twisted. Ugh, torn and damaged muscle, bone fragments. Going to need to set this…

Tad gently moved his way up Lorenzo’s arm to his mangled hand, “And dappled sunlight is probably my favorite. I love the patterns the light makes as leaves move in the wind. It’s like the ground is dancing.” Tad laughed, “Actually, would you believe I used to dance with the shadows of trees when I was very young?”

“Y’know, Tad, somehow I find that very easy to believe,” said Renzo with an amused smirk, “You strike me as someone who's been in motion for as long as you could- mph! B-be careful…”

Renzo's tone had suddenly changed as Tad moved up to his bisected hand, a note of fear and trepidation entering his voice. Tad felt him instinctively flinch his hand away a bit, though only slightly. Here was where it hurt the worst, where Kraes had pulverized the tiny bones in his fingers and then stabbed straight through the hand itself. Looking at it now, the pain seemed worse, and Renzo grit his teeth, bracing for Tad’s touch, gentle as it was.

“Oh dear.” Tad hesitated, holding Lorenzo’s wrist as he looked over the hand. A worried expression furrowed his brow as he held finger out, tracing in the air over the mangled digits of the hand without touching it.

“Renzo, I won’t sugarcoat this: It’s bad. If you’d like to know the um… exact details of the damage I can oblige. But just looking over this, I…” Tad paused, gathering his thoughts.

“We can heal this.” He said deliberately, “With mundane preparation, we can make the limb usable with a good dose of healing magic.” Tad motioned at the line where the hand had been bisected. “This will essentially be healed. As will the fingers. But it will be very stiff, not good for fine manipulation, and the bones will be fragile. But!”

Tad held up a finger, “After the first bout of healing, your hand will be fully healed with a single casting of Regenerate. Which I… can’t do.” Tad frowned, “The best I can do is take away the pain.” He sat for a moment, the sound of the rain outside filling the silence as he held Renzo’s wrist.

“There’s just one problem. I can set the arm just fine, but the fingers…” Tad grimaced, “They’re  bad. Very bad. I’m going to need to um… to twist them back.” Tad glanced to the side nervously, “Back into shape, basically. And I don’t have a way to numb them.” He looked down to Renzo with a look of apology.

“But I do have something you can bite down on.”

Lorenzo exhaled slowly, flicking his gaze up to the ceiling of the cave for a moment. He could feel his chest tensing up in dismay and forced the sensation back. This was Tad here, after all. Renzo was safe, he had to remember that.

“Yeah, alright…” he said, voice tight, “If it's gotta be done, it's gotta be done. What the hell.”

He looked back over at Tad and forced a sudden grin onto his face. His heart beat roughly in his chest, making his breaths a little shallow. He fought to disguise the fear welling up inside him.

“Don't worry about me; do what you have to, Tad.”

Tad took a deep breath, “Okay. I don’t want to delay too much, best to get it over with quickly.” He stood, wincing, and walked over to Aria. “I will say, it’s best if I just do each finger in short succession.” He pulled out a small strip of leather, and walked back over to Lorenzo, sitting down with a grunt.

“That said, if at any point it becomes overwhelming, tell me to stop and I’ll stop. We should do this now, but we can take it at a pace you can manage.” Tad offered the leather to Lorenzo, “Here, you can bite on this.”

His voice was calm and matter of fact, but Thaddeus’ face betrayed the worry he felt in that moment. 

Taking the little leather strip, Lorenzo took a few deep breaths and then lay back into the bedroll. He placed the leather in his mouth and readjusted so his mutilated hand was resting on Tad’s lap.

Renzo looked over at Tad, trying to keep his expression neutral. He nodded that he was ready; his whole body was tense, but Renzo tried to reassure Tad with his eyes. The last thing he wanted was for Tad to feel guilty for helping him.

Tad tried to steady his breathing. He frowned as he looked over the fingers again. Gods, his little finger is practically backwards. Tad looked to Renzo once more, straightening himself a little as he saw the look in his friend’s eye, “I’m going to start with the pinky, and work my way over. I’d advise against spitting the strip out until the pain fades, just slap the ground with your good arm if you want me to stop.”

Tad moved his hands into position around the broken digits, mentally going over the movement he’d need make. Need to do this quickly and smoothly. He took a deep breath, “If you must arch your back, try to press into the ground, you’ll move less that way.”

With a small nod to himself, Tad grasped Renzo’s pinky and wrenched it around, pressing it back into roughly its former position with his fingers. There was a faint sound of grinding bone. Tad grimaced in concentration.

“Nnnnnghhhh…!!” Renzo shut his eyes tightly, gripping at the bedroll with his right hand as he felt the hideous sensation of his pulverized bones being twisted along with the flesh.

Four more to go, just four more…

Already Lorenzo’s breathing was shallow. It didn't hurt as badly as the initial breaking, but it was damned close.

Tad held the finger firmly in place for just an instant. This was his element. His mind was racing, but his thoughts were calm and analytical.

Hold it for an instant. Don’t press too hard. Just need the basic shape. Healing can do the rest.

Tad gave the finger a final gentle press, as if to encourage it to keep its shape, before moving to the ring finger. Repeat before the pain fades. Don’t give it time to register. Hold his palm don’t let him jerk.

Tad grasped the finger and repeated the process, wrenching it back into place. He tried not to let his disgust show on his face as he felt the shattered remains of Lorenzo’s fingerbones shift about inside the flesh of his finger.

“Stay with me, Renzo, I have you.” Tad muttered as he moved to the middle finger.

Renzo gripped the fabric of the bedroll tighter, another low, agonized moan pulling out of his body as the finger was twisted back into shape. He breathed harshly through his nose, a tremor moving through him as intense waves of pain rushed out from his hand.

A few beads of sweat trailed down the side of Lorenzo’s face, where his hair stuck around his cheekbones. Already his canines were pressing indents into the thick strip of leather he was biting down on.

Tad paused for a half-second as he maneuvered his grip onto the middle finger. He was caught briefly between trying to avoid brushing against the other fingers. Press on, Thaddeus. He’s going to hurt no matter what. Minimize time, not pain. Make it quick.

“And again.” Tad twisted the finger back into place. This time there was an audible pop, and Tad winced as he realized some part of the bone scraping against itself had caused the finger to crack.

Don’t let him move. Tad reflexively shifted his grip to Lorenzo’s palm, reaching down with another hand to grasp him by the elbow to avoid him moving the broken forearm.

“NGHH-!!” Renzo twitched harshly in Tad’s grip, forming his good hand into a fist and slamming it down once, hard, onto the ground next to him. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his face turned away from Tad, hidden by his damp hair.

How many was that?! Two? Three?! Gods damn it...two more, two more…

He braced himself, every muscle tensed for the next burst of pain. His hand felt like it had been dipped up to the elbow in molten steel; he felt almost sick with the agony of it.

Tad’s face was twisted in concentration as he moved his grip back up to Renzo’s pointer finger. With a deft motion, Tad grabbed the crooked digit from where it sat and pulled it up and back into place.

Tad’s face was beginning to sweat as well. Moisture from the rain outside mixed with the beads on Tad’s brow, and he blinked away the forming drops as he moved over to the thumb.

“One more Renzo, one more! We’re almost done, just bite and focus…” The last reminder was more for himself than for Renzo, as Tad cocked his head to the side looking at Renzo’s ruined thumb.

Oh gods, I can’t tell which way he twisted it.

Renzo shook hard, gripping the bedroll again; as Tad looked at Renzo's thumb, he could hear the harsh dry sobs now leaving the ifrit. He couldn't quite catch his breath, the pain seeming to push down into his lungs and compress them.

“Ngh...c’mon, c’mon…” he muttered, the words muffled by the leather strip and slurred by the pain that was flowing through Lorenzo.

Tad grabbed Renzo’s thumb, pressing into the digit with his fingers as he tried to determine how he needed to move it back into shape. Left? Right? How did he do this? It’s totally reversed. Renzo it hurting, MOVE idiot. Can’t tell can’t tell can’t tell-

There was a flash, and a loud boom of thunder echoed just outside of the cave. 

Tad’s instinct to flinch turned into a sudden decision, and he twisted the thumb around. 

SHIT.

For a moment, Tad held the thumb thinking he had just utterly ruined the digit. Then he felt the feeling of the bones sliding sickeningly into shape, and relief flooded him. He clasped Renzo’s hand briefly to flatten the fingers before moving back down to grip his palm and arm, “Done. Gods… I’m done.”

Renzo spat out the piece of leather, panting with exertion. He looked back over at Tad, his stomach turning unpleasantly as he caught sight of his hand in his periphery.

“Gods...damn it…” Renzo said softly, wanting to force a smile. He couldn't do it, though; he was too exhausted, “Tad...it's been a...really long fucking night...ugh…”

He shut his eyes then, reaching up to push his damp bangs out of his face for once; his good hand swept over his horns and then remained above his head, fingers coiled slightly through the mahogany locks.

“I know, Renzo. Gods, I know…” Tad suddenly let go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He gently laid Renzo’s hand down on the ifrit’s bare chest.

He moved his hand up to feel between Renzo’s horns, relief and concern mixing across his face, “How’s your fever? That certainly can’t have helped.” Tad paused, hand on Renzo’s forehead.

It’s been a LONG night. Tad suddenly cracked a sad grin, laughing a little. “Gods, how absolutely fucking ridiculous has this night been?” Tad shook his head, starting to laugh a little more, “I mean, at some point it just becomes absurd, doesn’t it?”

Renzo opened his good eye to look at Tad, expression softening a bit at the expression on the paladin’s face. He smirked, more than a bit amused to hear such strong language in Tad's posh accent. 

“Mm. Like one of those comedies where a million things go wrong for one person, all in a row,” he agreed. Renzo noted Tad's hand on his forehead but, oddly, didn't feel any particularly strong urge for it to move. Perhaps it was just that he was so tired.

His fever didn't seem to have gotten any worse, but it was still pretty bad. Renzo's normally warm skin was positively radiating heat, and Tad could feel sweat on his exposed brow.

“Truly, we are in the midst of some divine comedy.” Tad said.

[ruleroflimbo-a]

Soulless || Discord

Events: Kitty meets Darkchylde Date: a few days after NYE Involved: Illyana Rasputin/Darkchylde and Kitty Pryde @chicagospryde Mentioned: Donna Troy @ofcosmicwonder, Jean Grey @jeanelcinegrey Trigger warnings: death mention, injury tw, stabbing tw, feelings

DARKCHYLDE: With her soul gone all that was left behind was Darkchylde, the demonic part of her soul, the last remainder of it. Red skin, a tail, horns, glowing eyes, she almost didn’t look like herself anymore, her face was mostly the same, except for the eyes and the now almost empty look in it. Usually when she saw Katya her eyes lit up, always happy to see her but now, now that was gone along with her soul, her humanity. She looked at Katya almost like she was a stranger, she recognized her, but all the feelings, the warmth she felt whenever she was near her, it was all gone.

KITTY: To say a lot had happened recently was a severe understatement. It was a cacophony of neverending nightmares stacked one after the other. The Halls of Xavier’s felt less and less like the home she knew, the almost home she knew. Head pressed against the cold wood of the dining table, she sat like the just waiting for the sun to come up and force her to start a new day—unthinking of what horrors it might hold. She lifted her head and froze. There was something she had seen only briefly before, but someone she knew. Someone she could never forget. “Illyana?” She blinked, pushing up out of her seat and approaching tentatively. “You're—that's—uh, looking a little horny, are we?” Bad joke. She coughed, then noticed the lack of recognition in her glowing eyes. Not only did Kitty utter a bad joke, she found the worst time to do it. “Yana?”

DARKCHYLDE: “Not quite” a simple answer given with a voice that was not the one Katya knew, she wasn’t the person Katya knew anymore, she wasn’t a person anymore, she was a demon without a soul. “She’s gone” at least her soul was, all that was left now was a demon who resembled Illyana but had none of her feelings. “But you’re probably happy about that aren’t you?” Katya hadn’t seemed happy Illyana was back so she must be absolutely thrilled now. “I saved your friend… Donna is it? All it took was one soul” Darkchyle told her with a grin, if Katya hadn’t caught on to what was happening that clue was too big for anyone to miss, even someone as clueless as the woman she’d once considered her best friend. The woman she’d been in love with

KITTY: “G-gone? Like to the store or…” Humor; it wasn’t as comforting at Kitty had hoped. She swallowed thickly, looking at her friend—the demon, the creature, her friend. “N-no, I’m not—” the words caught in her throat as she stepped closer, against her better judgement. “Donna isn’t even my friend, I don’t get why you would—” because it was the right thing to do, probably. Even if she was just getting half a story, the rest she could piece together. Illyana was a hero, and Kitty was about to lose her twice because of it. “You—you’re not soulless…you can’t be..” denial, that was a funny thing. She raised her hand up, reaching out for Illyana’s face. “‘Yana? You’re in there…” she whimpered, finally pressing her hand to the demon’s cheek. “You just need to fight it. That’s how this works. If you fight long enough and hard enough it—” it wouldn’t make a difference.

DARKCHYLDE: “Oh, but I am” Darkchylde grinned, wanting to roll her eyes at how pathetic Katya was acting, she needed to accept that the Illyana she knew was gone and move on. “The weak girl you knew is gone, I didn’t put up much of a fight for my soul either” the demon shrugged, it was better like this, no feelings to worry about, not caring about anyone. “I don’t see why you’re upset, I died because of you, I’m this because of you. Really I should thank you, it’s such a relief not having feelings for you anymore.”

KITTY: Kitty’s hand snapped back, pulled to her chest as if burned. Her face twisted in pain, worse than any weapon could give her. “She—don’t you dare talk about her like that,” Kitty spat, but the resolve didn’t last, deflated the first second of challenge. “How is this—this isn’t my fault, this isn't—d-did you got after Donna because of me?”

DARKCHYLDE: The demon chuckled at Katya’s reaction, she couldn’t believe she’d ever had feelings for someone so pathetic. “Why not? I was weak, held back by feelings and humanity, ugh gross. But now, I’m strong, I’m not a weak pathetic little girl anymore” she spat out, the distaste for her human side very clear in her voice. “She was missing, Jean asked for help. But this might be how I lost my soul but it wasn’t the only factor, it’s been slowly disappearing ever since I was brought back, which hadn’t happened if you hadn’t let me die.”

KITTY: “Illyana is the strongest person I know and you can't—I know you’re in there, 'Yana. I know you are.” She had to be. If there was any hope to be had. Kitty gulped, letting the demon’s words wash over her. Whatever happened to Donna, she’d figure out later—she didn’t think the demon would give her a proper answer anyways. But what came after, the blame and hate, that was another story. “I know,” she breathed out, eyes wet with tears, “I know it’s my fault. Everything’s my fault. I never told Illyana how much she meant to me then and now it’s ruined and everything is my fault. I get it…” She sniffled, and, uncaring, reached her hand out again and held the demon’s face. “Please, Illyana, you need to fight this…whatever this is. Your soul can’t be gone it's—it’s the strongest thing I’ve ever felt. Where’s the soulsword, demon?”

DARKCHYLDE: “I was weak and pathetic, pining for my best friend who was too oblivious to notice” she rolled her eyes, she’d wasted so much time of her life on Katya, her human side was so pathetic, not that she had to worry about that any longer. Before, seeing Katya like this would have broken her heart, now it only made her roll her eyes at how pathetic it was. “Illyana is gone, she died when my soul was destroyed, you should move on, like you did when I died” the demon said as she removed Katya’s hands from her face. “I can’t call the sword without my soul, it’s gone” or maybe it had transferred to Jean, she wasn’t completely sure, not that she cared. “Why do you care about the sword, last I remember you tried to get rid of it.”

KITTY: “Illyana…she…she didn’t like me, not like…” Kitty gulped, it wasn’t what she should have been focusing on here but it was hard not to be. There was so much information and no time to process any of it. “I didn’t move on…” she sobbed softly, letting her hands get thrown at the wayside. “How do you think I could have moved on? Every death, all the people I’ve lost, I remember each and every bit of them.” And Illyana, her best friend, her first friend, she could never move on from that. “It hurt,” she explained, more honest now with a shell of Illyana than she ever was with the real one. “I could feel the sword with me and everyday I had to wake up knowing you weren’t here and it was all my fault and I was too weak to live with that.” She sobbed, then shook her head. “Illyana, this stopped being funny a few minutes ago. If you’re going to show your face you better do it now before I…I…sell your makeup on ebay.” A weak threat, but there was little Kitty could do staring up at the demon with her hands shaking at her sides and her face flushed as she cried.

DARKCHYLDE: “She loved you, I loved you” the demon replied, though whatever feelings she had for the other woman was gone or replaced by distaste. “Well, you seemed unhappy when I came back, I thought you’d be happy now, Illyana is gone and your girlfriend or whatever is safe” really this was a win for Katya, it would just go back to how things had been for the last three years, with Illyana dead. “You tried to get rid of it, and that hurt me. I didn’t remember before but now I do” she said as she stepped closer to her former friend “I was in hell for three years, and I’m not talking about Limbo. It wasn’t so bad at first, I could feel your presence which made it bearable, until you tried to get rid of my sword” another step closer “every time you did your presence would get weaker and weaker until it was gone” after that hell had almost been unbearable, if she had remembered she wasn’t sure how she would have been when she came back, though now, none of that matter, Darkchylde was stronger than Illyana, it didn’t affect her. “Is this better?” She asked as she cast an illusion spell, to make Katya see Illyana and not the demon she was now “no matter how I look, it won’t change the fact that Illyana is gone.”

KITTY: "Donna's not my—I'm straight it's not—" arguing it now seemed beyond reason, so Kitty let out a shaky exhale and moved on. Logically, some part of her told her that this demon was only saying things to hurt—cutting deep into Kitty's trauma and twisting it. But Kitty couldn't face logic, logic didn't help when your friend was a soulless demon. "You—" Kitty froze, the demon's words washed over her. Her pain had been one thing, knowing she'd caused Illyana pain because she was too weak to shoulder the feeling of her dead friend was another. Then there was the illusion, Illyana's face clear as day—eyes devoid of emotion, voice sharp. "I love you too," she said, voice trembling, "I don't know what way—I don't know a lot of things. But you're my best friend and I—" she gulped, "I don't deserve you." She brushed past the demon, a fit of crying had morphed into something darker—something hopeless. "If I give you my soul, will you bring her back?"

DARKCHYLDE: “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” She’d always wondered who Katya was trying to convince when she said that, not that she cared anymore. She rolled her eyes, of course even when it was spelled out for her Katya would be obvious to what she meant, honestly she wasn’t surprised. When Katya offered to give her own soul in exchange for Illyana’s the demon grinned. She stepped in front of Katya, placing her index finger under her chin and lifted it to make her look at her “you’re willing to give up your soul to have her back?” It would be fun, taking her soul, Illyana’s pain when she woke up an realized would be worth it, but unfortunately that’s not how things work. “That’s sweet but what’s stopping me from taking your soul and not bring her back?”

KITTY: Kitty squeaked as she was touched, a whimper died away under surprise. She stared up into soulless eyes before a grin broke, hopeful. “You’re not a very good demon, are you? Does it mean you still care if you warn instead of just tricking me?” Did it mean Illyana was still there, somewhere, fighting? Did it also means everything she’d said was right? Kitty shoved the feelings away and propelled herself forward, pressing her lips to the demon’s in a desperate kiss—did it mean anything at all?

DARKCHYLDE: “It means I can’t do what you’re asking anyway” she replied, rolling her eyes. What Katya did next she hadn’t expected, she’d imagined what it’d be like to kiss her several times, when she still had a soul. She briefly kissed her back before she grabbed Katya’s arms to pull her away, her eyes had returned to normal and she looked at the woman with a slight smile before her eyes started glowing again. Maybe there was a small piece of Illyana’s soul left, though soon enough that would be gone too. Until it was thought it meant she could still summon the soulsword and wasn’t that an interesting development. Darkchylde closed the distance again, pressing her lips against Katya’s while summoning the sword into her hand, it wasn’t as big anymore. She pulled back as she drove the sword into Katya’s side, the wound wouldn’t be that bad, just enough to send a message.

KITTY: It was a dumb idea, she knew it. She could feel Darkchylde's lips against her and the wrongness of it all. "Illyana..." she whispered, eyes fluttering open to a familiar sight. So, maybe it wasn't such a dumb idea? It didn't matter, Kitty wasn't thinking. The joy of seeing Illyana again overtook any other emotion and she leaned in just as the demon had. "Illyana..." She murmured against her, "'Yana..." And then she could feel pain at her side, for a moment she didn't want to move away even to check but as the pain free she had to tear herself away. She drew a hand up to her side, stumbled away and brought her hand up to stare at blood. The rest came rushing into her mind. The sword. The sword being thrust into her. So, it was a bad idea. "You—" she garbled, falling to the floor. "You have your sword." That blind optimism never served her well, and so she swallowed it as quick as it'd come. "I just want her back."

DARKCHYLDE: "You did have her back" she said as she crouched down in front of Katya "but all you did was push her away, it's a shame" she commented as she pressed her hand against the wound, hard enough to make it hurt, maybe part of it was to stop the bleeding but that was only a very small part. "Maybe if you hadn't poor Illyana would have fought harder to keep her soul instead of giving it up so easily."

KITTY: Kitty groaned, wincing through gritted teeth. There was no sense in arguing with the demon, everything she said was right. There was no sense in doing anything. Through pain and anger, remorse and sadness, she cried. "I just want her back," she repeated, no longer feeling the strength for words. "Give her back."

DARKCHYLDE: "She's gone" the demon said as she brought her hand to wipe away Katya's tears, it was a small part, but that small part of her didn't like seeing her cry, but it didn't matter, she doubted it'd take long before that part was also gone. She needed to figure out a way too hold on to her soulsword before that happened. "There's no power that can bring her back now" even if there was, why would she ever want that weak part of herself back? "You need to move on" she replaced the hand she held against the wound with a towel she'd found on the table before she teleported back to Limbo

[anglaland]

count the change, and keep my heart

Fandom: Hetalia Relationship: USUK Rating: Teen Word Count: 1530 Summary:

Written for the @usuknetwork​ Secret Santa event. Happy Holidays @love-and-libertea-writes​! I went with your prompt, “Omegaverse pregnant Arthur and his mate Alfred going Christmas shopping”

AO3/FFN links will be the most recent post on my blog if you prefer reading on those platforms.

Arthur turns to look pointedly at his mate. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

Alfred smiles guilty, his scent betraying him. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, but Arthur lifts an eyebrow in challenge. “Maybe I am a little worried,” he admits. “But Dr. Oxenstierna said he was considering bed rest!”

“Yes, and then he said he would hold off on it,” Arthur replies. “I’m only six months along, love. You’ve got three more months to coddle me to your heart’s content.”

Alfred manages not to blurt out that he already has those months planned out. Instead, he pulls Arthur closer, wrapping his arm around the other to rest his hand against the side of Arthur’s swollen stomach.

The crowd around them is relentless, hundreds of others dashing to find gifts for their loved ones. Normally, Alfred & Arthur wouldn’t wait until the week before Christmas, Arthur preferring to carefully identify the best gifts for their friends and family, and Alfred tasked with finding the best deals for them (and Alfred was already planning to induct their unborn child into the art of extreme couponing). But between the toll the pregnancy had taken on Arthur and the last-minute project Alfred’s boss had assigned him to, they hadn’t had the chance.

Of all the years for this to happen…! Alfred cursed silently, before putting the thought away. For the last three months, the bond between him and Arthur had strengthened, the two of them almost frighteningly in sync. It had its benefits––Alfred was still living off the sweet sex the two of them had last week, when he had come home with the exact craving Arthur was thinking of. But other times, the two of them could sense even the slightest hint of discontentment the other had.

Or the baby could, even though Dr. Oxenstierna had said no one knew if that was true. Arthur could tease Alfred for being overdramatic all he wanted, but he wasn’t taking the chance with their first child.

“I can’t believe we had to park on the other side of this bloody mall,” Arthur grumbles, interrupting Alfred from his thoughts. “Doesn’t anyone shop in advance? Christmas is the same day every year!"

Alfred chuckles. “Not all of them have your finicky organizational skills, babe.” He discreetly elbows a beta who is getting a little too insistent at pushing their seven bag ensemble through his side. “Besides, we’ve never seen the mall look this Christmas-y!”

“Yes, we have. They put up these decorations before Thanksgiving this year,” Arthur says, without bothering to hide the disgust in his voice. “Honestly, it’s shameful...they get worse every year…”

“I’d play All I Want for Christmas is You from September if I could,” Alfred suggests with pure innocence. It’s worth the look of absolute horror that crosses Arthur’s face. In the next second, he’s regretting it, mind already jumping to the swaths of Facebook posts he’s read about “bad vibes” and “negative energy” or “my pregnant omega yelled at me once and my baby came out with no scent and the doctors won’t admit we’re right!”

Well, maybe not the latter. But there have been a lot of Facebook posts. Arthur called it all useless drivel, and Alfred always agreed...until it was 2 am and he was watching pregnant omega vlogs.

Too sharp for his own good, Arthur catches the thread of guilt immediately. “What are you worrying about now?” he sighs, curling closer to Alfred as they two of them make their way to their destined shop.

(Alfred was used to the translucency of his scent. Their first meeting wasn’t as smooth as he liked think––it went a little something more like: a younger him, star struck at the handsome omega sprawled across a classroom desk, the other snidely advising him to keep your scent low, or you’ll tell the whole school about how much you’d like to fuck me.)

“I just want to keep you safe,” he murmurs, almost shy to say it. No one around them cares, but Arthur looks at him with rapt attention––and some confusion.

“...Christmas music isn’t going to kill me,” Arthur says. A beat passes. “And neither will this pregnancy. I know you’re worried, but it’ll be okay.” Looking up at Alfred, Arthur grins wickedly, the look out of place in his unassuming maternity clothes. “I didn’t fight off all those omegas to die before giving you your first child.” His eyes flick over to Alfred’s mating mark, a mirror to the mark on his own neck. “I’m certain I get all my energy from imagining their sour looks once our child is born.”

Alfred bursts out laughing. “Our high school reunion is in six months too. I’ve totally got to RSVP yes."

“Hmmm...the look on Francis’ face would be perfect...and he said I wouldn’t be mated ‘til I was thirty!” Arthur’s eyes are bright, his pace quickening in excitement. The residual excitement infects Alfred and he follows, the two of them cackling over whatever petty work they’ll put into showing up.

In no time at all, they’ve arrived to the front of the woodworking store that holds the last gift on their list: an expensive feather board for Alfred’s brother, Matthew. Privately, Alfred wishes Mathew had stuck with hockey as primary hobby–– at least then he could understand what he was buying. He had no idea what this ‘feather board’ did, but he had it on good authority (and by that, he meant his coworker Ludwig had recommended it in a single sentence with no elaboration) that this was a premier (and expensive) item in the field.

He’d get a gift receipt just in case.

For such a niche shop, it is annoyingly busy. Alfred keeps Arthur close as they scan the shelves for the item.

“Is this it?” Arthur asks, gesturing to one board.

“No, the one in the picture is bigger,” Alfred replies. “What about this one?”

“Wrong shade of tan,” Arthur answers, already flicking his eyes back to the shelves. Alfred grumbles underneath his breath, putting the item away and crouching to check the names of the other boards on the price tags.

He doesn’t find it. Scowling, he stands up, already preparing to annoyingly hang around the cashier until some assistance could be rendered. As he turns, he catches a display off to the side behind Arthur––highlighting the exact item they need.

“Arthur!” Alfred exclaims, and the other man jumps at the shout in his ear. Alfred cringes, and lowers his voice. “I think it’s behind you!”

Arthur turns, and his eyes widen in recognition. “That’s it,” he confirms. “Only one left––we got lucky!”

As if a greater power conspires against them, they catch a pair of alphas also pointing at the table. In growing horror, one of them begins walking towards it.

“Arthur,” Alfred hisses. “You jinxed it!”

Arthur is already moving away from him. Just as the other alpha begins to reach for the feather board, Arthur body checks him, swiping the item from under the other’s nose. In one of the fakest looks of innocence Alfred has ever seen cross his mate’s face, Arthur says, “Oh, please excuse me.”

The alpha looks ready to snap, before catching the mark on Arthur’s neck and the swell of his stomach. Alfred comes up behind his mate, hand possessively placed in the small of the other’s back. “Is there a problem?” he asks, struggling to suppress his mirth.

Glaring, the alpha has no choice but to back down. “Keep your omega close,” he says, almost spitting the words out. Arthur looks at Alfred and smirks.

Alfred’s laughter is slipping through his teeth. “Why did I think pregnancy would make you calmer?“

Arthur raises his eyebrows, maintaining the picture of innocence. “Whatever do you mean? I’ve always been calm and proper.” He pauses for a second, struggling not to laugh as well. “Now if you’ll join me, we have a purchase to make.”

They walk out with their spoils of war. “Hope you paid close attention to that, poppet” Arthur says to his stomach, arms curving underneath.

“Oh god,” Alfred mutters. “If our child takes after you, we’ll be stuck in the principal’s office every single day.”

“I met you in detention,” Arthur reminds him. A few seconds later, “...maybe it’d be best if our first child was a little calmer.”

First child.

The words were almost impossible to comprehend. The two of them had been trying for so long, and Alfred had comforted his mate through too many sleepless nights, as Arthur confessed to feelings of inadequacy and self-blame. But they were here, at six months even with all the difficulty Arthur was having, and they were going to make it.

Alfred steals a glance at Arthur. The other man’s face is flush, and Alfred can detect the weariness seeping into his mate’s scent and body. But beyond that, a small yet triumphant grin coats his face, enthused at the conclusion to their Christmas shopping. Alfred ignores his worries, for once, not out of fear, but determination for the future, and kisses the head of the love of his life.

[yarnings]

Avuncular Advice

Whoo hoo! I’ve made a second update! On time even. Of course, this exhausts most of what I’ve written for the story, so we’ll see if the third one happens. Let me know what you think.

This is a continuation of Le Tricoteur, as requestedinspired by @missclairebelle‘s comment

Previously

After he closed up the shop that evening, Ian didn’t go straight home. He needed some advice. And so he swung by his aunt and uncle’s house. Letting himself in with the key they gave him when he was 15, he called a greeting.

“Hi Uncle Jamie!”

“Hi Ian. Ye didn’t specify in yer phone call, but I kept some dinner for ye in case ye hadn’t eaten yet.” Ian perked up at the mention of food. Once again, he had forgotten to take a dinner break, and became quite hungry upon being reminded of the fact.

Jamie wasted no time in heating up the food and putting it on the table in front of Ian, who finished removing his outer layers and washing up just in time to eat. While Ian enthusiastically dug into the large plate, Jamie went to the basement stairs and called down to his wife. “Claire, Ian’s here.” A faint reply floated back, and Jamie came to sit with his nephew. “Yer Auntie Claire needs a few minutes to finish up, then she’ll wash herself up and come join us.”

Conscious of the deadline that his aunt’s impending arrival put on matters, Ian looked up from his meal. “Uh, Uncle,” he started.

“Out wi’ it Ian. What’s her name?”

“Uncle Jamie!”

“Given yer love life, I cannot imagine ye’d need to be asking me for advice about sex, so ye’re clearly wanting relationship help.”

After confirming yet again that he didn’t have the ability to set someone on fire just by glaring at them, Ian gave in to his curiosity. “How did ye ken?”

Jamie gave a snort of laughter. “Mmmph. I’ve been an uncle for more than 30 years, Ian. Between you and yer older siblings, I am well aware of what ‘Uh, uncle’ in that tone of voice means."

Ian winced in recognition of the truth of this. “Fine. I met a lass, and I need some advice.”

“I’ll do what I can, Ian, but why are ye asking me? Wouldn’t the lasses in yer Friday night knitting group know better what works? Things have changed since yer Auntie Claire and I got together, and I can’t even offer ye a lass’ perspective. From what ye say this is the sort of thing that gets discussed.”

“Oh, it’s definitely the sort of thing that gets discussed. How did ye think I knew I wanted to ask ye instead of them? I’m not looking for a horror story of a relationship like they end up in. Ye and Auntie Claire have one of the best relationships I can think of. And ye’re easier to talk to than my parents. I don’t have to think about … mmmph. Besides, “ Ian looked down at his plate and dropped to a mumble. “there’s a chance she’ll be back tomorrow. I can’t wait until Friday.”

“Hmmm… have ye tried looking pitiful at her? Like a helpless puppy? I don’t know that getting her attention by getting injured would help unless she’s a doctor like yer aunt is.”

“Uncle Jamie, I don’t know the first thing about her. For all I know she’s a doctor, but I barely got her name. I don’t even know if she’s single, if she’s interested, or even if she likes men.”

At this point Ian’s Aunt Claire emerged from the basement to join the conversation. She gave Ian a hug in passing, and adroitly avoided getting goosed by her husband as she pulled up a chair next to him.

“Ian, tell me you’re not asking your uncle for dating advice. His idea of how to let me know he was interested was to be very courteous and polite about giving me space and not pushing to the point where I apologised three times for taking up his time when I asked him to accompany me to my friend’s wedding so I wouldn’t have to deal with matchmaking. Did you maybe want to ask me instead?”

“Och, Sassenach, that’s no’ fair, he came to me first.”

“And what was our deal? You can handle relationship questions after an actual relationship starts. I handle them until that point.”

“Yer aunt has a point, ye know. Waiting until someone asks ye out isn’t the most useful skill ever. Or the healthiest way of dealing with things.”

“Well, it’s what I did with Emily,” said Ian glumly. “And we know how well that worked out. So listening to Auntie Claire is probably a good idea. Although,” and at this he turned to his aunt. “Ye tend to be a little on the blunt side. Are ye going to be able to tell me what Rachel would find too pushy or creepy?”

“So her name is Rachel?” Jamie jumped in eagerly.

“Yes, uncle. Rachel Hunter. She wanted to get some yarn for her brother, but didn’t know enough to know that she was looking for. She said she’d be back.”

Claire started to look very interested. “I don’t suppose you know her brother’s name?”

“She didn’t say – oh, wait, she did. Denny I think.”

“Ok, I know who we’re talking about. Dr. Hunter is doing his speciality training with us. I think I may have even mentioned your store when he said he knits. And before you ask, no, I am not going to try and play matchmaker. This is the only time I am giving you insider information, and I’m only providing the flow of information in one direction. Ball’s in your court. Rachel moved here with her brother – her job is all remote work anyhow, so it doesn’t matter where she’s based, and they’ve very close since their parents passed away. I’m fairly sure she’s currently single, and Dr. Hunter has referred to an ex-boyfriend, so she’s presumably interested in men. I have no idea if she’s looking for a relationship right now, but I do know that she hasn’t had much of a chance to get to know what there is to do around here, so if you can convince her that the yarn store is the happening place to be I’m sure she’ll be back, and then you can try your Uncle Jamie’s technique. ” She sighed.

“But, Ian, just remember that this isn’t magic, right? No matter how interested she might be in the store, no matter what advice I give you, you can’t force her to like you. We don’t want to see you hurt if you fall in love before there’s a relationship.”

Too late. Ian thought. It wasn’t just how she looked – there was something there, something beyond what he could put his finger on. Sure, he knew that he loved the fact that she had so confidently tried to do something which it turned out she wasn’t ready for, and for how well she’d handled that. But there was something more. With a lightness he didn’t feel, he replied. “No worries. And I will keep in mind that ‘no’ is a valid answer. With most of my customers being women – or recommended by women – I really can’t afford to get a reputation for creeping on women who come into the store.”

Claire got back up and rumpled Ian’s hair. “Well, I’m glad to hear that your feet are still firmly planted on terra firma. Now, I’m heading upstairs to shower. You can get advice from your uncle without him worrying that I’ll lose all interested once he’s revealed his secrets.” The kiss she gave Jamie gave the lie to this cynical view, and Ian discreetly focused on his food again.

Once Claire had gone back upstairs, Jamie and Ian sat in companionable silence for a while again while Ian finished his food.

 “Ye ken that ye can’t blame yerself for Emily?” Jamie lifted a hand to forestall Ian’s reflexive disagreement. “I’m not trying to say that ye didn’t make any mistakes. But there were two of ye in that relationship, and she’s the one who left. I understand that she had her reasons, and even if she had stayed and ye two had tried to work at it there’s no guarantee that ye’d have succeeded in the long run. But ye can’t blame yerself for failing at a task ye never got a chance to try.”

Ian thought about what his uncle had said – trying his best to believe it past the lingering hurt from the failure of his first serious relationship.

“But how do I learn from something I never did? I mean, we like to think that we learn from our mistakes, but if it just happened, then what’s to stop it from happening again?”

Jamie glowered at his nephew. “Two things. First, I didn’t say ye didn’t make any mistakes at all. Second, ye can’t guarantee that it won’t. Even if ye had entirely driven Emily away on yer own, and ye had learned from that and could guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again, that doesn’t say anything about making new mistakes. Or guaranteeing that the two of ye are a good match. Ye do yer best, that’s all. Granted, if ye maybe waited until ye were married before ye tried to start a family there might have been less heartbreak. “

Ian returned his own glower, but he had to acknowledge that his uncle had a point. Not that he really thought they should have bothered to get married, but while a discussion about what they were each looking for in the relationship, and where they were going might have resulted in a less traumatic split. Before he had to acknowledge any other unpalatable truths his uncle continued.

“What ye can do is just focus on yer relationship. There’s no guarantees, so don’t worry about trying to make them. Make her, make yer relationship priorities. If there’s a fight, talk about it. Apologise if ye’ve hurt her. Listen to what she needs, and take it seriously. If ye are serious about someone, and ye’re sure that yer life is better with her in it than without, ye need to be prepared to make compromises that ye wouldn’t do for any other reason. And Ian, this is the important part. If she’s not willing to do the same for ye, ye can’t force it. I know that ye want something like what yer parents have, but ye will be happier in the long run if ye wait for the right person, no matter how long ye have to wait.”

Mindful of people’s needs to be up in the morning, Ian left not long afterwards, with admonitions to ask if he needed more advice ringing in his ears. He headed to his flat, amused by the fact that his Uncle still thought that Ian used his parents as relationship inspiration.

Next

[haleybrownie-blog]

Lights

       If each one of us is a light, I am not a bulb in a dark room. I am not a stale and buzzing piece of hot glass hanging loosely by a faded thread. I am not fueled by hidden wires whose mechanics are unknown by the general public, but we all know are easily corralled by the universal on and off switch. I am not held suspended, hidden behind the doors of a seldom used coat closet. The light that I shine not meant to illuminate only your ever-growing dust farm of an attic.        If each one of us is a light, I am not a night star. I am not light years away, or born from fairy dust. I am not self-sustained by the emotions raging inside of me, destined to meet my end by violent implosion. I am not buried alone in the cosmos, pretty to look at, but unable to be told apart from my neighboring colonies.

        If each one of us is a light, I am not a candle. I do not emit the sweet smell of lavender and vanilla to each person I come in contact with. I am not a moldable wax, taking on the shape and identity of whatever environment I am poured out into. I am not busted out for only special occasions or to be a dull and tameable hue. I was not forged to burn dimly to the end of my wick, burning, burning, until one day there is no more. I was not made to give away my wax day by day until I have evaporated and become one with the world.

        If each one of us is a light, I am not lightning. I am not earth shattering and groundbreaking of my own accord. I am not accompanied by the inescapable sound of thunder, powerful enough to rattle your windows by simply my own power. My light was not given to shine on only the darkest of days, or made to go unnoticed and hidden by the shroud of midnight.

        If each one of us is a light, I am a lighter.

        And for a while, I lived in darkness.

        I loved the idea of the light, but grew to find comfort in the darkness. The shadow gives us the falsely sheltered and misinformed notion of safety. The gloom not only allows, but urges us to show the ugliest and blackest of our parts. We are told that because we ourselves are blind in the bleak veil, that our sins are hidden. We are fed the falsification that there is not One whose eyes can pierce the blackest dark.

        I was missing a wick. How was I to know what was missing beneath the surface of my own skin?

        The black is hardly ever jet, at least this side of death. Even the ones in darkness are almost always faintly illuminated by the glow of others. Those who dwell in the shade have learned that fire only burns when it comes too close. So to the blind the lost look safe and shielded by the earth itself. But those with eyes of light can see the lost engulfed in a sea of mud, desperately needing the washing of water and the rebirth of fire.

        Sometimes the children of light will clothe themselves with righteousness and charge into the darkness. As their luminescence draws near, those in the dark are forced to behold themselves. Some witness their own shame, and crawl deeper into the sludge, begging this world to once again provide its weak sheet of deceptive shelter. Others still will stand mesmerized in the face of glory. Forgetting the filth they have called their home, they will reach out into brazen sunlight. As if filled by some form of fuel, they are ignited immediately, they shine incandescently, and it is impossible to deny their change. In some moments of radiant luster, these eruptions will be the spark of a nation.

        As their blast radius reaches out, they touch the liquid souls of others. It sets off a series of chain reactions, inconceivably dazzling. Many watch from the pits. Some are bent beyond recognition, twisted enough to dare and perceive this marvel with disdain. Others watch with starstruck eyes, lacking only the ambition to reach for the breathtaking spectacle.

        Once the environment reaches stability, one of two things will happen. These newborn creatures of light will leap for joy, chasing their new destiny off into an illuminated city placed upon a hill. If not this, they eagerly and earnestly work to build a new one. Should they build, they try their best to urge their old friends in darkness to receive this light, and choose to rinse off their old nature. Some will accept. Others will slither further out into the vast void, searching for the murkiness that will once again swathe them.

        If we are honest, the darkness isn’t great. There are perks. We are free to drink fire, and know the feel of smog in our lungs. In the darkness, life is a roller coaster. We ride the high of life, and seek to satisfy the pleasures of our skin. And we succeed. For a little while. But every high comes to its end, and eventually we crash down into the fetid marsh. Everyone living in the dismal swamp knows the taste of hollow hopelessness. As the party ends, and the wretches crawl home, each one of us is left alone to face ourselves.

        So many times, I found it strikingly unmistakable that I had grown weary of the wicked night around me. I looked up, into the lights of houses on hills, and decided to change. I could feel the powerful fuel churning inside of me, begging to be set ablaze. I could feel who it was that I wanted to be, living hidden beneath my septic skin. With all my might, I sought the spark of combustion. And I found it. In a flicker of hope, I felt light burst forth. A pinprick of light in the darkness. A spark. A spark was all that I mustered. I tried again. And again. I continued to glint, sending forth whisper after whisper of light. But these bursts of fire could not reach the diesel brewing inside of me.

        I was missing a wick.

        Downcast, I mourned my lack of photonic vitality. I couldn’t bring myself to make the connection between the spark and the catalytic liquid dwelling within. As time went on, I grew dismayed.

        After immeasurable moments, one finally stuck out from the others. I turned to a friend bathed in the light.

        “Will I ever catch?”

        “Yes.”

        “I spark but never burn.”

        “Someday.”

        Someday. When would this day finally come?

        So, I started using. My drug of choice could not be bought. I shot up attention and drank deeply from the well of fixation.

        I sought anything and everything to fill the void inside me.        As my hallucinogens began to take their toll on me, I searched for something new. But I found  that each hit left me worse off than before.

        In a moment of ardent and unadulterated affinity with the light, I heard words ring loud and true.

        Why are you fighting so hard for the love of another when mine is here and available?

        I don’t know.

        A spark.

        No catch.

        With the void in me growing steadily, I learned to deal with the bitter taste of sorrow on my tongue. I realized I had a new drug of choice.

        I found comfort in the black trench i had dug for myself. Eyes glazed over from my lack of any attentiveness or curiosity, I made my way blindly through life. I grew into my sadism, growing to love the now-sweet taste of despondency.        My habits changed.

        I chose to surround myself with words that would validate my emptiness. On the outside, I was deemed sound and healthy. On the inside I was caught up in a rich love affair with depression.

        One moment sticks out.

        A light enters my presence, with tears in her beautiful eyes.

        “I’m scared. It’s high noon. You’re in bed already. You’re always covered. Always sleeping.”

        “I’m fine.”

        Moments of heavy sadness turned to vacant thoughts. Strangled cries to numb lips. Rivers of tears to a living desert.

        I felt nothing.

        I was nothing.

        Moments turned into days. Days to months.

        As time pressed on, I watched the hour hand dance along the face of the clock. I could feel time passing me by. I began to grow weary and miss the budding growth of life. I began to yearn for just a moment of animation.        Could I escape hell on my own?

        It appeared I was unable.

        I excused myself, and bowed my head. Though I was dark, I felt the eyes of my spirit squinting into the Son.

        Please.

        Please set me free.

        Please help me.

        So long later, and this moment is still clearly etched into me.

        I saw a light spark in my vision. Breath caught in my throat, feeling, I lunged for it. I found myself on my knees, crying once more for the light to save me from the black that was suffocating me.

        And in a moment, I took a steady breath. A gift had been given me. One that I cherish to this day. I found love. A gift I am unable to earn. Coy smiles and wedding bands. Home. A beautiful ball of light I still marvel at so many years later.

        And so the world was back on its axis.

        In the beginning, there was light. Only after turning it’s back on the light was the world plunged deep into darkness. Today, the void rules this world.  The once pristine and unblemished Earth has been rolled through the cosmic sludge. It has once been washed by water, but not yet sterilized by fire. The Good Book says that the day of great cleansing will come. Like a thief in the night, the King of Light will return and pluck the lilies of light out of this field of folly. Nobody knows when the day will come.

        Some say now.

        Some say later.

        And some, yet, say the end.

        As the faithful flowers dance in the incandescent hall of the Most High, the earth will be plunged into a painful darkness. The rivers will flow with blood, living bodies will be cloaked in decay. The ground will rumble, and the city of man will fall.

        But the horror would be yet to come. See, even in the turmoil of the last days, there is hope. Springs of living water will cleanse the eyes of some, and they shall erupt into blinding daybreak. But those who never accept the light…        They will live in darkness.

        They will enter a city with vaulted walls. They will enter a city with no doors.

        And once they go in.

        They will never come out.

        They will be banished to a timeless prison, destined to spend each slow and palpable moment of eternity tasting the smoldering death that will never end.

        But those who reject evil, and wholly embrace the life-giving light and Spirit of the Son will be showered with undeserved honors, none of which could reach the highest gift of being welcomed to dwell always within the shelter of the wings of our Father. Thriving forever, these blessed saints will eat from the Tree of Life, and drink from the springs of living water.

        These followers of nobility must always be ready to go home. They make no permanent residence in this macabre kingdom. They are simply passing through this tainted terrain. They spend their days striving to brighten up the domain of darkness, carrying the canon of candor to the four corners of the earth, urging the bottom feeders to accept cleansing.

        Only the light’s own will be able to pass through the timeless gates set aglow and into the utopic abode of Elohim. This contributes to the fervency in which the shining saved seek to rescue the lost into the realm of redemption. On countless occasions, friends would turn to me, shining like the sun, and rejoice “My redemption draweth nigh! Are you ready to go home?”

        And on countless occasions, I wasn’t sure. What would life be like with the light ruling? Even though I grew tired of the dismal dark, it was still the world with which I had familiarity. I did not recognize this world to come. I had so much left that I wanted to do. I had been force-fed the lie that the coming of the empire of enlightened righteousness meant I must hand over the reins of my freedom.        Little did I know, I never carried them to begin with.

        So, for a while, I responded truthfully. “No. I have so much life left to live.” These vessels of volcanic virtue tried to reason with me. “Can’t you live in the Light’s kingdom?” How was I to tell them the truth? That I craved the sour taste of sin, and knew I couldn’t drink from both the receptacle of sulfur and the well of life. For awhile, I tried. When the shame of sipping the hot wine of wickedness soured my stomach, I turned toward the cold cleanliness of crisp water. The two mixed, and left my insides precisely lukewarm.

        Then, the lights grew worried. “If you are not eager for the day to come and the night to go, you are not as intertwined with the midday sun as you claim to be. What if the gathering comes tomorrow?”

        Cold fear rattled through my abdomen, and a hot sweat broke out in my palms. Horrific images of brimstone and inescapable immorality danced through my mind. So, I decided to change. To trash the darkness that I was, and live only as a light. I sent forth glint after glint, so as to convince the lights around me that I was safe from impending judgement. To convince myself that I would escape hell, after all.

        Until tomorrow passed.

        When the urgency was gone, so too went my resolution. I resumed my tepid, dim-lit lifestyle.

        But more tomorrows came. More dazzling brothers and sisters asked me if I was sure I was ready for the light to come. So as to escape scrutiny and pressure, I turned to deception. With anxiety twisting my organs into a knot impossible to untangle, I agreed that I was ready. With panic pulsing in my veins, I tried harder to convince myself than to convince those around me. If I could just make it through one more tomorrow, I could resume my life.

        But tomorrows kept coming.

        With each passing day, the rope of my sanity was twisted one rung tighter. Until, one day.

        It snapped.

        I felt my breath catch in my throat, and a wave of nausea distort my core. I closed my eyes, and took a slow breath, waiting for it to pass as usual. But, it didn’t pass. The day stretched on, and I could not escape the absolute horror gripping my mind. I sought solace in sleep, but it would not come. For hours and hours of the night, I felt the terror of being trapped on a train speeding and bound for damnation.

        I felt as though I was out of realm of salvation. I cried out to the heralds of light around me. “Am I out of time? Have I missed the window of being saved?” The pain of my nails tearing my skin was comfort from the hell that raged in the battlefield of my mind.

        “No!” They shouted, and came to try and rescue me.

        Their words fell on my deaf ears.

        I felt hot and sick. I was unable to eat, drink, or sleep. A voice whispered to me, “Your time is up. The light cannot save you now.”

        Couldn’t save?

        Was that real? I thought the light could always give life. I thought so long as you lived and breath, the light could redeem.

        Unforgivable.

        Unsavable. Irredeemable. Undeliverable. Irreclaimable. Uncleansable.        Unforgivable.

        I believed it. I believed the lie of the great deceiver in darkness.

        Unforgivable.

        A true, genuine, and inescapable panic settled on my tongue. I couldn’t shake the taste. In radical desperation, I ran to every beacon of light I knew.        “Can Adonai save me from the darkness?” I asked the question so many times that my lips grew numb. Each time, each brother cried “Yes!” but, somehow, I couldn’t hear.

        I went weeks without a full night of sleep. I would wake at dark hours of the morning. I sobbed and tore my clothes in despair. I knew I was unreachable.

        Unforgivable.

        I saw the endless highway of eternity stretch out before me, and saw the death I believed I could not escape. The lights that I so dearly loved began to mourn for me. They believed my spirit to be intact, but could see the sanity slipping through my fingertips. I couldn’t make it through the hour without sobbing uncontrollable, vomiting words unintelligibly, begging for another chance, facing the future that I believed was mine.

        “Would the King of Light bother calling out to you, if you were so unforgivable?”

        I suppose not.

        A glimmer of hope flashed in my dilated and panicky eyes. If I could just hear Him, it would mean I had a chance.

        I had a new hope, but the days were still hard. Over and over and over a voice whispered to me that my efforts were in vain. That my future had been sealed.

        I found myself hiding from life. Bathrooms, closets, anywhere I could leave the world and fall to my knees and beg for the peace that comes only from God.

        I found that I despised the darkness. I hated it for what it had done to me. I craved desperately the safety and healing of the light of the Son. I scoured the Word, looking for something, anything, that would prove to me that I was okay. The words of the lights around me continued to fall on deaf ears, but my one hope remained. Should He call to me, I would know I wasn’t written off to an eternity of condemnation.

        I sought Him anywhere and everywhere. Through His Word, through the life around me, through a Holy place of worship.

        And in an earth shattering, overwhelming, undeserving, and grounbreakingly life changing moment, I heard His voice.

      A peace so inexplicable washed over my whole body. Relief flooded my soul, and I could taste the sweet and rich water of life. I had been snatched away from  the power of the sin and the grave. My freedom was palpable and thudding in my chest.

        How deeply I loved Him, and in this extraordinary and exceptional instant, I couldn’t recall a moment in which I ever didn’t love Him.

       Something catalytic had happened inside of me. Incomparably and indescribably, I felt light burst forth. The spark had travelled and ignited every drop of fuel inside of me. I was burning with a love I will never be able to describe as palpably as it is felt.

       The lies of the evil one returned, and anxiety was not cured overnight. My fears crept back in, but, though I am ridiculously undeserving, God was patient with me and continued to allow my ears to hear His voice, and my eyes to see His shining glory. He continued to tell me over and over just how much He really loved me.

        He sent His Son to be mocked and martyred so that I may escape the hell I once thought that I was sentenced to. And His Son, happily hung on that rugged tree, so that I may dwell with Him in His Kingdom. He sent His Spirit to fill me, and give me life.

        Each day was a little bit easier, and now I find that I am living a life that is radically different from the one that I was living only nine months ago.

        Christ has pulled me from the sludge, and carried me to a city upon a hill. Though the toil I lived with was the worst thing I have ever lived through, I would not erase a moment of it. It brought me to a place of such ardent beauty. A place of such pure life. There is faith, which is more valuable than the most precious gold. And God has given me faith that He will deliver me.

        If each one of us is a light, I am lighter. And for a while, I lived in darkness. Through the washing of water and rebirth of fire, I was healed. I was redeemed, made right, and made new. If each one of us is a light, I am a lighter. And Christ is the wick that is holding me together.

[hannahhostofheaven]

In Purgatory’s Shadow

After Lucifer stabbed him at the end of season 12, Castiel awakens to find himself in a strange land. He's not alone, he's reunited with a long lost friend- Hannah. Hannah has been living in this dangerous world for a long time and it's hardened her. Can Castiel help her find the passions she once had or has she hardened completely?

Warnings: no warnings for now but that may change in the future.

Chapter One

Castiel woke up to the cold hard ground underneath him and a ceiling of rock above him. He blinked, feeling the warmth of fire to his right. The soft glow and pleasant crackling of flame was comforting. He frowned, just laying there listening, trying to sort through his feelings of disorientation.

He felt- sensed, perhaps- that he wasn’t alone. “Where am I?” he called out in a ragged voice.

“There is no name for it,” came the soft, feminine voice. That voice… so familiar. He couldn’t quite place it, but he longed to see the person whom it belonged to.

Slowly, he turned his head towards the fire. The woman, her silhouette barely visible in the darkness beyond the fire, sat hunched against the cave wall, facing his direction. He strained to see her face but couldn’t quite make it out. “You’re here because you died,” the woman continued. “There is no more room in the empty for our kind, so some of us were dropped into other dimensions.”

“I’m dead?” Castiel frowned. He felt alive. He had a pounding headache to prove as much. But as he began to remember the cabin, Kelly Kline, the Nephilim, Lucifer… “Lucifer…” he mumbled, remembering the sharp pain, Dean rushing towards him, and then… darkness.

“Lucifer?” the woman repeated. “He’s in his cage.” Castiel glanced toward her again. Why did she seem so familiar? Slowly, Castiel sat up, wincing at the effort as he maneuvered himself to lean against the wall of the cavern. Looking at her again, sighing at the fact that he still couldn’t see her clearly enough to make out an identity.

“It’s a long story,” he said, glancing in the other direction to see the cave entrance, a few feet away from him to the left, and beyond it, he saw darkness and wetness. He was aware of the terrible pain in his chest. “If I’m dead, why do I feel pain?” he wondered.

“Because you aren’t dead anymore,” he looked at her in confusion. That didn’t make any sense at all. “But you aren’t quite you anymore… Castiel.”

Castiel frowned at the sound of his name. “Who are you?” he asked. At his question, the woman stood up and came around the fire. As she approached him, kneeling down in front of him, suddenly her face was all he could see, and his jaw dropped in astonishment at the recognition.

“Hannah…” Castiel couldn’t stop staring at the face of his long dead friend. She smiled knowingly, as she noticed the recognition in his voice. “You’re dead.”

“I thought I was too,” Hannah said. She moved to sit beside him, leaning against the cave wall. “But I woke up here, just as you did.”

“And your vessel?” Castiel noted that Hannah appeared to him in the body of Caroline Johnson, the pretty blue-eyed brunette that he had first met her in. “Why can’t I sense you as an angel?”

Hannah frowned. “I’ve been here a long time, I had to get used to it at first,” she said, focusing her gaze on the floor pensively. “You’ll have to get used to it as well, the longer you stay here.”

“Used to what?” Something about the grim tone of her voice unnerved him.

“Angels don’t have any powers here,” Hannah informed him. “We are dropped here without our grace. We can be hurt here.” To demonstrate, she rolled up the sleeve to her grey blazer to reveal a series of bruises and old scars on her arms. Some looked fresh and still healing, others looked years old. Castiel frowned, studying the skin on her arm in the flickering light of the fire.

“You never tried to heal yourself?” he asked with concern, glancing at her as she lifted her gaze to meet his.

“I haven’t been able to heal myself since I first arrived,” Hannah explained. “I’ve also had these… human cravings. Needs… you’ll have them too. Hunger, thirst, the need to breathe, to sleep.”

Castiel searched her eyes, the fire light reflecting in them. “You’ve been gone for two years,” he said. He had to sigh at that. He was glad to see her again; he hadn’t realized until then how much he had wanted to see her again.

“Time moves differently here,” Hannah explained pensively. “I’ve been here for 50 years. Half a century by myself…”

“What…” that news hit him like a ton of bricks. She’d been here alone, struggling in this strange dimension, for fifty years? He felt the familiar surge of guilt settle hard in his stomach. “Hannah… if I had known…”

She held up a hand before he could apologize. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, turning away from him, abruptly ending that thought.

“Hannah, we have to find a way out of this place,” Castiel said, glancing back at the cave entrance. “I have to get back to Earth. Sam and Dean… and the Nephilim… they need me.”

Hannah gave him a look of pure horror at that. “Nephilim!... Castiel, you wouldn’t…” she stammered a little, a dumbstruck expression on her face.

“No I wouldn’t,” he assured her. “It’s… a long story.” He sighed and started explaining it all to her. The last two years, Amara, Lucifer, him being possessed by Lucifer, Lucifer being free, impregnating Kelly Kline, how he befriended Kelly Kline and cared for her and her unborn child, and how the child was being born at this very moment and Castiel had no idea how to get back and be there for him. For Jack. The Nephilim who had chosen him as his father, disregarding his own biological father.

Hannah blinked, absorbing everything she had been told. She stared into the fire for a moment, and as Castiel watched her, she seemed to be trying to properly digest everything. “I don’t know how to get back,” she said after a long pause. “But life here is hard. Survival will occupy much of your time. I gave up trying to find a way out a long time ago.”

Castiel glanced around the cave, taking it all in for the first time. It was a modest size. The cave entrance was far enough away from them that they were protected from the howling winds outside. The fire kept the cave warm- and Castiel noticed for the first time that he felt a little cold.

“How long has that storm been raging?” Castiel asked, glancing back at Hannah who stood up and grabbed a nearby branch, using it to stoke the fire. He noticed that she still wore the outfit she always wore before, her grey blazer, blue jeans, and navy blue blouse. But it was torn and stained, and she also wore what looked like animal fur around her shoulders like a scarf.

“A few days,” Hannah explained. “The weather is harsh and unpredictable. Sometimes we experience terrible heat waves; sometimes there are fierce blizzards. There are also many predators. It is best to stay on the move in this place.”

This strange place was beginning to remind Castiel of purgatory, though with much more extremes in climate. Castiel sighed. He didn’t want to live here at all, but it pained him to learn that Hannah had survived here for so long under such harsh conditions. By the way, she looked, the way she held herself, it had changed her. He wasn’t looking at the same Hannah he had known before. This Hannah was only focused on staying alive. He saddened him to think that this place may have broken her somehow. One of the things he found unique about Hannah was her passion. It was so rare to meet an angel who felt things as deep as she had, and the look she had in her eyes now as she glanced in his direction after stoking the fire bore no signs of passion.

“I still want to find a way out,” Castiel said again. That evoked a harsh glare from Hannah as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“There isn’t a way out,” she insisted. “If you keep thinking like that, you’ll die. You should spend more of your time thinking about hunting and finding your next meal and staying alive.”

“Hannah…” Castiel began. She turned away from him, going behind the fire again, obscuring her features in the dark.

“Get some sleep,” she instructed. “Hopefully the storm will be over tomorrow, and we can find the river. I’d like to bathe.”

“Bathe?” Castiel sighed. “You have to do that too?” he had to wonder if she was even an angel at all anymore.

“I told you our powers don’t work here,” she said, her voice sounding muffled. There was a shuffling noise. He craned his neck trying to see what she was doing. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he got slowly to his feet, grunting in discomfort, using the cave wall as balance. He moved around the fire and found Hannah laying on what appeared to be a bed of large fern leaves, a large animal fur draped over her prone body.

Castiel had to admit the animal fur looked inviting. Hannah noticed him looming over her and turned her head up at him. She seemed to study him for a moment before letting out a soft sigh and pulling the animal fur aside, scooting over to produce some room beside her. “I’m not used to having company,” she said. “If you’d like to be warm, you can sleep here.”

Castiel nodded and lay down beside her on the fern bed. He groaned as his sore muscles protested a little as he positioned himself on his back. She draped the animal fur blanket over both of them, and the warmth of it was very comforting.

The gravity of this situation was not lost on Castiel. Castiel had not been oblivious to the growing feelings between them back when they were working together, but he wasn’t so sure she still harbored those sort of feelings. She seemed… empty. Hollow. Abrupt. Laying next to her, his body laying so close to her body, she didn’t generate the kind of warmth she once did.

He glanced at her, her face mere centimeters from his, her breath against his nose, her big blue eyes staring at him- or perhaps through him. And slowly, as he watched, her eyes fluttered closed as she drifted off to sleep. He watched her for a long time, and all he felt was sadness. And finally, he too drifted off to sleep.

[lolcakes91]

Anti Hiatus and Why It’s Okay.

What’s this? Another thesis? Why yes. Yes it is. As always, you’re a wonderful person if you manage to make it through this massive block of text.

I wont lie. I’m a bit disappointed. I’m not necessarily only disappointed about the possible (inevitable) hiatus for Anti but more so with the things that have been going on when it comes to this. I’m not angry or upset. I’m concerned. It’s like... Everyone pisses in the pool but as soon as someone shits in it? Everyone’s day at the pool is ruined. However, I’ll get to that. Basically, I was really looking forward to Merry Antipocalypse. I know a lot of us were. I’m fine with it not happening anymore and I’m okay with the hiatus. It may even be one of the most important steps we take with Anti. What I’m not okay with is the abuse and the defensiveness that is hurting others that is coming to light. Sometimes we have to take responsibility for our own actions and sometimes we have to forgive to grow. Distance makes the heart fonder. I’ve seen many great post that put how I feel into words so I had planned on not writing anything about it but...

As a big fan of Jack, Anti, Theorizing, Horror in general and as well as being a part of this community... I felt it would be better to just write a post on how I feel about the recent turn of events and why it’s important to me. I want to comfort those that may be in pain or are confused. I’m going to warn you... Shit is going to get real and a bit personal. So... here is why I take this Anti stuff seriously.

How Anti helped me cope and succeed

It sounds silly but hear me out. I’ve had this tumblr account for awhile now. It’s been inactive for the most part and I was more of a lurker. I’d check out this, that and the other. Enjoy everyone’s theories, art, and contributions to the community from afar. I’s sit back and just enjoy the love that this community creates. However, I never really felt like I was a part of this community even though I REALLY wanted to be. I just didn’t know how. I felt like one little unimportant soul in the sea of people that watches Jack’s channel. I felt like anything I did would be pointless and it wouldn’t contribute to anything. I was wrong... VERY wrong. The thing that got me to open up and throw myself into all of this was Anti Theories. I would spend hours combing through everyone’s hard work and beg myself to contribute my own ideas. So I finally did... 

I honestly didn’t think anything would come of it but I have gained soooo much since I surrounded myself with you guys. Not only did you guys respect and enjoy my theories... you made me feel welcome. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I can’t describe what it feels like to be included and a part of such a loving and intelligent community. I have made so many friends since throwing myself into all of this and I have gotten a chance to contribute to the community in many ways. That’s something I’ve wanted to do since I started watching Jack’s channel years ago. Now it’s happening. It’s like being a part of something bigger... being a part of a big family. It made me look at myself and change my mentality about feelings of being worthless or not important. It changed my outlook that I couldn’t make an impact on anyone or anything. You guys and Jack helped me see that I am important, that even the smallest of contributions can impact someone’s life and impact them positively. I feel loved and I have you guys to thank for that. I also have Anti to thank for that.

I’m a huge fan of theories. You all know that. However, I’m also a huuuuuuuuggeeee fan of horror. I’ve worked/volunteered at a haunted house every Halloween for 11 years now. I’ve become a veteran there and now I’m mentoring kids that were my age when I started working there. It’s a lovely experience. At the haunted house we give out acting awards. Things like best actor, best actress, best supporting, and many more. It’s a neat way for the haunt to show appreciation to the actors hard work. (We do it for free.) Well, I’ve had my eye on that best actress award ever since I started... which is more than a decade. For years I pushed myself, trying my best to get it but it was never the right time or someone, understandably, deserved it more than me. Well I’m happy to announce that I actually won it this year. Why did I win it? Why am I telling you all this? Why is this so important when it comes to the Anti Hiatus?

It’s important because this community and Jack helped make it happen for me. I’ve already mentioned that you guys have helped me mentally. However, I’d like to go into detail further and explain how I won best actress. This community and Jack gave me more confidence. You guys also taught me not to do something for recognition. Do it for me and to it because I love it. So this year, I didn’t worry about the awards. I worried about having a good time and making sure that others, especially the younger and newer actors had a good time as well. I used Anti as a big influence on the character I played this year. I used your theories to build an interesting character that was beyond creepy and effective. Anytime I thought it was embarrassing I would think of how Jack felt when he does the Anti stuff. Fuck the embarrassment, this is fun. Fuck the cringe, this is quality acting and it’s a badass and terrifying character. To my surprise and because of you guys, Jack, Robin and the character Anti... I was taken seriously and I won an award that means a lot to me. Thank you for that.

Disrespect

That’s one of the reasons why I’m a bit concerned. The whole Anti not being taken seriously and is a joke thing personally hurt me at first and I’m sure it hurts Jack and a lot of you too. Obviously from what you just read, you guys and Jack turned a lot of negativity in my life into positivity. I wouldn’t of put myself in a  position to be influenced in such a way if it wasn’t for my love for horror, theory and as a bi-product, Anti. I take all this seriously. How could I not? What would be the point in devaluing something so kick-ass? I understand it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I understand everyone is going to have their own interpretation of it or use for Anti. Some use humor or or devaluation as a means to cope. Sometimes it does border a bit too over sexualized or some want to force their interpretations of Anti down Jack and the rest of our throats. It can even sometimes be on the fence of being disrespectful or just blatantly disrespectful. That includes making fun of Anti or turning him into a meme. I don’t know how Jack feels about all of it, probably not good... hence the hiatus, but I know I don’t mind it because I don’t focus on the people or the things that can be detrimental to this whole thing. I focus on the people and things that are positive, fun, and constructive to not just my own wants for Anti, but to everyone, especially Jack and Robin’s. I don’t blame nor do I want to call out or hurt anyone who does contribute to the negativity or borderline disrespect. People can do whatever they want, as long as it isn’t hurting anyone.

That’s what I can’t stand for. People bringing each other down purposefully. Whether that is us being defensive and lashing out, the community in general being negative, or the people who aren’t that into it making us feel unwanted and like a joke. It isn’t okay to hurt others because we have different opinions, preferences, or interest and it isn’t okay to attack or call Jack an ass because he is doing what he feels is best for himself and the community as a whole. It isn’t okay to force things onto one another, especially when it makes the other uncomfortable. We all need to respect what is happening here, respect each other, and Jack. 

I’d say I can’t imagine what that must feel like to Jack and Robin. Two people who took an idea and turned it into something badass and horrific in a good/cool way just to have your hard work mocked and not taken seriously. However, I do know how that feels for many things that I do in life. I’m sure some of you know that feeling too. All of us that are on this bandwagon and do take it seriously know how it feels right now in this very moment. It isn’t a good feeling and it’s sad to have our integrity questioned, especially for Jack and Robin who have to cater to not only us, but to the other people that watch the channel that might not be that into it. It’s like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Do you cut your arm off and get a badass prosthetic? Or do nothing and let it wither and fester until it eventually falls off, the damaged beyond repair? It isn’t a fun place to be in for any of us and that’s what this whole Anti thing is suppose to be about. To have fun. When it isn’t fun, especially for Jack and Robin who work really hard on all of this, we need to take a step back and let them do the same. We shouldn’t be so defensive about it and if we are, we shouldn’t be malicious. Some people aren’t going to take Anti seriously, why would they when they aren’t enjoying it the way we do? It’s when our own community/Anti bandwagon doesn’t take it seriously that it becomes a problem. It’s when people, from whatever perspective, use it as a weapon that it becomes a problem.

Try to remember that not everyone has to take Anti seriously and some never will.That’s fine as long as it isn’t to purposefully hurt others. You can’t make someone like something and you can’t make everyone understand why something like this is important to you. Obviously there are some people that aren’t into it and don’t want to see it every time they turn around. It’s a balancing act that WE ALL have to manage.

Personally, I thought Jack and Robin were doing a great job at doing that. Not so much us because most of us want everyone to bathe in the great Anti flames and so they can share our joy. It sucks that it has been called into question and yes this is the part that I’m a bit defensive about. However, I am not going to be malicious. Anyway... Maybe I’m bias but I didn’t feel like Anti was being shoved down our throats or anyone throats. I think it’s unreasonable to claim that every horror game has Anti in it. I can name several horror games he has played this year that doesn’t have even the slightest hint of Anti in it. RE7, Outlast 2, and even Observer and Everything Will Be Okay, two games that would be perfect for Anti, didn’t have him in it. Regardless of this opinion of mine. I get it. Some people aren’t going to like this type of content, and that’s okay. Jack has more viewers than just the Anti bandwagon and I understand his want in taking a hiatus to cater to those who aren’t into Anti, as well as to make it something even more special for those that are.

Apology

I personally want to apologize to all of you that may be hurting or are disappointed. My intentions were grand and I enjoy a good laugh but I feel like I may have contributed to this even in the tiniest bit myself. I never thought of some of the memes, insults, or mocking as hurtful... even though the words “insult and mocking” mean exactly that. Hurtful. I always thought of it as provoking Anti to see how he would react. How would he respond to it? Would he call us out? I realize the error in my ways as it can be hurtful to the people who work very hard to make all the Anti stuff happen. I never meant for it to be truly insulting to the hard work that has been put in and I never wanted to make a joke out of all of it. I simply wanted to see that fourth wall get broken down and have a laugh. However, that isn’t an excuse and I am so sorry for that.

Appreciation

I know I’ve already expressed some appreciation to you guys and to the two geniuses named Jack and Robin but... Seriously thank you all for your hard work and making this a thing. I always have fun with it and it’s helped me out in ways I didn’t think a weird character could. I love you all. <3

Acceptance, Love and Community

I know there are SOOOO MANY people of all age groups that do take this seriously, don’t want to make a joke of it and do find Anti as terrifying as he is entertaining. Horror movies usually don’t disturb me, but having Anti pop up to stare at me like he is watching me is deeply unsettling and awesome. It’s an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything. I’m sure it’s the same for some of you, maybe not. Regardless of what Anti does for you or what you do for the community that pertains to Anti or just the community in general... I know in some way, some of you may be suffering right now because of what’s been going on and particularly Jack’s post. I know some of you might even feel let down because you aren’t the ones that wasn’t taking this seriously or were not the ones that were in some way being disrespectful. Maybe you weren’t even the ones screaming for more Anti. Some of you have even contributed as much as you can to make it more creative, fun, and overall an amazing experience. Some of you were really looking forward to Anti’s return. But darlings...  It’s okay. You may feel disappointed and defensive but it’s because you love it. I’ll say it like I said in my Anti Theorist post, you defend it because you feel threatened and because you care. You want to be heard over the ones that shit in the pool. With that said, it isn’t an excuse to lash out but what you can do is acknowledge it, accept it, change it in a positive manner and in return you will cope and feel better about all of this. I’m here to tell you that this is only the beginning of a new chapter for Anti. For those of you that think this is the end of the Anti era, I can guarantee you it isn’t precious beans. We are simply making room for improvement for the bigger, better, more creative and crazier things we can do with Anti. I promise you it will be worth the wait. Stick together loves because we need each other to stay warm now that the fires are burning down to embers. The wait will be worth it... and...

T̴̡͍͕̣̹͈̝͚̩͕̕ḩ̵͉̭̭́i̵̻̮̜̯͙̠̹͓s̰̖͔͇̰̗̜͘ͅ ͈̥̯͎̘̰ͅi̵҉̣s̨̫̠̘͉͚n̷̡̰̯̮̞͍’̵̟̤̣͔͓̜͢͞t̵̜ͅ ̷̟̱͈ţ̳̫̙̰̖̩̳́ḩ̴̻̩̤̱̫̰ͅe͡͏̵̲̜̬ ̥͢e̴̢̗͚̱̰̬͎̰̱͢n̯d̶̡̙̺̼͢.̸̡͙̼

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[lisamarieblair]

“My life, I realize suddenly, is July. Childhood is June, and old age is August, but here it is, July, and my life, this year, is July inside of July.” 

― Rick Bass

July wore me out. It chewed me up, used me up, and spit me out disoriented and weak. It took all I had and left nothing of myself to give to me. July tested, exhausted, and stressed me beyond recognition. July was a hard month, but after all of that stress, this July gave me the most beautiful day of my life. This July and every July from now on will be a special month in my heart and memory. This July, after 17 years together, my girlfriend and I finally became wife and wife.

Planning our dream wedding meant that nearly every other aspect of my life had to be put on hold. I had barely enough time to eat, sleep, and shower regularly let alone read or write. I stopped seeing my friends and family. I stopped being able to think about anything but decor, attire, vows, cake, catering, and seating charts. I stopped doing all the things I loved in order to have one perfect day and while I know it was unhealthy but I am so glad I did it. It really was a perfect day.

But now it’s over, and so is July, and now it’s time to return to real life. I’m slowly picking up the neglected pieces of my life and getting back to some old self-care habits. July was supposed to be my fresh start, but it looks like August is when I will begin again. I’ve decided that after the summer I am taking time for me to get back to writing, reading, and learning.

But before I do, here is what I am currently…

Writing essays, really this time. I may have to wait a week or two before the first one is up, but I am determined to work on them every single day, even if I can’t post them weekly as I had planned I just have to work on them for a certain amount of time every day. If I just do that, I’ll be happy. I have a direction. I have a list of topics and a schedule. I’m so excited to get started and I to see where this “essay a week” journey takes me. I’m excited to explore the genre, to improve my skills, and to finally start sharing what I feel and love with all of you.

Making writing friends online and in real life. At first, writing may appear to be a solitary activity but the truth is that support, encouragement, and social stimulation are critical to growth and mastery of the craft. I believe that this (and a lack of will power and ample energy) is what I am missing most in my journey to authorship. I’ve noticed that my focus, enthusiasm, and confidence in writing has waxed and waned with my writerly or creative connections. I feel most stimulated after I have talked with other artists and writers and I am reconnected with my own purpose and passion. I’ve recently connected with a coworker who also enjoys writing essays and poetry, and I’ve joined a lot of Facebook groups for queer/women writers like myself in the hopes that I can get more done by relying on a community to encourage me, guide me, and hold me accountable.

Planning big renovations and projects around the house. For over a year now the place has been falling apart around us and for over a year we have been saying “after the wedding”, “after the wedding”. Now that we’ve finally come to “after the wedding” it’s time to fix up this old dump. The basement, the kitchen, and both bathrooms need to be completely ripped out and redone. The garage door, the front and back yard, the siding, and the roof have all gone into disrepair. We’re looking at loans and a whole lot of work but we are ready to take on a new challenge and begin to build our dream home.

Reading Notes from Underground, The Double and Other Stories by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, still. I have now fallen 7 books behind schedule in my reading challenge and am profoundly disappointed in myself, but even though I don’t expect to catch up (unless I get this Little Black Classics Box Set soon!) I am not giving up. August is when I will begin again and I will pick my nightly reading habit back up as soon as I pick up my nightly habit of going to bed on time again. I may move on from Dostoyevsky as him and I aren’t seeing eye to eye yet and I do have books I’m much more excited to start with them I am to finish with him. Particularly It by Stephen King and The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller.

Watching too many things, sigh. I finished the second season of Big Little Lies, a star-studded dark drama on HBO, and the 3rd season of the nostalgic sci-fi horror series Stranger Things on Netflix. I’m still watching the deeply disturbing teen drama Euphoria on HBO and I’ve just discovered Years and Years, an anxiety-inducing dystopian drama joint produced by HBO and the BBC. I’m trying hard not to binge the last season of the prison drama Orange Is the New Black but so far it’s been so much better than the last and I expect to be done with it in days. My greatest obsession though has been the FX channel drama Pose about the underground Black and Latino LGBTQ ball culture in New York City during the 1980s.

Learning how to learn again. I could go on blaming the wedding and planning for every goal I’ve stopped pursuing in the last month but the truth is procrastination and fear have been my largest adversaries. I have been my greatest enemy. Rather than getting to down on myself or giving up, I’m deciding again and always to simply try again. I think the fact that I want to learn and that I am pursuing learning actively in life is something to be proud of and taking a break, or falling behind is better than never beginning at all. So, in August, I’m simply picking up where I left off with Modern & Contemporary American Poetry and International Women’s Health and Human Rights.

Feeling stressed and depressed. Even though the wedding is over and there is no more planning to be done or decisions to make the worry we’ve carried over the last year has been slow to fade. To make matters worse, we have other bog changes on the horizon too. After over 13 years of working together at the same location, my wife is moving on to another school district much further away. It isn’t the biggest deal in the world, but it is a change and change, no matter how small or good, has never been something I cope with very well. Besides my anxiety, I will simply miss seeing her throughout the day and getting to ride into work and back home together. I’ll miss hearing about her from other coworkers and getting to witness firsthand how amazing she is at her job.

Anticipating some time to enjoy the last of summer for a while. I spent so much time planning the wedding and worrying that I haven’t gotten a chance to enjoy myself at all this summer. I haven’t gone swimming, hiking, or camping once! I doubt I’ll get to do anything much before the school year starts and I’m back to my usual work schedule but I hope to get at least a few good trails in before the temperature begins to drop. I’m looking forward to some warm days downtown and night’s spent on bar patios with good friends. I’m looking forward to the sun, green trees and flowers, and freedom for at least a month more.

Reflecting on my relationship. My wife and I might have only just gotten married, but we have been together for quite a long time already. In August we will be celebrating our 17th year together and embarking on a life where we have been together for more years than we weren’t. I will have spent most of my life with the same person and I’ve been wondering about what it means to two people to grow as close as we have. Where do I end and we begin? Are all parts of me known to her, and her to me? Who would I be without her? How much of me is me and how much has simply molded to her? Does it matter?

Fearing driving, though less and less all the time. Since my wife and I are splitting up professionally we won’t be riding in together anymore which means I can’t rely on her anymore when I’m struggling with my driving anxiety. I’m afraid but this is honestly probably the best thing for me. I shouldn’t rely on her so much and I should be stronger, but I know I won’t be until I have to be. That is how anxiety, fears, and phobias work. It takes more than hard will. It takes having no other choice. It takes your life coming to a standstill, or the threat of life falling apart. It takes living with your fear becoming worse than the fear itself. I have to work and I cannot let my wife down. Not working and disappointing her by not working are worse prospects than my any outcomes my fear of driving has put into my head and so it’s time to face it. 

Hating the current Democratic party presidential candidate pool. I don’t mean that I hate the candidates themselves. I have quite a few favorites, candidates whose viewpoints and priorities align well with my own, but the field is far too crowded and the interparty attacks are starting to ramp up and, in my opinion, damage our mission and chances. We’re beginning to pull each other down. We’re beginning to sound like Republicans. More than that, I want the field to thin out to give each qualified and truly potential candidate space and time to reach the American people. The problems we are addressing and the solutions being proposed are complex and I hate that the details never reach the American people. 

Loving the current Democratic party presidential candidate pool. I know what I just said and I stand by it but I can’t help being a little proud of my party for dreaming big. The field might be crowded but only because so many people want to do the work to make this country a better place for people to live. It feels good to see people debate how to help the vulnerable, the downtrodden, the underprivileged, the forgotten, and those this country has exploited. It feels good to hear so many people give voice to the pain that so many of us experience every day. I feel very fortunate to be alive when I am to witness such political courage and love. 

Needing help. I’ve been working on recognizing my patterns and I have seen the good and a lot of the bad I do naturally and the ways I react both positively and negatively to the world around me. I can see where I am failing myself, but I recognize patterns is only the first step to correction and the next stepu201—building new habits, getting rid of what hurts, what distracts, and what holds you back, and find what works, what you need, and what you love—takes more than what we are made of alone, especially in a world where we have so much freedom, choice, information, and entertainment at our fingertips. I’m working on solutions to procrastination and building good habits. I need strategies, apps, and hard truths. I need more than what I can give myself.

Hoping that the coming school year runs more smoothly than the last despite all indications it will actually run worse. I hope we get these open positions filled, and that moral goes up and stress levels come down so that we can get back to focusing on what really matters, the kids! I may complain about my job a lot but it’s only ever the other adults who frustrate me. The kids give me purpose and joy and they all deserve the best version of ourselves we can be. I’ll be the first to admit that I have not always given my best. I’ll be the first to admit that the grownup world sometimes sees into the world I try to make for my students and I struggle to give them back what they give me. I want to do better this year, and I hope that the people who are supposed to help me give my best to the kids get back to giving their best to me.

So, yeah, all in all, July was an absolutely beautiful month! I don’t care how hard it was, how stressful it was, or how much I had to sacrifice. It was all worth it to stand up in front of my closest loved ones, say my vows, and then celebrate my love. I realized one of my greatest dreams this July. I will never forget it and it will be a long time before I achieve or experience anything that will top it.

But what about you? How is the summer treating you so far? Have you taken any trips, gotten any camping, hiking, or road trips in? Have you made or realized any grand plans of your own? Have you found yourself distracted and doubting? How have you managed to pick up the pieces and move forward?

Let me know in the comments.

“[JULY IS OVER AND THERE’S VERY LITTLE TRACE]”

— Frank O’Hara

The inspiration for these posts comes from Andrea at Create.Share.Love

Photo by Kassidy Sherburne on Unsplash