#took an old haunted road and made it haunted in a different way

[angelsdean]

love bastardizing local history and lore for destiel fic. like sorry old families and local legends / haunted places ur now getting fictionalized as a backdrop to these gays being in love

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 6

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 5, Part 7

Walking blindly you were surrounded by darkness. The inky color put you off and attracted you at the same time. Anything before this moment faded away from your mind and any thought of the future was erased.

Step by step you walked further into the void that chilled you to your core. What were you looking for? What were you hoping for? Where were you?

The sounds of a city started to come to you and streetlamps came into view. Black concrete roads paved the way as the sidewalk was formed under your feet.

The night sky was littered with stars and you stopped as memories came to mind. You knew this area, you knew what was about to happen.

Despite urging your body to stop, to not go there, to not witness it again. It didn't listen as it made you run down the streets yelling.

"Ashtray! Ashtray where are you!"

The ragged and tattered clothes you were wearing let the cold air nip your skin. The shoes a size too big with holes let rocks scratch your feet as you stopped and turned back.

You had already gave up trying to stop this scene. This was a nightmare you were going to relive no matter what.

The colors blurred as time was sped up until a series of loud bangs crystalized the scene. Gunshots that still, and currently are haunting your dreams.

The sight of an old, ragged man and a cat laying on the ground stabs your heart. The blood pooling around leads your eyes to the injuries.

Eyes glazed over, a jaw barely hanging on by blood stained muscles, and a bloody hole in his forehead that went all the way through. His clothes did very little to hide the gunshot wounds in his torso.

A lean gray cat with black and white patches was in the man's arms. The dried blood and singular bullet hole in the unmoving cat's side made it clear that Ashtray had died earlier.

You took shaky steps towards the old man and Ashtray. The night sky and urban city washed away into the shadows.

With every step you took they only got further and further. The contradicting thoughts between running away and getting closer rattled you.

You loved them. You loved that old man despite the short time you knew him. You loved Ashtray despite his smell and diseases. It's not like you were any different at that time.

You watched as Ashtray and the old man changed into a treasure hoarder. The first treasure hoarder that you saw die by the nobushi.

The small whisper, "Why?…" was all you heard from the wide eyed treasure hoarder before he turned into a stake. The stake suddenly went ablaze as a man's voice screamed.

"WHY? WHY ME?! OH HOLY CREATOR SAVE ME! HELP ME!"

The last scream he let out jogged your memory of the Watatsumi Island sacrifice. The burning stake exploded as wind blew them together to form a Anemoboxer.

The Anemoboxer that you killed.

He took slow steps toward you as the wounds you left on him bled heavily. The ground shook as he came closer and you can only back up until you no longer felt ground under you.

Your breath was stolen as you fell off the cliff. The Anemoboxers form got smaller and smaller as you continued falling. Your hair whipped in the air as your stomach dropped. At last when you could tell the ground was about to meet you, you screamed.

Nothing but a broken gasp left you as you fell off the bed. The flash of pain from hitting the boat floor was a small price to pay for the relief the cold floor gave your sweaty skin.

You laid there tangled with the blanket on the floor struggling to breathe. The waves slowly rocked the boat as the moon shined through the small circular window.

Your breathing slowed down back to normal as you focused on the sound of Beidou and her crew walking around. The boat must have already left and the majority of the crew must be back from drinking.

The sound of their rowdy footsteps and drunken yelling helped ground you. After escaping the blanket you walked to the small door on the side. As you suspected, it lead to a small bathroom.

After cleaning yourself up from the sweat and grime from traveling to Ritou, you felt a little better. The nightmare lingered in your mind but you were more rational.

That treasure hoarder's death wasn't your doing, That man on the stake may have died for you as the creator but you never ask for it. It was really more of his punishment for his crime then something you caused. Now the Anemoboxer...

He may have been doing his 'job' but that doesn't excuse the fact they were kidnapping children for whatever reason. Many times in Genshin Fatui agents were seen taking advantage and/or trying to harm them. A world quest in Sumeru's Kimara village came to mind concerning the Fatui, children and the Aranara's.

Besides did you hold the other two Fatui skirmishers death against Heizou? No, he did it for a good reason therefore you killed for a good reason too. It sounds brutal but that's the truth. Teyvat has it's own laws after all.

With a lighter heart you examined yourself in the mirror. The bathroom was pretty clean for a pirate crew. Druggie dens and frat party bathrooms couldn't even compare. The mask you wore was still barely hanging on.

The mask Yae got you came to mind. After taking it out of the box you turn back to the mirror and remove your old mask. The sight of your full face left you surprised and bitter.

All the statues and artwork pictured you with a healthy glow, clear skin, and a peaceful or loving expression. It's nothing like the face that looks back at you with eyebags, unkempt eyebrows and tired eyes.

The fact that the 'creator' version of you has become more familiar to you then your real face was depressing. You were starting to seriously doubt your belief in whether Teyvat is better than Earth. Your life is shitty in both… maybe you're the actual problem.

Dismissing the weird end your thoughts turned to, you put on the new mask and left your room. You didn't want to go back to sleep but the thought of staying in that cramped room wasn't appealing either.

Contrary to how loud it was earlier, the boat was quiet. You walked past many passed out sailors and were careful not to step on them. After wandering around the lower decks you finally found the steps leading to the main deck.

The salty and crisp air hit your face like a slap. You grabbed a hold of the railing and cringed as the air woke you up. This was your first time on a boat and the waves could be felt way stronger higher up.

Carefully you walked to the railing and saw Inazuma in the distance. It felt unbelievable that you actually escaped with your life. That you were actually going to explore the rest of Teyvat. As long as you live of course.

The boat must have left not too long ago since you can still see the general shape of Ritou. Inazuma was much more pretty from far away. Maybe whenever you come back you can properly enjoy the sights.

Turning back to see the rest of the main deck, you spot another person. White hair with a red streak, red maple leave patterned clothing, and a Iron Sting sword on his hip was Kazuha.

Kaedehara fucking Kazuha was on the opposite side of the deck. The first acolyte you can talk to without fear of Ei or Yae finding out. No chance of your identity being exposed!

That's what you thought until you remembered the wind that he talked to so much.

You were careful not to stare at him as you began a debate with yourself.

You wanted to live a quiet life to avoid drawing attention and potentially exposing your lie. But you also needed to interact with people to build up creditability in the case that you are caught. Yet the only way to talk to them and not have them dub you as suspicious due to the sensation they feel from when you pulled them is to be clear in your oracle identity.

No matter how you slice it, you have to talk and make connections. Then try to keep things only surface level from then on to avoid spinning too many lies. It was hard enough keeping track of everything, you didn't need to throw in unnecessary lies.

A tightrope you will unfortunately walk as long as you want to live.

You walk to Kazuha and get a better look at him as you approach him. His elbow was resting on the railing with his face in his palm. Eyes closed as the moon illuminated him. Truly the picture perfect of serene.

If you ignore his flushed cheeks and soft snores.

Maybe it would be better to just say hello tomorrow-

Kazuha's crimson eyes open slowly and lock onto you immediately. A giggle leaves him as he stares at you in a daze.

"Hello there… I'm-I'm Kaedehara Kazooha."

He ends his sentence with another giggle. He was drunk. Very fucking drunk. You remember the second Golden Apple Archipelago, Kazuha only drank a few cocktails and couldn't even stand. How did he not fall off the ship like this?!

He moves to take a step towards you and he sways dangerously near the edge. Worried you move forward and steady him by letting his arm hang around your shoulder.

This was now the second time a short anemo guy was leaning on you in this position. Maybe it'll become a pattern with them?

Half lidded red eyes stare at your face and it makes you nervous with the close proximity. What if he remembers this incorrectly and thinks you did something bad to him? You help him stand straighter and speak with a worried tone.

"Hello, I'm Y/N but that isn't important right now. Are you okay? You almost fell off the ship."

"Oh, really? It-It's because Beidou didn't-n't give me the rest of the wine." He slurs his words and pouts at you.

Were you supposed to feel bad for him? Because you only wanted to laugh at seeing the calm and poetic Kazuha pout at you. Was this really the same guy that threatened to brand a treasure hoarders forehead?

Well that sobered you up quickly.

"I'm sure Beidou did that with your well-being in mind. Why don't I help you to your room?"

"I cannot agree… not when the wind is… is sweetly crooning to me of… your brilliance." He giggles drunkenly and finishes. "So please… let me stay with… youUU-"

"Okay, okay! Just please quiet down."

You look around and spot a few sturdy looking barrels. You drag the giggling man to the barrels and sit on the ground with your backs resting against the barrels.

Not the most comfortable position but there were no chairs and you didn't want him near the ledge. Now with more space between you both, he seemed to take in your features better.

"You feel very familiar... just like my friend. When I remember himmm melanch-choly consumes me. But you… you feel like a sweeeet dream that-t I'm returning to."

His words are scattered and hard to understand but the meaning is clear.

"I'm an oracle for the creator. Many acolytes that have met me say the same thing."

"Then why does... the wind sing to meee about you?" The pauses and slurring are starting to decrease but the red in his cheeks stay strong.

"Why does th-the sight of you make me, make me want to spout every bit of poetry in my soulll."

His glazed eyes are now intensely staring at you. If it wasn't for his sleepy blinking and fumbling words you would think he was sober. Kazuha starts scooting closer to you.

"The wind? I'm not sure but it must be my connection to the creator. As for the other part, it may be because you drank too much."

The wind must be anemo, some people theorize that Venti is who he talks to but that's not the most concrete theory. Elements and archons must be different entities seeing as you wielded electro to protect yourself. If Ei and electro were the same, surely she would have the electro harm yourself. Ugh that topic requires more attention then you can give it right now.

"Drank too much? No, no, no. I drank far too lit-little. I just need the taste of something stronger..."

You didn't realize just how close Kazuha was now. He was now boxing you against the barrel with his legs on either side of yours. His hands were pressed on the barrel with his face inching closer.

Holy shit, holy shit. Your first instinct is to freeze when you can feel his breath lightly graze you. His eyes stare at you in slight wonder as he speaks softly.

"You must be my new muse. That is why the wind calls me to you. Having you in my vision makes my heart race. It makes me wish I hadn't drank a single drop of sake, for I am getting drunk on your presence alone. The wind speaks of the glory and happiness you bring to anyone lucky enough to meet you. There is no greater muse that I could long for. The haikus and poems I can create in your presence are-"

Okay so he's still shitfaced, the cold wind only improved his speaking. But he was veering dangerously close to doing something that sober him will hold against you.

"Kazuha, I am extremely flattered to be called your muse. And I truly do wish you luck in your writing but it's best you go to bed now."

He giggles and closes his eyes seemingly not realizing you cut him off.

"Y/N, ah what a sweet name, I understand that you may have some reservations about my words but-"

With no time to lose you move his hand off the barrel so you can move out the way and stand up. You pull him up and wrap his arm around your shoulder to not let him fall.

Ignoring your flushed cheeks and rapidly beating heart you speak softly to Kazuha in case the alcohol makes him react strongly.

"Kazuha, if I am your muse then you must know just how heartbreaking it is to lose your muse. The alcohol impairs you and makes you see me in a foggy state of mind. Your drunkenness' is hindering your vision of me."

He pouts and rests his head on your shoulder. Defiantly he retorts.

"I am not drunk, I drank very little." It feels like you're talking to a cranky kid rather than a full grown man.

"My mistake then, I'm sorry Kazuha. Now which way is your room? To make up for my mistake I should escort you back. Not because you're drunk but so that you could draw more inspiration from me as we walk together."

"Oh I see, it's just down those stairs and then a right till we get to the end of the hallway."

Guiding drunk people into telling you what you need to know is one of the easiest things. You spent a lot of time on Earth surrounded by drunkards and tricking them into spilling information.

With a smile you help Kazuha to his room. With each step the sleepy swordsman became heavier and heavier. You're basically carrying all of Kasha's weight when you finally arrive at his room.

He must be pure muscle from how much weight you were carrying. You push the door open with your shoulder and sigh in relief once you drop him on his bed.

Kazuha sleepily moves to rest his head on the pillow as you catch your breath.

"Well Kazuha I'll see you in the morning." You move to leave but Kazuha grabs your wrist and looks up at you.

"Nooo... Don't leave yet. Stay with me, just for a little while. I'll tell you the haiku I made with the inspiration I got from you."

It wouldn't hurt to stay right? No one could deny that Kazuha was a very cute drunk. You could totally afford to give in for once. You sat on the bed and smiled at him.

"It would be my pleasure Kazuha. The creator has always praised your flowery language so I've always wanted to hear it myself."

Kazuha smiles brighter at the mention of the creator. "Then I'm confident that you will enjoy it Y/N."

"Winds whisper sweet sounds,

In my sight, the brightest star,

Gold masks and bright smiles."

Kazuha finishes the haiku before passing out on the bed. Shoes and all. You try to get up and leave again but his grip on your wrist is tight. You tug your wrist but he's just not letting go.

Is it because he's a skilled swordsman that it's this hard to escape his grasp? After bracing yourself and pulling a few time you finally got your wrist free.

You leave Kazuha's room feeling a lot better then when you first boarded the ship. Although you know Kazuha will be horribly embarrassed when or if he remembers what happened, it's more than okay with you.

Not only will Kazuha automatically have a good impression of you for dealing with his drunken self but also feel indebted to forgiving any mistakes you might make. Plus it was fun not having to worry about any lies to tell or upkeep.

It's futile to hope but you still want to entertain the idea of the rest of your journey being this peaceful. Seeing your favorite characters in passing and admiring the scenery of the different nations. It's what you dreamed of while on Earth and now you'll also dream of it while being on Teyvat. Ironic isn't it?

You remember something and head to the main deck. After walking to and from it, you've figured out the general route. The drunk crew members were still sprawled, passed out on the floor. Which was really annoying to pass over so you took the liberty to move them to sit against the wall.

Once outside you looked towards the direction of Inazuma. It was a lot smaller now but you could still see Narukami Island. It was close enough for what you wanted to test. The lack of witnesses was a nice bonus.

Pulling up the game screen, you went straight for the Wish system. One look at your primogems made you wanna cry. How in the world did you get 15,546?! You only had 46 when you were on Earth! Another mystery that you were not going to spend precious time thinking about.

There was no banner either, instead it had a handprint. Errily similair to the boat you used when you first arrived here. You placed your hand on it and say.

"Show me Kamisato Ayaka's banner."

It starts to glow and you yank your hand away. The glowing stops showing Ayaka's banner with the fours stars from her most recent banner. This could be really helpful and seriously exploited.

The increase of primogems, the banner disappearing, choosing any banner, it must all be due to your power as the creator. Although the game screen is weird and mysterious, it has always helped you. Best not to question it.

You had no pity and only had enough primogems for 97 pulls, would it be enough? Putting trust into whatever luck you had, whether good or bad, you start wishing.

You press the 10 pull option and watch the night sky above you glimmer as a purple shooting star is surrounded by smaller blue shooting stars.

No wonder they believed you were some holy creator who was going to descend on Teyvat with gold blood. The sight was breathtaking.

Maybe Hoyoverse or rather Mihoyo was the true creator and you were just deluding yourself into thinking you were the creator?

Nah too far of a stretch. Plus they knew what was your favorite food, so you were most definitely still the creator.

The game screen displayed all the character constellations and weapons you won. So you kept pulling and pulling with still no Ayaka in sight.

At the 90th pull you finally saw the gold shooting star. It was the sky lighting up with a gold glow that really caught your attention. Unlike the blue stars that fizzled out quickly or the purple stars that joined others to form constellations, the gold star went farther.

It shot across Inazuma until it seemed to be over the Kamisato Estate. It gave one last bright gold glow before disappearing. Looking back at the screen, you saw Ayaka's splash art.

Satisfied, you exit the Wish system and close the screen. Hopefully her life would be easier now that she was a awakened acolyte. That she can feel loved by the creator she treasures so dearly even though you will probably never build her.

You go back to your room and lay on the bed. You fall asleep to the sounds of the waves and creaking of the boats. Completely unaware of the joyful crying from Ayaka and the celebrating Kamisato Clan.

Wanted to keep this a happy(ish) chapter. Plus I wanted a short one after the monster that was part 5. Kazu's haiku was made by me, yes I followed the rules. Like the 5, 7, 5 syllable rule. I'm pretty sure I did it correctly but idk it was my first time doing poetry. I'm just lucky it didn't need to rhyme. The next chapter will be purely boat stuff with Beidou and Kazu. For now at least, may add more as I write the draft. Also going to be counting the Liyue characters to see how many I can fit. Along with locations since Y/N is going to the Adventures guild. Perhaps as I write I'll figure out if Y/N should go to Sumeru or Mondstadt. Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @sielt, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zeniths, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest

[spencereidluver]

H is for Hold My Hand

october 31, 2008

summary:  You take a cocky, halloween loving Spencer to a haunted house for his first time. He underestimates how scary it actually is going to be, and ends up being taught a very valuable lesson.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: details of a haunted house. nothing  bad though

Spencer Reid was a big Halloween fan. He loved dressing up and going to haunted houses and eating candy. He was a kid at heart, maybe because he never truly had a childhood. 

This year, you decided to take him to a haunted house on the outside of town. It was an old abandoned house that had been boarded up and condemned for years. A few years back, a family bought it and renovated it, turning it into a movie style horror building. It was one of the top spots in the entirety of Quantico during the month of October.

You decided to take your horror-loving boyfriend there as not only a late birthday gift, but also as a way to celebrate halloween. Because let's be honest, two mid-twenty year olds trick or treating isn’t exactly socially acceptable. After going out for a semi-nice dinner, you and Spencer drove 17 miles east to visit the haunted house.

“You know, I’ve never actually been to a haunted house,” Spencer said to you. His eyes were focused on the road as he made gentle movements of the steering wheel with his left hand. His right hand rested on the midsection of your thigh, gripping ever so slightly.

“Really?” You said. You ran your fingers over his, following the bumps of his knuckles.

“Nope. I’ve always wanted to go but never had anyone to go with.”

“Well, now you do.” He smiled, turning his head and giving you a quick peck on the lips. It took Spencer a few weeks to get used to kissing you. For a while, he would ask every time. Last week, the two of you went to the theater on a date. As this was a silent audience, he didn’t want to interrupt. About half way through the show, you felt the buzz of your phone. “Can I kiss you?” a text from Spencer read. You couldn’t help but giggle out loud, which got you a few shushes. You didn’t mind too much, leaning over and giving him a big kiss. 

Kissing Spencer was something straight out of a romance novel. He had this certain way about him, he was always so passionate. The way his lips moved perfectly in sync with yours was something unpredictable. You always imagined him being a good kisser, with practice of course, but he’d clearly done research.

Spencer pulled into the parking lot of the destination. The owners of the house tore down the shed in the back to pave an area. It’s almost as if they know they’d be a city-wide success. 

It was still slightly light outside, the sun having yet to set. You wanted to wait until dark to go inside. You wanted Spencer’s first haunted house experience to be memorable. Of course, anything with him was memorable, however, you wanted to make this extra special for him. After all, Halloween was sort of his thing, and you were sort of his girl-thing. 

You grab Spencer’s hand and turn to look at him. “Hey,” you say, ensuring to keep your voice calm and steady, “I’m not saying you will, but if you do happen to get too scared, we can leave.”

“Y/n, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he says. “I work for the damn FBI.”

“I know Spence, but this is different.” “Yeah. It’s fake.”

He really didn’t know what he was getting into.

“Yeah, it’s fake, but it almost makes it more scary. The people here can touch you, and it’s loud, and basically it’s all the stuff you hate grouped into one thing that you somehow love.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you if I’m scared. But I’ll be fine, y/n.”

He was completely clueless. For one, you were going to prove him wrong. You just knew it. The two of you exit the car, meeting in the front and interlocking hands. Spencer rubs his thumb on the back of your palm and swings your arm back and forward with your steps. 

As you approached the steps to the house, Spencer’s hand began sweating. Yeah, he was nervous, but he’d never ever admit it. He liked to seem strong in front of you, though he’d be the first one to cry if he stepped on a bug. There was something so innocent about him. He just, he was different. 

_____

The line to get in was long, but it moved fast. The entryway to the house was filled with those fake spiderwebs. Those always made Spencer sneeze. The majority of your time in there was spent with Spencer’s arm over his mouth and you trying to convince the people ahead of you he wasn’t sick. 

As you approached the entrance to the basement- where the haunted house started- Spencer began to get giddy. He was so excited, like a kid in a candy store. Except he was a Spencer in a scary house that he was allergic to.

You enter the doorway to the steps that lead to the basement. Spencer trails behind you, walking a little slowly and paying careful attention to each spooky detail on the wall. He held a loose grip on your hand and let you lead him down the stairs. 

As you enter the actual attraction his grip tightens significantly. There was a coffin slightly ajar that had fake blood dripping out from the bottom. A plastic severed hand lay at the gape of the door. Spencer inched closer to you and hid his face in your hair. You silently laughed to yourself and continued walking forward.

As you continued through the basement, there was lots of fake blood and red stained sheets covering walls and pieces of furniture. They did a good job of creepifying this place. There was a fog machine plugged in somewhere, and from out of the fog popped a man draped head to toe in blood stained clothing. He jumped out in front of you and Spencer, screaming into your faces. He then ran back into the fog, knocking over a stack of ceramic plates causing a loud crash. Spencer jumped. Literally, jumped. He pressed his body into yours, attempting to hide behind you. You turn around to look at him.

“You sure you can handle this, Spence?” You ask him. “We can leave if you want to.”

“No, I’m fine. Can you just hold my hand?” He answers, looking into your eyes, almost as if he was too scared to grab your hand himself. You smile at him, taking his hand and dragging him to the next room and through the rest of the basement.

_____

next chapter: I is for "I Knew It!"

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

_____ BUY ME A COFFEE _____

a/n: hey guyyys sorry it's been a bit since the last chapter, i've been working a lot and had finals. i really hope i'm able to get back on the grind, but no promises. i hope you all are having a good holiday season! also, i would just like to say that chapter M is a christmas themed story, however it is non secular and celebrated for gifts with the team, not the birth of the christian god. i want to try to make all my stories inclusive to whomever and be able to read across all races and religions. have a wonderful night :)

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

_____

taglist: @universallyblizzardlove @ms-ks-world @justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology @lotus-ignis @sammy-4103 @ktssstuff

@ada--44 @moongirl27 @monfleurr @shycreationdreamland @cultish-corner @ariianelle @iiheartbowie

@spencerreidismybitch @traderjoesmints @ivyflowers13 @hades-disappointment-child @aceofspades190 @taygrls @hookergutss

@random-3455 @nmw-am @bookworm124 @hizzielover @jem08 @cherrybowbabby @theofficialfunk

@hookergutss  @skylions-den @smalltownbeautyqueen @spencereidapologist @lunajay33 @novaeatsworld @pleasantwitchgarden

[crescent003]

The Family Meeting

Squid Game Master list

The apartment was quiet as Gong Yoo paced in front of the crib, looking down at the baby in his arms. His son, only a few months old, had just fallen asleep after his usual evening feed. Gong Yoo was still in awe of how quickly time had passed since the day his life changed forever.

His wife, you, stood beside him, gently running your fingers through his hair as you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Are you ready for this?”

Gong Yoo exhaled slowly, a small, somewhat nervous smile tugging at his lips. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, glancing at the sleeping baby, then at you. “It’s strange, isn’t it? The way things change… I never thought we’d be here, bringing him to meet him.”

You nodded in understanding, your hand resting on his arm. "I know. It’s been a long road, and the path’s not always been clear. But… In-ho has always been a part of our lives, in one way or another. It feels like it’s time.”

Gong Yoo looked at you, his gaze soft but filled with a quiet intensity. “I just want to make sure our son grows up in a safe world. A world where he can have a better future… without all the shadows that came before.”

You smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “And he will. We’ll make sure of it.”

After a moment of shared silence, Gong Yoo adjusted his hold on the baby, carefully picking him up again. The tiny bundle in his arms felt so fragile, but so full of promise. Today was important. Today, they would meet someone who had been integral to the past—someone who, in his own way, had helped shape the future Gong Yoo was working hard to build. The Frontman.

The drive was silent, both of you lost in thought, the baby nestled between you two, content and unaware of what was about to happen. Gong Yoo’s mind raced with memories—of the struggles, the difficult decisions, and the man who had once stood as an enigmatic figure in his life. He’d always known there was a deeper connection to In-ho than either of them fully realized at the time. But now, as a father, Gong Yoo’s priorities had shifted.

When they arrived at the compound, the place felt as imposing as ever. The gray stone walls loomed above them, casting long shadows that stretched across the yard. Gong Yoo paused for a moment as he looked at the familiar architecture, the memories of what had transpired here haunting him for just a beat longer than he’d like.

You squeezed his hand as the two of you approached the heavy door, a reminder that things had changed. “He’s different now. I know it’s not easy, but he’s still a part of your life… and ours. It’s time we brought our family together.”

Gong Yoo gave you a small smile, his expression softening. “I know. I just… never thought I’d be introducing our son to him.”

The door opened slowly, revealing a figure standing in the dim light. In-ho. The Frontman. He stood there with his usual calm demeanor, the kind of presence that made you feel like time itself had stopped. His expression was unreadable, but there was a quiet respect in his gaze as it shifted from you to Gong Yoo.

"You’ve arrived," In-ho said, his voice as measured and controlled as always, but this time there was an unspoken understanding between the three of them.

Gong Yoo stepped forward, the baby still resting in his arms, his hands gently cradling him as if the weight of the world rested there. “We’ve been meaning to bring him here… introduce him to you,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something softer underneath. “This is Joon.”

In-ho’s eyes flickered to the baby, his gaze softening for a brief moment before he approached, his steps deliberate but slow. “Joon,” he murmured, as if testing the name on his tongue. “He is… small, yet so much potential.”

Gong Yoo chuckled softly, the warmth of the moment reaching his heart. "He's just starting out. But already, he's brought so much joy."

In-ho took another step closer, pausing when he was just a few feet away from the family. He looked down at the baby with something unreadable in his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. It was a silence full of meaning, full of unspoken history, but also full of promise.

"You’ve come far, Gong Yoo," In-ho said, his voice low and almost soft. "I never imagined the day would come when I’d see you here, a father… bringing your son to me."

Gong Yoo met his gaze, the weight of those words settling deep in his chest. "We all change, In-ho. I’m not the same man I was."

In-ho nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile pulling at his lips. "I can see that."

The baby stirred in Gong Yoo’s arms, letting out a tiny sigh. Gong Yoo adjusted him, his gaze returning to In-ho. "I know things have been complicated between us, but now… it’s just about family."

In-ho looked at the baby again, his expression momentarily softening, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his usually stoic mask. "Family," he repeated. "A concept I never quite understood until now."

Gong Yoo glanced at you, a soft, contented smile spreading across his face. “We all have our own path. But Joon… he’ll have a future full of love.”

In-ho took a small step back, regarding the family with an inscrutable look. His next words were quiet, almost a whisper. “He will be strong. You’ll make sure of it.”

Gong Yoo nodded. "We will. We’re going to give him the life he deserves. A life free from shadows.”

For a moment, the three of them stood in quiet understanding. Gong Yoo could feel the weight of the past and the hopeful promise of the future. In-ho’s quiet presence wasn’t intimidating in this moment, but rather a reminder of what had been, and of what could be.

The Frontman gave a slight nod before speaking again. “Take care of him, Gong Yoo. Your son will grow up in a world that’s different from ours… but don’t forget, you’ve made your choices. Those choices will shape him more than anything.”

Gong Yoo’s grip tightened around his son. "I know. And I’ll protect him with everything I have."

In-ho turned his gaze away, looking out at the compound beyond. “Then, I will respect your path. He is your family now.”

Gong Yoo and you both exchanged a glance, the weight of the moment finally starting to settle. Gong Yoo smiled, his shoulders relaxing, a feeling of resolution passing through him. "Thank you, In-ho."

With a final, almost imperceptible nod, In-ho stepped back, disappearing into the shadows of the building.

As you walked back out into the cool night air, Gong Yoo glanced down at Joon, the baby still sleeping soundly. You smiled at him, and Gong Yoo’s gaze softened as he looked up at you.

“We did it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re giving him a different future. A better one.”

You squeezed his hand. “Yes. A future full of love.”

And with that, they walked home together—Gong Yoo, you, and little Joon—no longer bound by the past, but free to create the future, one step at a time.

[occasional-yan-stuff]

He was always there. Every time you went back, he was always there. You don't know what kept pulling you back to that abandoned old house down the road. Maybe it was the mystery of the place that enchanted you, maybe it was the strange beauty of all the old, worn-out surfaces, or maybe you just couldn't stand to abandon him.

The kids in your neighborhood said the house was haunted, but that couldn't have been right, could it? You were old enough to know that ghosts weren't real, and yet... he was always there. Always sitting at the grand piano in the ball room in that exact same position, always acting as though he hadn't seen you in years whether you'd only been gone for a few months or even just a few minutes.

"I thought I would never see you again!" flinging his arms around your neck with the exact same intonation every time, but ghosts weren't real. You knew ghosts weren't real.

Sometimes you'd catch him staring at a rectangle on the wall that was slightly less faded than the rest of the wall paper. Around the third time you saw him doing this you finally decided to ask.

"What are you looking at?"

"This is a painting of my mother," he responded. It wasn't, of course, but you decided not to push the question.

There were also times when you'd see him blow on the golden candelabra that sat on the little table by the window. The candles were melted to stumps and never had flame in them when he did this. When he did it the first time it resulted in a cloud of dust that he didn't seem to notice, and when you asked about it he simply took your hand and said "more romantic lighting, my dear." You asked him what he meant but all he did was smile at you as the two of you started dancing.

It always ended with dancing. The world- or possibly your mind- filled up with music that you could find the source of, and he took you, and he twirled you, and the hours fell away into nothing. By the end of it he always begged you to stay with him, pleading for you to remain in his home forever. It was a cute little game between the two of you... you think.

One night you actually did try to sleep in one of the old creaky beds in the mansion, but it was far too cold and the whole thing made you itchy and uncomfortable. You checked the other bed rooms but there was no sign of him. Finally, you returned to the ball room. Even at that ungodly hour he was still there, sitting at his piano. You called out his name and he turned around in surprise. "I thought I would never see you again!" And so the cycle repeated and the two of you danced the night away.

He never seemed to like it when you talked about your friends.

"We see each other so little, my dear," he'd say with crossed arms, "can you not lend a bit more attention to me instead?" The way he pretended to be grumpy always made you chuckle. He was pretending, wasn't he?

Each time he held you, he acted like it was the last time he ever would. He took in every part of you, your smell, the feeling of your skin, everything. There had even been a few times that he had licked your neck but he always denied it when you asked. When you were just getting to know him, he would always cry when you wouldn't kiss him.

"What has changed?" he would ask, "have I done something wrong?"

"What are you talking about?" you would respond, "we've never kissed before."

"Oh, how I hate when you play this game!" was all he would say in response. Always the same intonation. Always the same expression. Always the same.

You started going back more and more, longer and longer. You always felt tired after leaving the mansion. Fatigued, like waking up from a dream. Sometimes you would return home with wrinkles you didn't remember having or a band aid you could have sworn you never put on. Scrolling through your friends' social media pages, you'd see pictures with you in them. Pictures you didn't remember being taken.

every time you went back things seemed just a bit different. The candles grew taller and taller, the wall paper more vibrant, and a painting of a woman was placed on the wall. When did that get there? Every night was just the same. You danced, you kissed, you loved. It was paradise. He was paradise.

One night, after a particularly long visit, you returned home. You hadn't wanted to but you had a life outside the mansion... didn't you? You stepped back into your home and a man was there, a man you had never met. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed you.

"so, how was work?"

No. This was wrong. You pushed him off of you and rushed into the bathroom. Your eyes fell onto the mirror and you clapped your hand over your mouth. The person staring back at you was near unrecognizable. It was you, sort of, but at the same time not at all. You stared down at your shaking hands. Your left had a golden ring on one of its fingers. You hadn't put that there. You hadn't put that there! This was all wrong. All so very very wrong. Tears played at the corners of your eyes as you rushed out of the house and back down the road. The mansion was the only place you felt safe anymore. The mansion was the only place you were yourself anymore. You ran and you ran all the way to the ball room. Your breath was heavy and sweat glued your hair to the ball room.

"I never thought I would see you again!"

The night played out as it always did. You danced, you kissed, you loved. Just as always, he begged you to stay. This time you said yes.

[lachesismoonmist]

I've Been Watching You - Chp 6

Told You I was a Nerd

Rating: Mature. Minors dni

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook / Reader

Words: Total: 73k

Status: Complete. 6 out of 26

Summary There's a hot new guy in the gym. You can't keep your eyes off him, and it seems he can't keep his off you either. What starts out as Friends-with-Benefits turns into something a lot more complicated as your past comes back to haunt you and you find out your best friend's long-kept secret.

Originally posted on AO3

MY MASTERLIST

Chapter 6: Told You I was a Nerd

On the ride home, Jungkook kept one hand on my knee the entire way. Not being a very patient driver, I wove my way between slower cars. Each time Jungkook would squeeze my knee a little.

“Is my driving making you nervous, Big Boy? Would you be one of these slow-ass drivers that I’d be overtaking?”

“Nope, I drive pretty much the same way you do. It’s just different when you’re in the passenger seat”.

“Don’t worry Big Boy, you’re safe with me” I smirked at him. “See, we’re here already”.

My apartment building was on the opposite side of town from Jungkook’s, but near the clinic. It was one of those quaint, slightly older buildings, with only five floors and one tiny lift, but I loved it. The neighborhood was quiet and calm, despite being close to the city center. I had good neighbors, both the human and fur kid kind who would sometimes meet at the little park down the road for the kids to have playdates.

After tapping my access card at the main entrance to the building, we got into the tiny lift. This time, Jungkook put his arms around me from behind, pressing his front to my back as his lips ghosted along my ear, making me shiver. The lift came to a lurching halt at the fourth floor, making his stumble against me.

“Whoa. This lift is a health hazard. I don’t know if I’ll be crushed by its small size, or bashed against the walls when it stops moving”.

“Well, it’s a pretty old building, though it’s been restored a few times. Most of the ones who live here like its quaint charm”.

“If you consider death by crushing elevator quaint, sure”.

“Well, there are stairs too. You can get some steps in, work on your quads and calves”.

“Hey, I think I have pretty good quads and calves” he protested, posing like a body builder, showing off his legs.

“Show off” I rolled my eyes, fishing out my keys and opening my front door.

“Why haven’t you changed your lock to a digital one?”

“This way, nobody can cut off my finger and gain access to my home.”

“I think you’ve seen one too many espionage-Sci Fi movies”.

“Do you remember Minority Report? Tom Cruise carried his eyeballs in a plastic baggy and scanned them to gain entrance to his old office!”

“Like I said, too many espionage-Sci Fi movies”.

I bade him enter the apartment ahead of me, then turned around to close and lock the door.

As he took off his shoes, he looked around in wonder. In contrast to his black and white apartment, mine has splashes of color everywhere - purples, teals, orange. The wooden floor was a warm grey-brown. My leather sofa was toffee colored, with a purple throw and cushions in teal and orange. A big fluffy lavender-colored Jellycat bunny sat on the sofa. A purple and teal textured rug sat under small maple wood coffee table with a glass top.

A long shoe cabinet lined the entry way, made of teak, with Tiffany blue doors. A mirror in white-washed maple wood frame sat on top of the cabinet. The drapes in the living room were a rich purple.

“I take it your favorite color is purple?”

“Yup. Yours has to be white and black, or grey?”

“Haha yeah, no surprise, right? Actually, I secretly like purple too”.

“Speaking of purple, I found a very interesting piece of stationery on your desk the other night”.

“Let me guess, it was the purple grape-scented marker”.

“Yes! Do you like, have a fetish for scented markers? Should I be worried?“

Jungkook laughed “It was a present from my ten-year old niece. I told her about purple being my secret favorite color so she felt it was her duty to get me a purple grape-scented one. She has a whole collection of scented markers.”

“Have you actually used it for anything?”

“Nope. I must say having it used for a “thanks for the orgasms” note is a good way to break it in.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and moved towards the kitchen.

“Do you want a drink? I have some fruit flavoured Perrier, or OJ”.

“Perrier is fine”. I popped the screw cap and passed him the bottle.

As he drank, Jungkook wandered around the living room, looking at the photos lining the walls. He stopped at one from many years ago.

“This is you and Hyeri? What were you, fifteen? You were really rocking the glasses.”

“Hey! I was a bit of a nerd back then. Getting Lasik done was life changing.”

Jungkook pointed to one of me in a graduation cap and gown, standing between my parents. We all had huge smiles on our faces. “Your parents? They look so happy and proud”.

“Being an only child meant they had that one chance to be the proud parents, clapping and hooting when their child went on stage. My dad was ecstatic. Granted he’d been happier if I’d followed his footsteps to become a literature teacher, or my mom’s to be a piano teacher, but they saw how passionate I was about becoming a vet and supported me all the way.”

“They sound awesome.”

“They are,” I smiled wistfully. “They live in the next state, about three hours drive away, so I make it point to drive up at least once a month. We also do video calls every other week if we can. Let me go wash up, and we’ll get started on your eggs k. Make yourself at home”.

When I came back to the living room, Jungkook was sitting on the floor near my TV console. He was running his fingers along my PS5.

He looked at me with wide eyes “You game?!? And you got the Galatic Purple PS5 and controllers!”

“Yup, told you I was a nerd”.

“What’s your poison?” he asked excitedly, flipping through my collection of PS5 games.

“Assassin’s Creed, FIFA, Rocket League, Mortal Kombat. But the ones I’m really enjoying now are, don’t laugh, Overcooked and Sackboy”.

“You didn’t dabble with Call of Duty? Or God of War Ragnarok?”

“Nope, FPS games aren’t really my thing. And God of War… boooring….”

“Wow, I don’t know many women who game, let alone play FIFA or Mortal Kombat”.

“I could probably kick your ass in FIFA you know. Just ask Jimin. He has sworn to never ever play FIFA with me again.”, I smirked. “But the real test of strategy and dexterity? Overcooked”.

“I haven’t tried Overcook, but I’ll take you upon that challenge. But can we do the real cooking now? I’m starving”.

“Oh, poor baby. Come, let me whip up those eggs for you….” I shooed him away from the stove and got him to sit at the little dining table in the middle of the kitchen.

As I took out the ingredients, I saw Jungkook whip out his phone and open his Notes app.

“4 eggs, milk, shredded parmesan cheese, shredded mozzarella, butter, salt”, he rattled off, typing furiously.

“Why are you taking notes?”

“These eggs seem to have a reputation. I’d better pay close attention, take some notes, maybe take some photos, hawk off the recipe online, boost my social numbers”.

“Your social numbers are already very healthy, you don’t need to take photos of scrambled eggs. Besides, this recipe is a family secret, handed down from my great-grandma”.

“Have you been stalking me on social?” Jungkook asked mischievously. I ducked my head, blushing. “Ooooh, you have! Ok, ok, since you’re a fan, I won’t put up your family recipe on Insta”.

Rolling my eyes at him, I broke the eggs into a bowl, added the two cheeses and salt. I took out a large whisk and whisked the eggs furiously till I got a good amount of froth. Then I added in the milk and whisked the mixture again. I popped a few slices of brioche into my toaster while I heated up my pan. Once the pan was hot, I added a generous dollop of butter. When the butter had melted, I whisked the egg one last time then poured the whole bowl into the pan with a satisfying sizzle. I turned down the heat, then slowly worked my spatula through the egg mixture, forming clumps as the egg cooked slowly. When it was done, I carefully transferred the eggs onto a plate, dusted the eggs generously with more shredded parmesan and sprinkled some dried thyme on top. The toaster popped up the brioche slices as well, so I brought them over to the dining table with the eggs.

“Voila!” I presented the dish with a flourish. “Cheese scrambled eggs”.

Jungkook stared at the dish with a look of wonder on his face. He leaned forward, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I have never had eggs smell like this, or do this!” He held the sides of the plate, shaking it from side to side to make the eggs wobble. He looked like a little boy opening a Christmas present.

Handing him a fork, I told him “Try it”.

He cut through the buttery curds, scooping up a big mouthful.

“Mmmmmm! Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmmmmmmm!” he enthused with his eyes closed, shaking his head from side to side as he chewed loudly then swallowed. “I can see why Jimin is hooked on this.”

“Each generation has added its own touches to it. This is my version. I added more cheese and the dried thyme to it” as I stretched out my fork to take some.

Jungkook grabbed the whole plate up so that it was out of my reach. “Nope. Not sharing. You can have the toast”, waving his fork in the direction of the brioche.

“Jeon Jungkook! Four eggs are meant for two people! Plus, I still haven’t made you pay for the humungous hickeys you gave me. Don’t think I forgot about those!”.

“Ok ok fine, I’ll share” he scooped some up on his fork and brought it to my lips, feeding it to me. In turn I fed him the toast, and before long we’d polished off everything.

“Ok, why don’t you start up Overcooked, and I’ll do the dishes” Jungkook offered.

“You’re going to do the dishes? What’s the catch?” I asked narrowing my eyes at him.

“No catch. Where I come from, the cook doesn’t wash”.

“Can I apply for permanent residency there?” I asked with my hand raised.

He pushed me out of the kitchen as he laughed and headed over to the sink.

I started up the PS5 and called up the game. I decided to warm up with the tutorial again while waiting for Jungkook.

Soon he joined me on the couch. “Okay, so Circle is for Dash” as I handed him a controller, “X is to pick up or put down ingredients or utensils, Square is to chop your ingredients or to throw ingredients to your teammate”.

“Ok.. circle to dash, X to pick up or drop, square to chop or throw. Got it”.

Before long we were yelling at each other.

“Your rice is going to burn! Take it off the stove!”

“You need to chop up the beef before you fry it!”

“Stop throwing marshmallows at me!” when Jungkook discovered it was fun to throw ingredients at your teammate.

“But the marshmallows are bigger than our heads! And they’re so pink! They look awesome bouncing off you!”

We ended one particularly difficult round with a negative score after we spent the entire round on a food fight.

“I HAVE NEVER EVER had a negative score for this game!” I cried, hitting him repeatedly on the shoulder.

“Ow! So what? Is there a prize ….”

“You’ve ruined my winning streak!”

“Competitive much? You know you can always just delete your saved game and start over” and he promptly navigated to the main menu and hovered over the ‘Delete Saved Game’.

“Don’t you dare!” I yelled at him, making a dive for his controller, knocking him over onto his back and ending up lying on top of him.

He looked so scrumptious I leaned forward to kiss him. He dropped the controller on the carpet and held my head to keep me in place. I scrambled forward so that I was straddling him. I kissed him more fiercely, sliding my tongue into his mouth to taste him. I rocked my hips, feeling him start to harden under me. He sat up, hands reaching for the hem of my tee shirt and pulled it off me in one swift move. He reached out to touch the hickey on my neck, then reached behind me and unhooked my bra, freeing my breasts. He touched the hickey on my breast almost reverently.

“Seeing my marks on you, does things to me.”

“What things?” I asked breathlessly.

“Neanderthal things. Like marking you some more, taking you, hard”.

I kissed him again, trailing kisses along his jaw, his neck, biting him at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, as a I reached out to undo the buttons of his shirt. With each button, more of his beautiful chest was exposed. I leaned down to lick each patch of skin. I moved my lips over his pectoral muscle, then bit his nipple, making him yelp in pain. With the shirt out of the way, I reach down to unbutton his cargo shorts, while he slipped his fingers into my shorts, pulling them down with my underwear.

His cock was already erect. I took him in hand, pumping slowly, as I pushed him down by the shoulders. I positioned myself above him, then slowly sank down on his cock.

He hissed as I slid all the way down, not expecting me to be able to take him so deep so quickly.

“You’re so wet already, so ready for me” he marveled, his big hands on my ass cheeks, spreading them so that I could sit more squarely on him.

I placed my hands on his shoulders, looking into his lust filled eyes. I moved my hips up, almost all the way to the tip of his cock, then slammed back down again. Soon, I’d built up a steady a rhythm as he watched me, my breasts bouncing every time my hips met his.

“Yeah baby, ride me. Use me.” Jungkook growled, his hands reaching to knead my breasts. He pinched my nipples, making me buck harder. I picked up my pace, as his big hands gripped my hips to help me come down hard, he fucked his hips up into me.

“Yesss… yesss….. YESSS! JUNGKOOK!” My voice hoarse as I reached my climax. He bucked his hips a few more times before he too found his release.

I slumped forward, hair falling into my face. He reached up and smoothed my hair, thumbs rubbing against my ruddy cheeks. I turned my head to one side to bite the pad of one of his thumbs.

“Didn’t figure you for a biter” he mused. Fingers brushing against the hickey on my neck.

“Well, at least now we match” I teased. His hand flew to his neck and touched the spot that had bloomed after I’d bit him.

“Y/N,” he said threateningly. “What did you do?”

“I told you I’m make you pay Big Boy. If I have to wear high necked tees for a week, so will you”.

“You little minx!” he scolded, getting up abruptly, sliding out of me, then dumped me on the couch, walking over to the mirror above the shoe cabinet to look at the love bite I’d given him.

“Hey!” I said indignantly as I was plonked onto the sofa. Then I giggled.

“What’s so funny” he said, turning his head from side to side as he peered into the mirror.

“Our juices are on the sofa. It has now been officially christened. Way to go Big Boy”.

“Always at your service” he came back, kissing me soundly on the lips. “How long have you had this couch?”

“Four years.”

“And it’s only being christened now?” He asked, looking a little confused.

“I don’t really have people over much. Well, except for Jimin of course.”

“Ok, then I’m honored to have been part of the christening ceremony” he said with a bow, retrieving his shorts, underwear and shirt. “Hate to love ém and leave ém, but I have an early shoot tomorrow morning. A wedding shoot. It’ll last till late in the afternoon.”

“Oooh, romantic” I batted my eyelids at him.

“Hardly. We’ll all be sweating buckets while the bride and groom try their best to look cool. They’re doing the shoot at the beach. So on top of being sweaty, we’ll all be sandy. UGH.”

“Hey, don’t be mean. You’re making someone’s perfect wedding dreams come true”.

“As I said, always at your service”. He finished buttoning up his shirt, as I pulled on my tee shirt and walked with him to the door.

Suddenly he turned around and grabbed me, crushing me against his chest. “Thanks for the scrambled eggs, Sweetness, and for teaching me to play Overcook”.

“Anytime, Big Boy. Consider your payment 50% made.”

“50%?”

“You gave me two hickeys. I’ve only given you one. You owe me one more, and I intend to claim it”. ‘

“Anytime you’re up for it, baby”. He kissed me deeply, before swatting me on the ass. He winked at me as he opened the door and stepped out.

“Till next time, Big Boy”. He gave me a mock salute, then started down the stairs.

I leaned against the closed door, grinning like an idiot, wondering if I’d be able to remove the new stains on the sofa.

Previous (Chp5) || Next (Chp7)

Tag: @bhonbhon, @azurefangirl

[creepypastabilities]

Only the moon saw us.

Pairing— Brian Thomas x Tim Wright (Marble Hornets)

CWs— None

I. Static Between Stations

Tim was always smoke first, answers later. He leaned against the busted soda machine outside the old 76 off Route Nowhere, hoodie sleeves pulled down to his knuckles, a Marlboro ghosting between his fingers like it was part of him. The red glow of the neon “OPEN” sign flickered like a dying heartbeat. Brian watched it flash over Tim’s cheekbones — ON / OFF / ON / OFF — until it looked like the kind of cinema you’d watch with the volume turned all the way down.

They’d been driving for hours. No destination, just a shared urge to leave. Brian didn’t ask what Tim was running from. He already knew.

The gas station bathroom smelled like bleach and despair. A cockroach scuttled under the sink and Brian caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror — cracked, distorted, a hundred pieces that didn’t fit anymore. He splashed cold water on his face, like that would wash off everything: the Operator, the tapes, the lies. But all it did was wake up the ache in his chest.

Outside, Tim flicked ash into the wind. He looked like a Polaroid — overexposed, fading at the edges. A boy caught halfway between still here and long gone.

“You ever think about just… not going back?” Tim asked, not looking at him.

Brian lit a cigarette and leaned beside him, hip brushing his. “Back to what?”

That earned him a smile. A real one. Tim had the kind of smile that made you feel like you just found something valuable in a junkyard. Rusted, yes. But still worth saving.

II. Ghost Radio

They spent the night in a drained-out pool behind the abandoned bowling alley. Their breath fogged in the cold, but neither of them cared. They passed a flask back and forth like a secret and listened to the radio that didn’t work — just static and the occasional warbled whisper of a country song caught in the air like a memory too stubborn to die.

Tim laid flat on his back, staring at the stars like he was daring them to look away first.

“Do you think we’re haunted?” he asked.

Brian let the question hang. Swallowed it like battery acid.

“We’re not haunted,” he said eventually. “We are the ghosts.”

Tim laughed like it hurt. “That’s so fucking emo.”

Brian turned to him. “We are fucking emo. Look at us. We’re the last track on a My Chemical Romance album.”

Tim rolled onto his side, face close now, eyes catching the moonlight like he’d stolen it. “You ever wish it had all gone different?”

Brian didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Tim’s mouth — soft, like apology; slow, like a dare.

III. American Decay

By morning, the Converse soles of their shoes were black with road grime and regret. They stole diner coffee from a place with a “closed forever” sign and ate melted Twinkies on the hood of a rusted-out Camaro buried halfway in kudzu.

Tim took photos on a disposable camera, saying they were making a scrapbook for the end of the world. He took one of Brian lighting a cigarette with shaky hands. Another of their shadows holding hands.

“I don’t want to forget,” he said.

“You won’t,” Brian replied. “Things this fucked up tend to stick.”

They spray-painted their names on the side of the gas station in letters that dripped like blood. BRIAN + TIM = NEVER AGAIN / NEVER ENOUGH.

Brian looked at it for a long time, wondering which one of them would be the first to disappear.

IV. Moonlight Doesn’t Lie

It ended — or maybe began — in the parking lot of an old drive-in where the screen had been torn down years ago. Nothing left but broken speakers and that kind of silence that sounds like someone watching you from behind.

Tim lit two cigarettes, passed one to Brian without a word. They smoked like lifelines.

The wind picked up. Dust devils danced across the cracked concrete. Somewhere, a cassette tape rewound itself in a forgotten car stereo. Maybe it was theirs. Maybe it wasn’t.

“I think I love you,” Tim said, like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the world.

Brian didn’t say it back. He just kissed him again, rough this time — like graffiti, like fury, like clawing their way out of every ruined place they’d ever been.

Only the moon saw them. And the moon doesn’t lie.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

I am the broken, I am the wound

@asraindarkness said whump, and I was, yeah! The story, however, said uh-uh. There you go, 3,925 words BuckTommy, including PTSD and a love confession. Below the cut and on AO3.

(1: Buck’s POV)

It was the small things.

Trifles, inconspicuous at first, accumulating until they no longer appeared to be random. And still it took Buck weeks, months even to connect the dots. It might have been politeness, or rather some kind of consideration, why Tommy wasn’t staying the nights. Some old fashioned way to keep the pace low, to let Buck acclimate to the fact that he was with a man now. Which was, of course, cute, but since Buck basically jumped on said man after a couple of weeks, not exactly necessary.

He never stayed over night, but even if that gave Buck a headache sometimes, it might just have been an endearing quirk. But there were other signs, only he didn't understand them until later. That wary look on Tommy's face at some loud noises. The fact that he never talked about his time in the army. How he always got up to get a drink or go for a pee when a movie turned all too violent. Later, of course, Buck wondered how he had not noticed all this. It was just that Tommy didn't quite realize it himself.

A few weeks after their first kiss and a few much more fruitful dates, the wedding to which Buck had invited Tommy finally happened – albeit in a completely different way than planned. After it, they went to the loft, took a shower together, made out in Buck's bed, talked and laughed; and then, Tommy fell asleep. 

It was mesmerizing. Of course, he had been on a shift when Buck texted him about the unplanned hospital wedding, and he’d arrived as soon as he could, covered in soot from a fire that would be on the evening news. He was exhausted, basically only kept up by Buck's text that there would be cake. So it was no wonder that his eyes eventually closed, and Buck was enraptured by the sight. He lay there for a long time, looking at Tommy until darkness fell over the city, until he decided to end the day and lie down next to him. Tommy didn't wake up when he carefully wrapped an arm around him, and that’s how he fell asleep, blissfully thinking of the morning when he would wake up to this sight. 

He woke up to a scream.

Buck, a first responder with instincts hard to suppress, immediately sat upright in bed. He squinted into the darkness, confused and tired, unable to find his bearings for a moment. Had he been dreaming, or had he actually heard something? Buck’s gaze fell to the other side of his bed, and he remembered; yet the warm, fuzzy feeling of last night wouldn’t return. 

Tommy sat there, the comforter tangled between his legs, his naked torso wet with sweat. The dim surroundings revealed little, but he was bent forward, head in his hands, breathing heavily. 

“T... Tommy?”

He didn't even know why the sight unsettled him so much. Tommy was one of those strong guys with a soft core, one to shed a tear during a movie’s love scene, claiming there’s a speck of dust in his eye. With Buck, he was soft and gentle all the time, just … not like this. He carefully reached out a hand, touching a very tense shoulder. The touch seemed to electrify Tommy, he looked up, startled. Buck couldn't quite make out his eyes, but if he'd had to guess... he looked haunted.

“What happened? Nightmare?”

Buck gave his voice a reassuring edge, because underneath the distractedness, the obvious sadness of Tommy's whole frame, something else was lurking. Buck had seen this kind of tenseness, this hardened jawline, the hurried look before. It was a mood that could quickly turn aggressive. That seemed hard to imagine with Tommy, but it had been a long road to be at ease with himself, and his physical assets were impressive. And whatever was wrong with him, calming him down seemed the best option. 

“Yeah,” Tommy drawled. “Must have been a dream. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep, I need to leave.”

“Tommy, you really don't need to…” Buck said, but Tommy rose, gathering his belongings, one foot in his jeans already. A wistful smile played around his lips as he kissed Buck goodbye.

Buck was jittery for a few days afterwards, without knowing exactly why. Tommy was back to his old charming self a day later, he even apologized by saying that he was not used to fall asleep next to somebody. It was a strange statement, and Buck had the oddest feeling that something was wrong, something deep down in Tommy, and for some reason, that frightened him. It was inevitable: his thoughts revolved around possible mistakes, turning every conversation around in his head. He even wondered whether Tommy could have lost interest so quickly. However, there was nothing to suggest that he had. Maybe it was all in Buck's head, but he was still convinced it was in Tommy's head, too, and he needed to find a quiet moment to talk to him. 

A peaceful dinner after a non-stressful, quiet day, on which they fortunately both finished work at the same time, seemed the best opportunity. Buck had ordered cake – he wasn't so presumptuous as to think he could bake just because he liked to cook. He didn't eat any of it, but watched Tommy with pleasure as he shoveled in the second piece. The only thing distracting him was that he thought about how to bring on the topic. How to start a conversation about something you weren’t sure about? Maybe Buck was just overthinking it, maybe Tommy was fine, maybe there was nothing. His guts, however, told him otherwise. He just needed to find a way to make this not about himself. That should be easy, because he really, really cared for this man. 

Tommy finished the cake, and Buck opened a bottle of wine.

“Wine? Did you run out of beer?” Tommy teased him. 

Buck's former self would have run to the fridge, but by now, he knew better. He knew Tommy better, his somewhat odd jokes, his sarcasm. Maybe that was the key, he thought while handing Tommy a glass. Perhaps he should have realized sooner that all this could be a coping mechanism – after all, that was an experience he shared. 

“Hey, uh, I... I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said, sitting down at he table again, shoving the empty plates aside and clutching his glass. 

“Fine. I figured something was bothering you, Evan.”

Tommy's nose folded into an adorable scrunch as he cracked a broad smile. Strangely enough, Buck now felt guilty. As if he was about to say something that would wipe this smile away, and he didn’t want that. 

 “It's about…” he began, but his voice trailed off as the ceiling light above them suddenly flickered.

“Do you often have problems with power cuts?” Tommy asked, frowning. 

“Nah, never,” Buck returned.

He looked up as if he could make the lamp work with his thoughts, and sure enough, the flickering stopped. 

“Maybe it's a solar storm,” Tommy said and took a sip. “I've read about them, they’re...”

The light went out altogether, and he fell silent. Now the loft was pitch black, covered by a blanket made out of darkness.

“That's odd,” Buck remarked. “Well, let me check the fuses, wait, I’ll use my phone as a torch.”

It shouldn’t be that dark, he thought, and it took him a second to realize it was missing the usual glimpse of this suburbia’s light pollution. This wasn’t just about his apartment. Fumbling with his back pocket, he got up. That was the second when a gigantic blast was heard from outside, a violent noise that rattled the windows. Buck dropped his phone and cursed, at the same time a second noise sounded directly in front of him, and he sensed movement. 

“Tommy?”

Buck's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the darkness yet, but he realized that the second bang had been a chair falling to the floor. What the hell was going on here? Diving under the table, he groped the floor for his phone. 

The flashlight on his cell phone cast strange shadows on the walls. The chair Tommy had been sitting on had indeed been knocked over, but where was he? Why hadn't he answered? The silence after the bang was eerie. Maybe a substation had exploded, ensuring the district lay in darkness now. It had startled him, admittedly, but now his instincts kicked in, they calmed his heartbeat and kept him thinking clearly. Assess the situation. Help those in need.

“Tommy, you okay? Wait, I'm coming for you.”

Despite the pale light from his phone, Buck banged his knee on the table, cursing for the second time. There was no response, and he was starting to get really worried. He flicked the light across the kitchen, into the living room, but there was no one there. Had Tommy gone up the stairs? But why would he? 

He kept scanning around, searching every nook and cranny, his own footsteps the only sound. All of this was eery, not only because of the sudden darkness. This was still his apartment, he knew every corner by heart, light or not. And still, it felt like something was missing, some of the security his home offered, but it wasn’t him who was missing it. 

Buck found Tommy in the bathroom, a dark shade crouching next to the shower, clasping his knees. He dropped down, put the phone aside and let its light illuminate parts of the ceiling. It was enough to see Tommy’s face, absolutely frightened, eyes wide open, staring into the void. He was panting way too fast, close to hyperventilating. Buck knew these signs.

“Tommy. Hey. Look at me, okay? I’m here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse for some reason.  “What... what's going on?”

“I don't know,” Tommy said, almost sobbing, “I don't know, I just don't know.”

_."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._.".__."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._.

(2: Tommy’s POV)

“Okay,” Buck returned softly, “all right. Breathe. Slowly.”

Tommy knew that voice, he’d used it himself before, maybe the exact words, and he knew Evan was right. It was just so hard to breathe. With every inhale, he seemed to take in the darkness even more, and with every exhale, he felt like screaming. He had never been afraid of the dark, but for some reason, now he was terrified. The flashlight did little to reassure him; the shadows on the tiled walls seemed to taunt Tommy. 

He didn't look at Evan, he could imagine him thinking feverishly, probably wondering why Tommy had chosen to hide in the bathroom. But Evan wasn't stupid, he would draw the right conclusions. It was a closed space, no windows, somehow a safe space. Some people believed it was one of the safest places in case of an earthquake, and Tommy knew that Evan lived in L.A. long enough to have witnessed at least one. Whatever had shook Evan’s windows, it most certainly hadn’t been an earthquake. But whatever it had been…

“… it triggered something,” Evan said, as if he was able to read his mind. “The… the noise, maybe even the darkness?” 

It was a question that didn’t really call for an answer, not now. Evan reached out and grasped his slightly shaking hands. They were cold against Evan’s warm skin, but he didn’t withdraw. To his own surprise, he started talking. 

“Been having nightmares for a while,” he said, only to fall silent again immediately after these words.

Evan frowned, “T…that’s why you never wanted to spend the night here? Tommy... you could have just told me?”

Tommy shrugged, not looking at him.

“It felt strange. Annoying. Like a me-problem, you know?”

He still didn’t dare to look at the man, but Tommy could imagine how that must feel to him. Evan, who had so much, too much experience in trying to not be a burden to anyone. He’d come a long way, Tommy knew that. It hadn’t felt right at the time when he asked his former coworkers about his crush, and without them even knowing why he asked, in the first place. He could imagine what he felt and thought right now, and he was right: Evan briefly let go of his hands to lift Tommy’s chin, searching his gaze. 

“You’re not a problem, Tommy,” he assured him. “We’re in this together now, remember? If anything, the world’s in double trouble.”

That man… Evan didn’t know half the things he invoked in Tommy. He could feel his shoulders lose some of their tenseness, and his jaw relaxed enough he finally sensed  the coppery taste of biting the insides of his cheeks.

“Tell me about the dreams,” Buck said. 

“That's the thing,” Tommy returned, shaking his head, ”I don't remember much. But it's... kind of gruesome, creepy. Everything's blurry, but it feels dangerous. Silly.”

“It's not. It’s how dreams work, right? Tell me why the bang outside startled you this much.”

The flashlight on Buck's cell phone went out without warning, and he hastily turned it back on. Tommy was grateful for the moment of darkness. If he would only be able to sort his thoughts. But there was nothing he could hold on to, nothing to put a finger on. The dreams, well… they had been gloomy and strange, nothing else.  

“I don’t think it’s the darkness,” Evan cautiously continued, “or if it is, it’s along with the bang we heard. You know, it… it took me a while to stop flinching at every flash of lightning. M…maybe it’s something you experienced in the army?”

Finally, Tommy turned his head to look at him. Of course he would eventually get there. Tommy didn’t like to see these beautiful blue eyes filled with so much concern, but this time, he was helpless.

“But what? I hardly remember my time in the army.” 

“Come on,” Buck went, searching his gaze, “I’m sure that’s not true. I mean, certainly, you must have experienced things you’d rather forget…”

“No,” Tommy cut him off, “it’s not that that I want to forget them. I actually can’t remember.”

Buck furrowed his brow, “That's textbook PTSD,” he said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not. I think,” Tommy muttered, ruffling his hair. 

“You hid this from me, you know.”

Tommy heard the insecurity, even if Evan tried hard to mask it. He was trying so hard to sound confident, not at all hurt, because this wasn’t about him. That was exactly what made it so hard. Tommy didn’t know why he himself hurt, but he did, and he didn’t want to drag anyone down that road. Especially not Evan. 

“I didn’t do this on purpose, Evan,” he said, surprised at how tired he sounded. Exhausted, even.

“I know,” Evan soothed him. “We don’t need to find a solution right now. You need some sleep.”

“No,” Tommy said with a strange kind of urgency creeping up his spine. “I can’t sleep. It keeps coming back. I need to know why.”

“Okay. Fine. Let’s think about it, then we’ll lay down together, and first thing in the morning is calling the shrink. Deal?”

“You don’t have to do this, Evan. I can just…”

“Look, I don’t want you to go home, Tommy,” he was cut off intently. “We’ll get through this together.”

Suddenly, Tommy sighed, as if he had held his breath for a very long time, and though it sounded a bit like a sob, he felt way more content now. I needed to hear this, he thought surprised.

“When did this start?” asked Buck. 

Tommy wrinkled his brow. Thoughtfully, he stared upwards into the flashlight’s pale glow, which chose this moment to go out again. Buck suppressed another curse and switched his phone back on.

“Ten weeks,” he replied, “maybe twelve.”

“Well, what happened back then? I know this much about PTSD to believe that whatever happened to the power supply tonight was not the trigger. It must have started somewhere. Something at work? You didn’t crash with the helicopter, right?”

“I think you’d have heard about a helicopter crash around the time we rescued Bobby and Athena,” Tommy answered dryly. 

“Right,” Buck sheepishly returned. They exchanged a weary smile. “So that’s when the nightmares started? Do you think it’s that? It was a risk. Dangerous. We could have died. Or lost our jobs.”

“Interesting priorities that you have there,” Tommy said, sounding more like his old self now. “Nobody died and we even got medals for it. Don’t think that’s it. Moreover, I think it started a bit later. Like… after…”

His voice trailed off, and he could see on Evan’s face that his eyes must have taken on a haunted look again. But he did feel haunted. It wasn't that he really remembered, rather as if lots of little pieces suddenly fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. Or, he thought gloomily, like a game of dominoes triggering a chain reaction.

“After what?” Evan softly asked.

There was no way he would evade this now. Not after all this, not after Evan seeing him in such a rattled state, hiding in his bathroom. “After the basketball game.”

“You mean the one with Eddie?”

“I was injured,” Tommy said, definitely not an answer to Buck’s question, “in the military, you know? That’s what the files said.”

“T…the files? So that’s what you don’t remember?” 

“I do remember that I was hurt, something hit my head. Two weeks in hospital, a honorable discharge right after, all of that is still there. It’s just … I don’t know what happened before that. What hit my head? Who was with me? What happened? It’s a blur. Nobody told me anything, you know? They said it’s amnesia, it would all come back, and they were told not to upset me. That was a lie. The files were mostly confidential. I wasn’t allowed to read what hit me or why.” 

Tommy didn’t dare to look at Evan after he got rid of all that. He stared straight ahead, or maybe into the void. 

“That's tough,” Evan said softly.

“That’s the army,” Tommy shrugged. “It’s just… the nightmares are so vivid, yet I can’t see anything. It’s more like feelings, sensations, thoughts. Everything is dark, and there are strange sounds. It feels dangerous, but also like I’m leaving somebody behind. I’m afraid, Evan. I’m afraid that I did something bad, something horrible back then, and I don’t even remember it.”

“You could never,” Evan blurted out, reaching for Tommy’s cold hands again. 

A wistful smile crossed Tommy’s lips. “But what if I have?”

“We’ll deal with it as soon as we know more,” Evan decided. “Why do you think it was triggered by the basketball game?”

The torchlight went out again as another expression flickered across Tommy's face,  but he was sure Evan didn’t catch it. He reached for his phone, but Tommy grabbed his hand and held it tight. Several heartbeats long, they sat in the darkness, silent; he didn’t want this to end, didn't want reality to return. But it was inevitable. Finally, he sighed. 

“What if it was you, Evan?”

“Me? I...”

“Let me finish. This time, I need you to listen.”

There was concern in Evan’s eyes, maybe even fear, and he hated to be the cause of it. But it was better to rip off the band-aid fast.

“It started there,” Tommy said. “But it got worse. The closer the two of us got, the more nightmares I had. I liked you from the beginning, Evan, and the game was when I realized it. As soon as you arrived, I only wanted to impress you. Wanted it then and every day after that. That’s why it’s so hard.”

“I don’t get it,” Evan returned, utterly confused.

“I love you, Evan,” he said into the darkness. 

There. He said it. Either stupid jokes or hard facts at the wrong time, that was what he was, right? Tommy heaved another sigh as he added, “I’m not saying I knew this from the beginning. What I knew, though, was that I liked you so much that it almost hurt. Hadn’t experienced that, well, in quite a while.”

“But,” Evan dared to say, “t…that’s a good thing, right?”

His voice sounded so small, so full of hope. Tommy could barely make out his frame in the darkness, but he surely looked very soft, very lovely right now. Tommy had not forgotten what Evan had told him, one night: How his ex-girlfriend had called him needy, and how he had found that to be rude, but also true. Tommy had tried to tell him, to show him that it wasn’t true. That he was worth it, and that it was adorable how he wore his heart on his sleeve. 

“I don’t know. And that’s why I’m afraid. Because… what if I really did something bad back then? What if I hurt people, killed innocent ones, what if I’m a traitor, a cheater, whatever, and it’s buried deep inside me and…”

“… and you’re afraid the dreams might show you what you did, at some point. And I wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes,” Tommy breathed. 

He had avoided this moment for as long as possible. No one liked facing their own demons, but admitting it was worse. He didn't even know what his demons looked like. All that was long in the past, it was blurred and distant – but not distant enough, obviously. Whatever he had done then, whatever had happened, maybe he would never know, and maybe it would break him sooner or later if he didn't share it. But that was exactly what Evan had offered: to share the burden. 

His tongue felt numb, everything suddenly hurt, as if that bang out there had shaken his body. It had only shaken his soul, and yet it hurt. But that was somehow a good pain, one that drove him on. He reached for Evan's hands, about to say something; there was a crackle of electricity and all the lights came back on. They stared into the light, squinting for a moment, then Tommy turned to Evan, determination in his gaze.

 “Let's go to sleep,” he said. “We can deal with this tomorrow.”

Evan looked at him insistently, as if he could see behind his forehead to read his mind, and he asked, “You gonna be able to sleep?”

“I'm more afraid of losing you than I am of the nightmares, Evan.”

The words just tumbled out of his mouth, and Evan's eyes widened.

"Why would you lose me? Tommy. Tommy!" he stammered, as if he couldn't believe this was actually true. Evan grabbed his upper arms as if to shake him, and maybe Tommy deserved it, because now he suddenly said, “You idiot!”

“I... what?” Tommy asked, dumbfounded.

“That was the strangest declaration of love ever. I wish I could have answered I know.” 

Star Wars jokes, Tommy thought. Maybe all was not lost. He still felt vulnerable, a bit like he was a huge open wound. But one that would heal. 

“Yeah, you kinda didn’t answer at all, Evan,” he said.

Now that the light was back, he could finally see him again, and it was his favorite thing to see: that radiant smile, as if the sun was rising. 

“I thought I wouldn't have to,” Evan replied. “But you know what? I want to. I love you too.”

[spectrayus]

What would your OC's reaction or interaction if she met Leila? 🤔

How do they meet?

Option 1: Sayu accidentally teleports through a multi-universe portal and ends up in the world where Leila lives. Looking around, she doesn't notice anything different, so she calmly starts heading home.

On the way, she casually notices that many inhabitants run away screaming in fear. However, when she runs into Leila, who doesn't even flinch, Sayu becomes intrigued.

Reaction:

Sayu approaches her, full of curiosity. It's rare for her that someone doesn't react with fear or negativity toward her, and it sparks her interest.

Teasing, she says, “Hey, I'm a ghost, be scared”

Leila chuckles lightly and replies. “Haha, I know. I'm not blind”

Still puzzled, Sayu insists, “You're really not scared?”

Leila smiles and answers casually, “No. Especially not when you look so adorably confused”

Sayu, caught completely off guard by the unexpected compliment, blushes furiously. Flustered and embarrassed, she pretends to be indignant and floats away as quickly as she can.

Complot:

Sayu eventually discovers a painful truth, his father, Betrayus, doesn't recognize her. He looks down on her, speaking with the same cold authority and arrogance he shows to everyone else.

Reeling from the shock, Sayu wanders the unfamiliar world, trying to make sense of it all.

At some point, she stumbles upon a photograph, a faded, fragile image. Her heart stops when she realizes it's the same girl had encountered earlier on the road, only much younger, still a child, cradled in the arms of Betrayus, back when he was alive.

In that moment, the truth becomes chillingly clear,

In this version of the multiverse, she was never born.

Option 2: One ordinary day, Sayu was so bored that she decided to wander into the living room. There, she spotted a collection of books and, with little care, began browsing through them, leaving a mess of scattered volumes on the floor.

While rummaging around, she stumbled across an old photo album, something that immediately piqued her curiosity. Inside were dozens of pictures of her father, Betrayus, from his teenage years onward, back when he was still alive. Some photos were funny, others strange or intriguing.

Sayu flipped through them absentmindedly, until one picture made him freeze.

It showed his father holding a small, cheerful girl, who smiled warmly with an expression that mirrored Betrayus's own.

A strange sensation hit Sayu in the chest, a mixture of mistrust, contempt, and rising curiosity.

He felt an urgent need to confront Betrayus.

Trying to act casual and indifferent, Sayu floated over to the throne room, “Hey, dad, I have something to ask you” he said nonchalantly.

Betrayus, half-distracted by the tv, glanced at him and replied, “Hm? What is it?”

Sayu took a deep breath, then held up the photo as a reference, “Who's the girl in this picture?”

An uncomfortable silence followed. Betrayus didn’t respond right away, he just stared blankly at the photo, his dull reddish eyes seemingly lost in thought.

Sayu shifted awkwardly under the weight of the silence, eventually prompting, “Dad?”

Finally, Betrayus blinked, slowly turning toward Sayu with a nervous, almost haunted look.

“She’s your half-sister” he said quietly.

How would their interaction be?

For both scenarios, the result would be the same.

At first, Sayu might not like Leila, and it wouldn’t entirely be her fault. Sayu' occasional arrogance and selfishness, combined with deep-seated jealousy and resentment over her father's affection, would create tension. Especially once Sayu realizes she's not truly the only child.

Naturally, this would lead to conflict between them.

However, if Leila eventually opens up, perhaps during a vulnerable moment where they both discuss their inner struggles and shared distrust toward Betrayus.

Sayu’s intense defensiveness would begin to soften.

Curiosity and a rare sensitivity would surface within her.

Through these honest conversations, they would slowly find common ground, gradually improving their relationship and building a genuine bond over time.

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

I- Intimacy

A/N- Yay!! my fics are back 🥰 lol i missed doing these so much c: i’m not sure if i love the ending on this one but when do i ever like my own endings 😂

Genre- Fluff, Smut

Warnings- Reader has female anatomy, alcohol, unprotected p in v sex (BE SAFE), body worship, oral sex (f receiving)

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @munsonology @esme-viridian @gvf23

(tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like to be added)

Word Count- 5.7k

Eddie quickly ran over to your side of the van, slowly opening the door for you and reaching his hand out to help you step down into the parking lot.

Your anniversary had come along so much quicker than you were anticipating, you didn’t think a year would go by so quickly.

The memories you’ve made together, all the wonderful days spent with each other and the magical nights you were wrapped in each other’s arms. He was an amazing boyfriend, which was shocking to you at first given his reputation, but once you really had gotten to know his true self instead of listening to the rumors that had been going around you knew they were wrong about him.

He made it his duty to always make you feel loved and appreciated every single day he was with you. Breakfasts in bed, bringing you home a little treat if he had to stop at the gas station on his way home from work, giving flowers and little presents whenever he saw something that reminded him of you, complimenting you each and every single day. He adored you, and he needed you to know how much you meant to him.

Your anniversary was something different for him though.

He had never had a relationship last this long, especially one long enough where you knew his friends and Wayne and all the little freshies of Hellfire, and for your anniversary he wanted to kick the romance into high gear.

He wanted to show you off to everyone that he could.

There was a fancier restaurant just outside of town and he made your reservations well over a month in advance to make sure you were able to go. He asked Wayne if he could borrow some of his nicer clothes, did his hair a bit, he even bought himself a new cologne to use.

Not to mention all the little surprises he had planned for you both that night.

You had already known about dinner, Eddie had even hand picked your outfit and bought you a stunning black dress to wear. You loved how much effort he had put into this night and though it wasn’t about how much money he spent or how fancy the restaurant he took you to was, it was about the two of you being with one another and being able to show each other how much you loved one another.

Dinner was nice, intimate, you had talked with one another the whole night and had really been able to have a wonderful meal with a delicious dessert that you shared afterwards.

Though he had given you little presents here and there throughout the day, he made sure to save the best for last.

As soon as dinner was finished, he began his drive home but he made what you assumed to be a wrong turn a few streets down.

“Eddie, the park is a few streets down isn’t it?”

“It is.” He said with a smile.

“Ok, so where are we going?” You asked him with a giggle.

“Somewhere special.” He shrugged, “I just hope you like it.”

The drive wasn’t too long, and the road he had taken wound through the forest to a secluded area and once you saw the front gates you were in awe.

It was a gorgeous little bed and breakfast, the road leading up to it was full of flower bushes and the hotel itself seemed exactly like the type of place Eddie would love. Dark, romantic, old fashioned, and with a few more years it would look like the perfect place for a haunted house.

He helped you down from the van as he parked next to the building and he held out his arm for you to take as he led you up the steps to the door.

He let down his arm and opened the door for you and when you saw the inside of the place it was even more gorgeous than you imagined.

It looked like an old mansion, the walls covered with art and intricate mirrors, sconces covering the walls instead of lamps, vases of dark flowers on each table you saw. The entire place was beautiful and you were so happy Eddie found a place that suited you both so well.

He stepped in after you and went up to the front desk, checking yourselves in as you looked all around the foyer of the hotel.

He reached out for your hand once more and you were guided up to your room by the woman from behind the desk, giving you each a key to the room before leaving you two with a smile.

“I hope you like it, i paid a little extra to amp up the romance a bit.”

You giggled a bit as Eddie put his key into the lock,

“Eddie, what are you talking abou-“ You stopped in your tracks when you saw how beautifully the room was set up for you.

Candles were lit all over, giving it a gorgeous golden glow against the black and burgundy shades of the room. Bright red rose petals had been left all along the floor and leading up to the bed. A bottle of red wine had been sitting on the nightstand with two glasses next to it for the both of you to share. The room itself was amazing, like nothing you had ever seen before.

Dark, intimate, almost vampiric in a way with all the deep dark shades that had been covering the room. The walls had a beautifully patterned burgundy wallpaper, the furniture had been entirely black and the curtains and trim on the wall had matched, the bedsheets and pillows had been different shades of deep red and black and it was shocking to know that a place that would feel so warm and comforting had been this close to home.

Eddie leaned in close to you,

“They called this one the ‘Vampire Room’. Pretty fitting don’t you think?”

“Eddie… I don’t know what to say…”

He smiled and took a step in front of you, carefully taking your hands into his and leading you slowly into the room, leaning into your ear to whisper to you once more,

“Just say that you love me.”

Your lips curled into a smile and you let go of his hands, bringing them up to his face to gently hold his cheeks as you looked into his eyes for a moment before kissing him sweetly,

“I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

You entered the room with him and he shut the door behind you, letting you walk around the room to take in everything you saw before you.

He had watched you with a smile as he undid the front buttons on the suit jacket he had on,

“When you’re all done looking at the room angel, i already had them unpack some things i brought earlier, there’s a cute little outfit waiting for you to change into in the bathroom.”

You gasped excitedly, rushing back over to Eddie,

“Really? You got me another present?”

“Of course i did! I think it’s going to look perfect on you too,” Eddie wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in close, kissing your forehead before slowly turning you around, reaching up to the top of your dress and undoing the zipper for you, placing a kiss onto your shoulder, “I picked it out just for you.”

You smiled and turned back to him, giving him a quick kiss before slowly moving into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind you.

Eddie waited patiently, letting you take your time changing into the outfit he had picked out for you, and he smiled just thinking about how you would look once that door opened up again.

He figured now was a better time than ever to get himself ready, loosening his tie and pulling off his jacket, tossing them both onto the chair next to the bed.

Tonight he wanted everything to be absolutely perfect, and it was all for you.

He got himself undressed, the rest of his clothes going onto the chair as he walked slowly over to the bathroom door, knocking on it gently a few times,

“Take all the time you need pretty girl. We’ve got all weekend here.”

“Just another minute!” You called back out to him.

He smiled and walked over to the record player, flipping through the small collection of vinyls that were nearby, deciding on one that seemed dark but still romantic. Perfect for the kind of night he wanted to have with you.

Once the record started he walked back over to the other side of the bed, reaching for the bottle of wine and uncorking it, grabbing the two glasses in his other hand but stopping in his tracks once he heard the bathroom door open once more.

There you stood in a gorgeous blood red nightgown. It was silk, and the way the fabric shined in the candlelight showed off your body in all the perfect ways. All Eddie could do was stand there and stare.

“See something you like handsome?” You said with a giggle.

“You know i do. Come here.” He set the bottle and glasses back onto the nightstand and held his arms out for you, holding you by the waist and looking at you up and down before taking one of your hands into his and twirling you,

“God, you’re beautiful.”

“Oh shush, now you’re just being sweet.”

“I’m always gonna be sweet to the woman i love.” He leaned down and gave you a sweet kiss as he held you close, your arms going around his neck as he started to slowly sway to the music.

He rested his forehead onto yours as you moved your bodies to the record.

You held each other close and really took in this moment.

It was so romantic and intimate, and you were happy to be able to spend such an amazing night with the man you loved and adored, and with all the effort he had been putting into tonight really showed you how much he loved and adored you too.

He held your hands softly in his and slowly guided you towards the bed, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time.

His eyes to you seemed different than normal. They were still gorgeous to look so deeply into, their warmth always guiding you to them, but this time they seemed clouded over with not just lust but love.

As Eddie sat on the bed next to you he reached over and grabbed the bottle of wine from the nightstand,

“Should we?”

“Only if you’re up for it,” You said with a smile, “just promise me you won’t get like you did on New Years, Mr. ‘I can drink this whole bottle of champagne all by myself’.”

He laughed as he popped open the bottle, reaching over and pouring it into the two glasses, handing you one before pouring one for himself,

“You know i wouldn’t do that on a night like tonight. New Years was different, you’re supposed to act like a drunk idiot,” He set the bottle back onto the nightstand before moving himself back over to you, holding his glass out for you to clink it with yours, which you did gladly before each taking a sip, “tonight isn’t about that. It’s about you, and me, and our love for each other.”

You smiled and reached your hand out, gently holding his cheek as you guided him closer to you to softly kiss him,

“And i love you very much Eddie Munson.”

“I love you (y/n), and i want to be able to show you that i do.”

You smiled with one another for a moment, really taking in your surroundings and yet it still wasn’t fully hitting you how desperate Eddie was making himself for you.

He had only dreamed of a moment like this, a gorgeous hotel room with the love of his life who was dressed up in the sexy nightgown that he had picked out just for her only to rip it off later in the night. He so badly wanted to make love to you it was hurting but he promised you and he promised himself that tonight was different. You could have sex any time you wanted but Eddie wanted to make sweet romantic love to you like he never had before and he’d be damned if he let himself ruin that.

He watched your lips as they moved to the rim of the wine glass in your hand, taking one more sip and carefully sticking your tongue out to clean up the deep red stains that were beginning on your lips. You giggled seeing his stare,

“What are you looking at?”

Eddie slowly took the glass from your hand and carefully set them both down onto the nightstand,

“Lay with me?”

You smiled and nodded, moving yourself onto the bed and fixing up your nightgown as Eddie laid himself behind you, his body pressed up against yours as his arms went around you to keep you held tightly to him as he moved a few strands of hair away from your neck.

His breath tickled as he slowly kissed your neck, taking one of your hands into his as his lips trailed down. You giggled as he held your hand, feeling his lips make their way over your shoulder and down your arm before placing one last kiss onto the back of your hand, slowly bringing it up to his face and holding it against his cheek,

“God, i love you so much…”

You smiled and laid back on the bed, your head resting against the soft pillows as Eddie moved himself next to you, holding himself up with one arm against the bed as his other arm held your cheek.

You looked at one another for a moment, just taking in the scene that surrounded you.

The beautiful room, the pretty music playing in the background, the soft bedsheets beneath your bodies as you lay with one another. There had been romantic nights at home, Eddie always had a plan for when he wanted to turn up the romance but this was something entirely different. He had spent so much time and effort into planning and just the thought of it brought tears to your eyes.

Eddie saw a tear slip down your cheek and gently wiped it away with his thumb,

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

You sniffled and curled your lips into a smile, looking up into his eyes and placing your hand over his as it rested on your cheek,

“I love you. I know i’ve said it a million other times tonight and i figure it’s not going to be that last time i say it tonight either, but this took so much effort into planning and i can’t imagine how hard it was for you to not tell me about this.”

A quiet laugh escaped his lips,

“With how awful i am at keeping secrets, i’m surprised i didn’t tell you sooner.”

You smiled with him and reached your hand up to wipe away another stray tear, feeling his lips gently press to your forehead as he held you into him, feeling his warmth start to envelop you as his arms were wrapped around you,

“We deserved this. You deserved this (y/n).”

Your arms wrapped around his waist and you laid there for a moment in each other’s arms.

It was perfect, everything was perfect.

His hands slowly caressed your body, moving over your arms and the curve of your waist, making sure he was able to touch every inch of you that he could reach before pulling you tightly against him once more, smiling before moving his hand up into your hair and pulling you into a kiss.

His lips stayed on yours and you squeaked in surprise as his strong arms quickly pulled you on top of him, his hands moving your legs to straddle him and placing them on the back of your thighs, his thumbs stroking the soft flesh. You placed your hands onto his chest and slowly pulled away, smiling down at him as you cupped his cheek.

Your attention was pulled away from him as you heard the music stop from the record player,

“Do you want me to put another one on?”

“Nope.” Eddie carefully sat up and moved you off of his lap, getting up off the bed and giving you one last kiss as you kneeled at the edge, “You’re not doing a damn thing tonight sweetheart. I love you, and I want to be able to take care of absolutely everything.”

You smiled and watched as he flipped through the little collection of records once more, picking out another and replacing the records on the player. It was another collection of dark, romantic, melodic songs and he slowly made his way back over to you on the bed.

He leaned down and gave you a quick kiss, moving his fingers down to play with the hem of the skimpy nightgown, slowly lifting it up over your figure.

“This looks gorgeous on you pretty girl, but i think it’ll look even better on the floor,” You giggled as he helped pull the nightgown over your head, dropping it onto the floor as his hands caressed your body once more, “and i think you look much better with nothing on at all…”

He could see the blush on your cheeks and smiled, knowing how flustered you got whenever he felt the need to worship your naked body before him. It was something he adored doing to you, showing you just how beautiful he thought every bit of you was, kissing his way all along your skin and on each and every one of your ‘imperfections’.

Every scar, every stretch mark, every blemish and freckle that made you insecure was completely forgotten about the moment his lips grazed over them.

His hands carefully held your hips as he sat himself on the edge of the bed before you, fully taking in the sight before him. Though you were wearing the cutest little black lace panties, all he wanted was to see them torn in half, but he was being a gentleman tonight.

Sweet and gentle kisses were placed all over your skin, making you giggle each time they found a new spot to explore. Your hips, your stomach, your shoulders, your thighs, not a single place was left untouched. He wanted you to memorize the feeling of his soft lips pressed to your body.

Your hands found their way into his hair, carefully brushing it back from his face to watch the way his eyes slowly shut each time he kissed you. Your fingertips were massaging his scalp, earning a few long and relaxed groans from him. He loved it when you played with his hair.

There was nothing that could ruin tonight.

Eddie slowly trailed his way back up, his lips moving slowly up your shoulder and across your collarbone. Once they found their way to your neck there was no stopping him.

You gently tilted your head back to give him more room, his hair tickling over your chest as he placed sweet and gentle kisses everywhere his lips could reach.

Eddie couldn’t help himself.

His hands moved their way under your ass, quickly pulling you up further onto the bed as he climbed on top of you, spreading your legs apart for him to rest between them. He gently guided your thigh upwards, hooking your leg around his waist as he laid against you, and with one smooth motion he was grinding into you. Just the feeling of having him so close to you made your head tilt back in ecstasy, a soft moan escaping your lips as he found the sweet spot on your collar bone once more.

His hands slowly moved upwards on your body, trailing up your arms and interlocking his fingers with yours as he held your hands above your head. Not restraining, not forcing, just holding them so lovingly in his as he continued grinding into you. All he wanted was to hear those sweet moans leaving your lips for as long as he could.

“Baby, i know that we wanted tonight to be nice and slow, but you make it so fucking hard…” Eddie groaned into your ear between kisses, “I love you. I want you. I need you…”

His grasp lightened on your wrists and you watched as he stood at the end of the bed, carefully placing his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, waiting until you had a good view of him before pulling them down his thighs.

He stepped out of them as they landed at the floor and grabbed your ankles, quickly pulling you all the way towards him, your legs hanging off the end of the bed as he leaned himself over you. He smiled down at his work, seeing the glow of lust masking your entire body beneath him, your chest heaving, just waiting for him to make his next move. He gently hooked his fingers into the little elastic sides of your thong and pulled it slowly down your legs, moving your ankles up onto the edge of the bed to leave you fully exposed for him.

“Aww, pretty girl, you’re not nearly as wet as you usually are when we’re being dirty.” He chuckles to himself and knelt down at the end of the bed, gently grasping your thighs and placing them onto his shoulders, “Don’t worry baby, i’ll get you nice and wet for me…”

Your head tilted back, a stuttering moan escaping your lips as his tongue licked a long, slow, wet stripe through your folds. It was agonizing how slow this euphoria was, and Eddie knew that too. By now he’d be completely lost in himself, licking and sucking on your clit like a man starved, but he wanted to savor every little bit of you that he could. Your love, your taste, those sweet little moans that you couldn’t help but mewl out every time you felt his lips go back in for more.

It was like he was trying to make this the most painful moment you’ve ever had to endure, but you never wanted it to stop.

His own moans weren’t helping, vibrating a chill that you could feel from the tips of your toes to the very top of your scalp.

Your toes curled the moment you felt his fingers start to tease you. He slowly inserted the tips of his middle and ring fingers, his other hand slowly caressing your thigh as he looked up to you,

“Watch me pretty girl…” He placed a few kisses along your inner thighs as he looked up to you, watching the way your face contorted each time he went back in for more.

You did your best to watch as he devoured you, his deep brown eyes looking up at you with nothing but love and adoration. You could barely keep your eyes open, the pleasure he was bringing you ran chills all through your veins, and though he wanted this to be all about you the only thing you could focus on was him.

His soft curls tickling over your thighs, your fingers delicately massaging his scalp only made him want to hold this out for as long as he could. The adorable way the yellow light shone off of his eyes, making them shift from their normal deep brown to an almost golden hue. Each time he opened his eyes to look up at you, you could’ve sworn you saw them sparkle. His calloused hands being so gentle with you, caressing your body in all the perfect ways, his rough hands were such a perfect contrast to your soft skin.

With one last deep shaky breath, you jerked your head up to look down to him,

“Stop!” You shouted out.

Without hesitation, his lips were lifted away from your core, and he looked up to you with worry, thinking he had done something wrong,

“What? Is everything ok baby? Did i do something?”

You smiled down to him and moved your hand to hold his cheek, giggling at the sheen of your wetness still over his lips,

“No baby, i promise, you didn’t do anything wrong,” You lowered your body down to him, planting a soft kiss to his lips, you could taste yourself as you licked over your lips, “i’m ready…”

He slowly smiled up to you, giving you another quick kiss before leaning over into one of the bags that had been brought up, long forgotten in the corner with the others. You knew exactly what he was reaching for, but like Eddie said, tonight had to be different.

“Wait…” You reached out and grabbed his wrist, grabbing his attention once more and slightly pulling him back into you, “i want to try it without one…”

He moved himself to kneel at the edge of the bed, tenderly holding your hands in his as he looked up into your eyes,

“You’re sure that’s what you want (y/n)? You’re not doing it because i want to, right?”

“Eddie, i love you.” You let go of one of his hands and gently held his cheek, “I want this. I know that we’ve talked about it a lot, and we’ve both been a little iffy about it, but i’m alright if we don’t use a condom this time. Besides, we’ve taken lots of precautions in the past! I’m sure if we make sure to be a little extra careful, everything will be fine. I’m alright with not using one tonight, but the final decision is all yours.”

He thought it over for a moment.

Sure, you’d talked plenty of times about not using condoms in the past, but it was just a fantasy you had talked over. He was terrified of something going wrong and causing something to shift in your relationship if the proper precautions weren’t in place, but actually being given the option is a lot different than just talking it over. He was scared. He wanted to, but he couldn’t help the little voice in the back of his head telling him that if something went wrong it would be his fault. But you were right.

Each and every time you slept together there had been close to a million precautions in place. You used condoms, if you weren’t certain about the outcome you took tests, you were on your own form of birth control, and you always made sure that if something did happen you were prepared for it.

He knew he wasn’t ready for a child, and neither were you, but he knew you would be safe.

He looked back up to you, his heart beating faster than he had ever felt it before, and took a deep breath,

“I promise i’ll be careful…”

You smiled softly to one another as he began to crawl over you, your legs moving to either side of his waist as his elbows were at either side of your head.

You laid there for a moment with one another, admiring the way your bodies felt so natural being tangled together. He reached his hand down and guided himself closer to your entrance, stopping just before he pushed in, looking up into your eyes just one last time,

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his shoulders,

“I’m sure Eddie… i’m sure.”

You felt the familiar pressure between your legs, the quick burn that came with the first push soon washed away as he moved slowly, further and further into you.

You let out a long shaky breath as you felt him slide through you and you could hear the strained moans leaving his lips. He wanted to just pound into you, you just knew it, but he was being so patient and so gentle. This wasn’t what you were used to from Eddie, but you were starting to love it.

He lay still for a moment, feeling the way your body was wrapped around his in every way possible. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, your legs were wrapped around his waist, and your tight pussy wrapping around his cock so perfectly he didn’t know if he wanted to start thrusting or just enjoy the moment.

It was only when he heard you whisper so quietly into his ear that he had forgotten his surroundings. The bed and breakfast, the dark themed bedroom, the silk sheets beneath your bodies.

“Eddie…” His name melted off of your tongue like the sweetest candy you’ve ever tasted. Nothing could compare to this moment.

He rolled his hips back and gently pushed back in, starting at a slow and steady pace for the two of you to get your bodies adjusted. His head dipped into the crook of your neck and you could feel his warm breath against your skin, his lips peppering gentle kisses all along your collarbone as he felt your body start to move with his.

By this point you both would’ve already lost yourselves in pleasure, covering each others bodies in hickeys and bruises, your ankles would be at Eddie’s shoulders as he pounded into you. But there was something about this type of sex that really made you two feel closer. Connected.

Eddie had made love to you in the past, but never like this. It made you want him so much more than you already did.

“(y/n)…” Eddie groaned out, you smiled yo yourself just hearing how hard he was holding back from whimpering your name, “Please… can i go faster?…” He lifted himself up, his hands on either side of your head as he looked down into your eyes, pleading for you to let him take full control like he was so used to.

His hair was already a mess, you could see the gentle shine on his forehead from the few drops of sweat starting to roll down his temples, his cheeks were bright red. Poor baby had been holding himself back for so long. All for you.

Your arms draped around his neck and you nodded up to him before whispering out,

“Yes Eddie, please… faster…”

Without even a second warning, the sheets were gripped in his hands as he picked up his pace, the only sounds in the room were a combination of your moans and the sound of your thighs slapping against one another’s. The record that had been playing was long stopped, forgotten about as you couldn’t focus on anything else in that room except for each other.

You could feel the slow buildup of heat in your core, a familiar sensation that let you know you were getting closer and closer to your release. You prayed that Eddie wouldn’t hold it out any longer.

“Close…” You whined, “so close…”

You didn’t need to say another word before Eddie moved himself above you, grabbing your legs and holding them steady at your sides, his hands cupping the backs of your knees to keep you spread wide open for him. He knew exactly what to do to you. He had your body memorized like the back of his hand.

Your head was tilted all the way back, your eyes clenched shut and your body had been covered by a layer of sweat. All you could feel was the rush of pure adrenaline through your veins, the heat in your core was burning, and Eddie smiled down at you as he felt your walls start to clench around him,

“Gonna cum baby?” He asked you with a smirk on his lips, his hips never stopping their rhythm.

You couldn’t even both with a response, both you and him could tell that it was only a matter of seconds.

“Come on pretty girl, cum for me… I know you want to baby, don’t hold back…”

His voice was able to guide you through it, and with one final deep thrust your back arched and your toes curled as you let out a moan that you didn’t think you were ever capable of. Eddie would’ve called it ‘pornographic’.

He smiled as he looked down between your bodies and saw the little patch of wetness beneath you on the bed, and he smiled even bigger knowing it was his doing. He didn’t stop his rhythm, and he knew that his climax was coming soon after yours,

“Baby… I’m getting close…” He tilted his head back and groaned, his thrusts started to get sloppy, losing his pace, “where do you want it?”

“Whenever you want Eddie, just be careful.” You said with a smile as his head went back down, watching himself as he slowly pulled out, your legs being gently placed at his sides.

One of his hands went directly to your thigh, gripping the soft flesh as his other hand moved to his cock, pumping fast to get himself to that final peak.

It only took a few moments before you felt his hand nearly clawing into your skin, his tired eyes opening and watching as his hips jerked, long ropes of his cum painting your stomach as his hand slowly came to a halt.

He nearly collapsed on the bed next to you, his chest heaving, face red, hair a mess with his bangs stuck to the sweat rolling down his forehead. He looked like a god.

His head turned slightly, his eyes slowly opening once more, and you could see the exhaustion in them,

“Good?” He asked you between each breath, a worried look in his eye. Though he had gone to near insane lengths to make tonight so romantic and special, he still thought it wasn’t good enough for you.

You groaned as you adjusted yourself on the bed, doing your best not to spread your mess any further on the sheets,

“It was great Eddie.” You slowly caught your breath as you lay with one another.

As much as you loved to snuggle afterwards, when the sex was filthy you needed to get cleaned up first, “But do you think we can get up as soon as we’re feeling alright?” You looked down at your body. Sticky, sweaty, your stomach still frosted with his cum, “I feel dirty…”

Eddie chuckled and reached his hand over to your head, tilting it closer towards him and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead,

“My dirty girl…”

if you’d like to see the actual NSFW alphabet, or read the other fics in this series, you can find them here on my masterlist 🥰

[atarathegreat]

The End of the World is Beautiful. Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick.

Gaz wasn't usually one to worry and hang off his team, but here he was. You were just trying to get to the center of the city without being eaten alive by the old inhabitants while Gaz made it his duty to be your actual backpack. If not for the gun in his hands, you were positive you would've been carrying him.

The atmosphere of the city was somber, dull, quite literally dead. Even so, with all the dead wandering around, it was undoubtably alive. Ten years. It only took ten years for the vines and trees to take over the concrete jungle. The roads that were once driven on were cracked, the sidewalks were grassy, and the towering buildings were lattice for the vines to grow up to the sun. It was beautifully morbid how everything was dead and bright all at the same time, all with the haunting melody of moans and groans from the once human creatures stumbling around.

"What did Price say we were looking for?" Gaz kept his voice low, not wanting to draw attention from the wandering flesh bags that wanted to eat his face. You thought it was cute that he was a little scared over the whole thing. It was unnerving, sure, but after ten years it felt no different than how the battlefield used to feel with living humans shooting at you. "He told us to keep an eye out for scavenged stores and areas that could've been used as shelter. It's been a week with no contact from Scav Team, so lord knows how far they made it."

The two of you had been tasked with finding the Scavenger Team, a team of six who had gone on a mission a month prior, and lost contact a week back. With the population falling in the areas closed off, and the open areas were infested with the dead. This city was the largest unreclaimed place thus far, and losing any team was practically a death sentence.

Fingers crossed that Scav Team was alive and well.

Gaz's hand wrapped firmly around your arm, just in time to pull you out of the way of a big dead bastard. The poor guy was probably a body builder before he was turned into... this. You were thankful to be out of the things way, if not perturbed by its lack of clothing. Perhaps he was in a shower, with a lover, just staring at himself when he was turned.

It made your chest feel strange, heavy, and light at the same time to think of others having complex lives like yours. Somewhere, there is a conscious being, thinking, and planning. They have a past, present, and future, just like you. But this naked gym rat was no longer thinking about work or partners. Rather, the next thing he could rip open and eat.

You nodded your thanks to Gaz, keeping quiet with that thing so close to you.

While you were busy contemplating life and it's complexities, Gaz was focused on you. He'd always been partial to staying at your side, and it only got worse when the outbreak happened. There was too much unknown and Gaz could not handle it. What if you were hurt? What if he never saw you again?

Price had been compelled to send Ghost with you, knowing how your mind seemed to wander when you were on slow missions, but after a few days of Gaz's childish begging, the team was changed. Gaz wasn't too proud to admit that, yes, he had fallen to his knees and gripped John's desk while saying he would scrub latrines with a toothbrush. He would do it a thousand times over to make sure it was him beside you in these missions. There was no level he wouldn't stoop to.

"We need to get silencers and just-"

"We can't waste ammo." You interrupted, already reaching for your knife, "Silence is key, but we need to keep bullets. They're not exactly getting manufactured right now."

The other thing Gaz loved about you was how efficient you were. Always aiming for the head, especially now. It was mesmerizing to watch you slam your knife into the back if these things necks, severing the spinal cord and killing them quickly.

For the rest of the time, Gaz refused to let you do all the killing. Keeping you from getting surrounded was his main goal, and he only had to waste two bullets. All the same, he was glad it was him with you, making sure you stayed in one piece. As the sun disappeared behind the skyscrapers and overpasses, with the moon making her appearance, Gaz was glad to have the higher ground. Of course, after ten years of no maintenance, the overpass could easily crumble and kill you both, but he prayed it would stay.

"Gaz, look at this."

You were bent over the window of a car, a small Mazda with sparkly blue paint and velvet rims, not a combination Gaz would choose, but sure. The sign scratched into the side was clear as day to him, the Scav Team had been here. "We might as well bunk here for the night. See what the guys left and if we can follow 'em from here." He helped you through the moonroof before wiggling in himself and tugging the glass closed. It was never safe at night with those things, but it was safer than sleeping out in the open.

In the back seat was blankets and coats, four duffel bags labeled 'clothes,' 'food/water,' 'ammo,' and 'medicine.' On the floorboard was the team's dog tags, a letter, and the bunsun burner. The letter, dirty and speckled with blood, read;

Whoever comes looking, we didn't make it. Charles got ripped up, but we couldn't leave him. He ate Andes and Evan. I'm the last one, but I won't make it back with all the supplies. Andes is outside the window and Charles is trying to open the top window. No man left behind, right?

You covered your mouth as you passed the note to Gaz, tears filling your eyes. The Scav Team were dead, and this little Mazda was all they had.

"Shite..." Gaz was fighting tears himself, "Fuck..."

"What do we do?"

That was something hated about you; how easily your sad and defeated voice could make him crumble. How easily you made him feel like it was his place to comfort you.

How easily he let himself do it, "Tonight we rest, radio Price to inform him and request extra hands. In the morning, Ghost and Soap will be here, and we'll take everything back to base." Gaz leaned the driver seat back and grabbed the big blanket, tossing one side over you and the other over him.

"Until then, try not to think about anything."

[brrbrina]

echoes

part: 2/?

pairing: joe burrow x og!c

warnings: cheating, angst, fluff (?), pregnancy (?) and i think that´s it.

The day after Joe left the house for the very first time, Kendall felt a wave of sadness take over her body. She was devasted, and tired, she constantly woke in the middle of the night as if the house she was sleeping in was haunted.

Every single part of that bed smelt like him, every part of her body was once kissed by the lips of a man who had kissed someone else and she despised that. She felt like her world stopped, when they met, falling in love was not on her plans, and falling in love with a man like Joe wasn´t what she wanted.

"I think we should go with the big backyard one," Joe said hugging her from the back, "This way our babies would have the space to run, and then the babies of our babies" he chuckled putting his lips against the back of her head, Kendall smiled and closed her eyes; it was one of the moments she felt like her life made sense in only a way love makes you feel.

Now, that memory pained her, she was tied to him for life, for two entries now, she didn´t know what to do. The night Kendall found out she was pregnant -again-, happiness took over her body, brainstormed ideas of how she would tell her big baby and the love of her life the good news. The night she confronted Joe became savory, the memory of her telling the news to the father of her son was stained by betrayal and insincerity.

"I made waffles and fresh orange juice" Joe smiled at her showing the plates in the breakfast bar, which was once planned down to the smallest detail. "I think you should go" Kendall sighed "Natalie has a friend coming over today for a playdate and I don´t want her to create a false story on her head in which you come back here and we live happily ever after".

"Who is Mat?" Joe asked her and Kendall looked at him with surprise, "You do know I'm the father of Natalie and that baby you´re carrying right? You are not messing up the mind of my children with that man coming and hanging with them..." Kendall stopped him "You have a lot of nerve telling me I´m the one "messing" with her mind when you were fucking someone else" Joe looked down.

"While Natalie was sleeping here, happy that her daddy won a game so she could tell her friends in school he was the best, you were putting your dick inside another woman, so no, I'm not messing anything up, you did" water filled her eyes and her voice trembled when she stopped "You took away the happiness of being pregnant with MY baby and turned into a grey cloud above me every single day" she felt her knees weak.

"I hate you so much Joe, I hate you because a part of me needs you like a drug I'm addicted to, and I hate you because you destroyed the life WE built together, my kids will grow up in a broken home and the worst part of all is that I will never tell them what you did, that´s the difference between me and you. I´m putting them on top of everything and you didn´t even think twice about the damage you would cause" She said sobbing, and Joe felt his blood drop to his feet.

He left Kendall´s place and drove to the condo he was living in at the moment, he found no motivation in anything, he missed the chaos of his past life. He remembered clearly when he and Kendall got married.

"... You have filled my life with colors and turned it into a musical every time you´re near me. I promise to love you and take care of you and the family we will hopefully soon start. There is not a day where I take you for granted, waking up beside you it´s a pleasure and something I will love to grow old with.

You are the woman of my dreams, the best road trip partner, and the comedic duo made for me, I will make sure to remind you that I´m the man that I am because of you. That every mole on your body holds a million I Love You´s you will hear forever. I´m so happy that I´m becoming Mr. Carter" Kendall chuckled "I know you´re the designer but you´re the muse of my life, of every romantic, naughty, or funny thought that comes to my mind you´re the one I see. I love your laugh and I will try my best to come up with the biggest dad jokes so I can crack a small out of you. Here´s to a lifetime of love, I love you, Kenny."

He didn’t have the guts to admit when he stopped loving her because he wasn't sure if he ever stopped.

People always say you don´t know what you have until it´s gone and he realized that too late, when he met Jackie, he loved the adrenaline of starting a romance again. But now it was painful, he missed everything about Kendall. The way she always made him choose the color of her nail polish or how the pantry was always stocked with Joe´s favorite candy.

How was he so naive to lose his soulmate, the mother of his kids, the love of his life but also his best friend. He hated his life now, a life without her or his kids was a living nightmare, his baby was about to be born, and he hadn´t seen a single eco photo of him. Kendall was sad and blue all the time, the only thing keeping her going was her babies and the company she worked so hard for.

She missed Joe, she couldn´t forget him, and she was tired, she was about to give birth and her life would be upside down once again.

"God I miss you so much" was the first sentence that came out of her mouth when she boldly called Joe at 1 am, she had been crying nonstop, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was the love of her life.

He showed up that night, and he stayed there. It was pointless for him to go home when his pregnant ex-wife was almost about to give birth.

The next few months were a roller coaster of emotions, their baby was born, Joe wasn’t there when he arrived to this world. He was on a work trip when baby burrow arrived and everything happened too quick. Kendall went into labor at 7 am and her baby came out of the womb right away. He looked so much like Joe, it was a very strange feeling, when Natalie was born. He was there, he held her hand as she was pushing their baby girl into a world in which they would do anything to make her happy. That was the only promise Joe made to Kendall that she was sure he would keep.

The new baby mama had been crying nonstop, she wasn’t sure of how she would manage her life now as a single mom with a soon to be a 6 year old.

“How are you doing?” Joe said entering the room with ballons and flowers, Kendall started to cry again. They weren’t in bad terms now, they will share the most important thing on their lives forever. There are science fairs, dance recitals, birthdays, christmas and thanksgiving they will have to share.

“I’m not gonna lie, i’m very scared” Kendall said holding her tears. “Kenny you’ve done this before, you are the best mom ever, Natalie and baby are so lucky that you’re their mother” Joe said smiling with teary eyes. “I know i’ve done this before but i wasn’t doing it alone you know?” The guilt eat Joe alive every second of the day. “Hey, i’m not going anywhere, i can stay home until baby is a bit older” Kendall chuckled, and then start to cry again “What’s wrong?” Joe looked at her concerned “Everything Joe, our baby is here and we don’t even have a name for him, and Natalie keeps asking when is her daddy coming home and i’ve run of ways of explaining her why he’s not” She cried “I hate my new life, I hate going grocery shopping alone and carrying everything by myself, i hate driving everywhere and i really really miss you Joe” he was crying when she said that.

“I know I fucked up, and no amount of sorry’s will mend what I did, we can work this out, for the fourth of us - “ He was interrupted by the nurse entering with baby burrow after checking that everything was okay with him, Joe saw him for the first time and started crying, he held him in his arms and the nurse walked out of the room. “He looks so much like Natie” he whispered and Kendall giggled as she wiped her tears away. “Both of them look like you it’s not fair” she said crossing her arms “We can always try and make one that looks like you” Joe smirked and Kendall’s mind went numb, she didn’t had and expression on her face “Sorry maybe that was too much” he cleared his troat.

“I will make you fall in love with me again, I promise my love” he kissed her forehed and that was the last thing Kendall heard before she fell asleep. And she was so happy to hear that.

a/n! Hiii, i hope you like this chapter, i think the next one it’s the last one of our little series. :) I’ll try to post over the weekend but i don’t promise anything. If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments. And i would love to hear you thoughts on this chapter and how do you expect the next one will be!!

[birdsong-goeson]

Vincere Aut Mori / Conquer or Die (part 2), 2k words

Fic Summary: Jacob Seed crosses paths with an old neighbour and her presence starts to unravel the fragile bond between him and John. With visions of the brother's death, Daisy resists the Project any way she can. But once Jacob notices she's in his region, he will stop at nothing to get her to submit. Chapter summary: Daisy thinks back to her encounter with Jacob and hears something unsettling on the radio. Warnings: none Link to AO3 Link to part 1

Chapter 2

Daisy added kindle to the fire and stared as the flame’s gaping mouth devoured the offering. Nightfall befell the world beyond her current home – an abandoned log cabin in a small, neglected corner of the mountains. A place so secluded that the very trees forgot to make way for the structure. Their gnarly limbs twisted outside the windows, interrupting the breathtaking view as they nudged closer towards the cabin. The roof had become thatched from the amount of leaves and pine needles that landed on it, a thick hat of greenery that was already rotting by the time Daisy had discovered the habitation. It took a lot to turn this place into a home, but it was now a small paradise between the ends of hell. The Whitetail mountains were like something from a psychedelic nightmare these days. But in this corner of the world, it was warm and safe, and the walls were decorated with prints of butterflies and flowers rather than taxidermized game. The cabin smelled like freshly brewed tea and soup and faintly of Gregor, the wolf-dog Daisy found one day and that now refused to budge from her side. Daisy placed a pot of water over the firewood stove and turned on the generator for her nightly wash.

She sipped on her tea as she lay in the bathtub, gazing at the view beyond the window. Her warm breath danced in the cold air as she exhaled, and she watched as the air’s outlines swirled and turned into shapes that lulled and mesmerised her. She snapped out of this trance when Gregor pushed the door open with his large paws.

“You need to wait for your turn, buddy.” She said and leaned back. The dog made a noise of disapproval and sat in front of the door, as he often did. Looking at Gregor, Daisy thought of the wolf pup she had lost that day. She came so close to saving it, she was almost at the border where she would pass it on to the animal rescue service…until he came. Jacob Seed.

Daisy struggled to count the years that’d passed since she last saw him. Had it already been a decade? It seemed hard to comprehend but she’d last seen him when she was in her twenties, and she was now in her early thirties. She scoffed to herself lightly in disbelief. All these years and what did they have to show for them?

Ruins. Everything was gone. The place they’d grown up in was a desecrated site haunted by ghosts. Not only the ghosts of dead people but of those the remaining living were meant to have become. As a child growing up in Hope County, Daisy envisioned herself opening a flower shop or a tea shop, or was it a library? She never really settled on what she wanted, but it wasn’t important. What mattered was that she was at home where her roots were, living in the community she grew up in. Catching up with the people she grew up around, being someone who would remark how different the seasons were coming around each year. Someone most people found dull and boring – a local who never cared to venture outside her state. But to her, it was stability and loyalty; a natural attachment to one’s origins. Instead, she lived now as a fugitive, always on the edge of uncertainty. Will I be here tomorrow? Will I find enough food for the two of us? Will someone bad find us? Nothing could be counted on, the road to the future had been hijacked by them.

The Seed family.

The four people who held the world in the palm of their hand. Well, Joseph’s hand, really. Daisy scrubbed her skin roughly as memories emerged from their tightly sealed box. She was trying not to think of them whilst surviving, there was too much dirt to face in thinking of them. Seeing Jacob today opened up a chasm within her chest. She stood so close to him, close enough to see the cruelty in those frozen blue eyes. Eyes that, she remembered, had not always been unkind. To see him as the thing he was now – a conqueror of people, a brute – unwound something that was tightly coiled in Daisy’s ribcage. She had just enough time to reach the cabin and shut the door behind her before a panic attack gripped her and made her collapse on the floor. She had breathed through the attack, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw him stand in front of her with his arms outstretched. Beckoning a surrender to death.

The crescent moon glistened in the sky and Daisy thought back to many moons ago. To a time when the Seed family consisted of five people – Mr and Mrs Seed and their three sons: Jacob, Joseph and John. Back when the only marks on the son’s bodies were the subtle but definitive marks of grief. It wasn’t the grief of death but the grief a young person carries when they live in a house made of glass. A home where something (or someone) shattered every day, and this breaking would cause small pieces of sharp glass to cut through the air and enter their bodies. The wounds would eventually close, but every once in a while, they would wince as a fragment twisted from within. A memory, a scent, a sound would remind them that they still carried glass after all and would carry those lost pieces to the grave. A house like that can never really be destroyed even if you burned it.

Daisy lived far enough to look the other way when the Seed parents would raise their voices (and other things). Yet close enough to notice the brothers leave in the middle of the night, vowing to never return, but finding themselves sleeping on the wet porch by sunrise. Waiting for someone to unlock the door.

Did growing up in such a house mean you could ruin the entire world?

She emerged from the water and shook the water droplets along with these thoughts. It was time to perform the rituals that made a woman feel normal; she would lather herself with lotions and the cheap perfume she’d found and then self-decorate her body with a house dress which made her feel like a decadent grandmother. Nobody owned pretty things anymore. It was easier to find bullets than a pair of earrings and people would sooner call a gun beautiful than a nice pair of shoes. The cult and the deprivation they created removed many things that were not considered essential. Which was everything women liked to hoard, pretty things lying in the back of their closets and underneath their beds. The kind of pretty stuff they rarely got to actually wear because people in these parts ‘don’t do that’ – wear a flashy dress or a tall pair of heels. But once in a while, when nobody was around, women would unearth these things from their resting places just to stare at them. Just to remember that they did have this after all and if the moment ever did come, they would be ready. This moment never arrived for most.

Daisy liked to steal these things. She wasn’t a thief before, but times were hard now and anything left behind was up for grabs. Everyone took the first aid kits and the gun parts and maps, but nobody touched the box of bracelets, the shoes above the closet or the dress behind the bedsheets. Daisy did and was now a collector of women’s memorabilia. They meant nothing and yet were everything. To behold something beautiful was a necessity she could not go without. She now sat on the floor with her legs crossed and flipped through the pages of someone’s postcard collection. The radio lulled quietly in the background, she was warm in front of the stove and Gregor was chewing on a shoe he’d stolen from someone’s derelict garden. Despite the misery that clung to the region, life had its moments of comfort for this pair of thieves.

Both were absorbed in their occupations for some time when the radio channel began transmitting static rather than the usual tunes. Daisy liked to bypass local signals to reach the channels out of state because they played real music and not bible hymns or cultist songs. She turned the handle absentmindedly – she’d reached the postcards from abroad – to restore the signal, which often failed when a raspy voice made her stop.

“The weak always see themselves as heroes,” said an all-too-familiar voice. “They think they are making a difference, they see themselves as noble saboteurs for the cause. They think they have a purpose, that their actions matter. But they don’t.” The last word was said with emphasis and he let it hang in the air for a moment. Gregor’s chewing stopped and his ears perked up as though he understood Jacob’s words. And perhaps he did for he let out a low growl.

“I know some of you out there are alone. And weak. And we know what happens to the weak…” Daisy turned up the volume and kneeled before the radio, casting her book to the side. She knew Jacob’s channel interfered with other local ones, but he rarely spoke. The soldiers of Eden’s Gate often used it to meddle with Eli’s signal and radio, the leader of the notorious Whitehall militia. This beef went back and forth, and Daisy thought she’d bypassed their signals. Perhaps only because nobody cared to interfere. Now, it seemed, they did.

“I’m going to tell you a little story tonight. I want you to listen carefully.”

“Once upon a time, there was a weak woman. She was afraid and had good reason to do so. You see, she lived near a prison and often there were reports of fugitive inmates. Criminals who would hitchhike or make the long walk to the nearest town where she lived. So, she got herself a nice big dog, a guard dog. She loved him and he loved her, they were inseparable. Every night, he would sleep beneath his owner’s bed and when she became afraid and needed comfort, she’d reach out her hand and he would lick it. ‘I am here,’ he would say. ‘You are safe.’” Jacob made a noise that sounded like a chuckle.

Daisy looked at Gregor and felt cold fear expel all the warmth in her body.

“One night,” he continued, “the woman thought she heard something in her house. She was afraid and, like usual, reached out for her dog. He licked her hand and assured her. So, she slept. Later that night, she swore she heard something move. Petrified, she stretched her hand and felt that loyal lick. She fell asleep again. The third time she woke up, she’d had enough and decided to investigate. The woman got up and walked to the kitchen. On the floor, she found her dog with his head had been cut off clean. Real nasty work. And on the wall, there was written in blood: ‘Men can lick too.’”

A shiver travelled up Daisy’s spine.

“Awful right?” He asked. “A man pounced on the woman and did all sorts of things to her. The woman and the dog were found together sometime after. You see, the woman was weak but forgot it. She thought the dog could keep her safe, that it made her stronger, safer. It gave her false hope. When the strong arrived, she finally understood her weakness. Do you understand yours?”

The question reverberated in the room, threatening to choke her. Daisy’s blood pulsed with fear.

“Someone out there considers themselves strong. They’re wrong. They think they can endure. But they can’t. I want you to think real hard about your place in this world. Learn your purpose. My judges are coming.” Jacon stopped and his voice drifted to static. The channel reverted to the tunes that played before. Daisy turned it off and unplugged the radio.

She rose from the floor and paced the cabin. She felt the unexplainable need to touch everything, as though she needed proof she was really there. She touched the table and chairs, the water tap, she shut the blinds. Finally, Gregor caressed her leg with his large head, bringing her to the present. Daisy felt an unwavering conviction that Jacob was speaking to her, that he was close.

She knew one thing for certain.

Jacob was coming.

[neonjillrogue]

The solo agent

This is my first fanfiction, and although I'm no writer, I really wanted to tell this story that I had ion my head for some time. Jill is my favorite character in the entire Resident Evil franchise, and this story is about her. I hope you like it. If you have feedback and suggestions, please let me know! I'm here to learn.

-------

Following the events of Death Island, Jill makes the choice to embark on a solo mission in Nevada. Meanwhile, Riley is preparing for her road trip before beginning her new job. Little do they know that their paths are destined to cross...

-------

1.

Riley woke up early that morning and began packing the final items for her upcoming trip. She had recently accepted a job in Virginia as a cybersecurity expert, something she desperately needed after constantly running into her ex-girlfriend. The breakup had been tough, with Lizzy cheating on Riley for months before she finally caught her in the act. It was a betrayal that left Riley hurt and seeking a fresh start in a new place where she wouldn't be reminded of her past. 

The memory of catching Lizzy in bed with another woman still haunted Riley, six months later. She remembered how Lizzy had pleaded with her, insisting it wasn't what it looked like. But Riley couldn't find any words to respond, so she turned and walked out of the apartment without saying another word. Since then, she had avoided Lizzy and all of their mutual friends, even going so far as to look for jobs in different states to make a clean break. Riley didn't have many friends, but she did have one close friend named Laura who lived in the remote town of Montana. They mostly talked online and played video games together.

"I'm thrilled you found a way to escape from that hellhole and that bitch," Laura said.

"It's a relief for me too, believe me," Riley replied.

With some time before starting her new job, Riley decided to go on a road trip and explore some new places. One of the towns on her list was Redheaven in Nevada, known for its coal mines that used to bring wealth until they ran out. Now it's mainly a tourist destination, which was perfect for a short break away from everything else.

She carefully packed her portable consoles, laptop, and all of her cherished electronic devices. Despite her mother's disapproval and constant reminders that she was thirty-five years old, Riley was a passionate tech and video game enthusiast who always kept up with the latest trends. Her mother couldn't resist giving one last lecture the night before Riley's trip.

"My dear child, you have an important job now. I hope it gives you the maturity to put aside your childish hobbies and give you a new sense of purpose. Perhaps you'll start focusing on more important things, like finding a man and starting a family."

"Mom, I’m gay. You know that. Let’s not do this again," Riley retorted, losing her patience.

"You say that now, but you will change your mind," her mother replied with spite in her voice.

"It's not like flipping a switch, you know? Anyway, I need to sleep. It’s going to be an early morning tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetie. Drive safely."

Riley still felt annoyed by the conversation with her mother but pushed it out of her mind. As she finished packing, a news report crackled on the radio about strange events in Nevada. She barely paid attention—her adventure awaited. She was thrilled to be going on a road trip before starting her new job in cybersecurity in Virginia. Everything seemed perfect: a new job opportunity, new places to explore, and a fun road trip. What could possibly go wrong?

She had no idea how drastically her life was about to change.

She made herself some coffee and poured it into her favorite travel mug before leaving her apartment. As she turned the key in the green door for the last time, she took a deep breath and hid the key under the doormat.

"I'm ready!" Her dark brown eyes sparkled with excitement.

She absentmindedly ran her fingers through her short, dark hair, a habit she had developed over the years. Giving herself a quick once-over, she felt ready for the day. Dressed in her favorite black sweater and Vans, Riley liked her boyish, nerdy style—it fit her perfectly.

The Day Before:

Jill slammed a yellow folder labeled "top secret" onto the desk as she tried to leave the operation room. But Chris was standing in her way, his arms crossed and an irritated expression on his face.

"Jill, you can’t be serious."

"I am very serious. You'll just have to deal with it, I’m afraid." She huffed and grabbed a second folder, one without the top secret label.

"Going to Redheaven alone is crazy! This isn’t some weekend hike; it’s dangerous."

Jill closed her bag with a snap and looked at Chris.

"When has danger ever been a problem for us, Chris? We're BSAA; danger is just part of the job. Or do you think I can't handle it?"

"That’s not what I meant. It’s not about capability, and you know that."

"Do I? Because trying to push me aside for the Alcatraz mission doesn't exactly scream trust." She raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn’t trying to push you aside, Jill. I just think you need more time to heal, not throw yourself into another warzone." His voice softened.

"You don’t get to decide when or how I heal, Chris. You don’t get to take away my purpose because you think it’s for my own good." She spoke firmly.

"I was just trying…" Chris didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

"Look, I know you mean well, but this is something I have to do on my own. Besides, Redheaven is small; one person can move faster and quieter."

Reluctantly, Chris gave up the fight. He knew the conversation was over.

"Just promise me you’ll be careful."

Jill slung her bag over her shoulder and nodded.

"Of course." She walked out of the room, leaving Chris staring after her.

------

You can read the rest on ao3

[autumnalwalker]

Empty Names - 21 - Old Flame

Author's Note: In which Eris gets a phone call from her ex, hunts down an eldritch horror and gets backstory trauma put on display. And backstory happy stuff too. Lots of Eris backstory this chapter all around. I think this might be one of my favorite chapters I've written so far for this story, even if it did come out more like three chapters in a trenchcoat. Maybe one of these days I'll go back and split this chapter and the other overly long ones into separate parts/posts to be more digestible. More spoiler-y commentary in the tags. Wordcount: 16,606 Content Warnings: Fantasy fight scene violence. Blood. Trauma flashbacks. Loss of sense of self. Suicide mention. Mild body horror. Brief mentions of sex and kink without detail.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

For all the pocket dimensions Eris has passed in and out of, somehow these past few days have been her first time leaving the country while, strictly speaking, remaining on Earth.  Their last mission - somehow the word feels less silly when Road is around - involved helping a young man sort through the collection of cursed and haunted artifacts filling the house he’d just inherited from some mysterious distant uncle.  The unlucky heir had found the experience harrowing enough that he took the amnestic Road offered him afterward, but that still left a couple dozen dangerously enchanted items in need of proper disposal.  Eris had been able to call up Preacher from her monster hunter contacts for a good old fashioned Catholic exorcism on a few, others were handled by Road and Ashan performing some more esoteric rituals, and three were set aside for storage in some basement of the Bridgewood Manor for Sullivan to take care of.  That all left seven objects that Road insisted would be best handled by returning them to their rightful resting places.

Hence the current international road trip with Road while Lacuna and Ashan stayed behind to watch the office.  When Road had said they could just about get anywhere on the planet in three hours or less, Eris had taken it for a boast.  After seventy-two hours of making more jumps through bridges and pocket dimensions than she’d previously made in the seven years since she first found Crossherd, she’s reminded that Road doesn’t make boasts.  France, Peru, Kenya, Romania, India, Korea… and who knows how many other countries they technically passed through for a few minutes between bridges in between those stops.

“So, what’s the fastest way from Seoul to Vancouver?” Eris asks Road as she climbs into the driver’s seat of her van.

The third-to-last artifact on their dropoff list - a spirit of a blacksmith haunting the last sword it ever made - has been picky about who it will allow itself to be passed down to.  It’s been insistent about being in the hands of “a true craftsman of its bloodline,” and so far none of its descendents in its home country that she and Road have talked to have made the cut.  Hopefully a cousin in Canada with a 3D modeling job and a resin printer for making tabletop wargame miniatures will satisfy the spirit more than a restaurant owner who’s long since given up doing his own cooking.

“If we were walking, there’s a noodle place I know a few blocks away that’s in six different cities and once.  Depending on what we order and how fast we eat, we could probably get there in twenty or thirty minutes.  Driving through, probably best we go back through the bridge we came here from, then a series of brief transits from Mumbai, to Dubai, to Cambrai, to Quebec, to Vancouver.  Should be about an hour if traffic is good.”

“Rhyming our way to France, and then making the French connection to Canada?”

“It might be silly, but it works,” Road says with a chuckle.   “Bridges and pocket dimension links have sprouted up from stranger things.”

“Are you sure we’re actually on an achor world?  This has been a whole lot of holes and folds in space we’ve been going through.  It’s all starting to make the firm bedrock of reality that everything’s tied down to feel more like a sponge.”

“Now you know why the powers that be in Crossherd and similar hub dimensions are so insistent on the Masquerade.  Not even most people in the know Backstage have any idea just how… loose… everything really is.”

Eris stays silent for a bit to let that sink in.  And to concentrate on driving in a city with street signs in a language she’s had scant opportunity to practice since her parents kicked her out nearly a decade ago.  She knew better than to expect anything familiar here, in the birthplace of a grandmother she’d never met that looked nothing like how it would have back before that grandmother met her grandfather and moved with him back overseas.  A grandmother she herself probably looks nothing like.  Allegedly her father had taken more after his father and passed that on to her.  Still, both the arrival and the leaving of this city brought an irrational twinge of hope that she might glimpse something of one of the heritages her parents had been so weirdly insistent about cutting out of their lives in favor of a futile attempt to blend in and assimilate.  She’d gotten the same feeling when stopping in India on this trip too, and nothing had come of it there either.  It’d probably be the same if she ever went to Mexico, although that unmet grandparent had supposedly been a second generation immigrant.

But hey, on the bright side she’s driving again, even if it is in city traffic at the moment.  Between Crossherd’s walkability, the trees at the Bridgewood Estate, and the unexpected lack of monster corpses in need of disposal since joining up with Road, she’s barely been behind the wheel in the past two months.  Fortunately, the heavily refurbished van turned out to be just about perfect for transporting a pile of cursed artifacts that were too volatile to shove into bigger-on-the-inside containers.  Maybe one of these days when they all have some downtime she’ll talk the others into a more recreational road trip somewhere.  It’d get Lacuna out of her basement lab and would probably be a brand new experience for Ashan.

“By the way,” Road says at a red light, snapping Eris out of her traffic-induced musings, “I’ve noticed these past couple days that you’ve been changing up how you refer to me mid-conversation.”

“Just going with what felt right.  My bad for not running it by you first though.”

“No, no, I’m just surprised is all…  How could you tell?”

“There’s this thing you do with your voice.  Your body language and posture too, but mostly your voice.  You’ve got three or four different modes of presentation, I guess you could call it, that you’ll settle into as a default for most of the day and shapeshift your jacket to match, but then throughout the day in shorter bursts you’ll shift in and out of those other modes while your appearance stays the same.”  Eris raises an eyebrow at him before turning her gaze back to the traffic that’s begun moving with the greenlight.  “Am I wrong?”

Road lets out a laugh that peters out into a bemused sigh.  “You’re the first person I’ve met other than Sullivan to pick up on that,” she says to Eris.  “It feels nice to be seen like that.  I knew you were the right one to bring along on this trip.”

“I’ve been wondering about that actually.  Why did you pick me for this?  Sure, I’ve got the van, but we’ve got one in the office’s garage that we’ve still never taken out for a spin and I know you know how to drive.”

“Partly I figured you would be the best at resisting any influence our backseat passengers start acting up.”

“I’d think the wizard would be the ideal choice for that.”

“Sure, he has his defenses, the same as any other properly trained mage, but even before putting this team together, I’ve always felt you were strong-willed enough not to need such techniques.”

A rapidly shifting sky seen through bloody water.  A sense of peace and warmth despite the icy depths.  A steady fame from the tip of a white wand.  Active thought flowing out to feed the fire.  Smooth skin where a scar should be.  A flood of lost memories.  A sun held between her -

Eris pushes the memories of helplessness back down.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she replies.

“And I wouldn’t be so sure of selling yourself short,” Road says.  “Nevertheless, the bigger reason I asked you to come with me for this is that you know how to talk to people.”

“Eh, my Spanish is fluent and my German is passable, but we just saw that my Korean is rusty as Hell and my Hindi is even worse.  I never did get around to learning French beyond a handful of tourist phrases, and I don’t know a lick of Romanian.  Again, Ashan seems like the better fit with the translation charm.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“You’re right.”

“Then why play dumb?”

The van reaches another intersection just in time for the light to turn red.  

Eris turns answers over in her mind.

Why?

Reflex?  Humility?  Habit?

Why would that be a reflex?  When did that happen?  How did she let it?

It’s been a long time.

Was it when she started hanging out at a bar full of adrenaline junkies with a deathwish?

Was it when she chose the bloody rush of killing monsters with her bare hands over college despite her scholarship qualifications?

Was it when she got accused of secretly being a boy and on drugs for being too good at sports in junior high?

It’s been a long time.

The light turns green.

“I guess I’m not used to anyone wanting me around for much other than to be the big strong one who’s good at hitting and breaking stuff,” Eris answers.

“Again, you’re selling yourself short.  Do you think that’s what Lacuna wants you around for?  Or how Ashan sees you when the two of you linger in the kitchen after the rest of us leave?”

“Those are personal relationships, it’s not the same thing.  Besides, Sully’s made it abundantly clear what he thinks of me and what I got hired to do for you two.”

“He has, hasn’t he?  I’m sorry about that, I really am.  Sullivan, for better or worse, has some consistent blindspots with his biases and isn’t half as good at reading people as he thinks he is.  Especially anyone that’s even remotely similar to him.”

“Okay, now that’s a low blow.  He and I are not alike”

“I mean it as a compliment, really.  I’ve never met anyone so loyal or so fiercely protective of the people he cares about.  I see that in you too, except you still have it in you to have some compassion for anyone outside those close to you.  And, of course, you’re both incredibly skilled at doing violence and enjoy it, even if the reasons are different.  But you’re both more than that too.  Even with this mission he’s the one who’s been doing the genealogical digging and messaging me with suggestions of where to go and who to take these artifacts to, despite that taking time away from his ongoing investigation.”

“Speaking of that,” Eris says, “what have you had Sully working on that’s so secret?  Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t think I’ve seen the guy since the office opened up.”

“You don’t know?”

“Obviously not.  And every other time I’ve asked something’s conveniently come up for you to change the subject.”

“Strange.  I could have sworn I told you.  It must have just slipped… my… mind…  again…”

A handful of times, on particularly bad nights, Eris has sat with Lacuna when she just sort of shut down.  Those instances were always rough, but seeing Road of all people do it out of the blue like this is chilling.  Like the sun going out and revealing that it’s just been a big light bulb hanging from a poorly-painted ceiling this whole time.  

Lacuna never snapped back to normal abruptly enough to make Eris question if she'd just imagined it though.

“Anyway,” Road resumes, “remember our first mission as a team?”

“It’s barely been two months.”

“So it has.  Regardless, he’s been investigating what caused a dragon and a Culescun bone ship not outfitted for inter-world travel to get drawn into a crossover point and try to occupy the same space at the same time.  More specifically, he’s been tracking down whomever it was that blew up the nearby lighthouse shortly after we left and trying to figure out if they’re connected to a different case of an unknown party picking off and stealing the contraband from inter-world smugglers.”

“He’s what now?”  Eris asks, keeping her tone carefully level.  How is this her first time hearing any of this?  “Is that why we’re playing cursed delivery service right now?  So we can be bait?”

“In all honesty, that thought hadn’t occurred to me.  But now that you mention it, there are worse plans.”

Another red light.  The last intersection before the turn into a series of side alleys for the bridge.

“We can come back to that after you explain everything you thought you already told me,” Eris says, “but for now, what was that about the lighthouse bl-”

A custom ringtone that Eris hasn’t heard in years plays over the van’s speakers and cuts off her question.  She doesn’t need to look at the caller ID displayed on the dashboard console to know who it is.  A part of her is surprised the caller still has her number, but then again, Eris still has hers.  And the two of them do still speak from time to time.

She considers letting it go to voicemail.  Or even hitting the button to hang up altogether.  She has more important things to focus on right now than a phone call from an ex who might have been trying to flirt with her a week ago.

An ex who wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.  An ex who, if she really wanted to get back together, would more likely rope mutual friends into arranging a “chance meeting” where they would “just so happen” to have the opportunity and reason to do something romantic together like walk through a botanical garden, fix an engine together, or fight each other until they can barely stand.  An ex who would drop everything if Eris were the one to call.

Godammit.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Eris says to Road before tapping the green call icon on the dashboard screen.  “Yo, Gretchen, I’m driving right now with Road, so I’ve got you on speakerphone.  What’s up?”

With any luck, knowing Road’s on the line should keep Gretchen from trying to dredge up old relationship history that Eris is even less in the mood to deal with right now than normal.  And if it really is an emergency, it will be good to keep Road in the loop.

“Great,” Gretchen’s voice says through the van’s speakers, “that saves me the trouble of making a second call.  Do either of you know anything about non-euclidean, shifting, tesseract-esque architecture of the sort Lovecraftian horrorterrors like to make nests in?”

“I know that eldritch-warped spaces should never be entered without the proper training and precautions,” Road offers, “and even then they’re incredibly dangerous to go into alone and nigh-impossible to find your way out of without an anchor back to realspace.”

“Right.  Pretty much what I already guessed then.”

“Gretchen,” Eris says in exasperation that hasn’t yet turned into concern, “for the love of God, please tell me that’s not where you’re calling from.”

“Not yet it isn’t, but I am camped out inside the theater department of a Midwest liberal arts college staring at the door to a dressing room that was bigger on the inside when I opened it to chase the tentacle monster I’ve been hunting.”

“In that case,” Road says, “I would strongly advise closing the door, waiting an hour, and then checking to see if it’s gone back to normal by then.  The eldritch aren’t mere beasts to hunt.”

“Not happening.  I’ve already tagged this one so it can’t fully escape the world into voidspace.  It’s my quarry to claim, and while I really would love the assistance if you want to come jump into the proverbial eye of terror with me, I’m going after it either way.  And before you start lecturing me about acceptable targets, I’ve already verified that this one’s not sapient; it’s just a passing scavenger that stopped by to feed on the psychic torment of undergrads going through finals week.”

The traffic light turns green.

“Give us an address and we’ll be there as soon as we can,” Eris says.  “Don’t you dare go in there alone before we arrive.”  She just had to turn this into an ultimatum, didn’t she?

“Thanks E, I’ll text it to you.  Be seeing you.”

The call ends, and the ensuing text message arrives immediately enough that it was almost certainly typed up in advance.  Eris taps to display it on the screen and glances at Road.

“Do I still want to make this turn up ahead?”

“Do you really think she’ll really go in on her own if we take too long?”

“I hate to say it, but yes.  I’d know if she were bluffing and she’s not.  She’s leaving something out, but she’s serious about that.”

“In that case go three more blocks and then take twelve right turns in a row.  There’s a witch I know who owes me a favor.”

“Got it.  And thanks for helping with this.  I know it’s a detour from the current mission cleanup.”

“It’s practically on the way, and besides, there’s not a rush with the deliveries.  It’s not like they’re going anywhere if we leave them unattended for a short time.  Wrong kind of hauntings for that.”

“All the same, I appreciate it.  Things between me and Gretchen are weird, but I’d still rather not see her lose her mind trapped in some impossible labyrinth.”

“I wouldn’t want to see that happen to anyone.  Do you want to loop in Ashan and Lacuna?”

“Nah, someone’s got to watch the office in case something comes up.  Besides, it’s like two a.m. there right now.  Let them sleep.  Between you, me, and Gretchen, we should be fine.”

“Right you are,” Road says with a smile that shows more teeth than his usual.  “It’s been awhile since I’ve dealt with one of the eldritch.  This should be fun.”

Fun…  Yes, Eris supposes it will be once the hunt gets going.  No more effective way to forget her worries for a little while.  But first…

“Now about that exploding lighthouse…” Eris leaves the implied question hanging.

“I can give you and the others the full explanation when we get back.”

“You can give me the abridged version while I drive.”

“Fair enough.”

Eris could almost swear she hears them whisper something under their breath about it being refreshing to be called out.

*******

It has long been observed that artists, writers, performers, and other such creative types tend to have a statistically significant increased rate of contact with the extra-dimensional entities collectively known as “the eldritch.”  While the theory that creatives are somehow possessed of some special spiritual elevation or metaphysical sensitivity has been largely discredited, the actual cause of this phenomenon remains hotly debated.  The most popular theories are variations on the proposition that the act of creating art gives of psychic resonances that the eldritch can sustain themselves on similar to how deiform entities (more commonly known as “gods”) are sustained by - and by some indications potentially created by - sapient faith.  Others propose that the act of creation is a reshaping of our otherwise relatively stable baseline reality that either draws the eldritch in via a sense of familiarity to their own ever-shifting domain of existence or fascinates them with its alienness.

The most radical theories of why the eldritch seem to be drawn to art and artists is that they are not truly so different from us, and just find it neat.

Such is the potentially relevant trivia that runs through Eris’s mind as she picks her way down a dark hallway strewn with a web of tripwires and enchanted chalk drawings, trying not to catch any of the higher-strung wires on the spear strapped to her back.  Less helpful but equally persistent thoughts include stories of victims going mad from merely looking at the eldritch and irritation at Gretchen for setting all this up when she knew Eris and Road were coming to help.  And, Eris will begrudgingly admit, thoughts admiring the skill it takes to turn thirty feet of straight hallway into a virtual labyrinth to navigate.

“Okay, stop,” Gretchen instructs her.  Golden hair and golden eyes catch the glow coming from the one open door in the hallway while black leather and kevlar blend the rest of the monster huntress into the shadows.  Her spear, with its exaggerated bladed crossguard below the main blade, lies resting against the doorframe.  “Take two steps to the left, two steps back, another to the left, four forward, two to the right, and then you should be clear.”

“Was this all really necessary?” Eris asks as she catches up with Road and Gretchen in front of a door to a theater dressing room whose contents keep multiplying and folding in on themselves. 

“Maybe not, but I had the time waiting for you to get here,” Gretchen answers, “so I figured I may as well account for the possibility of this thing fleeing back outside once we find it in there.  These Lovecraftian tentacle monsters are slippery like that, this way we either catch it in there or we chase it back out here where it slithers headlong into a magic net.”  She flashes Eris a wickedly playful grin painted poison apple red.  “Besides, if you were to accidentally set one of these off it’d be fun to see how long it takes you to break out.”

“Lovecraftian is a slur,” Road points out without looking away from the threshold of the warped space, saving Eris from having to reply to that last part.

“Huh?”

“Old Howard Phillips was a racist xenophobe even by the standards of his time who thought air conditioning was unnatural and scary,” Eris clarifies.  “A guy like that was obviously going to interpret any contact with a genuinely alien consciousness in the worst possible faith, and whether it was coincidence or a failed attempt at breaking the Masquerade, he wound up having an outsized influence on the collective consciousness and how the eldritch have even been able to interact with this world over the past century.”

“I never did understand how the other hunters couldn’t see you were a giant nerd at heart,” Gretchen says.

“Not in a flirting mood right now, Gretchen.”

“Spoilsport.”  The word comes out as a joke rather than an accusation.

“Anyway,” Road says as they drop their duffel bag on the floor and begin rifling through it, “I think I’ve seen enough to get a handle on the situation.”  

“Do tell,” Gretchen says.

“At a glance this appears to be a fairly standard eldritch spatial warping, anchored enough to this world to be merely confusing instead of completely incomprehensible.  That said…” he pulls a scrimshaw carving of a deep-sea fish from the duffle bag and sticks his arm through the doorway, holds it there past the threshold for a few seconds until the bone starts glowing, and puts it back in the bag.  “Like I suspected, the space is psychically reactive, so we’ll need to be careful about mental feedback loops in there.  Luckily I have some countermeasures for that.  Just give me a few minutes to stabilize this portal so it doesn’t close behind us and we should be good to go.”

“Cool, while you do that…” Eris says to Road and then turns to Gretchen, “Gretchen, I need a word with you in private.”

“Not a lot of privacy in here, E, unless you want to go walk through the web again.”

Eris stalks over to where the person who coined that nickname for her and all it entails stands lurking just past the edge of the light spilling from the warped space beyond the door.  She comes to a stop close enough that the shorter woman has to crane her neck up to look her in the eye.  When she does, Eris can see that her pupils are dilated beyond even what this darkness should elicit.  Black circles that nearly reach the edge of their sockets with just the faintest rim of yellow iris and hardly any room for the white of sclera.

“We can whisper,” Eris hisses.  “And I am not in the mood for you to make a joke out of that.”

“What’s got you all worked up?” Gretchen whispers.  “A hunt with rare prey and working with Road?  I’d think you’d be enjoying this as much as I am.  Or has working with the celebrity hero gotten boring for you?”

“What are you leaving out?”  Eris prays that she’s wrong about already knowing the answer to her own question.  

“Perceptive as ever.  It always was one of your best qualities.”

“Stop dancing around the answer.”

“Tell me how you figured it out.”

“Do I look like I want to play this game?”  She used to love playing this game.

“You already know the answer.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“You want to hear me say literally anything else.  I want to hear you say it.”

A request with two meanings if there ever was one.

“Fine,” Eris growls.  “You called me.”

“Just that?”

“That was enough to suspect.”

“But there was more.  What are you leaving out?”  

That same wonderfully wicked smile that always accompanied every inside joke between them.

“If this was just about a hunt gone weird you would have called Road directly.  We all have their number, it’s literally posted on the wall at 121813.  And you certainly wouldn’t have turned it into a threat to go in alone.  You’re smarter than that.  You wanted me here, and Road’s an excuse at best and distraction at worst.”

“Go on.”

“You’ve always been good at setting up snares, but not even you could have rigged all this up in the time between the phone call and now.  You had these traps ready before you ever picked up the phone.  You prepared this for us as much as for your prey, but you made a point of helping us get on this side of them.”

“And why would I ever do a thing like that?”

“We show up and you’re lurking in the shadows like you’re setting up a dramatic reveal.  You love being dramatic, but that’s not your flavor.  You burst into rooms with flashy entrances and get all eyes on you.  You’re two thirds my size and take up twice as much space.  You’ve got a miniature bluetooth speaker hidden in your gear so you can play goddam theme music in a fight.  You don’t lurk for drama.  You only lurk when you’re hunting.  When you’re closing in on prey and waiting for it to get in position.  When you want to build up your own thrill of anticipation before you come down like lightning with all the flash and thunder that goes with it for your perfect moment.”

“But we’re on a hunt, aren’t we?  Why shouldn’t I be lurking outside the hole I’ve run my prey down into?”

“But the eldritch in there isn’t what you really want to catch.”

“My my, my.  E, are you calling yourself my prey?  I know you’re delicious, but -”

Eris reaches out and grips the flashlight clipped to Gretchen’s shoulder, twists it towards Gretchen’s face and turns it on.  There’s an unmistakable flash of eyeshine in the moment before those unnaturally dilated pupils contract into sharp vertical slits, leaving Gretchen more golden-eyed than ever.  A predator’s eyes.  A hunter’s eyes.

“Now who’s the dramatic one?” Gretchen purrs.

“You were practically showing them off when we got here.”

“They’re lovely aren’t they.  It’s amazing what autogenesis can do.  But what does it all mean?”

It’s the reason they broke up.

“I almost hit my tipping point on my last hunt,” Gretchen speaks up when Eris doesn’t.

The fifth fate of hunters.

“I changed, and it felt wonderful.”

To get so lost in the hunt, in the thrill of violence, that one becomes no different from the monsters they hunt.

“But then the rush faded, and it was horrifying.”

A recognition of identity that triggers a self-reinforcing feedback loop of autogenesis.

“That’s why I want you here tonight.”

Those who fight monsters and live are doomed to become monsters themselves.

“So you can help pull me back from the brink when I start to go over again.”

“Bullshit,” Eris says flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“You picked out a difficult and dramatic target for your last hunt that you knew had a reputation for making people lose their minds in the hopes that it would be a sure thing to seal you into the fifth fate, and then you called me up so I could witness you change and then tragically have to put you down the way you always romanticized and fantasized about.  Bonus points if I die too right after from injuries you inflicted.  Your perfect fucked up fairy tale ending.”

“E, that’s not the only way it has to go.”

“Oh, and me turning into a monster too so we can go on a mindless rampage together is so much more -”

“I’m done!” Road calls from the door.

Eris turns around to see them holding an intricately embossed knife in one hand and a smoking censer dangling from a chain in the other.  Behind them the doorframe is now surrounded by geometric sigils drawn in glowing chalk.

“Good.  So are we,” Eris says.

Road nods in misunderstood affirmation.  “Now then, then incense should ward off any eldritch influence to keep our minds stable and bodies intact, so we’ll need to stick together while we’re in there.”

“About that,” Eris says.  “Change of plans.  Gretchen is staying out here.”

“I absolutely am not!  This is my hunt!”  Gretchen shouts.  The sudden change in demeanor would be jarring if Eris hadn’t expected it.

“I’ve read up enough on these things and talked to enough wizards to know that getting out of weird space like that works best if you have someone on the outside as a lifeline or beacon to follow back.  Gretchen’s the one who set up all the traps out here, so best if she takes on that duty so she can manage them if the eldritch comes back out before we do.  Better to drive it back out and into her traps to finish it off here than to kill it in an extradimensional space that might well collapse with its death.”

“Oh, now who’s talking bullshit?”  Gretchen snarls.  Her teeth are sharper than they were three minutes ago.  “If anyone should stay behind it should be Road since they’re the one who knows how to keep the door open.  Just give us the incense to take with us and we’ll be fine.”  She shakes her head.  “But no.�� You’re just trying to poach my prey.  Well, I’m the one who found out it was haunting this place!  I’m the one who tracked it down to begin with!  I’m the one who lured it into realspace!  I’m the one who tagged it so it can’t escape!  I’m the one who backed it into a corner!  I’m the one who kills it!  It’s mine!  My prey!  My hunt!  And you can’t take it!”

Eris rounds on her.  “Good God!  Would you listen to yourself right now?  You’re raving.  This isn’t you.  Not the Gretchen I know.  You’re on the brink and that’s the feedback loop talking.”

“And you know me so well, don’t you?  In spite of being too afraid of letting go of yourself to see what I see.”  

“I know that there’s more to you than just joy of the hunt, and if you go in there you’re going to fall over the edge and lose all of that.  And I am not going to help you commit an elaborate ego suicide.”

“It’s not-” Gretchen starts to say before getting interrupted by Road stepping between the two monster hunters.

“Eris, you’ve got a point about someone staying behind as a lifeline beacon,” Road says before taking Eris’s hand in hers to give her a crystal amulet on a silver chain, “but if it’s the hunter’s fifth fate you’re worried about then maybe you should both stay out here while I go in.”

“Me?”  Eris balks.  “I’m fine.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you are one hundred percent sure of that.  Tell me that if you go in you won’t wind up being the one falling over the edge when eldritch exposure starts eating away at your capacity for rational thought.”

Heat.  Rage.  Ecstasy.  The smell of smoke and steam.  A cloak of flames.  Hair alight like clouds at sunset.  A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

The contextless memory leaves Eris gasping.  She pushes it back down lest context arrive.

Road nods.  It’s the first time Eris has ever seen them look sad.  It’s unsettling.

“Gretchen’s liable to run in right after us anyway if we leave her out here unsupervised,”  Eris says.

“I would not!”  Gretchen protests.  “Not that you’re going to leave me out here.”

“Gretchen,” Road says, turning to her, “Eris is right.  You’re not well right now.  I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before firsthand, so I would know.”  He raises a hand to forestall another objection.  “I also know that, on some level, you know that too, or else you would have come up with a way to just get Eris here and not me.  You know how the arrangement I have with the 121813 crew goes; if I’m called in it’s not a hunt anymore and it’s out of the hands of whomever it was that made the call.  It’s out of your hands.”  Road steps back and gives one of  those warm, reassuring smiles of theirs.  “And maybe you even meant it earlier about wanting Eris to be here to pull you back from the brink.  Yeah, you two weren’t exactly being quiet by the end there.  But maybe you don’t have to be all the way to the brink for someone you care about to pull you back and help you.”

Maybe it’s the incense bringing her back down to her senses, or maybe it’s just Road being Road, but something in Gretchen relaxes.  Deflates.

“Maybe…” she whispers, eyes downcast.

“Now then!” Road says in a sudden shift from serious to chipper.  “You two obviously have a lot of baggage to unpack, so why don’t you take the opportunity to sort that out while I go sort out getting our squiggly visitor back to its home in the Void?  Alright?  Good.  I’m trusting you, and I’ll see you on the other side.”

And with that, Road turns on their heel and heads toward the door with a jaunty wave.  By the time they cross the threshold their jacket has finished folding and flowing outward to completely cover them in plated purple armor with green trim.  The incense smoke billows around them and trails behind, creating a pocket of stability in the chaotic space that was once a theater dressing room.  And then the bubble gets too far away from the door, the room inverts itself, and Road is gone save for a subtle tugging sensation coming from the amulet they left in Eris’s hand.

“So…” Gretchen grasps at the words to say next.  Her eyes remain downcast.

“So…” Eris prompts.  Her eyes remain trained on Gretchen.

“Is Road always…”

“Like that?  Pretty much.”

“And here I thought they were just doing a bit the couple of times I worked with them.”

“Nah, they’ve got that vibe going pretty much twentyfour-seven.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“For me or for them?”

“Both.”

“Eh, it’s endearing, and I’m not convinced they actually sleep.”

The silence of thoughts not yet formed into words descends.  Gretchen steps away from Eris to go lean on a section of wall that hasn’t been tripwired or graffitied.  Eris shifts her own position to keep herself between Gretchen and the door and pockets the lifeline amulet.  

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

Gretchen finally looks back up at Eris.

“I’m sorry,” Gretchen says.  “Like you said, I wasn’t really myself when I was going on like that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“It’s just… You know what it’s like.  The rush, the thrill, the anticipation.  The drumbeat in the back of your head that seems too loud to be simply your own heart.  The electric tingle down your spine that spreads through your whole body.  The way smell and taste start blurring together and your other senses all start feeding each other so that the whole world seems more.  The craving.  The memory of blood’s viscosity and the way a drop’s trail down the back of your hand catches on all the little hairs and gathers in the pores and creases.  The constant knowledge of how good the climax of the hunt feels.  Has felt.  Will feel next time.”

“I do.  All the more reason for you not to go in there.”

“It’s like that all the time now.  Even basking in that moment right after a kill, it only ebbs away to a murmur.  It’s enough to make you think it might not be so bad if you never felt anything else.”

“Only ever feeling one thing?  Sounds like death to me, and I’d rather die as myself.”

Gretchen’s laugh is soft and bitter.  “You always say that.  Have you ever stopped to think that it might be becoming more yourself, not less?”

“I have, but I’ve seen what someone becoming more herself looks like, and this?  What you’re talking about?  This ain’t it.”

“How do you figure?”

“Becoming more yourself is about letting yourself grow, and while you might shed some masks that were never really part of who you were in the first place, everything that makes you you is still there in some form, for better or worse.  What you’re talking about isn’t taking off a mask, it’s hacking off your nose, ripping out your tongue, and mangling your ears.  It’s becoming a caricature of yourself.  Maybe if this was a not wanting to be human anymore thing I could understand, but that’s never been what you wanted.  It was always that single perfect moment stretched out to infinity that you’d always wax poetic about.”

“How do you do it then?”

“Do what?”

“I’ve seen you in action E, I know you love it just as much as I do.  Maybe even more.”

“I’m not the one trying to accelerate losing my mind here.”

“That’s my point!  I’ve seen you covered head to toe in blood with a look on your face I only wish I could have ever gotten you to make in bed, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.  That’s not even flirting, it’s objective fact.  So how are you not the one rushing headlong into trying to feel that way all the time?  Where do you find that strength to resist?”

Eris shrugs.  “It’s not that complicated really.  I wouldn’t even call it ‘strength’ per say. I have other things I care about and I know that there’s more to me than being the strong one who rips out hearts and crushes skulls with my bare hands.  I love the hunt - and the kill - sure, but I don’t let my life revolve around it.”

“I could make an argument to the contrary, but…”  Gretchen takes a deep breath, throws back her head, and lets out a long exhale in time with sliding her lean against the wall down into a seated position.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe I should try to take a break for a while.  Find myself a new hobby.”

Eris crouches down to get closer to eye level with her and grins.  “I’d suggest gardening, but you and I both know your track record there.”

Gretchen’s laugh is sharp and sweet.  “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“You almost let a cactus die of dehydration before I stepped in.”

“In my defense, we were living in a humid area at the time.  I figured that would be enough for it.”

“Not in that case.”

The silence of familiarity lost and found changed descends.  Gretchen fiddles with the area on her arm where sleeve meets glove.  Eris cracks her neck.

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

Gretchen’s eyes drink in Eris’s presence, only flickering their focus to the open doorway behind her for a moment.

“So, finally got yourself a new pair of boots,” Gretchen observes.

Eris glances down, catches herself, and snaps back to watching Gretchen.  “You should have seen the rest of the armor they came with.  It was an offworld import, a real sci-fi space marine type look just a step shy of full on power armor.”

“What, did you order it in the wrong size and just keep the boots?”

Eris shakes her head.  “You know the trope of jumping on a grenade to save your teammate?”

“Yeah?”

“Replace the grenade with a miniature exploding sun conjured by a wizard.  It was hovering though, so instead of throwing myself on top of it I just sort of grabbed it with both hands and squeezed.”  Eris mimics the motion.  “The boots were the only part of the armor that were still salvageable after.”

“That’s my E, walking off a supernova to the face.”

Light piercing through skin down to the marrow.  Heat beyond pain’s ability to register.  Flame inseparable from flesh.  A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.  A soft bed.  The fog of painkillers.  A request for a mirror denied.

“Eh, that’s overselling it.  Remember the salamander den the Lor twins asked us to help clear out that one time?  Now that was some fire.”

“Yeah, in Yellowstone.  God, I can still smell the sulfur just thinking about it.  Was it you or Lornegna who had the dumbass idea to smash a hole in the wall to flood the cave?”

“That one was on Loreghaste for once, if you can believe it.  Not that they’ll ever admit to it.”

“Oh really?  I always took them for the reasonable twin.”

“You’d think that, but half the wild shit Lornegna pulls is something that Loreghaste said in passing earlier, knowing full well that they’ll take it and run with it.”

“Even plugging a geyser with that oversized hammer of theirs to turn themself into a human cannonball?”

“Okay, that one was one hundred percent Lornegna.”  Eris’s laugh is rough and mellow.  “Regular pair of menaces, those two.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

Eris gasps in mock indignation.  “Me?  A menace?”

“You got an amusement park shut down.”

“Miraclezone Fun Park had already closed its doors for four whole days by the time we got there, thank you very much.  You know, on account of all the mysterious deaths that got our attention in the first place.”

“Maybe, but derailing a roller coaster so that it crashes into the middle of an amphitheater certainly didn’t help their odds of reopening once the weird ape spider things that were eating the night shift employees were dealt with.”

“Says the woman who decided to draw the beasts out by plugging her phone into the sound system, turning on all the stage lights, and doing a solo dance number without realizing how many there were infesting the park.  You’re lucky my aim was good enough to take out half of them when I landed.”

“More like you’re lucky I was fast enough to dodge that mess.  I’ll hand it to you though, you made one helluva first impression climbing out of the wreckage, ripping off one of the coaster’s safety bars one-handed and using it as a club to lay into the rest of the… what even were those things anyway?”

“Some alchemist’s escaped mad science experiments.  It was in the Crossherd papers a few days later when the guy got bagged for a gross violation of the Masquerade after the cops showed up and found a bunch of dead eight-legged monkeys.”  Eris shakes her head in exasperation.  “I still can’t believe we didn’t get caught for that.”

“Fitzy’s always been good at covering for his bar’s patrons.  It’s half the point of 121813.”  Gretchen pauses, searching her memory.  “That night was your first time there, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.  You offered to buy me a drink and I was too busy trying to hide the fact that my arm was broken to turn you down.”

“Your arm was broken?”

“And a few ribs.  Did something to my ankle too, but by that point I already had a good grasp on how fast I heal and I was trying to look cool for the chick who was killing rabid chimeras with a spear in time with the bassline on metal music blasting from stadium speakers.”

“Speaking of impressive spearwork…”  Gretchen pauses just long enough for both of them to think of innuendos that are funnier left unspoken.  “Is that the new ice spear you mentioned the last time you were at the bar?”

Eris reaches back and traces two-fingers along the sigil-engraved haft sticking up over her shoulder.  “Sure is.  Intent-activated ice conjuration on contact capable of full encasement without long term damage after thawing out.  It is a bit finicky about which part of the spear causes the freezing, but that’s got its advantages once you get used to it.  Come to think of it, this thing would have been real handy back on the Miami job.”

“You mean the time some rich kid showed up at the bar begging for someone to do a live capture on his lost pet?  Oh yeah, that would have saved us so much time with that slippery little bastard.”

“Oh, be nice, it was adorable.”

“It was a blob of ooze capable of squeezing itself through a showerhead that had us running in circles around that resort all day like a slapstick routine.”

“But it made itself dog-shaped and licked the kid’s face when we got it back.”

“You are such a bleeding heart.”

“I wonder if I still have a video of that.  I bet Lacuna would love it.”

“Right, Lacuna…”  Gretchen trails off.  “How long have you two been together now?”

“We’re not a couple,” Eris says.  The sentence is practically a reflex by now with how often the mistake’s been made.

“Really?  Well crap, I owe Old Vic twenty dollars.”

“You made a bet with Old Vic?  That Lacuna and I were a couple?”

“Me and half the regulars.  Separate pool for how long until you bring her in to show off.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish right now.”

“I don’t even bring her up that much.”

“I was going by quality over quantity.  Seriously, have you heard yourself talk about her?  Adorably fragile little mess of a genius hacker witch that you protectively fret over who lets you indulge your inner nerd and play the experienced worldly butch while you teach her how to be a woman.”

“First off, I have never once in my life called Lacuna ‘adorable.’  Second, the witch thing didn’t work out for her and she hates being called a hacker.  And third, that whole description is infantilizing.  She is pretty smart though.”  In certain areas anyway, Eris bites her tongue from adding.  “She’s got a whole server farm set up and programmed to enchant stuff for her.  She’s the one who made the spear.”

Gretchen’s self-satisfied ‘You just proved my point’ look is as insufferably smug as ever.

“Look,” Eris says, “Lacuna’s like a sister to me.  Maybe in another life, if we’d met under different circumstances, then maybe, but I wouldn’t trade what we have, given the choice.”

The silence of sore subjects and inarticulate hope descends.  Gretchen pushes herself off the wall to sit a little closer to Eris and leaves one hand resting in the space between as a clear invitation.  Eris shifts her own position to meet Gretchen’s without touching.

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

“Old Vic says it’ll be behemoth season soon on his homeworld,” Gretchen says without meeting Eris’s gaze.  Looking more past her than at her.  “He invited me and some of the other regulars to come join him there when it does.”

“Sounds like a party,” Eris says, keeping her eyes locked on Gretchen’s hands.

“It really is, to hear him tell it.  A solid week of festivals before and after the culling hunts.  Dancing, feasting, games, rituals, all that good stuff.  Not many offworlders get invited, but we wouldn’t be the only ones, so it’s not like we’d be intruding either.”  

“I hope you get to enjoy it.”

Gretchen raises her hand until her fingers brush Eris’s.  Her fingers curl slightly.  Eris’s curl into them.

“Obviously, you’re invited too, E.  It’ll be the first words out of Old Vic’s mouth the next time you show up.  I know you’re busy these days with your new crew, but you really should think about joining us.  It’s a once in a lifetime hunt for anyone without a triple-digit lifespan.”

“Whatever happened to taking a break from it all?”

The curled fingers become clasped hands.

“That’s the best part.  Imagine, one final hunt grander than anything we’ve seen before or ever will see again where we’ll bring down walking mountains and flying rivers of scales.  One last hurrah to get everything out of our system, and afterwards once everyone else goes home the two of us could stay for a while and take a real vacation for a hard reset.  Spend a month or two in some tranquil hidden elf village, get in touch with nature, calm down from the hunt.”

“Make a fresh start.”

One of them rises to her feet.  The other follows.  It is unclear who does which.

“Reconnect.”  The word is said in unison.

Gretchen places her free hand on Eris’s shoulder and rests her head on Eris’s chest.  Eris places her free hand on Gretchen’s wrist and rests her head on Gretchen’s.  A foot wraps around an ankle.

“If I could give it up,”  Gretchen whispers, “do you think things could work out between us again?”

The silence of past actions considered.

“Think about it, E.  Has anyone else ever been as good with you?  No one else has for me.  And it was just that one thing between us.”

The silence of chance weighed against choice.

“What if, for each other, we really could get out, E?  Have one last hunt and mean it.  And if it does call us back again, then if we’re both trying to avoid letting it consume us and watching out for each other, who knows how long we might last?  Maybe we could even keep each other alive long enough to get tired and settle down.”

The silence of exceptional circumstances accounted for.

“E… What if neither of us had to die young?  What if we got to grow old together?”

The silence of a conclusion reached.

Eris pulls Gretchen further into their embrace.  They both lift their heads, faces nearly touching.  Brown eyes stare into gold.

“Oh Gretchen, you always knew how to say what I needed to hear.”

“E-”

The embrace becomes crushing.  Gretchen’s pained gasp at the vice grip on her hands and wrists is made shallow for want of air.

“Never were good at lying though,” Eris laments.  “You know that stun gun you still keep strapped to the underside of your wrist isn’t enough to take me down, right?  Or was it going to be the retractable blade in the toe of your boot going for my Achilles tendon?  Come to think of it, that lipstick’s the poison apple red I bought for your birthday that one year, isn’t it? ”

Gretchen’s laugh is hard and sour.  “Could’ve been all three at once.”

“Still wouldn’t have worked.”

“Can you blame me for trying?”

“No, and that’s the problem.”

“One more thing to say in my defense?”

“It won’t make a difference.  You’re not getting through that door.”

That same old deliciously wicked grin.  For the first time, Eris gets the feeling she’s not on the inside of the joke.

Gretchen intones a quick chant with no literal translation and looks up.

By reflex, Eris looks up into the uniform shadows of the ceiling.

The sole set of graffitied warding sigils that Gretchen neglected to point out earlier light up the ceiling’s shadows.

By reflex, Eris dodges to the side of the blade of light that comes piercing down.

Gretchen slips her hands free of her gloves and out of Eris’s grip.

By reflex, Eris lunges to grab her again.

Gretchen reaches over Eris’s shoulder and grasps the haft of the enchanted spear with intent.  Ice spreads from the points of contact where the spear is strapped to Eris’s back.  The sudden conjured weight causes Eris to stumble and then - when the ice encases her hips and shoulders - to fall.

It is only one third of a second that Eris is on the ground.  By two thirds of a second Eris has shattered the ice, rolled to her feet, and unslung her spear in a single motion.

It only takes Gretchen one half of a second to reach the open door to the eldritch-warped space and collect her own cross spear that she left leaning next to it.  She wastes a quarter of a second turning around to look back.

“I’m sorry E, but I’m not as strong as you are.”

Having finally turned around to see the door, Eris realizes that sometime while she’d been watching Gretchen the space on the other side had grown more chaotic until it gave up all pretense of resembling a room, now looking like nothing so much as the white noise of television static.  She almost reaches Gretchen in time to stop her from stepping through.  The tip of the spear brushes against the back of Gretchen’s knee mid-stride, freezing it and dropping her to what passes for the ground on the other side.  And then the feet of distance between the monster hunters becomes miles and Gretchen’s receding black and gold form is swallowed by the static.

Eri swears, pulls the lifeline amulet that Road gave her out of her pocket, and drops it on the floor.  She figures that as long as it stays out here in realspace, then Road can always get out and come back with Ashan and Lacuna to pull her and Gretchen out later.

She wastes no further time on hesitation before running into the static after Gretchen.

*******

Eris is hunting.

A chill wind howls across a moonlit prairie.  The rush, the thrill, the anticipation, are almost too much to bear as she chases down a pack of lupine shadows.  One falls to a spear.  Another is caught by its tail and dragged to the ground.  A third turns and raises itself on two legs to face its hunter.  Its claws meet with only open air.  Her claws meet with its heart.

There is a disappointing lack of blood.  They are naught but shadows afterall.

The pack’s lone survivor sprints for the treeline, wild with fear, only to find a chainlink fence between itself and safety.  She is still half human, and her eyes are fully so when she looks back at her hunter.

There’s a name Eris should remember and call out at this part.  She doesn’t, but what does it matter?  It’s just a beast.

What was she hunting again?  It doesn’t matter.  It’s all just prey in the end.

High above, tiny flames swirl and writhe. Its watchful eyes are blinded.

The chainlink fence rattles and shrieks when she tears it down and stalks between the support struts of the rollercoaster.  The drumbeat in the back of her head seems too loud to simply be her own heart.  Perhaps it is the music pounding from that amphitheater over there.  Eight-legged shadows leap from support strut to support strut and skitter along the tracks above.  What an annoyance, that noise is luring her prey away from her.  

A freezing from the spear, a few good kicks, and a mighty heave are all it takes to knock out the nearest pylon and set the entire rollercoaster around her crashing down.  The music of the collapsing metal all around her is enough to drown out the metal of the music from the amphitheater, but the drumbeat in her skull is louder still.

She steps on one of the wretched chimerical shadows trying to free itself from the wreckage as she stalks toward the alleyway behind the amphitheater.

Oh, yes, that’s right.  She’s hunting Gretchen.  The snake, the spider, her lioness.

Amidst the wreckage, tendrils of flame coil around a thorn that will not burn.  Its teeth cannot piece this.

The alleyway is awash with the scent of buzzard meat, skunk perfume, and pine scented car air freshener emanating from the dumpster at the far end.  An electric tingle runs down her spine and spreads through her whole body as she walks past the garbage truck that has taken her to so many trailheads with signs of new quarry within the dream-born city.  The shadow that erupts from the refuse is all horns, claws, spines, and teeth.  It is long enough to wrap itself around her, heavy enough to pull her down to the ground when it does, and vicious enough to keep wrestling with her even after she snaps off its saber fangs.

She recalls a dim memory that this thing once hurt her badly enough that she called for help to return to her home lair afterward.  The one who answered should never have had to see her like that.  She will make this shadow pay for that.

By the time she realizes the shadow is dead and gone, the pavement is shattered, the dumpster is rent in twain, and the engine of the garbage truck she was once responsible for is totalled.  There is no proper satiation to hunting shadows.  All chase and fight, but no release.  She retrieves her spear and vaults over the wall at the end of the alleyway.  Perhaps when she finds her true prey at the end of this she will bring satisfaction.

No, that’s not right, she’s supposed to be searching for Gretchen, not hunting her.

Behind her, the flame lashes out at a person-shaped hole.   Its claws have fought against the other’s for so long now.

Moonlight reflects off the lake and into the whispering of the trees that brushes against her cheek to welcome her home with the scent of blood in her mouth.  Smell and taste blur together as her senses begin feeding into one another until the whole world seems more.  Was she really even alive before this?

Her oldest dance partner rises from the lake to greet her on the shore.  The one who tried to hunt her and in failing to do so taught her the joy of being the predator rather than prey.  Their dance begins again.  As it always has.  As it ever will.  Her dance partner is a gaunt and stretched out figure of tongues and teeth that still resembles a man.  Her dance partner is a beast of scale and shell with jaws that bite and claws that catch.  Her dance partner is a cacophonous evolution of forms between as the two of them drive one another to learn and adapt with each dance.

Her dance partner is a mere shadow, frozen in a block of ice and thrown into the back of her van to be stowed away and forgotten.  She has long since grown beyond it.  She slams the rear doors of the van shut.

And yet still the hunt always cycles anew.  She is always hunting.

Beneath the water, the ancient flame roils against a timeless knight.  Its arms will crush the misbegotten parasite and then the thing beneath.

The air in the candlelit cavern smothers like a damp blanket.  A drop of blood trails down the back of her hand, catches on the tiny hairs, leaves bits of itself gathered in the pores and creases, and falls from her fingertip into the crystal clear pool the same as any other drop from the cavern’s stalactites.  It seems the shadow of her old dance partner left her with a final parting gift.

She approaches the cavern’s shrine and the wounded shadow praying at its moldy offering plate skitters away.  She weighs whether it is worth pursuing but is distracted by a shambling pile of bones.  The bones snap and crunch so pleasingly and the soft shadow beneath rips apart so delightfully.  But when the bones are ground to dust and the shadow they failed to protect are gone she is still hungry.

The wounded shadow taps a pattern on the ground.  Its eight eyes are not human at all but they hold fear all the same.

There’s a kindness Eris should offer at this part.  She doesn’t, but what does it matter?  It’s just a beast.

Still not satisfied, she turns her attention to the shrine and the small, forgotten god it venerates.  

Blood and hearts and bones and stone and ichor and mold.  What would a god taste like?

In the reflection on the surface  the upturned offering dish, a thousand tiny flames flare to a thousand stars.   Its song echoes in triumph over the foolish nothing that thought to hurt it.

The air in the desert tries and fails to sap the moisture from her body.  Neither the heat of day nor the chill of night can touch her through the craving.

Feeling like the only person in the world, she lingers in a space only ever meant to be passed through until she hears the howl of an almost-human voice that almost sounds like a song.  Feeling the weight of her spear fall from her hand, she steps out beyond the edge of the parking lot pavement to the edge of the edge of the furthest lamplight, that twilight border between known and unknown.  Feeling no need to announce her presence, she locks eyes in the dark with a shadow and utters a growl that almost sounds like words as she circles her prey and blurs the line between beast and self.  

There are only claws and teeth for the thing whose face is almost human.  A stinger strikes through the air with a whipcord whistling but is a step too slow.  An inhuman growl from a once-human throat accompanies the tearing sound of a sting ripped free from its tail and plunged into its owner’s neck.  Deed done, she retrieves her spear and walks back to the truck whose cargo has been her excuse to travel the land’s liminal spaces for prey like this.

She opens the door to the sleeper cab and finds herself face to face with a squawking peacock.  

The avian incongruity leaves Eris shocked enough for the bird to shuffle out past her and take to the wing.  She blinks.  Waking up to find a peacock in her cab wasn’t even the same year as hunting the manticore.  That was in Vermont and this was in Arizona.  Why are those two memories mixed together?

Wait.  Memories?

Cautiously, she climbs into the cab.  Something about it feels too small, but otherwise all is as it should be.  Neatly made bed in the back, movie poster from her old bedroom on the ceiling, air plant hanging from the rearview mirror…  The mirror!  Her reflection!  Her eyes!  She turns and flees into the dark tunnel in the back of the cab until she can no longer feel that awful piece of glass staring at her.

No.  This isn’t right.  She’s not…

Somewhere in the long darkness, a core of flame is trapped and pinned.   Its heart withers in fear and thrashes until the instinct to survive leaves nothing but…

Rage.  

There has ever been constant knowledge of how good the climax of the hunt feels.  Has felt.  Will feel next time.  And few things have had are having will have a death so sweet as the pile of garbage before her that calls itself a man.  It is not even fit to be prey, but the righteousness of ending it will more than make up for that.  It has captured, enslaved, and sold the innocent.  It has hurt one of her own.  It has arrogantly tried to summon the sun itself.

She swallows that sun.  Lets it burn away that which is not needed and bring light to what remains.  Its fire erupts from her scalp to become her hair and tumble down past her shoulders.  Its core melts down the flimsy scraps of armor and becomes her carapace.  Its hunger welds with hers and becomes yet more fuel for the hunt.

Her charred lips pull back nearly to her ears in what is both a snarl and a grin and in any case is all teeth.

The flash of her brilliant metamorphosis alone was nearly enough to dispose of the garbage, but not quite.  What is left of it continues to cough and twitch on the steaming ground.  She walks over to it and raises a foot in anticipation of a heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

No!

This is not her!

This has never been her!

This can never be her!

Upon her shoulder, a gentle hand removes the thorn.   The flames dwindle to embers and scatter.

Eris is not hunting.

Eris is searching.

Eris is herself.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Out of the corner of her eye, Eris catches sight of a tiny flickering flame amidst the endless static that surrounds her.  It darts out of view and she turns her head to follow it.  Rather than finding the flame in the middle of the white noise once more, she finds herself in the middle of a living room she hasn’t seen in nearly a decade.  It’s been even longer since she last saw the mottled green-brown shag carpet sticking up around her boots.

“But why do I have to only speak English at school?”

Eris turns around to find a family of shadows standing in the soft morning light that shines in through the bay windows.  Outside, a schoolbus waits on the suburban street for other small shadows to join the ones already piled inside and blurred together.  But these shadows in the room with her now are far more interesting.  A mother, a father, and a child with a backpack.  Even just as silhouettes she knows them.

Her mama.

Her papa.

Her.

“Because,” the shadow of her papa answers the shadow of her childhood, “that’s all any of the other kids speak and it’s important for you to fit in.”

“But I already don’t fit in!” Eris’s shadow whines.  A petulant response, but a true one.  She remembers this conversation - or at least the impression of it - from her second week of first grade.  Even by then she was acutely aware that none of her classmates looked like her.

“If you really wanted me to fit in, you would have given me a normal name,” she and her shadow grumble in unison.  Her shadow’s parents don’t seem to hear that part.

“All the more important for you to make an effort,” the shadow of her mama admonishes.  “Just because you’re perfect as you are, that doesn’t mean everyone else is ready for it.  So until that’s different, blending in is safer.  You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“But then why do you make me practice all those other languages that we speak at home?”

“They’ll be useful when you’re an adult and trying to get into college and find a job,” her shadow’s papa hastily answers.  “Now hurry before you miss the bus.”

Eris’s shadow ducks her mama’s kiss on the forehead and turns away from her papa’s hug.  Her shadow only pauses for a moment, just past the door’s threshold when she hears a pair of “I love you’s,” in two different languages.  She smiles for a moment at the tears that don’t quite form and didn’t manage to back then either.

Then she remembers where she is and what Road said about psychically reactive spaces.  Eris has never been good at keeping psychic entities out of her mind, but she’s consistently found herself to be very good at telling and resisting when they’re trying to change or insert anything.  Save for that one time with whatever Lacuna did, but she tells herself that’s because she was intentionally letting her most trusted friend poke around in there for the sake of healing.  As for the looking, she tells herself that she has nothing to hide or that she’s afraid of being thrown in her face and used against her.

She follows her shadow out the door.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Her shadow is taller now, taller even than the shadow of the boy she just knocked down.  She’s in the eighth grade and she’s just gotten in her first fight in the middle of the school cafeteria.  Not that it was much of one.  One punch and the boy was down on the floor rolling and clutching his nose.  

Eris made a point of forgetting the boy’s name a long time ago (it was Justin) but everything else is burned into her memory.  After a year of taking rumors and accusations in silence this last bit of harassment finally hit the tipping point.  And damn, had it felt good to finally let it out.  She can’t see the creeping wild grin on her shadow’s lack of a face, but she can feel the temptation to mirror it.  Now’s the part where her shadow’s nonexistent eyes should be flickering to the fleck of blood on her knuckles.  There’ll be an intrusive thought to lick it, just to see what it tastes like.  Not that she will, but it suddenly occurs to Eris to wonder if what she is now was always in her, even back then.  

Was she always a monster in waiting?  She dismisses that intrusive thought for what it is and turns around and walks for the door as the shocked silence permeating the cafeteria erupts into chaos.  She turns around before she has to see the horrified look on the shadow of her best friend at the time.  Dylan.  

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Her shadow’s in third grade and Dylan’s shadow is teaching her how to talk with her hands.  It’s after school and they’re sitting at his parents’ kitchen table, homework already done.  When his family moved in down the street last summer their parents got together and started setting them up with playdates in hopes that the two misfits would at least have one friend apiece going into the new school year.  

Eris smiles and signs the alphabet along with them.  Her shadow mastered it months ago, much to everyone’s surprise, but at this point it’s a game for the two of them to see who can get through forwards and backwards the fastest before they move on to anything else.  Eris is only halfway through the reversal when the shadows finish their game.  She’s gotten rusty these days with only video calling Dylan two or three times a year to catch up and get the latest news on how her folks are doing.

Eris’s breath catches when she notices Dylan’s shadow addressing her - no, her shadow - with a simple thumb over palm with fingertips curled.  He’s got a more specific name sign for her these days and she’d forgotten that it used to just be an initialization.

When the shadow of Dylan’s mom walks in to get the cookies out of the oven, Eris remembers where she is, stands up, and heads for the nearest door.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Eris.”

“That’s not my… Present.”

Her shadow is in second grade and she has just given up.  If the teacher can’t even pronounce the shortened nickname she came up with correctly, then what’s the point of fighting it anymore?  May as well just go along with whatever people decide to call her than constantly struggle over something that doesn’t really matter.  She knows who she is regardless.

Eris opens the door and leaves the classroom.  She may not have anything to hide, but that doesn’t mean she has to stick around and give whatever’s manifesting all this a guided tour of her childhood either.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Is she really even a girl?”

Her shadow is in seventh grade and it’s unseasonably hot outside.  She’s sitting on a bleacher bench trying not to cry while the shadow mother of the girl who’s not accepting her apologies has it out with her mama’s shadow.  

It was an accident, really.  A car drove by and the glare got in her eyes, throwing off her aim.

“What girl can even throw a softball hard enough to knock out a tooth?”

It was an accident, so why isn’t saying sorry enough?

“Just look at her!  What girl her age is that tall or has shoulders like that?”

It was an accident, but the shadow is talking too fast for anyone else to get a word in.

“Or maybe she’s on steroids?  You should get your daughter tested!”

Eris tunes out the rest of the conversation while she slips on a pair of fingerless black gloves.  Just because she’s made her peace, that doesn’t mean she has any interest in sitting around watching this trainwreck all over again.  She traces the silver-stitched runes on the gloves with one finger.  Back of the hand then the palm.  Left hand then the right.  There’s no door to exit through on the softball practice field, so she’ll just have to make her own.  

Eris claps her hands together and twin jolts run through her palms and up her arms to meet at the base of her neck.  She throws her head back involuntarily at the shock and bares her teeth in a grimace that lacks any of the usual excited edge from using these.  The initial sensation fades as she crouches down low to the ground but her hands are tingling now and will be until she takes off the gloves.

One punch is all it takes for the ground beneath to crack and shatter into the white noise void for her to fall into.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

Her shadow is in her bedroom with the door locked.  She’s in her sophomore year of high school and staying up far too late on a school night in front of a mirror with a makeup kit she bought at the drugstore.  She meant to do this earlier, but her AP Calc homework took longer than expected.

Eris lands in the room, takes a look at the decorations, and shudders at that phase of her life.  All that work to be someone else for the sake of burying a reputation that never actually went away, just hid in the whispers behind her back.  She can still remember how alien her own body felt, soft from making a point of never exercising anymore after being banned from school sports, yet still too big to be fashionable.  Who was she ever fooling besides herself?

Her shadow hisses in frustration as she tries to figure out how to bridge the gap between how her mama taught her to do makeup and the styles in the magazine one of her friends that weren’t her friends gave her.  None of the models in the magazine look anything like her.

The room has a door, but punching a hole in the wall to step through into the static is more in line with Eris’s mood.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

Her shadow is in sixth grade and her teammates are all hugging her and cheering.  They just won their game.  For once she’s the star instead of the outcast.

Eris punches another hole in the illusion.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

“From whence comes the starlight in the Dark Forest?”

Was that Road’s voice?  This time the static doesn’t resolve into another shadow of a memory.

“Yo, Road!”  Eris shouts into the void.  “Can you hear me?  Gretchen’s lost in here somewhere.  Have you seen her?”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Not art.  Pigments.  Raw materials.  Kindling for the spark.”

“Road, who are you talking to?  I can hear you, but I can’t see you!”

“I’m glad to see you’ve calmed down now.  You gave me a scare when you ran off like that after I got that tag off of you.”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“I understand you need that, yes, and I’m sorry I had to be rough with you earlier, but you can’t go forcing what you need out of mortals like that.  It’s not good for them.”

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“I’d help you with that myself if I could, but I can’t.”

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“I’ll see if I can get her permission.  These things work a lot better when the mortal agrees to it, you know.  They can even help and cooperate.”

Eris scans the white noise all around her, but still finds nothing, save for a tiny flame that quickly gets lost again.  Or was that just her brain trying to find an image in the noise where there is none?

“Road, what are you getting at here?  What do you need me to do?”

“Hey there Eris, sorry to put you on hold.  I’m with the eldritch right now and I can see you and Gretchen, but I can’t get to you.”

“Is Gretchen alright?”

“Physically, yes, but mentally she’s not handling this place nearly as well as you are.  Nothing irrecoverable yet, but it’s… not good.”

“Where is she?  If you can see us both, maybe you can help me reach her.”

“The concept of ‘where’ is subjective at best right now.  Our best bet is going to be helping the eldritch get what it wants - maybe needs, communication is tricky - in exchange for it leading all of us out of here.”

“And if we don’t cooperate?”

“You and I will probably be fine, but it’s not too happy with Gretchen right now.  There’s a good chance it’ll leave her in here when this space collapses upon its departure.”

“Of course it isn’t happy with her,” Eris mutters under her breath.  “Fine.  So what does it want?  It sounded like you were saying something about art earlier.  Is it going to conjure up a paintbrush and easel for me, or am I about to get sent on another trip down memory lane?”

“More likely the latter, unless you’re a painter or musician on top of everything else.”

 “Nah, I was always more of a STEM girl before I dropped out, I’m afraid.”

“That’s something.  Gardening can be an art.”

Gardening?  Oh, right.  “Not what I meant, but go on, let’s get the brain probing over with.”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Yes, art.  But she’s going to choose what to show you, and you need to respect that she’s trusting you not to invade her privacy or touch anything.”

T̸̤͛r̶̭̲̥̠̫̼̒̐̌̀͆͂u̷̮̿̋̈́̆̈ś̷̡̬̝̠̮͙͊̿̓͘͘ẗ̷̘̙̲͋.̸̤͕̯̹̫̪̏̑̆͠

“Good.  Now, Eris, just focus on what art is to you.  What is the art in your life?  What have you created?  What have you experienced?  What have you shared?  Everyone has something.  Just let your mind find it and then let it flow.”

Eris nods.  Focus on art.  That shouldn’t be too hard.  She’s no artist, but she’s seen plenty.

She closes her eyes…

She is locked in a dance of death on the lakeshore with the hateful spirit of a thing that won’t stay dead.  She is using a tire iron to spraypaint the lifeblood of a rabid fae crossroads hound into a mural of autumn leaves on the side of a truckstop rest station.  She is standing on top of a moving rollercoaster and doing the on-the-fly math to calculate the optimal location and angle to hurl a broken flagpole in order to launch the ride, herself, and the dozen bloodthirsty ape spiders on the cars behind us into the amphitheater next door.  She is admiring her handiwork in the aftermath of a percussive demon exorcism that looks so very much like a tornado just tore through the gas station.  She is at the bar, arm wrestling two other monster hunters at once and winning.  She is at Doc’s clinic one of the few times she’s ever been hurt badly enough to need it and is thinking about how much the X-rays of her shattered arm look like a river delta.  She is holding the sun between her hands and feeling like God.

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“Yes.  Destruction, too, is an art.”

She is destruction.  She a hunter.  She is a beast.

She is gasping and trying  to open her eyes.  She is finding them already wide and staring.  She is afraid to look down at her hands.

She is something other than that.  She is something more than that.  She is something greater than that.

She is protection.  She is an avenger.  She is a shield.

She is still just violence.  She is a danger.  She is a threat.

She is unwanted.  She is an outsider.  She is a disowned child.

She is scared.  She is hypocritical.  She is…

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“E.”

She has never been only one thing.  She is what the world shaped her into.  She is what she chose for herself.

She is walking back home practicing the name sign Dylan came up with for her.  She is in the library reading a book on Greek gods and reclaiming a teacher’s laziness.  She is driving back and forth across the country, trying out a new name with the same initial at every stop.

She is in her parents’ kitchen, loving the rhythm of the name they gave her every time they ask her to pass the dishes or how her day went and the way that rhythm changes when the language shifts.  She is teaching that name to Lacuna.  She is sheepishly asking her best friend not to use that name afterall, but holding back tears over the fact that her friend took the time to master the pronunciation.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

She is planting seeds in the huge backyard garden with her papa.  She is hanging a tillandsia air plant in the sleeper cab of her truck.  She is watering the tiny balcony garden of her apartment.

She is working with her mama in her garage to repair the engine on the family car.  She is performing emergency roadside maintenance on her truck near a corn field.  She is renovating a barely-drivable van older than she is into something as new as the stage of life she just entered is.

She is watching a movie in the theater with her parents, eyes wide and hands full of popcorn.  She is crying in a motel a month after leaving home because that movie just came on the television when she was flipping channels.  She is lounging on the couch with Lacuna for movie night, excitedly explaining everything about that movie and the underappreciated nuances of the genre.

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

She is listening to her favorite song on the radio while driving down the highway.  She is singing her favorite song on karaoke night at 121813.  She is laughing as Gretchen unpacks a record player and puts on her favorite song for the two of them to unpack boxes to in their new apartment.

She is learning the four different languages her parents learned from their parents, still unaware that they aren’t all one.  She is learning ASL alongside Dylan, growing up together with something that feels all their own.  She is learning German from Gretchen, teaching her a few things in exchange and talking about how they’ll travel the world together someday.

She is learning to tie knots at summer camp and practicing over and over again with her eyes set on a merit badge.  She is tying a makeshift harness onto  a cool statue she found next to a dumpster to the side of her garbage truck so she can take it back home to her apartment.  She is in the bedroom with Gretchen, undressed and discussing the hypothetical logistics of trying to tie knots in industrial steel cable since she keeps accidentally breaking the ropes.

A̴̡͓͙̺͙͛̔ͅR̷̺̠̲̞͌͐̿̎̏͋T̷͇̣̹͖̐͛͘!̸̜͖̲̂͜

Eris is in a dark place that she does not recognize from any memory of her own.  The only light is a faint starshine spearing down through gaps in the canopy to create ghostly counterparts to the surrounding tree trunks.  Just at the edge of her hearing she can catch the sound of something lurking in the shadows.  For half a heartbeat, she spots a flash of gold.

Eris grins and shows what she knows is too many teeth for most people’s comfort.  Looks like that last set of memories got the desired reaction from the eldritch.

“Still hungry for more, huh?!” she shouts.  “Fine.  One last performance for the road!”

The nearest shaft of starlight becomes Eris’s spotlight as she takes the stage and steps into a ready stance with her spear.  She taps her foot in time with a remembered opening bassline from the track Gretchen always kicked off their exercises with.  She gets the rhythm down until she can almost hear it, and then starts the show.

Eris has heard of spears being called the oldest weapon.  She’s always felt it to be a dubious claim at best, when there are plenty of heavy and sharp rocks just lying around, but it’s true enough that the basic concept of “sharp pointy bit on the end of a long stick” is old indeed; old enough that just about everywhere you care to go has some variation on it.  She starts with the forms out of the illustrated Renaissance manuals that got Gretchen into the art to begin with.  She moves through the pike and lance devices, even though her own spear is too short for them.  She shifts to the staff swings, then the halberd techniques, then the peasant stick.  She works her way through the memorized Germanic style manual and moves on to the Italian.

In the dark, between the trees, a lurking presence closes in.  Eris keeps her view straight ahead.  The flashes of gold in her peripherals are enough to confirm she has her audience’s attention.

Eris skips across the globe to Filipino kali.  Stabbing their way around the world, Gretchen always liked to call the workout.  The point was never to master any given style.  Staves, pikes, lances, poleaxes, sibat, halberds, naginata, guandao, bō; it didn’t matter if the device, form, or kata was made with the types of spear the two of them happened to be practicing with in mind.  Martial arts were made for fighting people, and all that technique disappears when you’re fighting beasts.  It was about the novelty of finding new ways to move your body and learning all the ways the weapon can feel in your hands as an extension of yourself.  It was about acknowledging the human universality of finding interesting ways to swing a stick.  It was about compiling a wishlist of places to travel to one day.  

It was about an art the two of them shared.

“I know you recognize this,” Eris whispers. “Come join me.”

Eris traces her performance over Asia.  Through the Indian subcontinent and into Africa.  She crossed the ocean into the Americas.  She ventures into the Pacific, lands in Australia for a single stance, then returns to Europe where she started.  All along the way she feels the buildup of thrill for what comes after this opening act.  For what comes from having kept her eyes locked forward and back unprotected.

In the moment Eris stops moving, Gretchen comes down like lightning with all the flash and thunder that comes with it.  Eris steps forward and turns around, denying the lightning strike its perfect moment, its perfect kill.  

Gretchen is crouched low, modified boar spear impaling the ground instead of Eris.  She rips the weapon from the earth and sparks arc between the spear’s tip and bladed crossguard.  Her shadow cast by starlight and sparks is too large; it coils like a serpent and handles its weapon with too many arms.  Her face is furred, her neck is scaled, and her arms are chitinous.  She hisses and her jaw unhinges to expose her fangs.  She blinks, and she is simply Gretchen.  She blinks, and she is a beast.  She blinks, and she is something caught between.

Eris could swear that the trees and starlight are humming a reprise of the music in her head.

Gretchen lunges forward and Eris sidesteps.  She skitters sideways, as close to being on all fours as she can get while still holding her spear.  She strikes again and Eris parries.

Strike, retreat, skitter, strike, repeat.  Thus go the steps of the dance’s first movement.

A strike is parried.  A hand grabs a neck.  A body is thrown.

“Is this the best a beast can do?”  Eris calls.  “You’ll have to do better than that if you want your kill!”

Gretchen grips her spear with both hands now.  Circles more thoughtfully.  Thrusts with the full length of her weapon to maintain the safety of arm’s reach while she stays outside the light.

Circle, thrust, parry.  The dance’s next movement is a slow one, defined by distance and separation.

A thrust is dodged.  A boot drives a haft to the ground.  An icy speartip peels a scale off a neck.

“I know that’s not all you’ve got!” Eris shouts.  “You taught me better than that!”

Gretchen adjusts her grip closer.  Stands more upright.  Steps inward and swings her spear, catching Eris’s between the cross blades to see her opponent’s muscles twitch and hair stand on end until their weapons freeze together and pull apart in a shatter of ice.

Step, swing, shock, shatter.  This movement’s tempo is lively and its notes are loud as the words unsaid.

A cheek is cut.  A hand is slashed.  A fleshy palm emerges from broken chitin.

“Now that’s more like it,”  Eris growls.  “You made me bleed, now come taste it!”

Gretchen shakes her hands free of the coverings that got between her grip and her spear.  Settles into a stance meant for close-quarters footwork.  Rushes in too close to swing or parry and stabs.

Stab, redirect, cut, grapple.  The dance’s final movement is an intimate one.

Hands grab wrists.  Spearpoints rest at necks.  Eyes lock.

“There you are,” Eris breathes.  “I knew you could do it.”

Ą̸̥̥̘̪͈̗̥̬̒̿͂̐̌́̔Ắ̶̪̼̞̳̼͉̰̘͙̹̍̀͛̈́̿͘͘Ą̵̝̳͚͈̺̟̬̻̗̟̓R̵͈͍̙̘̰̽̀̚Ř̵͉̝͉͉͇̇͊̃̃́͗͝R̷̛̗̫̙̎͌͐̇̅̈̇̚͝͝T̵̜̘̻̓̈̓̋T̵̙̆͂̎́̆Ţ̵̥̗̩̲̂̆̄͊́̍̿̂̄͘͘!̴̤͓͔̫̼͙̰͚͇̀͋̉͌̀̒͝!̵̧̞̟̜̝̳̳͑̇̂̀!̴̡̨̬͍͚͉̮̈́̊͊͊͂̈́͛̈́

The two of them maintain their embrace, breathing heavily.

Gretchen attempts to move in closer still, but is stopped by the blade still at her neck.

For a moment, Eris considers letting the blade shift out of the way.  She was able to bring her back from the brink, so could it work?  Without that one thing between them, could they?  Looking out for one another, could they grow old?

Eris’s grip on her spear loosens.  Gretchen’s does the same.  Blades shift away from necks.  Distance closes.  Smoke fills the air with the smell of incense.

Eris blinks and sees Gretchen’s face anew.

That expression on her one-time partner’s face says all the reasons it could never work.  Pulled back from the brink but not yet fully lucid.  There’s still hunger there, and while it’s less bloody now, it’s still enough to draw her into an intertwined spiral if she were to let it.  She can picture it now: Overconfidence in their ability to pull one another back morphing into enabling one another to ever greater risks until they both fall at once.

Eris takes a deep breath.  Lets it out.  Lets go.  Steps back.

Maybe if they could both give up the hunt, but neither of them are that strong yet.

“Good job,” a familiar voice says from behind her.

Eris turns around and finds herself gazing into a person-shaped hole.  A suggestion of identity without truth or core.  And then it’s just Road, a smoking censer dangling from one hand and the match to the lifeline amulet dangling from the other.  A rock of stability in the middle of the chaos while the rest of the scene dissolves back into the white noise.

“Something wrong?” Road asks.

“No, just taking a minute for the incense to kick in and clear my head.  Thanks for that.”

“Of course, although you were holding up remarkably well without it.  Not many people could.  Speaking of...”

Eris turns back around, following their gaze to where Gretchen has discarded her spear in favor of curling in on herself and shaking with silent sobs.  Her words are barely coherent as Road comforts her, but Eris can make out enough to piece together a picture.  With the incense slowly clearing Eris’s own fog over the memory of what she’s been through since entering this space, not having a similar reaction is a matter of well-practiced effort, and she wasn’t the one who went through a near ego death.

Eris slings her own spear back over her shoulder, picks up Gretchen’s, and then offers her other shoulder to lean on.  The two of them follow Road back to the door to realspace in silence.  On the real side of the threshold, Eris spares one last glance back to see a swirling mass of tentacles, eyes, and tiny ancient flames.

*******

Eris leans on the outside of her van, surrounded by cursed and haunted artifacts and answering a wall of text messages and pile of voice mails through the glare of the late afternoon sun and listening to the hum of the engine.  It turned out they were in the eldritch warped space for the better part of a day and only the grace of the campus having just started its break between summer and fall semesters has saved them from some uncomfortable Masquerade-endangering questions from students and faculty that might otherwise have walked into a booby-trapped hallway and a door to nowhere.

“How’s she doing?”  Road asks.

Eris looks up from her phone.  Has she ever heard them approach?

“She’s sleeping it off,” Eris answers with a thumb cocked over her shoulder towards the back of the van.  “I’ll wake her up and get these loaded back in when we’re ready to head home.  How’s the eldritch?”

“Doing as well as it’s possible to tell with one of them,” he says.  “Communication’s always a bit tricky, but seems like no permanent harm done and no grudges held.  I had a good long talk with it about more responsible feeding habits, consent, safety, and the wide range in mortal tolerances to eldritch contact.  And I was able to talk it into helping with the cleanup in the hallway before it left, so we’re good on that front.”  She gestures toward Eris’s phone.  “News from the office?”

“Yeah.  A client came in this morning, but Ashan and Lacuna handled it.  Sounds like it turned into this whole thing with some fairy lord getting involved, but it all worked out.  They’re on their way back now with a changeling and their human counterpart, so we’ll have some more followup to do there.  I figure I can get the rest of these delivered while you handle that.”

Road smiles warmly and shakes their head.  “You should get some rest too when we get back.  You deserve it after today.”

Eris tries and fails to meet Road’s eyes.  A question burns.  She struggles to voice it.

“What was all that about starlight in a dark forest?”

“Oh, caught that, did you?  I guess you could call it a code phrase of sorts between people that do a lot of travel between worlds.  It’s also a question that should only be asked by those who already know the answer.  But that’s not what you really want to ask about, is it?”

No.  It isn’t.

Eris closes her eyes.  Breathes.  Opens her eyes.  Does her best to meet Road’s eyes.

“How much did you see?”

Road nods in understanding.  “Bits and pieces.  Enough.  I did what I could to keep it from prying too deeply or to shift its focus when it looked like things were getting too private.”

“And before that?”

“I was busy trying to subdue a panicking eldritch within a warped space under its control at the time, so my focus was elsewhere.  But,” they admit, “I did feel some of it.  I felt Gretchen too.”

“Oh.  I see.  Could you… maybe not mention any of that to the others?  Some of the stuff from when I was a kid I haven’t even told Lacuna about.”

“Of course.  I’ll do my best to forget I saw any of it.”

“Thanks.”

“And if it helps, I’ve seen firsthand what it’s like when someone completely unravels and loses themself, and I don’t see that ever happening to you.  Especially not after today.”

“That… does help, actually.  Thank you.”

It helps more than it should.

“You’re welcome.  You want to wake Gretchen while I get these boxes?”

“Sure thing,” Eris says, moving towards the van’s sliding door.  “Oh, but one more thing?”

“Yes.”

“I know you meant well, calling out to me when I was on the edge back there, but E isn’t a name for you to call me.”

*******

Gently as she can, Eris closes the door to Gretchen’s room and heads back downstairs.  She steps lightly over the one board she knows creaks so as not to wake the changeling and their brother sleeping in the other two guest rooms of the bed and breakfast above the office.  The thought crosses her mind that the creaky board might have been a security feature left in on purpose with all of Sullivan’s renovations on the building, but she doesn’t follow it.  She’s too tired and it doesn’t matter.

Lacuna is waiting for her by the reception desk.

“Hey.”

“Yo.”

“So, uh, didn’t get the chance to talk, really.  Since we all got back.  What with the clients and all.”

“I guess not.”

“So…  Are you… Okay?”

Blood between her teeth.  Hunting.  Names forgotten.  Burning.  Hunger.  A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

“Been better.  You?”

“Tired.  But what else is new?”

Eris nods.  What else indeed?  “The others head out already?”

“Yeah.  Bridgewood Manor.  Road mentioned Sullivan might be back soon.”

“I should probably be there for that.”  Eris leans on the reception desk.  She’s so tired.

“I’m sure they’ll fill us in.”

“Probably.”

Lacuna Looks over at the living room.  “We’ve got a couch.”

“Huh?”  So tired.

“If we’ve got guests, we probably shouldn't leave the office unattended.  So reason to stay here.  But all the beds are taken.  So couch.”

Eris pushes off the reception desk, staggers over, and throws her arms around her best friend.  She feels Lacuna stagger under her limp weight.  She feels a shaking hand stroke across her back.  She feels a chin rest in the curve between her shoulder and neck.

“Sis?”

“Yeah, E?”

“Do you think,” Eris’s voice cracks, “we could do movie night early this week?”

*******

“This one?”

“This one.”

“You realize it’s your turn to choose the movie, right?”

“I know.  And.  I chose this one.”

“...”

“...”

“I’m surprised this one was even on the shelf here.”

“I figured it’d be good to get a copy to leave here.  Just in case.”

“...”

“...”

“Sis?”

“Yeah, E?”

“Just this once, do you think you could say my other name?”

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

[greywoodrpg]

𝕛𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖 𝕣𝕙𝕖𝕥𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕟

he was born thirty-five years ago, is a human and lives in white oaks as a salvage operator. he looks an awful lot like michael vlamis.

"Now it's all residue, you're just a memory I wake up to I'm haunted by the ghost of you."

tw: dysfunctional family, alcoholism, child neglect, abandonment

There's nothing too special or remarkable to anyone's story, because they all have some trials and tribulations... they all have their ups and downs. Just depends when you drop in. Jesse Cowen's story is no different. It's certainly shaped him into the man he is today, though to say if he's a good or bad man is still up for debate. Like mentioned before, it depends when you drop in. If one is hard-pressed to label him anything, it might be some muddied middle-of-the-road conundrum- one you're not sure if you can or can't trust, let alone count on. You'd be better off flipping a coin to decide. No, of course he wasn't always so confusing and walled off. Maybe if his parents had bothered to care a little bit more, the man might have better guidance and discipline to him. Instead, his old man cared more to haggle about which curse word was best in a situation and insisted he didn't take crap from anyone, even if it cost him another job. His mom was just another trapped woman who got herself knocked up with the wrong man she couldn't get out from under, and it was hit or miss whether she'd look upon her children with a tender eye. Their home was rife with that stale, cigarette-and-vodka stench, and it was a good day if empty containers actually made it into the bin. Neither of them were really meant to be parents and everyone knew it, too... But that was their problem. At least he had his sister. Well, had his sister, yeah. His elder by just a few years, she was better mother to Jesse than his mom ever had been, which wasn't fair to either of them. She made sure he was inside by the time the streetlights came on. She made sure he went to bed with something in his stomach. She made sure he at least made some effort with his schoolwork. They would be thick as thieves one moment, and resentful of each other the next. Sometimes it was nice to have each other- sometimes, it sucked because you only had each other. Mom gave up at some point- just up and decided she deserved better, wanted more for herself, and that didn't include any of them. And dad... Well, they all knew he wouldn't hold up alone with two kids. He tried to dump them on the grandparents, and they weren't in any shape to even help themselves at their elderly years. Any semblance of structure broke down and both struggled with the knowledge nobody wanted them. Nothing but a couple of troublemakers, right, that landed themselves where people gossiped they would. Then one day, even she was gone. The circumstances of that, Jesse still doesn't know. Any hope in him, says she was taken. In the deep dark places he doesn't talk about, he knows she left too. He saw her with that strange person that was far more special than either of them would ever be, and she didn't look forced to go at all. But, call it what you will, Jesse refused she would just leave him behind. They took her, and he would find where, one day. He's been chasing her every day since. Greywood, he heard, was the next place to look.

“what power did he attain when settling in greywood?”

Intuitive aptitude- Jesse has always been one of those people prone to self-sabotage behavior. His work would be right, but the answer wrong. A smart guy, if he'd only let himself be. One of those frustrating idiots that intentionally stunts whatever growth you know he is capable of, because screw you and whatever you think he can and should do. That gift, if one can call it so, only came into sharper focus when he crossed into Greywood's territory. Before, he could figure his way through something probably, if he actually put his mind to it. Here, it's almost automatic, almost too easy, if he really wanted it to be. Problem is, he doesn't always care to let it be so. As they used to say when he was a kid, it's all wasted on him.

penned by... pea