#this is once again me speaking into the void as i see a couple of people say shit on twitter but i dont wanna argue on there

[pseudophan]

i enjoy sneaky short clips and pics of the show as much as anyone else but people saying they're gonna film and post the whole thing... look i understand wanting to share it with people who can't go but at a certain point you are just being disrespectful. not filming in a theatre is a very standard rule, it's not even dan and phil's own invention, like sorry you're not at a concert. everyone's been lucky so far that no clips have been copyright struck like ii and tatinof ones were but if people start posting long ass clips of it they Will start taking them down and then congratulations you've ruined the fun for everyone because you think you're above following basic instructions. not to mention if you do get caught it's disruptive and annoying for everyone around you. just. come on.

also, some venue security will be stricter than the one in antwerp for sure. people got away with a lot there but that's not to say everyone will. is it really worth risking getting thrown out

and again like i'm not trying to be the anti fun police i think some very short very sneaky clips here and there aren't a huge issue but there's a limit to what they're gonna let pass

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister) Part 3 (Azriel's Version)

Part One , Part 2

AN: "Majesty, Palo is exhausted. Because Majesty only Palo can take this (angst) and this (groveling) and give you...a masterpiece."

No fr guys I put my whole puss into this plz tell me if you liked it

check out my masterlist

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right? 

Warnings: angst, fluff like so much fluff, no editing (I'm so tired omg)

Word count: 9,370

We arrived in the house in silence, the only thing to fill the void was the crackling of the enchanted fire that always sprang to life whenever I walked through the door. My eyes were fixed on the floorboards, studying every grain of wood as I put together what had just happened. 

I had told Azriel about the bond, and I did it in anger. I had imagined telling him a million different ways over the past 400 years but never did imagine doing it out of spite. I was just so angry with Elain and her insufferable entitlement that had me seeing red. If anyone should act in such a manner, it should be me, I was a princess after all. 

I was furious with Elain there was no doubt about that, but the voice that kept echoing in my mind was Azriel’s. How he yelled at me. I had known him my whole life and I had never once been afraid of him, until today. 

As if he was tired of the silence, Lucien brushed his hand under my chin bringing my gaze to his, it wasn’t until then that I realized I was crying. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, brows furrowing at my tear stained cheeks. 

“Yeah,” I laughed him off, wiping the water from my face. 

“I’m sorry I interfered like that, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to speak to him or if you wanted me to kick his ass. But he seemed mad and I wouldn’t stand for him yelling at you.” Lucien apologized leaning against the back of the couch a good three feet away sensing I needed some space. 

“I suppose that I wasn’t sure what I wanted either,” I sigh leaning against the doorframe. “Thank you for stepping in. I think it was for the best.” 

“Of course, I’ll always be there for you,” Lucien nods before resuming his staredown with the floor, probably trying to make sense of everything just like I was. “Az seemed…concerned for you. I think the bond snapped for him.” 

“It did,” I say, running my hand over my chest, as if I could touch the faint glow of the bond that now sat in my chest. “It clicked the moment he saw us in the kitchen.”

“Are you happy it clicked?” he asked, once again asking all the questions I truly didn’t have an answer for, at least not yet. 

“I-I’m not sure.” I say honestly, knowing I didn’t need to hide my true feelings from Lu. “I’ve pictured him finding out a million ways, but over the last couple years I’ve kind of given up on the whole endeavor. I felt like I made it clear that I liked him, and he only met me with complaints about other women. First Mor and then Elain.” 

“Maybe he’s changed,” Lucien pointed out. 

“Even if he had it’s not because he loves me.” I murmured sadly. “You heard him in there. He only wants me because he feels entitled to me. He never once acted like he cared about me beyond being his best friend's little sister.” 

“I suppose you’re right, it’s hard to forgive 400 years of cruel behavior,” Lucien muttered, still staring at that little spot on the floor. 

I strode across the room and leaned against the couch with him. I wanted to say something, anything to break the silence. But it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room in one foul swoop. I had just let out a 400 year old secret and for the first time ever, our mates seemed to give a damn about us. I look to Lucien who is still processing everything and I recall how Elain was so upset to see her mate with another female.

“Elain…” I started, wanting to tread carefully. “She seemed pretty upset,” I said, only stating the obvious. 

Lucien chuckled, “Yeah, I think that’s the first time she’s ever called me her mate.” 

“And how do you feel about that?” I ask wanting to give him the same room to speak that he gave me. I knew if he didn’t feel like sharing he wouldn’t, Lucien was no pushover. 

“I feel strangely happy,” he says and for the first time since we got back his lip curls into a half smile. “I think that she might be willing to give me a chance.” 

My heart warms at the idea of Lucien finally getting to have a chance with his true mate, “I’m really happy for you Lu,” I smile, patting his hand that sat on the back of the couch. 

He snaps out of his trance, “that’s not to say that you’re not- you’re a wonderful woman y/n-��� he rambles. 

“Hey, HEY!” I shout getting his attention. “I’m happy for you Lucien. You deserve this,” I laugh at his attempt to not hurt my feelings. 

“Thank you y/n,” he smiles, grabbing my hands and squeezing them. 

“What do we do now though,” I sigh looking at his family ring on my finger. 

His eyes flit to the ring as well as his thumb brushes over it, “We continue on as normal, we can push back the wedding. I’m not confident in what Elain wants from me at this point and you clearly are at odds with Azriel. If things don’t work out…” he trails off thinking about hsi next words. “If things don’t work out I would still be honored to have you as my wife. I still feel like we could make eachother happy.” he says earnestly. 

I look into his eyes of russet and gold and see that he truly means every word, “Okay,” I nod my voice barely above a whisper. 

“Okay,” he agrees, keeping his voice down as well. “Shall we head to bed?” he asks. 

“We shall,” I laugh, following him up the stairs. 

That night we didn’t make love, we cuddled as normal though, but somehow even that felt wrong, now that the bond I prayed over for so long hummed within my chest.

 While the little High Lord in training was typically quite docile, he had just learned to crawl and had begun flapping his little wings, which meant trouble was becoming the new normal. Which is exactly what had happened today…

“Nyx no!” I shouted as he reached for a heavy book on one of the bookshelves, his tiny wings helping him to gain the extra inch or two of ground he needed. 

I grabbed him from underneath his shoulders and brought him into my arms, bouncing him on my hip as his eyes caught the shiny necklace I was wearing. His little hands grabbed at it and I figured it was better than a vase or another heavy book. 

“Just wait till he can actually fly,” Lucien chuckled, coming up behind me.

“That won’t be for quite a while thankfully,” I laugh, bouncing the babe up and down.

“Are you so sure about that? Cassian seems to already be giving him lessons.” he points out. 

“I don’t even want to think about a flying toddler,” I scoff and Lucien chuckles behind me. 

 He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I could feel his lips curling into a smile.“You’re going to be a great mother one day” he admitted. 

“I’ve always wanted children,” I said and a beat of silence passed until I decided to be bold. “Lu, do you think we could ever have children?” I ask, afraid to turn around and possibly see a wary look on his face.

I felt Lucien’s chuckle reverberate behind me, “Of course, I’ve always been fond of children myself,” he laughed. 

I whipped around with Nyx to search his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but he seemed happy about the idea, “Really?” I asked in disbelief. 

“Of course,” he assured me. 

“I want a million just like little Nyx here,” I smile looking at the babe in my arms. 

“Minus the wings of course,” Lucien laughs behind me and I pause. 

My entire life I had always pictured my children with wings. Small, delicate little things that I would ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ over.  I remembered seeing the Illyrian children in Windhaven growing up, I was always so happy when mothers would let me hold their babies, their wings so adorably small. I looked forward to having winged children of my own, I always pictured them scaling Azriel when they were little like Nyx, and as they got older I would watch as Az taught them to fly.

“What is it my dear?” Lucien asked, breaking me out of my trance. 

“Oh it’s nothing, it’s just that when I pictured my children I always figured they would have wings,” I say, pressing a kiss to Nyx’s temple. 

As if summoned, Azriel walked in, Rhys and Feyre in tow, signaling that their meeting was over. His eyes flitted to me, no doubt having heard what I had said. Lucien’s hand tightened on my hip.

Feyre’s eyes sparkled at the sight of her son and Rhys eyes sparkled at the sight of Feyre taking their babe from my arms. I reluctantly gave Nyx back, already missing being able to pretend he was my own. 

“He was a little angel,” I report to Feyre.

“If by angel you mean hellion,” Lucien chuckles behind me. 

“I would expect nothing less from a child raised by this family,” Rhys laughed, wrapping one arm around Feyre and brushing a hand against his son’s cherub cheeks. 

A silence rolled over the room as we all watched the little family reunite. I couldn’t help but flit my eyes to Azriel, who looked at them with a grin and a longing in his eyes. His eyes find me and I don’t dare look away. 

“Can we talk?” Azriel asked timidly, taking a step away from the doorway he leaned against. Feyre and Rhys take out of the room, no doubt feeling the change in the atmosphere.  

I searched his eyes for a hint of aggression but all I found was remorse, “Yes we may,” I say quietly.

Lucien releases his grip on my hip as I follow Azriel into Rhysand’s study and close the door behind me with a resolute click signaling that I was locked in here with him. Az takes up residence by Rhys’ desk, leaning against it like some sort of tortured man. I couldn’t help but notice he was still in his fighting leathers, his wings tucked in tight and his knuckles perched over his lips, like he was contemplating what to say. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was so beautiful. 

“I’m sorry for the way I acted last night. I yelled at you and I shouldn’t have,” he says fidgeting a bit. “Its just… it’s just that I was so pissed when I found him with his hands all over you and you just seemed so happy.” 

He sighs running a hand through his hair staring at the ground, still unable to meet my eyes. 

“I think that’s what bothered me the most,” he continues. “You seemed…happy.”

“You were upset because I was happy?” I scoff furrowing my brows at him, the fucking gall of this male. 

“No, no! Gods y/n,” he corrects me, running his hands down his face clearly upset with himself. “I think I was upset because I wasn’t the one making you happy.” he finally says and I can hear the vulnerability in his voice. 

I’m completely taken back by his words, at the fact that he admitted that he wanted to be the one to make me happy like that. The way Lucien did. It didn’t make any sense, given the fact that he never showed me in the last 400 years. 

“That’s funny coming from a male who’s been complaining to me about the females he’s been in love with for the past 400 years.” I deadpan, crossing my arms. 

“Is that how long you’ve known? 400 years?” he asked me, voice rising a bit. 

I nod, “I knew the night you danced with me on solistance in the Hewn City all those years ago,” I confess. 

“Fuck y/n,” he groans running his hands down his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because you started panting after Mor and the second you gave up on her in walked Elain!” I shouted, it was the most obvious thing ever as to why I didn’t tell him. 

“You had to know that you were first,” he says, snapping his head up to meet mine, pleading in those hazel eyes. 

I gave him a blank stare not knowing what he was talking about. 

“Please tell me you know you were the first, before Mor, before Elain, I was practically on my knees for you,” he confessed. 

Once again I’m left speechless. Could it be true? That he had wanted me before I even knew about the bond? 

I shook my head, even if it was true he was speaking in past tense. I didn’t want him to be my mate because he felt like he had to be, I wanted him to love me, truly love me. I wanted him to choose me.

“I had no idea,” I admit feeling a bit of shame. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, it’s all in the past. I’m not mad at you Azriel.” 

“Thank the cauldron,” he breathes, crossing the room to cup my face.

I place my  hands on his wrists and pull them away from me, “Az I think that you should be with Elain,” I say, stepping back from him. 

“What? No.” he shakes his head and I take another step back.

“You clearly love her and she loves you, the cauldron made a mistake by making us mates, it's as simple as that,” I say trying to hide my tears.

I loved Az, a part of me always would, but I wouldn’t be his consolation prize just because the cauldron fucked up and made me his mate instead of Elain. I couldn’t live with that. 

“No don’t say that, please don’t say that,” Az pleads, his voice softening. 

“I’m sorry Azriel but I won’t be your consolation prize,” I say before grabbing the door handle and walking out into the living room where Lucien was. 

Azriel goes to say more until he hears the hitch in my breath. There, before me, Lucien is tucking a stray hair out of Elain’s face and placing a kiss on her knuckles. A sweet gesture, one I’ve probably read about a thousand times in my romance novels. Lucien’s eyes flit to mine, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen him so happy. 

“We’re going to give it a shot,” he smiles happily, putting an arm around Elain. 

“Really?” I ask looking to Elain who smiles brightly. 

“Yeah we are,” she says smiling up at Lucien. 

“Oh I’m so happy for you two,” I cheer before engulfing them both in a hug. 

“Congrats you guys,” Azriel mutters from behind me, seemingly abandoning whatever he was going to say to me in favor of praising his friends. 

Lucien chuckles at my excitement, “Don’t get too excited, we’re going to have to move my stuff out of your place today, I think it’s time I move back into the townhouse,” he smiled. 

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s get started!” I cheer, grabbing his hands to winnow us away. 

In reality I wasn’t excited about the idea of moving, and much less excited about the idea of my little townhouse being empty again. But I needed to get away from Azriel. 

One week later:

After the all day affair of moving Lucien’s accumulated stuff out of my house and in the townhouse I was back to loving alone. Which at first wasn’t terrible. I was content to read my book and cook for myself when necessary. But after about a week I began to miss the food Lucien would make, or having someone to lie next to. It was a strange feeling, it felt like a breakup, but I wasn’t sad. I missed having another heartbeat in the house, not Lucien himself. 

After a week of getting my affairs in order my brother finally asked me for some help and I was thankful for the distraction. All week I had been in my own head about all that had happened, with Lu and Elain, with me and Az. I needed a break to think of something else. 

That’s how I found myself slipping on an old day court dress and getting ready to winnow to see Helion, an old friend of mine. I was leaving the house and locking the door when I ran smack into a large chest I screamed being taken off guard. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” a familiar voice apologized, I turn to find Azriel standing before me. 

“It’s okay, I should’ve been paying more attention,” I chuckle awkwardly. I hadn’t heard from the spymaster in a week, why would he come to talk to me now?    

Azriel’s eyes furrow from where they tower over me, “Why are you dressed for the Day Court?” he inquires. 

“Oh well,” I look down at the swaths of white fabric that cascaded down my body, suddenly feeling a bit exposed from off the shoulder dress. “Rhys wants me to go and schmooze Helion a little bit. Something about wanting to get him to agree to better trade deals.” I laugh remembering how my brother agonized over it the other day. 

“So he wants you to go and flirt with Helion?” Az cocks an eyebrow at me. 

“Well Helion and I go way back, and he’s always been…well keen on me.” I say honestly and I watch as Az bristles just a bit. I can’t even count the number of times the High Lord as tired to get Cassian and I in his bed

“I’ll give Rhys one thing he sure is ruthless,” Azriel chuckles trying to play off his nerves. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask, still wondering why he’s here, at my doorstep. 

“Oh uh, no,” Azriel stutters. “Well actually I was walking by and I saw this and I thought of you.” he says pulling out a white rose. It looked like he had plucked it right off the bush down the street. “I thought you should have it.” he finished. 

I take the rose from his hand and notice that the thorns have all been cut off. I eye Truth Teller strapped at his side and the lingering thorn that was still stuck on its sharp blade. 

“That was very thoughtful of you Az thank you,” I tell him sweetly, taken back by his gesture. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, seemingly relaxing at my acceptance of his gift. 

I check my watch, “Well I really do have to go, Helion is waiting for me,” I wince moving past him on the stairs so I can get past the words my brother has on my place. 

“Yes of course,” Az says following me down the steps and out the wrought iron fence. “Do you need a ride?” 

“I’m okay, I can winnow,” I chuckle, closing the gate behind me. 

“Well I guess I’ll see you later then,” Azriel voices with a hint of a sigh. 

“Yeah I’m sure you will,” I reply before winnowing into Helion’s mansion. 

How could Az be so calm about all this? It was like he was trying to force himself to have feelings for me, figuring he better learn to love me now that he’s shackled to me for eternity. Part of me wondered if Rhys had given him a firm talking to and convinced him to attempt to like me.

“There she is,” Helion mused from the top of the stairs coming down the stairs dressed in his usual attire. Part of me hated that I found him attractive, in another life, if he wasn’t so promiscuous, I might’ve seen myself standing by his side. 

“Helion,” I smile, pulling him in for a hug. 

When we pull away his hands linger at my waist and his eyes look at the rose in my hand. “What’s this?” he asks plucking the rose from my hand. 

I think about the encounter with Azriel, how forced it all felt.

“It’s nothing,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. 

Helion tosses the flower aside before throwing his arm over my shoulder and leading me inside, “So, your brother has sent you to convince me to agree to his new trade agreements.” he smirks.

“He’s done nothing of the sort, I came to visit an old friend of my own accord,” I tease, knowing Helion isn’t as daft as Rhys makes him out to be. 

“We’ll see about that new treaty after some wine, and tell your brother that next time he wants to use you against me as leverage he should just send you naked,” Helion chuckles. 

I erupt in laughter, slapping his arm as he leads us to a white couch with a bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table. 

Three days later after successfully getting Helion to agree to a new trade treaty I found myself sitting in my living room with a glass of wine enjoying the fruits of my labors. As soon as I told Rhys about the High Lord of Day’s cooperation he sent me one of his finest bottles of wine as a thank you. Not that I required any thanks, I enjoyed spending time with Helion. 

My silence was interrupted by my door opening and closing. I just about jumped out of my skin, the only one who had the key to the place was Lucien and he had given it back a long time ago. My heart pounded as I stood from the couch in my nightgown and robe. I had turned in for the night and certainly wasn’t expecting visitors. I lift my romance novel over my head and step around he couch ready to swing when I see Azriel locking the door behind him quietly. 

“Azriel you scared the hell out of me,” I sigh, lowering the book. 

He turns from the door looking me up and down taking in my casual attire hungrily. “I’m sorry I guess I’m just used to walking right in, I wanted to give you these,” he says holding out a large bouquet of white roses, exactly like the kind he gave me the other day.”

“Thank you Az, they’re beautiful,” I say wearily, taking them from his scarred hands. “I’ll uh- I’ll just put them in water,” I tell him, padding into the kitchen to grab a vase and fill it. 

“I thought since you liked the other one I gave you that you might like those ones too,” he says walking into the kitchen and leaning in my doorway. 

I place the two dozen roses in a vase,“Well I appreciate them, it’s been a while since I’ve had fresh flowers in the house,” I divulge to him, remembering how Lucien used to bring them home all the time. He would always ask for Elain to make him a bouquet, his little way of speaking to her in a way that didn’t make her uncomfortable. The thought had me thinking of how Lucien and Elain were probably sitting at a nice dinner right now, had me questioning why the fuck Azriel was here. 

A silence fills the room as Azriel sits admiring either me or the flowers, from where I’m standing it could be either or. I walk around the kitchen island to test the theory and sure enough his eyes follow me as I lean my back against the side closer to him.  A wave of embarrassment slips over me. Did Rhys ask him to bring more flowers again? Was I really that pathetic? 

“Az why are you doing this?” I ask, gesturing to the flowers behind me. 

Azriel straightens taking a tentative step towards me, “Because I want what Elain and Lucien have. I want you to give me a chance to be a good mate,” he says softly. 

I look to the wooden floors below me, my bare feet messing with a loose floorboard, “You don’t have to do this Azriel. If Rhys sent you I’ll just cover for you and say you came.” I say not daring to look at him. 

“I’m not here because of Rhys, I’m here because I want to see you,” he implored and I heard his feet shuffle closer. 

“I’m still not your consolation prize just because Lucien and Elain are doing well. I won’t do that to myself,” I say, continuing to mess with the loose floorboard. 

“You’re not my consolation prize y/n, you’re my mate.” Azriel states, his voice becoming more urgent causing me to tighten my arms around myself ever so slightly. 

His boots come into my line of sight and suddenly he’s titling my chin up to meet his pleading gaze. I’m suddenly all too aware of how underdressed I was. There was a time when I would’ve killed for this. But now? I won’t let myself be hurt again.

“Y/n please-” 

“Azriel I’m at peace,” I snap, cutting him off and looking down at our feet once again even though his hand still rested under my chin. “For the first time in 400 years I’m at peace. I have loved, and pined, and thrown myself at your feet for 400 years, and I am finally happy in my exile. So forgive me if I’m hesitant to give that up so quickly because you all of the sudden want a mate.” I bit out.

His shadows dance around my hands and I move my fingers out of their grasp, like their cold kiss was burning me.I wait for him to say something back, for him to breathe wrong, yell at me or leave but he doesn’t move. I let my eyes flit up to his, and I find him staring down at me, like he’s been waiting for me to look at him this whole time. 

“I’m not going to give up,” he states, if he was sad or upset by my previous words he doesn’t show it. 

I sigh, tossing my head back, “Az please,” I beg. 

“No I’m serious, I’m not giving up on you, on us,” he maintained steadfastly, his hands not leaving my cheek as he steps even closer to me and my back hits the cool granite behind me. 

“Azriel I think you should go,” I grit out, the second my body stiffens under his he steps back giving me my space. 

“Alright I’ll go,” he says, taking a step back.

I follow him to the door and hold it open as he steps out into the cool night air that has me wrapping my silk robe around me tighter, as if it was helping anything anyways. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he assures me before shooting off into the sky. 

“I really wish you wouldn’t!” I shout into the air after him before slamming the door and locking it. 

I take a deep breath once I’m seated on my couch again, trying to salvage any sort of peace I might still have. But that tranquility was disappearing in my hands the more I chased it. 

The following day I head to Rhys’ house to talk over the new adjustments in the Day Court trade agreements. It was supposed to be easy enough, but as things got more and more complex it ended up being an all day thing. By the time I walked up the steps to my own townhouse I was exhausted and starving. I wasn’t looking forward to bread for dinner as I had no time to go to the market today. 

I kicked open the door and locked it behind me, the smell of fresh tomatoes and basil wafted through the air causing me to pause in my tracks. Was Lucien here? Had him and Elain gotten in a fight or something?

“Ah shit!” I heard a male cuss followed by the searing of liquid on a burner. 

I curiously walk around the corner of the kitchen where I’m greeted with the sight of Azriel, standing in my apron, reading my cookbook and stirring some sort of sauce. His shadows were helping him turn the pages of the book. I see the spilled sauce on the burner that was the cause of his profanity just moments ago. 

“There you are,” he smirked, his eyes flitting up to mine before reading the book again. 

“Az what are you doing here?” I ask, setting my bag down on the table. 

“Making you dinner,” he said, gesturing to the numerous used pans and utensils lying around my once clean kitchen. 

I walk over to inspect what he’s cooking. Fresh herb crusted chicken cooks in the pan next to him while he stirs a red sauce. In the sink is cooked pasta sitting next to freshly sauteed green beans. I inhale the smell of the food deeply and I can’t help but feel myself salivate a little, it smells delicious. 

“You always dog ear the recipes you want to try but you never make them for fear of not liking them,” he says nonchalantly as he prods at the chicken. 

I look down at the cookbook he’s reading, sure enough the recipe he’s making has a bent corner. I had been itching to try it but had never found the time. 

“If you end up not liking it there’s take out from Rita’s in the ice box,” he said using the spoon to point to the ice box in the corner of the room.

I look up to fully inspect him. This all feels like a ridiculous practical joke. If someone had told me that my spymaster would be cooking me dinner I would’ve laughed in their face. Upon further inspection I realize he’s shirtless, save for my apron he’s wearing. 

“Was the half nudity necessary?” I cock an eyebrow leaning against the counter. 

Azriel barked out a laugh, “It took me a while to find the apron, I had gotten tomato juice on my shirt when I started chopping them up for the sauce so I took it off and washed it,” he explained the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. “Plus I figured the whole shirtless bit might win me more brownie points with you.” 

I rolled my eyes at his cockiness, I didn’t dare let him know how right he was. 

He laughed at my reaction, “Why don’t you go sit down, dinner’s almost ready.” he said gesturing to the couch. 

I shrugged my shoulders and padded my way over to my favorite reading spot. The one he found me in yesterday. I plop down on the velvet sofa and there in front of me on the coffee table, my book has been left open to the place I bookmarked and a glass of wine sits for me. I raise an eyebrow but decide to just roll with it, I pick up the book and sip on the wine, becoming engrossed with the story.

A few minutes later I feel the cold begin to bite at my toes. I look around for a blanket and see that the nearest one is across the room. I curse at the idea of having to move, but before I can even set my book down one of Azriel’s shadows is scurrying across the room to retrieve the knitted blanket for me. The wisp of darkness arranges the blanket neatly over my legs, tucking me in like a mother would her child.  I can’t help but laugh at the care the little thing is putting into the job. 

Azriel’s shadows looking out for me was nothing new, the second the bond clicked for me they tended to stay near me. Picking up pens and silverware I dropped on the floor and always twirling around my hair and wrists. There were even times they would try to drag Az near me, like on starfall and solstice, nights I looked especially beautiful. But he would always curse and wave them off until they left him alone. 

The little shadow perched itself on my shoulder as if it too wanted to read my book. I could sense it was trying to anticipate any other small need I might have. 

“You know he might be insufferable but you guys are pretty great,” I laugh looking at the curious being. 

In response the shadow boops itself on my nose as if it was giving me a kiss. 

“Don’t tell them that or they’ll get a big head,” Azriel murmurs behind me where he’s leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, still shirtless and wearing that damned apron.

“In that case I’ll be sure to praise them more often, they’re little angels,” I smile as the tendril of darkness dances around my collar. 

Azriel lets out a small chuckle behind me, “Dinner is ready,” he tells me before disappearing into the kitchen once more. 

I follow him as the small shadow frantically pulls at my wrist towards the table, as if it’s eager for me to see what it helped its master cook. When I walk into the darkened kitchen and find that Az has set the table not only with our dinner but with candles and another bouquet. This time it’s an arrangement of jasmine, no doubt from the florist down the street. 

I sit down and inhale the heavenly scent of the white flowers and hum in delight. Azriel comes in with a bottle of wine and two glasses, pouring us each a bit. He sees me admiring the flowers and smiles. 

“Jasmine, like your perfume,” he says, putting down the bottle and taking his seat next to me. 

I smile and look down at the plate before me. It looks delicious, the pasta is fragrant with basil, the chicken is cooked to perfection and the green beans are vibrant and green. I lift my fork and dig into the past first. The moment it hits my tongue the flavor melts in my mouth, rich, bold and oh so savory. I let out a moan as my eyes flit to Azriel who is watching me expectantly wondering if I’m going to like it or not. 

“This is incredible,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand so he doesn’t see me chewing. 

“Thank the cauldron I thought I put too much red pepper in,” he breathes out, seemingly relaxing before digging into his own plate. 

“No it’s perfect, thank you really,” I say earnestly. 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, taking a bite of chicken.

We sit and eat our meals in silence simply enjoying the good food. A little shadow flitted up in front of my face to gauge my reaction to the bite of chicken I was chewing. I couldn’t help but laugh as it shifted like it was cocking its head at me. 

“Yes it’s very good, you did a wonderful job,” I laugh at the little fella. 

My giggle brings Azriel’s attention to me once again and before I know it he’s waving his hand at the little tendril like he’s swatting a fly. 

“Hey go away let her eat for the love of god,” he chastises as the shadow slinks back behind him. 

“Don’t worry it wasn’t bothering me,” I laugh taking another bite of green beans. 

“Yeah well they haven’t been listening lately,” he says looking back at the little shadow that had slinked behind his shoulder like a reprimanded child. 

I shake my head at the two of them interacting and take another sip of wine. To be honest I wasn;t really sure what to say to Azriel. Despite his valiant efforts to win me I still wasn’t ready to abandon the peace I had grown so fond of. 

“You know it’s funny,” he tells me, playing with the food on his plate. “I feel like my shadows have always liked you. It was like they knew before I did,” he laughed nervously at his confession. 

“Maybe so,” I shrug, not wanting to broach the subject, the friendlier we could make this the better.

“I can remember times when they would drag me into any room that had you in it. Most of the time I control them, but when it comes to you? They control me.” he laughs while taking a sip of his wine. 

“Thank you again for dinner,” I say, forcibly changing the topic of conversation. “It’s been a while since I had a home cooked meal. I think the local restaurants have my to-go orders memorized now.” I laugh. 

“Lucein used to cook for you didn’t he?” Azriel asks, and I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my head as I play with the pasta on my plate. 

“Yeah he did, he was a surprisingly good cook too,” I say, recalling the traditional Autumn Court meals he would cook all the time. They were mostly for him, for when he was feeling nostalgic, but he always left some for me as well. 

Azriel sits for a moment as if debating whether or not to say something for a moment. “Did you love him?” he asks. 

My fork clatters to the plate at the abrupt question and I’ve never felt so put on the spot. It was never something I had thought about in regards to the autumn court male. Love seemed like an emotion  that would be reserved for Azriel and Azriel alone, until one day it wasn’t. I didn’t love Lucien, but I certainly stopped loving Az in that way, or at least I think I did.

“No I didn’t” I say honestly turning to meet the shadowsingers gaze. “Lucien and I… it was never like that. We both knew what we needed for each other, it started as just sex. But then he would stay the night, and then we started going to breakfast. His shirts started showing up in the laundry hamper, his books on the coffee table. Eventually I just gave him a key, it seemed like the logical thing to do. We didn’t even label our relationship until he asked me to marry him.” 

“I wasn’t sure,” Azriel said, going back to shyly staring down at the table. “I overheard your conversation that one day. When you asked him about the possibility of having children. You said that you always pictured your children having wings, was that true?” he inquired. 

I nod shallowly, unable to trust my own words in such a raw moment. 

If Az had any other questions he didn’t ask them or press me to talk about the two of us, it was as if he was happy with the answers I did give him. He was perfectly content to let me finish eating my meal in comfortable silence. When I was finished he cleared the table and didn’t let me lift a finger to help clean. Instead those pesky shadows cornered me into reading my book once more. 

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he came in, dressed in his shirt once more to bid me goodnight. He insisted that I stay in my comfortable spot by the couch as he walked himself out locking the door behind him. As the comfortable silence, which I had grown so used to, ensued, I found myself silently wishing he had stayed just a little longer.

The following weeks were spent with little visits from shadows and shadowsingers. Sometimes it would be Azriel showing up at my door with coffee or gifts. Other times, when Rhys had Azriel on missions he would find ways to leave things at my doorstep. The first time it was another bouquet of flowers and then chocolates. 

My favorite gift from Azriel had been the books. The first set he got me was the second and third book in my series. They appeared at my door the morning after he made me dinner with a note that read…

I noticed that you were almost done with your book last night so I went out to get you the second book. I noticed it was a short book so I got you the third in case you finished it in one day like you no doubt will. 

-Azriel

Of course he was right and I finished the second book by the end of the day. When I opened the third, and much longer book, to begin reading it a bookmark fell out and another note. 

I figured you might need a bookmark for this one.

-Azriel

He was right about that as well. 

The next book to be delivered was a classic romance with certain pages, and quotes underlined. His notes scribbled in the margins. Clearly he had taken the time to read the novel himself. When I saw the first annotation I expected his further notes to be corny or cheesy, but each one was well thought out. 

The most recent literally delivery was a small and short book about different types of flowers. Between each of the pages sat a live flower that corresponded with the page. It was possibly the most vibrant and beautiful bouquet I had ever seen and by far my favorite floral gift I had received. 

This week though things had been different. As the colder months were drifting in I started spending more time inside, reading by the fire. But not once had Azriel stopped by. Not a present, not a note to be found. When I subtly asked Rhys were the shadowsinger was he told me he was in the isle of Hybern. 

A week had come and gone without so much as a tendril of a shadow to be seen. I sat infront of my roaring fire with a book in hand trying to escape the bitter cold. Outside the first snowfall of the year had taken the form of a blizzard. I pitied the shopkeepers that would have to walk home in it. 

Around midnight I heard the scraping of metal against stone from outside my house. I jumped out of my skin and quickly looked at the clock noting the late hour. I set down my novel to wrap myself in a blanket and pad over to the front door. I could already hear the winds outside and feel the cold air seeping in through the cracks in the door. 

I open the door to investigate the strange sound and I nearly gasp when I find Azriel outside my house shoveling my walkway with a small shovel from my garden. One meant for digging out plants and trees, not snow. 

“Az what are you doing?” I ask, making the spymaster jump a bit. 

“I’m shoveling your walkway. I didn’t want you to slip tomorrow morning or hurt your back trying to shovel it yourself,” he said, digging into the snow again with the little metal shovel. 

“Oh Az you don’t have to do that,” I coo walking out into the cold pulling my blanket tighter. 

“I don’t have to but I want to,” he said shoveling more snow. “It wouldn’t take so long if I had a bigger shovel.” he grunts, frustrated.

“Well why didn’t you take Rhys’ shovel?” I laughed watching as the overgrown Illyrain tried to mangle the tiny thing. 

“Well I just got back from Hybern, I saw it had snowed and I came here first.” he explained and my heart swelled. He had come to my place first before he even went home. “I figured if I didn’t do it you would fall and break your head open.” 

“Azriel, really you don’t have to do this, I can handle it,” I plead with him feeling bad that he’s subjected himself to the weather. 

He stops his shoveling and turns to look at me, “y/n I want to do this. Don’t worry about it.” he says before looking me up in down seeing that I’m in nothing but a short nightgown and a blanket. “Now go inside before you catch a cold.” 

“Me? What about you?” I laugh looking around at the snow falling around us. 

“I’m Illyrian the snow doesn’t bother me,” he retorts and I can tell that he’s lying by the pink in his cheeks from the cold.

“Well I’m half Illyrian,” I counter, swinging back and forth on my heels. 

“Then I’m sure half of you is really cold,” he rebuttals. “Now go back inside and get warm before I carry you inside myself.” he smirks before shoveling up another heap of snow. 

I just shake my head and retreat to the warm fireplace awaiting me. 

I waltz into the House of Wind  where the Solstice party is in full swing. Lords from neighboring courts are chatting and drinking all around and from the corner of the room I can hear Cassian’s booming laugher as he doubles over at something Helion has said. 

Like almost every solstice party I arrive fashionably late. I truly never mean to be the last to arrive, but it feels like the whole guest list decides to arrive early just to spite me. I make my way around the area where couples and children are dancing to a small quartet and head toward the bar. My dress billows behind me like liquid starlight. Just like every solstice party before this one, I will get by with copious amounts of wine. 

I lean against the bar and watch as Elain and Lucien laugh and giggle across the room. I smile as Elain pops a pastry into Lu’s mouth and I can’t help but feel a warmness in my chest at the two of them. Lucien was finally happy with his mate, and if there was ever someone who deserved such happiness it was him. 

My thoughts are interrupted by a shadowy friend making its presence known. Flying up by my face to say hello and then rushing behind me as if it was called. I turn to see Azriel dressed immaculately staring at me. His eyes flit up and down my body taking in every detail of me.

“You look…” He trails off, shaking his head, as if the words he was going to say wouldn’t be the right ones. “There are no words. Even the poets would get it wrong.”

I can’t help but blush at his choice of words, taking a step toward him as the shadows behind me are pushing me to do so. 

“You clean up pretty good yourself, spymaster,” I chuckle giving him a once over.

He blushes and then speaks again, “I mean it, you look beautiful tonight y/n.” 

I blush again and turn my head to avoid his gaze, like that shade of hazel might burn me from the inside out if I look too long.

“You must allow me to dance with you,” he says, taking both our drinks and placing them on the bar. “Not having you out on that dance floor would be a disservice to everyone here.”

I laugh taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead me to the dancefloor, “Alright Az you’ve convinced me, but only because I know you won’t step on my feet,” 

We fall into a comfortable motion, swaying back and forth to the slow tempoed song the quartet is playing. The couples around us filter around us, some lost in deep conversation, some embraced closely swaying to the song. I keep my eyes on them, knowing that Azriel’s gaze is on me. 

Memories of a solstice much like this one float through my mind. The way my feet ached before Azriel saved me, sweeping me up into a dance. The way the bond felt when it snapped into place for me. I had pulled on it so desperately hoping he might feel it too. I thought of all the years of agony that followed that night. Watching Az fall for Mor and later on Elain. Hearing my brother and Cassian talking about Azriel’s exploits in bedding local women. All of it tore me apart and it took over 200 years to rebuild the part of me that I had lost. I wondered if I would ever be whole like that again. 

I hear Elain and Lucien’s laughter once more, the sound breaking me from my thoughts as Azriel and I continue to sway to the music. 

“They make a great couple,” Azriel’s deep voice rumbles through me. 

I smile watching Lucine place a kiss to his mates lips, “They really do,” I say with a lightness to my voice. 

“Do you think we’ll ever be like that?” He asks tentatively and my world comes crashing down. 

“Az,” I say and his face falls at the dismissal in my tone. 

“Why not y/n? Why can’t we have a shot like they can?” Azriel says starting to get upset.

As if on queue the song that the quartet is playing ends and I hear the musicians flipping through their sheet music to find the next song. I pull my hands out of Azriel’s and take a few steps back.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” I say calmly, trying not to let the damn of tears break. I swiftly move past him towards the door. 

“Y/n wait!” I hear him call out behind me but I’m already out the door, my tears falling down my face as I make my way back to that empty townhouse in the middle of the city. 

The rain outside my house slams into the window violently. Spring has come early in Velaris and I wasn’t exactly upset about it. At least I wasn’t until this torrential downpour blew into town. I hadn’t seen rain like this in the Night Court for at least a hundred years now.

It’s been weeks since solstice and it seems that Azriel has finally taken the hint and left me alone. I hadn’t heard a peep from him since that dance. Not a flower, chocolate or shadow to be seen and while I should be happy about it I had never been sadder. After all the walls I put up trying to keep my peace it seemed that he had succeeded in breaking them down again. 

I sat by the fire staring down at the dancing flames, no book, not even a glass of wine or tea. Just me and my all consuming thoughts. Each one of them led back to hazel eyes and blue siphons. 

I jump at the sound of a fist pounding on my door. Pulling my sweater tighter to cover up my nightgown I walk over to investigate who would have the guts to stand out in this monsoon at this hour. When I open the door I find Azriel bracing his arms against the doorframe, out of breath like he ran here. His hair soaking wet and sticking to his brow as the rain pelted him. 

“Az?” I shout over the sound of rain. 

“I can’t go on like this any longer y/n, I won’t do it!” he shouts over the storm. 

“Az it’s pouring what are you-” 

“I love you y/n!” he shouts stopping me mid sentence. “From the moment I met you I knew. I wanted so badly to put my hands around your waist and kiss you. And if you’re wondering why that seems like such an adolescent dream it’s because that’s what we both were. I was 117 years old and  you were 115 and that’s all I wanted. I knew little of love, even less of lust. All I knew was that I wanted to kiss you,” he hollers over the sound of rain wiping the water from his eyes.

“I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve hurt you, but I swear to you I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, because I love you. And I don’t care that you don’t love me too, because I love you y/n. I choose to love you!” he finishes and I can’t tell if it's rain falling from his eyes or tears that match my own. 

I choose to love you.

I take a shaky breath and take in the sheer desperation on his face, “I love you too Azriel,” I laugh feeling another tear slip down my cheek. 

He doesn’t waste a moment, stepping through my threshold and cupping my cheek to place a searing kiss on my lips. I melt into him, feeling his clothes soaking my own as my nightgown clings to my skin. His hands are on my waist, scarred and cold from the elements but still so intoxicating. My arms wrap around him pulling him further into the entryway. I hear him slam the door shut with his boot drowning out the sound of rain leaving only the music of our ragged breaths as he kisses me deeper. 

He pulls away to press his forehead to mine, his wet hair and skin causing drops of water to cascade down my own face. 

“I love you so much,” he breathes cupping my cheek to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “My mate.”

I pull him in deeper at the utterance of those two little words. I had waited 400 years for this male to kiss me, and this kiss right here? Well it made everything all the more worth it. 

Epilogue: 5 years later

I stand outside on the lawn of the townhouse. My arms clutching around the sweater I’m wearing as the fresh spring air blows over my skin. My hands drift lower to the small bump of my stomach. 

I was only a few months pregnant and barely starting to show. Elain had told me that it would be a girl claiming she had seen it in a vision. I couldn’t have been more excited for Azriel to be a girl dad. 

“You’re doing it son!” I hear my mate call from the sky where he teaches our son to fly. 

“Dad, I'm flying!” the onyx haired child shouted as he flapped his wings to pick up some speed.

At first I was apprehensive of him learning to fly so early, even though it had always been a dream of mine to watch my children learn to fly. But Azriel had assured me that the youngster was more than ready, and after a few weeks of lessons here he was taking to the air like a natural. 

I look around at the townhouse behind me. It had seen some significant changes since the night Azriel stood in the rain and told me he loved me. The front yard was littered with toy swords and shields, and the outside had a fresh coat of paint. The inside had a room addition, a room for our son, Kai, and now we're adding another room for our daughter. All paid for by Rhys of course who was more than happy to give his nephew and niece everything under the sun.

My thoughts are interrupted by Azriel slamming into the ground before me. I turn to see him walking over to me with a smile on his face. 

“Az shouldn’t you be up there with him?!” I fuss looking to where our son swoops and dives through the air. 

Azriel laughs and picks me up bridal style, pressing a kiss to my lips. 

“It didn’t feel right being up there without my girls,” he smiled nodding to my bump. 

Without warning he took off into the sky meeting Kai up there. We must’ve spent hours flying around the city, stopping by every uncle and aunt's house to show them Kai’s new skill. Everything was perfect, and for the first time in my whole life, I finally knew peace.

(Do you guys want a smutty bonus chapter of what they did after he confessed his love???)

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[pedrospatch]

when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home

Javier Peña x DEA Agent Female Reader

summary: Spending Christmas in Bogotá, Colombia isn’t ideal. Javier knows you’re missing home a little harder than usual, so he comes up with a plan to cheer you up.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. minor deviation from canon timeline (had to make it work), reader is an agent for the DEA, NO AGE SPECIED, NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, reader understands and speaks spanish but no mention of her race or ethnicity, friends to lovers trope, reader celebrates christmas, reader has a good relationship with her family, minor smoking and alcohol consumption (both reader and javi), reader’s a bit rough around the edges sometimes. fluff, soft javi, he’s a bit of a grinch in the beginning though. switches in pov’s and tenses.

*ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS AT THE END.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to @hellishjoel for inviting me to join in on this fun project!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Javier Peña doesn’t do Christmas.

He especially doesn’t do Christmas in Bogotá.

He doesn’t see the point even acknowledging it.

There are more important things on his mind.

Capturing Pablo Escobar.

Dismantling the dangerous Medellín Cartel.

Living long enough to tell the fucking tale.

Those were his priorities while in Colombia.

Not decking the halls with boughs of holly.

And yet, there he is, fighting with a string of bright and colorful lights, wishing these damn things would put themselves on the tree. “Puta madre,” Javi curses underneath his breath as he tries untangling them from around his waist. Somehow, he only makes it worse. He grumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous—it shouldn’t be this fucking hard throwing lights on a goddamn fucking tree—” He pauses, spins around to find where he’d gone wrong and then continues grouching to himself. “Can’t believe people do this fucking shit for fun. Stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

Javi manages to free himself and glances down at his watch to see he’s running out of time—it’s past five now, and unless Messina’s in one of those bad fucking moods of hers and decides to dump some last minute paperwork onto your desk, then you’re going to be walking through the front door soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh.

He’d been an idiot to decline Connie’s offer to help him when she had dropped off the decorations for him earlier that afternoon.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” she had asked as she handed him the cardboard box overflowing with festive ornaments and tinsel. “I have a couple of more hours before I have to be at the clinic, you know. I can help you set it all up for her, make it all nice and pretty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled,” he’d replied. “I’m sure it won’t take me too long to put some—is this fucking fruit?” Confused, Javi shifted the box over to his hip, pulling out a string of dried oranges and red cranberries. “Um, what the hell is this for? This supposed to be a snack for me while I decorate?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a homemade garland.”

“It’s a homemade what now?”

“Garland, Javier. It goes on the tree.”

Amused, he’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fruit going back onto the tree? That’s ironic.”

Sighing, Connie rolled her eyes at him once more.

“Last chance. Do you want my help or not, Javi?”

“I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ve got it handled.”

She’d shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself, then.”

Little did he know how he’d regret his decision. It’s a bigger headache than he thought it would be, an incredible waste of valuable time he could’ve been using to hunt down new leads, do the job he came here to do and find Pablo Escobar. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more Javi realizes this isn’t a waste of his time at all—not really.

Because he’s doing this for you.

Because he knows you love Christmas.

Because he knows you’ve been feeling homesick.

The season you normally adored was bringing you nothing but heartache this year. There is a void—a hole in your heart that only your family could fill.

“Messina denied my request for time off,” you had told him, taking a drag of his cigarette—you’re not much of a smoker, but he’d learned that tended to change on occasion when you were upset. “Said it isn’t fair to let me go home for Christmas. That I’m not the only one who wants to be with their family. And I get it. I do.” Sighing, you took a second drag and then handed the cigarette back to Javier; he’d put it between his lips, the taste of cherry flavored lip gloss that lingered on the filtered tip prompting a craving stronger than his craving for nicotine. “It was selfish of me to even think of taking time off. I just—I miss spending Christmas in my hometown, you know? Waking up to snow outside my window in the mornings. Building snowmen with my sister, hurling snowballs at my brother. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my father and how even at our age, he still insists on pretending to be Santa.”

Laughing, Javier leaned forward on his stool.

You’d asked him to meet you at your usual spot—a quiet lounge bar right around the corner from your apartment. When he walked in and saw the scotch in front of you on the table, he’d known something was wrong. You’re not much of a drinker, either.

“Does he eat the cookies and drink the milk too?”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, a little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He tried not to let his gaze longer there too long—he’s just one man. There was only so much strength he could muster to keep fighting the temptation.

“Of course. He takes his role very, very seriously.”

Despite your smile, he’d noticed it right away.

The unmistakable sadness in your eyes.

You were tough as fucking nails.

In this line of work, you had no choice but to be.

But Javier knew your family was your weakness.

His weakness?

His weakness was sitting there in front of him with a crestfallen expression on her pretty face, tracing around the rim of her glass with her finger.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Your voice had thickened, the emotions you’re used to bottling up threatening to boil over.

“Of course not,” he assured you. “There is nothing stupid about wanting to go back home to see your family. There’s nothing stupid about wanting to be with them for the holidays. I promise you that.”

You snorted. “Peña, we’re trying to bring down the most dangerous man in all of South America. Last thing I need to be doing right now is dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s fucking stupid, alright?”

Hesitantly, Javier lifted his hand and placed it over yours—it wasn’t the first time he’d ever held it, not the first time he had shown physical affection, but this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and he didn’t want to make things worse. Once he realized it was okay, he brushed the back of it with his thumb softly, soothingly.

“Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño.”

“No hay caso para eso, Javier.”

“Maybe I can convince her to let you go. She’s got me and she’s got Murphy. We’ll handle things here while you head home for a few days, spend a week with your family for Christmas. Doesn’t hurt to try, you know.” Javi squeezed your hand. Knowing just how fucking stubborn you could be, he insisted on it. “Por favor, cielo. Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. Dejame ayudarte.”

You drained the rest of your scotch and swallowed it along with the lump that had climbed it’s way up your throat. Setting the glass back down, you then pulled your hand out from under his and stood up.

“Forget it. I’m here because I have a job to do—we both have a job to do. I’ll get over it, Javier. Always do.”

Before he could say another word, you’d picked up your jacket and purse, making a quick dash for the exit before he could see the stubborn tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and down the side of your face. But he had seen it, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to do something for you.

About an hour later, Javi places a glittering star on top of the white spruce and then takes a couple of steps back, hands on his hips. Cocking his head to the side, he observes the tree and makes sure that he hasn’t left a single spot bare. He decides to add more gold tinsel until he feels oddly satisfied—and once he is, he pulls out his pocket knife, using it to open the small sized box he had brought with him; two different addresses were scribbled on the side of it in your mother’s handwriting, his apartment’s address the destination, her address the return.

“I wrapped it well,” she’d said over the phone. “It’s her most prized possession, so I really hope it gets to you in one piece or she’s going to kill us both.”

Javier slowly unwraps the object inside and feels a wave of complete and utter relief wash over him to see it made it through customs without breaking.

He squints, taking a better look at the ornament.

The little blonde ballerina is made of porcelain and holds a nutcracker soldier in her arms—the skirt of her dress is white lace embroidered with teeny red rosettes that perfectly match the blush painted on her cheeks and the color of the bow in her hair.

“It’s Clara,” your mother had explained to him.

“Who?” he’d asked, stupidly.

“Clara. You know, from The Nutcracker?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he’d fibbed. “Clara. Got it.”

He had no clue what she had been talking about—but if it’s special to you, then it’s special to him.

Carefully, Javi hangs it on tree just as he hears the front door open and then slam shut so hard that it causes the paper thin walls of your unit to rattle.

“Peña!” you shout loudly. “You fucking asshole!”

Lip rolling between his teeth, he stifles a laugh.

You must have seen his Wrangler parked outside.

Grinning, Javier steps out into the hallway to greet you. “Hola, hermosa. Bienvenida a casa.”

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, tossing your purse and unit keys onto a nearby table. “You offer to give me ride to and from work but then proceed to ditch me and leave work three hours early—you leave me with no other fucking choice but to call a cab to bring me home and when he drops me off, I see your fucking car outside of my apartment?”

Rubbing his chin, he hums, “Sounds about right.”

You approach him, your hands curled into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Javier?”

Javi’s quick to hold up his own hands in defense.

He won’t put it past you to knock him out—he and Murphy have seen you bring down men twice your size before without a weapon. Neither of them can decide if it’s hot as hell or downright terrifying.

“Okay, put those away and let me explain,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry I did that to you, but I did it for a reason.”

You scoff, “Well, if that reason was to piss me off, I have some news for you—it fucking worked.”

“That wasn’t the reason. Not this time, anyway.”

Chuckling, Javier extends a hand, holding it out to you.

You peer at it. “What are you doing, Peña?”

“Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti.”

Suspiciously, you ask him, “What did you do?”

He laughs again. He knew it wouldn’t make it easy for him. “You do know how surprises work, right?”

You lift your chin. “I do and I don’t like surprises.”

“I know you don’t, but I think you’ll like this one.”

Javi continues to hold out his hand and waits.

He’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more.

“We can stand here all fucking night, corazón.”

Sighing in defeat, you place your hand in his, heart skipping a beat when he smiles and laces together your fingers with his own.

“Cierra tus ojos.”

“Javier, I don’t want—”

He quickly cuts you off. “Do you trust me?”

Of course. Hell, you trusted him with your life.

And not just because it’s a job requirement.

Huffing, you do as he says and close your eyes.

“Good.” Javier places his other hand on your waist and his fingers brush against the patch of smooth, soft skin peeking out from between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. Ignoring his burning desire to feel more of you, he leads the way into the living room and positions you in front of the tree. Without dropping your hand, he moves to stand directly behind you, chest pressed lightly against your back.“Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita.”

“Look Peña, I don’t know what you’re up to but—”

Your own startled gasp cuts you off mid sentence.

Squeezing your hand, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and you can feel his grin as he whispers, “Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parece?”

You open your mouth to speak, then clamp it shut.

His surprise had left you speechless.

Pleased with himself, Javi nudges you towards the tree and then drops his hands down at his sides as he watches you gingerly touch the needles.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, the delicious, woodsy smell of pine reminding you of your family and how you’d all pile into your father’s old pickup truck and head to the Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect white spruce to take home. Your father took great care in the picking process—he wanted the tallest, fluffiest, most fragrant tree. “Need this place to smell like the farm!” he’d boom. You smile and can’t help but to think he’d approve of Javi—if not because of what he had done for you, then the choice in tree would be enough to win him over.

“Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

You open your eyes and whirl around. “Javi, I can’t believe you did this,” you say, breathlessly. Smiling brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree, you throw your arms around him. “I love it so much!”

He savors the embrace—and wonders if you know just how perfectly you fit right in his arms.

“There’s one more surprise,” Javier informs you as he spins you around to look at the tree once again. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Peering at the tree, you frown. “What am I supposed to be looking for—wait a second, is that—is that Clara?” Your hand flies to your mouth and you look up at him in complete shock. “That’s the ornament my grandmother made for me when I was a baby! I’ve had her since my first Christmas. How did you—?”

“Santa no cuenta sus secretos.” Javi grins, pulling you closer against his side. “But if you must know, your mom sent it to me,” he confesses. “Actually, I have to be honest—this whole thing was her idea.”

Perplexed, you ask, “This was my mom’s idea?”

“I know you’ve been having a hard time being here during the holidays instead of with your family,” he says. “I called her up a couple of weeks ago, asked her what I could do for you. We started talking and came up with this.” He shrugs and touches a hand to the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I know it’s not the same as going home. But I thought it might be nice to bring a little piece of home here to you.”

Warmth blossoms inside of your chest as you turn to face him. You place a hand on his chest. “Javi?”

Nervously, his throat bobs. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do this for me?”

Javier lifts his hand and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told you. I just want to see you happy.”

“But why?”

You know why.

But you need to hear him say it.

You need to hear it from his own mouth.

Javi’s hand moves to cup the side of your face. “Is it not obvious?” he murmurs as he grazes the silky soft skin over your cheekbone. “Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientas igual.”

“How do you know I don’t feel the same for you?”

“Do you?” His thumb sweeps your bottom lip. “Do you feel the same for me?”

Your hand curls around his red plaid flannel.

“I shouldn’t,” you admit. “We’re work partners.”

He feigns offense. “Ouch. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” He now takes your chin between his index finger and his thumb. Licking his lips, his eyes meet yours. “Breaking my heart, baby.”

Your breath audibly catches. “We are friends—and it scares me to put our friendship on the line.”

“But?” he prompts as he tilts your head up toward his. His opposite hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him.

“But when you do things like this—it’s hard for me not to fucking fall in love with you, Peña.” You drag your hand down his chest, your fingers relishing in the softness of his flannel. “It’s so fucking hard for me not to fall in love with somebody who feels like home.”

Javier’s chuckles softly.

“For the record, this wasn’t a ploy to get you to fall in love with me, corazón. But if it worked—” Javier pauses, dropping his hand from your face. “Then I guess it’s worth pulling this thing out.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Javi, what the hell are you—?”

He grins, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

“Connie said this might come in handy.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then meet his gaze.

“Ven aqui, Peña.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull Javi in and crash your mouth against his. You brush his bottom lip with your tongue and he grants you the access you’re looking for. He tastes like spearmint and scotch, and something else too.

He tastes like yours.

And he feels like home.

diver credit to @saradika-graphics ���️

Translations

Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño. - I’ll talk to Messina, darling.

No hay caso para eso, Javier. - There’s no point, Javier.

Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. - Let me help you with this. I just want to see you happy.

Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti. - Come with me, I have a surprise for you.

Cierra tus ojos. - Close your eyes.

Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita. - You can open your eyes, pretty girl.

Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parch? - Surprise, precious girl. You have a Christmas tree. What do you think?

Santa no cuenta sus secretos. - Santa doesn’t tell his secrets.

Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientes igual. - You know all too well I have feelings for you. Even if you don’t feel the same.

Ven aqui, Peña. - Come here, Peña.

[nectardaddy]

falling - inumaki toge

cw: language, drinking, drinking in anxious situations, drunkenness, allusion to bickering/arguing, really cheesy flirting lol

notes: written with fem in mind (no pronouns used though), ex inumaki, non-curse au (we got him speaking lads!!), giving college au vibes, request by @inumakisser I changed a few things up though oof, I also just kinda gave up on editing at the end so if you see mistakes in the last couple of paragraphs no you didn't

"Is that who I think it is?"

Turning your attention towards the feminine voice, you raised a brow to the red head next to you. Rolling her eyes as she saw you look to her instead, she motioned towards the figure adjacent to the doorway. "Yuuji- you didn't," she warned.

"Ah fuck," the man began, groaning as he sat back in his chair further. "I always invite him," he began lowly, earning a sharp smack to his head from the woman next to you. Letting out a yelp, and holding his head, and tried to defend himself. "He's never shown up before! How was I supposed to know this time was different?" Another smack, "ouch! Jesus, Nobara! Okkotsu probably forced him out, not me!"

Tracking their gaze, your heart sank to your stomach to the figure that stood adjacent to the doorway. Platinum hair and stark violet eyes catching your attention, you suddenly felt incredibly small. "I need another drink," you suggested to the pair, desperately trying to shy away from your own emotions.

The red head let a chuckle pass her lips before rising from her seat, offering her hand out to you as she did. "Forget the drink, let's get you a shot!" Smiling at you through her words, "hell, get drunk and find a whole other guy - forget about him." Her words earned a cheer from Yuuji, but you contemplated leaving the party all together.

It was easy to say forget, but once put into motion was incredibly difficult. It had been three months since you had even seen the man, whisking himself away as if it were too easy. Leaving your heart in shambles, a rather nasty break, that Toge seemed all too comfortable with. He never texted, never called; while you yearned on late nights to do only that. It was as if you were a complete stranger again - a stranger that still, after all this time, had feelings for him.

"Fuck it," you shrugged and cast your eyes upward to the woman. "Let's get drunk," you announced with a chuckle, finally deciding to take her hand.

As the night continued on, as did your growing intoxication. The effects of the shots and drinks Nobara, relentlessly, handed you, hit you in your now swimming mind. Your eyes were blurry and your skin felt scorched, the sticky, humid air around you clinging to you. It was, supposedly, a small party; the people that drunkenly lined the walls and danced amongst the living room proved otherwise. It made the room inconceivably warm, too many people in such a small area.

Nobara was no where to be found, gone off with Maki earlier and hadn't yet returned. Yuuji on the otherhand, sustained his presence with you, a cheerful smile the entire time. However, the poor soul hadn't found his tolerance for alcohol, finding himself draped across a couch at his own party, completely out cold. With a sigh, and another sip of the liquid what only further made you woozy, you leaned against the wall.

"I'm surprised you're here. You always hated parties," a lower voice next to you catching your attention. Turning, much to your dismay, you saw the only man you fervently did not wish to speak to. Slender fingers wrapping around a bottle, and violet eyes looking you over. You wished you had felt more anger in the moment; something, anything, other than the void of emotion. Too drunk to care, but too drunk not to say something.

"Says the guy who never went to them," you quipped. "A shut in can't critique a wallflower." You couldn't hide your obvious intoxication, booze hindering your speech to slow, methodical statements rather than sly, quick witted, remarks. Part of you wanted to step away right then and there, the other desperately craving any conversation the man would allow.

"Yikes," he grimaced, now placing himself next to you. A foot of distance between the two of you didn't feel like enough, truly you wanted him as far away as possible. "I'll give you that one," he spoke, tipping the bottle to his lips before sighing. "How have you been?"

"Did you really come over here to ask that, Inumaki?" You asked, taking a small breath and letting out through your mouth. The huff of air, and use of his last name, caused him to recoil subtlety, internally regretting his own decision to come speak to you. The conversation, or lack there of, gave you a sense of panic. Not knowing what he wanted, as it surely had to be something, you took a large sip of the contents in your cup.

He watched as you tipped the cup back, taking down the liquid as if it were your lifeline in the moment. He knew better than to speak to it; he couldn't tease or poke fun anymore, knowing it might very well lead to a slap in the face. So he sucked in a breath through his teeth, swallowed his pride, and faced his reality. Toge wanted nothing more than to talk to you again, craving it so deeply it itched. But he could never find the right words, how could he possibly when things ended so terribly? "I'm regretting it now," he mumbled.

You only managed to let a hum pass your lips, biting the side of your cheek as to not let anything further slip. You wanted to tear into him, rip him piece by piece with your words - just like old times. But now you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of merely pissing you off. Without a second thought you tipped your cup to your lips once more. Sipping the drink, the tangy taste of shitty fruit punch and liquor invaded your senses.

He noticed as you blinked hard from the taste, watching you teeter from foot to foot to keep yourself stable, and knew your words were sluggish and off. "Jeez- you're fucking trashed, aren't you?" He asked, genuinely not meaning for the words to leave so harshly. "You ok?"

"You're caring now?" You proded, your words biting a bit harder than you first imagined. "I didn't know you knew how to do that. Why's it matter anyway?" You shrugged, looking over to him with blurred vision.

"I've always cared," he retorted. "Don't be such a-"

There was a moment of pause between the two of you, a heavy silence hitting you both from the weight of the words, or lack thereof. He desperately wanted to back track the conversation, to take all of his sly remarks back - too late now. He knew it was too late as he heard a laugh pass your lips, a pained chuckle forcing its way out from his words. "Bitch?" You asked rhetorically, "go ahead and say it. Didn't stop you before."

"Alright, alright" he began before taking a small breath. "There's a lot of things I shouldn't have done," he admitted begrudgingly. "But that's a conversation to have when you're not piss drunk." Albeit, he didn't want to have the conversation at all. The feelings that prickled inside from having to admit his wrong doings made him wretch, add alcohol to the mix and he wanted to vomit right then and there.

"I can't believe I actually missed you," a drunken slip of the tongue, the statement so casually leaving your lips. Realizing immediately what you had uttered, you closed your eyes and groaned. You wanted to regret saying it, but the gentle nag at your heart said differently. Completely blitzed, you couldn't find a single care in the world left on what you said. "Seems stupid admitting it out loud," you chuckled, a silly, alcohol induced, smile on your lips.

He felt his shoulders slump at your statement, realizing you didn't feel much different than he. Two idiots still hopelessly attached to each other despite such a murky break; a classic situation of 'right person, incredibly wrong time.' While he wasn't inebrietated, the bottle in his hands warm as he held onto it throughout the night, he felt his mind scatter at the thought. "It's not stupid," speaking as he shook his head. "You always were a sap," he added, a smirk daring to grace his lips. He toed the line gently, testing waters to see if he dared tease you once more.

"What does that make you?" You asked, deciding against your better judgement to play along. But he made it so easy, so comfortable, an aura so warm and inviting he made it hard to stray away from - ex lover or not.

"A god damn moron for letting you go," he spoke with a small chuckle. But he was far from comedic with the sentiment. He missed you whether he liked it or not, an urge so deep down in his soul he simply couldn't ignore it. He often found himself wanting to call, to text, to simply do something; he second guessed himself often. He didn't want to be that guy, more often than not believing he would make matters worse if he were to speak to you.

"Oh-" you snorted, "that was smooth I'll give you that." Your musings made him chuckle in response, leaning against the wall next to you and feeling a bit less on edge. "I still miss you, y'know?" Liquid luck was the only reason you allowed yourself to say such things, sobriety would have you double down and wholeheartedly deny as such. "Dumbass," you added with a small, genuine smile.

"Yeah?" He asked rhetorically, a playful smile pulling at his lips. "This is a first. You compliment my pickup lines and you say you miss me?" His teasing tone returned, one of which he thought he could never have again with you. He would be lying if he said it didn't make his heart swell.

"I can take it back, Toge," you quipped, and to his words you tried to nudge him, but you drunkenly misjudged his distance from you. Although he wasn't far from you, the distance was enough that your body weight started to fall from the lack of contact with him. He quickly grabbed your arm to center you, but couldn't help himself as a loud laugh passed his lips.

"The jokes write themselves!" He spoke between laughs, "looks like you're falling for me again," he noted between giggles. He watched as you shot him a mischievous glare, resulting in him only laughing more. "Oh come on, I never stopped falling for you," he admitted with a smile. "Was only a matter of time before you did it too."

might make a part 2?? idk but I really enjoyed writing this!!

[bradshawssugarbaby]

I'd like to request "Are you hurt?" and "Don't touch me." with walter marshall. Thank you!

oooh this one was harder to write, but I hope I did it justice!

Walter furrowed his brows, giving you a disapproving stare. You didn't fight often, it was a rare occurrence when you did anything more than disagree politely. In fact, it was so rare for you to fight, that when you did, you were caught completely off guard. You'd gotten into an argument over Walter's attitude the past couple of days. He'd been withdrawn - more so than usual, and miserable. You knew he was never the most cheerful or bubbly person out there, but this was odd, even for him. He was normally very gentle with you - stoic and reserved, sure, but never temperamental with you. He often found comfort in you - your presence a calming beacon for him when his work as a homicide detective became too much to handle some days. "What is your problem, Walter? It's like I can't even fucking talk to you," you shouted, shaking your head.

"I don't have a problem, darling."

The way he said darling stung, dripping with condescending sarcasm, a cold hostility added to the nickname he so often used with deep affection towards you. Your eyes narrowed as you set the dish you were drying down on the counter, throwing the tea towel down beside it.

"Then will you please stop being such an asshole?"

Walter's blue eyes widened in disbelief at your boldness. He frowned further, eyes glaring at her. He refused to respond, instead stomping away, storming off to the living room in brooding silence. You sighed in frustration, shaking your head with an exasperated sigh. Walter's ignorance towards you was almost painful. You craved his touch, his attention, and being starved of it because of whatever had triggered his bad mood was making your night almost unbearable.

A couple of hours of not speaking to one another had passed by, the deafening silence beginning to choke out the room, making it harder and harder to avoid it. You tried watching tv in the bedroom, avoiding Walter entirely. You'd tried scrolling social media on your phone, praying some silly little animal video would drag a giggle out of you, you'd even attempted to listen to a podcast to try and fill the void with something, anything that distracted from the quiet. Finally, unable to find anything mind-numbing to distract you, you resorted to trying to take care of a few household tasks that were overdue, neglected because of your demanding careers.

As you stood on a step ladder, hammering a nail into the wall to hang a photo, you listened for footsteps to see if Walter would come to investigate what you were doing, curious about the sounds coming from the bedroom. Unfortunately for you, he couldn't seem to be less bothered. You took a swing at the nail again, but foolishly forgot to slide your thumb two millimeters to the left, bringing the face of the hammer down directly onto your unsuspecting finger. You let out a yelp along with a string of curse words. Stepping down off of the step ladder, you turned to head to the kitchen to fetch some ice but instead walked directly into Walter's broad shouldered frame.

"Are you hurt?" He said softly, frowning at her.

"I'm fine."

"You yelled."

"So?"

"So, are you hurt? Why are you holding your hand like that?"

His brows knit together in concern for you, shaking his head. He offered his hand out to you, reaching to take your injured hand in his to check it over, trying to gauge how badly you'd managed to hurt yourself. As his hand brushed against yours, you yanked it back, reacting to his touch as if you'd just stuck your hand into a fire, scorched from the heat.

"Don't touch me."

Walter frowned at your reaction, dropping his hand to his side. He shook his head as he walked off, disappearing once again. You were just about to start yelling at him, demanding to know why he refused to speak to you, when he returned holding a sandwich bag filled with ice cubes. He held it out to you, his eyes soft and pleading, as if he was making an offering of peace to you, waving his white flag of surrender.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his blue eyes looking down at your hand, watching as you placed the ice over your throbbing thumb, "I've had a rough few days and nights with work, this case is driving me mad, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"You really shouldn't have," you began before letting out a sigh, "I'm sorry. I should have probably been a little bit more compassionate towards you."

"It's fine, darling," he said softly, his chestnut brown curls shaking as he gave a nod of his head, "Am I forgiven?"

"I suppose. But only if you go finish hanging that picture I wanted in the bedroom. Clearly I can't wield hand tools when I'm upset."

"You can't wield hand tools when you're happy either, to be fair," he smirked, the first smirk you'd seen on his face in the last week.

[whitherwordswither]

03: Wrapped Up For Your Dreams

CW: Mentions of quitting life.

I don't know how long I remained in the blissful void of non-being. Some primal instincts that had been tucked deep, deep down whispered that I should be fighting this. But that voice was scattered about in a wind that blew cool across the surface of my body as my senses crawled back from the brink of nothingness.

It was like laying in a tub, letting the water drain away around you. When you want to remain, motionless, soaking up every last ounce of heat. Gradually, little by little, I felt the world around me coming to life. The soft grass beneath me and the warmth of a sun shining down. The breeze rolling languid and free… and the rustle of the trees. My eyes slowly blinked open, adjusting to a cloud speckled light blue expanse above. I had dreamt this scene many times before. A vast emerald meadow, sprawling eastward in to forever. Distant mountains stood in a hazy deep blue. Behind, a line of evergreens and willows, lilacs and birch. A calm space. A place I came to relax when the real world became too much.

Unhurried, I stretched, yawned, and sat up. That calm almost instantly came crashing down as my gaze fell from the heavens to behold the alien before me. The dreamscape glitched as my mind, in a panic, attempted to shift my consciousness. To abort. To awaken.

This wasn't a dream I was entirely in control of, however. The world settled as the plant smiled in what it probably felt was a non-threatening manner. "Now, now… don't be in such a rush to leave. Sit. You're safe here. This is your dreamscape, after all. I hope I picked the right one. It had a tranquil feel to it…"

It paused, head tilting as it shifted, watching me curiously. Like a cat watching a mouse it knew it had trapped, no doubt. My brain itched with the speed in which it was racing. Recollecting. Remembering. Retracing. This was the same plant-alien that had broken in to my house a couple nights prior just before I had been about to… run a force quit command on my existence. My legs buckled and I found myself seated back on the grass, staring, the saline sting of tears already welling in the corners of my eyes.

The plant made a sound, almost regretful in nature. It reached one of its vines out, paused, then drew it back. "I have cleared the neural blockages I so carefully put in place. You should have full access to your memories and emotions. I thought it best you be wholly aware so I can explain what---"

"Y-You didn't have… any right to… to take that choice away from me!" I scowled, rubbing at my eyes. It felt like the emotions that had been being held at bay were suddenly swarming all at once as I relived the last week of my life, leading up to what I had long planned.

"Oh, sweetling…" There was a hint of mirth swirling in the plant's eyes. "I have every right."

"No!" I clawed at my face, frustrated, then shoved my hands in to the grass, gripping and pulling. "No you don't! You can't just… you can't just show up, assume control, and take the things that make us who we are away!"

It seemed further tickled by my outburst, tips of vines brushing over its lips. "Tsk~ The things you speak of. That which make you who you are? They were driving you to destroy yourself. As we see it, you forfeit being able to decide for yourself the moment you chose to throw that away. Life is precious. It would be a shame to lose it when there is so much to look forward to~"

I shook, gritting teeth. I had made up my mind within the last couple weeks. After years and years of planning all the different ways I could go about it. Years of trying to convince myself of better days. Constantly fighting myself. Over and over and over again. I'd never had the courage… not until the other night. I thought for the longest time that I would never, could never, have that strength, however misguided it may have been. To attempt. As much as I had always wanted to depart. And now… I knew I wouldn't have it ever again. "What is there to look forward to!? You've seen the state of our world. The ways we've ruined it. How divided and awful our societies are. The way so many of us are just clawing through the grime and shit, day after day, trying to keep our threadbare lives from falling apart. And y-you… you just show up, take over and what? Think you're going to magically fix everything? Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

"Trimixthis. Fifth Bloom." The plant replied, almost automatically, expression blank. And then it smiled again a scant few seconds later. "Your planet was indeed in poor shape. That's why the Affini claimed it. Your governments were leading you to ruin, letting you drown in your own decay. There's nothing sadder than watching an entire species annihilate itself because it does not know how to thrive naturally. How to care for itself. … All your problems are ours now. And we're really… quite very good at fixing problems~"

"And if we don't want to be fixed…?" I shot Trimixthis a glare, then tore my eyes away. I wanted to keep staring. Something kept pulling my gaze back to the affini's body. In a strange way, these aliens were alluring to a degree that overrode rational sense.

"That's no longer your concern, little one~" The laugh they gave was bubbly and pleasant. "Many before your kind have been taken under our care and have been turned, from wilting upon the precipice of loss… to vibrant and flourishing. You will be no different. You will learn to thrive once again. You especially, I will make absolutely certain… Chloe." A vine stretched out and curled under my chin, holding my head. Maintaining eye contact.

I'd never told anyone just how much I loved that name. Chloe. I'd first heard it in an old black and white cartoon as a child. Part of me had since, always wanted to claim it for myself. Make it my own name. Hearing it now, on some other organism's lips, out loud, felt… right. I found myself staring in to the deep, swirling pools of Trimixthis' eyes. I'd been here before, hadn't I? Fixing to fall in as a sob hitched in my throat.

"I… was really… really ready… to go…" The tears felt hot and real as they slid down my cheeks. I didn't know what to do now. Every ounce, every part of me had turned to acceptance of what were supposed to be my final moments.

"Shhhh~ Shhh~ I know…" Another vine wiped at my face as Trimixthis settled nearer. A different warmth exuded from their body, inviting and comforting. All encompassing. Smothering. More vines began to lightly touch and tug, coaxing me to come closer. "Your world, the old world, wouldn't let you exist in the way you wished. There was no solid ground for you to stand on. There was nothing to hold on to. Those who swore to advocate for you did nothing. … You were alone."

"And now you don't have to be alone." They continued, caressing and making soft sounds. "I told you before, did I not? You are mine. Everything is going to be okay now. You don't have to fight any more. You don't have to struggle. I will be your tide. I will be your shore. You won't ever have to feel those awful feelings again. I will take all that needless misery away. I… will love you, little one~"

It felt like a metric ton of nonsense even despite knowing it could be true. The last two days had been nothing short of positive, blissed out pleasure and peace. And still, there were parts of me that wanted to thrash and push against it. "Why?" I managed to choke out.

"Silly pup~" Trimixthis trilled, brushing fronds over my hair. "Because you deserve it."

The dream world became a blur as emotions flooded my eyes. It broke my brain in indescribable ways. What was being offered was too much. Too good to be true. So sickeningly sweet that the very core had to be rotten. Right? If I didn't have a choice, what was the point in fighting? I could rest. All I had to do was submit.

"I…" I began to speak, but the dream suddenly collapsed and I was plunged in to the warm darkness of obscurity once more. Returned to the numb womb of sleep. A cacophony of whispers flittered about the very edges of my unconsciousness. Sweet nothings. Fragrant promises.

And then… silence.

[certifiedwhore4slashers]

hii can i request a part 2 to kill for you

ofc! thank you so much for requesting<3 glad you liked it! sorry if this is short I wanted to finish this ASAP lol

All for you

pairing(s): yandere!ethan landry x reader, slight oc x reader

summary: you finally leave him, but he doesn't want to let you go., or see you with anybody else.

warnings: yandere, possessiveness, toxicity, forced relationship? stalking, murder, violence, etc...

Part 1

You missed Ethan. So goddamn much it hurt. Because even though you had seen this side of him and he got angry when he found out you knew, he was still soft somewhat.

You broke off your 1 year relationship with him, even though you could’ve made it. Because he killed someone, and obviously you couldn’t handle that. What else was he capable of?

You were smart enough to get out while you could. But now you had a date and so you couldn’t sit around and miss him at home all day. It had been almost a year since then.

You weren’t entirely sure if a date with someone else was particularly the right thing to do. Ethan was still around. And often, you’d see him at frat parties but of course neither of you spoke to each other.

You see your date arrived and his name was Alex. He was an ideal guy for a boyfriend. So you didn’t have any worries when you arrived at the restaurant.

“This place looks incredible, You say. “So do you, Alex complimented. “Thanks… you look good yourself, You say nervously.

You sat down. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. You were into him, like he was into you. You just were worried. What if Ethan does something fucked up? Kill your date? You’d be pissed.

“Is everything okay? Alex asked. He probably noticed your fidgeting and your body language was easy to read.

“Oh, yeah, you lie.”I’m happy and well, glad to be here.” “Me too, Alex said. You noticed he was blushing and you found that cute. You liked him and this was the first time you liked someone since Ethan.

Speaking of him, you always got the feeling someone was watching you. Waiting for your next move. Or just waiting to pounce. You already suspected it was Ethan who was stalking you like the obsessive ex boyfriend that he was(you didn’t know that).

Alex placed his hand on your thigh and you didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. In fact total opposite. You were excited. As weird as that sounded, you were hoping you could be with someone new. and fill the void of loneliness.

Once your date was over, you were more happy. You were having a good time with Alex, who treated you well. "I really had a fun time, You say. He replies, "Me too. Second Date?" You nodded."You Have my number, so messge me."

"I will! He replies, parting ways since he perked on a different end. You were so giddy when you entered your car. Because by now, you had moved on completely from Ethan. But as you got to your car you heard Alex scream,”Y/N!”

You turn and run to his car knowing he was in danger and see Ethan stabbing Alex. “No! You exclaim, trying to shove Ethan off of Alex who was still barely alive.

“Why? You sob, unsuccessfully shoving Ethan off Alex who was now dead and a little blood was on you but more so on Ethan, who dropped his knife.

“Why? You say. "He didn’t deserve that.” "Oh but he did, sweetheart, Ethan said. You scoffed. "I'm not yours anymore, don't call me that." "You're still mine, why do you think i killed your new boyfriend? He said, more so taunting your now dead date.

You begin running, or tried to because he pulled you close, you squirm but no use. "I've been watching you form some time since we broke up, of course i knew of him! Ethan laughed.

"No... You whimper. "How was I so stupid?" In your ear, he whispers, "now, we will be a couple again, got it?" You were sobbing while you nodded. Knowing, he may never let you go.

[fallenclan]

"The mountain?" Despite his shock, Jattelik tried his best to keep his voice down. Sylvester and Donny were toddling around a few fox-lengths away, and Jattelik didn't want to frighten them.

"A group of cats lives in the mountain, and their land is plentiful and well protected. Our kits will be safe there," Toro replied gently, in that soft but resolute manner of hers.

I can keep you safe, Jattelik wanted to protest. Instead, he asked: "When?"

"Soon. In a few days, at most." Toro paused, her gaze filled with a mixture of sorrow and pity. "You could always come with, Jattelik."

Jattelik's silence was answer enough. Toro had always longed for a community; she thrived when surrounded by other cats, while Jattelik had always been a recluse. After a few heartbeats, Jattelik finally murmured, "Will you visit?"

"Of course. I'll even bring Sylvester and Donny with, once they're old enough to-"

"No."

"What?"

Jattelik took a steadying breath. The air was fresh, the trees revived after a long leafbare and a shorter newleaf. The faint melody of birdsong coupled with the sun's forgiving warmth seemed to lend strength to Jattelik as he spoke. "I don't want our kits to grow up torn between two worlds. It would be better for them to forget about me, to grow up as true mountain cats."

"Are you sure?" Toro's voice was a bare whisper, as if afraid to speak such a future into existence.

"I'm certain."

...

Toro's visits became less frequent each moon. Jattelik didn't mind, so long as Toro continued visiting him.

She regaled him with tales of her new home and stories about the clan she now lived with ("FallenClan," they were called).

She told him about the fine cats their kits had grown into. Silverbelly, a skilled healer with a mate and kits of her own. Dawnshine, a noble warrior with pawsteps as silent as the mist ("Just like you, Jattelik."). Dawnshine was in love with a golden tom who Toro believed would be his mate one day ("Soon," she stated decisively).

Their kits had taken clan names. At first, Jattelik had been bothered. The thought that the names he and Toro had so painstakingly chosen had been tossed aside in such a flippant manner upset him.

It made sense to Jattelik, now. His kits had new names for a new life. Their old names had been left behind with Jattelik, never to be used again.

...

The visits stopped abruptly.

A few moons later, Sparrow came into Jattelik's life. She was shaken, badly injured, and Jattelik nursed her back to health.

Sparrow was kind and thoughtful and funny. Her friendship filled the void Toro's absence had left. As the days went by, Jattelik thought of her less and less. It seemed obvious to Jattelik: Toro had outgrown him. She was happy, and no longer needed him. Jattelik didn't mind. In fact, he was glad of it. Toro didn't need him holding her back.

It was only when Sparrow revealed the reason for her injuries that Jattelik's illusions were shattered. Her former rogue group, attacking FallenClan. A FallenClan patrol attacking Sparrow, mistakening thinking she had been a part of the violence.

Many cats on both sides died in the attack. There was a real possiblity that Toro was dead. That their kits were dead.

At first, Jattelik had wanted to barge into FallenClan's camp and demand to see Toro, but he knew this would accomplish nothing (except peace of mind, perhaps). Most likely, he would be killed if he tried anything.

So Jattelik went on with his life, letting Sparrow's warmth chase away the shadows that the possiblity of Toro's death had cast.

...

Sparrow had finally agreed to move into Jattelik's den, permanently. The rotten log wasn't much, but it was warm and sheltered. They were both getting older, far older than when they had first met. Living together, sharing a home, it would be easier to look out for each other.

Occasionally, that strange tom, Otterslip, would visit. He would bring a few pieces of prey, say a few words, and then leave.

Sparrow had warmed up to him after a few visits, but Jattelik still didn't trust him. Neither did Shimmer, another loner who lived nearby ("I ain't never gonna trust no mountain cat. They got violence in their veins, ya see."). Kite was sympathetic to the tom, but still kept her distance. Lee had disappeared many moons ago, and Bristle more recently. Both had presumedly gone off to join FallenClan.

It took many visits for Jattelik to finally ask Otterslip the question that had been eating at him.

"Did you know Toro?"

The flash of grief in Otterslip's gaze, so brief one could easily miss it, told Jattelik what he needed to know.

"How did it happen?" the old tom asked, tail drooping. Sparrow pressed against him, a silent gesture of comfort. Her fur was as soft as cottondown, reminding Jattelik of his mother's belly.

"A group of rogues attacked FallenClan's camp, years ago. She died fighting." Otterslip's gaze grew distant, as if lost in some distant time. "How did you know Toro?"

"She was my mate, once," Jattelik admitted. "What happened to Silverbelly and Dawnshine? Are they all right?"

Otterslip's gaze sharpened, grounded in reality once more. "Dawnshine died with Toro."

"And Silverbelly?" Jattelik pressed, feeling his heart sink.

Otterslip's willowly tail lashed, his expression morphing into something almost baleful. "She's perfectly fine."

Jattelik bristled, hissing. "Why'd you say it like that?"

Otterslip's demeanor became neutral once more, guarded. "She's fine," he reaffirmed. Before Jattelik could offer a retort, Otterslip continued, "You know, Toro had a second litter of kits. They look quite like you."

To Jattelik, Sparrow's soft inhale of air was deafening. "What?" he whispered.

"Four of them," Otterslip went on. Jattelik could feel his breath faltering. Why hadn't Toro told him? Even as the question came to him, Jattelik knew the answer: she hadn't wanted to cause him any more pain. If she had told him, Jattelik would either have joined FallenClan to be with her or continued to live as a loner, knowing he was missing out on raising his kits for the second time in his life. Either way, he would be unhappy.

"Can you tell us about them?" It was Sparrow who asked, as Jattelik was trembling too hard to think straight.

"Okay." Otterslip settled down, paws tucked beneath him as he began to speak. "Goosewing died in the attack with Toro and Dawnshine. He was cheerful, and loud, yet surprisingly quiet when he wanted to be. He used to delight in sneaking up on cats.

"Then there's Moonstep. They've always been... opinionated. I never really knew them well."

Jattelik listened with wide eyes. Goosewing. Moonstep. He repeated the names to himself silently, as if ingraining them in his mind forever.

"I was close with Hailcrash." Otterslip hesitated for what seemed like an eternity before continuing. "I was her mentor."

"Mentor?" Sparrow prompted.

"Yes. In clans, every young cat is assigned a mentor to train them in the ways of the clan. Hailcrash fell behind in her training due to an injury, but she recovered and went on to become a warrior. She's actually FallenClan's deputy, now." Before Sparrow could ask, Otterslip clarified, "A deputy acts as a secondary leader. They aid the current leader and are next in line for leadership. Deputies have special obligations as well, but I won't get into that. Toro was a deputy once, too."

Jattelik blinked slowly. Hailcrash. Deputy. He waited for Otterslip to continue, but the tom began to stand, as if getting ready to leave.

"Wait," Jattelik snapped, leaping to his paws as well. "You said there were four. Tell me about the last one."

Otterslip's lip peeled back into a scowl. "Stormsight. He fell off a cliff and died."

"What else?" Jattelik demanded, desparate. Otterslip couldn't leave now, not when Jattelik still had so many other questions.

"He was a medicine cat--a healer. He was arrogant." Jattelik opened his mouth to argue but Otterslip interrupted. "I'm done talking now. Don't follow me." With that, the tom slinked off into the forest.

Mutely, Jattelik sat down again. "Do you want to follow him?" Sparrow questioned.

"No." Jattelik sighed, tail wrapping tightly around his paws. "Pressing him won't do any good."

"Are you going to visit FallenClan?"

"Maybe." The idea frightening Jattelik. "Maybe not. I don't know. For now, can we just... rest? It's dusk out already and-"

"Okay." Sparrow pressed her head into Jattelik's shoulder, smiling fondly. "Let's discuss this in the morning, all right?"

"Okay. In the morning."

-🐉 (my take on toro and jattelik's relationship!)

OHHJHH MY GOD HOLY SHIT!!!!(( DRAGON I LOVE THIS SM THIS IS SO CANON AUGHHHHH!!! your writing is absolutely SPECTACULAR I'm obsessed

[francesminos-tt]

Blind!Joff curiouscat prompt fill

1. Joffrey was born blind. King Viserys I decided to betroth him to Daeron.

“You know why the king betrothed you to me?” Joffrey asked Daeron on their wedding night. He was sitting on the bed, clouded pupils looking into the void. The wedding ceremony was small and private, only the couple’s family and a few royal lords presented to witness them exchanging vows. A small banquet was held to celebrate their union. Joffrey let himself be led by his new husband and uncle, to the altar, to the feasting table and finally to their shared bedroom.

“I don’t.” Daeron replied, his voice coming from somewhere in front of Joffrey, “and I have no intention of knowing. But you seem to be determined to enlighten me.”

“Because you are dispensable.” Joffrey said with a laugh. Daeron was right. Joffrey was going to tell him no matter what. At least his husband was not stupid, Joffrey mused.

“Is there a reason why you want to make me hate you?”

Daeron’s words caught Joffrey in surprise. No one told him that his husband had a sharp tongue. Again, Daeron was right. To an extent. Joffrey assumed Daeron didn’t want to marry a useless blind man who couldn’t even ride his own dragon. Joffrey was just making sure. If Daeron did hate him, at least Joffrey proved himself to be as useless as he thought.

“You want people to hate you, don’t you?”

Joffrey felt the mattress sink in next to him, indicating that Daeron had sat on the bed and was dangerously close to him.

“You want people to hate you so you can dwell in your own misery.” Daeron continued, his words sharper than daggers, “you want me to say that I don’t want to marry a blind bastard, that you are a burden, an anomaly in the family, don’t you?”

Why? Why Daeron could speak Joffrey’s mind for him?

“Shut up.” Joffrey said with gritted teeth.

“Sorry to disappoint you, husband.” Daeron’s voice came closer, Joffrey could almost feel his husband’s warm breath on his skin, “but I don’t hate you. You have no idea how long I have waited for this.”

Joffrey felt a hand gently cradled his face, rough fingertips dancing on his cheek, sending chills down his spine.

“I know you will be mine the moment I laid eyes on you.” Daeron leaned in, planting a small kiss on Joffrey’s nose, “you know why the king betrothed us? Because I fought for it. I fought for the right to marry you. I cried so hard and threw the biggest tantrum of my life to fight for you.”

Joffrey blinked as he felt a warmth on his lips. He was blind, so to him, keeping his eyes open when being kissed was perfectly normal. He only saw darkness anyway.

“If only you could see. How beautiful you are.” Daeron wrapped his arms around his little husband, contented that he finally had Joffrey to himself.

All his life, Joffrey had never felt the urge to see, not even once. He had accepted the darkness long ago. But now, now he wanted to be able to see so badly, not to see himself, but to see his husband.

“Let me feel you.” Joffrey whispered, lifting his hands up to cup Daeron’s face.

“Take your time. We have all the time in the world, husband.”

2. Daeron pov when he first meets Joffrey

“I want you to be on your best behavior.” Alicent warned her children. Aegon was clearly not impressed, Helaena’s mind was absent as usual, Aemond grunted, only Daeron gave his mother a small nod.

“Seven help me.” Alicent muttered to herself before standing up, fixing her headpiece and collar, making sure not one single wrinkle could be seen.

“Why are we up this early?” Aegon asked in a small voice.

“Our sister is coming to visit our father.” Aemond replied, “Mother thinks Rhaenyra is plotting something.”

“Mother thinks everyone is plotting something. She even thinks I am plotting against her by skipping my class.” Aegon mused.

“Funny that she thinks you have the brain for it.”

Aemond and Aegon began to bicker with each other. Daeron sighed and rubbed his temple like an old man. He had just turned 8 and joined his brothers in training, but sometimes he thought he was the maturest one among his siblings.

“There’s a butterfly on your shoulder.” Helaena whispered, not looking at Daeron but somehow Daeron knew she was talking to him. But the strange thing was, there was no butterfly or any other kind of bug on Daeron’s heavily embroidered coat.

They met Rhaenyra’s family at the throne room. The crown princess was beautiful as always, belly swollen and a small silver haired child in her arms, her loyal husband, the Rogue Prince, at her side. Jacaerys and Lucerys stood slightly behind her. There was another boy, a few years younger than Daeron, clung to Jacaerys’s side. He kept his head down, small hands grabbing a handful of his brother’s pants. To Daeron’s surprise, there was a small black whelp perched on the boy’s shoulder, spiked tails around his neck. How strange. No one was allowed to bring their dragon to the throne room. That was probably why Queen Alicent looked so pissed.

He must be Rhaenyra’s third son, Joffrey. For some reason, the crown princess had never brought the boy to court, so this was the first time Daeron laid eyes on him. Daeron was immediately enchanted. Joffrey must be such a spoiled menace to bring his dragon to court, but why did he act so innocent?

A knight announced the arrival of the king and everyone turned to the entrance of the room, except for Joffrey. The boy clearly heard the announcement but he looked like he didn’t know where the king was. Jacaerys whispered something in Joffrey’s ear as he guided the boy to turn around. Joffrey finally lifted his head up, and Daeron was struck.

Joffrey’s eyes were a perfect combination of soft brown and light violet, like chocolate cake with lavender icing. There was no light in those beautiful pupils.

Daeron learned later that day that Rhaenyra was seeking a possible betrothal for her blind son Joffrey, ideally a son of the king himself. Queen Alicent was not impressed but Daeron was thrilled. He knew this was his chance.

He started to cry in front of the king and said between hiccups that he didn’t want nephew Joffrey to be married to anyone other than him.

3. Can you write a little porn with Daeron's POV 🥺 I'm a sucker for tender sex

“I am going to touch you now.” Daeron said, his soft voice drowned out by the crackling of the hearth.

Joffrey nodded. He was lying on the bed in just a simple gown, his pale neck and ankles visible in the candle light. Joffrey’s eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, unfocused pupils like a pair of obsidian orbs.

Daeron gently placed his hand on Joffrey’s wrist, moving slowly up to the brunette’s forearm, elbow, arm, shoulder, all the way to his collar bone. Joffrey shivered under his touch, goosebumps forming on his skin.

“Don’t be scared. I am not going to hurt you.” Daeron assured, sliding his hand into the collar of the gown. His fingers danced on Joffrey’s bare chest, feeling the muscles contract under his fingertips.

“I am not scared.” Joffrey replied with shaky voice. His eyes were still wide open, but his breaths quickened, nostrils flaring like he had just come back from a run.

Joffrey didn’t lie. He was not scared, but the sensation of being touched by a stranger was new to him. He was now completely at mercy of someone he didn’t really know. For a blind man like him, lack of vision only enhanced his other senses. Joffrey was extremely sensitive, and Daeron’s gentle touch kept sending chills down his spine. He had to bite his lips to stop himself from moaning.

Daeron was excited to explore Joffrey’s body. Joffrey was just as beautiful as he had imagined, skin pale from all the time he spent inside the castle. So beautiful that the gods decided to take his vision away.

“I am going to kiss you.” Daeron leaned down and stopped inches from Joffrey’s inviting lips.

“On the lips?” Joffrey asked, clearly sensed Daeron’s breath on his lips.

“Yes. That’s how couples kiss.”

“I’ve never been kissed on the lips before.”

“I’m honored to be your first, then.” Daeron smiled and sealed their lips into a tender kiss. He slowly licked Joffrey’s lips, before pushing his tongue into the brunette’s slightly parted lips, invading Joffrey’s mouth and chasing his shy tongue.

Joffrey let out a surprised moan. He had no idea a kiss could make him go numb and melt like a pool of mud. He knew he had to spread his legs and let his alpha have their way, but he didn’t know they had to kiss.

Daeron’s fingertips now moved to Joffrey’s nipple. He circled around the pink bud using his nails before pinching it, making Joffrey jump in surprise.

“What are you doing?” Joffrey hissed, trying to move away.

“Relax. I am just trying to pleasure you.” Daeron grabbed Joffrey’s hip to keep the boy in place, “Do you not like me fiddling with your nipples?”

“I don’t know.” Joffrey replied, embarrassed, “No one touched there before. I am just, surprised.”

“Let me know if you start to feel uncomfortable.” Daeron kissed the boy’s eyelids, feeling the slight tremble of the thick lashes. He began to pinch Joffrey’s nipple again and his other hand slid between the boy’s legs, into the warm wetness that had never knew another one before.

Joffrey whimpered and finally closed his eyes.

4. What if Joffrey somehow got his eye sight back (magic or something like that)

It happened in one ordinary morning. Joffrey woke up in Daeron’s arms, warm and content, evidence of last night’s sex still on his skin. Joffrey had never expected he would enjoy sex, or even get one in his life, but Daeron proved him wrong. Joffrey was very sensitive due to his lack of vision, all his other senses sharper than most people, making him easily overwhelmed. Daeron liked to explore his body, kissing Joffrey’s skin inch by inch as if worshipping a holy relic.

Joffrey stayed absolutely still while waiting for his brain to fully awake. He had woken up earlier than Daeron before, and every time Joffrey would stay in his husband’s arms, his head resting on Daeron’s chest, listening to Daeron’s steady heartbeat. Joffrey didn’t dare moving, for fear of waking his husband unnecessarily. Joffrey had no way of telling whether it was morning or night, since his world was always dark, so he always waited for Daeron to wake up on his own.

Today was different. Joffrey felt something bright on his eyelid, so bright that it hurt his eyes. He blinked, and blinked again, but the brightness was still there.

What was this? Could it be?

Sunlight?

Joffrey sat up abruptly, the familiar darkness had now turned to grey, he could make out some blurry lines in his vision.

Joffrey knew this was not a dream. He had dreamed about him regaining his vision before, but in those dreams, he never actually saw anything. He had no idea what everything looked like. Bed, chairs, curtains, all new and strange for him.

“Joff? What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” Daeron’s familiar voice came from his left side.

Joffrey slowly turned his head to the left. In the blurriness, he saw a young man’s face. Defined eyebrows and a straight nose. Slightly pursed lips. Worried eyes. Features that he had felt numerous times under his fingers.

Joffrey had no idea how a handsome man should look like, but he knew his husband must be one of them.

“Joff?”

“Daeron, I think I can see your face.”

5. 👀 i need to know Joff's family + his husband's family reaction.

His family were thrilled to learn that their poor Joff had miraculously regained his vision. Rhaenyra burst into tears; she always blamed herself for Joff’s blindness. There must have been something wrong in her womb. But now, all those years, her boy could see again. Thank all the gods, old and new, for this miracle. Joff’s brothers were happy too. Jace and Luke were the ones helping Joffrey the most growing up. The brothers were glued at the hip; Jace and Luke always made sure Joffrey didn’t bump into anything. Even Daemon shed a tear or two after learning the news. He had insisted that Joff take dragon rider lessons even though the boy could never actually fly on dragon back. Now all those lessons might just pay off.

In short, everyone was happy except for Daeron. Don’t get him wrong, of course Daeron wanted Joffrey to have his sight back, but he didn’t like the idea of sharing Joff with anyone, including Joffrey’s own family. That was why Daeron stood alone, outside of the exciting crowd around their bed. The curtains were only drawn a creak, letting a small ray of sunlight through. Joff’s eyes were still sensitive so it was better to keep the room dim.

“Mother.” Joffrey tugged Rhaenyra’s sleeve, a habit he had grown to get her attention.

“What is it, Joff?” Rhaenyra kissed her boy’s forehead, her arms still tightly wrapped around him.

“Can I go see the king tomorrow? I am tired.” Joffrey said apologetically.

“Of course. I am so sorry, Joff, we should give some time to process.” Rhaenyra threw some glances at her husband and sons, all of them nodding and getting up to leave.

“I will see you tomorrow, Joff.” Jace waved at his little brother.

“With a lot of lemon cakes.” Luke said cheerfully, drawing a small smile from Joffrey.

“Get some rest, son.” Daemon patted Joffrey’s shoulder before leaving.

Several minutes later, the room finally regained its quietness. The silence stretched for a moment before it was broken by Joffrey.

“Daeron? Will you come to the bed, please?”

Daeron only remained in the room because he had forgotten that Joff could see him now. He had done this before, observing Joff without the boy noticing. It seemed that his fun was now ruined.

“Aren’t you tired?” Daeron walked to the bed, stopping at the edge, looking down at Joffrey.

“I am.” Joffrey lifted his head, soft brown eyes focusing on Daeron. He smiled at his husband and held his arms out. “Will you join me, husband? I can’t sleep without you.”

Now that was something Daeron hadn’t expected. He was so afraid of losing Joff. Joff was a charming young man, well loved by his family, and Daeron was only able to have him because of his blindness. He had to depend on Daeron, but now Joff had gained his vision back, why would he still stay at Daeron’s side?

“I thought I would lose you.” Daeron whispered after taking Joff into his arms.

“To what?” Joff smiled and nuzzled Daeron’s neck. “You are stuck with me now. Too late to get rid of me.”

“Never.”

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

There Are Some Cons to Being an Archeologist. . .

(Disclaimer: two of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Penn and LeviathanPat here. Illinois belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe.)

The amazing artist @insane4fandoms has drawn my fanegos multiple times now. I wrote this to show my gratitude. (GO FOLLOW THEM AND REBLOG THEIR STUFF OR ELSE YOU FORFEIT YOUR KNEECAPS.)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of dark and slightly claustrophobic areas, descriptions of being chased/pursued/stalked, blood, panic/fear, body horror, teeth, eyes, strong language, eating/drinking. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

(If you’d like to use distorted fonts like the one you’ll be seeing in this story, then I recommend going here).

Tap-tap-tap

The sun was still sinking, still casting beautiful streaks of pink, purple, and orange across the clouds, but it wouldn’t be long. 

The rock spire’s shadow grew wider and longer with each passing minute.

Outside, the entrance to the cavern yawned open just ten or so feet away. 

Penn couldn’t believe he’d thought it was dark earlier. 

The shade further inside was bright compared to the monster. 

The monster almost didn’t even briefly blend in with that darkness as he paced by the cave’s mouth for the hundredth time now.

Whatever excuse the monster had for skin wasn’t just pitch-black. Oh sure, it glistened like tar one second, then sprouted veins that throbbed like a diseased organ would against blood-clots the next, and then appeared raw like leathery scales or a rough carapace the next, and, and, and. . .

But that was just it. 

The grotesque way it kept shifting and stretching—the constant changes were only ripples against the pitch blackness it was made of. 

It wasn’t like mere shadows or clouds of smoke or puddles of ink. 

The monster was a moving, breathing, sentient void.

He was nothing.

He was a nothing that was somehow bigger than anything because it kept all sorts of horrible things trapped inside it. 

Tap-tap-tap

Throughout his career, Pennsylvania James had come across several opportunities to invoke a phrase that managed to be so simple and so acidic at the same time: “I told you so.”

To his credit, he’d only taken said opportunities once or twice. Most of them had come up via honest mistakes not worth starting a fight over. 

In this scenario, however, that infamous quip would absolutely be justified. 

The red jeep he was currently sitting in belonged to none other than Illinois Jenkins. It’d also belonged to several other parties before aforementioned treasure-hunter had purchased it. 

In a way, that kind of made sense. If you made your living looking for relics, then why not drive something that could probably classify as a relic itself? 

Penn understood that the market for cars was a complete and total trash-fire, as well as how the concept of sentimental value worked in mysterious ways. Really, he did!

But no amount of understanding would make this thing work when he and Illinois really needed it to work.  

Tap-tap-tap

Like a few minutes ago, for instance, when the engine had only offered a weird sputtering noise after Illinois had twisted his key around in the ignition a few dozen times in the span of half a microsecond.

. . .At least, the more logical parts of Penn’s brain were sure that only a few minutes had passed. The less logical parts insisted that it’d been a good couple hours since he and Illinois had bolted out of the cave’s entrance and into the jeep for shelter. 

Oh, yes. There was no way in neither heaven nor hell that Penn could be blamed for telling Illinois that he’d told him so about this damn jeep. 

But he couldn’t do that right now.

Tap-tap-tap

Right now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak again for the next day or two. 

Right now, the only sounds in the air were heavy, raspy panting courtesy of himself and his friend.

He felt his heart bashing against his sternum over and over and over; each beat was legitimately painful. His pulse thundered in his ears as the blood rushed throughout his head. Though, if he listened closely enough, he was sure he could hear Illinois’ own heart on the brink of explosion in his chest. 

Tap-tap-tap

. . .As well as that godforesaken tapping. 

The sound was so light, so quick, so obviously produced by the jeep’s windows. 

And yet Penn’s instincts swore up and down that his skull was being struck for that little rhythm.

It seemed Illinois was under the same illusion, if the way he ground his jaw was anything to go by.

The monster sidled up to the jeep again, placing one hand (or paw, or clutch of talons, or tentacle, or what-the-hell-ever) on the hood while another appendage stretched to rest somewhere on the roof. 

More arms spilled out from his heaving sides, being planted against the ground as he steadied himself and leaned forward, craning his neck toward the windshield. 

His eyes. . .God, somehow they were the very worst part of him. They glowed with a sickly light; not at all like the sun or the moon or even the stars. No, they looked like someone had taken a flickering ember from the bottom of a firepit, and then wrapped strips of pale, decaying flesh around it. 

Penn tried to lean even further back against the leather seat. His spine could feel the monster’s malevolent gaze, and it wanted to crawl out of his skin and find a better hiding place. But it couldn’t, due to both Penn’s attempts to keep it where it belonged as well as the fact that no living thing could ever hide from those eyes no matter what it did.  

Penn watched as a dark, slick, shaking claw reached around the side of the windshield, being pushed toward the passenger window.

Tap-tap-tap

___

Nomad’s Nook. 

That was what the glowing, candy-red sign on this building’s roof spelled out to greet passersby. It sort of made the hotel a centerpiece, as this town was made specifically for drifters and the like, full of tidy little convenience stores and gas stations. 

Desert areas had their charms, but they hardly ever felt like the right place to make a home. Unless, of course, you were a fennec fox, or a gila monster, or a rattlesnake. But even then, you could only survive in an environment like this if you had a shady place to rest. 

Such as a tunnel boring through the base of one of those towering rock spires that had formed an odd million years ago. 

A tunnel that just might lead to an underground cave. . .or maybe two. . .or three. . .

Then again, places like that could also be on your radar if you just so happened to be named after one of the fifty States. 

“So, care to wager?”

“Hmm?” Penn raised an eyebrow, still working on a bite of the takeout ravioli his companion had slaved over a hot cellphone for. By the time they’d parked the jeep outside and trudged into the lobby downstairs, it’d been about two hours since sunset; any meal was long overdue. “On what?”

Illinois, who sat on another bed across the room from the one Penn had claimed, looked up from his own supper (grilled chicken margherita) with a smug grin, dark brown eyes glinting under the rim of his Akubra hat.

“Chuck’s Hole,” he clarified. “Up until now, we’ve only been guesstimating. We still can’t be sure just how far its depths really go. It could have all kinds of things in store for us. . .” 

Penn doubled over as the need to take a deep breath collided with the mouthful of food he’d just barely swallowed. 

“Thanks—a lot,” he hacked, trying to give Illinois a death-glare. Due to the giggles that leaked out, though, this effort wasn’t very successful. 

Illinois tried to shrug it off, all cool and casual, only to wrench his eyes shut as he too fell victim to a violent bout of snickers.

This wasn’t the cavern’s official title. . .not yet, at least, but it had a good chance of sticking. A title like that was too stupid and too funny to forget any time soon. 

The idea stemmed from another one of Penn and Illinois’ projects. The former had discovered a documentary relating to the very specimens he’d been after, and the latter had agreed to watch it with him. 

Well, at some point, the narrator (who absolutely deserved a raise, what with the intensity and drama of his voice) had been describing the body structure of some carnivorous theropod. Particularly its skull and jaws.

The instant subtitles, in their notorious janky nature, had interpreted the quote, “—designed for ripping its prey apart and swallowing chunks whole—” as “—designed for ripping its pray a part and swallowing Chuck’s hole.”

Chuck’s hole.

Chuck’s.

Hole.

. . .Damn.

It was a wonder Penn hadn’t caved in the spacebar on his laptop’s keyboard when he’d paused the video, rendering those words temporarily frozen in brackets at the bottom-left corner of the screen. His free hand had curled into a fist, which he repeatedly slammed against the desk like it owed him money, cackling like a deranged gremlin all the while. 

Illinois had slumped in his chair, raising his hands to knead at his forehead, becoming so wracked with belly-laughs that he ended up choking on a combination of air and his own spit. And after the two of them had calmed down enough to speak coherently again, he’d vowed to one day name a new subterranean area he found in honor of this beautiful moment of idiocy. 

Despite how he insisted on “working best alone,” it wasn’t uncommon for Illinois to call up Penn and invite him to join the odd adventure. Likewise, though he was typically a bit more hesitant, it wasn’t uncommon for Penn to take those invitations. (The team he usually worked with needed breaks, after all.) 

This current project was more of a coincidence. No-one had explored it yet, and rumors about it had reached both of them around the same time. 

Penn leaned back against the too-firm pillows, subconsciously catching his fair skin, chocolate-colored hair and matching eyes in the blank screen of the television at the front of the room. “There were only so many burrowing dinosaurs back then. And caves usually only have trace fossils in their walls, but that depends on the environment. In a place like this. . .” 

He paused, drumming his fingers on the thin blanket whose corners had been tucked under the mattress tighter than a pageant star’s girdle. “. . .There’s a good chance of finding nocturnal remains. Y’know, bats and the like.”

“Sure, but that can’t just be it,” Illinois replied. “C’mon, think a little bigger!” 

Penn tilted his head to the side, reaching over to pluck his deep red neckerchief from the nightstand. He began weaving it about his fingers as he thought. “I guess I can’t rule out the possibility of hyenas, wolves, or bears. Maybe even the odd hominin or two, but I’d have to be really lucky for that.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got me,” Illinois declared, smirking as he took off his hat to smooth back the raven hair that almost tickled his shoulders.  

Penn rolled his eyes, half fond and half exasperated. “Right, right. The guy who gets chased by boulders every time he steps outside is just the pinnacle of luck.”

Illinois scoffed. “Oh, please. The boulders are small potatoes compared to animal-rooted curses. Have you ever seen a beaver with green smoke pouring out of its eyes? Awful stuff, man. Awful. Stuff.”

The adventurer paused, shuddering as a distant, unreadable look manifested in his eyes. “Last time I bumped into one, I spent a week with the feeling of splinters all over my tongue. Don’t even get me started on how orange my teeth turned!” 

“. . .I’m not sure why you’d put orange teeth in a worse spot on the tier list than invisible splinters in your mouth,” Penn deadpanned. 

“You weren’t there to see it! My dentist wouldn’t stop trying to convince me that I’d either been eating Play Doh or doing all sorts of drugs!” Illinois argued, shaking his head, eyebrows arched so severely they could’ve left dents in the ceiling. “And that was just what I got from a scratch. The stupid overgrown-water-hamster hadn’t even bitten me.” 

With all the trivia he gathered on instinct, Penn knew that somewhere out in the world, there existed an obituary that could easily be summarized as Death By Beaver. And, assuming the guilty rodent in question was a normal, non-cursed one, an event like that being reality was already weird enough. 

“It could’ve been worse,” Penn mused. “Imagine getting attacked by a cursed koala. If that’s not a bad omen from the universe, then I don’t know what is.” 

Illinois grimaced, no doubt recalling the time he’d unwillingly learned that koalas A. could somehow throw temper-tantrums that rivaled those of crocodiles, and B. carried strands of chlamydia around like those stupid designer purses. “Fair point, though I doubt any curse would give a koala more braincells to work with.” 

Penn snorted. “Exactly.”

On one hand, Penn could be a bit of a skeptic. Not always, since you couldn’t put strange, vast skeletons together without being imaginative. But as a young boy, he’d lost count of all the times he’d been laughed at for collecting rocks simply because they were shinier or more colorful than average.

On the other hand, one of his and Illinois’ earlier co-op trips had seen them stopping by a Walmart for supplies and then getting chased out ten minutes later by a rogue boulder that had apparently manifested somewhere in the candy aisle because why the hell not? 

Certain parts of his mind hadn’t known peace since then, but other parts were now more open than they were before. So, Penn supposed that could count as a balance. 

Illinois paused, eyes to widening and twinkling. “Oh! And speaking of omens, hang on a second—”

He placed his to-go box to the side before reaching over to the bedpost. There hung a satchel, the same one he claimed to have inherited from his mother and always took on his escapades. He rummaged through it, eliciting a chorus of sounds that suggested it was packed with many, many more things than it should’ve been capable of holding. 

After an awkwardly long moment, the silence was broken by a short cry of victory. Illinois got to his feet, crossing the room and extending his arm to show off the package that was now taking up space in one hand.  “I got something for you. Fresh from the other side of the world.” 

Penn felt his lips quirk as he carefully took said package. It was a bundle of brown paper, complete with a long string of twine that had been tied into a bow at the top. Whatever was inside could only be about as long as his hand, but it had a definite heft to it. 

Penn placed it on his lap as he fished through his pockets, bringing out a small folding knife to cut the cords. The paper yielded quite easily, shuffling and crackling and spreading like the petals of a dried-out flower as he unfolded it. 

There, in the middle of those layers, sat the gift. 

It was cold against his palms. It felt a little rough too, despite the paint (which was the grayish-purplish color of a bruise) that covered it. Hardened clay, Penn guessed. 

It resembled an animalistic head, though Penn wasn’t sure what animal the artist had taken inspiration from. An oblong shape like the snout of a dog, or maybe a lizard; if he was honest, it seemed like someone had tried to sculpt a velociraptor’s skull strictly from memory. Whatever the case, its snout split open into a leering maw full of sharp, crooked teeth. And just above those teeth. . .eyes. 

Eight eyes, to be specific, organized in a line of four on either side of the face. They’d each been painted an unpleasant shade of yellow, each adorned by a wide, black pupil. Penn squinted, realizing that those pupils were holes. Just hollow pits boring further inside the head. 

There were two more holes in the bottom half, right under the thing’s lower jaw. A small spire jutted out from the base, adorned by a tiny rectangular chasm. Like the mouthpiece you could expect to find on any wind-instrument.

“. . .An ocarina?” Penn finally asked, glancing back at Illinois. 

Illinois tutted, shaking his head. "Penn, buddy, c'mon. After all the crazy shit you've seen me handle, you really think I'd give you just any old ocarina?"

“I mean, that's sort of what this looks like. Big emphasis on the ‘sort of,’ though, I'll give you that," Penn quipped, a hesitant laugh following his words. It felt like the thing’s eyes were watching him. They couldn’t be, though. They were hollow, they were made of clay. This thing was not alive. 

Penn didn’t like how he had to remind himself of that. 

“It’s a Chimera Pipe,” Illinois continued with a ghostly edge to his voice. “Whenever you play it, the music is supposed to ward off evil spirits. What do you think?”

“Interesting. Pretty damn interesting.” Despite the cold, clammy feeling creeping around his stomach, Penn couldn’t help but smile. “Y’know, I was gonna say I’ve never seen anything like this, but it reminds of that little doll you got a few years ago.”

“‘Little doll,’” Illinois echoed, incredulous. “I think you mean my Warden.” 

“Right, sorry.” Penn raised a teasing eyebrow in return, then glanced back down at the Chimera Pipe. “Really, though, doesn’t this thing give off the same vibe as that?”

“It’d better give off the same vibe; it was made by the same person.” Illinois reached into one of his breast pockets to produce the object in question. “I honestly can’t believe I managed to bump into them again. I mean, of course they’d recognize me, of all people—”

Illinois’ shoulders popped up in a cocky little shrug as his free hand hovered over his heart. Penn clicked his tongue at that. 

As Illinois held the Warden up, allowing it to catch the light, a lump manifested in Penn’s throat. His companion had a point: doll wasn’t the most accurate term for it. It had been carved from wood, yes, but that was where the similarities ended. 

Small, oily black feathers and strands of hair (actual human hair, mind you) had been wrapped around its torso in a tight bundle. Six jagged, spidery twig-arms jutted out from said bundle, bent in ways that suggested the totem was both trying to free itself and claw at anything that got near it.

Its head almost resembled the skull of a tiny monkey. . .almost. About ten eyes had been painted all over it. Or, Penn assumed eyes had been painted there. It was hard to tell, what with the plethora of steel nails that had been driven into it from every which way. A decent chunk had been carved from it, leaving the entire lower half to serve as a gaping, disfigured mouth filled with needle-teeth.

Thick strings had been twisted around its torso, coming to a knot around its neck, which in turn spilled out into a wide loop. Apparently the maker had explained that its protective powers would be most efficient when it was worn as a necklace, but it would still work nicely when hung from a bedpost, or a rack on the wall. . .or a doorknob. 

(Illinois went for the last option, since he couldn’t resist using that to make jokes about not needing to put a tie or sock on the knob anymore.)

Penn rested his fingertips over the pipe's eye-holes and his thumbs over the jaw-holes. He pushed the mouthpiece toward his face, only to flich back, wrinkling his nose. “Oh—oh, geez.”

“What the matter?” Illinois asked, tilting his head and taking a few steps closer. 

“Nothing, it just. . .smells funny. Strong,” Penn answered. He’d already expected a distinct, earthy scent from the clay. And while it was there, it was overpowered by something else. Something that had a bite to it, like vinegar or cigarettes.

Illinois scratched at the hair growing along his jaw. “That must be the paint. I was told all sorts of spices and herbs had to be mixed into it for it to work. Kind of like the stuff people use to cure animal hides, y’know?” 

Penn hummed, offering a shrug. He could see the logic of that. 

Illinois then gestured to the pipe, silently prompting him to resume. 

Penn nodded, raising the pipe back up until the mouthpiece was less than an inch from his lips. Then, he took a deep breath, held it in his chest for a second, and blew it out.

The ensuing noise was. . .unique. 

It was a mixture of guttural and keening, shifting through a good few notes as Penn tapped his fingers against the eye-holes, trying to find a rhythm. It certainly didn’t sound like any music he’d heard before, but it wasn’t a person’s voice or an animal’s cry. So, music was the only thing it could really be called.

After a moment, he decided to stop playing and pulled the pipe away from his face. Illinois gave a brief, soft applause. 

“I can’t see any evil spirits in here. Can you?” Illinois asked, making a show of glancing around the hotel room. 

Penn shook his head, turning the pipe over in his hands. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“Great! It must be working, then. . .well, unless the Warden is just doing all the heavy-lifting.” Illinois grinned, spinning the creepy little doll-thing between his fingers.

“WOW.” Penn raised an eyebrow, grinning right back as he placed a hand on his hip. “Are you putting my playing skills to shame?”

Illinois squinted and pursed his lips, holding one hand flat in the air and turning it to and fro in that classic Maybe-Kinda-Sorta gesture.

Penn scoffed as he set the Chimera Pipe on the nightstand next to his own hat (another, older gift from Illinois), still tracing its eye-holes with his fingers. “. . .Thanks for thinking of me, Illi. This’ll really stand out in my collection.”

Illinois nodded as he strode back to his own bed and flopped onto the mattress. “No problem, Penn.”

___

Spelunking definitely wasn’t a hobby for everyone.

There was a reason storytellers often used “Rocks fall, everyone dies” as a catchall conclusion in a pinch. Even in the safer scenarios, caves were still cold, dark, enclosed. 

When stalagmites and stalactites alike (try saying that five times fast) protruded from the floors and ceilings, it wouldn’t take a paranoid imagination to see how those things resembled rows of irregular, snarling fangs.

That, in turn, led to the cave looking like the maw of a beast, which would obviously make the tunnels comparable to said beast’s throat. All in all, the correlation between caverns and monsters wasn’t that much of a joke.

But archeology buffs weren’t everyone. 

Penn and Illinois trekked side-by-side, led only by the glow of flashlights, their footsteps reverberating as they descended further and further into the behemoth’s belly. The sunlight trickling in through the craggy entrance of Chuck’s Hole had faded away with the distance.

Most cave systems consisted of one long, uneven tunnel that simply wound deeper and deeper into the earth until inevitably hitting a dead end. (A literal and figurative rock bottom, if you would.) Sometimes there could be thinner passages as well, branching off the main one and offering a much shorter path to a much smaller chamber.

It reminded Penn of the ant farm he’d cared for back when his undertakings had been limited to the neighborhood playground.

Chuck’s Hole was no different.  

Penn paused, lowering his flashlight as he leaned against the wall.

A hollow phantom pain crawled up and down his left leg. As though the ache was leaking through the huge, jagged bitemark that marred the skin of his thigh. It’d healed and scarred over quite a while ago—and the limp Penn now walked with wasn’t too noticeable—but that didn’t stop it from stinging like hell at times. 

It took a few seconds before Illinois glanced over his shoulder and stopped as well. He opened his mouth, only to immediately shut it with a little snap. He chewed his lip, making a clear effort to not stare at Penn’s leg as though he could see the scar through his pants. The guilt that trickled into his dark eyes, however, he hadn’t moved fast enough to hide.

Penn shook his head and rolled his shoulders. “I’m fine, I’m fine. We can keep going.” He took a bottle from one of the compartments in his canvas rucksack, lifting it up and taking a few gulps. The icy water felt good. “You said you had a feeling there’d be more for us to see, right?” 

Illinois nodded, smiling once more. “Right.” 

With that, the duo continued on, soon discovering a fork in the main tunnel just a few feet ahead. That was where Illinois suddenly halted yet again, leaning around the curve of the craggy wall to peek at the secondary pathway. He let out a low whistle, then disappeared around the corner. 

The hidden scar burned as Penn quickened his pace, but that was easily pushed aside once he entered this new chamber. 

“Say ‘Cheese!’” Illinois called before a bright flash illuminated everything within five feet of him. Penn flinched, squawking as one hand flew up just a millisecond too late to shield his face. 

Illinois guffawed. “Ah, that’ll be a good one for the corkboards!” 

After a second or two of scrubbing at his eyes, Penn shook his head and sighed, offering a disappointed glare that could make dads all over the world green with envy. “I should’ve known you were gonna pull something like that.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Illinois agreed, smirking as he turned away to take some more pictures, this time of the things they were actually down here to study.

Though he tried hard not to, Penn ended up snickering to himself. “Did you at least get my good side?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Illinois answered with a shrug as he slipped his camera back into his satchel. 

The lower-half of the chamber could be compared to an ammonite shell: it twisted in on itself and offered three ledges, each one trailing off into the next and going slightly deeper.

As Penn approached his companion, he noticed how the sides of each ledge were different from the main tunnel. They resembled the work of a tattoo artist who was, to the great misfortune of his paying canvas, whacked out on three different cocktails that had been served with more than just salt on the rims of the glasses.

At first his heart jumped, assuming he and Illinois had stumbled upon a few dozen crinoids. That spark died a quick death as he looked closer, though his interest was still piqued. Every inch of the rock in here was scored, covered in twisting lines and shapes that couldn’t be naturally-formed layers or cracks. They’d been carved with crude instruments, and quite hastily at that. 

“What do you make of these?” Penn asked, squinting and having to keep turning his head. All of the carvings seemed to work together to create a larger picture, but it was so hard to fit them all in his eyes at once. 

Illinois pursed his lips, a mixture of curiosity and adrenaline flickering on his face. “They’re not like a lot of the hieroglyphics I’ve seen. I think can make out a few similarities, but not enough to actually translate anything. I’ll have to check my journals for a comparison later.”

He’d already strolled to the third ledge, which trailed off around a pit in the bottom. “I was just about to ask if you had any ideas about this.”

As Penn followed and looked down, he felt his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. 

It looked like a circle had been hollowed out of the rock, about as wide as both his and Illinois’ wingspans lined up together, and then filled with. . .something. 

Whatever it was, it must have been viscous before it was left to harden God-knows-how-many-years-ago. A few hundred filaments and frozen bubbles gleamed from under the surface against the bright artificial glow of his flashlight.

There was no way to truly tell, but the hole must have been pretty damn deep, as the substance was flat as a window.

Illinois knelt down and reached over to carefully tap at the edge of the petrified mass, eliciting a dull tik-tik. He then dragged his nail across it, tilting his head as he saw how no scratch mark was left behind. “Amber, maybe?”

Penn shook his head. “I think agate would be a closer option. Like sardonyx or Mexican Fire.” He paced around the pit, keeping his torch’s beam trained on it. “I’ve seen plenty of amber samples come in different colors, but none of them had any patterns like this.” 

Sure enough, an assortment of long, winding shapes could be seen further within the substance. They were a dark shade of gray, reminding Penn of tree branches, or roots. . .or veins. 

Except they were all bent and contorted, tangling rather than smoothly flowing together. As though the bottom of the pit had been some kind of burial mound, and a bunch of pale, malnourished limbs with WAY too many joints for comfort had been writhing through the soil just as this stuff was poured in. 

Illinois hummed as he stood back up and wandered closer, now following Penn’s gaze. “Sort of reminds me of horn coral. Y’know, like charlevoix?” 

Penn offered a shrug. “I guess so. Or something along the lines of opalized septarian? I mean, that’s the closest thing I can think of in terms of the pattern, but the colors seem completely off.” 

It never failed to fascinate him just how pretty rocks could be, depending on how and where they formed. 

The mass in the pit was not an example. Not by a long-shot. 

As he kept examining, Penn saw shades of white and red and orangish-brown. While he’d seen those types of colors mix very well together in other things, the mixture here just looked. . .wrong. 

In fact, the longer he stared at it, the more its colors appeared almost fleshy. 

And, following that comparison, the gray of those vein-like bands were like fungal threads growing on a carcass. 

Penn grimaced at the thought. He then slid his rucksack down one arm and onto the craggy floor. He got to his knees and fished around inside it, now holding his flashlight between his teeth as he produced a hammer and chisel. They shone in the dim light, having been cleaned and sharpened for what was probably the thousandth time not too long ago. 

He leaned over the petrified mass, pressing the chisel’s flat edge flush against it and lining up the hammer’s face. 

He started with a few cautious taps. The substance didn’t feel like concrete, of course, but it still seemed just as firm. 

Penn tightened his grip, then wound back and gave a much stronger strike. The chisel’s blade dug in a couple inches deeper.

Penn kept at it, readjusting his tools every few seconds as he carved a piece, feeling an odd type of comfort as the percussion reverberated through the bones of his fingers and wrists. 

A smile flickered on his face as a palm-fitting chunk finally broke off from the rest of the mass. As he laid his instruments off to the side and took aforementioned chunk into his hands, however, that smile died a slow death. 

The substance was dry. You could tell just by looking that it was very, very dry. 

True, the inside of this cavern was much cooler than the outside, but it was still smack-dab in the middle of a desert. True, Penn and Illinois were underground right now, but they still had yet to find any water deposits in here. 

And yet it. . .it felt moist and sticky against his skin.

It slipped out of Penn’s grasp, giving a very anticlimactic thunk as it fell to the ground. There was no residue, no filmy strings, no evidence of any sort of liquid on his fingers. 

Confused, Penn reached down and picked it back up. That same, sickly-wet feeling came with it, once again not leaving a single hint that the sample was anything other than dry as a bone. 

Although, if he really thought about it, that term only applied to old bones. 

A freshly-removed bone, on the other hand, would be quite slick with blood. . .

As he side-eyed the rest of the mass, a sharp, ugly sensation manifested inside him. Like he’d swallowed a spool of jagged, oily wire that was now unraveling in his stomach. He felt his free hand curl into a fist at his side. He didn’t want to look at the mass anymore, but he just couldn’t seem to turn his head away. 

The colors. . .those awful, fleshy-looking colors. . .were they vibrating?

No. 

No, no, nononono, they couldn’t be. 

They couldn’t be, and they weren’t. 

Penn made sure of that via grinding his jaw and blinking furiously. 

H i t  i t  a g a i n , whispered something he couldn’t hear.

It almost felt like one of his thoughts. But it wasn't. Whatever it was, it had NEVER been in his head before and therefore had no right to be in there now. 

That sensation was now in his skull, fluttering along his temples like the beginning flares of a migraine. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Goosebumps sprouted along his arms. Something in his brain screamed at him to hold his breath, and he listened to it without even thinking. 

Still looking at the mass, still clutching the sample he’d taken. . .still feeling what his instincts now recognized as the impatient stare of an apex predator. 

From out of nowhere, weight came down on his shoulder. At the same time, his hat was titled upward to make way for something rough and uneven that was suddenly being pressed against his forehead. 

Penn startled, a small scream tearing its way up his throat only to die halfway through his mouth as Illinois appeared before him.

“Whoa, hey! Take it easy!” Illinois almost recoiled in turn, but held steady. 

“What are you doing?!” Penn squawked, trying to edge away. 

“I’m trying to help you!” Illinois barked. One hand remained on Penn’s shoulder while the other refused to leave any room for Jesus between Penn’s brow and a small, blurry object. 

In a flash, Penn was back on his feet, reeling away until his shoulder collided with one of the walls. Illinois approached, hovering before his companion, holding the Warden in empty air.

The two of them engaged in a very uncomfortable staring contest for about ten seconds. Even with all its little nail-stab-wound-eyes, the Warden was really the only winner.  

“You’re not okay,” Illinois announced. His eyes made it clear that he knew it would’ve been pointless to ask otherwise. “You felt strange while taking that sample, didn’t you? Your head was hurting, right?”

Penn offered a shaky nod before trying to ask, “How did—why were you—?” 

Illinois let out a deep breath, nodding back. “This thing was made to be a guard dog. But that doesn’t mean it can’t help with the more, ah, internalized bad juju.” He raised the Warden for emphasis. “I kinda felt it, too. Sudden pain isn’t too uncommon in shrines like this.” 

“Yeah, well, your experiences aren’t universal,” Penn snarked, cringing at how dry his mouth suddenly felt. The naturally-formed tombs of ancient animals were one thing, but actual shrines were another. 

Illinois glanced down, fidgeting with the Warden’s cord before lifting it over his hat, letting it drape along his neck, the creepy totem now resting over his heart. 

As Penn watched, he felt himself reach into one of the lower pockets of his hiking vest. His fingers brushed against dry paint, feeling the Chimera Pipe's clay teeth and hollow eye-holes. He’d been worried about the possibility of it getting stolen while he and Illinois were away from the hotel room. 

That was the main reason he’d brought it along.

Had anything else compelled him to. . ?

Illinois rolled his shoulders, briskly shaking his head. “Alright, c’mon. We need to steer clear of this particular chamber. For a little while, at least.” He turned and started walking back up the ledges, beckoning for Penn to follow. 

Though Penn didn’t reply, he was quick to gather up his things, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder and marching along. He didn't dare look back at the sample he'd just carved, very pointedly leaving it behind.

Pieces of that oily feeling were still in his head, much more muffled than before. That wasn’t much of an improvement, since they also felt angrier, more desperate than before. Penn shivered badly, his eyes watering without warning, which led to him tripping over his own feet. 

Illinois caught him before he could taste the craggy floor. The adventurer’s features contorted with worry as he helped the paleontologist regain his balance. Penn guessed that his eyes were significantly more bloodshot than they had been a few minutes ago, judging by how Illinois sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he peered at them. 

“. . .Or maybe should we just head to the jeep,” Illinois coughed, keeping a hand on the small of Penn’s back as the two of them drew closer to the chamber’s entrance. “Get some sunshine, take a longer break, weigh our options before we come baaAAAAAAUUUGH!” 

How had neither of them noticed the ground beginning to tremble?

Penn barely had time to register the scream before Illinois barreled to the side, half-shoving-half-dragging him along. He let out a shocked shriek of his own, which wasted no time bouncing off the chamber walls as the duo landed in a heap in the corner of the first ledge. 

What felt like a Category 4 earthquake rammed into the chamber’s opening, accentuated by a thunderous cacophony of grinding gravel. The stone walls shook, causing centuries-old dust to rain from the ceiling.

Both Penn and Illinois cried out again, ducking and covering, grabbing onto one another for dear life. 

For a brief, horrible moment, the world was nothing but noise. 

Nothing but BOOMING and CRASHING. . .

Until the very last second, when the unmistakable chorus of splintering, then cracking, and then full-on shattering drowned out anything else. It almost sounded like glass, but it just didn’t quite make the mark. Whatever was breaking was obviously much thicker than glass, much more ancient than glass. . .

Penn knew what that was. He knew without having to see, without even having to know.

And then. . .well, it would be wrong to say that a heavy silence settled over everything. The sound of hitching, ragged gasps for air almost seemed deafening. 

“. . .I-is anything broken? Or bleeding?” Penn finally blurted, opening one eye a few seconds before the other. His companion looked like he’d been involved in either a classic baking fiasco or a freak accident in a cocaine lab. Even with a significant lack of mirrors down here, Penn could tell he was in the same boat. “There’s only a few scrapes on my arms.”

Illinois opened his mouth to reply, only to launch himself into a coughing fit as the tiny particles were sucked in. He shook his head and offered a thumbs-up. “Same here.”

His nerves were obviously still on fire, but the day he wasn’t a do-er was the the day he wasn’t Illinois. He gritted his teeth, brushing the dust off his face before craning his neck to survey whatever the hell had just happened.

The answer was. . .interesting, as an odd mix of triumph and aggravation swept over the adventurer’s features. He was back on his feet in a flash, readjusting his hat as he rushed away from the impromptu fallout shelter. “YyyyyyOU SON OF A BITCH! I THOUGHT WE’D SETTLED THIS THE LAST TIME!” 

Give him his due, Illinois seemed to sense the way Penn winced, as he paused his tirade to glance over his shoulder and wave a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not talking about you.” 

That statement seemed to kickstart something, as Penn was suddenly up and following on shakey legs before he even felt himself moving. “What is it?! What is it?!”

Illinois scoffed, pointing an accusatory finger at the bottom of the chamber, at the petrified mass. . .or, what was left of it.

At least a couple hundred shards had been broken off and sent flying onto the higher ledges, courtesy of a large boulder that had crashed into the pit. Despite not struggling the way an animal would, it was clearly stuck, lodged in halfway.

Penn heaved a long-suffering sigh. He wasn’t sure if this topped the Walmart Disaster or not; even if the boulder really did have a mind of its own, at least it was in a place it actually had a modicum of business being in right now. 

“How many times do I have tO TEACH YOU THIS LESSON?” Illinois demanded, stooping down to snatch up a much smaller, more primitive cousin to his adversary and hurl it. The rock hit the boulder with a loud plunk before tumbling back down to the ground. 

“Knock it off, Illi,” Penn started, giving his friend a dig in the arm. “I’d say yelling won’t do anything, but in your case, yelling is only gonna make it mad.”

“Oh, please. Like it isn’t already mad!” Illinois contended. He kept his eyes glued to his craggy nemesis. “It’s because you didn’t catch me all those years ago, isn’t it? That’s your own damn fault! Losing a race to something eight times smaller and a few hundred weightclassses lighter says more about YOU than it does about your target!”

Penn narrowed his eyes, weighing the pros and cons that would come with reaching over to knock Illinois’ hat off. He’d just barely raised a hand when his gaze wandered back over to the boulder. . .to the cracks it’d left in the petrified mass. . .and he found himself frozen once more. 

“Illinois, wait—” he whispered. He started shivering, and not just from the cold lumps materializing in his throat. 

The explorer in question interrupted. “I wasn’t even taking that one idol; I was literally just trying to put it back! What the hell would a boulder want with an idol anyway?!”

“Illinois, stop, listen—!” Penn tried again, shaking his companion’s shoulder.  

Illinois cut him off yet again. “Why don’t you just sprout legs already, huh?! I’ve met rhinos who had better aim than you! And at least rhinos have bad eyesight as an excuse! You don’t even HAVE eyes, and yet you STILL try to single me out every damn year!”

“ILLINOIS!” Penn snapped, his voice shooting through several octaves as he grabbed the other man by the arm and forced him to take a few steps back.

The monologue came to an abrupt halt. Illinois swiveled his head to meet Penn’s eyes.

“What?” He asked with just a hint of attitude, looking perfectly casual for someone who had just been shouting obscenities at a boulder.

Penn gritted his teeth, his frustration giving way to fear as he frantically motioned toward the boulder. Or, to be more precise, what was happening underneath the boulder. What was happening to the remains of the mass in the pit. . .

Illinois looked back, squinting, incredulousness wafting off him in waves for about three seconds. By the fourth second, all the color drained right out of his face.

There was something on the other side of the mass. Something that was now pooling up through the new cracks with a chorus of soft, sickening sighs. 

Penn remembered watching videos of octopi using their boneless nature to their advantage, squeezing through the thinnest, tiniest, most unbelievable spaces to escape their enclosures. As stomach-churning as it’d been to watch, it’d managed to also be just as funny and fascinating.

There was only one way to see what was happening right now as funny or fascinating, and that was to simply not be human. Actually, scratch that, it involved not being anything that could be found among the natural order, or among sane, innocent minds. 

A large clot of dark, viscous tendrils clung to the boulder, slithering along to the top of it, visibly straining as more and more and more came oozing out. What was left of the petrified mass creaked and groaned and splintered, now swelling like either an egg on the brink of hatching or a pimple on the brink of popping. The pieces that hadn’t flown off were now being pushed up by the rising horror. 

It almost seemed to move like a liquid; this wasn’t tar, oil, or even the unimpressive sludge you could find anywhere just by digging deep enough to reach the moist, cold, protected bowels of soil. Magma mixed with gallons of blood was the closest guess, but that still wound up being wrong.

This was flesh. 

Blistering, boiling, contorting flesh like some awful hybrid of spider and slug that seemed to take any and all light and swallow it up.

A type of flesh that wasn’t supposed to exist.

In under a minute, enough of it had oozed out to create a mound that nearly touched the chamber’s ceiling. It kept writhing in place, but with purpose now. At least six coiling limbs sprouted from its sides, the ends of each splitting into a clutch of dripping claws.

“. . .¥ê§. . .”

The voice was like a swarm of cicadas, shifting through several pitches at once. A masculine edge seemed present somewhere within it—hell, there even seemed to be a hint of Midwestern accent, for some ungodly reason.

Holes of various shapes and sizes tore themselves open everywhere, screaming and soon gnashing as sets of shark-like teeth came blooming around them. Just as many, if not even more, eyes followed suite, bubbling through the skin, each blinking erratically and shifting through all sorts of colors. 

“¥ê§, ¥ê§, ¥È§!” The abhorrent voice continued. “̆'§ håþþêñêÐ! Ì'm ðµ†! Ì'm £ïñåll¥, £ÌñÄLL¥ ÖÚ†!”

The empty space at the top of the mound shuddered, forcing some of the material around the middle to surge upward, molding itself together to shape first a neck. . .and then a head. 

A pair of sockets drained themselves out in the front, promptly being filled by two more eyes, larger and wider and more focused than all the others.

A maw split open beneath them, revealing rows of teeth sharp enough to make even the most intimidating swords of yore look like Swiss Army toys.

“£RÈÈÐÖM!” The newly-formed monster cried, his laughter rippling through the air the same way lightning would streak through clouds and rain. 

All at once, the oily feeling was back, now focused on Penn’s chest rather than his head. It seemed to literally wash over him; the haze made him feel soaked, made his clothes feel like they were clinging to his skin. 

And unlike a few minutes ago, it wasn’t just squirming somewhere inside his flesh. 

No, this time, only half of it was doing that.

The other half was outside of him, as obvious-yet-invisible as the air itself.

And it.

Was. 

PULLING. 

Like he was a cadaver on an examining table, like the mortician had sliced a long line from his throat to his navel, like the two freshly-seperated halves of skin on his torso were being tugged apart, like his intestines were being dragged out hand-over-fist. 

None of it felt like normal pain, like real pain. 

It felt the same way a long, fat worm looked when its glistening, slimy skin was covered in fine soil. 

It felt the same way sulfur smelled as it rose up from a geyser in clouds of heavy, near-palpable fog. 

It felt the same way a infant sounded as it screamed while its umbilical cord was being cut. 

Penn knew he wasn’t bleeding, knew nothing was actually pouring out of him.

That didn’t make things any better.

His mind was bleeding. Ulcers were growing on his thoughts. 

He couldn’t know what the oily feeling was so ruthlessly taking from him, but he knew without knowing that it was something important. Something that he could survive without. . .but that kind of absence would make survival pointless. 

Pointless. . .pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, Penn’s mind chanted as the monster’s multitude of eyes all stopped moving in their sockets, pupils dilating one after the other. 

All staring at him and Illinois. 

The monster stiffened, a surprised, excited gasp rushing into the air. 

“Wêll, wêll, wêll!” With a chorus of awful pops and cracks, the monster turned his neck to gaze down, down, down, his  primary eyes shining with the same predatory slyness of a snake that had just cornered a mouse. . .or two.

“ÄñÐ hêrê Ì †hðµgh† §ðmê†hïñg wå§ ð££!”

“Oh, something’s extremely off right now,” Illinois replied. It would’ve been a totally badass gesture on his part. . .except for the fact that his typically deep, rich, velvetine voice had tapered down into a shivering squeak. 

“ñðw, Ððñ'† gê† mê wrðñg, †hï§ ï§ †hê ß꧆ †hïñg †ð håþþêñ †ð mê ïñ ÄGȧ. ßµ† £ðr å mïñµ†ê, ï† jµ§† rêåll¥ £êl† lïkê §ðmê†hïñg wå§ m裏ïñg, ¥'kñðw?” The monster explained thoughtfully, seeming much more amused than unfazed. “Äñ êvêñ† lïkê †hï§ jµ§† ï§ñ'† ¢ðmþlê†ê. . .” 

He dipped his head, lowering himself to the ground, limbs tensing and back arching. Just like a cat getting ready to pounce. 

“. . .wï†h𵆠å ñï¢ê llê rål §å¢rï£ï¢ê!”

The monster’s mouth gaped open, the abyssal skin around his jaws shuddering as he cackled. Three long, sinuous tendrils stretched out between its fangs. One of them was a blur as it cracked like a whip, seemingly of its own accord, sending droplets of ichor to splatter against the walls and floor and immediately sizzle through stone.

Penn didn’t know how—or even why—he managed to move. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the abomination, couldn’t think through the haze of dread and terror. He was beyond steadying himself, but he still moved.

Paint-coated clay greeted his palm like a friend he’d known even longer than Illinois. 

In one swift, fluid, subconscious movement, he raised the Chimera Pipe to his face. 

The strange, warbling, howling music poured into the air.

As it did, as Penn put more force behind his breath, the monster froze. 

The monster’s skin stopped writhing. Those three tongues reeled back into his mouth, vanishing within the rows upon rows upon rows of teeth. 

As Penn stared, still playing, still expecting to die. . .somehow, he caught a glimpse of a shape in the monster’s form. Smack-dab in the spot where his neck met his chest. That shape trembled in a very unpleasant way, just like those full-body-twitches people got while they slept.

And then the monster started SCREAMING. 

It was a hideous concoction of shock and pain and fury. Like nothing Penn had ever heard before and desperately hoped to never hear again. 

Yet, by some miracle, it didn’t drown out the music. 

Penn’s lungs felt like they were on fire. His teeth were vibrating. Tears cascaded out of his eyes, streaming down his face, a lucky few managing to slide onto the Chimera Pipe. 

But he kept playing it.

Even as his vision blurred, even as he felt Illinois grab him by the shoulders and start dragging him away, he kept playing it. 

All the while, the monster kept shrieking as the music drilled into whatever awful mess his ears were. 

Penn just kept on playing. . .until. . .until. . .UNTIL. . .

___

“Ì'll å§k ågåïñ: hðw êx墆l¥,” the monster seethed, “ÐïÐ ¥ðµ gê† ¥ðµr grïm¥ llê håñЧ ðñ †hê§ê. . .†hïñg§?” He jabbed an accusatory talon first in the Chimera Pipe’s direction, then pivoted it toward the Warden, spitting out the last word like it was a rotten oyster. 

He’d gone back and forth between leering at the trapped archeology buffs and snarling at the Chimera Pipe multiple times now. Because it seemed that one of the very few things he couldn’t do was get too close to it, let alone try to touch it. He’d already hovered one of his hand-like appendages over it, only to snatch it away and hiss a few seconds later, as though the clay instrument had an invisible cloud of poison around it. 

“And I’ll tell you as many times as I have to: it’s none of your fucking business!” Illinois retorted. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Our hands aren’t grimy, and they’re not little, either.”

In spite of his horror, Penn couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in Illinois’ direction. The monster’s palms seemed to be as wide as the jeep’s tires (for now, at least).

A strange growl rose from the monster’s throat, sort of like a honey badger that just pulled what was left of its tail out of a malfunctioning garbage disposal. It signaled the very odd way of how the creature’s anger issues combined with the fact that hell would have to freeze over before said creature even thought about giving a damn.

The growl transitioned into an equally grating chuckle as the monster lightly shook his head. “¥ðµr §þê¢ïê§ ðñl¥ hå§ å £êw †hïñg§ gðïñg £ðr ï†. ÄñÐ Ì gµê§§ mðxïê ï§ ðñê 𣠆hêm.”

The monster obviously couldn’t relate to humans (or anything that had been born on Earth, for that matter). There was no doubt that he saw things differently, considering how his too-many eyes rolled and shook and popped and melted and dilated and constricted and. . .

Therefore, Penn had no idea how the monster saw things like moxie.

Moxie felt more distant than the setting sun, than the slowly-dying light that was clawing against the ground. 

As much of an adrenaline junkie as Illinois was, as stubborn as he was to sass a warping mound of flesh made of nightmares, it was easy to tell that he was terrified. Anyone with a single, solitary iota of sanity would be terrified.

Penn couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so helpless. As he stared through the windshield, the monster had most of his attention, of course. . .but the Chimera Pipe was quite a strong contender, what with how it was now lying on the ground just a few feet away from the jeep. 

How had he possibly dropped it? 

It shouldn’t have mattered how fast he and Illinois had been running, how violently he’d been shaking. He should’ve had the death-grip to end all goddamn death-grips on that thing. 

If he hadn’t dropped it, then he could’ve kept on playing it. 

If he could keep on playing it, then maybe that would’ve forced the monster to leave him and Illinois alone. Penn was sure that the monster would keep coming back to prowl around them, taunting or threatening or making sarcastic attempts at cajoling, but at least the pipe’s music would’ve forced him to keep just a little more distance than this. 

But that wasn’t going to happen, because he’d dropped it like only a disposable movie character could. Now, staying in this car, watching the monster’s body spasm and twist, listening to his vile smalltalk was the only option he and Illinois had. 

Oh sure, Illinois had taken the Warden’s string from around his neck, opting instead to tie it to the rearview mirror and let the totem slowly spin to and fro. 

While Penn now understood how the creepy little thing truly did have some protective mojo to it, whatever supernatural vibes that wafted off of it only kept the monster from pressing his horrific face right up against the windows.

Because life could just never be bothered to be that easy or fair.

“What the hell are you?” Penn finally blurted. “What was that stuff in the chamber? How long were you down there?” 

One of the monster’s primary eyes slid around on his face and drilled into Penn’s brown, watery orbs. He was unable to look away as that eye twitched—no, squirmed in its socket. Little lumps appeared under the sclera, bulging and stretching until a bunch of spindly shapes burst through. 

. . .Arms. Nine tiny arms that thrashed the air as the monster’s quivering pinprick pupil spun in the center of them. Not just clawing aimlessly; they were trying to reach for Penn, every single one of them. 

Penn clasped a hand over his mouth to keep something much more solid than his ragged breath from spilling through his lips. 

The monster chuckled again. “Wêll, †hå† l姆 qµê§†ïðñ ï§ †hê êå§ï꧆: †ÖÖ ÐÄMñ LÖñG. §ïñ¢ê ßê£ðrê ¥ðµr åñ¢ê§†ðr§ wêrê êvêñ rð¢kïñg ïñ †hêïr ¢råÐlê§.” The monster then cupped his chin with one of his many maladjusted hands, casually drumming another set of crooked digits on the jeep’s hood. “ÄñÐ Ì'm håþþ¥ †ð åñ§wêr †hê ð†hêr§. . .ï£ ¥ðµ ¢ðmê 𵆠hêrê.”

The nausea was stubborn, but Penn still managed to furrow his brow and roll his eyes. “Right, right. Why wouldn’t we have a meet n’ greet with the same thing that just tried to kill us?”

“ßê¢åµ§ê ¥ðµ ÖWÈ mê!” The monster snapped, a metallic screech mixing into his tone as he dragged his claws along. 

Illinois blinked incredulously. “How do you figure that?”

The monster resumed pacing around the jeep—well, slithering was probably a better term, since he didn’t seem to move any muscles or make any sort of effort. And yet he moved with fluid, frightening speed.

“¥ðµ †wð £rêêÐ mê. W̆HÖÚ† £ïñÐïñg å wå¥ †ð ¢ðññꢆ ¥ðµr§êlvê§ †ð mê, Ì mïgh† åÐÐ.”

The jeep as a whole suddenly dipped, leaving Penn to presume that the monster was now leaning on the top. He thanked his lucky stars that the sunroof’s fabric panel was closed against the glass.

“. . .Technically, that damn boulder freed you,” Illinois argued. 

“¥êåh, wêll, ¥ðµ ßrðµgh† †hê ßðµlÐêr hêrê ïñ †hê £ïr§† þlå¢ê!” The monster sputtered. “Ì£ ¥ðµ †hïñk ¥ðµ ¢åñ jµ§† wålk åwå¥ £rðm whå† håþþêñêÐ êårlïêr, †hêñ Ì'vê gð† §ðmê ñï¢ê ßêå¢h-§ïÐê þrðþêr†¥ ïñ †hê †hðµ§åñÐ-È¥êÐ †ï¢k Qµêêñ'§ þð¢kê† Ðïmêñ§ïðñ †ð §êll ¥ðµ.”

“Ha! Four-and-a-half vengeance curses have been put on my head, and I managed to get through all of them!” Illinois craned his neck to aim a smug smirk at the monster. “If dodging consequences was a sport, I’d be in the Hall of Fame.” 

The monster groaned, a huge forked tongue flicking in and out of his maw like a party favor. He began to mutter under his breath in a very much non-English language, closing each and every one of his eyes for almost a full minute. The way they all eventually snapped open again would’ve given anyone with trypophobia a stroke.

“†hå†'§ whå† ¥ðµ †hïñk rïgh† ñðw. Ì'vê ålrêåÐ¥ gð††êñ å gððÐ rêåÐ ðñ ¥ðµr §ðµl, åñÐ… 墆µåll¥, ñêvêr mïñÐ. Ì wðµlÐñ'† wåñ† †ð §þðïl åñ¥†hïñg.” The monster hummed with malicious delight. He then sighed, drumming whip-thin tendrils against the back window. “Lððk, ï§ ï† †hê §þïÐêr'§ £åµl† whêñ å ßµñ¢h 𣠣lïê§ gê† §†µ¢k ïñ  wêß? ñð. Må¥ßê †hê £lïê§ wï§h ï† wå§, ßµ† Ðêêþ Ððwñ †hê¥ kñðw †hå† †hê¥ gð† †hêm§êlvê§ †råþþêÐ.”

“Wow. It’s almost like the spider spun that web in the first place,” Penn muttered. 

“Èx墆l¥! ßê¢åµ§ê †hå†'§ †hê §þïÐêr'§ rïgh†. †hå†'§ jµ§† hðw §þïÐêr§ lïvê.” The monster peeked over that spot where the roof met the top of the windshield. “§ð, hðw ï§ ï† åñ¥ Ðêrêñ† ï£ Ì †åkê ¥ðµ?”

“If we had any way of actually knowing that you were somewhere in Chuck’s Hole, then we never would’ve gone poking around in it!” Illinois contended, raising his arms in a frustrated lame gesture.

And now it was the monster’s turn to blink. It took much longer than it probably should have “. . .Ì'm jµ§† gðññå ïgñðrê †hê £å¢† †hå† å hµmåñ ï§ ¢ållïñg m¥ þrï§ðñ ‘Çhµ¢k’§ Hðlê.’”

Penn froze again for three, maybe five seconds, before doing something he hadn’t thought was possible right now: he sputtered a laugh. It was a very small and very short-lived laugh, yes, but it still seemed to echo through the jeep’s interior. 

A name like Chuck’s Hole just had some weird magic to it. 

It was funny even when spoken by a gruesome Stephen-King-wet-dream-come-to-life whose voice sounded like broken glass that just so happened to be dripping with blood. 

Illinois swallowed a lump in his throat, glancing at Penn and offering a tiny, grateful smile. 

Hell, even the monster seemed to be biting back a grin at such a title; or, the extra mouth that had just opened up somewhere on his stomach-region was doing that, at least. The monster’s primary mouth continued to snarl, his front row of teeth actively lengthening and curving upward like tusks.

His weight disappeared from the jeep’s roof. Subsequent thumps and slight bounces were elicited from the undercarriage as he crawled beneath it, making Penn think of a shark lurking just below a fishing boat. 

“Öh ¢’mðñ, Ìllïñðï§. §ðmêðñê wï†h ¥ðµr ïñ§†ïñ¢†§, ¥ðµr êxþêrïêñ¢ê, ñð† ålrêåÐ¥ kñðwïñg †hå† §ðmê†hïñg lïkê mê wå§ wåï†ïñg £ðr ¥ðµ Ððwñ †hêrê?” The monster surged back up and stood right next to the driver-side door. He shrunk to the size of a normal man, but his eyes and mouth were still far too large as he peered at Illinois through the window. 

He nodded toward the mouth of the cavern and giggled, a chittering noise similar to an engine that was melting from the inside out. “¥ðµ ¢åñ'† §êrïðµ§l¥ êxþꢆ µ§ †ð ßêlïêvê †hå†.”

Rotating his head at a 270 degree angle, the monster leaned closer, just enough so that the discolored steam of his breath fogged up the glass. The horribly strange sweetness that could only ever waft off of rotting flesh seeped into the car. 

“ñð, ¥ðµ håÐ å £êêlïñg åß𵆠mê. †hå†'§ wh¥ ¥ðµ wåñ†êÐ ¥ðµr £rïêñÐ hêrê †ð ¢ðmê ålðñg, ï§ñ'† ï†? †ð gïvê hïm å §†ðr¥ †hå† wðµlР墆µåll¥ ßê ïmþrꧧïvê †ð †êll? †ð §hðw hïm å rêål ¢hållêñgê? †ð †ê§† hïm åñÐ þrðvê †hå† hê §†ïll ¢åñ'† håñÐlê å§ mµ¢h å§ ¥ðµ ¢åñ?”

For the very first time all day, the energy drained from Illinois’ features. 

His mouth dropped, opening and closing with no words coming out. His eyes bulged from their sockets, contorted by his brow as a dark, slick, awful form of guilt welled inside them. 

He forcefully bowed his head, now trying to keep his focus on the steering wheel and only the steering wheel.

He’d shown fear before, but this was different. 

This was despair. 

 “NO!”

The monster’s head snapped up, now gazing through the jeep, past Illinois, who didn’t dare budge an inch.

Penn dug his nails into the armrest, feeling beads of sweat materialize on his forehead. He’d surprised himself before, but never quite like this. 

“ÐïÐ Ì hêår ¥ðµ rïgh†?” Some of the monster’s eyes narrowed in time with how his smile sharpened. “ÇðµlÐ ¥ðµ rêþêå† †hå† £ðr mê?”

“I said NO!” Penn echoed, his heart beating with the speed of a phantom hummingbird. “Illinois didn’t drag me into anything! We made the mutual decision to come here!”

Penn’s throat was raw from all the acidic bile he’d been keeping down, his jaw ached as though he’d just sprinted in a marathon. 

“He doesn’t think any less of me just because my work is different from his! He’s never tried to test me before, and that’s not what he was doing today! He’s one of my best friends! We work on projects like this because we respect each other! You’re wrong!”

In his peripheral vision, he watched as Illinois kept his head down, quiet as a statue. Aside from the way his hands trembled, it truly seemed like he would never move again.

“. . .Mê? Wrðñg?” Amusement crept into the monster’s rolling eyes. He seemed to tsk-tsk at Penn’s statement, unwinding the sound into a mess of clicks and hisses. “ ñ È V È R . ”

Penn blinked, and the monster was suddenly looming right outside the passenger door. Now staring at him through the quickly-fogging glass. 

It was all Penn could do to not shrink back as the monster bared his teeth. “Wh¥ §hðµlÐ ¥ðµ þµ† ðñ åïr§, ¢ðñ§ïÐêrïñg whå† ¥ðµr ¢ðµ§ïñ§ årê Ððïñg?”

Penn's shoulders slumped out of raw, blind confusion. “. . .W-wha—?”

The monster smirked like the leader of a high school gossip-mill. “Öñê 𣠥ðµr ¢ðµ§ïñ§ W̧Hȧ hê håÐ †êê†h lïkê mïñê. Hê jµ§† LÖVȧ ßï†ïñg ïñ†ð †hê þïñk §†rꆢh 𣠣lê§h! Hê måkê§ hï§ lïvïñg §lïÐïñg kñïvê§ ålðñg §kïñ åñÐ §¢råþïñg †hêm ågåïñ§† ßðñê§. W冢hïñg lï£ê Ðråïñ 𵆠ð£ ê¥ê§ åñÐ †hrð冧 åñÐ £êêlïñg ï† rµ§h ðvêr hï§ håñЧ, åll wårm åñÐ rêÐ.”

As the monster spoke, the grin on his face kept growing. . .and growing. . .and growing. His lips just didn’t stop peeling back, didn’t stop stretching. A grotesque amount of new teeth had to materialize to fill his expression.

In less than a minute, the monster’s entire face was a maw, his eyes having been overtaken by the layers upon layers of enamel and sinew.

“. . .Öh, ÐïÐñ'† ¥ðµ kñðw †hå†, þêññ? ÐïÐñ'† ¥ðµ kñðw †hå† ðñê 𣠥ðµr ¢ðµ§ïñ§ ï§ å ßµ†¢hêr? ÐÌÐñ'† ¥ÖÚ?!” The monster then threw his head back and laughed, revealing multiple sets of malformed jaws nestled inside his hellish smile.

The oily haze tugged at Penn’s guts yet again. It hurt in the same, surreal way as before. . .but not quite as much. This time, while he was definitely losing something he still couldn’t identify, it came out in more of an unsteady trickle than a firm, ruthless pace. 

It was similar to a nightmare. It almost felt real, but it just couldn’t fully exist. Not while there was a physical shield between prey and predator.

Sooner or later, the monster’s laughing fit died down to mere giggles. That wasn’t much of an improvement, since the giggles in question felt like drops of boiling water to the ears, but at least it wasn’t as loud. 

“Jµ§† §ðmê†hïñg †ð ¢hêw ðñ,” the monster mentioned. “Må¥ßê µ§ê lïñê§ lïkê †hå† ï£ ¥ðµ §êê hïm; Ì †hïñk hê'Ð åþþrê¢ïå†ê ï†.”

Penn knew he should’ve passed out by now. He should’ve crumpled onto the glove compartment and accidentally set off the airbags (thankfully, Illinois wasn’t in the proper headspace to get angry at something like that) and stayed that way until he was forcefully woken up at a hospital. 

But he was still awake, so his subconscious decided that he might as well keep on surprising himself. 

“Sure,” he replied, voice hollow and quiet. “I’ll take advice from something that can’t even break a single damn window.” 

Those layers of teeth pulled away from the monster’s face, letting his eyes reappear just in time to give Penn a vicious, appraising look that reached into him and made his pancreas break into a cold sweat. 

The monster clicked one of his tongues again. “Mðxïê.”

Then, with a terrible cr-i-i-i-ck, the monster’s head turned away, taking his focus off of Penn and directing toward the space behind the jeep. A shudder ran through his contorting body; his eyes all widened as he rolled his shoulders.

Heart in his throat, Penn’s eyes ventured to the rearview mirror. The reflection was still and silent; nothing but rocky sand that made up the ground, complimented by the dry shrubs and cacti growning here and there. More rock spires stood patiently, looking like simple smudges in the air due to the distance, just barely visible in the moonlight. 

Penn felt his stomach drop for what had to be the sixty-ninth time today.

THE MOONLIGHT. . .

The sun had set. Everything was dark now. 

“Äh, †hå†'§ mµ¢h ßꆆêr. ßrïgh†ñꧧ åñÐ hêå† måkê§ mê h,” the monster announced, his twisted voice forcibly snagging Penn’s focus and shoving it in the right direction.

The monster slid back from the jeep, still in full-view of its occupants from the windshield. He remained the size of a human, with a shape that was almost convincing. 

Almost was the key word here, since most humans didn’t tend to have an assortment of eye-and-mouth-covered tentacles where a pair of legs should’ve been. 

“Gµê§§ ï†'§ ¥ðµr lµ¢k¥ Ðå¥, ßð¥§!” The monster chirped, sarcasm mixed with a fair bit of unholy venom dripping from his maw. “Ì mïgh† †ê¢hñï¢åll¥ håvê åll †hê †ïmê ïñ †hê wðrlÐ, ßµ† Ì'vê ålrêåÐ¥ w姆êÐ êñðµgh ð£ ï† hêrê.”

He swayed from side-to-side like a flower caught in a gentle breeze. A third eye opened up in the center of his forehead, pitch-black with a shaking, shining white pupil. It squinted at Penn in a mocking-yet-thoughtful way. 

A distinct pinching sensation bloomed under the skin of Penn’s face, followed by a faint dripping noise in the back of his head.

The monster snickered as the third eye sunk back into whatever special kind of hell was lurking inside him. “§ðmê §å¥ ¥ðµ'rê ñêvêr ålðñê ïñ †hê Ðårk. ÄñÐ å§ †rµê å§ †hå† ï§. . .†hê Ðårk ï§ñ'† whå† ¥ðµ ñêêÐ †ð wðrr¥ åßðµ†. ¥ðµ kñðw wh¥?”

Grotesque stretching noises ripped through the quiet as his skin split on several different areas of his body, like seams bursting on a raggedy doll.

“ßê¢åµ§ê †hê êx墆 §åmê †hïñg gðê§ £ðr ¥ÖÚR MÌñÐ.”

Without warning, the monster’s form began to unravel. 

His writhing, warping flesh almost seemed paper-thin. Strips of it tore themselves away in various sizes, first lapping at the air around him, and then curling through it. 

“ñð m円êr whêrê ¥ðµ gð, whå† ¥ðµ §êê ðr Ðð, hðw ¥ðµ †hïñk åñÐ Ðrêåm åñÐ lïvê. . .”

They all formed a shadowy a halo around him, moved with the same impossible sychronized grace as a school of fish. The process was a blur, moving too quickly and too slowly.

“†hêrê'll ålw奧 ßê ð†hêr †hïñg§ wåï†ïñg £ðr ¥ðµ ïñ †hêrê. ÄLWÄ¥§.”

The strips of skin began to dissolve into nothingness, the same way wisps of steam would vanish as soon as they climbed high enough. All at once, the only seemingly solid parts left were the monster’s primary eyes, as well as his jagged, glinting teeth. Those features hung in the air, glowing and staring and grinning like some psychotic bastardization of the Cheshire Cat. 

“Wêll, †hå†'§ åßðµ† ï† £ðr ñðw. Ì'll £ïñÐ ¥ðµ ågåïñ §ðmêÐå¥!”

The eyes flickered, melting in place. The teeth gnashed, abandoning their structured rows in favor of gliding around in a tight, sharp circle. 

“  Ì ' l l   £ ï ñ Ð   ¥ ð µ   å g å å å å å ï ï ï ñ  ! ”

And then. . .they were gone. 

Just like that.

As if nothing had even been there in the first place.

Penn stared at the empty space for what felt like an hour. Then a strong, salty, metallic taste dribbled into his mouth and broke the spell. The organic stench clung to the back of his throat, feeling dry and moist at the same time. He shook his head in revulsion.

Thanks to the lack of light, his reflection in the car window was just an inch away from not being visible at all. The amount of blood seeping from his nose changed that rather quickly. His hands moved in a mechanical manner, fishing napkins and tissues from the glovebox to wad up and press against his face.

Illinois was still holding his head low, shivering, knuckles white around the steering wheel.

Not-so-distant memories of the chamber came flooding in, and before Penn knew it, his free hand was wrapping around the Warden, tugging it away from the rearview mirror and pushing it up to Illinois’ temple. 

A shudder ran through the adventurer’s shoulders before they visibly loosened up. His grip slackened. But his jaw was still clenched, and his eyes were still glued to his lap.

So, Penn did the next best thing: he gripped the ends of the Warden’s string and rotated his fist, making the totem spin in a circle. A breathy whistle began to cut through the silence.

Once the creepy little doll was a blur, Penn grabbed Illinois’ hat and flung it to the backseat. He then flicked his wrist, causing it to crash against the top of Illinois’ head.

The ensuing thunk! was promptly drowned out as Illinois all but trebucheted himself against the window. “—aaaAAAUUGH GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!”

“Hey! Heyheyhey! Illinois! Illinois, calm down!” Penn cried, grabbing his companion’s arm. 

Illinois’ movements slowed, and eventually stopped, though his chest heaved in and out with unnecessary force. He gazed at Penn with wide, bloodshot eyes. 

Penn quietly reached under his seat and produced one of many spare water bottles. The plastic was sweaty, the ice inside having melted long ago, but still cold to the touch. He offered it to Illinois, who shakily took it and started chugging. 

“Not too fast, you’ll make yourself sick,” Penn half-heartedly coached as he shoved the tissues into a trash bag by his shoes. His nose should’ve taken longer to stop bleeding.

Illinois’ voice was a sopping-wet wheeze as he finally put the bottle down, having emptied half of its contents. “. . .Feel like that’s the least of our worries.” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

Penn set the Warden down on the dashboard, sliding it across to its owner. 

Illinois didn’t hesitate to grab it and hold it close to his chest like a little boy who’d just found a beloved stuffed animal he’d lost a couple weeks ago. He closed his eyes, gently tapping his fingers against the doll’s head in a quick, specific rhythm. This carried on for a moment, and some of the tension drained away from his features. His breathing slowed into a little sigh. 

His eyes snapped back open and automatically began squinting at Penn. 

The paleontologist raised his hands in a confused, defensive gesture. 

“Where’s the pipe?” Illinois murmured. 

Penn pursed his lips as he nodded at the windshield. The Chimera Pipe was, indeed, still out there, laying on the ground in a way that made it seem to be staring at the sky.

Illinois nodded, clicking his tongue. “Go get it.” 

Penn flinched, eyes darting over to the mouth of the cave. To the palpable-looking darkness that waited further inside. . .

“He’s gone, Penn,” Illinois reassured, though his face twisted at such a gruesomely obvious mention. “If he was still here, we’d both feel it. Trust me.”

It took another awkward minute for Penn to reach over and grab the door’s handle. He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and sprinted out, nearly tripping into a slide on the dusty gravel.

Then the car door was slamming shut and he was back in his seat, this time with the beastly ocarina resting on his lap. It grinned up at him, its bruise-colored paint shining in the dim light. 

Penn was so caught up in staring at its little eye-holes that he didn’t hear the jingle of keys or the engine finally starting to rumble. (He barely even noticed the string of profanities on Illinois’ part.)

For the next five minutes or so, the only thing to register was the rumbling of tires beneath his feet. 

Finally, Penn forced himself to break the silence. “. . .So, we’re going back to the hotel?”

Illinois nodded, not taking his eyes off of the road. “And once we get there, we’re packing up and heading home.”

Under normal circumstances, that type of last-minute nonsense would’ve left Penn all sorts of aggravated. But these circumstances were nowhere near normal. Even with how late it was, how Penn was feeling a type of fatigue that should only come after you had all but a pint of blood sucked out by a swarm of mosquitos, Penn knew he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep tonight. Not for the next couple nights, really.

“We’ll have to call a company before we leave, though,” Illinois sighed. “To get Chuck’s Hole sealed off, I mean. No-one else can go down there. It might have other. . .things waiting.”

A small, vague hum was the only response Penn could come up with. That was what confirmed how the rest of the night wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant; the title wasn’t even enough to make him or his friend laugh like before.

Illinois seemed to glance at him, to catch the state of his features, to maybe even read his mind for a second or two. “Things’ll turn up, Penn. I can guess how you’re feeling right now, but that’s just because it’s your first time dealing with something like this. We’ll both bounce back, I swear.”

Penn turned the Chimera Pipe in his hands, drumming his fingers on its clay teeth. “Be honest: does the whole ‘happens to the best of us’ schtick really apply right now?”

“Yeah, it does,” Illinois said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve had worse experiences.” 

Penn rolled his eyes, bracing his elbow near the window to rest his cheek against his palm. “Oh, let me guess: sometime before you even met me, you wound up accidentally releasing a surreal-horror-manifest just like the one who was looking at us like someone wheeled out a birthday cake?”

Illinois’ face went blank for several seconds, making a clear effort to stay focused on driving rather than stare at his companion with unfathomable dark eyes. 

Fortunately for him, Penn took on staring for the both of them, now worried. “Illinois?”

Illinois sighed again, lightly shaking his head. “. . .I wouldn’t say that guy was exactly like the one we just saw. For one thing, he was on the other side of a door at the end of a hall—”

“You’re kidding.”

Illinois didn’t answer. 

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Penn repeated, voice completely and utterly deadpan. “Please. You have so much to live for.” 

“You’re right, I do.” Illinois snorted, seemingly in spite of  himself. “That’s why I take the Warden with me everywhere. That’s why I string it up on the door before I go to bed. So I don’t have to hear any knocking or demands or bribes or. . .” He trailed off, hands slowly but surely starting to shake on the steering wheel again. 

One of Penn's sore eyes twitched. He didn’t want to close them; closing them would only conjure images of writhing flesh, of too many eyes where there shouldn’t be eyes, of too many teeth where there shouldn’t be teeth. 

Still, he had to. He had to close them and knead at him forehead in a strange effort to keep his braincells intact.  “. . .Oh my God, Illi. . .”

The jeep shuddered as Illinois drove, the sandy road a bit loose under its tires. 

The blurry figures of cacti stood almost at attention as the duo passed them by; a tiny owl poked its head out of a hole in the base of one, its huge, curious eyes shining in the dark. If you concentrated, you could just make out the howls of coyotes somewhere off in the distance. 

Illinois spoke up again, a hefty dose of hesitation having been injected into his voice. “What did he mean about your cousins?”

A spark of cold energy rattled through Penn’s ribs and plummeted into his stomach. “I didn’t think you actually heard that.”

“Well, I did. What did he mean when he said. . .those things?” Illinois coughed.

“I. . .” Penn stayed quiet for a moment before sighing again, this time with an air that was more anxious than tired. “I have absolutely no idea. I haven’t seen or heard from either of them since we were kids.”

Illinois considered this. The thoughtfulness in his eyes wasn’t a hopeful type. “You really don’t know?”

Penn shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

Illinois cringed, carefully sending a concerned look his companion’s way. “If that’s the case, then you need to find out sometime.” 

Penn didn’t know how to reply to that. 

So, he settled on gazing at the sky through the window, nervously taking in the moon’s silvery glow, trying to ignore what felt like sharp teeth wrapped around his lungs.

@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @im-a-weird0 @b-is-in-the-closet

[pendragaryen]

Merry christmas, my dear friends, mutuals and followers and all the best wishes for the upcoming new year! 🧡🫶🏻🧡🫶🏻🧡🫶🏻🧡

The last bit of 2022 and the whole of 2023 have not been very kind to my family - and so I'm standing here today, looking back at the past 13 months and finding myself almost back and stuck in the emotional state that I had been in after the separation from my long time boyfriend/life partner in 2009... That was a very dark time. I was trying to live and breathe with a constant black hole in my chest and soul for a couple of years then... I felt so empty and lost. I had a very similar feeling for the span of a couple of months after I had been kicked out of my job in 2017. But nothing, and I mean it, nothing has the rug under my feet pulled away and made me hit rock bottom like the cancer illness of my sister, the death of my grandma and now the fact that my mum is diagnosed with a tumor in her spine, all in the span of just 13 months... Please, we all need some rest in my family so desperately. But now we're all very anxious bc of the surgery my mum has to go through at the 12th of january. It's a difficult surgery. No-one knows for sure at this point what kind of a tumor it is. It causes her legs getting more and more numb and if they don't do anything, the risk of her ending up using a wheelchair rather sooner than later seems very likely. If the tumor should be malignant (please, god, no, NO!) the consequences would be even worse bc it could've spread already... But the fact that the doctors pushed for a fast surgery likely speaks for the possibility that the tumor is benign and seated in just one place... Well you see, this really keeps me busy... We all hope desperately that she will get better after the surgery, and not worse... We have plans! We want to travel together again! To the Netherlands next! Or to Danmark!

Don't get me wrong, there HAD been good things that happened in the last year, not at least the fact that my sister is now considered as cured. We're all so relieved and thankful, I have no words for it! But then... the death of our grandma... and now the tumor and surgery of my mother... I feel like i'm trapped in a constant state of emotional stress, like standing in the dark and screaming into the void with nobody being able to hear me... I can't even begin to imagine how my sister must've felt or how my mum is feeling now. Sometimes I think I'm too empathetic, the way I suffer with and for my beloved ones... that can't be healthy. I'm so tired.

Sorry to bother you with all this. I'm not around here that often anymore. Sadly I have to say I lost joy in many things I once loved or loved to do over the course of the last years. I'm unmotivated most of the time. But now... I have to function, I have to be there for my mum. It'll take half a year at least for her to recover from her surgery (if everything goes well - fingers crossed please!!!) and so I have to be strong - and I WILL be strong! For her! For my family! I hope my sister will support me then... The relationship of her and our mom is a little difficult... Sadly. But she's working on it..

I said I lost the joy in many things I loved once, but one thing I'll never get tired of is, on the rare occasions I visit this site, to read you all at our weekly BFSN, to see the 100 fam still being so creative and devoted, so that our favorite show never really gets forgotten. Thank you so much for that! And please keep tagging me in things! I read you, look at your photos, and I smile, even though I may not answer. This little corner of our fandom is so dear to me, it's almost a little like homecoming when I log in here. A comfort place.

Thank you all for your kind, empathetic, couraging, and motivational words at the last BFSN. I appreciate each and every one of it.

I hope the year has been kind to y'all and that these christmas holidays and the new year will be filled with tons of health, luck and love for you and all of us! Here's to a well deserved rest for us all!

And may we meet again. Here and in words. Maybe one day in person? Who knows?

Always.

Anne

@sunflowerkru: @togetherkru @carrieeve @ninappon @roguetwelve @bellamyblake @jeanie205 @geekyogicheese @natassakar @heartbellamy @okmcintyre @immortalpramheda @igotbellarkeforthat @infp-with-all-the-feelings @isweartobreathe @kizo2703 @travllingbunny @bookwormforalways @lee-em-dee @julibernardo @broashwhat @its-tea-time-darling @delicatebluebirdruins (and each and everyone else I maybe forgot, please excuse me)

[threeshadesoflime]

limer's slendermansion au masterpost!

mostly made for myself and anyone else who wants to read/is interested! most of my fanart is built around this too ha ha. containing headcanons/a complete overhaul/fanon depictions of my fave creepypastas + the slendermansion au, because i think my brain deserves to think about them

(now illustrated!!)

tws in the tags but there's nothing too serious i think

the slendermansion/slenderman;

- bastard man you will never be a father figure in my eyes

- there is no such thing as any other variant of slenderman (we are not in a Dr Seuss book we do not need the rhyming quartet of evil white men)

- doesn't speak, probably leaning more towards the operator rather than slenderman tbh

- except this guy has exceptional situational humour (it's me I'm the humour)

- not explicitly abusive but like if you don't obey him when he sends you out to do proxy shit he'd probably kill you

- which is a problem especially with a house contained with not only agents/berserkers but also sleepers

- which actually thinking about it isn't that big of a deal except for the like 2 guys where they have DID and one alter is an agent and the other isn't

- the house is kind of like the monster house from monster house albeit a little more lowkey in it having a consciousness (so perhaps a little more alike to the house in encanto, just less friendly)

- you don't age in the house, but it's a situation where you don't really notice that fact until you really think about how the dates never really change properly

- wounds don't heal properly either, but if someone is fatally injured within the house slenderman usually blinks them out of existence for a couple hours before they're found again, perfectly fine, but lost around the woods surrounding the mansion

- the only time you'll actually see him is if fatal injuries happen or if a proxy has fucked up on a mission or something and needs immediate backup (kind of like alex in MH)

- missions are always posted through the letterbox once a month in envelopes along with the four weekly newspapers (maybe a magazine if you're lucky)

- possibly also how the proxies source their wanted posters info, which is usually contained in the paper. they have disputes and contests on whose criminal description is the best (slenderman interferes with cameras so no photo evidence exists of any of these people outside of the mansion, only eye witness accounts)

- only a certain amount of people are used to go out every month, typically in groups of threes/fours - less if the people he's sending out are older (responsible of him, I know)

- mansion is situated in a black void. please don't ask me where this void is because I don't know but it's probably a different dimension from the earth most of them are sourced from

ben drowned;

- the benjamin lawman kind of ben

- seemingly an infinite supply of pondscum he's constantly picking off of himself

- whenever a new zelda game comes out he's always excited because it's a new link skin to use + so when botw came out it was like the equivalent of a wardrobe makeover

- one of the few that doesn't have to share a room with anyone given his physical body is like, semi real and mostly spends his nights in his game cartridge which is in an overheating Nintendo 64 in the tower attic, which is too small for a bed anyway - but ben personalises it as much as possible (it's a pig sty)

- speaking of his body, it's in a weird liminal state of real and not real, because he can make it disappear/reappear but everyone can touch him, he can touch others, etc. i explain this away via slender mansion dead person magic

- he doesn't typically eat, and even though he doesn't need to he likes making his body breathe (as much as it can since it's waterlogged most of the time)

- Ben's body is mostly in a state of flux dependent on his mood, eg: if he's content/happy he looks less drowned, if he's upset/angry he looks more corpse-like

- can spy on people through any electronic within like a 50 ft radius of his console without him actually having to enter the device, so to say

- this has caused many an argument

- along with him being able to phase in and out of reality he can also appear in any digital screen

- constantly electrostatic and will constantly touch people to give them electric shocks to piss them off

- probably one of the youngest there, about 12/13. maybe even eleven - around the age when preteen boys become semi unbearable 364 days of the year and have like one day of emotional realisation

jeff the killer;

- just want to clarify that this jeff has hair and eyelids in this au i feel like that's important

- but he doesn't blink much to put people off so really it's almost as if he doesn't have eyelids anyway

- will not stop picking at his mouth wound & that shit has NOT healed and will not stop oozing plasma/rbc

- ptsd from an ambiguous house fire that probably happened but Jeff won't talk about it (read: I haven't decided on the specifics yet)

- I've seen in some stories jeff and fire are tight but I've always interpreted it as more of an adversion to it

- honestly my reformed fanon version of him is pieced together from a bunch of rewrites I've seen

- mentally ill asshole (emphasis on asshole, he sucks ass)

- like come on sure a few kids bullied him but your first instinct shouldn't be to kill them . that's at least step 27 on a bad day

- tbf he had neglectful parents

- but like so did liu and he only started being homicidal after his brother disfigured him

- killed his parents but was unsuccessful with fully killing liu because, funnily enough, killing someone you gaf about is hard even for dickhead jeff

- shares a bedroom with nina and jane because the house (me) thought it would be funny

- quite disturbed when he realised nina was there to stay and probably tried to kill her at one point (again)

- someone take away the bad graphic tees he wears it's almost a crime against humanity

- he cuts all his t shirts up but like. stylishly

- or as stylishly you can get especially when paired with massive fucking demonias he will not stop wearing . he's had them since he was like 12 the only reason they fit is through sheer force of will (no one talk to him about his feet blisters)

- he's like. nineteen at a push but probably the kinda guy to lie and make himself seem younger for pity points

- "i killed my parents when i was fifteen, god can we not grow from our errors anymore? cancel culture nowadays. [...] when was my hunt? oh yesterday ha ha it was a bloodbath"

-smokes

nina the killer;

- wow! i wonder who she likes the most in this household!

- (amongst other things) bpd, jeff is her favourite person and it's a pretty miserable fucking time for the first like, year she's living there he is so horrible

- on a bad day her preferred state of being is being at least within a six foot radius of him at all times (maybe he might learn empathy being around her, who knows)

- he went on a little killing spree post-woods family murder and killed Nina's parents, & disfigured her w the glasgow smile but before he killed her slenderman intervened (not to save nina but to make sure jeff himself didn't like die from his own injuries)

- she was his only survivor and saw it as a.. "wow... he saved me from my abusive household, i need to get to him"

- this didn't go down well with her case worker

- neither did her running away (which really wasn't a good idea with massive facial wounds but she did NOT want the hospital to heal them)

- (insert probably incorrect medical jargon) she now has a face which healed with big gaps, sometimes keeps the flaps stapled together for easier eating/speaking purposes but they won't heal back together now

- she takes out the staples when on missions though because she thinks it looks cooler

- her and toby probably go through those face staples like wildfire together

- she only killed one guy before being led (by the operator) to the mansion to try and get jeff's attention (unbeknownst to her jeff does not read or watch the news so had no idea of this copycat kill - she was quite distraught by this)

- one of the few that suffers quite badly with self harm

- her parents were awful and when her little brother died (when he was about four and nina was nine) from their neglect they blamed it on nina

- not necessarily unkind to everyone else but she also especially warmed up to ben because from her fuzzy memory she can see a vague resemblance between ben and her little brother

- scene queen +curly hair she flat irons like once a month on special occasions

- she's the one that does everybody's piercings and sticknpokes

- should she? not at all she didn't even google an online tutorial, just guesswork

- probably about. 15 ish? maybe 16. I don't like her canon age of 11 because the thought of an eleven year old going "i love jeff the killer i hope we jeff the kill together" is lame

- jeff is incredibly put off by her whole schtick and was not impressed upon finding out she was there for the long haul (wouldn't it be funny if this happens thrice)

eyeless jack;

- I've heard so many goddamn variations of his story so I'm just gonna riff and make my own

- 16 y/o kid, average in every which way, gets involved with the wrong people who basically feed him on drugs which make him have bad hallucinations, trips to the point where jack gets very fucking frightened while high and it ends up with the aforementioned wrong people unintentionally killing him

- everyone panics and dumps his body which rots for a while (eyes rotted out first)

- guess who picks it up! (unspecified) cult

- they use him for a ritual which goes awry

- jack's corpse proceeds to be possessed by a demonic force which revives him but he's... different now #emo

- kills cultists as his brain, as decomposed at it was, carried on the fight/flight instinct he initially died with

-but whoops! doesn't remember his life at all (as demon nor human) and almost ends up starving to death before like jeff or someone finds him and drags him back to the mansion

- seeing as jack is a (semi) demonic entity slenderman does not appreciate him in the house but the actual house itself does not gaf and provides him a bedsit anyway

- finds out his name when going through the paper with others and they see his missing poster printed on the front page of 2 of the papers (he's since been demoted to a back page story)

- his brain is a weird combination of demonic and human matter (but he's still just one person, just a hybrid now - leaning more human)

-the tar comes from something to do with the specific ritual and it stains like shit

- which was unfortunate to jeff and his previously perfectly white hoodie

- finds out he eats kidneys after being force-fed by jeff and toby the left over meats the house provided for them that no-one else wanted to eat

- so basically take a human corpse with no eyes with tar for blood and stuff in a demonic entity and give both the host and entity amnesia

- atp he's older than 16 but he doesn't know how long his body was dead for + how long he was in the real world so really he just kinda guesses he's probably 18-19 now

- got his mask as a kinda shitty paper mache project from sally at one unspecified holiday (birthday or Christmas probably) and got it cast in a layer of resin to keep it lasting longer

tim wright/brian thomas;

- like maybe twice a month tim is let out to go shopping for everyone, if not for his mental health if nothing else (considering the house realistically could stock it's own shelves) like walking a dog

- never let out together because they will just run away (even if masky ends up dragging them both back it's still a hassle)

- everyone else is much more okay with this living arrangement than tim

- albeit the only reason brian isn't as uncomfortable with the situation is because he died, and has a lingering sense that this is his purpose now (that's the proxy in him, he doesn't actually believe that)

- they push their single beds together to create the most uncomfortable double bed on planet earth

- has a period where they kinda hated each other at first before realising getting over it and making out up

- it's okay now they love each other (i may have skipped a few chapters)

- (said chapters being arguably more than a little traumatic for both of them but it's. fine)

- tim arrived first, brian took a while as the operator takes longer to resuscitate corpses than he does to just guide a living person into his influence

- brian still looks a little fucked up though (one pupil larger than the other, bruising on his back from his blood pooling, + other related non-issue injuries now that he's been reanimated)

- masky is an alter of tim's , in which masky is the operator's agent and tim is not

- turns out the seizures weren't JUST the operators doing. is he allowed his anticonvulsants or antipsychotics though? well, the house doesn't provide them and if he manages to steal some from outside & he's too conspicuous about it they mysteriously disappear so there's a lot of untreated mental and physical illness going on here

- neither masky or tim know if there are any other alters because masky has never cared and Tim's only just finding out that masky isn't the operator's doing (albeit the operator is a front trigger)

- while unmedicated, tim comes to realise there's so much shit that makes him and masky a little cofront-y/switchy when before he just thought it was normal dissociation

- in my head brian is kind of a sleeper agent but remembers what he does when he is acting as the operators proxy, probably similarly to how alex was (oh how the turn tables) but he can snap back out of wanting to kill people where alex didn't/couldn't

- he is the meme "there are two wolves inside of you"

- tim is constantly stressing about everyone going out dressed like they're ready for a night out partying (especially jane and nina, they do not dress practically)

- brian and masky dgaf they're just here hoping to not keel over and die (again)

- probably about 24-27, part of me prefers them being on the younger side for comedies sake

- like the operator finally kidnaps a few adults to take care of these misfit teenagers and the adults have barely entered their 20's themselves

-peak comedy

"ticci" toby;

- hates being called ticci toby or any variant that isn't just his name

- this is of course exploited by his peers (cough jeff) to piss him off

- it really doesn't help that when he's agitated his tics get worse

- because of this he tends to lock himself in his bedroom to get away from jeff being a jackass

- the first proxy slender brought to the mansion

- which was a shit idea because who the hell decided that a kid with schizophrenia and multiple dead family members to hallucinate was a good option to leave by himself with a ghost (sally)

- especially with the issue that nobody in this household is medicated properly

- he has mild asthma that he keeps thinking he grew out of years ago (spoiler, he didn't)

- probably close with nina and liu but otherwise near the beginning he's very reserved

- because he can't feel pain + his bones are pretty weak the amount of times he'll come back home, take off his clothes to bathe or something and only then realise he's completely fucking mangled one of his joints (his left ankle is typically the victim)

- ergo he walks with a limp because the bones sit too awkwardly to really walk very well but running is less of an issue especially when adrenaline is pumping

- ...unless his knees play up and he kind of just crumples under his own weight . he always curses when he finds that he literally cannot get away with no bedrest

- the muzzle was NOT his idea and he is not impressed at being made to wear it like surely there are other options to him biting at his fingers

- eventually jeff becomes less antagonistic (sometimes) and they become closer

- they became pretty close after having to resuscitate jack together

- probably have debates on whose version of blade is better

- probably pretends to have a tic and launches his axe at jeff, who in turn literally never believes when toby's actually having a tic attack

- has this almost gotten them both shot out on the field several times? yeah

- refuses to believe he has cannibalistic tendencies as he eats from someone's liver, "just to try it"

- dressed like it's always the thick of winter

- keeping his canon age of 17 because it fits well with the late teenager aged up situation i got going on

jane the killer;

- holy shit it happened twice

- i kinda dig the original story of jane just hating jeff so much she goes around killing people (specifically men in my mind #misandristqueen) pretending she's killing jeff

- in my head though it wasn't jeff who attacked her, but a copycat instead (not nina, just some other male serial killer)

- hates her face now and the mask is specifically a fitted prosthetic

- by the time she was getting over her hatred slenderman brought her into the woods and got her to the mansion

- she was not happy and neither was jeff

- incredibly hostile the first day before jeff finally stopped antagonizing her because she would have just killed him

- finding out that it wasn't actually jeff who disfigured her caused some conflict but in the end she still settled on hatred

- real

- hardcore goth 40% of the time the other 60% she literally looks unrecognisable

- eventually stops wearing her prosthetic in a casual setting but still uses it while hunting

- probably 19-20 ish, but she acts so much older

characters I've put less thought into:

alex&jay as skully

since the operator took so long to start bringing their bodies back from the dead, when he uses either of them as a proxy there's not yet human life within them, currently 100% operator. As time moves on, this decreases, and they may join the ruckus of the mansion one day. For now, glances of the familiar mask unsettle both Tim and Brian.

sally

corpses when brought back to life still will forever look pretty fucked up ( as mentioned with brian having injuries from his fall + prolonged time being dead)so the reason sally is covered in blood is due to this fact. She was one of the first (after toby) for slender to house and literally no one can find out why tf he's housing a stressed seven year old ghost-corpse - because really she acts more like a ghost, and typically avoids the more masculine newcomers until she can get a good feel if they're okay from everyone else. doesn't necessarily avoid all men, especially if said man is pretty typically feminine (long hair, no facial hair, etc). has taken a liking to hanging around jeff who is probably the quickest person he stopped being fucking horrible too, because she's literally seven and he is a villain not a monster ok

homicidal liu

probably one of the most violent/reactive towards fellow proxies because of his brother (LOL) but if you're chill, he's chill, which is probably why he gets along best with toby who also mostly kept to himself at the beginning. doesn't have DID because i don't think it fits his character (given his main trauma was in his teens) but did probably cause serious fluctuations in mood, being able to go from 0 to 100 quickly. had a grand entrance to the mansion where he tried to kill jeff upon first seeing him (reasonable reaction)

to conclude, i made this all for me but also for anyone who has interest in my au! any and all creepypasta/marble hornets drawings are probably part of this au (whether the art takes before the characters were part of the slendermansion or not ha ha)

[cannonball5]

You know I don’t think I’ve ever seen an argument in defense of Portwell and/or Rini without at least one of three things:

1. A bashing of Rina as a ship or Ricky and Gina as characters.

2. Anger at the writers/Tim for “ruining” the ships with “poor writing.”

3. Crying into the void that things would be different if Olivia hadn’t left the show

I bring this up because a lot of anti Rina sentiment has popped up online recently. Maybe it has to do with the upcoming anniversary of the series finale, but for whatever reason I’m going to try to put this to bed once and for all, even though I know it’s going to fall on deaf ears (blind eyes?). And to anyone who wants to debate me on this, I gladly say, “bring it on.” Anyway on to breaking down the main things I see repeated over and over again:

1. Bashing Rina, Ricky, and/or Gina: why do so many of you feel the need to tear down a ship or character to feel better? This thinking has led to so many takes that just aren’t true. ‘Ricky jumps from girl to girl,’ ‘Gina is Ricky’s second choice,’ ‘Ricky’s a home wrecker,’ ‘Gina’s a home wrecker,’ ‘Ricky keeps stealing EJ’s girlfriends,’ ‘Gina should’ve been more understanding of the pressure EJ was under.’ And these are some of the nicer takes. By the way I can disprove all of these, and that’s not hyperbolic, I actually can. This desire to tear down a ship you don’t like is not the argument you think it is. The show, character progression, and writing all showcased why these ships work or don’t work. Speaking of.

2. Saying the writing is bad: have you ever read a book or book series and had two characters you wished would get together and then they didn’t? Did you take the book throw it on the ground and say that the writing was bad and you can’t enjoy that book series anymore? That’s what you all sound like. Now I’m not saying that I liked or even agreed with 100% of the show’s writing (season 2 always feels like a slog to get through for me), but the show’s writing isn’t bad. In fact the writing for Ricky, Gina, EJ, and Nini especially is consistent and in character (an assertion I am more than willing and able to back up). Just because the writing isn’t to your particular taste doesn’t mean it’s bad.

3. The Olivia Rodrigo departure: Every time I hear that if Olivia hadn’t left the show Rini and Portwell would be endgame, I want to tear my hair out. Putting aside the fact that Tim Federle, The Creator and Showrunner of the series, has stated multiple times on the record that after the Homecoming Episode in season one that the writing shifted to focus on Ricky and Gina, there’s still a mountain of evidence that Ricky and Gina were always going to be the endgame couple. The fact their stories remain intertwined even during their time apart in season 2, the fact they only were able to start other relationships when they weren’t actively in each other’s lives, and of course the most important piece of evidence, The Rina Cue. I cannot for the life of me figure how anyone can make the claim that Rini and/or Portwell were getting back together when the Rina Cue exists. No one has ever been able to give me a clear and concise explanation for how they can explain away the only original background musical cue for any couple in the entire show. Rini doesn’t have one, Portwell doesn’t either. Seblos, Jetney, Madlyn, Redlyn, Jennzzara, none of them have an original background cue that plays whenever they have a scene together. Only Rina. So if anyone can give me a logical explanation that explains away that melody, I’m genuinely curious to see if you can.

Look, I’m not saying you have to like Rina, it’s fine if you feel a connection to Rini or Portwell or any of the other ships in this show we all love. All I’m asking is if we can all be respectful of each other and engage in respectful discourse about what we did and didn’t like about the series, without feeling the need to attack each other’s ships? Otherwise I’ll probably end up writing another one of these, and nobody wants that.

[vulcan-bourbon]

Day 5 – Allies and Enemies

@desert-duo-week

Hero Hotguy & villain Cuteguy (again from enemies to lovers sorry not sorry)

- I see you like to see me tied to a chair, - the tied up Cuteguy jokes flirtatiously, involuntarily sighing tiredly, but not particularly resisting. Grian's eyes flashed dangerously with a violet light in the darkness, and the hero himself mentally grumbled at how inconveniently his wings were tied to the chair. Although, okay, last time he was tied much more inconveniently. Again, they were in some dark room, where the only source of light was the light from some kind of lantern from the window. The romance of the villain Hotguy in all its beauty. Again, probably some abandoned place not very far from their server. Xelqua was beginning to get the hang of it.

– I’ll soon start to get used to the fact that our dates take place in this form, to be honest. Hotguy, you have to admit to yourself and to me that you like to see me tied up. I swear this will not go beyond our conversations. - Grian purred in a languid voice, watching with pleasure as the hero in front of him looked away embarrassedly and needed a couple of exits and breaths to collect his thoughts and direct them in the right direction.

- In a way, - Hotguy jokes, jumping onto the windowsill and sitting comfortably, but to be honest, I would like to talk to you very seriously. – Eyes the color of spring foliage flashed in the semi-darkness, showing the seriousness of the hero’s intentions. Grian rolls his eyes playfully, making himself as comfortable as possible and smiling contentedly, deciding that he is not in the mood to resist talking to Hotguy today.

- I want you to listen to me. This is a completely serious conversation, Cuteguy. – the hero’s voice tried not to tremble, but Grian was so used to hearing this voice that he understood that a little more, and his personal hero could break. And, oh Void, how right he was. Scar exhaled noisily, his voice trembled, he had obviously been collecting all these words into sentences for a long time, and had probably spoken them more than once in front of the mirror, but now their finest hour had come.

- You and I are enemies. You have to understand, - Scar exhales, trying to keep his voice calm, but his voice was trembling, he clearly wanted his words to reach Grian, he seemed to be delirious or in some kind of despair, which made Grian feel as if it was Hotguy was tied to a chair, and definitely not himself. - I'm a hero, I have to fight villains, kill villains, protect the world from villains. But... I have to protect the world from you, from people like you. But I can not. You understand? I can't protect the whole world from you. I can't hurt you, please understand that. I don't want to fight you, I don't want to get rid of you or even put you in jail. Or, even, make sure that you never again wallow in the information field of the entire Mojang. That your name disappeared from all newspapers, all channels, so that your name would sink into the oblivion of centuries.

Emerald eyes burned a hole in Grian, and the villain enjoyed the agony of the hero, sincerely glad that he was not the only one living in such a chaos of emotions within himself. Scar's voice became quieter, notes of sadness appeared:

- I would... on the contrary; I would like to see you more often. I would not want to touch you so that you would feel pain, perhaps, - Hotguy swallows noisily, looking away to the side, but speaking loudly enough, - I would like to touch you the way loving people usually touch each other... I don’t want fight with you, - the hero’s gaze returned to the villain, trying to understand what Cuteguy himself thinks about all this. - I just want to kiss you.

Scar jumps off the windowsill, coming closer to the villain, in his voice you can no longer hear despair, but some tenderness that he had previously hidden.

- How should I protect the world from you if you are my world? – His voice breaks into despair, as if frightened by all this silence of Grian, while Scar himself tries to explain his feelings. - I'm doing my damn job, protecting this stupid server, stupid world, from villains like you. And you know, maybe you should stop being my job.

A coquettishly malicious smile on Cuteguys lips blooms like a flower waiting for the first rays of dawn. Internally, he was delighted with such a striptease of the soul of his personal hero and was going to continue his attack, understanding where everything was leading and agreeing with what was happening.

- What do I hear? – the villain almost rumbles, lowering the pitch in his voice and enjoying the way the hero’s face turns red due to embarrassment. - That our sympathy is mutual? Mr. Hotguy, is it really possible that after so many fights and dates, you are finally proposing to me to become lovers?

[theladybarnes]

DON’T YOU WANT ME, BABY? : CHAPTER ONE

“Do you wanna be normal? Do you wanna be just like everyone else? Being a freak is the best. I’m a freak!”

▸ summary: tomorrow is halloween, but your scare comes early this year ▸ characters: dustin henderson, steve harrington, jonathan byers & special guest ▸ word count: 4.1k ▸ warnings: none ▸ series masterlist

“Are you sure you can talk to him?”

 “Tina! I can do it.”

 “Because I totally understand if you don’t wanna talk to him. He’s kinda a freak.”

 You stood in the now empty hallway of Hawkins High School. The bell that ended the school day had rung an hour ago, leaving behind a few faculty members, and a couple of students that either had clubs or projects. 

 “He’s just a guy.”

 Tina raised a brow at you, gum smacking in her mouth as she became wary of your confidence. “He’s literally in a metal band. Aren’t you at least a little worried he might be a creep?” The noisy chewing seemed honestly worse than meeting up with the school’s local drug dealer, but you held back that comment to give your friend a smile.

 “Tina, we want the party to be good. If this guy can bring in the good stuff, I can handle a quick meeting in the woods.”

 “Fine,” she sighed, waving you off. “You’ll call me tonight and let me know how it goes?”

 “Definitely.” Turning your wrist over, you adjust the gold watch on your wrist, noting the time. “He should be there by now. I’ll see you tomorrow!” The two of you waved off again, blowing an air kiss to each other before parting ways.

 The walk to the clearing was thankfully more quiet. You honestly could use more peace like this. 

 After these past few months, you couldn’t wait for winter vacations to begin. The new year had been pretty weird to start. After all, how does one go back to normalcy after fighting off a monster with her friends?

 Correction, her friend and two ex friends. But that was all in the past. At least that’s what you’d remind yourself. 

 Jonathan couldn’t help but bring it up once in a while, mostly when he had his own fears of that night that came haunting back. But you were quick to bring him back to earth, reminding him that the world was going to move on regardless if he was ready to get over it or not. 

 Even if you felt the same way sometimes. 

 Cool air met your person once you exited the doors of the school. The parking lot was nearly void of cars as you walked past them towards the woods. To be fair to Tina, this whole meetup was a bit worrisome. Mostly because up until this point you hadn’t even come across Eddie Munson.

 Drugs weren’t really your thing and ever since the previous year, you don’t really drink that much anymore. Especially after Barb went missing. Drinking seemed to lead to bad nights and you didn’t want to come across one any time soon. Despite the fact that you were about to meet up with a guy who could hopefully help supply both of those.

 You barely took a step past the thicket when a voice spoke out to you.

 “I wouldn’t expect even the most popular student to understand that other people have lives. But I would have figured that you had some sort of punctuality.”

 The sight of the dealer was something you had been curious about since Tina asked if you could speak with him that morning. She described him as a greasy, long haired, freak with bad taste, but it was surprisingly more normal than what you were led to believe.

 He had his back to you, giving you a visual of that long rocker hair. The bottom of his jeans and boots were scuffed as well, possibly from walking in through the woods. You couldn’t quite figure out why someone who looked like any other rocker had such a small notoriety. 

 “You think I’m the most popular student?” you grinned, fluffing up your hair a bit.

 The answer caused him to turn around swiftly, giving you a confused look before he chuckled. Stepping away from the tree he had been leaning on to meet you in the middle.

 You stepped down the pathway, moving over towards Eddie. Slowly letting your eyes wander over his features now that he fully faced you. The hairstyle wasn’t really your thing, but the eyes. The dark brown eyes seemed to be piercing through you.

 “What do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?” he asked, extending a hand out to you towards the wooden lunch table. You swatted away some dirt from the bench before sitting down, watching he chose to simply plop down across from you. 

 “Well, you read the note. I’m interested in making a deal with you.”

 “Right,” he nodded, putting a black metal lunch box on the table. “What exactly were you interested in buying?”

 You frowned at that, shaking your head for a second as you glanced over at the metal lunch box. “Whoever said anything about buying?” Returning to his gaze, you smirked a little bit. “I wouldn’t be so dumb as to be caught buying anything on school grounds.”

 He shyly reached over for the box, hiding at his side before he laced his hands together on the table. The glint of his rings shined with the setting sun, his adorned fingers making you distracted.

 “If you weren’t here to buy, why bother with all this?” he waved. 

 “To put it simply, I need you.”

 Astonishment flashed over his face before he cleared his throat to return back to his former composer. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that from a Hawkins girl before.”

 “Well I'm not exactly from Hawkins, aren’t I?”

 He shook his head, slightly amused again. “No, you’re not, Princess.”

 The name nearly threw you off. It was said in a neutral tone that had you questioning if you liked it or not.

 “Back to the point,” you clapped, resting your hands on the table. “Tina’s hosting a Halloween party this year. Her parents are out of town for the week and she’s gonna make sure it’s a party no one forgets.”

 “And you want to personally extend me an invitation?” he asked sardonically. 

 “Yes!”

 The downfall of entering a school without knowing it’s on going social cliques, were moments like this. Where you were left not knowing previous vendettas, rivalries, or in this case, Eddie Munson’s social pariah status.

 “..Really?”

 “Well, an invite with a bit of a purpose.” 

 He crossed his arms over, looking at you curiously. “I’m guessing you’re inviting me to come over and give out, what? Freebies? All for the pleasure of being able to attend?”

 “I won’t lie, that was Tina’s original plan. But I’m a woman of business and can’t see myself screwing you over like that.”

 “How thoughtful of you, Princess.” he sighed. 

 Ignoring his jab, you lean in close enough to rest your chin on the palm of your hand. Hopefully giving him a more friendly disposition. “You come to the party, sell to whoever you want for whatever price you want. All we ask is that the hosts get freebies, and that you get us a keg.”

 He scoffed slightly, leaning in to the same as he returned a more forced smile. “I suppose I’ll have to pay for that too?”

 You popped your hand up from your pocket, holding a crisp twenty dollar bill between your fingers. “On us. Just want anything that gets people drunk enough. If you find a deal you can keep the change for yourself.”

 Eddie seemed slightly taken as his dark eyes looked at your hand. “I suppose you’d call that a tip?” 

 “Sure, if that convinces you to do it.” 

 Gently, he reached out to take the bill from your fingers, brushing your hand slightly with his calloused fingers. Possibly rough from having been playing guitar for some time.  “I’ll do it.” he murmured, having gotten closer while you were distracted by his hands yet again today. His brown eyes looked bigger than ever as he leaned in. 

 “Perfect!” you smiled, “I promise you’ll have a great time.”

 He chuckled a bit, eyes narrowing at you slightly. “You’re different. You know that?”

 “What do you mean?”

 The tip of his tongue flickered over his lips briefly before he shrugged at you. “I just pegged you to be exactly like your friends.”

 “And just how are my friends exactly?”

 “Bitches.” he said simply, making you coil back a bit. “All they do is make this school an uncomfortable place to attend.”

 “Some of them don’t make the place terrible, you know.” Leaning back you crossed your arms against your chest. “We go to school just like everyone else.”

 “Yeah, you go to school. But you also call people names, throw exclusive parties, take reign over certain lunch tables, and let’s not mention what happens during gym class.”

 “Hey, in case you haven’t noticed. I don’t do any of that.”

 “I never said you did.” He chuckled. “But your friends sure love to do that. In fact, I think they thrive on it.”

 You stared at him hard for a moment, trying to see just where he was trying to make this conversation go. For a second he seemed sort of into you. Now it seemed like he had come to some sort of realization.

 “This conversation seems very pointed.” you shrugged, not wanting to parley in a debate about high school ethics. “It’s getting late and I really should get going.”

 Eddie didn’t say anything after that, but he did watch you get up and dust your pants off. Letting his gaze linger on you far more comfortably than you’d like. You turned back to him one last time, raising a brow as you pointed over to the lunch box at his side. “So, Halloween, see you there?”

 He gave a small smile, patting the box with his hands so it gave off a slight clinking noise. 

 “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  You let out a content sigh as you stepped out of the steamy shower. The hot water had thankfully washed away most of the day’s stress and left you feeling rejuvenated. Not to mention it helped get off some of the woodsy smell that hit at your hair when you had to leave from your encounter with Eddie.

 It was safe to say the meeting left you a bit perplexed. 

 While you were happy with some of the aspects of your life, you didn’t like the way a stranger like Eddie saw you. For the most part, you had been hopeful that breaking off your friendships with people like Tommy and Carol would have made things different. But he seemed to see you just the same.

 Thankfully, regardless of the unreasonable wariness he had towards you, he agreed to come to the party anyway. Making you and Tina happy later on when you called her. It was really her party, not something you cared to have credit for, but you did want to help out in some way.

 It was nice to have a friend that did normal things. And what was more normal than a high school halloween party?

 Stepping out of the bathroom, you tugged your bathrobe against your body tightly as you quickly dashed down the hall towards your room. A shiver running down your spine made you excited to just jump into your warm pajamas and work on finishing up your nails for tomorrow. 

 Though Tina begged you to match up with her in dressing up as one of the many looks of Madonna, you opted out for dressing up as something a little bit spicier.

 Especially since your dear friends gifted you with a new set of clothes after your birthday had passed, you couldn’t help but pick out some of the dresses they found for you.

 “God, I know she has a treasure trove somewhere.”

 Frowning at the mysterious voice in your room, you quickly push your way inside to find Dustin going through your dresser. Flinging various pieces of clothing behind him as he tried to find something that you sure he probably wasn’t supposed to have. 

 “What the hell are you doing in my room?” you asked, voice booming as you rushed inside to stop him from making an even bigger mess. 

 “I need quarters! It’s an emergency!”

 “Then call the police! Stop going through my stuff, shithead!”

 Slapping him away from the furniture, you try and push him towards the door, holding tightly to your robe. “Look at all this mess. Now I have to clean up everything.” you whined, moving to grab some pieces of fabric that laid by your feet. 

 “Please! I just need a dollar, tops. Anything. I can’t show up empty handed.”

 You gave him the stink eye, urging him to continue his way out as you picked up around the place. “I’m glad to know you’re capable of asking for things considering I just caught you in here attempting to steal from me.” 

 “I’m desperate.” 

 “Should have thought to ask before you came in with your thieving hands.” you frowned, looking down at the boy now. He rolled his eyes, obviously already annoyed with your lack of cooperation before he focused in on your face. Something of a smirk formed on his face suddenly. 

 “You wouldn’t happen to be in such a crabby mood because of that pimple growing on your chin, right?”

 The gasp fell past your lips before you could compose yourself. You raised a hand up to cover your chin from his judging eyes. “Aunt Claudia! Dustin’s being a pervert!” you yelled, needing to get him away from your sight. The younger boy gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at you while his Mother came down the hall.

 “DUSTIN HENDERSON! You give that girl privacy this instant!” Her hand instantly reached over to grab hold of his ear, dragging him out of the threshold while he sputtered out curses. “Sorry, sweetie. He’ll get out of your hair now.” 

 The last thing you see as you close the door is Dustin’s middle finger aimed at you as he’s dragged away. 

You woke up the following morning with a little pep in your step. Tomorrow night was the Halloween party, meaning today would be the day Tina passed out invites. You had suggested she send it off as a word of mouth party, having done it that way back home, but she simply brushed the tip off, wanting to filter the crowd that would be attending.

 Which clearly meant, no losers.

 It didn’t feel good at the time, but you convinced yourself it was at least a way to keep in crowd control. 

 But that didn’t stop you from giving a few people from your other classes her address anyway. The party would not be ruined if a nice kid like Robin Buckley from homeroom got an invite. 

 The morning air was crisp, making you take a big inhale as you rode your bike into the school’s parking lot. Most kids had begun to arrive and you were thankful to be early for once. That gave you more time to try and convince Jonathan in on the festivities the next day.

 You rode past Tina, Vicki and Carol on the way in. The other two gave you a friendly wave while Carol pretended to spot something on the hem of her shirt. Thankfully the fight from before seemed to leave the two of you at an awkward stand off whenever the two friendships seemed to collide. 

 The hill began to slope downward, causing your bike to go a lot faster than you planned. It wasn’t until the sound of a honk came in that you found out you almost collided with the car that had just turned in.

 Embarrassment hit your senses as you nearly fell over on your bike. Thank God you had Jonathan recently fix it up or else you would have ruined the paint job on the burgundy car before you.

 “Whoa, didn’t see you coming there, trouble.” 

 Shit.

 Out of the car window poked out Steve Harrington. Giving you the pleasure of seeing not only his gargantuan head of hair, but beautiful ember brown eyes that looked at you with such worry. 

 It made you sick.

 “I’m not surprised.” you scowled, fixing up your footing on the pedals. “Probably had all that hair on your face.” you shrugged, not really bothering to look him in the eye. “Next time check your mirrors for others and not just for your face.”

 “That’s not what happened.” he sighed, already feeling you cut the conversation short like you always do. You stole a quick glance inside, noticing a very just as worried Nancy Wheeler. “Nevermind, I can see you were distracted by something else.”

 He tried to call out to you, shaking his head quickly, but you simply rode past him. Not really up for the debate.

 This was really how most interactions were with these two nowadays. Despite it being months since your fight with Steve, you still could never shake off the animosity that you had towards him. Even if he did gift you back the jacket you loved months later. 

 The feelings you had towards him were too strong. Too hurt. Never again would let yourself be caught up in the mess that was Steve Harrington. Even if that meant throwing in Nancy along with your avoiding. Really, had she chosen not to get back with him, you could possibly make a friendship with her. But the idea that she’d trust someone again that easily didn’t sit right with you.

 Not to mention the idea of them being cute and cuddly made you want to hurl.

 “It’s about time you showed up. I figured you’d come around late again.” hollered Jonathan as he waited for you at the bike stands. He had shown earlier to make use of the photography class’s dark room and said he’d meet you out front.

 “My Mom does say that while I’m always running late, I’m at least consistent.” you smirked, parking your bike into a slot. The boy extended his hand out for your bike lock, doing you the favor while you adjusted your scrunched up clothes from the ride.

 “I saw you talking to Steve. What happened there?”

 The two of you looked over towards the parking lot, noticing that the two lovebirds were still sitting inside as they looked down at something together. “You mean when I was almost publicly executed?” 

 Jonathan rolled his eyes, brushing his hands off from dirt as he waited for you to join him into the school. “I think that’s the longest interaction you’ve had with him this month.” 

 “It was barely a minute, Jonathan.” 

 “Had your heart racing though.” 

 It was unfair how easily Jonathan had figured out your harbored feelings towards Steve. Something he picked up on from just a photo really. Thankfully he wasn’t one to spread gossip. 

 “I feel you’re only pushing the notion that I like him because you want to have the excuse to keep your crush on Nancy.” you huffed, handing over your bag for him to hold. You quickly carded your fingers through your hair, while walking over towards the front entrance of the school.

 More kids would be coming in closer to the first morning bell, meaning you two should beat the crowds. 

 “You already know what I think of Nancy. I’m just glad to be her friend.”

 He stopped you from walking towards the door, giving you the lecturing face he usually saved for whenever he wanted to give Will a pep talk. Just mentioning her name should have let you know the conversation would lead back to this. 

 “It wouldn’t hurt to try and talk to her again either.”

 “Jonathan, trust me. If I didn’t feel so awkward about it all or hated her boyfriend, then I would.”

 “So ignore, Harrington.” The sound of a loud car rumbling in the distance made the two of you pause, trying to crank your heads in the direction of whoever was causing such noise pollution. For a second you thought you recognized the car but zipped by too fast for you to really notice.

 “I’m just saying I have just as much reason to hate on him but I’m over it.”

 Sighing, you gave him a small glare. “Jonathan..You know why I can’t do that.” It was only a little while ago that you actually told Jonathan everything that happened. It naturally brought back some dislike he held towards Steve again, but he was ready to make peace and move on from that day. Signs of the horrible pacifist that lived inside your friend.

 Thankfully, he seemed to notice how uncomfortable the memory was and instead gave you a smile. Patting your arm awkwardly. “Alright, if it bothers you so much I’ll drop the subject.”

 “Good, because this year is going to be great. No monsters, no shitty friends, and definitely no more boys!”

 “HEY, HENDERSON!”

 The sound of a familiar voice yelling your name from across the lot causes everyone around you to freeze. At first you thought it was in your head. But this time the voice calls out your full name and you’re suddenly struck frozen with fear.

 Jonathan turned around to notice who had done the yelling before he worriedly glanced at you. “Hey, I think that guy’s calling you.” he said softly, poking at your arm. Slowly, you turned on your heel to confirm your worst nightmare.

 Sauntering across the lot was none other than Billy Hargrove. The man that you vowed never to speak with or see again. He was supposed to be back home in California. Miles away from you and your new life. 

 You could even remember asking him to leave you alone the day you left for Indiana. The way he angrily picked up the bouquet of roses you chucked at his head. It was a parting gift and you thought that would be the last time you’d have to ever face him again. 

 What a joke.

 “Babydoll.” he cooed, moving to pull you into his arms. The thick smell of his Aramis cologne flooded your senses and you felt like you were back to being this lonely Freshman that hung on his every word. “I knew I’d recognize that ass anywhere.” he smirked before he gripped the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. 

 Before you or anyone else can react to the whole thing, he’s pressed his lips against yours. Almost possessively claiming you in front of everyone. It’s how he always used to greet you in front of your friends. But instead of feeling like a special prize, it made you feel used and dirty.

 It turned even worse when you tried to pull yourself away from him, earning a small pout from the boy as he tightened his hold. “Miss me?” he grinned, showing off his bright smile. Back home it used to make you weak in the knees. Now it reminded you of a killer shark’s grin.

 On top of the close proximity of your ex, all around you the students gawked and murmured to each other. The worst being the worried looks of Steve and Nancy from the parking lot. For once in your damn life you did not want this attention on you.

 “Let me go.” you said growled.

 “Oh, but babydoll, we’re back in the same school again.” His blue eyes wandered over your body, making you feel practically naked with how his gaze was. “I think we deserve a second chance. Don’t ya think?”

 “I think you should get bent.”

 Pushing away from his hold finally, you take a step back. Not giving him the chance to try and pull you in to speak again. Jonathan stepped closer towards you, helping give enough distance between you and Billy. Hooking your arm through his, you drag him away from the scene and into the school. Dashing past everyone that could ask questions.

 “Should we talk about what just happened?”

 “No, we shouldn’t.” 

 Students began to part ways for the two of you as you sped down the hall. Wanting to avoid being under your angry gaze or being hit with your fast steps. Emotions swirled inside you, making your mind go completely frazzled.

 “Are you going to be okay?” Jonathan asked, turning you down the hall to your homeroom. The area was thankfully with less students, giving your racing heart a minute to calm down. But really, you didn’t have an answer for him. Not when too many other questions flooded your mind.

 Why was Billy in Hawkins, Indiana of all places? How did he manage to be here for less than a minute and completely turn your new world upside down? And most importantly, how the hell were you going to get him to leave you alone?

A/N: Bit of a rocky start but I’m so excited to get this story back on! Do we all hate billy or is it just me?”

[no-light-left-on]

more of my post-DotO au that I wrote a couple nights back. just exploring Emily and the Outsider's potential friendship

for some reason it's 1.5k words

The mechanism of Emily’s crossbow clicks into place as she holds the weapon up, the dart pointed squarely at the Outsider’s forehead.

“It’s just me,” the Outsider says, not phased by the weapon aimed at his face.

Emily sighs. “You’re going to get yourself shot if you don’t start knocking,” she says. “Especially if you do that to Corvo.”

“I do not visit Corvo’s office,” the Outsider replies as he closes the door behind him. Emily raises a brow at his words, but asks no questions.

“Well I am honoured that it is I who you chose to visit at-” she glances at the clock on her desk, “ten minutes past midnight. Shit, it’s really late…” She nods to an armchair across from her own seat on the sofa and straightens up. “What are you doing here this late, anyway?”

The Outsider drops down into the piled up cushions of the armchair with a sigh. Up close, Emily notices the buttons of his shirt are misaligned, and he’s wearing only a jacket on top. His hair sticks out over his left temple, and the answer to her question is obvious even before he opens his mouth.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. The same words he’s shared with her many times since his arrival to the Tower. “So I decided to walk around the hallways, scare a couple servants, tempt married women and lonely men, you know, the usual Outsider business.” He waves his hand as he speaks, sarcasm lacing his words. “I only came to see you because I noticed the light was still on.”

Emily nods, hums. “Would you like a drink?” she offers, kicking her feet off the armrest of the sofa she was sprawled over.

“You know I do not solve my night terrors with alcohol,” the Outsider says, but by then Emily has reached her desk and picked up a clean whiskey tumbler.

“I do,” Emily admits and sets the tumbler in front of him. “But I also know that you do not decline alcohol in polite company.”

The Outsider snorts at her words, an ugly half-laugh that escapes through his nose, and Emily follows with her own laughter. “How in the Void am I supposed to interpret that?” she exclaims. “Am I not good enough for you, prick?”

The Outsider laughs proper, then, shaking his head at the insult. “I would not call the Dunwall nobility polite even if it saved me from an Abbey interrogation session.” He takes a breath, feels the air fill his lungs. “You will do, better than anyone else in this accursed city.”

With those words, Emily opens the half-empty bottle of whiskey set on the little table between them, and pours until the Outsider calls ‘enough’. She refills her own glass, then, and as the Outsider picks up his share with trembling hands, she clinks their glasses together.

“To sleepless nights,” she toasts.

“To sleepless nights,” he echoes.

They drink in silence, the whiskey warming their bellies and burning their mouths. It isn’t until he has drank most of his share that the Outsider speaks again, his eyes downcast, watching the remaining liquid slosh in the tumbler.

“I keep dreaming of the Void,” he whispers. “The way it was for millennia. And then the way it was before I was freed.” The remaining whiskey shifts from deep browns to gold, warm like Serkonan afternoons, and the Outsider tries to focus on the warmth and the light to chase away the remaining wisps of the Void still curled around his racing mind. “I thought- or hoped, dared to hope, that once I leave Shindaerey, it would let me go. That I was freed. But it persisted and chased me to Karnaca, and then to Dunwall. I felt ill with fear when we approached Dunwall at night, and I heard a whale song from my cot, and the ship was so cold by then that for a moment I expected to open my eyes and be back there-”

“Hey,” Emily interrupts and the Outsider looks up from his glass, meets her eyes, as deep and warm as whiskey in candlelight. “Mio,” she speaks the nickname and the Outsider doesn’t flinch away as he would at the sound of his full name. “You were trapped there for over four thousand years. These things stick with you. They follow you. I spent six months with Madam Prudence and sometimes I still dream of my days in the Golden Cat. It’s normal.”

“I do not understand how you deal with that,” the Outsider admits. He sinks back into the pillows, pulls his legs up until he folds himself onto the armchair. He’s startlingly small like that, with cushions and velvet armrests swallowing him whole. Emily wonders for a moment just how much of his life he spent being swallowed whole by the world around him.

“You just do,” she says and takes a sip from her glass. “You wake up every day, and you keep going. And then you wake up again. And again. And you do not stop.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is, in a way.” Emily finishes her whiskey, pours herself another glass. “I simply do not know what else there is to do but keep going.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” the Outsider mutters. “It does not make the nightmares any easier to bear.”

“I never said they would be easy to bear,” Emily tells him. “Maybe with time. But for now we have whiskey to dull that ache.” She raises the drink to the light, a smile creeping to her face. “Drink up. This is the good shit.”

And the Outsider does. Finishing the last of his drink in a single swig. The last drops burn away the remaining chill of the Void from his chest and the present sets in, with the warmth of the embroidered blanket draped over the back of his chair and the fire slowly dying in the fireplace since long before he entered Emily’s office. The icy sting of the Void does not reach him.

“You’re smiling,” Emily notes as the Outsider cradles the now empty glass in his hand. “I told you it chases the bad things away, for now.”

“Billie taught you that one,” the Outsider says instead.

“She did,” Emily confirms.

“You struggled sleeping on the Dreadful Wale,” the Outsider continues. “You never felt like you could wake up right.”

“That’s one way to call me spoiled,” Emily teases. “The cot was too hard, the room too stuffy, and everything reeked of stale liquor.”

“And your mind kept wandering, even in your sleep. You were so determined to chase after Delilah and her minions you could hardly rest. Her magic was too vast for you to stop worrying.”

“I don’t think I ever stopped worrying, even after coming home,” Emily admits. “I felt empty once things went quiet and we chased the last of the witches away. Too little to worry about.”

“Just like every time you came back to the Wale.”

“Every time I’d return,” Emily whispers, “Billie would get the best whiskey she had and we would celebrate a mission accomplished. It knocked me out on top of the exhaustion. After three times I realised Billie just wanted me to sleep for once. I guess it helped.”

“It must have, since you went out of your way to find the same brand of whiskey to keep around.”

“Nothing gets past you, huh? Nosy brat.” Still, there is no malice in her voice. Just fondness “It calms me down even a year later. Helps put me to sleep.”

“And yet you keep it in your office.”

“I could have kept it in the safe room instead. But here we are. I had to walk all the way here for this bottle. You wouldn’t have found me otherwise.”

“I am grateful that you came here for me to find you, for whatever that might be worth.”

“It’s worth a lot,” Emily says. Their eyes meet and the Outsider turns away. “Truly.”

A silence stretches between them. The Outsider closes his eyes, soaks in the warmth of the room as Emily drinks what is left of her share. The time approaches one in the morning when a light knock sounds from the heavy door and it is pushed open.

“Emily?” Corvo’s rasp follows. The room goes still as he enters the office and his eyes go to the Outsider. Neither of them move, but Corvo’s voice lacks the private warmth it held just a moment ago the next time he speaks. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

“Father-” Emily tries to say, but the Outsider interrupts her.

“Well, would you look at the time,” he says as he sets his long empty glass on the table. “I suppose it is time I retire to bed. Thank you for your time.” He stands then, straightens his crumpled jacket. Corvo’s eyes never leave him as he hurries to the door. Don’t worry about it, he mouths at Emily as he walks past Corvo, as he grips the brass door handle. He pretends not to see the angry furrow of his brows. “Goodnight, Emily.” He avoids her eyes as much as he avoids Corvo’s when he slips out of the room and shuts the door closed behind him.

The Tower is much colder outside of Emily’s office.