#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! 

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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 :)

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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

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[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.”

[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."

[canonicallyobserving911]

“I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

Season 7 FANON Speculation: Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapter 31 is now available on AO3.

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

“I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Currently 31 chapters completed: 1.83M Words; Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

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Here's a snippet from Chapter 31 of a conversation Eddie, the 118, Maddie and Athena ar having about the things that happened to Buck while he was in Super Target with Chris.

___________

“Stop! Did you all see that?” Eddie asks in a voice full of emotion.

Hen asks, “What is she doing?”

“It looks like she just injected him with something because as soon as she moves her hand, you can see Buck say, “Ow” then he leans over a little and puts his hand on his shoulder.” Eddie loudly explains.

“But what did she inject him with?” Chimney asks.

Ravi replies, “I don’t know but from the looks of it, whatever it was… Buck collapsed not long afterwards. It’s easy to see he was fighting to stay awake and alert.”

“If she injected him… where’s the needle?” Demetrius asks.

Eddie replies, “Demetrius, do you remember seeing examples of small hypodermic needles in your EMT training?”

“Yeah, I do remember that.” He replies with a nod.

While Eddie was explaining the size differences in hypodermic needles, Hen and Chimney look at each other with their eyebrows raised and they have a quick silent conversation. After a few seconds, Chimney asks, “Could she have dosed him with Adenosine?”

“Why do you think it was Adenosine?” Eddie asks.

“Because the night Jonah took us, he injected it twice into Chimney’s IV. He used it to stop his heart.” Hen replies a little louder than she intends to because memories of that night still haunt both of them.

Will anyone figure out the name of the drug Lucy injected Buck with before it's too late? 🤷🏽‍♀️

___________

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

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Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories.  Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie.  It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - As Buck and Eddie begin to prepare for their marriage ceremony that will take place in Rome, Italy in December 2023, they start planning their first international adventure as a romantic couple. Even though Chris is still the only person they’ve told about their relationship, several people who know them have already witnessed the love they share and as the days continue, others will witness it too.

Chapter 17 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to departing Los Angeles for their international adventure, a moment in time will remind them; life is fragile, tomorrow isn’t promised and every second of everyday should be cherished because everything can change in an instant. The result of that realization will cause them to hold onto each other even more.

Chapter 18 - As Buck, Eddie and Chris prepare for family gatherings before and during the Thanksgiving holiday, the “Santa Ana Winds” start to blow and all sorts of expected and unexpected familial drama ensues.

Chapter 19 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to their wedding day, the universe begins to align everything so that some of their parent and children's relationships are strengthened while others come to an abrupt end.

Chapter 20 - With only 14 days remaining until Buck, Eddie and Chris depart Los Angeles, CA traveling to Rome, Italy, for their first family adventure, an early morning conversation about “tying up loose ends” helps Buck and Eddie realize there are still several things left unfinished on their ‘To Do’ lists. The question is will there be enough time to complete all of them?

Chapter 21 - Buck, Eddie and Chris are finalizing their ‘To Do’ Lists, double checking their itineraries and packing their suitcases in preparation for their trip to Europe so they can board their flight that departs Los Angeles, CA on Friday, December 15, 2023 at 3:25PM.

Chapter 22 - While Buck, Eddie and Chris spend the first 8 days of their European family adventure in Italy, their primary reason for going will be fulfilled as well as several others they hadn’t considered or anticipated.

Chapter 23 - As the Diaz Family continues their Italian family adventure, they’ll say, “Ciao” or hello and goodbye to a lot of things almost immediately after they become an official and legal family.

Chapter 24 - After Buck, Eddie and Chris arrive in London, England on December 24th; the Diazes immediately start preparing to spend their first family Christmas together. During their stay, each of them will hear a few choice words that will be the life raft to get them home to complete their searches to be seen and to be found.

Chapter 25 - After spending more than two weeks in Europe, Eddie, Buck and Chris are back in Los Angeles and they’re getting ready to attend Maddie and Chimney’s New Year’s Eve party. During the event, they have plans to make two surprise announcements but the question is, who’s really going to be surprised, the Diaz family or their found family at the 118?

Chapter 26 - Buck and Eddie are once again faced with their greatest fear of losing each other but this time it could be permanent and if it is, then they won’t be able to spend the rest of their lives together.

Chapter 27 - After Buck resumes therapy, he’ll continue to face the fact that he “DIED” in March 2023 and during those sessions, he’ll learn about the 7 stages of grief. As he continues his healing journey, Eddie will be right by his side just like he promised and the Diaz family will start to deal with their three minutes and seventeen seconds loss as a family.

Chapter 28 - Two years ago, Eddie was asked, “What are you afraid of?”; twice, once by Frank and once by Buck but he only answered one of them without deflecting. Since that time, he’s been to therapy and him and Buck got married but the question resurfaces when Frank asks Buck the same question and Buck asks it of Eddie for the second time. However, when Buck asks, his reasoning will be about something else entirely.

Chapter 29 - After Buck and Eddie have an emotionally intimate conversation regarding their dreams, they make several decisions that will affect their future. When everything falls into place, they’ll realize one of those decisions will result in them no longer being work partners.

Chapter 30 - In 2018, Buck and Eddie met at the 118 and after some initial apprehensions on Buck’s part, they became work partners and they agreed to have each other’s backs. It’s been more than 6 ½ years, a lot’s happened, they got married in December 2023 and they have the family they both chose. With Eddie leaving the 118 in 3 months and Buck getting closer to moving past his grief, what will him losing his work partner mean for him?

Chapter 31 - As Buck’s life hangs in the balance from what’s suspected to be another bradycardia event, Eddie’s by his bedside, their son is being cared for by relatives and their found family is in the waiting room. During this time, many questions will surface that could possibly lead to the truth but will everything be revealed before it’s too late?

Chapter 32 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-31; they're available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

[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!!

[theemporium]

[1.7k] the supernatural life of beacon hills gets in the way of a normal life once again, but stiles is determined to salvage what he can.

.

11:59

The jeep clock was old and it flickered a lot of the time, yet it was never wrong. Despite the cracks in the screen and sometimes if you banged on the dashboard hard enough it would flash, but it was reliable. And this time was no different.

“You good?” 

Your eyes didn’t tear away from the analog clock as the seconds ticked by, even when the voice from the driver seat repeated his question, eyebrows furrowed when you didn’t respond right away. But you didn’t want to look away, not just yet. All you needed were a few more seconds and—

00:00

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you said as you turned to face your boyfriend in the driver’s seat, a cheesy grin on your lips despite the exhaustion and fatigue that was settled deep into your bones after the night you had.

The late nights shouldn’t surprise you, nor should the late-night calls and chaps on the window to drag you out of bed. It had been well over a year since you found yourself dragged into the supernatural life of Beacon Hills and yet, despite everything, you still found yourself stunned when a late-night trip to a dodgy location in the most haunted town in America leads to some sort of supernatural shift in your lives. 

And yet, every single fucking time, you are there because you’d be damned if you let your friends—your pack—do it alone. 

Tonight was no different. 

You were halfway through your biology homework when you heard knocking on your window, and it took you less than five minutes to get ready and meet Stiles down the street before you zoomed off to god-knows-where as he rambled on about sacrifices and threes and other things you didn’t quite understand. 

The night hadn’t been all that successful in the grand scheme of things, other than leaving you all exhausted for school the next day but that was nothing new. You had all but dragged yourself back to the jeep as you wished the others goodnight, promising to reconvene in the morning to discuss any running theories you may have. 

The date hadn’t even clicked until you were halfway home and your eyes fell on the clock. 

“What?” Stiles asked, eyes blinking slowly as he wrapped his head around what you just said. “Wait, today was Valentine’s?” 

“Today is Valentine’s,” you corrected him as you nodded towards the time displayed on the clock. 

“Wait, but I–” Stiles paused for a moment, realisation dawning on him and he let out a small huff of frustration.

Because this was your first year as a couple spending Valentine’s Day together, and he fucking knew that. Hell, he had been annoying Scott non-stop for the last few weeks for all the plans he had and all the ideas he wanted to go all out for. The boy had even made a mini murder-board-style display to make sure that everything went to plan. 

But once again, the supernatural world of Beacon Hills completely threw him off track and now he was left realising that all his plans meant shit now that the day had creeped up a lot faster than I realised. 

Your eyebrows furrowed together. “Stiles?” 

“I had a whole plan,” he muttered in a quiet voice, seeming genuinely dejected that this day had already not started out the way he had intended. “And you were gonna love it and I had roses and balloons and—”

“Hey,” you called his attention, reaching over to place a hand on his leg when his eyes shifted back to the road. “I don’t need anything fancy, Stiles, I’m happy to just spend it with you.” 

“But it’s our first,” he grumbled. 

“And we will spend many more together,” you reassured him, whilst Stiles tried to ignore the warmth in his chest at your words. “I promise.” 

Stiles stayed silent for a few moments and you gave him the space he needed, knowing he probably just needed a few moments to accept that tonight wasn’t going to be anything romantic or over-the-top like he planned. 

But it was quite the opposite. His brain was running a million miles an hour, ideas wracking through his head as he tried to grasp on something to salvage this night and show you that he wanted to fucking treat his girl right. 

And there was only one part of his original plan that he could still do. 

“Stiles, the exit was–”

“I know.” 

“But then–”

“Just trust me, baby.”

You didn’t say anything for the rest of the ride as Stiles headed towards the preserve, the roads a little bumpy and rocky as he drove through the woods like he knew it like the back of his hands. And considering the amount of time he had spent in these very woods since Scott had been bitten, you wouldn’t even be surprised if that was the case. 

Your gaze only shifted away from him when the car finally stopped, the expanse of a lake laid out in front of you. You didn’t even know Beacon Hills had a lake. 

“I found the place a few years back,” Stiles spoke up, his eyes on you as you took in the sight of the dark water, the sky reflecting down on the surface and the gentle sound of waves lapping against each other. “Not many people come out far enough to find it but…it’s here.” 

“Holy shit,” you murmured under your breath with a soft smile.

“C’mon,” he nodded towards the lake before jumping out the car, giving you little choice but to follow him. 

“What are we doing here?” you asked as you shut the door behind you, pushing your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you followed him towards the edge of the lake. 

“Part thirty-seven of my plan,” Stiles stated simply with a grin as he shrugged off his jacket. 

“You had thirty-seven parts to your plan?” you snorted, amused but not surprised by your boyfriend’s antics. 

“No, of course not,” Stiles said as his grin widened. “I had fifty-two. But thirty-seven was to show my girl my favourite place.” 

“And that requires me stripping?” 

“Shy, baby?” 

“There are easier ways of getting me naked, Stilinski,” you murmured but followed suit as you began to remove your layers of clothing. 

“That was part forty-three, we can do that when we get back to my room.”

You didn’t hold back the laugh that left your lips, or hide the fact your cheeks were warming with a blush (even though you were pretty sure it was too dark for him to even see it). You just rolled your eyes at your boys, working to undo the button of your jeans as you wiggled out of them before you were in nothing but your underwear, your clothes neatly folded beside you on the banks of the lake. 

“Stiles, it’s gonna be freezing,” you huffed out as you wrapped your arms around yourself, eyeing the water that lapped back and forth, just inches away from your toes. 

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles assured you, pausing only for a second before he continued. “I am, like, eighty percent sure we won’t get hypothermia.” 

You snorted. “Reassuring.” 

“Look, I’ll go first,” he said with a grin as he pecked your cheek before running into the lake in just his boxers, practically waddling when he was waist deep before diving completely underwater. 

Your laughs echoed across the surface of the water as you shook your head at your idiotic boyfriend, snarky retorts on his run on the tip of your tongue as you patiently waited for him to resurface but he didn’t. 

You frowned. “Stiles?”

Nothing. 

“Stiles!” 

Still nothing. 

A growing panic was blossoming in your chest, your stomach twisting as reality began to set in and before you even got the chance to think twice, you found yourself running into the water as you frantically called out your boyfriend’s name.

Your chest tightened and your throat strained as you called Stiles’ name, eyes looking across the dark lake surface as you tried to spot any sign of your boyfriend before—

“AHH!” 

“GOT YOU, BABY!” 

You turned your head, glaring at the grinning boy who had grabbed your foot under the water seconds ago before reaching over to slap his shoulder. 

“You dick!” you huffed out and shook your head. “I thought something had happened to you!”

“I needed to get you in here,” Stiles said with an innocent smile, and you hated the way you couldn’t even be mad at him when he looked at you like that. “But you’re right.” 

You raised your brows. “That you’re a dick?”

“No, that it’s too fucking cold in this lake,” he said with a shaky laugh as he reached for you, his hands fining home on your waist and his smile still the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen even if his teeth are chattering. 

“I’m always right, Stilinski,” you murmured as you wrapped your arms around his neck, taking a moment to count the freckles on his cheeks in the moonlight. You couldn’t make out many of his features, but his freckles looked like their own little constellation calling your name. 

Stiles didn’t even stop you as you leaned forward to press a kiss on each one of them.

“I love you,” he murmured, his breath fanning over your cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile against his cheek. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your lips meeting his in the moonlight. 

“Baby?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can we please go home before my balls shrivel up inside me?” he whispered against your lips and only grinned when you leaned your head back to the sky, loud and unforgiving laugh echoing across the lake. 

“Yeah, let’s go, pretty boy,” you smiled as you both swam back towards the bank, shaking and shivering—but smiling nonetheless—as you quickly threw your clothes back on, rushing to the jeep where Stiles blasted the heat. And thankfully, for once in it’s life, it worked. 

“Happy Valentine’s, baby,” Stiles murmured as he leaned over to kiss you again. 

“Happy Valentine’s, Stiles,” you grinned back, hand on his cheek as he kissed you sweetly.

“I promise to make you breakfast in the morning to make up for the hypothermia.”

“With coffee too?” 

“With coffee too, baby.”

.

[minsyal]

The Great Stone Knight, Pt. IX

Sandor Clegane x Reader

Warnings will remain vague and be for the work as a whole as opposed to each part individually: violence, death, assault, my shitty characterizations, explicit language, sexual content (will be noted), and having too good of a time reading this.

Masterlist

“How did you end up with the Hound?” The boy you had come to know as Gendry asked. He had been stuck at Arya’s side since you first met, though he was more open to the notion of the Brotherhood. You had on occasion overheard him telling Arya that he wished to join them, much to her dismay. 

It had been only a single day since you last saw Sandor, and about the same amount of time since you had been outside. Beric had informed you that he intended on selling you to your father as his reward would be far greater than the Lannisters, but only after taking the road north west toward Riverrun where they would ransom Arya to her family. 

“He helped me escape King's Landing.” You replied as Arya tightened her jaw and shook her head trying to dismiss the words that spilled from your lip. “He was my shield while I was captive in the Red Keep.”

“Do you love him?” Arya blurted out with a full mouth, the warmed bread in her hand was squishing beneath the force of her fingers that dug into its sides. “He’s a killer. I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.” 

“Arya.” Gendry scolded, swatting in the air in front of her chest as if to blow away her attitude. 

“What?” The contents of her mouth were on full display as her jaw fell slack. “He is.” 

You sighed, not due to irritation. “I liked him.” The pop of your shoulders relaxed your tensed muscles as you craned your head from side to side. “Arya, I knew your sister.” 

“Doubt it.” She was quick to deny your claim. 

Her battle with you was rather one-sided. While she wanted to remain vehemently against every stance you took. she did find that you weren’t as insufferable as she initially judged. The minute she had seen you at Sandor’s side, and especially when she saw the way you tended to him, she decided that you were just as evil as he. She made a vow to herself that anything that you said was false and quelling your attempts to talk to her were the best option. 

“No,” you disagreed, “I did know her. I was friends with her back in King’s Landing. She made me promise that I’d marry your brother, Robb.” 

“Marry Robb?” The ridicule in her hiss was palpable. “He wouldn’t like you. You’re not his type.” Gendry shook his head, attempting to brush her words off with the gusty sigh that pushed past his lips. 

The small canteen the Brotherhood had afforded you sloshed with water. It was full of dirt and sand that dragged down your throat in an unappealing and harsh manner each time you swallowed. From what you could tell, the Brotherhood lived fairly savagely. They were men of the shadows, consistently avoiding capture as part of their vow to protect the Riverlands. At the very least, they knew how to keep clean. Each man, while wearing stolen or old gear, kept some form of cleanliness whether it be in their teeth or nail beds. But it seemed that no man properly cared for every part of their body. 

“I suppose that’s a good thing, then.” You swirled the water around, hoping to get the grit to settle to the bottom. “I don’t wish to marry.” 

“But you were promised to the Mountain.” She retorted. “He talked about you when we were at Harrenhal.” Her frame was surprisingly haunting in the way she carried herself. The intimidation tactic was different, more imposing even with the lack of a proper weapon or height. Approaching you, she kept her brown eyes trained on your face, unblinking and distressing. “He talked about all the things he was going to do to you and he left no detail out.” Gendry tried to stamp out the fire she was starting with her words, but she paid him no mind. “He said he was going to bring an army into this world with you, and then once you’d given him that, he was going to kill you.” She ground her teeth. “He’d pop your head under his hands after he took your eyes out.” Arya was a well of knowledge. You couldn’t blame her for clearly not having a filter, but hearing Gregor’s plans for you weren’t any less chilling even with you miles away.

“Arya.” The boy grabbed at her sleeve and tugged her backward. Your shoulders slumped at her revelation. “Stop.” 

“What? I’m just telling her the truth. Better to know how you’re going to die before it happens.” 

She stomped off, wandering elsewhere in the Brotherhood’s caverns.  

“She’ll come around.” 

~~~*~~~

“You’ll regret that.” You watched as the woman in red disappeared through the lush greenery of the forest, riding away with a gaggle of men and Gendry in tow. Beric stood at your side, tall and towering above but not as tall as Sandor. “The girl has lost her father and now her sister. He was her family.” 

“We do what must be done.” Beric turned his focus from their retreating figures toward you, the laser of his gaze burnt into your cheek. “We serve the Lord of Light, and the Lord of Light needs him.” 

“So, if the Lord of Light needed one of you? Would you fall on your swords?” 

Arya sauntered off, away from the group. Thoros moved to keep an eye on her along with a few others leaving you and Beric at each other’s sides. “Conceivably.” His hand landed on your shoulder, applying a firm grip as he shook you slightly. “She will move on.” 

“She won’t.” You replied, finally losing all sight of the cart. “She will never forgive you.”

“Forgiving and forgetting are different things.”

“Same way you’ll forget us once you’re on a ship home.” The sound of crunching leaves and rustling branches announced Thoros’s entrance. He wore his usual bemused smile, lips pulled together tightly. 

As Thoros moved to place his hand on your other shoulder, you shrugged both of them away and stepped out of the line the three of you had created. “How do you know that my father will give you anything? Did your silly god tell you that too?” 

“We have to trust in one’s ambitions.” Beric noted, eyes trained on you as you swiveled your body to face their fronts. “Any father would be pleased to have the safe return of his child.” 

“That’s a lot of faith in a man who is currently a year’s travel away.” 

“I’m lucky that I am a man of faith, then.” 

~~~*~~~

“Arya?” 

The young girl was disturbed. Her sadness was blocked out by the hatred that blazed behind the irises of her gaze. Arya had screamed and slew threats to Beric, pushed at Thoros as he tried to calm her, and landed a kick to the groin to another man of the Brotherhood. She was on a rampage and nobody but herself could put an end to it. She sat with her knees to her chest, head buried beneath her arms. Tribulation wept from her distanced eyes. 

“Are you alright?” 

Her head jerked upward, hair flying in front of her face. “Do you think I’m alright?” 

“No.” Hesitantly, you lowered yourself to her side. She tensed at the motion, retracting herself much like you did the day prior when Beric had done something similar. “I think you’re upset.” 

She scoffed at the conclusion you drew, acting as though you were the dumbest person ever to have even needed to point it out. It was amazing how incredibly guarded she was for her age. It was apparent she had been through hell and back in the time she had been traveling from King’s Landing. 

“Gendry seemed like a nice boy.” You hummed. Extending your hand, you offered her a piece of dried jerky given to you by one of the men. The salt from the meat flaked off onto your fingers, coating them in a chalky consistency. 

She stared at the meat for a moment. “Why are you doing that?” 

“Doing what?” 

“Being nice.” She cringed. “Noble ladies are only nice when they want something.” 

Her dark outlook on the world eclipsed the brightness you wanted to bring her. 

“Aren’t you a noble lady?” The narrowing of your gaze was playful and light. 

She quickly retorted, “I’m not being nice, am I?” 

“Do you have anything I could want?” 

“No.” 

“Then perhaps I’m just here to keep you company…Do you like stories? Sansa loved hearing my tales. I’m quite the story teller.” Your jaunt was made to enliven her spirits, but was shot down by the arrows she let fly. 

“You’re going to tell me anyway.” 

“You seem to already know me quite well.” Behind you, your arms outstretched to rest on the cooling dirt. Forearms supported the weight of your body as you extended your legs out in front of you. “In Antonia, we tell the story of the Great Stone Knight.” 

“Is this a love story?” Having heard enough love stories to last her a lifetime, she was at her wits end when it came to the fictional tales. It was all Sansa wanted to discuss with her, and everything she never wanted. 

“Of course not.” You responded, relaxing more until your head was against the ground. Arya was amused by the way you carelessly laid on the ground, pleased that you weren’t bothered by the dirt that covered your clothing. “The Great Stone Knight was the most valiant of the knights. Brave and gallant, they served our royals for years, though not as a guardsman. The knight was born into nobility, but they never wanted it. Their house was in the wintery mountain tops of the vast range that extends around our capital. She was our first female knight.” 

“She?” Arya had eased the stiffening ends of her fingertips, loosening her posture as she decided the story was worth listening to. 

“Yes, she. The Stone Knight wasn’t a fair beauty, she hated all your traditionally feminine virtues. Her father had named her younger brother the heir of their household instead of her. Which she did not argue. She didn’t want to deal with all the dull droll of running a town.” You thrumed your fingers against the thick leather of your overshirt, given to you by the men who had extras. “So, she left. She ventured south to our capital and stood before the king, swearing fealty as she requested a knighthood. The king laughed in her face and demanded she leave his presence. He wanted her as a kitchen maid. Angered and appalled at his behavior, she swore that one day she would cast this king down from his holiness. She would show him what she could do.” 

“How old was she?” Arya had reclined at your side now. Her arm brushed against yours as she got closer so as to not miss a word of your tale. 

“She was six and ten when this happened, but she had been training with a sword since she was ten.” With a deep sigh, you continued. “Anyway, she was mad and rightfully so. He hadn’t even let her show him her abilities. He and his council mocked her and told her to return home. Outside the city gates she plotted. At every tourney we had, she would show up in a suit of armor of silver and black. She won every time, defeating even the best of the best. At the victor's ceremony, she would never take her helm from her head… I believe that is where she got her name. Stone Knight. She never talked at these tourneys, and the color of her gear resembled that of a stone wall.” 

“Why wouldn’t she show them who she was?” She was growing frustrated with the story. “Wouldn’t winning show the king she was worthy?”

“She always felt it wasn’t worth it. She had won a tourney, but the victor's ceremony was afterward. If she had taken her helm from her head then, they would claim her to be a false knight. So she continued on. She lived in the city in the poorest district. She would spend her evenings training the young boys and girls alike, happy to teach anyone who wanted to learn.” You opened your eyes, focusing on the fading blue sky as the sun began its descent. “When the Battle of Valverme happened, it is said that monstrous creatures flooded the country. The king led his armada east to quell the danger, but even he was no match for the beasts that invaded. He regrouped and formed a new army. This one was larger and greater than the one before. Once again, he lost. As he gathered a third army, the Great Stone Knight showed up. She walked, fully armored, past their camps and straight for the darkness that lurked in Valverme. The king warned the knight, insisting that they wait. It was too dangerous! Surely the knight would perish as so many others had.” 

“What were the beasts?” 

“Well.” You racked your mind, bringing up any tales of fabled creatures you had heard of when you were a child. “Some were human-like, but blood thirsty and cannibals. Their hair was so grown that it grew into the skin of their arms and legs. Some were like bears with five sets of sharpened teeth. There were birds as big as,” you pointed at a tree that soared into the sky, “that tree with claws that acted like cages. They could spit an acid that melted flesh. Nonetheless, they were horrible disgusting monsters. I would be afraid of them, but the knight was not. She entered the cloud of darkness, strolling fearlessly into the face of danger. In her hand, she wielded a sword that entered as a color of silver. Suddenly, the curtain of darkness cracked. Large lines extended from end to end as her battle cry echoed throughout Antonia. It shattered like glass, the dark, and crumbled to the ground. When the debris and smoke cleared, there she stood. Her helm had broken in two, but her sword suddenly glowed in a white magnificence.” 

“They all knew she was a woman then.” 

“Aye, they did. The king was at a loss for words. He looked like a fish as he opened and closed his mouth. Words could not come to him. She smiled at him and he recognized her as the girl who swore fealty and knelt before him years before. For the first time, the king knelt to someone else. He immediately offered to knight her, but she didn’t want it anymore. She had proven her point.”

“But you said she was the first woman knight.” 

“Oh.” You smiled. “She was. He knighted her anyway and offered her anything she could ever want as repayment.”

“What did she ask for?” 

“Freedom. She asked for a stocked ship and a crew. The next day, she set off to travel the world and rid it of darkness. Some say she still sails the seas of Antonia, protecting the waters and training anyone who wants to learn. She never returned home, but I think that home isn’t where we were born, but rather where we make it.”

The Brotherhood continued on their forward march in their efforts to keep the riverlands Lannister free. Their travels toward Riverrun were being planned and the men paid no mind to the brooding Arya who sequestered herself at the edge of the group, sitting at your side. She was still mad. She had told you how they sold Hot Pie off, and now Gendry. At least she would be sold to her family, but the more she thought about it, it did bother her that your fate would likely lie on the same page as Gendry’s. 

“You said you knew Sansa.” Arya broke the silence between you as the sounds of men speaking were muffled with your own voices. “Prove it to me.” 

It was dark out now, the light worshipers had engulfed themselves in fire as each man held a torch of their own. The heat was almost unbearable, but none of them seemed to notice. “She loves to play games and hear stories.” You recounted one she particularly liked having to do with the ships that sailed in the harbor. “She’s quite tall, taller than I am at least… She told me a lot about you. You’re good with a bow, you had a direwolf named Nymeria, hers was Lady, and you had dancing lessons every morning while in Kings Landing. Though, I don’t take you for the dancer.”

“I was water dancing.” She perked up at the mention of the activity, her proclivity for distancing herself subsided as she recalled happier times. “It’s sword-fighting. My teacher was the best swordsman to ever live.” The apples of her cheeks rounded in the flickering of firelight as a smile pulled at her lips. 

“What was his name?”

“Syrio Forel. My father arranged the lessons… they’re both dead now. Killed by Meryn Trant and Illyn Payne.”

“Meryn Trant killed a friend of mine as well.” You hesitantly reached out to place your hand over hers, giving her enough time to react. “I’m sorry they’re gone… You know, my father would never let me train. He said training was for boys.” Swatting your hand dismissively into the air, trying to push away the sadness that loomed overhead. You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head. “Would you show me how to water dance sometime?” 

Lighting up, she nodded and picked up a stick from the ground. “I can show you now.” She found another and handed it to you. A hand was pressed stiffly against her lower back as she readied the other arm with the stick. “Hold it like this.” 

You followed, much to her amusement as you held it in a way she disapproved of. The first genuine smile you had seen from her was radiant, glowing brightly in the darkness of the night. “No.” She dropped her arms and grabbed your hand, opening your palm. “Like this.” 

She readied herself again and nodded. The stick swung across your front, blocked by your own as she made to attack from another angle. It hit your leg, stinging as it whipped against your skin. “You’re not very good at this.” 

“It’s my first try! Maybe you’re just not the best teacher.” 

A small laugh escaped her lips as she held her stick back up but instead of another round, she was interrupted by Thoros who had riled up the men. “Come on, Lannister men were spotted south of here.” 

“Lannister? You said I was to be sent home.” She threw her arms down and dropped the stick. 

He tilted his head. “Plan’s change.” 

“What about Riverrun? It’s not south, it’s west of here.” 

Berric joined the party, added his two cents as Arya began to fume. “It will still be west of here two days from now.” 

“You swore.”

“To take you home, and I will. But we need to do this first.” 

“You said you would send me to my father.” You argued, joining her at her side discarding the stick.

“We have to seize each opportunity we have. Unfortunately, this is just how the world is.” 

“How the world is?” Arya’s voice raised as her hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into the skin of her palms. “You’ll send her to her death! They’ll kill her!” 

“I swear to you-” 

“I don’t care what you swear because you’re a liar. You lied to Gendry, you lied to me, and you lied to (Y/n). You’ll lie to anyone. I hope the Lannisters kill you all.” 

“One day you’ll understand, but now-” 

In a flash, Arya grabbed your hand and pulled you away from their camp. Her grip was deathly and she refused to let go as your touch was the only thing telling her that you still followed behind. The ground was uneven, and in many places you had to plant your foot firmly into mud to keep your balance. Vines and weeds hung from the trees, acting as arms that continually thrashed you backward in their efforts to slow your pace. The Brotherhood marched behind, calling out continually and loudly as their torches gave away their positions. 

Water trickled from the stream that moved iridescently from a spring that bubbled from the ground below. She tugged you into the water, soaking your boots through and your pants to your knees. Arya’s huffed and gasped for air as she desperately ran, dragging you in tow. Pulling you down to crouch behind a tree, she peered around its trunk and caught her breath. “You’ve got to run faster.” She scolded in a whisper before bolting again, this time avoiding the muddy ground in favor of hopping across the hardened roots of a cluster of trees. 

It was only when you made it to a small clearing did she finally decide that you had lost the Brotherhood. Her chest heaved as her shoulders moved up and down, her hand covered her mouth in an attempt to keep her huffing quiet. 

The moonlight eerily crept through the vines that tangled within the tree branches, casting twisted shadows upon the forest floor. A light fog had rolled in hanging just above eye level, obscuring your distance vision. Arya’s eyes were wide and wild. Her pupils had dilated, the brown almost entirely turned to black. 

“Over there!” A man’s voice hollered as the burning torches came back into view. 

She gathered your arms in hers once more, powering furiously as she wove her way through the trees. You dodged each branch, holding tightly to her hand so as to not lose her in the foliage. The yelling could be heard behind you still, though it was muddled in the static of the night. Rustling in front of you stilled her in her tracks. The tree branches moved unnaturally as a darkened figure approached from the darkness. 

“No!” Arya yelled, turning to run backward, only to slam flat into your chest. You retained your grip on her hand, holding it tightly against her struggles as she tried to pry her fingers from yours. “Come on, we can’t go with him!” She slapped at your stomach with her freed limb, refusing to look at Sandor as he came fully into the clearing. “We can go to Winterfell! You can marry Robb!” 

“Arya!” You reared her forward into you, wrapping your other arm around her shoulders as you forced her to look you in the eye. “He is our safest bet right now. They’re coming for us. We must move.” 

She pressed her lips together and looked behind you. Still, though, she continued to fight. Dismissing her fit, Sandor approached fully and slipped his hands under her shoulders. Her hand fell from yours as she redirected her fight, kicking her legs and tearing her fingers at his forearms. “Kick all you want, wolf girl. Won’t do you no good.” 

He turned, still carrying her, and nodded his head for you to follow. “Best get moving. Beric won’t stop looking til’ he finds you both.”

An hour of walking put some space between yourselves and the Brotherhood. With Stranger secured to a tree and Arya calmed from her initial upset, you were finally granted a moment of rest. Laying on his back, fully dressed in his armor still, Sandor kicked his leg over the other. Arya rested a few feet away, curled into a ball with her knees tucked up to her chin. 

“You left me.” You picked at the dirt that had maneuvered  its way beneath your nails with the edge of a knife that Sandor had kept in his saddlebag. 

“Had to.” He said without opening his eyes. “Could have stayed at the inn. Would have found you there.” 

Dirt smeared against the leg of your pants as you wiped the tip of the knife off. “You told me they were going to kill you. How could you have found me if you died?”

“Didn’t die though.” A breathy titter passed though his lips. “Big fucker, hard to kill. Told you that once. I came back, didn’t I?” 

“You did.” You chided. “Why?”

“Not theirs to sell.” He said resolutely, as if it were something so clearly painted in the sky. 

“Of course.” He could taste the bitterness of your tone the second the words scoffed past your lips. The knife was dropped at your side as you reclined onto your back at his side. “You almost had me thinking you cared.”

Though dissuaded at the idea of traveling with the Hound, her sworn enemy as far as she was concerned, she was subdued when she considered that you would be traveling with them. Sandor had taken a place on the ground, walking with Stranger’s closest rein in his hand, steering the steed. Arya was sitting atop the horse in front of you, uncomfortable but happier than if it were Sandor behind her. It was the better part of a morning now that you had been back with Sandor, and only a few days that you had been separated. She was quiet as you rode, unsure of what to say as she no longer felt at odds with you. 

“You said you liked him.” She looked to Sandor who kept his focus straightforward. “Then are you together?” 

Arya shifted to throw her legs over one side of Stranger, using your outstretched arm as a backrest to keep her from falling backward. She looked, and acted, nothing like her elder sister. Sansa was so proud of her refined grace and womanly attributes. Arya was crass and blunt. Her features were strong, her face framed by short-cut dark brown hair. She was smaller in height and stature, but had broader shoulders and a well built frame. 

“No. We aren’t.” 

“But you like him.” Arya insisted, enjoying the way she got beneath your skin. “He doesn’t like you, though. Does he? Why do you stay with him then?

“Where else am I to go?” 

“Home, maybe.” She swiveled around again and looked outward. In the distance was a vista view of a branching river. Its white water rushed quickly, bringing with it a healthy breeze of refreshing crisp air. “Where are you taking me? Is that the Blackwater?”  

“The Blackwater?” He scoffed. “Where do you think I’m taking you?” 

“Back to King’s Landing to Joffrey and the queen.” 

“Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the queen. That’s the Red Fork. I’m taking you to the Twins.”

“But why?”

“Because your mother and brother will be there and they’ll pay me for you.”

“Why would they be at the Twins?”

“Those outlaws you love so much never told you? The whole countryside is yapping about it. Your uncle is marrying one of the Frey girls. So quit trying to bash my skull in and we might just make it there in time for the wedding.”

Writer's Note: It's gonna ramp up from here. Sorry to the vegetarians/ vegans because we're about to get into the MEAT of the writing in the next few parts ✌🏼

Tag List (HMU if you want to be tagged):

@madameasbjorn @yaskna @xakilicious @waifu4lifeu @peaked-in-third-grade @underatreedrinkingtea @bra1nr0t-for-lasquadra@dreamgirljere @fortunatelyfadingkingdom @bennysimps @supervalcsi@darylssluttt @grcnseer @strawberryoverkill

[tishinada]

Junelezen day 15: Romance

Zas never believed in love at first sight...and that hasn’t changed. Still, her first sight of the Admiral haunted her dreams for the next five years. Fortunately, Merlwyb hadn’t noticed her in return as the Lominsan forces were mustering for Carteneau. While a Duskwight marauder was certainly rare enough to catch the eye in the pirate city, it was also easy to hide behind her taller Roe comrades...which she did frequently from embarrassment as she had unluckily just hit her early-20s growth spurt and could barely walk without tripping or knocking something over. This bad luck consigned her to a support role---no one wants to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with an axeman who loses control of their axe after all---but ironically almost certainly saved her life. Her old unit was the first from Lominsa hit by Bahamut’s blast, robbing her of the only real friend she’d had. Her guilt and horror at helping retrieve bodies from the battlefield led her away from Lominsa for a time, taking to the road as a mercenary.

But her memory of the Admiral, commanding and self-confident and unflinchingly fearless, eventually drew her back. Well, that and the onset of waking dreams in which the coral towers of the city almost always featured. She hadn’t admitted even to herself that she hoped for another glimpse of the Admiral when she returned, but she certainly never imagined she’d come face-to-face with the Admiral. Or so embarrassingly.

In her defense, she had turned, expecting the person behind her to be the Commodore, a much shorter Hyur, but she was exhausted from consecutive fights, including that strange man Y’shtola called an Ascian, and found herself staring numbly. She could have sunk through the floor a second or two later, but when she made her eyes meet the Admiral’s, there was more than a glint of amusement in those blue eyes.

It took very little time in the Admiral’s presence for Zas to become completely smitten, but somehow Merlwyb’s rather outrageous flirting still went over her head. After all, who was she? Just a vagabond, an adventurer. Someone with no family, no money. A Duskwight, a word she couldn’t even think without hearing the scorn most people used. Bandit the tone implied. Uncivilized. Untrustworthy. Different. Zas herself took pride in what she could remember of her people, little as that was, but somehow it never occurred to her that outsiders also said Lominsan the same way. Pirates. Barbarians. Untrustworthy.

Eventually, Merlwyb had to take matters into her own hands in a way that left Zas with no doubts that the interest was returned. Merl, after all, was far better at reading Zas’s flustered response to the slightest hint of interest from Merl, and while that was amusingly flattering, clearly nothing short of directness was going to end the standoff.

Things quickly progressed from smitten affection to serious, though again, Zas didn’t really expect more from Merl than pleasant evenings and nights together when their respective responsibilities allowed.

It wasn’t until their reunion during the search for Raubahn that Merlwyb finally managed to make it clear that this was not a simple fling for her either.

They’ve never looked back, and their only regrets are how little time they are able to have together, especially since both live such dangerous lives. Zas has slowly learned skills in shipbuilding and navigating, and one day, perhaps they’ll both retire to quieter lives. Together.

Though somehow “quiet” isn’t a word that either is really familiar with...

[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

[eddysocs]

Can’t Catch A Breath (Lorraine Warren x OC)

Summary: Sally comes across an article about an old house that might need their sort of expertise. Lorraine agrees, and they go investigating, leading Sally into a tight spot she’s not sure she can get out of.

Word Count: 1,383

Warnings: Haunting, Poltergeist, Strangulation, Choking, Whump, Hurt/Comfort

There was an old Victorian farmhouse settled at the edge of a small, rather close knit community, and it had remained empty since anyone can remember. Some of the local teenagers had passed and vandalized various spots around the property, but anyone who’d stayed there for any length of time did not come away from the house unchanged. Now, it was avoided at all costs.

Naturally, when Sally came across this article in the paper as they were passing through a city nearby to this little community, she had to show Lorraine, see if there was anything worth investigating. She rose from her chair in the diner they’d stopped in for lunch and walked around the table to Lorraine. Standing behind her, Sally lowered her arms around her and flipped open the paper, pointing out the article in question. "Do you think we should check it out," Sally asked. She waited patiently for Lorraine to glance over the article before giving her a definite answer.

"Every small town has one of these stories, but I feel like there might be something to this one. Are you up for the detour?"

"If you think we can make a difference, take one more evil out of the world, then of course I am." Sally went back to her chair and they finished the last remaining bites of their meal before heading out to check out this house.

Sally navigated using a local map they’d picked up just outside the diner, while Lorraine drove. "It should be one more left turn. I think it’s at the end of the street based on how the article described it."

As Lorraine made the turn, she could tell exactly which house it was. About a mile in front of them stood an old, aging home that was covered in vines and slightly obscured by various trees and an overgrown lawn. While she wasn’t feeling the strongest pull to the house, she could tell something malicious still resided inside.

Lorraine parked the car at the road, not wanting to pull it into the grassy gravel driveway. Sally didn’t question her on it. The two of them made their way to the door, noting the various smashed windows, and finding the front door slightly ajar with dead leaves from last fall coating the floor just inside. Sally could see Lorraine's caution, and reached for her hand, gently giving it a squeeze for reassurance, reminding Lorraine that she wasn’t tackling this alone, and that Sally would be right by her side the whole time.

They saw the floors were littered with broken glass from the windows, broken plates and bowls, and books that had fallen or been pulled from their shelves and left to warp and rot in the elements. Despite the house being a wreck, there was nothing immediately alarming. "Why don’t you start checking for anything out of place upstairs," Lorraine suggested.

"Are you sure?" Sally's question was met with a warm smile.

"I’m sure. Whatever energy is here, I don’t think it’s very strong. Just yell for me if you find anything, okay? I’ll be fine." With the last bit of reassurance, Sally nodded, reluctantly took her hand away from Lorraine's and headed for the staircase. The upper floor was less trashed than the ground floor, but things had still been knocked askew and blown over by the wind from the one window that had managed to be smashed up there. A baseball was on the floor of one of the bedrooms, no doubt the culprit of the break in the window.

While Sally didn’t possess the gifts Lorraine did, she could often sense —just by her own intuition— when something was off, and while she had an uneasy feeling about the house, she couldn’t decide if it was anything more than the house itself that caused this unease. Lorraine didn’t seem particularly worried, and that had served to allay some of her anxieties.

Down in what Lorraine assumed used to be considered a study, she rifled through the books on the floor. Most were on various academic subjects, a few were novels, mysteries and romance alike, but something told her to keep looking through them. Despite bent and cracked spines, Lorraine put the books back on the shelves with some semblance of care.

It was only when she picked up a red leather bound volume that she realized it was this that she’d been looking for. It was not coated in either a fine nor a thick layer of dust like all the others. This one had been opened, had been looked at recently. Perhaps that is what contributed to the uptick of activity the house had been having as of late. It was an old journal, nothing that seemed too out of sorts as Lorraine skimmed its pages. Not until it neared its end.

Before Lorraine could truly delve her way into the depths of this mysterious journal, she was interrupted by a strangled shout. She’d only heard the first part of her name before she realized it had come from Sally upstairs. Taking the book along with her, Lorraine flew up the stairs, nearly causing herself to trip in her hurry. When she reached the top of the stairs, it didn’t take her long to spot Sally, and the entity that had her up against the wall with its graying, decayed looking hand around her neck.

The malicious spirit cast its glance over its shoulder, settling on Lorraine for but a moment before using its power to lift Sally from her feet and drag her higher up the wall. Sally, startled by the sudden loss of the floor beneath her feet, grasped desperately at the specter's hand, aiming to use all her strength to pry it from her neck. She was losing air. And fast.

As her eyes filled with tears, she looked to Lorraine, her vision blurring. She had something in her hands. An answer, she hoped, to getting her out of this mess. Something that could cast this thing back to the hell it belonged in. The edges of her vision were becoming dark. She was having no success at even loosening the specter's grip on her throat. If Lorraine didn’t act fast that meant she didn’t have much longer. So much she wanted to say, and yet the strangled words could not leave her throat, no matter how hard she may be able to try and force them.

Lorraine finally spoke, but the words were muddled under the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears as the room continued to fade to black. Then, out of nowhere, she’s dropped. She crumbles to the floor in a heap, struggling for breath as she fights cough after cough. Whatever had ahold of her, now it was after Lorraine. Too weak to divert it's attention, she hoped to god Lorraine had it under control.

Then, words. Latin. The mostly dead language had never sounded so good to Sally's ears before. The blood that had been pumping so loudly in her head subsided, allowing her to hear Lorraine’s wonderful voice, banishing the demonic spirit back to hell. One foul, awful screech, and it was gone. She’d done it, and —her vision having returned to her— Sally noted that the little red book in her hands must have helped her cast it out.

Sally still wheezed when Lorraine came to check on her. "Are you alright?" The soft concern in her voice and the hand that Lorraine rested on her back was all Sally really needed to assure herself that she’d be just fine. She coughed a couple more times and nodded.

"God I—" Sally began after a moment, only to be caught out by another round of coughing. She gently cleared her throat before she tried again. "God I love it when you speak Latin," Sally manages, her less than subtle flirtation being overshadowed by the rasp in her voice. Lorraine laughs —a beautiful sound after Sally's harrowing ordeal— and then she puts her forehead against Sally's. The two of them, sitting on the dirt covered wooden floor, had thanklessly saved this little corner of the world. Maybe no one would ever know it but the two of them, but that was okay. They knew.

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @borg-queer, @foxesandmagic, @carmens-garden, @chickensarentcheap, @endless-oc-creations, @unheolycs-ocs, @fawera, @themaradaniels

[ill-written-god]

T | 809 | m/nb? human/the thing haunting his house | prequel to 'haunted'

Ed has been flat-hunting for the past two weeks daily. His brain was slowly becoming a blur of doors, walls, and smiling realtors. Every day he would see at least one place but none of them met his requirements, and if it did, it always had some hidden payments or repairs he couldn't afford. 

So when he was looking at another one on Friday - a one-story house in an old suburb neighbourhood - he didn’t have much hope of moving out of his mother’s flat. It was small, but still too big for his budget. Especially, when the realtor told him it had a huge cellar beneath, great for storing wine or preserves, as they said. 

He stepped in prepared to find water damage, leaky pipes, and drafty windows. When he found none, he asked about the price and looked twice at the paperwork. The realtor, a tired young man, waited patiently in an armchair as he searched over and over again for hidden expenses. 

“What’s wrong with this house?” he asked eventually, but as the man opened his mouth to answer, he raised his hand to stop him. "And don’t say nothing, there must be a reason why a place this cheap hasn't been rented yet.”

The man sighs. 

"Honestly? I don't know. It’s in good condition, all vital repairs have been done, and yet, the price keeps falling. People say they don't like ‘the vibe’,” he scowled, quotation marks in the air.

Ed looks around once again, at the fairly inconspicuous walls and necessities. 

"I don't feel any ’vibes’ here.” 

The man shrugs. 

"Me neither. Are you interested?"

Tentatively, Ed nodded.

"I think so? But I'm worried about… the vibes."

"Tell you what,” the man reaches into his pockets. "I’ll give you the keys, you can spend the night here, look around more, find whatever is wrong with the place. I'll be back in the afternoon, maybe you’ll have an answer for me then," he says, offering him the keys. 

Ed took them, stunned. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, just don’t tell my supervisors,” he winked. “Lock the doors when you leave and don’t break anything.”

“Of course,” he nods, watching the man stand up and put on his jacket.

“See you tomorrow then?” he extends his hand. 

“I’ll have your answer,” he promises, shaking on it.

*

He made multiple trips that day. First, he grabbed his son to give him a tour. He didn't get any bad vibes from the house either, and his kid’s approval was important in a decision that big. Then he drove him back to his grandmother, grabbing a sleeping bag to spend the night. Maybe whatever was creeping potential tenants out, was coming out after dark.

The neighborhood didn’t look any different than any other when the sun set. The trees loomed over the road, but not unwelcomingly. They wrapped around the fence like a dark green embrace.

The house was quiet and his steps echoed through the empty walls. Still normal.

He put his makeshift camp upstairs, where his bedroom would be, on an empty bed frame. After settling there, he took his flashlight and toured the house once again, shining light in every smallest nook and cranny, looking for anything that might have scared off potential tenants.

His last step was the cellar, which held the laundry room and wine shelves. There was also an old couch, which was probably too much of a hassle to carry up the stairs during renovations. He trails his light across the walls, layered with stones. In the corner hung a motion-operated light - now off, since the power was shut until a new person moves in. The ceiling was low, but due to the amount of open space, it didn’t feel constricting.

He sat down on the couch, surprisingly bouncy despite its age, and imagined a low table for card games, maybe a crate of beers next to the wine shelves. It would make a nice hang-out spot. 

His flashlight flickered, so he hit it against his palm a couple of times. The light steadied for a second, before completely going out.

“Fuck", he muttered to no one but the darkness. He now had to climb his way up guided by touch alone. He sighed, falling against the couch before the inevitable trip up the stairs.

Somebody sat down next to him.

He knew it wasn’t possible, but that's what his brain was telling him, his sixth sense on high alert. He looked to the side, but still saw nothing but the dark. He reached out.

Just air. 

But despite feeling and seeing nothing, his brain kept screaming at him that he had company. He stood up abruptly, determined to leave as fast as the lack of visibility would allow.

Something, unmistakable despite its absurdity, grabbed his ass. He ran up the stairs, trippin on the steps.

[sychosid]

When Daylight Disappears

Adam Cole/"Hangman" Adam Page; Vampire AU

Chapter 1

Adam Cole is a vampire hunter. "Hangman" Adam Page, a vampire from the Wild West era, earned his name from hanging the bodies of his victims. No one's seen the Hangman in years, but rumors of a ghost town with bodies hung up intrigues the young vampire hunter, who decides to go check it out. After all, taking out one of the most infamous vampires and criminals of all time would do wonders for his fame as a vampire hunter. But what happens when the Hangman isn't what Cole thought he'd be?

Ao3 link

The news spread like wildfire. “Hangman” Adam Page was back, in some haunt down in the South West. Some say ghost town, others say old mansion. It made no difference to Adam Cole. He had packed his bags moments after the news hit his ears.

‘This was it,’ Cole thought, his FXR’s motor revving along the highway he drove down, ‘this is my real big chance. One to make a name for myself.’

Cole’s confidence was unparalleled at times, a thin veil to hide the insecurities he always felt. Was he really ready to face someone like the Hangman. An American vampire alive since the 1600s? Someone who was always going to be more experienced than him? The Hangman had probably killed more vampire hunters than Cole had even seen vampires.

It wasn’t like Cole’s vampire kill count was anywhere in the hundreds. Maybe it was close to a hundred at this point, but that didn’t mean much.

He noted the rest stop up ahead, and decided to pull into it. His anxiety was starting to get to him. What he needed was a break from being alone with his thoughts. This would be his first big hunt by himself. He’d split off from his old team after deciding he didn’t need them…they were just holding him back, after all.

He kicked the kickstand on his motorcycle into place as he pulled into the parking lot. The asphalt must’ve been burning hot, and Cole thought about years past when he was a little kid running barefoot across the summer hot roads back in Pennsylvania. His thoughts rarely left him alone, and he wondered if vampires ever missed things like that.

Thoughts like that he had to get away from. He had to shake out. Thoughts like that were what almost gets someone killed, almost gets himself killed; it’s why he was left behind–.

‘No need for that.’ Cole shrugged those thoughts away as he pushed his way into the men’s bathroom. It took a second, but something was clearly off in here. He didn’t even make it four steps in before the first vampire tried to rush at him. Cole ducked, letting the damned creature crash into the mirror above the sink. He sprang forward, rolling out of the way and grabbing one of the larger shards from the broken glass. He rolled around, watching as the vampire collected itself. It looked startled, maybe even scared; maybe even recently turned? The poor guy. Did he even want to be this?

‘That shit doesn’t matter. Focus.’

He had to remind himself of that. As he was plunging the shard of glass through his–it’s heart, that these weren’t humans, no matter how recently they had been. As the body on top of him went limp. The cold body, that he pulled that shard of glass out of it’s chest, traces of blood left as he kicked the thing away.

As if in slow motion, the second vampire in the bathroom leaped out from another stall. It was almost comical to Cole. Did they rehearse this? Why did vampires like theatrics so much? Was there something about being undead? Zombies didn’t act like this.

“Ah fuck!” Cole’s thoughts got away from him as the second vampire slammed into him. He braced, poorly as he was slammed against the bathroom’s walls. He felt the breath knocked out of him. This wasn’t good. He laid on the ground groaning, the sound of the vampire above him retracting its fangs and claws audible even as his ears rang.

‘Get up. Get up. Get UP.’ He chided himself, his body not moving. This couldn’t be it. Not in the roadside bathroom of all fucking places, was he going to die.

The damned beast picked him up by the long brown hair, angling his head to get to his neck easier.

“Fuck you!” Adam spat at it, giving himself a second. Regaining his control over his body, he pressed a foot against the vampire’s chest, kicking hard. It dropped him, surprised, and Cole fell flat on his ass as it fell on its back.

Cole reached over, grabbing the shard of glass from earlier. He sprung on top of the vampire, kneeling on the thing’s arms before plunging the shard of glass down into its chest, rendering it motionless.

He stayed like that for a moment, before sighing. He’d have to drag the damn things out into the sun if he wanted to get rid of them for good.

Cole never liked this part. He watched as the two bodies sizzled away under the Southern sun, and kind of wished he could burn away the same way. Maybe he was, with how damn hot it was. Leather wasn’t exactly cooling material, but it was the most protective stuff he owned. Chainmail wasn’t exactly in fashion (or very sexy if you asked him).

Maybe he should take up smoking. He’d at least look cooler, sitting against his bike, watching two bodies burn to ashes. Instead, he looked like a tool. At least if anyone pulled over, he had all his certifications to prove he was a hunter. Especially if any cops did.

‘No officer, I didn’t realize these bodies were burning! I just thought they were sunbathing, my bad!’

He laughed at his own joke.

The two former bodies, now piles of ashes, were proof enough that they were dead for good. He swung his leg over his bike, pulling out the keys and lighting up the ignition. Cole was eager to get the hell out of there, especially with time ticking away. There was no way other hunters weren’t also looking for the Hangman. Like hell he’d let them get to him first.

His tires were hitting the road soon enough.

The only visual Cole had for the Hangman were old wanted posters that circulated on hunting forum boards online. Supposed a light haired man, who had long curly locks. His face Cole had memorized. Hopefully. He knew what the drawing looked like, but nothing of what the man himself did. No photos or anything.

That would make this whole ordeal more difficult. Cole would be relying on the Hangman just being…obvious. He used to hang people for fucks sake, he had to be somewhat overt even now!

Even if it was him.

Truth be told, Cole had his doubts. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't imagine that Adam Page was even alive. Sure vampires went missing and popped up occasionally, but even other vampires didn't know where Adam Page was. Cole had tried to gather information some miles back, but came up with nothing.

It was frustrating without many leads. The only thing he got was some old ghost town that was passed through. There were bodies strung up with rope across buildings and dying trees, in the photos posted up. They were pretty gruesome, some real nasty work. Cole felt like even if it wasn't the Hangman, this was at least someone worth killing. Most likely a vampire.

Hopefully.

It was sundown, a day later, that Cole came across the town where the Hangman allegedly was. Arizona, desert lands. It was springtime, but with the way the air was cooling it could've easily been comparable to early winter.

It didn't seem like anyone else had made it yet. Or if they did they were already dead. He shuddered at the thought of all the young guns who must've tried to go after vampires thinking it's an easy gig, only to end up dead.

'That was almost you.'

But it wasn't.

'Because of them–'

Enough of those thoughts.

He parked his bike at the entrance to the town. It was called Mission.

And Mission was empty.

Save for the dead bodies.

Hanging.

Plastic.

Cole reached up, to touch the one hanging from the wooden awning of what must've been a general store. It was hollow plastic. Like from a Halloween shop.

He frowns, lifting up his sunglasses. It was getting pretty dark. Whoever did this would have to come out, wouldn't they? Or were they even here?

He grabbed the next body he could reach, before recoiling. That one was soft. It wasn't just a decoration. Adam recoiled.

He looked up, noting the fangs in the hanging mouth and the slightly pointed ear.

And another body, the same. The small, limited pools of blood. Not nearly as much blood as would be with humans. This wasn't a vampire's doing.

This was another vampire hunter.

For some reason that sent Cole into a hyper awareness, more than before. It couldn't be them. Could it?

He whipped his head around, at the sound of something moving around. Someone.

Out of the saloon doors came someone. Long hair, maybe some facial hair, they were too fast for Adam to notice. He got his arms up for the block, before being toppled over. He was pinned down, arms forced above his head. This person's knees were pinning his legs down. His hair was a curtain, blocking out any light. He couldn't see their face.

Adam tried to buck up, to no avail. His struggle was fruitless. Their strength was still inhuman. A vampire killing other vampires…?

"Ah, not who I was hoping for. A shame." A familiar New Zealand accent hit his ears. Just as fast he was let go, and the body on top of him moved away.

"Jay…? Jay White?" Adam blinked a few times, as his assailant laughed, holding a hand out. Adam's face broke out into a confused grin as he took the hand and was hoisted up.

"Switchblade" Jay White. A dhampir, and one of two Adam knew. Dressed in jeans, and boots, and a leather jacket. Almost the same as Cole, except Whtie didn't bother with a shirt.

His name was earned through being known for ruthlessly cutting up vampires with his switchblade, from dusk until dawn, torturing them.

"Adam Cole. And I thought you died old buddy."

"What are you doing here? I thought you were in Japan."

"I…well, the old guys…I lost a duel and got exiled." Jay explained, his hands waving away the topic.

Cole blinked slowly.

"Well…uh. What's up with all this then? Why are you pretending to be the Hangman?"

"One of two reasons, old friend." He slung an arm around Cole's shoulders. "One, I was hoping to lure out the actual Hangman but I think he's dead. Two, I was hoping to lure out our old buddies. What did they call themselves again…"

"...The Elite." Cole felt his stomach drop, looking around. They weren't here. It was fine.

"Right! The Elite. Namely old Kenny. But all I got were these two chumps," He motioned at the dead vampires hanging up from the buildings, "and you."

"And me. Can I…go? Like this has been great but I really want to get going if you're like, not the Hangman you know."

"...You're real serious about this aren't you." Jay raised an eyebrow, surprise on his face.

"I am, yeah."

…

They stared at each other in silence before Jay White smiled again.

"Then it's your lucky day Cole. I'm gonna help you out. Because I got a real lead on where Hangman is, and I'm going to tell you."

"Oh? And why aren't you following it?" It was Adam's turn to raise an eyebrow. He was suspicious of Jay. He'd been burned once before, and he wasn't looking to fall for it again. "And why should I listen?"

"Well Cole, because you really don't have anything else do you. And why am I not following it…hmmm, well his name is Kenny Omega and the game is revenge." White explained, steering Adam back towards his bike.

"Fine. Fine. What's the lead?" Adam sighs. He didn't have time to waste, if Page wasn't here. The Hangman. His game was fame, and he wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers.

"West Virginia, Mountain Mama." Jay sang, just a bit off key. "Some say he went back home and he's been living it out in Appalachia. Hidden, cozy. Don't have much else, but those have been the whisperings amongst vampires at least. Do you know how many of these idiots want to be his thralls? It's amazing, really, what they'll do for power."

Adam's train of thought stopped.

'Wasn't he the same?'

He wasn't. He couldn't be so he wasn't. What he wanted was rightful recognition for his talent and abilities, not some easy way to the top. And killing the Hangman was proving he was what he was worth.

"Fine. Thanks." Adam groaned. West Virginia. He wasted all this time when he could've gone to West Virginia.

"You're so very welcome. And Adam, don't get killed?" Jay smiled as Adam remounted his bike, pulling his helmet back on. "You're one of my favorite mortals to run into."

Adam just rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, before speeding off and away into the night.

Two weeks. It took two weeks, but Cole was sure this was it. A small house, isolated from a local town up in the Appalachian mountains in West Virginia. Windows blocked by thick curtains. Rumors of strange killings and deaths associated with vampires and the supernatural in the town dated back to the 1800s, but stopped in the late 1900s. This had to be it. Cole wondered if somehow the vampire had a change of heart, and was going after the wicked vampires of this part of the mountains.

Was that how he was surviving? It was unusual for vampires to kill other vampires but still heard of. But feeding off of others, not as an act of intimacy but as an act of survival? As a sole means to it? Unheard of.

He had thought of parking his bike in town, at the local inn. The locals were curious but friendly…enough. It was clear they were off put by a visitor like him, and he didn't want to push it. So he drove his bike up to the house. A bold move, maybe a stupid one, but it was daylight and if there was a vampire in that building, it had nowhere to run. He saw the shifting of curtains, but didn't spot anyone explicitly.

Cole killed the engine, placed his helmet in storage, and approached the house. The door opened, pushing out, without anyone opening it. Cole kept his hand on his belt, loading a small revolver with silver bullets. Not that they'd kill a vampire, but they sure did hurt them.

He stepped into the house, door slamming behind him. He raised his sunglasses, eyes adjusting to the dim contrast of the inside of the house. It smelled like incense; specifically of myrrh and frankincense.

"Come on in." There was a certain twang to the voice that invited him further down the corridor. He turned left, into a living room, and saw the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

Blonde, curly locks framing his face. Sharp blue eyes, tired. An equally tired smile on his face. He was wearing a multi-colored Western shirt, the colors of a sunset. Jeans. Black cowboy boots.

"Hey there. Take a seat. I'll make you some tea." He spoke again.

He looked like that image. The sketch. The wanted poster sketch. But it did no justice.

This was him, "Hangman" Adam Page.

"I'm here to kill you." Adam said plainly, raising his revolver from his hip.

"There'll be time for that later. C'mon. Take a seat. Hell I'll let you keep your gun out if it makes you feel better." The Hangman motioned to the couch next to his chair, at the coffee table.

Cole only now was noticing how nicely decorated the house was. There was a…homey touch to it. A lot of…horses. Leather couch. Wooden walls and floors. A fireplace. Nothing Cole would expect from a vampire.

The Hangman got up. He walked to the china cabinet, and pulled out a teacup and teapot.

"Sit, I insist. And would you mind leaving your shoes at the door? 's pretty rude to track dirt into someone's house don't you think?"

"Uh. Sorry." Cole walked back to the entrance, to take off his shoes, before walking back into the den room. He sat down on the couch, before letting himself sink in. It was so much more comfortable than the beds he'd been sleeping on.

"It's nice ain't it. You fine with chamomile?"

Cole sipped his tea nervously. He wasn't sure what to make of the Hangman. Page, as he insisted when he learned they shared a first name.

"Why…why aren't you killing me, drinking my blood?" The vampire hunter finally gained the nerves to ask. Some vampire hunter he was.

"Why should I? I'm…it's been years since I had blood from a human, straight. I'm past it. I'm past the killing of innocent lives. I know it doesn't absolve me of my sins." Page sighed. He was sipping some coconut water. Apparently, it was a decent snack. Cole didn't know vampires could even have anything besides blood.

Apparently, there was a lot about vampires he didn't know.

"Has anyone found you? Besides me, I mean." Cole asks, setting the teacup down on the coaster.

"Yeah. Plenty of vampires, but you're the first hunter."

"What happened to the vampires?" Cole asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Well…" There's a look on Page's face Adam can't quite understand. Regret. Shame. Something mixed. "I did what I had to do. If they didn't leave peacefully, I…well, I made meals out of them. I needed to. It meant less sneaking around town and making deals with farmers. Less livestock I'd have to take away from the people. Eventually though, they stopped coming. It's been about 30 odd years since anyone's stopped by looking for the Hangman."

"That isn't very long for someone like you, is it?" Cole thumbed at the handle of his teacup. His feelings were going on an emotional rollercoaster. He didn't know if he wanted to believe Page or not. What would be the point? He was right, that his sins weren't absolved. But Cole wasn't even alive for any of that.

"No…not very long at all." Page sighed. Cole could feel his eyes on him.

Damn it. He felt bad for Page. He really felt bad for him.

'You'll get yourself killed like this.'

Cole shook his head.

"You alright?" Page sipped from his can of coconut water.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." Cole sighed, placing his gun on the table. He ran a hand through his hair, when a thought hit him.

Jay. The Elite. There was no doubt if they clashed, Kenny would beat the information out of White.

"I think…I might be the first hunter to find you. But I won't be the last." He groaned, before explaining what happened. With the online forums (he had to even explain what that was, and sum up the internet clumsily), and the photos and Jay's mockery of him. He watched the anger flare in Page's face, his own hand reaching for his gun before the vampire calmed down.

"Making a mockery of…me. I guess I earned it, I ain't proud of what I did. But there's that weird pride as a vampire. Guess you wouldn't know, I won't ask you to understand." Page tried to explain. He'd gotten up, and began pacing. "I guess I'll be saying goodbye to this old house."

Cole felt guilty. He knew none of this was his fault. He felt guilty for breaking the news to Page. Wasn't he betraying his other hunters?

But Page was here, being nicer to him than some of his fellow hunters had been.

'It probably is a trick you idiot.'

If it was a trap, he’d fall face first into it then. Face first into this beautiful trap.

“I…I’m coming with you.” Cole declared, standing up

“What?” Page was surprised. So was Cole. Did he really just say that?

“I-I said, I’m coming with you. I…I can see you’ve changed, and I want to help you. I know these guys who are coming for you, I can at least…I don’t know, stall them if we run into them or something.” Okay, so he wasn’t the best at plans. But his heart was in the right place, Cole had to believe that it was.

“Well, Mister Cole…help me pack my bags then, if you would be so kind.”