#tried and failed to mount a tv on my own last night

[werewolf-fangs]

Absolutely devastated that I do not, in fact, have superhuman strength and that Body Hurty

[dangercocktail]

Late Night Television

Tossing and turning for the better part of the night, Isaac glanced at his phone with the dryness of an insomniac’s eyes. Somewhere after 3 am and he was failing miserably to fall asleep. Sighing in annoyance mostly at himself for not taking edibles or something stronger before bed, he roused himself and threw a pair of basketball shorts over his underwear. Isaac wandered out of his bedroom to the rest of the house. 

Stopping briefly to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, Isaac scratched his relatively flat stomach as he made his way to the couch, scrolling through images on his phone. Flipping on the TV, he began highlighting his favorite streaming service when the screen distorted and the input changed. The television had switched to basic cable channels.

“These still exist?” Isaac thought as he took a sip of water. The flashing lights of the television illuminated the room in brightness that almost hurt Isaac’s eyes. On screen, a workout video demonstration was in progress as an extremely fit man insisted viewers call as soon as possible to order the program. 

“No thanks,” Isaac said out loud, pressing the input button on his remote. The flashing lights disappeared and the cool black of streaming channel icons returned. Guiding the remote’s button through them, he began to select one when the screen distorted again. The fitness instructor was back and the volume on his TV began climbing up on its own.

“You there at home!” the man bellowed. “You’re thinking to yourself, how did I get like this?”

Isaac looked at the remote in growing frustration and muttered, “No, I’m thinking what the fuck is wrong with my TV?”

“Well I’ll tell you, it’s because you’re always on that couch,” the television fitness instructor said. “Lazy, feet up, never going for the goals you know you should be!”

As the man said ‘feet up’, the recliner in Isaac’s couch sprang open, leaning Isaac back into the couch and suspending his feet in the air with such speed that it made him audibly gasp.

“The fuck?” Isaac uttered, slightly unnerved. He chalked most of the weirdness he was feeling to being exhausted. As he started to lean forward to push the leg rest down, he heard the man on screen continue.

“And that’s why you’re soft, you’re practically glued to that couch. You lack the discipline that my program can provide. Sure, sure, it started with a few pounds, some extra cookies here, another slice of pizza there, and you started getting soft in the stomach,”’ the man said as other fitness models behind him began doing pushups. Isaac stopped attempting to close the foot rest and immediately leaned back into the couch. It physically felt impossible to not do so. As he sank into the cushions under protest, his stomach began slowly swelling, starting with his lower belly pushing out then wrapping around his belly button like a doughnut. In the span of about ten seconds, he had gained fifteen pounds of belly fat. 

“What the hell?!” Isaac panicked, grabbing at the small ball of fat in his lap. The man on the screen continued.

“But it didn’t stop there, did it? Bad habits breed more bad habits, they’re like rabbits that way,” the man said, his onscreen fitness models moving into sit ups. “Those extra cookies and slices of pizza turn into daily routines; you found yourself seeking out the worst kinds of food that turned that initial fifteen pounds into fifty.”

While Isaac still marveled in shock at the small belly doughnut of fat in his hands, it began swelling through his fingers. The doughnut blossomed and spread around his sides as it moved like a bag filling with pudding. Love handles wobbled into existence and began inflating as the fat moved up his ribcage laying a foundation of frosting-like fat across his torso. It reached his chest where his nipples, tingling with the movement, widened slightly and became puffy. His chest itself developed a slight pudgy layer but then the growth stopped. 

“How is this happening…” Isaac murmured in mounting disbelief, looking down at his larger body. His legs and arms were slightly thicker and his belly now rested like an overinflated basketball in his lap. He grabbed his belly and shook it, the jiggle and wobble of it shaking his love handles and sending slight vibrations through his chest. He tried scooting forward with force to escape the couch but couldn’t get the momentum, his tubby belly making it harder than before to lean forward.

“And ladies and gentlemen, I know it didn’t stop there for you. It’s all too common. Once you’ve gotten a little weight on, you feel like the game is over. That you’ve lost. And that’s when you really binge, because why not? That’s when you become one of those sad people at the buffet, plate after plate after plate, because you’ve given up completely…”

“No…” Isaac uttered as he heard his stomach gurgle again. With a strain and then tear, he felt his ass inflate rapidly, ripping through his underwear and then his oversized basketball shorts. Isaac felt his body rise on the couch several inches as his butt grew, expanding beyond the expanse of the one cushion he was on and starting to lap onto either side, one cheek wedging up against the armrest. As he felt the growth of his behind begin to slow, the mammoth momentum picked up in other areas. 

Isaac’s belly began inflating again, his lower belly stretching and swelling as it began overlapping his crotch, deepening his belly button as it rounded further from Isaac’s view. As his midsection grew to the size of a bean bag chair, Isaac’s chest also began inflating, his nipples puffing up further and widening in a circular motion as his chest jiggled into their own bags of teardrop shaped pudding, rising in the air atop his belly and wrapping around under his armpits. Isaac frantically grabbed at all parts of his body in some vain attempt to hold the fat back but everything was growing unrestrained. As he grabbed and prodded, his own fingers swelled up, the knuckles and individual portions of his fingers disappearing into swollen hot dog like appendages. With a final glance before his belly swelled too big, he saw his feet begin taking on a bee stung appearance as they filled with fat as well.

As all the rest of his body settled into its now obese proportions, Isaac felt a heaviness enter his neck. 

“No no no…” he exclaimed, putting two fat hands on either side of his face. Isaac’s cheeks inflated with fat, merging with a roll that had already started on his neck. As he moved his hands all over his face, he could feel his jawline slowly disappearing as it officially merged with his still rounding neck roll.

The man on the TV continued.

“Now I don’t want to alarm anyone right now. But I seriously believe that if you don’t call this number right now and start this program, there’s no telling what your future may hold. You might end up one of these people so lazy and big they can’t get off their couch, a huge caricature of the potential they once had, a literal ball of fat,” the man said as Isaac looked on in horror. The man seemed to be staring directly at him through the TV screen.

Isaac scrambled to grab his cell phone and call the number. Casting about wildly with his eyes for his phone, he saw the edge of it wedged between his thigh and belly, almost completely obscured. With a heavy huff and a push of effort, Isaac leaned forward to grab it.

His hand fell over a foot short. Issac couldn’t reach the edge of his now massive belly nor touch his own belly button, much less the phone resting on his thigh. And that was when what the man had said fully sunk in. With another gurgling in his stomach, Isaac’s eyes went wide as his body began expanding again, the couch creaking under his massive form as he felt himself expanding in all directions, the fat of his neck melding into his shoulders as he began to grow into a human sphere. His thoughts turned quickly though, as his brain underwent its own change as his body inflated. The horror of his bodily change slowly drained from his mind as a new thought began to take over...‘I’m hungry.”

“So act fast folks, this offer won’t last….”. 

With that final statement, the TV clicked off.

[peachtree-dish]

A Te Che Sei Il Mio Grande Amore Ch. 4 Di Volta in Volta

Luglio 20, 1969

“Commander Neil Armstrong is making his way out of the spacecraft and is taking his first steps down the ladder to the moon’s surface. In mere moments he will be the first man to step foot on the moon…” The voice was narrated through the tv screen as the events of the first human moon landing played out in front of nearly the entire village. Those who did not have access to radio or television were crammed into their neighbor’s houses to either listen or watch on the small television screens. The usual Sunday atmosphere had been disrupted by the whole world waiting with bated breath as history played out in their living rooms. Luca sat between Giulia and Alberto in front of Massimo’s secondhand TV, fighting the urge to press himself against the class so as not to miss a single detail. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before because he had stayed up listening as the Apollo 11 crew had taken their last orbit around the moon before landing their naveta spaziale on the surface. Behind him, his family was sitting at the dinner table tightly pressed between Massimo and the several cats that had found some form of purchase on his broad shoulders. Luca had not thought it possible, but Massimo’s eyebrows seemed to be furrowed even deeper than usual; they were the only indication that he seemed just as anxious as everyone else.

Luca’s eyes widened as the man on the screen as the astronaut hopped onto the last ring of the ladder, his hands gripping tightly to it as if he were afraid to float away into the expanse of space. Beside him, Alberto squinted closely at the emerging astronaut and rubbed his chin.

“Their suits kinda look like that old diving suit, no?” he muttered in Luca’s ear. Guilia loudly shushed him from Luca’s other side, promptly cutting off any further commentary. Instead of vocalizing his agreement he instead gave an energetic nod to Alberto before the older boy could swat Giulia’s arm in revenge.

“I can see my footprints as I step away from the spacecraft…the surface appears to be covered in… fine, sandy particles…” For one moment, Luca pictured himself bounding across the surface of the moon, the old diving helmet pressed tightly to his shoulders, and space sand floating behind him. He could almost feel himself levitating away from the worn, wool rug of Massimo’s small kitchen, thousands of stars floating above him.

Giulia gasped, startling Luca back to reality, “He’s letting go of the spacecraft!” Sure enough, Armstrong’s grainy figure on the screen was slowly letting go of the ladder and stepping into the unknown of space. In a moment of trepidation, Luca reached wrapped his hand around Guilia’s as they waited for the next few moments to pass. He could hear Alberto inhale sharply beside him, assuming he was just as anxious as the rest of them.

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” in one moment the entire world released its breath with a cheer.

Massimo slammed his fist down on the table with a shout of “Vittoria” ringing through the house. His outburst startled the cats into a hissing mess and Nonna Paguro slapped his arm with her cane, claiming a premature heart attack. Around them adults and children were shouting and cheering, many even taking to the streets, their cacophony mixing with the howling of dogs. Giulia hurriedly leaned over to wrap her arms around Alberto and Luca’s shoulders, relieved giggles echoing in their ears as she rushed over to embrace Massimo in earnest. Luca grinned, sparing one last glance at the screen as the rest of the astronauts filed out of the ship, before turning excitedly to Alberto. Without a moment’s hesitation, Luca embraced him, only realizing mere seconds after that his hand was still entangled with someone else’s. At his friend’s stiff posture and flushed face, Luca’s excitement died only to be replaced with confusion. He rocked back onto his heels, one hand draped awkwardly around Alberto’s neck and Alberto’s left hand resting on his hip.

“Alberto?” he breathed, forcing the older boy to peer at him as he pulled away. Alberto blinked rapidly, his hand clenching and unclenching around Luca’s and his green eyes looking desperately around the room. He licked his lips and did not fail to notice Alberto’s eyes following the movement. He opened his mouth to say something before a loud crash broke the atmosphere between them. Machiavelli’s son, Bocelli, had become spooked in the excitement and had managed to knock over Massimo’s favorite tea kettle along with a few teacups. While the kettle had merely been bumped from the impact, three cups had met a disastrous end on the floorboards.

Amidst shouts and curses from the adults, Alberto had firmly and quickly untangled himself from Luca, rushing to the pantry to remove a broom and pan for the mess. Lorenzo was trying his best to scoop the remaining cats into his arms so they wouldn’t get hurt and Daniela was simply yelling at them all to move. Massimo was cradling the kettle with his arm, gently checking for any damage while Giulia remained unseen in the mess, her eyes flitting between Luca and Alberto who still hadn’t said anything. On the carpet, Luca watched as if frozen, unsure of why he felt like crying.

The days following the moon landing and the Apollo 11 crew’s return to earth found Giulia and Alberto working overtime to fill the town’s orders. At least, that was what Luca was telling himself. Since their awkward moment on the rug, Alberto hadn’t spent as much time around Luca, instead of spending hours out fishing and hauling the day’s catch through the streets. His conversations with them would always be clipped, though not unfriendly and he always found a reason not to spend time with them. Giulia, feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, tried to ask Alberto what was going on while they delivered, but he simply brushed off her inquiries with a forced grin. In her opinion, his lies reeked more than days old trash left in the heat. Her frustration grew to an extreme one evening when Alberto bid them both a halfhearted goodnight from the dinner table, claiming he would be staying up later than usual to fill in the finance charts. Ignoring Giulia’s glare and Luca’s hurt expression, he pulled out the counting charts Massimo had been filling out the previous afternoon and began adding the day’s earnings.

“I think he really does hate me,” Luca admitted to Giulia once they passed the archway leading to the docks.

“Don’t be ridicolo, I think he’s just... acting weird?” She floundered, unable to come up with an acceptable response.

“Oh, really, Giulia?!” Luca burst, his frustration surging, “He's not the one who acted weird, I was! I messed up, and now he can’t stand to be around me. I disgust him!” He kicked at a pebble, his expression strained. Luca tried to inhale deeply to calm himself, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t allow it. He turned back to a solemn Giulia, his voice choked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” To his mounting horror, large drops of water began to spill down his cheeks and before Giulia could even reach out to offer comfort, the teen was tearing down the cobblestones leading to the water's edge. Giulia’s calls were lost in the water as it enveloped him, his salty tears mixing with the sea. He swam for a long time, wanting to avoid his own home for as long as possible. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alberto’s hands on his hip or how it felt to look down into his eyes. Had they not been interrupted, what would have happened? And then he remembered how Alberto had looked frantic, almost afraid of what Luca was going to do. With a half-formed snarl, Luca dove towards the ocean floor. Reaching a shallow cave, he sat down and curled in on himself while his stomach heaved, and his tail thrashed.

“Stupido, stupido, stupido, stupido…” he sobbed over and over, unable to silence Bruno in his mind.

Giulia marched into the house fuming, her eyes landing on Alberto who stared at the wall in front of him, his expression blank. Wordlessly, she picked up the discarded papers on the table and smacked them across the back of his stupid, curly head.

“OW! What the-” Alberto spun around to glare at her.

“Non posso crederti,” she seethed, her hands shaking.

“I don’t have time for your hormonal dramatics, Gi,” Alberto deadpanned, moving to stand and escape from the redhead’s wrath.

“Don’t you dare,” she pushed him back into the chair, her brute strength surprising him. Small as she may be, Giulia was still Massimo’s daughter.

“How can you both keep hurting each other like this? You’re friends, no? Start acting like it!” She flailed her hands hysterically in such a way that Alberto almost wanted to laugh.

“We are friends, tutto bene,” He argued, inwardly wincing at the lie.

“Then why does Luca always look on the verge of tears after being around you? What happened, fratello? You haven’t been the same since the moon landing.” Giulia stared him down with both fists resting on her hips. She rarely referred to him as her brother, and when she did it was because she was trying to show how much she actually cared. That was the one thing Giulia and Alberto always agreed on, they hated to show feelings. Alberto could feel the anxiety he felt on that day building again inside him. He hadn’t meant to make it worse; he was going to make a joke about Luca being scared, but then he had grabbed Alberto’s hand. They touched each other easily all the time, frequent in their affection and friendly nature, but Luca had never held Alberto’s hand like that. Alberto hadn’t wanted to let go. It was just a harsh reminder that eventually he would have to let go of Luca forever. He swallowed thickly and peered at Giulia.

“I’m not going to get in the way of Luca following his dreams,” He said slowly, trying to get his friend to understand. “Luca is meant for grander things than whatever I had planned, I’m just helping him realize that.” Giulia stared at him for a moment before pinching the bridge of her nose and screwing her eyes shut.

“Oh, Dio, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Giulia, listen,” He began only to be interrupted by Giulia holding up her hand.

“Silenzio, Bruno. I know you don’t believe that. Luca wouldn’t have any of his dreams without you, and if he were to lose you, those dreams would fade.” Alberto shrank into his seat, not wanting to look her in the eye. With a defeated sigh, the young girl sat beside him.

“You’ve never told us about how you ended up alone, and I’m not going to ask you to tell me,” she interrupted him before he could speak. He swallowed his objection and let her continue, “but I wish you could understand that we’re not like your old family.  Berto,” she reached out and held one of his hands in both of hers, “we will never abandon you, and neither will Luca. But I am afraid that if you continue to act this way, he’ll think you abandoned him.”

Alberto’s head snapped up and he gazed fiercely at Giulia, reminding her of the first time he revealed his sea monster form to her.

“I would never abandon him.”

She stared back coolly and pointed at the bracelet on his wrist, “Then prove him wrong.” With that she stood and marched upstairs, her steps sounding with finality. Alberto watched her empty seat for a few moments, his ears roaring with the pounding of his heart. Before he could reconsider his actions, the chair scraped harshly along the floorboards, and he was rushing towards the warm ocean.

“Luca!” He called desperately into the waves, not caring if any of the other sea folk were sleeping. His shouts startled a school of pandoras swimming by, and they rushed past him as fast as possible. Alberto sped towards Luca’s home, his heart thundering as he reached Luca’s window. Peering in he found Nonna Paguro sleeping on her side of the room, her snores rattling through the water. To his growing anxiety, he found Luca’s bed empty and so turned towards the island where he had often hidden. Crashing clumsily upon the rocky shore, Alberto called out to the tower, its windows and roof dark and unresponsive.

If he looked too closely at the darkened mouth of the tower, he’d see a small child, crying anxiously for his papa to come home. Pushing the dark memories away, Alberto took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Feeling the anxiety in his chest close to bursting, he dove back into the darkened waters and shouted again.

“Luca! I’m sorry, please talk to me!” He swam frantically, his gaze twisting in every direction, hoping to catch a glance of blue. He swam farther out to the ocean, the fields of seaweed sloping into rocky, sand-filled terrain.

“I’m s-sorry,” He gasped, bubbles escaping his mouth and floating towards the moonlit surface. He felt his hope slipping away with them when he heard a hiccupped cry.

“Alberto?” Luca’s voice was raw from his emotional outburst, but it was still the most beautiful sound Alberto had ever heard. Twisting around with enough force to nearly snap his neck, Alberto found Luca peering out from underneath an overhanging rock bank. He felt his own sob of relief escape his throat before he swam down to his friend. The older boy floated in front of Luca, unsure of how he would react.

“Is everyone okay, you sound upset,” Luca’s eyes were red-rimmed, and they pinned Alberto to the spot with their concern. Alberto wanted to slap himself; Luca was obviously hurting yet here he was making sure Alberto and everyone else was alright. How selfish can you be, Alberto?

“No, everyone’s fine, but I’ve been an idiota, Luca. We only have days left before you go back to Genoa, and I’ve spent the past two weeks ignoring you because…” He stopped as he felt his fear resurfacing. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“But that doesn’t make se-”

“I know, that’s why I said I’m an idiota,” he chuckled drily at Luca’s confusion. “You got me off the island, but there are days I feel like I’m drowning.” He explained patiently, “There are so many new things here and I feel like I’m always behind while you’re always ahead.” He swallowed, watching as Luca still looked confused. “I feel like one day you’re going to realize that I’m slowing you down and I don’t want to get in the way of you becoming who you’re meant to be, even if that means I get left behind.”

Luca’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock, “Alberto, there is no dream worth having if you’re not in it.” Alberto stood stunned before him, his mouth had gone shockingly dry considering the saltwater in it.

“Caro,” he whispered, pulling Luca into his arms, too overwhelmed to finish speaking.

“I thought I offended you,” Luca admitted softly, his voice humming against Alberto’s collarbone, “I thought I had made you uncomfortable, when in reality I thought I grabbed Giulia’s hand, I promise.” Alberto felt his stomach drop out from him. He badly wanted to contradict Luca, tell him he had wanted more than anything to grab his hand whenever he could. But he wouldn’t, his fear wouldn’t let him.

“It’s okay, you didn’t offend me. If anything, I can’t blame you. No one can resist my good looks and charm,” He joked, laughing a bit too loudly to be considered natural. Luca snorted and pushed away from him, rolling his eyes.

“You wish, Berto,”

I really do, Alberto thought helplessly.

“Thank you for coming after me, again.” Luca laughed exasperatedly, hiding his face in his hands with a groan. “Giulia probably thinks I’m the most dramatic idiot in all of Italy.”

Alberto shrugged and glanced to the side, “Eh, you’d be surprised, she has her own moments. Must be an Italian thing.” Luca glared at him halfheartedly through his claws.

“Do you wanna head back to your house, or…” Alberto motioned his head back towards Porto Rosso. Luca smiled and motioned back to him.

“Wherever you want, I’ll follow you.”

“Well, it’s about time. I’ve only been waiting for over a year,” Alberto teased, swimming back towards the shining lights of the port town, his best friend’s laughter ringing behind him.

31 Agosto 1969

The last weeks of summer came and went with the laughter of children and a full season of fishing; having decided that winning the Porto Rosso Cup last year had been enough of an adventure, Giulia, Luca, and Alberto had instead spent time behind the scenes helping with the race alongside Signora Marsigliese. The woman had been extra grateful for the help and had run the three of them nearly ragged with preparations. With no Ercole in sight, the race had been far more enjoyable for all the town’s children, and even more so for their families.

Alberto volunteered to keep watch in the bay as the kids swam, already used to having lifeguard duties. He made sure to help anyone who got stuck or might have struggled especially hard. It made Luca’s heart especially warm to watch Alberto interact with the smaller children, encouraging them and even allowing the smallest bambina to latch onto his tail when she got too tired to swim back to shore. This year, Daniela and Lorenzo actually helped by offering water to kids as they struggled up the hill, this time without threatening to dump it on their heads.

In the end, the race was one by a brother and sister from the Ricci family who both were so exhausted they could barely keep the trophy held up between them. The end of the season also meant that Alberto would be working in his many diverse side jobs once it got too cold.

“Do you actually like working in la panetteria? Luca asked him from where he sat on the floor packing his things away.

“It’s not bad,” Alberto shrugged nonchalantly, “it was kinda stressful at first, but Signora Aurora is really nice, and I don’t make nearly as many mistakes as Ciccio.”

“I don’t think anyone could make as many mistakes as him, Ciccio’s a league unto his own,” Luca muttered absently, comparing two different books in his hands. In Alberto’s opinion, they looked the exact same.

“After the weather gets colder, I start baking in the mornings at the Pasticcini, and then Signore Ciano has me help him and Guido in their garage. I offered to help Padre D’uva at the church, but” he shrugged again with a half-smile, “babies don’t really like getting baptized by sea monsters.” Luca snorted and rolled his eyes at the image of a scaled Alberto trying to dunk a screaming child.

“I guess your smile and good charms don’t work on everybody, amico.”

Alberto flipped upside down on the bed and bit his lip suggestively and waggled his eyebrows, “Just you then?” Luca paused a moment to look at him and his gaze was almost enough to make Alberto stop. The young monster tilted his head to the side, considering Alberto’s features.

“Eh, could use some work,” He answered finally turned his head back to his bag, trying to stifle his laughter as Alberto made a face.

The sound of knuckles rapping on the doorframe causes them both to look up. Giulia leaned against the chipped white paint and smiled warmly, “Mind if I come in, ragazzi?” Alberto happily scooted to the side, ultimately remaining in his upside-down state.

“You’re not done packing?” Giulia asked incredulously. Luca only pouted from the floor.

“I can’t decide which books to take,” He ran a hand through his already stressed curls, the motion capturing Alberto’s attention even from his angle.

“You’re such a nerd, you know that right,” She ruffled his hair affectionately.

“As a nerd, it is, in fact, my job to know that, Giulietta.” The brunette stuck his tongue out defiantly before tossing the books back onto their pile. With a groan he stood and stretched his back, the muscles popping into place. Throwing himself on the bed he looked up at the ceiling and said, “I can’t believe summer’s already over, I feel like we just got back!” He flopped back down, his arm thumping Alberto’s stomach.

“Hey, attento!” Alberto swore. He swung himself back up and flopped backward, tugging Giulia along with him. Luca patted his stomach by way of apology before sighing dramatically.

“Why doesn’t school go by this fast?”

“Because then more people would enjoy it,” Giulia sighed from the other side of Alberto, who remained oddly quiet. He turned his head from one side to the other, watching how the late afternoon sun turned Giulia’s hair a violent copper and how it made Luca’s eyes seem molten. Suddenly reaching out, he tugged both close to him and said, “Vi amo, ragazzi.” Luca and Giulia shared a look of befuddlement.

“…Okay?” They replied in unison

“Learn as much as you can and then tell me everything in your letters, okay? Just like before. Except for this time, I’m going to learn new things, too. That way, we can all share what we learned next summer.” He grinned proudly at the thought.

Giulia sat up and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you feeling okay, pazzo? Do you need a doctor or something?”

“No, I’m serious. Giulia, you remember what you asked us at the beginning of summer?” She cocked her head to the side before nodding.

“I asked what you wanted to be when we got older.”

“Esattamente! And I have no idea, but I want to find out.” He looked at both Luca and Giulia as they processed his words. Luca was the first to move, wrapping his arms tighter around Alberto’s middle and grinning into his shoulder.

“I think that’s a great idea, caro. I’m proud of you.” Giulia nodded in agreement as she settled back down.

“Even if you don’t figure it out this year, or the next, just goditi il viaggio, like my mama always says. Life is about discovery, if you can’t enjoy it, learn from it.” Alberto hummed contently in response.

“Your mom sounds smart,” he mused.

“She is,” Luca and Giulia answered together, causing the trio to burst into a fit of giggles.

Later that evening, when Massimo climbed upstairs to check on the children, he found Giulia, Alberto, and Luca curled around one another on Giulia’s bed. Alberto had both arms wrapped protectively around both his daughter and Luca while they snored away peacefully. Machiavelli waltzed between his legs before alighting himself upon the bed and curling up next to Alberto’s head. He softly chided the cat to remain quiet and leave the children to their dreams. Without waking them, he softly tucked them in with the blanket from Alberto’s bed before walking out of the room. As he closed the door, he chanced one last glance at his little family and allowed himself a small smile. He could not wait for summer to return.

[eirian-houpe]

The Pawn Shop On Main Street - Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Grace | Paige, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Widow Lucas | Granny, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper, Grumpy | Leroy, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), Sneezy | Tom Clark, Merida (Once Upon a Time), Cloe, Mother Trude, Dove (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Romance, Eventual Smut, Will add more as apropriate

Summary: Gold is suddenly awakened from the curse, not by the fail-safe that he programmed into his mind, but by the unexpected presence of his long lost maid, with whom he fell in love well before Regina cast his Dark Curse, Rumplestiltskin must now find a way past Belle's disbelief and fear. She is still under the influence of the curse. With the help of his dear - his oldest - friend, Gold seeks a way past obstacles so that he can rekindle the love which he rejected back in the Dark Castle. 

The story is set in the same 'verse as The Library Beneath the Clock Tower, and could be considered a sequel of sorts.

Chapter 1 - Old Friends

He felt drawn to her. He could not look away, his gaze transfixed as her eyes took in the fireworks bursting overhead. They paled by comparison. Nothing could compare.

…a brief flicker of light in an ocean of darkness.

The thought caught him off guard, as if he were standing on the edge of a fall, with a gust of wind buffeting him toward the edge. He felt suddenly thirsty - the earth waiting for the cloud above his head to burst like the sparkles and fizzles overhead.

All this time she had been right there, within reach, the meaning that had been missing for as long as he could remember - as long as he had been in Storybrooke. It made sense of everything he’d done, but at the same time made no sense at all.

Suddenly afraid, for no reason he could understand, he took a step closer, right behind her, caressing her fingers softly, before taking her hands, slowly, into his own. Their fingers entwined.

It flashed through him in a pulse; bright, vibrant, burning away the fog of years and realms.

She mocked him.  Regina mocked him - how dare she, and yet, he had no energy, and even less will to react to her impudence.

“Is this about that girl I met on the road?” She laughed and stalked the room, her hips swaying in exaggerated sensuality. It reminded him of Cora, and that did little to change his mood… the reminder of other betrayals, other… abandonments. Regina glanced his way. “What was her name? Margie? Verna?

Rumplestiltskin barely breathed her name. “Belle.”

Suddenly business-like, this evil queen he had created, said matter-of-fact as she fixed herself some tea - uninvited, “Right. Well... you can rest assured I had nothing to do with that tragedy.”

He stopped idly spinning the wheel and turned to walk toward her, all but willing pox into the cup she was stirring, “What… tragedy?”

“You don't know?” Regina asked as though scandalized, then chuckled as she cleaned the spoon with her mouth and set it down.  “Well, After she got home… her fiancé had gone missing.” He feigned innocence, but Regina knew. Her expression told him so. She took only a few steps away before turning around. “And after her stay here, her… association… with you, no one would want her, of course. Her father shunned her, cut her off, shut her out.”

Hope flared in his heart, and in an unguarded moment, he let the words slip from deep within that hope. “So she needs… a home?”

Regina laughed cruelly, though whether at what had happened, or at him for his weakness he was uncertain, then went on, “He was cruel to her. He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while, she threw herself off the tower. She died.”

She spoke the last two words with such careless triumph that the urge to throttle the life from the conniving bitch almost choked him… murdered his hope.

“You're lying,” he growled.

“Am I?” she countered, leaving him cold and dead inside.

He wanted to be angry now, to rail against the lies Regina had told him, blatant fabrications, right to his face, and yet… Here was his light.  Hale, whole and…

“You’re real,” he breathed. “You’re alive!”

He moved closer yet, moving his fingers again in a soft, quiet caress.  The curse was lifted, he remembered. Everything, and oh, how beastly he had been when they had last seen one another. When he had sent her away.

”I’m not a coward, dearie. It’s quite simple really… my power… means more to me than you.”  

She pulled herself up to her full, diminutive height, and looked him full in the face. “No. No, it doesn't. You just don't think I can love you. Now, you've made your choice. And you're going to regret it.”

His heart broke as her voice quivered - a roar of pain that almost drowned out her following word, “Forever.”

He curled his hands into fists. His hard, pointed talons left wheal marks in his palms, but he couldn’t allow her to see how much her words affected him.

“And all you'll have... is an empty heart,” her voice broke, and she forced herself to go on, “and a chipped cup.”

Her eyes were filled with tears, but she held his gaze, and he had to push his own rising tears deep inside lest he belie his words.  Not until she had turned, and walked away, out of the cell, and out of his life… forever… and he could no longer see or hear her, did he move - and then only to close his eyes.

Was she feeling this too? Did she remember?  A part of him hoped not; hoped that fate had delivered him a way to right the wrongs of his past; to woo her, to love her as she deserved to be loved, and yet, the Dark One knew that ‘loopholes’ was another word for lies. Gold wanted no more lies.

For a moment, one sweet, sharp moment she leaned against him, tightened her fingers around his, and he knew… he knew without any doubt that she remembered. At least in that moment, she remembered.

“Belle,” he whispered.

Then, like the icy fall of rain that dampened even the hottest fire, she snatched her hands from his, and he was suddenly frozen, bereft. Helpless to do anything other that watch with mounting fear as she turned to face him; tried with all his heart to let her see that she had been right all along - that she had the measure of him, and not only that - but now, in the face of seeing her again, though he wanted nothing more than to reach out and draw her into his arms, hold her forever - protected, loved - he was still a coward.

“Belle,” he whispered again, reaching too late to catch her as she picked up her skirts and fled.  He cried out for her, as he should have done then, in the Dark Castle - called her back, “Belle!”

His cry was echoed a moment later and he registered a familiar voice behind the calling. His friend, Jefferson. A Storybrooke friend, yes, but the Dark One’s only friend through all the ages. How could he not have known?

He stared. He stared after Belle, who stopped at neither of their calling, and he stared toward Jefferson, meeting the horrified expression that mirrored his own.

The Hatter seemed torn, glanced away as if to find Belle in the crowd, but ultimately turned his steps and hurried to Gold’s side.

"You knew!" Gold almost sobbed, and reaching out, grabbed Jefferson by the lapels of his flamboyant, silk tailcoat and pulled him closer, almost shaking the man. "How could you know… know me and yet say nothing?"

Jefferson’s long fingers closed around his wrists, not to prevent, but to anchor, as if the Portal Jumper feared to let go and needed to hold him close as he spoke.

"The man you are here and I said that?" Jefferson said, pained, and only then Gold saw the tears that were gathered in the other man’s blue eyes. "How could I, and not have you cast me away?"

For all that he saw, for all that he felt, still Gold gave vent to his own pain. "But you were my… we were friends!"

Instead of words, Jefferson answered with cry, almost of anguish, and suddenly releasing his wrists, clutched Gold close.

"We are friends," he sobbed, clinging tightly. "We are!"

At first, startled, Gold struggled, tried to push Jefferson away, but as the present melted away leaving just the two of them alone on the rise above where the other revelers were lost in their drunken celebrations of the night, Gold… Rumplestiltskin missed his friend, and already held tightly in Jefferson’s embrace, pulled the man closer still, and held him through the maelstrom of all that he was - pawnbroker, landlord, deal maker, sorcerer, master, Dark One, killer, father, husband, lover… coward - all of it, every little piece of him returning in a rush, he clung to Jefferson like a man drowning.

Eventually, both spent, they each slumped, exhausted to the ground, mute and panting for breath, though as he looked across at Jefferson, Rumplestiltskin saw that silent tears still ran down Jefferson’s face. Intuitively he knew the cause.

“I didn’t know,” he said, and Jefferson raised his face to look at him, incomprehension in his wet and shining eyes. “Grace,” Gold offered. “I didn’t know what Regina planned.”

“I know,” Jefferson whispered, before finding his voice. “I have always known it was her doing, and hers alone.” He reached out for Gold’s hand, and he took it without hesitation, listening as Jefferson continued. “For all that we didn’t see things the same way much of the time; for all that we fought, I knew and never once doubted that you’d ever do something like that to another man, another father. I saw what you did for Baelfire and—”

“Bae,” Gold interrupted. His voice hoarse and rasping. He felt Jefferson’s fingers tighten around his own, and he took a breath. “If I had the power,” he said, “to undo what she did.”

“No!” Jefferson sounded alarmed, almost terrified, then went on more calmly, “No. Not until we can be together. Not until I can be sure she won’t hate me for abandoning her. She can’t know.” His voice cracked as he went on. “Cloe’s her mother here. She knows nothing about a foolish man who made a promise and then broke it; who abandoned her to ignominy and hardship.”

“Jefferson…”

The other man blanched, and releasing his grip on Gold held up both hands in surrender, as if he thought he’d just delivered some kind of terrible insult.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Gold murmured quietly.

“Then whose?” Jefferson shook his head; argued. “I can recite a whole litany of ‘if I hadn’ts’ going all the way back to before we first met. Who else’s fault can it be?”

Gold fixed him with a level, uncompromising look.

“No,” Jefferson said firmly. “You are not responsible for all the ills of every realm.”

Gold was silent for a long time. He knew Jefferson well enough to understand that when he had his mind fixed on something - especially something self-deprecating - there could be no moving him; not until he saw the truth of it for himself.

Both men sighed, almost at the same time, and that made Gold chuckle just a little, with a good deal of his own self-deprecation, before he said, “And that… that, my good man, is why you are the Dark One’s only true friend.”

Jefferson let out another sigh, then offered Gold a smile through half-pursed lips, and then started to push himself up off the ground where they had both fallen.

“I’ll find her,” he promised softly. “Make sure she’s safe and gets home all right. We can fix this. We’ll find a way.”

“Ever the optimist, Jefferson.”

“Hardly,” the Hatter said dryly, before turning, ready to begin his descent from the hill. He stopped after just a few steps, and turned back. “Rumplestiltskin?”

Gold looked up, his head tipped to one side. “Hmm?”

“How long?”

Gold looked skyward, as if the position of the stars could give him the answer to Jefferson’s question, and they might well have - had time not been motionless in Storybrooke these past…  He shook his head. He knew the answer. It was written into the fabric of the Dark Curse, into the single drop of ‘True Love’ he had dripped onto the parchment; The single drop that would herald the arrival of The Savior.

“Twenty-eight years,” he answered quietly. “Twenty-eight years.”

[undertalethingems]

Bark at the Moon, Chapter 3: Lost Patience

<Previous / Next>

Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Reunited, the brothers try to get things back to normal. Sans thinks going back to where it all started holds the answer... but it’s never so simple.

Nearly a month had passed since Sans had retrieved his brother from his self-imposed exile. Despite wracking their brains and recalling trials no creature should have endured, neither had gotten any closer to remembering or rediscovering anything useful, and the stress was taking its toll. Papyrus collapsed from lack of sleep one day, and only reluctantly explained he was avoiding nightmares after Sans uncharacteristically snapped at him. They’d had their disagreements over the years, but this was the worst in a series of fresh spats that had erupted in the brothers' household as frustrations mounted. Sans hated it, maybe even more than Papyrus did.

He was supposed to be the chill guy who stayed calm no matter what... But he'd found himself in increasingly bad moods as time went on. It was getting hard to be as friendly as usual when he went out, and though no one had said anything they were starting to notice. Passers-by would give him a bit more space if they crossed his path, and the other regulars at Grillby's were hesitant to joke with him as much as usual.

And then one night, he was awoken by his brother and found he’d punched a series of holes in the wall with a bone attack in his sleep. So he’d started avoiding sleep too. His mind buzzed with too many thoughts anyway as it tried to find a solution. He didn't care too much what happened to him--not while Papyrus was stuck like this. All that mattered was making sure he could be happy again.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, brother, but you need to rest,” Papyrus begged him one afternoon as he stubbornly read a book on magical theory. “You look terrible, and I think it’d be for the best in this instance.”

“what’d be best is if we could get this figured out. i’m not gonna let you be forced to live as what he wanted you to be,” Sans retorted, eyes fixed on the page in front of him, and Papyrus made a worried hum.

“Well, yes, that would be ideal, but, I think at the moment it’s best you, er, returned to your lazy ways and got a nap.”

Sans stiffened and didn’t answer for a while. “… bro. we escaped that place and got him back for everything he did to us. knowing you’re stuck as something you never wanted to be, something you shouldn’t have to be… i can’t rest until you’re free to be who you want again. y’know?”

“Oh Sans…” Papyrus sighed, “I really appreciate how much effort you’ve put into this. It’s… more than I expected, if I’m honest, and it means a lot to me. But I don’t want you making yourself sick, or, hurting yourself somehow, or—or anything of that nature, so please, go take a nap. The book will still be there when you wake up.”

“yeah, and i’m reading it now. aren't you always saying sleep's a waste of my time?”

“Sans... I, um, think I may have been slightly. Wrong. About that. Because you without sleep is not a very good version of you. I hate to do this, but... please go sleep. If not for yourself, then… for me?” Papyrus pleaded, tilting his head sadly.

“... ok,” Sans finally conceded. He flipped the book shut, slid from the table and trudged up to his room—but not to sleep. That had been a lie. He waited, listened to Papyrus nervously approach and hover around his door for a few minutes before slowly returning downstairs, then took a shortcut into the abandoned, sealed-off section of the labs in Hotland.

He was glad he was a skeleton as he inhaled stale air a monster with real lungs would have suffocated in and stalked through the pitch-dark halls, his way illuminated by his eyes alone. Turning corners and passing ragged, deteriorating equipment, he indulged the flashbacks that followed him through the facility. It was worth pursuing whatever memories surfaced, even when they were painful, on the off chance it'd unlock what he needed. He’d done this before, another time when Papyrus thought he’d been napping, and put together more of what had happened to them here. Days of tests, procedures he'd never understand, harsh words that left him aching even now, years later, after he'd failed to meet some expectation. It all would be worth it if only he could remember the right thing.

He mostly seemed to remember the wrong things. He shut his eyes against the apparatus that had once drilled into his magic and stretched it so thin he thought he’d shatter right then and there; his fingertips itched at the memory of claws and he rubbed them in his palms, grounding himself on his blunt digits. He’d once been so comfortable in that other form, once believed that man and his claims he was no more than an animal, and it had taken so much fighting—mainly on Papyrus’ part—to help him reclaim everything he could be. And after everything that had happened, somehow a dead world and its ghosts were threatening to unravel all they'd done to bury it.

Sans flicked his wrist, and the apparatus shattered under artificial gravity. He wondered why he hadn’t done that before—maybe some lingering fear of retribution. He left the splintered metal and plastic behind, idly considering what else of this hateful place he could smash. Turning the corner, he came to a vaulted room lined with large cisterns that had been the holding tanks for living weapons as they grew. Only two had ever released successful constructs—before that, who knew what had met its end before it lived.

“YOU’LL NOTE THE SUBJECT APPEARS TO BE WELL-BUILT, WITH A STURDY AND ELABORATE BONE STRUCTURE,” the man said, gesturing at him, “BUT UNFORTUNATELY, LOOKS ARE DECEIVING. AS YOU CAN SEE, ALL BASE STATS ARE SEVERELY STUNTED. SPECIAL CARE MUST BE TAKEN IN ALL CASES OF HANDLING AND TESTING TO MITIGATE RISK OF FRACTURE AND METAPHYSICAL FAILURE. RESEARCH WITH THIS SUBJECT WILL BE OVERSEEN BY MYSELF AT ALL TIMES. VIOLATORS... CAN CONSIDER THEIR CAREER TERMINATED. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”

Sans grimaced at the unbidden memory, the thought of being seen as an object leaving a slimy feeling in its wake. Even when he’d worn that form, he’d been more than that, he’d been a person in his own right. That man had thought because he’d made them it gave him the right to control them, to coax and prod them in equal turns until they became what he wanted them to be. He’d nearly won, but Papyrus—oh Papyrus, the best thing this place had ever produced, undeserving of all it had done to him—had seen through his manipulation and come through. And now he needed someone to come through for him.

Sans left the tank room behind, resisting an urge to tear it all down with blue magic. He needed to poke a little further, push a little deeper. He'd make this place give up its secrets, but he could feel his patience wearing thin. He was running out of ideas, too. Maybe if he shifted, he could work out what to do from there? No, that would be—

“NO. IF YOU WANT TO TEST WITH YOUR… BROTHER TOMORROW, YOU WILL CHANGE BACK THIS INSTANT. SHIFT NOW.”

Something in Sans’ soul wrenched free, and he staggered, doubled over, clutching at face and chest. If he’d been well-rested, if he’d been his usual laid-back self, maybe he could have resisted the way he had a month before. But worked up by both past and present, he was too out of sorts to quell the power tearing through him; he only had the presence of mind to shortcut home as his body warped and became what he’d tried so hard to fight.

It was the buildup to the final romantic scene in Metatons's latest soap opera when Papyrus’ viewing was interrupted by a rounded form appearing in front of the TV and landing on the floor with a thud.

“Sans!” he barked, trying to stay focused on the show, “you’ve got to stop using shortcuts in your sleep! One of these days you’re going to—Sans?”

Papyrus stared at his brother’s prone form. He didn’t like how still he was. And he especially didn’t like how he was no longer round and friendly, but round and spiky.

The romance was forgotten as Papyrus leapt from the couch to shake his brother’s shoulders, words catching in his throat. Not Sans too, not again, surely this was a bad dream only it was Sans who wasn’t waking up. He whimpered, and looped an arm under him to drag him to the couch and curl around him. How often had he done this when they’d shared only a bare cell, how many times had he feared that last round of tests had finally done his brother in? How long would their past hold them captive?

Sans awoke with a start the next day, sometime mid-morning. Papyrus watched him rise blearily and stumble over unfamiliar feet onto the carpet; his eyes came to rest on the hands he’d caught himself with, and he slumped to the floor completely. After a silence that stretched on for minutes, he spoke.

“welp. sorry bro. i messed up. guess that’s the last time i try hard on anything ever...”

“Oh Sans, don’t say that!��� Papyrus cried, getting up himself to roll his brother over. “Come on, now it’s even more important we work to solve this most elusive of riddles! As outlandish as it may seem, maybe you’ll have even more success than me! Come on, it's already late in the day--let’s have breakfast and then we’ll get to work.”

Sans only groaned. “i want grillby’s… but i can’t go to grillby’s like this… i’ll never have grillby’s again…”

“Sans! Cease your dramatics!” Papyrus demanded. “We have toast, which is perfectly good breakfast fare and certainly better than some grease-drenched horror! I’ll even make it for you since you probably have to learn how to use deadly claws again.”

Sans moaned from his place on the floor, and Papyrus left him to get started. As he waited for the toaster to warm up, he grabbed his phone and delicately entered Undyne’s number. He was getting much better at using his own deadly claws for fine motor skills again--it was one thing he was proud of in all this mess. After a few rings, Undyne picked up.

“Hey Papyrus! How’s it going?” she asked cheerfully, and he hesitated on what to say.

“Greetings, Undyne! Everything is going well! But I called to let you know that Sans won’t be able to work today. He’s, sick,” he replied, wondering if it was really a lie as his brother continued to rest limply on the floor in the next room.

“I take it you guys still haven’t made any progress, huh?” Undyne asked sadly, and he sighed.

“None. We’ve almost made backwards progress, really.”

“Ah geez, well, I know you won’t but don’t give up! And kick your brother’s butt into gear too, I’ve seen what happens when you let him slack off and it’s not pretty. Hey, I KNOW! I’ll stop by later tonight, how about that?”

Papyrus’ mind raced; it’d be no good if Undyne found out Sans had changed too. “Oh! Well! That would be okay! But my brother will probably be asleep and totally unavailable for interaction.”

“Nope! He’s not getting out of socializing THAT easily!” Undyne quipped brightly. “I’ll see you punks tonight!”

She hung up, and Papyrus was left staring blankly at his phone. Once Undyne had decided on something it was very hard to talk her out of it. He had to think fast or they’d get the chewing out of their lives and more questions than either of them wanted to answer. It was better the world didn’t know about their abilities and the man who thought he’d play god.

The toaster popped, and in an instant it was pierced by a bone. Sparks showered from the ruined appliance, and Papyrus slowly sat, staring at what he'd done. All this tension was getting to him, and he sighed. He stood, shaking his head. He could only feel frustrated with himself as he salvaged what he could of breakfast from the wreckage. He was better than this! He had the best control out of anyone Undyne knew, and he knew she was telling the truth—not a half-truth or white lie some people felt they needed to tell him to soften a world he’d already seen the sharp edges of. Undyne was guilty of that, and even Sans was, but he forgave them. They were trying to keep him safe and happy, and he appreciated that much, but he wasn't a child and it had worn on him for years.

At least Sans was doing it less now, after they'd spent the last month admitting what had happened to them back in the lab. Papyrus was certain, though, there were still things he was hiding from him. The fact he’d either transformed in his sleep, or not been sleeping and doing something he shouldn’t while pretending to sleep was proof enough of that. Huffing another short sigh, Papyrus glanced out to the living room, saw his brother was still on the floor, and put the two ragged slices of toast on a pair of plates and brought them out wearing his best smile.

“Well, we’ll need a new toaster but I’ve managed to prepare a simple one-course meal to tide us over until lunch. Up and at ‘em, brother!”

Another groan, but at least Sans slowly propped himself up. “hey, it’s not burnt. see bro, you’re improving all the time.”

“Indeed! I’ll be renowned cook and Royal Guardsman very soon!”

The rest of their meal was quiet—mostly on account of it being so short—and after brushing crumbs from his mandible Papyrus stretched and stood at his full height. “Alright, brother! We have until evening to finally make a breakthrough and pretend none of this ever happened! So! Get those mental bones shakin’!”

“… just don’t see what we could do differently. we’ve thought of everything,” Sans mumbled, sinking back to the floor. “i oughta just accept my fate.”

“No, I won’t let you,” Papyrus refuted, picking him up by his ragged hoodie with one hand. “You were right, earlier. It’s not fair for us to still be at the mercy of our past in this way. I’m even thinking, that, maybe it was bad we stopped being all of what we are… because we should be proud! No other monster can do what we do, and we are monsters! Not weapons like he wanted us to be—never like he wanted us to be. We should take back this part of us, because it never wasn’t a part of us.

“We’re going to change back, but, maybe it’s not a thing that can be forced. Not anymore. We’ve… accepted there’s a lot we can’t change, haven’t we? So, perhaps, this is. One more thing. We can accept…? We'll keep working! But! Not be so hard on ourselves if we don't get it right away.”

Sans blinked slowly at him. “bro… you’re so cool. if anyone can own this, it’s you. i just… yeah, i like bein’ that other shape, a lot more than i like being this one, but… i dunno. i think deep down i know… this was what i was always supposed to be. so... i'm accepting that.”

Papyrus gave him a very long, sad look. Slowly, he turned, and walked to lay Sans on the couch before joining him, and Sans eyed him warily the whole time. Judging by the look on his face, Sans regretted saying what he had.

“Sans,” Papyrus began, “I know he always wanted you to only be this way, and just be an animal. He never let you change, don’t think I didn’t notice! I think, in your rounder, friendlier form, it reminded him… that you were so weak? And you know how he hated, er, failure… His! His failure. He made us, so anything we’re bad at is his fault! Nyeh!”

Sans huffed a short laugh.

“In any case! You are just as entitled to owning all of who you are as I am! You are just as smart, and kind, and friendly and everything else in this form as you are in the other, even if it is easier to be all of that in the one you're not in now. And no matter what, just know that I love you, and nothing could ever change that!”

“… of course bro. right back at ya.”

But Papyrus could tell Sans didn’t really believe him. Or, it wasn’t that he didn’t believe him—it was more that he didn’t believe in himself, and that had been the hardest thing to work through as they’d put their lives together. Sans had never really done anything wrong, but he’d often done things in ways the man hadn’t liked—they both had, really, but somehow Sans always got the worst of it. He was too clever, too eager to take shortcuts and do things his own way. It wasn’t fair then, and it wasn’t fair now. All the more reason to work extra hard on mastering the quirks of their beastly forms all over again.

"Well, you think about it for a while, and I'll keep trying my way!" Papyrus conceded, leaving his brother to sit in the middle of the living room. They had to keep trying...!

He went through every method he’d thought of again, calling on his reserves of magic, remembering how it felt to walk on two legs and not have claws or a tail, to no avail. He even meditated for a while, and that was hard to do when he always had so much to think about. Sans had fallen asleep on the couch—which wasn’t so surprising as it was annoying. He'd told him to think of a solution--he’d never change back if he just slept all the time! Papyrus shook his head with a huff, and reached out to jostle him awake.

Fangs snapped inches from Papyrus’ forearm, and he leapt back with a yelp. Sans’ eyes focused, and widened as he realized what he’d done. Wordlessly, he began trembling, and buried his face in the couch cushions; Papyrus bounded back to his side and gently patted his shoulder.

“Brother, it’s okay, I startled you. I know you don’t want to hurt me,” he comforted, trying to nuzzle the face still wedged as deeply into the old cushions as it would go.

“i—i thought you were him, i wanted to—i wanted to snap your arm,” Sans admitted in a quiet, panicked rush. “i’m sorry papyrus, i’m sorry. you were right, i shoulda just napped, i shoulda stayed here and just been my lazy old self, instead i’m this and i’ll never not be this again. i just… i’m just gonna give up now, get it over with…”

“No Sans, you can’t! Yes, you should have stayed here, but we’ll get you turned back! We’ll both turn back, and be who we want to be again, just like I told you! I know we can! I believe in us!” Papyrus assured him, trying not to sound desperate. “Truly, it’s okay brother. Come out of there, you’ll never get who knows what out of your sutures.”

But Sans only groaned softly. With a worried huff, Papyrus grasped his brother’s skull and pulled it free. Sans offered no resistance as he was curled up and encircled by a blanket, and then his brother’s bony form; Papyrus knew he should have been continuing his work, but if he was honest he couldn't think about it at all. Sans was too close to letting himself go.

“Alright Sans, we’re going to rest,” he spoke as he folded his forelimbs under his chest. “But it can’t be for long! Undyne’s coming over and we have to be ready.”

There was no reply. Papyrus laid his head down next to his brother’s, tried not to think about how miserable he looked, and found himself drifting off after a while. Maybe some rest really was in order. He curled a bit tighter around his brother, and let his eyes close.

They snapped open when heavy knocking sounded on the door. Oh no.

“Hey Papyrus, open up! It’s hang-out time!” Undyne called, sounding cheerful. Papyrus leapt from the couch, which startled Sans awake. He blinked sleepily, then snapped into alertness when he realized what was going on. And in a blink, he was gone.

Papyrus groaned. He hoped Sans hadn’t gone too far, but at least it solved the problem of Undyne trying to interact with him—for once he was grateful for Sans’ avoidant tendencies. Mustering his usual high spirits, he answered the door.

“Hello Undyne! Welcome to the humble abode of the humbler Papyrus! The greatest skeleton you will ever meet!”

Undyne laughed. “Hey Papyrus, it’s good to see you. Still stuck as a horse lizard thing, I see.”

“Yes,” Papyrus huffed, “the tragedy of our time. I’m close to a breakthrough though, I can feel it!”

“I know you can do it!” the captain beamed with all her fangs. “Where’s Sans? I don’t care if he’s sick, he’s not getting out of at least a little noogie from me! Oh, but I also brought soup, I thought it might help him feel better.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of you!” Papyrus uttered, taking the small container Undyne handed over. “As it happens, he’s just stepped out for some fresh air.”

“You told him I was coming, right?” Undyne said with a frown, and he nodded.

“Of course I did! But you know Sans does as he pleases.”

“Yeah,” Undyne griped. “Well, hopefully he’s back soon. We're gonna have fun, but I wanted talk to both of you for a moment.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve been hearing some things from the other guards. I… guess we could talk about it now, but I don’t want you to worry and it mostly concerns him.”

“Oh no, go on! I worry anyway, it’s no big deal!” Papyrus assured her cheerfully, and she gave a bittersweet smile.

“Okay, okay… Well, I guess Sans has been kinda… irritable, lately. Dogaressa told me the other day. She said he hasn’t been joking around, or going to Grillby’s as much—which, normally I’d say is a good thing, but knowing your brother I know that means something’s up. I guess he snapped at Jerry, which, if it was anyone else it'd be totally understandable, but Sans never snaps at anyone.”

“He’s… stressed,” Papyrus admitted. “He doesn’t like that I’m stuck like this.”

“Hmm... I guess I can see that, but he’s normally so… unflappable,” Undyne said. “If this is just something you can do, why’s he so worked up that you’re stuck? Unless he’s actually an even crappier brother than I thought and thinks he can decide what you should be like.”

“No! It’s nothing like that!” Papyrus refuted, internally horrified at the thought of Sans being so controlling. It’d be too much like him. “He hates that I’m stuck, not that other preposterous thing you said.”

“Psh, okay, I get it,” Undyne laughed. “Still. It’s putting him in a pretty bad mood and it’s got people worried… and maybe it’s why he got sick, y’know? He threw himself out of whack with all this…”

“Yeah, it’s really unhealthy…” Papyrus agreed, looking away. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back. A grumpy Sans is hardly a Sans at all! Now! What did you want to do on our hangout?”

They ended up watching one of Mettaton’s new cooking shows where he competed against and judged himself with various dishes made under both time and ingredient limits. The clips were cut so it really looked like there were three of him in the kitchen at a time, and he played up the tension when he judged himself harshly on a failed dish. Of course, even the failures were absolutely perfect—he just liked the drama of elimination. It was good, bad TV, and for a little while Papyrus could forget his predicament. After a few hours and an attempt at making their own versions of some of the dishes they’d seen, it was time for Undyne to head home, and Papyrus was left with a quiet house once more.

“Alright Sans, it’s safe to come out now!” he called, on the chance Sans had merely taken a shortcut up to his room. There was no reply. Papyrus leapt up the stairs to poke his head into his brother’s room and found nothing out of the ordinary—but it was empty. Sans wasn’t home.

Papyrus returned to the living room and sat on the floor, tail flicking idly as he wondered what to do while he waited. Sans was fine--he’d be back eventually. He wouldn’t leave like he’d so foolishly run away--Sans liked the comforts of home too much. Even if he relapsed and sank into the cloying lull of instinct and everything he’d been trained to be...

He'd still know where home was and couldn't be gone for long.

... Right?

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 14: Oh No Here We Go

And here it is, chapter 14! I hope you enjoyed it, I enjoyed writing it.

And for all y'all who are worried about Scout, then don't! Nobody's going to die.

Yet.

(Feel free to yell at me now in the comments. :D)

Also I’ve been thinking about reopening my Patreon! Keep an eye on this blog for news about that.

An elevator ride after a terrifying trip through a human meat locker, black clothed bodies hanging from hooks like something out of a horror movie. Which, Stacy supposed this was, technically. It certainly felt like one, and had all the trappings of one. Which made her the surely doomed to die protagonist, should she fail.

 She listened to Scout ramble, nodding where applicable. Yes, Stacy was sure they could make it out if they just tried. Yes, the "Host World" was generally a good place, though it was a bit more nuanced than just good or bad.

 "Maybe, if we survive this, and that's a colossal IF, I could fit in out there, in your world. I know I'm a Puppet, but do you think that's possible?"

 Stacy thought for a moment, then nodded. Even if Scout couldn't fit into the world at large, Stacy would make sure she could fit in with her and her friends.

 "Liar. I don't fit in at all, do I?"

 Stacy stared at the little Puppet, confusion growing. How did she know if she fit in or not? Will, Mason, and Lisa all liked her. Hell, even Sammy liked her, once he got over the talking Puppet thing.

 "You should have just played the proper Host and died when you were supposed to." Scout told her coldly. "Then you'd still have both your arms."

 But she did have both her

 Her left arm, the one Scout was attached to, fell off. Pinkish stuffing dripped from the would as the limb dropped in slow motion towards the floor. When it hit, the floor fell apart, leaving Stacy floating as Scout fell towards the void.

 A second later, a large blue mitten hand pinned her against the wall, a much larger Scout rising up after it as the lighting turned flame colored. The Puppet loomed over her as Stacy struggled against the hand. Her hood vanished, but her mouth remained stitched, leaving her frustratingly voiceless.

 "You should've been better Stacy! Then we wouldn't be in this mess!" The Puppet told the Host. "Then maybe I wouldn't be dying! I'd have everything I'd need! I'd have been accepted by my own kind!"

 Stacy struggled, but was pushed up tighter against the wall that wasn't there, chest burning from the pain. The Puppet balled her other hand up in a fist, and the Host watched as it zoomed down to meet her

Stacy woke up with a start, feeling sticky with sweat and way too alert. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, making her feel shaky. And she knew she would feel exhausted when it faded out.

Beside her, Will barely stirred, still caught in the throes of sleep. A glance at the clocked showed it was almost four AM. A glance at the windows showed they were rain-splattered, though whatever storm had been going on seemed to have long since stopped.

'Geez. It's been a while since I was up this early...' She got up and made her way to the bathroom, not even bothering to flip on a light. She remembered too late she only had one arm, but was eventually able to do her business and wash up.  She went to the kitchen left, intending to grab some water, but was stopped by a noise from the direction of the living room. A glance showed only the open window, which she quickly closed.

'Forgot I left that open.' She yawned, the jumped when there was another noise from outside. 'Damn strays.' She made her way back to the bedroom, flopping onto the bed. She curled up on top of the sheets and faded back into sleep.

Scout had stayed silent when the window suddenly closed behind her, laying flat against rock she'd landed on. She'd had a sudden urge to speak up when her Host had approached the window, a lie already coming to mind "I was just looking and fell out! Let me back in!". But then her window of opportunity had closed, literally, and she was alone outside.

"Ok Scout, no going back now." She told herself as she dropped off the rock and onto the damp grass. "Oh, ew!" She pulled herself upright, then focused on the lot across the street. She'd never made such a large Jump before, but she was sure she could make it.

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

Stacy woke up again at a much less insulting time, one where the sun was already up. Will was also already up, and she could smell the pancakes from the kitchen as she got up and got dressed. She went out to the kitchen and gave an loud, overblown sigh. "Wiiiiiiiiiill." She drawled out as she flopped onto the table like an over-dramatic teenager.

"Set the table or you get nothing." He told her, not even turning from the stove. He placed another one onto the stack beside him, steam wafting up from them.

"Fair." She got up from where she'd sprawled across the table and grabbed the plates from the cupboard. She set three places at the table, using a smaller one for Scout. She then went and got the syrup and put it into the microwave. "Hey, have you seen Scout? I think she might want to try the pancakes." She asked as she watched the bottle spin.

"Nope." Will told her, finally finished cooking. He put the pile in the middle of the table, on the pot holder she'd put down for it.. "Haven't seen her since last night."

"Aw." She pouted slightly, putting the syrup on another pot holder. "I was hoping she'd want some pancakes. She loved my french toast, after all."

"Satan himself would love your french toast." He agreed as they sat down and started grabbing the cakes. "She's probably still sleeping or something. I bet we'll find her later, while we're unpacking."

"I guess..." It wasn't that unusual, considering the Puppet had stayed in hiding for the past couple of days. Still, Stacy would definitely feel better if she knew where Scout was. Especially with the uncomfortable pit in her stomach growing bigger with every bite she took.

Oh, wait. That was nausea. She rushed to the sink, and vomited her just eaten breakfast, ending with a disappointed groan. "My pancakes..."

"Well shit." Will said, moving to help her as she leaned heavily against the counter. "Maybe you should take it easy today. You might've pushed it too hard. I can finish unpacking by myself."

"But I wanna help." She coughed, then rinsed her mouth. She accepted an offered paper towel, wiping her mouth as Will guided her to the couch.

"Yeah, no. You aren't helping today. Or tomorrow. You get to lay there and watch Netflix." Will told her, and she groaned, but complied, laying down on her side while he set it up.

"Fine. But if you find Scout, bring her over here, yeah?"

"Sure, babe." He said, handing her the remote and then turning to grab an unopened, unlabeled box. Stacy laid there, listening to him rummage and put stuff in places, and feeling oddly at peace despite being sick. But even then, she still worried about Scout. And, as the hours passed, and the Puppet never showed up, she only became more worried.

Eventually, while Will was in the kitchen, she got up to look for her. Under the couch, in the TV stand, and even in the bedroom under the bed, but Stacy couldn't find her. Eventually, Will caught her digging through the closet.

"Uuuuh, what are you doing?" He asked, holding onto two plates of leftovers. Stacy didn't look up, tossing yet more shoes over by the bed.

"Scout! I haven't been able to find her anywhere!" She told him, pulling and then shoving a box out of the way. "She's not under anything, or in the TV stand! So I'm checking this closet, and then the closet you keep the vacuum in."

Will stared, then went to put the food on the table. When he came back into the bedroom, Stacy had finished cleaning out the floor of their closet and was just standing up. He grabbed her arm as she tried to go past him, and practically dragged her to the table. "You sit here and try to eat something, I'll check the cleaning closet. You're just going to get hurt otherwise."

"No, I can do it myself!" She insisted, but he forced her to sit down.

"You have one hand, babe! And there's some heavy shit in there. So no, I'm going to do it." And with that he went to look in the closet, while Stacy stayed and picked at her food. Unable, and unwilling, to try and force something down, she instead went to watch Will.

She stood behind him, trying to see around him as he carefully pulled things out of the closet and set them to the side. He checked inside of anything that the Puppet could be hiding in, not wanting to miss her. But to his dismay and Stacy's mounting stress, she wasn't there.

While Stacy panicked, Will got a notebook and a pen, and then wrote down where they'd already searched.

"Okay so the couch, TV stand, bed, both closets..." He muttered as he scrawled the places down, then paused, trying to think if there was anywhere else the Puppet could've hidden. "Did you look anywhere else, Stacy?"

"No, nowhere else." She muttered as she paced back and forth in front of him. "Where else could we look? The basement's always locked, there's no other place she could hide under..." She stopped, face scrunched up in thought before suddenly shrieking. "Outside! She told me to leave a window open last night and she went outside!"

Will stared at her. "Did you take your meds this morning?"

"No, Will. I puked and couldn't eat, remember?" She told him, suddenly calm again. Will just sighed heavily.

"Go eat, take your meds, and then we'll go look for your Puppet. She doesn't have any legs, so she can't have gotten too far away."

"Fine..." She grumbled, heading into the kitchen. While she did that, Will quickly shoved everything back into the closet, intending to organize it later. Moments later he heard retching, and sighed.

"What could be causing that?" He wondered. "She seems fine otherwise."

Stacy came out a minute later, coughing and wiping her mouth. "Puked again. Can't take meds." She croaked out. Will just nodded.

"Yeah, okay Babe. Try again when we get back." He told her as he grabbed a flashlight and put on his shoes. Stacy followed as he went outside, looking around the yard and using the light to check under the house.

Stacy followed behind him, shifting through the piles of sticks and looking in the trash cans, in case she'd gotten stuck. But, no matter where they looked, Scout was nowhere to be found.

"Do you think she could've gotten out of the yard?" Stacy asked, peering down the street. Will sighed, brushing the dirt off his pants.

"Maybe, but I don't see a point to it. Where would she even go? Mason and Lisa's place? She doesn't even know the way." He scoffed, but couldn't keep the worried tone out of his voice.

"Hmmm..." Stacy paused, thinking about it. There was something she could try, though she hadn't attempted it since they got out. She wasn't even sure it would work if they weren't attached. Still... "Will I'm going to try something. Catch me if I fall over."

"What?" But his voiced already sounded far away as she focused, closing her eyes and pushing with all her mental strength.

'Scout, where are you?

Reveal yourself!'

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

Stacy's eyes opened in an alleyway, the smell of moldy food and alcohol choking the air. She sat up, looking around the area. It seemed familiar to her, though she couldn't pinpoint why just yet.

She crawled to the mouth of the alley, then looked up and around the area. To the right, was a familiar neon purple and blue sign, though she could no longer recognize the words on it. Still, the sign itself was confirmation enough.

'Beerly's. I can't believe she managed to get to Beerly's on her first try.' Stacy felt a sting of pride her chest, one that was quickly squashed by the sudden ice cold fear. The emotion was foreign, and caught her off guard as it quickly turned to a white hot rage.

'Oh fuck you.' Rang through her head as her surroundings faded into blackness.

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

Stacy opened her eyes, Will's worried face the first thing she saw. Slowly, she became aware of laying on her back, head in his lap as he threw his head with loud, relieved sigh.

"Oh thank God." He muttered as she struggled to get back up. "I thought you'd fucking died!"

"Scout's at Beerly's!" Was all Stacy said, which gave him pause. He watched as she ran to the house to grab the car keys.

"Wait, how do you know that? Stacy? Stacy! How do you know that?!" He followed her inside, then back out as she ran to his car and opened the driver's side door.

"Get in! Get in and I'll tell you how I found out! But we have to hurry, she knows we know and she might move somewhere else!" She bounced in place as he took the keys, then scurried around to the passenger side.

Will sighed, but got in and started the car. There was every possibility the explanation was just more Voodoo Magic Bullshit, but he'd hear her out. If nothing else, at least they were going to get Scout back.

Fifteens minutes later they were almost at the liquor store and Stacy had finished her explanation. And it was, in fact, Voodoo Magic Bullshit. Will let out a sigh when she was done talking.

"That... wasn't in the document you showed me." He told her, and she looked away, rubbing her arm.

"Yeah well, that bit's kinda, y'know, more personal than the rest." She shrugged. "I think it was supposed to be the opposite way around, but something went wrong with the spell." '"Our psychic link's going haywire!" That's what Scout said back when I first did that. Must be really true, then.'

"Well, whatever it is, at least it's helpful." He squinted through the windshield, trying to look past the traffic. "Looks like we're nearly there. Maybe you should do it again and make sure she hasn't moved."

"Fine." Stacy leaned back and closed her eyes, focused once more on Find Scout and Make Scout. It was harder this time, like she was being fought against. But she pushed through the resistance, and let herself fill the Puppet body.

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

Stacy opened her eyes, to be met with the sight of smelly black trash bags. She bit back a cry of disgust and shoved her way out from behind the pile, thankful for the muted sensations.

'Grossgrossgrossgrossgross' Was the mantra playing in her mind as she dug herself out. It was disgustingly slimy, and got all over her hands. 'Ew.' She shook them off, then wiped them on a fairly clean rag laying on the ground. It didn't get her completely clean, but it did help.

She looked around, noting with relief that it was the same alley as before. She knew Will wasn't that far away, maybe five minutes at most depending on the traffic. She was sure she could hold on for that long.

'Get the fuck out of my head!' A mental shove sent her tipping over, and she just barely caught herself before her head his the ground.

'No! We are bringing you home!' She insisted, starting the crawl to the mouth of the alley. If she could just keep Scout out in the open, Will would be able to spot them easily. At the very least, it'd give her less time to hide again if she managed to push Stacy out a second time.

'Out!' She could feel her mental grip slipping, but just doubled down. She dug herself in as deep as she dared,

'No! Make me!' She crawled faster, finding it difficult to move as her limbs jerked while Scout fought for control. Still, she managed to make progress, if only a few inches at a time.

'Host, I'm not playing around! I'm going to fucking kill you!' Scout sounded desperate, but Stacy kept up her journey. She was stronger, at least for now. And she could keep control until Will came and got them.

They reached the street with more arguing, the Puppet body swaying with each attempt Scout made to push her out. But each attempt was weaker than the last, which worried began to worry Stacy.

'Will's going to be here soon. He'll take us home, and we can fix everything.' She assured as they waited. She was as close to the mouth of the alley as she dared, with a large puddle separating them from the street. She just hoped they were close enough for Will to see.

'There's no fixing this.' The Puppet said, and Stacy had a sudden flash to when she was younger, crouched behind a pretty white gravestone, sleeping pills in hand. Wondering if it would hurt, or if it really would be just like going to sleep and never waking up.

'Scout...' She started, but was distracted by an approaching vehicle, and she looked to see whether it was Will. It was not, being a nice clean red rather than a beat up green-blue. She peered around the corner, just in case he was behind that one and saw another, wrong, one coming up.

'Oh shit. Stacy, move!' Scout's voice startled her, enough that she fell over as once again an attempt at regaining control was made. It didn't succeed, and Stacy sat up again with a scowl.

'Wh' The car zoomed, past hitting the puddle and splashing water over them. For half a second nothing happened, save for the disgust of now being made of wet fabric.

Then the flashlight in Scout's head exploded. That's all it could've been, Stacy had never felt such pain in her life as they collapsed and screamed. They jerked wildly on the ground and the electricity ran through their soaked body like they'd been tazed.

"Stacy? Stacy! Oh shit!"

[katefiction]

Revolution, Part 1

by katefiction (Maria) / 2014

It was a boiling hot day, the day before. I remember because George’s cheeks were bright red all day long. I’d had to resort to stripping him down to a vest and his nappy to keep him cool. It didn’t help that he’d recently discovered how to run. Every fourth step, he would lose his balance and fall to the floor, but he was so happy using his legs, chasing Lupo around the apartment and screeching as he went.

‘George, come here!’ I shouted, grabbing his arm as he ran past me.

I wiped his face and back down with a cold flannel, and made him sip on some water.

‘Ok, go’ I said, releasing him into the wild again.

The air conditioning had broken down a month back, or been switched off. We didn’t know which, but suspected the latter. We had been strongly advised not to open any windows, it would be “inviting trouble”, they had told us.

We’d had to make do with a few portable fans, but that wasn’t enough to cool down our twenty-room home. We decided instead to use only the rooms we needed and it was beginning to feel like a cage. Of course, I would never say that out loud.

With George occupied by Lupo, I sat myself down on the couch with a glass of iced tea. I never thought I’d be this kind of person. A housewife with nothing better to do than sit at home all day and watch daytime TV. But there I was expertly flicking through the channels, deciding between a DIY makeover show and a chat show. The news channels weren’t an option for me, I was sick to the teeth of the constant discussion; the repetition; the poring over of every detail hour after hour.

It was only when George commanded my attention that I snapped out of my zombie like state.

‘Da!’ he shouted, throwing his blue rhinoceros stuffed toy at my feet.

‘Georgie, don’t throw poor Ronald, that’s not nice’ I grabbed the toy and cuddled it to my chest, prompting George to reach out his little chubby arms.

I handed Ronald back to him and he smiled for a second or two before throwing him down again. ‘Da!?’

Ronald was a gift from William, and had quickly become George’s favourite toy. So much so, that he sat in George’s cot every night, standing guard over him.

‘Da? Da! Da?!’

‘Baby, he’s not home yet’, I scooped him up off the floor for a kiss and a cuddle, but he quickly wriggled out of my grasp.

Much to my annoyance, George had said ‘Da’ before he’d said ‘Mu’, which were his names for us. William had revelled in the fact that it was his first word, taunting me about it with the perseverance of a woodpecker.

Forcing myself off the couch, I decided to start on dinner. When I opened the fridge however, it was all but empty. A few vegetables sat limply in the bottom drawer and milk for George was lined up on the shelves. I sighed and slammed it shut. In the kitchen cupboard were a few cans of soup that we could eat with some bread. It riled me to see our kitchen so barren.

William came home at five, just as I was deciding between tomato and leek and potato for the third time that week.

‘Hey’ he said, leaving the door ajar for a few seconds to let some air in. His face was so tired, with dark patches under his eyes as if a storm cloud were shadowing his face.  

‘Hey, how was it?’

He rubbed his worn face with his hand. ‘They won’t budge’

I sighed and turned away from him, ‘did you ask when our food would be delivered?’

‘I forgot’

For days I regretted how I acted next, wondering if it was that which pushed him over the edge.

‘William, I asked you to do one thing!’

‘I had more important things to think about’, he said, too tired to argue.

‘More important than feeding your son?’

‘Not tonight Kate, please…’

I slammed the can of soup down on the counter and tried to pull the ring pull back, but it wouldn’t move.

‘For God’s sake!’ I muttered under my breath.

William came over to me, his body hot from the searing heat, ‘leave it, we’ll order pizza’

‘We can’t live on takeaway’ I said unreasonably.

‘George’s got puree in the freezer; we can cope with pizza tonight. I’ll sort the groceries tomorrow, I promise’

I leant back into his chest and closed my eyes, ‘I’m sorry’

‘So am I’ he said, pushing his mouth into the top of my head.

‘So, what did they say?’ I asked finally.

‘The decision was final, all my engagements are cancelled, and I’m not to be seen in public until they say so’

‘Didn’t Jamie try and convince them?’

‘He was out-numbered; there was nothing he could do’

Over the last two months, our court had been slowly transformed with letters of resignation coming in every couple of weeks, until there was only Jamie left of our original staff. He was supposed to have all but left, but loyally, he’d stayed on. In place of our trusted advisers had come strangers who were now advising us that we shouldn’t even leave our home.

‘We need to get rid of them, we can do with just Jamie for now’ I said.

‘That would be admitting defeat; we can’t do without a court’

‘Do you trust them?’

‘I don’t know’. He pulled the pizza menu from the letter rack and sat down at the breakfast bar.

That was when I knew we were in trouble. William had always been so sure of the people around him. Like a sniper, he would seek out anyone he couldn’t trust and cast them out. But that night, he was worried and he couldn’t do a thing about it.

*

The history books will tell you that the Revolution began on May 6 2014, when the general election was called a year early. Britain had gone to the dogs with riots flaring up around the country over benefit cuts, energy prices and unemployment to name just a few.

Those of us that lived through it will tell you that it had started years earlier. The recession hit the country hard, and May 6 was the eruption of all those years of struggle. When the Green Party came into power that day, with its promise of a new prosperous Britain, it bought with it republican ideals.

The Republic had campaigned against the monarchy for years, but it wasn’t until that May that the British public stood up and took notice. The first months of 2014 were harsh and aggressive with rains and storms hitting our little island with no mercy. People were being forced out of their homes as the rain water crept in, ominously seeping under the doors and destroying everything it touched. Every penny was being whittled away by fuel and food, and the country had had enough of the government that had failed to protect them. By May, it was at breaking point, and the Republic seized their chance to use it against our family, so warm and dry in our fortified homes.

WE ARE PAYING FOR THE MONARCHY TO FEAST WHILE WE STARVE! They shouted, mounted on the lions of Trafalgar Square.

The protests intensified, with echoes of the 2011 summer riots rising once again. Outside all the palaces in London, masses stood, placards in hand, calling for the abolition of the institution that had served their country almost a thousand years. Little children who had once been so excited to meet us, now chanted along with their mothers and fathers. My little family of three hid behind our four walls, watching from the window as the police attempted to turn them away. But this wasn’t a violent protest; it was controlled, thought out and passive aggressive.

‘What do they think will happen?!’ I appealed to William. ‘We’ll just throw money out of the windows, chuck in some priceless paintings and jewels, and that will solve this country’s problems?!’

‘They want us to disappear’ he said gravely, stepping back from the window. ‘We represent sickening wealth, it doesn’t’ matter that we’re trying to help. Come away from the window before you’re seen’

We continued our engagements as best we could, our police protection bumped up just in case. But this only angered them more. The two princes, once so loved for their ‘normal’ personas and giving natures were now brandished all over the papers as spoilt and useless. No amount of PR could turn them back.

In June the Queen left for her summer holiday early under the cover of darkness. No one, not even William, knew if she was truly in Scotland.

That was when the Revolution hit us. With Her Majesty gone, our staff left one by one. Our engagements were cancelled and we were told to stay inside for our “own safety”.

It was the beginning of the end.

*

Unlike our groceries, the pizzas arrived promptly, Americana for me and Margarita for William. As I laid out the food on the table, I listened to him over the baby monitor putting George to bed.

‘Ok GB, it’s way past your bedtime’, he said, as George drank down his milk. ‘You are a greedy guts, aren’t you? Look how fast you’ve drunk your milk’

George babbled in reply.

William couldn’t wait for the day that he and George could have full blown conversations, and neither could I. I hoped it would stop William giving him a new name every week. There was ‘GB’ or ‘Team GB’, an acronym ‘Giant Baby’ in reference to our baby’s 8lb, 6oz weight at birth and ‘Grumplestiltskin’ was for when he was tired and grumpy.

Then there were the names he gave me. ‘Mum-a-tron’ was his current favourite.

‘Just like Daddy aren’t you, big appetite…now where’s Ronald?’

I heard him stand up, the creak of the rocking chair audible in our state of the art monitors.

‘Ah ha, there he is. Ronald’s going to look after you, isn’t he? He’ll protect you no matter what, I promise’

I heard him kiss George and put him into his cot. He didn’t leave the room right away, and I knew he was standing over the cot looking at his son as he so often did when he had something on his mind.

‘Dinner’s up’ I said when he returned to the kitchen.

We took it over to the couch and William immediately put on the news as he had done most nights for the last couple of months. I sighed inwardly.

‘Shall we put something else on tonight?’ I asked hopefully.

‘I just want to watch this for a bit’, he replied, ignoring me.

‘Will, please, can we just have one night without thinking about all this?’ I pointed to the TV, where a member of the Republic was arguing with the presenter about taxation.

‘This is my only source of information, they aren’t telling me anything’ he said scornfully.

I sat back into the sofa, defeated by William’s stubbornness. He was right, though, because an hour later, a breaking news bulletin flashed up on the screen.

PRINCE CHARLES AND THE DUCHESS OF CORNWALL LEAVE BRITAIN

I jolted up from my slumped state as the presenter read from the auto cue that had evidently just popped up in front of her.

‘Aides to the Prince of Wales have confirmed he has left Britain for an undisclosed period. They have declined to reveal his location but confirm that the Duchess of Cornwall is with him. It comes after the Queen left for her annual holiday two months early allegedly due to increasing pressure from the public and the campaign group Republic. Royal sources this evening have revealed that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Prince George and Prince Harry remain in the UK’

The TV was the loudest sound in the room, but my ears were focussed on William’s breathing next to me. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and wordlessly called his father. I watched as his eyes darkened and his breathing intensified. After a few seconds, he ended the call.

‘What happened?’ I asked cautiously.

He didn’t answer me, and instead called Jamie.

‘Jamie, did you see the news? … I just tried, his phone has been disconnected … did you know? … Should we be worried? … OK, I will, bye’

‘What did he say?’

‘It’s the first he’s heard of it. He hasn’t heard from Papa’. His face was so full of worry, I just wanted to reach over and comfort him. But I knew when William was stressed, he needed time to himself.

‘What now?’

‘We stay inside until they tell us otherwise’

My phone buzzed on the sofa arm. It was my mum calling.

‘Tell her we’re ok, but nothing else’ William said, spotting the caller display, ‘we don’t know if our phones are being watched’

I reluctantly did as he said. I wanted more than anything to leave that place right then and go to stay with my parents. But something in William’s tone told me to leave my family in safety.

William, meanwhile paced around the apartment double checking every window and shutting all the curtains. He locked every door he could too.

 ‘Should we go to the panic room?’ I said anxiously when he returned.

The panic room was a high tech protected zone disguised as a normal room – in our case it was hidden behind our walk in wardrobe.

 Suddenly he softened, coming over to me and taking me in his arms, ‘don’t be silly, you’re perfectly safe’

‘Then why are you locking us in here?’

‘As a precaution. As long as I’m here, you’re protected. The only time you’ll need that room is if I’m not’

I knew he was trying to placate me, and I let him because I didn’t want him to know I was scared. Looking back, I know he was doing the same thing.

We went to bed that night anxious but comforted by each other’s presence. After touching base with Harry, I insisted we bring George into our room for the night and we placed his cot as close to the bed as possible.

‘I’m sure your father’s tried to get in touch’ I began.

‘Tomorrow…we’ll talk about it tomorrow’ he said quietly, consumed by his own thoughts.

Somehow, we managed to fall asleep. It was a sleep so deep that I didn’t hear a footstep or a whisper that night, let alone hear him leave.

*

I woke up to silence. It was 6am and my body clock told me that George would wake up and demand breakfast in half an hour. When I looked to my left and right, neither of my boys were there.

It wasn’t unusual for me to wake up and find William not there. He was a light sleeper, and often he would get up before George so he could be there as soon as he woke, allowing me half an hour extra in bed. Recently, he’d been waking up before the sunrise, unable to stay in bed a moment longer than necessary.

I told myself that they were probably in the living room in front of the TV, watching the news so I lay there for a peaceful fifteen minutes, letting my body get used to being awake.

Eventually, I got up and went straight to the living room, only to find it was empty. The kitchen merely had the empty pizza boxes and menu scattered on the counter. Lupo was asleep in his basket in the corner.

Confused and trying to push down a rising sense of panic, I headed to the bathroom, which was cold and lifeless.

George’s room, I thought resolutely, chastising myself for overreacting. I would sometimes find the two of them playing in there, toys scattered all over the carpet because George only had to point and William would get whatever he wanted down from the shelf. Never mind the twenty cuddly toys already on the floor.

The room was vacant.

It was then that my heart shot into my throat.

‘William?!’ I shouted to no reply. ‘George?!’

I rushed back into the bedroom, looking for a note, checking my phone, anything. William wouldn’t have taken George for a walk without telling me, not in the current situation and certainly not without Lupo.

I felt the bile start to rise to my throat, my body breaking out into a sweat with the panic. Stay calm, I willed myself, taking deep breaths and letting my heart slow down.

I closed my eyes, and organised my thoughts. I would go through every one of our twenty rooms methodically and then and only then would I allow myself to worry. Collecting the keys from the study, I went about unlocking every door that William had locked the night before, switching on the lights to make extra sure as William had drawn all the curtains.

When I finished without finding a thing, I went back to our bedroom and did what a panicked wife and mother would do. I tried ringing him.

His phone went off within seconds, still lying on his bedside table where he always left it. My face popped up on the screen as it rang, smiling brightly into the camera. I wanted to throw it against the wall.

What was I supposed to do next? Who was I supposed to call? My mind blurred with all the things I’d been told in my training for emergencies when I’d married William. He would know what to do, I thought, my frustration momentarily overtaking my fear. I had never felt as alone as I did in that moment, my child missing, and my husband not there to calm me down.  

We hadn’t planned what I’d do without him. ‘As long as I’m here, you’re protected’, he’d said the night before as if it was so simple.

Then, as if from nowhere, and in the most inappropriate of circumstances, a memory flashed through my mind. Every year we would join my family on holiday in the Caribbean. What I loved more than anything was standing in the crystal waters, the sun on my back, waiting for the warm waves to wash over my legs. No matter what was happening in my life – an imminent break up or a tough pregnancy – that moment was like hope rushing in.

Standing in my bedroom that day, sweat dripping down my face, the same sense of hope washed over my body, a force so strong it nearly pushed me backwards.

‘The only time you’ll need that room is if I’m not’

I hurled myself towards our walk in wardrobe. The door was closed and I knew immediately someone had been inside. We never closed that door.

Switching on the light, I hurried to the end of the long narrow room, which was lined top to bottom with shelves and rails of clothes, shoes and accessories. At the back end of the room, William’s suits hung immaculately in a row and I pushed them aside roughly to reveal a small, barely visible panel concealed within the wall.

There was a brass latch along the skirting board, and I struggled to remember where it was, fumbling my fingers along it until after what felt like an age, my finger landed on the piece of cold metal. Pulling it up, I heard the panel click and it jutted out, allowing me to slide it to one side.

Behind it hid a thick, heavy metal door. The last time I’d seen it was when we’d moved in. Security had shown us just how secure it was, the loud clunk of the four door latches filling the room. It did so again as I pushed down the handle, and breathed a sigh of relief as I found that it was unlocked. Pushing it open, I entered the room. The lights were cut out and the darkness engulfed me. My other senses strained to make up for the loss of my sight.

After a few seconds, I heard him, his tiny chest heaving in his slumber.

I stumbled around the tiny square room, running my hands clumsily along the wall until I found the light switch.

George was lying in the middle of the room. I hadn’t noticed when I rushed through the wardrobe, but the bottom draw from the large chest in the closet had been removed. It usually held my knitted jumpers, and now it held my baby.

I almost screamed with relief when I saw him lying there in his makeshift cot. Next to him was Ronald. I pulled him out as gently as I could but couldn’t help but squeeze him tightly.

‘Thank God, thank God’ I whispered, kneeling on the ground. ‘How did you get in here baby?’

George fussed in my arms, displeased to be woken up.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ I said trying to stay calm. ‘Where’s your silly daddy gone?’

Taking the room in, it revealed two phones, a radio transmitter, a box of emergency unperishable food, and a small portable toilet in the corner. But no William.

Taking George with me, I circled the apartment again, looking in every single room again for sign of him. I tried to convince myself that he’d just gone out for an emergency meeting or something, but the cold silence in our home told me different.

Returning to the panic room with a bottle of milk, some food and my phone, I decided we should stay in there until I decided what to do. After all, would it be overreacting to call the office, the protection officers even? He had only been gone a few hours at the most. I took Lupo with us too, who by that time, was just as awake as George, and I hoped that they would keep each other entertained while we waited for word from William.

George now fully alert and drinking his milk happily, climbed back into the drawer. If William were there, I knew he would’ve pushed George around in it, pretending it was a boat or a tank. I knelt beside him and noticed my hands trembling.

It was at that moment that I saw it, just as George joyfully threw Ronald from the drawer. Nestled between my knits; a note written haphazardly on a scrap piece of paper.

Don’t come looking. I’m sorry.

*

Jamie arrived within half an hour of my call; as if he was expecting it. With him were two of our new “advisers”. Steven, a tall lanky man in his early forties with sandy blonde hair and sharp features was calm and controlled. In comparison, the new press secretary, Alec, overweight and balding, had been loud and brash every time we’d had the misfortune to encounter him.

‘Ma’am’, they all said, Steven and Alec bowing their heads reluctantly.

‘What exactly happened Ma’am?’ Jamie said kindly, noticing my obvious distress to which the other two were oblivious.

I explained everything from start to finish, all the essential parts anyway. ‘There’s no reason that he would leave like this, something must’ve happened’ I said calmly as I could.

‘Let’s not go over the top here’ Alec said, his voice booming around the room, ‘there’s probably an explanation – have you tried calling him?’

‘Of course I have! He left his phone here’

‘With all due respect’ Steven said, chiming in, ‘it has only been a few hours, perhaps we should wait before jumping to conclusions’

‘I’m not jumping to anything; he would not leave us like this, not after yesterday’

‘And of course we’ll do our best to help’ Jamie said.

‘But we do have a lot on, you understand, we can’t go on a wild goose chase’ Alec looked pointedly at Jamie. ‘Tell me, where’s the little one?’

‘Asleep in the nursery’ I said cautiously. I didn’t like strangers getting too close to George, and as far as I was concerned, Steven and Alec were just that.

‘I believe the duke has been under a lot of pressure recently’ Steven said coldly, ‘perhaps his leaving has something to do with domestic matters?’

I grew hot with embarrassment and anger, ‘what are you insinuating?’

 ‘Did anything happen last night that might have encouraged him to leave?’

‘We had a tiny disagreement about not having any food in the house, but it was nothing’

‘Sometimes small arguments can cause people to re-evaluate things, especially with the big changes happening of late‘

‘My husband has not left me’ I said with a shaking confidence. ’Something has happened to him, besides he hasn’t taken a single thing with him’

Steven nodded patronisingly. ‘We’ll look into it’

‘Give it a few more days though’ Alec added.

I realised then that they were going to do nothing to help me find William. I looked to Jamie for back up.

‘I’ll be right behind you’ he said to the other two, who were making moves to leave.

‘We can wait’ Steven said, halting on the spot.

Jamie looked right at me, his eyes unwavering. It was as if he were trying to communicate something to me without words. ‘I’m sure he’s just fine, Ma’am’.

* 

The following days were filled with anxious waiting and little to no sleep. It had been seventy two hours since William had disappeared and I hadn’t heard a thing. I had tried countless times to convince Jamie that we should call the police. 

At first he told me that we had to wait twenty four hours before reporting a missing person. When those twenty four hours came and I rushed down to his office to make the call, he was apologetic, telling me we should wait a bit longer.

On the third day, I was back in his office yet again.

‘The problem is Ma’am, he left a note, so he’s not technically missing’ he said, wiping his brow, the heat still searing.

‘He’s been gone three days Jamie. You know as well as I do, something isn’t right’

‘I’m afraid the police won’t see it like that, they’ll agree that he left of his own accord’.

Stephen appeared from the adjoining office after hearing my voice. I had managed to avoid him and Alec for the past three days.

‘Is there anything I can help with?’ he said, his voice sending uncomfortable waves of nausea through me.

‘Nothing’ I said shortly.

I glanced in the direction of his office, finding something to focus on that wasn’t his sharp, sly face. He stepped to one side as if to block the doorway from my view. Our old staff kept their doors open for us, happy for us to know what they were doing and discussing.

‘Where’s the little’un today?’ he asked with an informality that was clearly against every bone in his body.

‘He’s being looked after’

‘By whom may I ask? I didn’t see your mother arrive’

Stephen and Alec had CCTV monitors installed in that office. Ever since the protests outside the palace, the security had been intensified. George’s nanny had been let go too, we couldn’t let her stay with us in potential danger no matter how much George loved her. I wondered whether Stephen and Alec’s concern was not really about who was coming in, but who was going out.

‘George is fine. Thank you’ I said.

‘If you insist. Ma’am’ He nodded curtly and slid back into his office.

I bolted up the stairs the minute I left the office. How could I be so stupid to leave George with someone outside the family?

‘Antonella!’ I yelled when I got into the apartment. ‘Antonella, where are you?’

The comforting smell of tomato and basil wafted from the kitchen, followed by the shuffling feet of our some-time cook and housekeeper. Jamie had finally convinced Steven and Alec to let her return after weeks of her not being allowed “for security reasons”.

‘Yes Ma’am’ she said, her tone one of constant worry nowadays.

‘Where’s George?’ I said irrationally and out of breath.

‘In his cot Ma’am, where you left him’

Clearly, Antonella was confused by my sudden change of attitude. Ten minutes previously, I’d asked her to watch George while he was napping so I could speak to Jamie.

I ran into the nursery to check on him, where he was splayed on his front like a starfish, gentle snores escaping his mouth.

‘You should probably go’, I said to Antonella when I returned to the kitchen.

‘But what about the din-‘

‘I said go!’ I shouted this time, my steady façade gone.

She didn’t hesitate, gathering up her things and scuttling out of the door.

It was only when the door clicked shut that I let myself crumple into a heap on the floor. I gathered my knees to my chest and sobbed into them, great wells of tears that had been bursting at the seams for three days. I had no idea where William was and no hope of finding him. I had been convincing myself that he wouldn’t leave us, but spanning my mind back, my bitchiness over the food and his stress that night made me doubt myself. Maybe he just wanted out.

I picked myself up and tuned off the stove, where Antonella’s pasta sauce was close to burning. I couldn’t bear to eat anything now.

*

That night, I sat on my bedroom window ledge, unable to sleep. Scrolling through William’s phone for the fiftieth time, I flicked through his picture album. Before George was born, I would tease him for only having six pictures stored in his phone, compared to my two hundred. But now, his was as full as mine, with shots of George from the day he was born to just last week when he was trying to climb on top of Lupo.

I looked out into the black night, wondering how he could have left all this. I thought about where he might go to escape.

Scotland, Windsor? Too close.

Kenya? That was his favourite place on earth, after all. But people knew him there now.

William had once told me, ‘I’d love to move somewhere where I could lose my identity, to be small fish in a big pond, a nobody’.

I had just laughed at him and told him he’d have a hard job finding such a place.  

I shook away the thought of him being far from me and focused back on the night he left.

Did he leave through the front entrance, the darkness of Kensington Gardens engulfing him so he wasn’t seen? Or perhaps through the back, scurrying into a car while we were all asleep?

As if knowing which exit he used would help me find him, I chided myself.

I stopped my thoughts in their tracks. There was a way I could know how he left, of course there was.

I wrapped George in a blanket, careful not to wake him and tip toed out of the apartment. It was almost midnight and all the staff had gone home, at least I hoped.

As I unlocked the office door, I silently thanked Jamie for giving me a key when William and I had married. Those days of transparency were long gone now, I knew that much. I headed straight to Steven and Alec’s annexed office, where this morning, Steven had been so unwilling to let me see inside. Mercifully, it was unlocked.

Suspended on the wall was a plasma screen split into twelve, each showing a different entrance of the palace. Now, there was no movement, but I knew if I looked for the tape from the night William left, I may just have something to see. Swopping George to my other arm, I pulled open the heavy drawer of the filing cabinet under the screen and found rows of cds all neatly labelled with dates. William disappeared on the 12th and my heart pace increased and I spotted the July section.

10th, 11th,   13th.

George whined in my arms as if sensing my distress.

‘Shhh baby, shh, Mummy’s here’

I knew there was no point looking for the missing cd, it was gone, most likely destroyed. It only confirmed my belief that I was swimming against the tide. Not only were these new advisers reluctant to help me, they were actively hiding information.

‘Yes it’s getting in the morning edition’ a voice said, coming from nowhere and startling me. ‘Ha! Runaway Prince, I like it’

It was Alec, and by the sound of it, he was out in the corridor.

I panicked, ducking down under Steven’s desk. George didn’t like the sudden movement and let out a cry.

‘Shhhh!’ I said holding his head close to my chest, my heart beating like a drum.

Alec continued. ‘What? Yeh I told them she’s frantic, prissy little bi-‘

George cried, louder this time.

I crouched lower, ‘please baby, be quiet for Mummy’ I whispered desperately.

I heard the outer office door creak and after a long pause, his breathing low and heavy, he finally spoke again.

‘Oh nothing…just a cat outside. Anyway, make sure you get the message to Redfern tomorrow, we don’t want him staging a comeback…’

Alec’s voice trailed off as he shut the door and left. I breathed a sigh of relief, planting kisses all over George’s face for keeping quiet when he really needed to.

*

Back in the apartment, I paced the lushly carpeted floor. Who was Redfern and what did he need to know? I’d never heard of that name, and desperately wanted to call Jamie to ask him. But I now realised the lengths Steven and Alec were prepared to go, and couldn’t risk using my phone.

My eyes were tired, deep bags forming under them, but I couldn’t sleep. Out of desperation and insomnia, I fired up the laptop and typed ‘Redfern’ into Google. The first couple of results were meaningless; a publishing house and a photographer with the name.

But the third caught my eye.

Redfern, Iowa

I clicked on the link.

Redfern is a town is Iowa, United States. The population in the 2010 census was 104.

I looked up from the screen, not daring to believe it, or to let myself hope.

‘I’d love to move somewhere where I could lose my identity, to be small fish in a big pond, a nobody’.

*

The sun had broken by the time I had worked out a way to contact Jamie without using my phone, which William warned me could have been bugged. A niggling feeling warned me to be careful. Maybe I couldn’t trust him either. But he was my only hope of finding William.

I hunted around in my underwear drawer and eventually found what I was looking for. Tucked into one of my socks was my old mobile phone, a Nokia to be exact. It was the very same that had been hacked all those years back. William would’ve been mortified if he knew I still had it, with all those messages still stored on there. But I couldn’t let it go, it was a potent memory of the days when our communication consisted of love yous and miss yous, unlike the last text I sent to him, which simply said Don’t forget to ask about the food.

I prayed that after all these years the old thing would be able to switch on, let alone make a call. By the time the phone had woken up, I had finished packing mine and George’s bags. I had started as soon as I’d decided that Redfern was the place I needed to go. Our bags consisted of a few clothes, as much cash as I could find, toys – Ronald of course – but mainly were filled with food and water.

It was only 5am, and feeling bad for Jamie, I delayed calling him for fifteen minutes by looking at some old text messages from William.

09/05/2006 : I can’t wait to see you baby  

How true that was now. I felt a tinge of fear that maybe I was wrong, maybe Redfern was something totally unrelated to where William had gone. I pushed the doubt aside, it was all I had left to cling on to.

*

The car pulled up quietly at eight am. Jamie had been furtive on the phone, worried about my state of mind. But I insisted and pleaded with him, and something told me he didn’t think my idea was as crazy as he made out.

‘Ok Georgie, time to go’ I said to him as he sat on the kitchen floor rolling a ball into Lupo and then shouting as if he expected him to roll it back.

Distracting myself from the fact that I was leaving my home seemed so easy when I had packing and last minute calls to make. It seemed ironic that the same phone that was infiltrated was now being used to avoid that very situation. I had explained to my family what was happening but declined to tell them where I was going. My mother was frantic.

‘Catherine, you can’t just disappear! How will we know you’re safe?!’

‘I’ll get in touch as soon as I can, I promise mummy’

It broke my heart to hear her so worried and upset, but I reasoned that if would be safer for them to not know where we were. I still didn’t know what I was up against. Harry hadn’t answered his phone but Jamie had promised to let him know where his brother was once we knew for sure.

Lupo sat solemnly on the kitchen floor as if he had heard me ask my mother to take him in. 

‘Ok boy, time to say goodbye’ I nuzzled my face into his fur but he didn’t respond. ‘Say bye bye to Lupo, George’

George waddled over and imitated me by patting him on the head. I forced back the lump in my throat. 

Carrying all three bags and George on my hip, I opened the door and looked around our home for one last time. Lupo trotted up to us and started scratching at my legs.

‘No boy, it’s just me and Georgie this time’ I pushed him down and said goodbye to him and to the life we once lived.

 *

After creeping through the servant’s corridors and out of a side door, George and I bundled into the car that was waiting for us. On the seat next to me was not Jamie as I expected, however.

‘Susannah, what are you doing here? Where’s Jamie?’ I asked, strapping George into his seat.

‘We thought it’d be safer if I came, I pretended I was going out for a morning jog and met the car on a side street’ she said.

Jamie’s wife sat next to me, a worried expression on her face.

‘You think you’re being watched?’ I asked.

‘Jamie thinks so, these ex-military types are suspicious of everyone though’, she let out a wry laugh.

‘I know the feeling’ I said, thinking of William and his intense dislike of Steven and Alec. That time he was right. 

As we set off, I tried to make conversation, ‘how did Jamie organise all this? I thought the whole palace was being watched’

‘Let’s just say there’s still some loyal people working for your family’ she smiled.

We made our way through the streets of London, I had no idea where the plane was that I’d be taking to Iowa or how Jamie managed to get it, but I didn’t ask. I was relieved enough to be away from Kensington. 

Driving around Green Park, Susannah handed me a newspaper she’d been clutching.

‘I don’t know if you’ve seen this Ma’am’

I unfolded the paper and read the headline. Exclusive! Runaway Prince! Prince William walks out on Kate.

I shut it with haste. So this was what Alec was talking about last night.

I said nothing and focused instead on our journey. The drive seemed to be taking us down the Mall and towards Buckingham Palace. As we got closer, a strange noise caught our attention. It was a mass cheering of some sort, but not the type I was used to when standing from that famous balcony. It was more like jeering. 

Getting closer to the palace, my eyes connected to the sound. 

Up on that balcony, which had been used for so many scenes of celebration was a large group of people waving their arms in victory.

Replacing the red and gold trimmed banner so often used on big occasions was something very different hanging from the the balustrade.

Blue, with a shocking pink cross struck through the middle. The Republic.

‘Good God, they’ve taken the palace’ Susannah gasped. 

From the windows of the palace, Republic flags were dotted around, flying proudly. 

On the ground, gone were the uniformed guards in their famous bearskin hats. People stood behind the golden gates cheering and shouting, and on the other side, members of the Republic pulled at the chains to let the masses in. News vans were just arriving to the scene.

We watched as the flag rose from the top of the building, where the royal standard used to fly, signifying their final victory.

‘We have to turn around, go a different route’ I heard Susannah say to the driver in panic ‘if they spot Their Royal Hignesses…’

‘Don’t call us that’ I said blankly.

Susannah looked at me but said nothing.

I kept my eves on the palace even as the driver turned the car around. Although I had only been royal for three years, the pain of watching the palace being seized throbbed through me. It was where we’d spent our first day and night as a married couple, where we’d danced all night on the wave of love and affection of the country. And now they celebrated, and no-one; no police, not even Her Majesty’s Armed Forces were there to stop them. 

‘It’s over, isn’t it?’ I whispered to no-one in particular.

George let out a long yawn, snapping me out of my daze. I turned to smile at him, he was looking out of the window, with not a care in the world. He was the spitting image of his father. It was then that I finally allowed to let myself think the unthinkable – what if we never found William, what if he was gone.

I held George’s hand, enclosing his chubby fingers in my palm as we escaped from the city.

It was just the two of us now, we were going to have to do this alone. 

‘Come on then’ I said, leaning in to him, ‘let’s go find your daddy’.

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 8

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo reveals what he's learned to Demyx, who begins to remember. They decide whether or not to act on the bond.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

They walked back mostly in silence. By the time they finally got back, it was very late and Ienzo was exhausted, his feet hurting awfully. The light in the window of the townhouse was on. Ienzo took a moment to compose himself. “Are you going to come in? Visit old friends?”

Dilan chuckled. “Maybe another time.”

“So leaving me to explain this on my own, then.”

He smiled. “Oh, I know you can talk your way out of it. Until we meet again.” He disappeared almost soundlessly into the night.

He hadn’t fully opened the door before Even was on him, grasping his shoulders. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” All the anger was gone.

“I’m fine. I’m simply--very tired.”

“Where were you? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“I needed some air.”

“It’s after dark--you could’ve gotten hurt, or worse--”

“I was fine.” He started towards the stairs. “Even, I can… defend myself.”

“At the cost of setting a beacon for all Xehanort’s many eager ears.”

This felt like a conversation he’d had many times. “We can argue about this in the morning. I need rest.”

He sighed. “Very well.” Even shut the light.

Ienzo took a warm shower. Once he was in bed, despite his exhaustion, he struggled to sleep.

Meet the resistance. Be the face of it.

To do something. At last.

What about Demyx? They were… quite literally… soulmates. Ienzo felt that rush of heat in his magic again, but it wasn’t lust. At least, not entirely. Had Ansem truly not known about this? Even seemed to think so, Dilan didn’t. Who was right?

Ienzo wished he could ask him. If Ansem had known… why had he made this decision? He, who openly encouraged Ienzo’s willfulness?

(Or was that encouragement all an act?)

He began to understand what Demyx had meant when he said he wasn’t sure if anyone in his life actually cared for him… No, Ienzo, stop being dramatic. If Even and the others didn’t care about him, they could’ve abandoned him, or worse, long ago. They did care--even if their care was smothering, misguided--

He took a deep breath, and then another, and another. No use getting worked up.

He wished Demyx were here with him.

Ienzo sat through class in a haze the next day. He had Demyx’s pendant, as well as the other, in his pocket (he refused to think of it as his , but yet also could not bring himself to put it back in its little silver box). He’d only managed to sleep for a few hours, too wound up to do anything other than fret and toss and turn. His calves were aching from the long walk both ways. Had he always been this physically weak? Maybe that should change, especially if he were considering meeting this aqueous resistance. There was a gym on campus, free to use with his tuition. Might be worth scouting out.

He again had the class Demyx TA’d for. He couldn’t help the small smile seeing him, and found it returned. But then, with a flash--he was going to have to tell Demyx what he’d learned. A wave of anxiety made him physically dizzy, and his magic threatened to wake up. He held it at bay and tried to focus on the lecture, about the neoclassical movement. Instead he found himself scribbling in the margins of his notebook.

This was all so bizarre.

He barely knew Demyx, yet here their lives were intertwined. Perhaps the rushes of feeling he was having were predetermined. He tried to hold onto that rage of having this choice taken from him, yet, it was so soothing . So almost instinctive. He hadn’t even known he was gay prior to this, had perhaps thought he was nothing . Was he even meant to be with anyone else? Perhaps this was what was called "demisexuality", something he'd read about aqueously when he'd researched gender all those years ago--

This romanticism was somewhat pathetic.

Demyx immediately joined him after the class was over. “Hey,” he said. “How are you doing?”

“I am… tired,” he said. “And yourself?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about… stuff,” he said evasively.

“Do you have a few moments?”

A small smile. “For you? Any time.”

And he knew that the simplicity of this phrase should not have made him melt --gods, Ienzo hated this. “Is there somewhere private on campus we can talk?”

Demyx pursed his lips. “Sure. Come on.” He led him to the older section of campus. Despite the dreariness of a sky threatening rain, the light still seemed rosy, warm. This time, when Demyx slid his hand into Ienzo’s, Ienzo didn’t pull away. He liked the way the calluses fit against his own soft skin.

They approached one of the ivy-covered structures. Its face had a sandstone arch, and old glass doors. Ienzo saw closed doors leaving to what was presumably an auditorium. Demyx took him to the left. “Music and music ed have most of our classes here,” he said. “It’s kind of… old, I know.”

As they passed classrooms, Ienzo saw what Demyx meant; the whole building had that slightly sweet smell of old wood. The empty classrooms had blackboards instead of the smartboards Ienzo had seen elsewhere, and the desks were mismatched. Some doors were propped open with doorstops where their hydraulics had failed. A few wooden upright pianos were scratched, their finish faded.

“It’s funny,” Demyx continued. “The concert and recital series bring in a ton of money for campus, and they can’t even bother to remodel the place.”

“Where does it go, then?”

“Did you see that fancy new engineering building?” He sighed. “Listen. Science? Is great. But people aren’t going to listen to science on their commute and they’re not going to see it when they turn on their TV. Science won’t help you through the bad times.”

Ienzo bit his lip; it had been Ansem who steered them culturally towards the sciences. “It’s a shame,” he said instead.

Demyx took him up one more flight. He took a keycard out of his wallet and tapped it on a closed door. “Et voila,” he said lamely. “One of the only real perks of being a TA.”

It was a small, square room, with black soundproofing foam mounted on the walls. There was an electric keyboard, a few black metal music stands, and a chair or two. “A practice suite?”

He nodded. “We’re supposed to do lab hours, but… honestly a lot of us just use them to hang out. Or… other stuff.” He winced. “Not that this is why we’re here.” He pulled two chairs over from the wall. “So… what did you want to talk about?”

Ienzo took a deep breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Demyx’s pendant. “I wanted to give this back to you,” he said softly. “Moreover…” He took out the second. Unceremoniously, he fitted the two together.

Demyx’s expression had gone blank, his eyes wide.

“We’re not just pairbonded,” Ienzo began. “We’re soulbound. My… guardian told me about it. Apparently… your people offered you to me… as protection, and in a wayward attempt at peace. That all of you might help pacify the unrest in Radiant Garden, and stave off revolution during a period of reform.”

Demyx’s hand snapped to his mouth.

“And allegedly, this was done because of the ways our souls resonated with one another. So this half… is mine.” He offered it back to him, but Demyx didn’t take it. “I know this is a lot to take in--believe me, I didn’t react half as well.”

His hand shot from his mouth to his temple, and he let out a pained gasp.

“Demyx?”

“I--I, um…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I think I… remember--”

“Remember what?”

“God, it fucking--” He rocked back and forth slightly. “Oh…”

“Are you alright?”

When Demyx finally opened his eyes, they were wet. “Got it,” he said simply. “I was… picked.” He said it with the air of something new and yet known. “My parents… my mom was really sick, and… they would be provided for if… I went with them.”

“With who?”

“The… choosers, the chief of our… colony.” There was something distant and horrified in his eyes. “I was… sold? So my mom could get medicine?”

“They were pairbonded,” Ienzo murmured. “Easier to lose you than her… I’m so sorry.”

“And then, I…” He stood up suddenly, and went over to the window. “They took me, said I had somewhere important to be, and then I saw you.”

“That was when you saved my life,” Ienzo said.

“Yes, but… after that…” He tapped his forehead. “They… cut off my form, and they were going to… send me to you, I think, more directly, but…” He leaned heavily against the sill. “All of sudden the colony was being sieged, and everything was being…” A moan. “I just ended up on the beach… and I forgot.”

“And then someone found you.”

“And adopted me. And I lived normally, and Riku and I looked into it when he started getting magic, and then… is now.” He turned to face Ienzo, tears running freely down his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Ienzo said. “I’m so--” It didn’t feel awkward or uncalled for to go over and draw Demyx into his arms, to comfort him as he cried and stroke his hair. Like they’d done it dozens of times before. Ienzo had never been able to make a choice before, and yet still his existence was hurting people.

After a while, Demyx calmed down. He wiped at his eyes. “This is all so weird. Why did they do this to us, Ienzo?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this. You were just a kid.”

“So were you.” He took a deep breath and realized he, too, was upset. “All along our choices have been taken away from us, and now--” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “There has to be something that can be done. There has to--” In it, a certainty.

He was going to go to the resistance.

“Demyx?” he asked softly. “I think I know a way to stop all this. To give people choices back. Will you help me?”

He bit his lip. Then, “Yeah. I will.”

Ienzo leaned forward and kissed him. Too quickly it became hotter, more intense; Demyx still tasted like salt, his skin damp. Ienzo drew his hands up through his hair. Demyx’s hands trembled where they rested on his back. He ran his tongue along Demyx’s lips and felt them part.

He hated how natural this felt, how good, his magic waking up, his nerves all too raw. If he’d had a choice, would he have chosen Demyx?

Almost at this thought, the other man pulled away. “Do you want to…” He began. “Do you want to go back to my place?”

Ienzo felt the blood rush to his face. “Yes.”

Demyx picked up his pendant from its place on the chair and slid it back on. Ienzo couldn’t help but stare at the other. “You don’t have to,” he said.

Ienzo nodded, and put it back into his pocket.

They walked off campus together in a sort of silence. Anticipation had his heart racing. He had no idea what he was about to do, if anything, but this resolve made him eager to explore. They were going to get through this together . Demyx’s hands, when he undid the lock, were still shaking. “Um, it’s through here,” he said. “My room. I mean.” The color in his face warmed his tan skin. They took off their shoes at the door.

Ienzo followed him in a haze. The room was relatively small; it barely fit the double bed, the desk and dresser, and a bookshelf full of CDs and records. Ienzo wasn’t sure why he was surprised it was clean; in fact, he could smell fresh laundry and floor cleaner. Blinds made the light even rosier. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, an instrument--he guessed it was Demyx’s sitar. It was clearly very old, and well loved; the varnish worn off in places, though it had a place of honor by the window on its own stand.

“Oh yeah… there she is,” he said softly. He sat on the bed.

“Perhaps you’ll play for me sometime,” Ienzo said. He turned back to him.  It took a moment of culling his nerve before he was able to sit down next to him.

Demyx touched his cheek. “So,” he said in a low voice. “Look… if you ever feel uncomfortable with anything, at any time, just tell me.”

He nodded. It was hard to breathe, and he was sweating under his cardigan.

Demyx leaned in to kiss him, gently, softly. Ienzo kissed back a little more deeply, reaching over to feel at his back, finding his suspicions were right; Demyx was wiry under that loose shirt.

He pulled away and kissed at Ienzo’s jaw, his throat, so slowly , the feel of it making him gasp for air. He could hear Demyx breathing quickly, unevenly, his hand sliding up under Ienzo’s thigh, bringing with it a rush of goosebumps, the magic quivering around him in little waves. He let himself be eased back onto the bed, which smelled so like Demyx. Suddenly Ienzo was feeling at his arms, his sides, his chest. His hands were so much more sensitive now.

He should fight this. Wait, as they’d said. But would it really be so awful to see this through if it were unbreakable anyway?

For a moment they broke apart. Demyx brushed away Ienzo’s bangs. “That eye’s blind,” he said, as explanation. “Too much… magic use, at one point in my life.”

“Oh.” He traced his finger along Ienzo’s lip, making him shudder, and kissed his eyelid. “Would it be okay if I--” He reached for the hem of his own shirt.

Ienzo’s heart just beat all the harder. “Yes.” Even in this dim lighting, he found himself caught staring at him, his lean toned body. Ienzo longed to taste that skin, so he did, pressing his lips Demyx’s shoulder, his collarbone. He breathed that salt, that sweetness. Demyx pressed him down against the bed a little more, close enough that their bodies were touching, that he was certain he could feel Demyx’s dick. It was rubbing up against him, not quite between his legs, making his clit throb. Ienzo pushed up, wanting to feel more of it. Demyx slid an arm under him to help.

He hadn’t ever quite felt like this before. It was a feeling that was somehow so new and so old at the same time, familiar yet not. They drank each other in with a sort of urgency. Demyx’s hand slid up under Ienzo’s shirt. “Can I--take this--”

“Yes.” Ienzo struggled out of the sweater; the cooler air of the room was welcome. For a moment Demyx just looked at him. Then, he traced one trembling hand along Ienzo’s side, running it along his flat chest. Ienzo gasped a little.

Demyx leaned down and kissed his nipple, teasing it gently, and Ienzo nearly swore out loud. He’d never wanted so hard, not even as a hormonally confused teenager. “Is that good?”

He could only nod. Demyx kept at it, moving all along his skin before so tentatively sliding one hand up along his inner thigh between his legs. Ienzo thought he might faint.

“You’re alright?” Demyx asked.

“Yes.” All he could manage; not exactly eloquent.

Demyx touched him slowly, and having it muffled through the clothing was almost more than Ienzo could take. He had to either stop this now, or let it run its course; he was on the verge of falling apart completely. At least this was a choice he could make.

Ienzo pulled his hands away from Demyx’s hair and reached for the button of his jeans, startling him. “I don’t think I can… do the whole thing,” he said thickly. “But perhaps we can--”

“Right. Yeah. Sure.” He laughed a little and helped Ienzo out of his own pants. “Little too hot under the collar?”

“I feel I may combust.”

Demyx pressed a kiss against his cheek, his jaw, his throat. “Maybe I can do something about that.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

Despite being in this heightened state, it still took a moment or so of finding the nerve before Ienzo was able to touch Demyx too, wondering along the shape of his dick. Demyx gasped. The skin was feverish even through the fabric of his boxers.

“Fuck,” he spat. “Ienzo, I--” His hips strained a little. “Could I--touch--”

“Just do it already.”

Another small laugh; Ienzo did too, despite himself. How strange, to be so comfortable with a near-stranger, to open this part of himself to him. Demyx kissed him on the lips, teasing him once or twice more before finally sliding his hand down Ienzo’s waistband. Ienzo couldn’t quite breathe. The moment was so surreal as to be vaguely nostalgic, like it had been done before, the magic making every nerve feel almost twice as much. This is what you wanted, he thought towards it. Well, here.

Demyx felt at him for a moment before he found the clit, almost making Ienzo moan out loud. “God, you’re wet.”

Ienzo just grabbed him and kissed him. Demyx began to stroke him in earnest, a steady, smooth motion, which did not provide relief so much as turn him on more. “I feel so much,” he muttered, without meaning to.

“Me too.”

He couldn’t quite reciprocate as much as he might have liked, only able to fumble at him a few times. Even his most intense personal sessions could not compare. Ienzo was acutely aware that it was the soulbinding making him experience this so strongly.

“Relax,” Demyx whispered.

He tried to listen. He was shaking. Demyx moved his hand a little faster; Ienzo could already feel the tightening beginning in his stomach, his thighs. He resisted it. He felt both out of his body yet so in it, in awe of the soft sounds they were both making, the way it tasted to kiss him. He pressed harder against Demyx’s hand. The subtle scratch of the calluses along the too-sensitive part of him became all he could focus on.

This really is happening, he thought dazedly.

“Does this feel good?” Demyx asked him, his voice somewhat distant.

“Don’t stop.” So he was capable of speech.

Lips against his throat. He could hear his own breath, heightened and strange. He felt Demyx tease the actual opening, and after a moment, slip a finger up into him, causing him to spasm. “Does that--hurt?” Demyx asked. “I--”

“No. It doesn’t--” He bucked his hips against it, and feeling the push and pull, Demyx still working his clit with his thumb. “Oh…” Not so much a moan as a sort of realization.

Even after so much buildup, it came as a shock to him, little waves breaking over him. Ienzo wasn’t able to do anything but let it happen, a warm release in his magic making the world fuzzy. Demyx pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Did you just--”

“...Maybe a little.” He swallowed, feeling tears in his eyes, of all the things. The sensation of warmth hadn’t faded, and again all his senses felt raw, as though anything insignificant had peeled away.

“I thought I felt it.” He squirmed a little. The color on his face had reached his collarbones.

“Lay down,” Ienzo said.

“You don’t… I mean, it was your first time ever , so--” It seemed difficult for him to speak.

“I want to.”

Demyx complied. Ienzo eased off his underwear and took his dick into his hand. Demyx moaned. “Just kind of--here.” He adjusted Ienzo’s hand.

A sort of embarrassment almost broke the pleasure he was feeling. How often had he fantasized about having one of these himself, only to not know how to properly deal with it? But after a moment or so, Demyx was making these small beautiful noises, his eyes shut tight. Ienzo tried to kiss him too, to find the spots that excited him. Doing this flooded the magic with another sort of pleasure. Demyx clutched the sheet with one hand. He felt Demyx’s cock tense a little, and he moaned, and Ienzo felt the sticky heat of it against his palm. A heartbeat after this, he thought he felt Demyx’s energy brush against his, that same moment of release.

Oh.

For a moment they both struggled to catch their breath. Ienzo knew without being told that his hair was again glowing; he could feel it on his scalp. “Are you alright?” Demyx asked him. Then, “here.” He handed him a tissue to wipe off his hand.

“I’m… fine.” Demyx threw it out for him. “I feel like we’ve… done this before.”

“Me too.” He settled more naturally against the sheets and drew Ienzo against him.

“You’ve had sex with other people. Does it feel like that?”

He laughed. “No. Not even close.”

Ienzo did not know the feeling washing over him. He rested his head against Demyx’s chest. The other man began to play with his hair.

“Does this happen every time you come?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never particularly noticed. I think this was… special.” His lip curled.

Another laugh. He took one of Ienzo’s hands into his. For a few minutes they just enjoyed each other; it took Ienzo too long to realize that what he felt was safety . He did not have to worry, right now, about consciously reining the magic that always threatened to explode from him. Demyx took care of all that. “You know…” He began. “This… soulbond stuff. Do you think you and me would have picked each other otherwise?”

“I… am not entirely sure,” Ienzo said. “But… if any of what they’ve told me is true, then… we were chosen because our souls resonated , not because we’re two powerful people. That means on some level… we must be intrinsically compatible. Better to think that… than the alternative.”

“I still don’t really know you,” Demyx murmured. “...And so much for waiting.”

“Quite. Well.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve got time… relatively speaking.”

“And I should actually buy you dinner.”

Ienzo chuckled a little. “That would be quite nice.”

[ghostofviperwrites]

Dream Talker

Pairing: Matt Jackson/FC

Category:   Smut

You loved Matt.  You really did.  But sometimes…sometimes you just wanted to punch him in his smug adorable little face. Other times you just wanted to fuck him. And apparently your little crush on him was growing stronger, judging by the increasingly frequent dreams.  You didn’t know where it came from, but for the past several weeks you had nightly erotic dreams starring the man that woke you up hot and bothered.  

The mounting sexual frustration combined with lack of sleep was making your temper very short, which had led to you blowing up at him over some stupid joke he had made.  Realistically you knew you were overreacting, but you weren’t exactly feeling reasonable at the moment.  Kenny and Nick had tried their hand and talking some sense into you to no avail.   Matt was equally pissed, unable to believe you had gone off the rails over an innocent little joke, so he was trailing behind the group as the four of you walked into the lobby of your hotel.

Not wanting any part of the brewing tensions between you and Matt, Nick and Kenny quickly got the keys to the room they were sharing and hightailed it to the elevators.  Glaring at Matt you stepped in front of him giving your name to the desk clerk so you could get your key and go to bed.  

Unfortunately the universe seemed to be against you today, the clerk informing you there had been some sort of mix-up with you reservation and you were booked into a double room with none other than Matt Jackson.  Jaw dropping you spun to glare at the subject of your consternation as if it was all his fault.

“What?”  He asked glaring right back at you.  “It’s not my fault. You were in charge of the reservations.”  

His logic just pissed you off further and you extended your middle finger at him before turning back to the clerk with a sickly sweet smile begging him to find you another room, any room.  Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you were informed they were sold out for the night as he apologetically handed you a room key.

“I can’t believe I have to share a room with you,” You muttered shoving Matt’s key into his hand and stomping through the lobby towards the elevators your bag dragging behind you.  

“I’m not exactly thrilled about this either,” Matt snapped following you.

“You just stay away from me and I’ll stay away from you.”  You said as you boarded the elevator.

“Gladly.”  Matt said.

Silence reigned throughout the room, both of you stubbornly refusing to talk to the other.  Despite him deliberately choosing a movie he knew you hated you didn’t rise to the bait, simply locking yourself in the bathroom and taking a very long, very hot shower.  

As soon as you exited you climbed into your bed, pulling the covers up to your shoulders and rolled facing the wall.  Trying to ignore the image of Matt sitting on his bed in nothing but his boxers. The shower had gone a long way to soothing your temper, but you were still acutely aware of the ache between your thighs that had not been helped by seeing Matt like that.  And you totally did not take a nice long look at his ass as he walked past your bed and into the bathroom.  Irritated with yourself you pushed all thoughts of Matt out of your brain, and worked on breathing deeply until you fell asleep.

Matt exited the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist and glared at you sleeping in your bed.  He was still pissed off, getting tired of you constantly picking fights with him.  He had tried being nice to you, but no matter what he said you seemed to take it the wrong way.  He couldn’t figure it out.  You didn’t fight like that with Nick and Kenny.  Those two had no idea why you seemed to be rubbed the wrong way by everything he did either.  

Slipping into a fresh pair of boxers, Matt climbed into bed and flipped off the TV and lights.  He had just gotten comfortable and started drifting off when he was startled awake by your voice.

“Matt,” you mumbled breathlessly.

“What?”  He said, trying desperately to keep the irritation at having been woken up out of his voice.  The last thing he wanted was to fight with you right now.  When you failed to respond his temper ratcheted up and he was about to chew you out when you spoke again.

“Please Matt,” You said. “More, harder.”  A moan followed those words as Matt sat up in bed peering through the darkness at your still sleeping form.  He was surprised you were quite obviously having sex dream about him   a pretty damn good one judging from the increasing noises that were leaving you. Matt turned the bedside lamp on dim and leaned back against the headboard as he considered his options. Matt had never really considered you that way.  Sure you were attractive but you were always just kind of there to him.  He could just throw a pillow over his head and do the gentlemanly thing and ignore it.  That idea was pretty much immediately discarded.  Matt had never really been much of a gentleman.  He would much rather hold this over you, embarrass the hell out of you for wanting him.  Except there was one part in particular on him that seemed rather interested in you.

At that moment your dream seemed to kick into high gear, making you moan as you shifted onto your back, pushing the blankets off your overheated body.  A smirk came to Matt’s lips as he looked you over.  The t-shirt you were sleeping in creeping up your stomach, little white lacy panties showing brightly in the dimly lit room.  His cock seemed to like the view, judging by the increasing hardness in his boxers.   Decision made Matt rose from his bed and slid onto yours, coming to kneel beside you. You moaned when he ran his fingers lightly up your thighs and up your stomach his name falling from your lips as your body unconsciously arched into his touch.  

With a small chuckle Matt moved to straddle your hips, his hands grabbing yours and pinning them above the head, grinning down at you as your eyes flew up in fright.  It took you a moment to orient yourself, remembering you were in a hotel room with Matt and you struggled as you realized he was on top of you.

“Matt, what the hell are you doing?”  You screech whispered.  “Get off me.”

“I don’t think so.”  Matt said with a shake of his head.  “I think I like right where I am.  Got me a nice front row seat to that little dream you were having about me.”

Your eyes widened at his revelation, heart pounding as you remembered exactly what you had been dreaming of.  “You…you heard that?”  You stuttered

“Oh yeah. I heard it all, the pleas for more, your little moans, begging me to give it you.”  Matt taunted. “So I decided I would lend you a hand. Give you what you’re asking for.” You shivered as he brought down one hand to edge under your shirt pushing up to rest on your chest between your breasts.  Matt leaned down to your lips, his own just millimeters from kissing you.  

“You want me don’t you, Y/N?” he asked moving his hand down your body and over the curve of your hip where it came to a stop, his flesh feeling like it was burning into you.   “All you have to do is say the words and I can make your fantasies a reality.”  

“Fine!”  You spat. “I want you.  Is that what you want to hear?”  You regretted the words as soon as they were out as a smug grin lit up Matt’s face.  

“That is exactly what I want to hear.”  Matt said pressing a firm kiss to your lips.  You were embarrassed to admit even that little bit of contact turned you on and you found yourself trying to reach his lips again, lifting your head off the bed as he pulled out of your reach with a laugh.  “I’m going to let go of your hands, but if they move an inch we’re done here, do you understand?”  You nodded mutinously at his decree wishing you had the nerve to move your hands once they were free.  You were ashamed you wanted him too badly to disobey that order though. You had a feeling if you did move he would put the brakes on and you would lose any chance of ever having him.

You watched anxiously as he shifted down your body, situating himself between your thighs and pressing his rock hard groin into your panties.  You moaned pushing yourself against his bulge until he held your hips firmly on the bed.  

“Not yet.”  Matt said moving his hands to your shirt and pushing it up, baring your breasts to him. Your nipples immediately hardened as they were exposed to the cool air and you bit your lip, anxiously looking at Matt, silently begging him to make a move.

“You’re going to have to be vocal Y/N,” He said with a smirk.  “Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Tell me what you’ve been dreaming about.”  

“Are you really going to make me do this?”  You asked, letting your irritation with the vexing man show clear on your face.

“Yes.  Yes I am.” Matt replied unrepentantly “All the hell you’ve put me through since you came around?  You can be damn sure I’m going to take advantage of this situation. Now, are you going to tell me or are we done here?”  His hands moved up to cup your breasts, lifting the fullness and brushing his thumbs across the peaked nipples, making you press into his hands.  

You closed your eyes, frustrated with yourself for not finding the will to tell him to fuck off.  What kind of spell did this man have over you that you were willing to jump through hoops just to get him to touch you?  It seemed your carnal desires were   Heaving a sigh of defeat you opened your eyes hating the smug smirk on Matt’s face almost as much as you hated yourself in that moment.  

“I want you to touch me, everywhere.  I want your mouth on my tits and your fingers in my pussy.”  You told him finding yourself looking deep into his eyes.  “I want your cock in me fucking me until I come.”  You kept your eyes trained on his as he leaned down to your breasts flicking his tongue across the nipples repeatedly as you arched into his touch. When he sucked a nipple into his mouth, his fingers slipped under your panties, sliding across your slit in slow precise movements.

“Please,” You moaned, pushing your pussy against his hand wanting more contact.  Matt pulled from your breast moving to your lips and kissing you deeply before sitting back on his knees and working at removing your panties.  Once removed Matt discarded his own boxers and hitched your knees over his shoulders, leaning forward and spreading you open for him. Cock in hand Matt rubbed the head along your pussy, his tip pushing against your clit on every pass.  

“Can I please move my hands?” You begged.  “I want to touch you.”  Matt stared at you in silent consideration, never stopping the movement of his hips as his hands wandered back to your tits, teasing your nipples with little pulls and pinches.  

“Okay.”  He finally decided.  “I’ll let you touch me.”  Of course once you moved your hands you realized the position you were currently in made touching him pretty impossible making you pout in disappointment.  “I’m going to fuck you now.  You ready for me?”  He asked, pressing the tip of his cock at your opening.

“Yes, please.  I’m so ready for you.”  You told him eagerly shifting yourself to make his entrance easier.  With a few strokes he was fully embedded inside you giving several deep thrusts before sliding your legs down his waist, allowing his body to lie flush on yours.  Eagerly your hands went to his body, gripping his biceps and sliding up his shoulders to lock around his neck his hair brushing over your fingers.  

“Hang on tight Y/N, cause I’m about to fuck you into this mattress.” Matt said with a smirk, fingers sliding between your bodies to press against your clit, providing extra stimulation as he thrust wildly into you, causing screams and gasps of pleasure to fill the air as you could quickly feel yourself approaching orgasm.  When he leaned down to kiss you and pinched your clit tightly between his fingers that was all it took, your scream swallowed by Matt’s mouth as your thighs clenched around his waist through the aftershocks.

“That’s one.”  Matt said. “Don’t get comfortable, we’re nowhere near done yet.”  

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Out of Control

The world passed by in a blur. Trees sped along outside the windows of the car. The engine roared like a dragon and the vehicle’s driver felt an unnatural fuel and fire in her veins.

A blood-red rising sun reflected off of her shades, glossy and shiny and marred only by a tiny crack on the left lens of her sunglasses. Clad in little leather racing gloves, Emily’s hands gripped the steering wheel like iron vices.

Something about the hum and the vibrations and the constant growl of the machine kept her calm. She loved the feeling of sheer speed, slicing through the world like a knife; and appreciated that sense of escape from reality that it always gave her.

Now, more than ever, she needed that calm, that sensation of riding the eye of the storm—that escape. Because she was going to see Julian’s killer in person and it was going to take everything out of her to not lose her mind.

Was it the gravity of fast motion, pushing her back into her seat that helped center her? Was it the threat of deadly accidents that freed her mind from every burdening thought and worry? Or was it because she felt both in control and dangerous whenever she drove too fast?

Emily wondered, but refused to answer her own questions.

She maintained a speed just a few miles per hour above the legal limit. Just enough to make good time on her ride to Starkford Penitentiary, and just enough to try to talk her way out of trouble if a cop pulled her over.

Thoughts surfaced. Thoughts about Kathryn Shaw. Emily tried to push them back down because they only made every one of her digits tense up more—the leather of her gloves cracked as her grip around the steering wheel tightened.

Any efforts to dispel the thoughts all failed. The image search on Shaw haunted Emily. Kathryn Shaw was just some forgettable D-list celebrity and the spectrum of her headshots ranged from pretty young lady all the way to monstrosity who had gone under the knife of plastic surgery too often for her own good. Murdering Julian Stone would probably be her biggest legacy, overshadowing her pathetic acting career and her quest for the perfect face.

This only fed the tension building in every fiber of Emily’s being, because Shaw’s obsession with her own beauty was what had killed Julian.

But was it just tension? Or pure anger welling up inside? The engine’s growls grounded Emily for a brief glimpse, allowing her to notice just how obscenely fast she was going now, and she eased up on her leadfoot for a bit. Every thought of Kathryn Shaw just poured more gasoline onto the flames of Emily’s fury.

As you know, every time you pour fuel into the flames, you run risk of the fire igniting the stream, traveling back up its length and blowing the canister up in your hands. That exact image entered Emily’s mind and made her crave another cigarette. It hadn’t even been five minutes since the last one.

No matter.

She rolled down the window on her old Charger and lit up her smoke. Swore up a storm as a chunk of tobacco got stuck on the car’s internal lighter and fumed out of the slot when she returned it. Instead of pulling over to fix this like a sane person, Emily took her eyes off the road and tapped the lighter outside her car door.

When she looked up, the honking of a horn ripped her right back into the reality of her current whereabouts and she reacted just in time, swerving back onto her lane of the road. The honking persisted, blaring and trailing off as the other car traveled down the opposite lane, expressing what she considered to be a petty anger when compared to her own.

Emily flipped the other driver the bird and took a long, greedy drag from her cigarette to cool off.

She always found it strange how little such near-death experiences like this never really fazed her. Some part of her was always prepared to die. Hell, the other part of her was already dead.

All the nights she had spent alone ever since Julian’s death, looking out over the nightly skyline of L.A., she had gone through every single stage—from wanting to die, over not seeing a purpose in life anymore, to wanting someone to pay, and ending up with a fire flaring up deep down inside of her, fueled by her darkest thoughts and fantasies. A fire that made her swear more than she ever used to; a fire that motivated her and would drive her to ever greater heights in her career.

Telling the truth, no matter how much it hurt. Exposing lies and toppling the liars. Bringing down all those awful pyramids of deception, tearing down the walls of filth built by the life-thieves and the soul-violators. Destroying the machinery of oppression fabricated by the real monsters of this world.

Her thoughts spiraled. The moment she realized she was thinking about her quest for truth and revealing the darkness to the world, no sooner did she remember that Shaw was to blame for her current anger. Emily had always been angry with the world: corrupt politicians feeding their fat faces, greedy psychopaths running the business world, and selfish assholes walking all over the downtrodden were everywhere. They didn’t even lurk in the shadows—no, the ghouls just lived in our very midst, normalizing their wicked ways and turning people jaded to the point of not caring anymore.

Every time she blinked, another six such shit-sticks just sprung into existence somewhere else.

While smoking cooled her down, it couldn’t put a lid on the boiling pot of rage bubbling in her belly region.

The whole ordeal of this prison visit alone would have been enough to make her mad, just thinking about it.

Short visiting hours. She had had to make an appointment over a month in advance. Fill out huge forms and provide copies of all sorts of personal documents. Wait for approval. Get all sorts of instructions on what she was allowed to wear or not: no orange, no underwire bra, no yoga pants, no sleeveless shirts, no open toes.

Luckily, her childhood friend Carlos had warned her about all this from his short stint in working at a different prison in the past. They might have just turned her away the moment she showed up if she didn’t meet all of their ridiculous requirements, and put her through the whole rigmarole of applying all over again.

All of this just to schedule a conversation—with her fiancé’s murderer.

Emily snorted, blowing smoke out of her nostrils. She flicked on the radio. An effective distraction would be great, any time now.

An overconfident voice actor spoke, “Enjoy a flat white at a price that’s easier to swallow from the—”

Raspy voice, trained in feigning gravitas, said, “Most of the things I do are misunderstood. Hey, after all, being misunderstood is the fate of all true—”

A dulcet male voice sang, “I’m gonna kick my feet up and stare at the fan, turn the TV on, throw my hand in my pants—”

Annoying advertising. Annoying talking. Annoying pop music. She kept poking the device to switch the channels. At the very least, she could direct her anger at the shallow superficiality of the world of radio entertainment, letting the heat die down somewhat and reducing the boiling of her blood to a low simmer. She avoided any news. News would just add to her anger.

The sunglasses shielded her eyes from the blinding light of the morning sun, still low on the horizon over the woods lining the road.

More smoking, idly ignoring all the chatter and music from the radio, and sitting on the lid to the pot of rage inside of her. Another two hours of driving flew by. The landscape around her transformed along the way, with her Charger exiting the lines of trees and darting over the long roads in the hills, in the middle of nowhere.

Like blacking out, she sighed when she seemingly came to her senses in the lobby where visitors could wait.

The anger was back.

The stupid card machine kept spitting out her dollar bills while she attempted to charge it with money. After the sixth attempt and growing increasingly anxious about the guy breathing down her neck behind her, Emily slapped the top of the device three times.

One of the guards nearby cleared her throat and shot Emily a dirty look. Emily just glared back at her but swallowed a glib remark. Either she wanted to bottle all the anger up and direct it at someone truly deserving, like Shaw, or she didn’t want to get into trouble until she had done such.

In truth, Emily wanted answers. She just wanted to know why Kathryn Shaw had killed. The most mysterious thing about Julian’s death was why Kathryn murdered him. The police said that he had turned her down for repeat requests to conduct further rhinoplasty where other surgeons had already turned her down before, and she had snapped. Bludgeoned him with a tire iron and stuffed him into the trunk of her car.

Finally, the card reader swallowed her cash. Emily groaned and muttered more profanities under her breath and left, engulfed in a cloud of mounting frustration and volatile impatience. The man waiting in line behind her dodged away a full step when she glared at him while she took a walk to the vending machines.

Thinking about the circumstances of Julian’s death did the opposite of helping her temper or curbing any anger.

Supposedly, Kathryn had thought that beating Julian over the back of his head had only knocked him unconscious. In truth, he must have died slowly in her trunk. Painfully. The police detective Emily talked to didn’t say it in those exact words, but she knew enough to piece it together.

Not only anger accompanied Emily that day, but something else: fear.

Fear that she might lose control and do something like strangling Kathryn. Also, a fear of seeing the face of a murderer who had had so much surgery done that Emily only saw her visage as an accurate and frightening representation of what Kathryn truly was deep down—a monster.

The crazy bitch had killed her Julian because he refused to help her continue destroying her own damned face? The choleric reporter wasn’t satisfied with that explanation. It was so simple. Too mundane.

Maybe Kathryn Shaw could offer the straight dope. Maybe Emily could tickle it out of her, provoke her into spilling something she wouldn’t admit to the authorities. Maybe something darker.

Another wave of fury washed over her when she stood at the vending machines to get some snacks and something to drink. Everything cleaned out—empty. Nothing for her to buy after wasting cash on the stupid card machine?

Fuck this place, she thought. Fuck the entire prison system.

Under normal circumstances, she would have blurted that out; released her rage at one of the people working here. However, she wanted to avoid sabotaging her chances at speaking to Kathryn. Not only had the private penitentiary made this visit an absurd chore, she had had to get through lengthy talks with Shaw’s lawyers to get this going without outside interference.

Emily had signed waivers and papers just to promise she wouldn’t be using or publishing anything that transpired in this meeting.

In a huff, she sat down in the waiting area. Checked her emails on her phone to find another way of distracting herself. Canceled interview meeting. Bill. Bill. Bank complaining about her account being in the red. Bill. Advertisements. Annoying newsletter. Complaints about details on an invoice. Just a swamp of unanswered, unread messages she could not have cared any less about right now. Still, she found something oddly meditative about sifting through them and getting some of this busywork done.

Until she reached one mail: from an anonymous source in the crime syndicate exposé she was working on. The informant was backing off, chickening out, refusing to meet for a statement.

Emily blacked out. Next thing she knew, the display of her phone was covered in a spiderweb of cracks. Several people in the waiting room stared at her and her surroundings had gone dead silent.

A guard stood next to her and fidgeted, one brow arched as she stared Emily down and said, “Ma'am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t get it together.”

Emily nodded in defeat. Whatever she had just done that resulted in cracking her own phone—shouting? Screaming? Beating inanimate objects? The startled looks from the strangers all around her told her that her outburst had been profound. She also felt a lot calmer, like the valves had opened for a spell and released some of the steam. Judging by everybody’s reactions, she must have given off that exact air.

Though the anger was still there, albeit more subdued.

Emily Graves was an angry person by nature. Always had been. Her best friend Chris never liked how worked up she got when she ranted about anything and turned it into cascading and unstoppable tirades.

Today was different. She had never felt as angry as she did this day.

She did something uncharacteristically different and apologized. Standing beside herself and watching it happen as if she was in a dream, she wondered who in all hell’s name this Emily was—sounding meek and remorseful. But there she was, the other Emily, making sure she’d get through this day far enough to speak with Kathryn Shaw.

The guard left her alone to waiting, and Emily slumped into the hard plastic chair. The light glared too brightly in here for her to decipher anything on the now-cracked display of her phone, so she put it away.

Focus. Breathe.

Focus.

Forcing herself to clear her mind of all thoughts, Emily cycled through the things she had learned in Berkeley. She reverted into the green journalist, melting into the background and observing. Watching.

The waiting area had it all. The facial expressions on the people here, the invisible clouds of air surrounding them, carrying the entire gamut of emotions: joy, sadness, regret, anger, and everything in between. One of the other visitors waiting there emanated with an aura of rage to rival Emily’s own. It somehow helped her cool down herself, seeing this other lady completely self-absorbed in a blinding haze of wrath.

This kind of place could probably do that to anybody.

She took a deep breath and went to the bathroom. Carlos told her that going to the bathroom during the visit itself is a pain of its own, so it was best to get it out of the way immediately.

No mirrors in the restrooms.

Emily splashed her face with cold water. She wanted to smoke really badly. Even though she couldn’t inhale that sweet, sweet poison any time soon, she nervously produced the pack from her pocket book and checked it. Two smokes left; not even halfway through the day.

“One hell of a drive here,” she muttered. Another woman in the restrooms just gave her a funny look, and Emily returned to the waiting area.

Eventually, she was buzzed in.

They stamped her wrist with invisible ink. Allowed her to put all her possessions in a locker. Asked redundant questions. Sent her through the metal detectors, searched her, jammed a plastic pass into her hand. Half of the hurdles made sense to Emily, leaving her to wonder about the other half.

She sat in a small windowless room and waited. The thick doors and walls muffled the repeated buzzing for other visits elsewhere. Emily had expected them to be meeting with a wall of bulletproof glass separating her and Kathryn Shaw, but it looked like the visiting room was just an open space with two entrances—two ominous metal doors.

Table in the center surrounded by rigid plastic chairs, all bolted down.

A guard waited behind her, hands folded in front of her and probably staving off boredom whenever she wasn’t ready to pounce and intervene.

Little to stop Emily from exploding into a fireball and clawing Kathryn’s eyes out.

She wondered how often the guards here had to deal with drama like that. Emily found herself wondering what it would be like to be tased.

The other door opened, interrupting such thoughts, and two people entered. Kathryn, dressed in the orange jumpsuit of the inmates here, hands shackled with cuffs, was directed to the chair on the opposite side of the table. The guard accompanying her took her place behind her next to the other door.

Kathryn’s long blonde hair was frazzled, messy. Her bleary eyes darted around, barely registering Emily. She looked crazy, but not scared or threatening in any way. To the reporter, she looked far more pathetic than she had expected—not that that helped defuse the rage.

So Emily decided to start off simple. Ease Kathryn into things, and hell, herself as well. Maybe she’d keep her anger under control by conducting herself in a professional fashion.

“Hello Kathryn,” she said. Emily pressed her lips together so hard that they turned into thin white strips. “I’m Emily Graves.”

Kathryn nodded and emitted a feeble, “Hi.”

She looked her visitor up and down but evidently did not recognize her.

“I’m a freelance reporter who has worked for a few major outlets in California.”

Kathryn’s eyes went wide. Emily expected her to shrink from that, but triggered something else entirely. Kathryn nodded emphatically—excitedly. She was thrilled.

D-list celebrity alright. Probably thought she was going to get “justice” or exposure to use in her memoirs, or God only knew what.

“Now, just to be clear, I’m not here in a professional capacity,” Emily said, trying to suss out if Kathryn still had enough marbles left in her noggin for her to speak with her regular vocabulary, or if she had to dial down her language to the level she’d use for someone certifiable.

Kathryn’s face, disfigured from years and an excess of plastic surgery, scrunched up in confusion. She nodded some more, signaling Emily to continue.

“I came here because—”

Emily choked on the words. She choked on the thoughts. Instead of rage welling up, her mind flashed back to the moment when the coroner pulled out the metal slab. The slab on which a dead body lay.

She swallowed, hard.

She remembered the day she identified Julian’s body in the morgue, in the company of Detective Tanner.

Pale, lifeless, hopeless. Dead. Shattered skull. Shattered dreams.

Shattered heart.

Was her heart racing with terror, or slowing to a halt?

Kathryn just looked at her through wide eyes, expecting something. Something more. Something that immediately disgusted Emily.

Attention.

It brought the anger back. The simmering turned back up, like stepping on the gas pedal and revving the engine. The roar of the motor. The pressure of gravity, of speed, of powerful motion. Pouring gasoline into the fire.

“I came because you murdered my fiancé, Julian. I—I just need to know. I need to know why.”

Kathryn nodded some more, like a deranged toddler trapped in a horrific grown woman’s body. Then her nodding transformed into her shaking her head quickly. She squinted as she continued to shake her head in disbelief.

“No, Doctor Stone is fine. I didn’t murder anybody!”

Emily blinked, letting that sink in. She disbelieved the disbelief. The world slowed down to a halt. The imaginary car she was driving in crashed into a solid brick wall in slow motion. Scrap parts exploded into a dazzling rain of metallic fireworks.

The flames flared up. The stream of gasoline being poured into it caught fire. It traveled upwards, in slow motion, just like the car crashing into the wall.

The rage boiled. The lid shuddered, clattered. Emily’s heart was racing indeed, pounding like thunder. Like those Japanese drums.

“Listen, honey, I’ll be out soon and with my lawyers, we’ll clear this all up, just you wait and see. I’m so sorry about what I did. I lost it and—well, things worked out in the end, yeah? I’m sure Doctor Stone will do what I asked him for then, and we’ll find a way to—”

The rushing of blood in Emily’s ears drowned out this crazy bitch’s words. The world narrowed, with darkness encroaching from the edges of her field of vision until everything had turned into a tunnel, with the only light at the end of it consisting of this monster’s artificial-looking face.

The tunnel collapsed. Complete darkness. Just the pounding of those drums, the beating of her heart.

The sound that the human hand makes when hitting flesh is strange. Like a wet bag filled with raw meat slapping onto a hard kitchen counter. That association only registered with Emily with delay.

She must have slapped or punched Kathryn multiple times before the guards pried her away. Signing papers and getting reprimanded were things that came back to her later. Emily walked out of that hellhole, putting on her sunglasses again as broad daylight from the merciless sun instantly gave her a headache. Or maybe it was the dehydration coupled with the rage. Her mouth felt as dry as Death Valley looked.

She had lost time. Her wrists hurt, she had been detained temporarily. Someone told her this was not uncommon. Warned her, told her not to show her face there again. Said she was lucky Shaw’s lawyers wouldn’t end up pressing charges, because she’d probably forget what happened by dinner time.

Emily sat on the hood of the Charger, smoking. Only one cigarette left and four hours of driving back to Los Angeles ahead of her. A veritable tower of ash formed at the end of the glimmering little death-stick between her fingers. Her ears still rang with the aftereffects of adrenaline and rage.

In her mind, she went to and fro, like liquid sloshing back and forth in a bucket. Like the gasoline, always threatening to spill over the edge and fall into the flames; threatening to feed that all-devouring fire. She struggled to piece together what had happened but a burning darkness blotted out parts of those memories.

It couldn’t have been too bad or she might have gotten arrested on the spot. Or maybe the guards took pity on her, having a hunch about what was going on there. Or maybe this entire world was so callous and cruel that nobody truly gave a damn.

Whatever had truly happened in that cold claustrophobic room with the uncomfortably cool air conditioning, it had not helped Emily. Not at all.

She had walked out of Starkford with answers less satisfying than the meager ones she had entered with. She hated the concept of America’s prison system, but a more sadistic part of her hoped that Kathryn would suffer and rot in there for the rest of her miserable life.

Emily stamped out the cigarette, grinding it with her heel with extreme prejudice, and got behind the wheel again.

Speeding might help. Her addiction made her mentally check at which gas station she’d stop next to buy more smokes. Getting back to work, perhaps following up on the Mancini “murder house” next—maybe these things would get her mind off of the hell that was living on this God-forsaken planet, hurtling through space until the sun died and the heat death of the universe ended everything.

Or maybe just drowning everything in a bottle of whiskey.

But everything Emily enjoyed at this point was self-destructive.

Nothing would truly help. None of it would quench the fires of her rage.

Just pour more gasoline into the flames.

She revved the engine. The tires screeched and the Charger sped away.

—Submitted by Wratts

[dracula-in-purple-story]

From Enemies to Friends

CHAPTER TWO

Author’s Note : All of this is ENTIRELY NON-CANON. I’m still working on my writing skills. Thank You and Enjoy, hopefully.

It was late at the dark, gloomy night. Most residents are deep into their dream wonderland. Some are doing their shady businesses. Unfortunately for the hidden residents of Inkopolis, there were no rest for them.

Multiple alarms blasted out in the massive fortress located deep in the forest of Mount Nantai. Most of the people emerged from their slumber quickly and get dressed before waking up those who are a deep sleeper. After they geared up, they immediately rushed to the nearest kettle in order.

Nicholas, who had just walked through the gate door of the main entrance, heard the alarm and, with a little bit of hesitation, dropped everything he was holding as he rush straight to the emergency kettle at the corner of the front garden wall, where it was hidden by flower bushes. He changed into his other form and swam right into it.

As soon as he emerged from another kettle, the place around him reveals to be an underground base. Full with equipments, gadgets, computers and weapons. He rarely went here ever since he became a co-guardian for his young master but he knew, for a fact, that this place is now chaotic. 

Half of the night-shift people are typing away in their computers and tried to keep track on their task or rushing around, while another half of them seems to be missing, but it soon replaced by bunch of day-shift people fully suited up and lined up right in front of an old but fitted lady, who aged pretty well for a 130-years-old.

“Nicholas, just in time.” the old lady said in a firm authority, “Before we address the situation here, how’s my grandson?”

Fond murmurs were heard among the people before got silenced by the glare from the old lady. Nicholas sighed in bliss, “He’s fine, Mistress! He is still the pure boy who worried over small things.”

She nodded in acknowledgement, smiling a bit, before broadcast a image onto the huge projector screen in front of them. A crashed unidentified flying object. Half of the crowd gasped. “Isn’t that a failed prototype of Thunderstrike? Why is it here?!” Suzuki, another co-guardian of Erek, speaking her mind out in fear. 

“Minale, come here and report on what the Scout Squad D had discovered, please.” the old lady said with simple directness. A three feet being, equipped with a large propeller helmet, zoomed right behind the crowd. “As you can see from the picture,” she started her report while landed on the table with grace, “a failed prototype military aircraft, Thunderstrike, crashed outside the city, with a corpse of a Mini Zapfish that was used to operated the aircraft. Bless its soul.”

“The Scout Squad D previously assumed that it was just a public test run from the underground Oct-”

“Wait,” Nick rudely interrupted Minale’s report, “what do you mean by ‘previously’?”

“It is where I’m trying to get to the point, Mr Nicholas!” she scoffed, “If I may continue, they thought it was just a test run until a power outage happen. It only last for approximately five minutes before the power came back.”

“Ten minutes before we activate the emergency alarms...” Minale continued along with a stressful sigh, broadcast the picture of Inkopolis Tower, “...the Great Zapfish is gone.”

This statement alerted the uneasy crowd as they scanned the picture. Indeed, the Great Zapfish is missing from its tower. The Mistress clapped lightly to gain their attention back to her. She nodded to the Scout captain who zoomed back to her post, giving out commands as she spoke to the microphone that wirelessly connected to the Scout Squad D.

“So far, the conclusion of the report is that Thunderstrike is merely a distraction tool in order to steal the Great Zapfish. Even though we all know that we got more than enough Zapfishes to supply our power source and they have other resources to generate power,” the old lady halted her talk for a few seconds, “why would they want the Great Zapfish for? Any possible answer? Or someone knows exactly why he would need it?”

The absolute silence is eerie until Suzuki shakily raised her hands. The old lady arched her eyebrows before nodding to let her answer. “Twenty years ago, I... I participated the project before I escaped, Mistress Octivia. He’s building some... sort of heavy spherical aircraft with some built-in turntables and mixers... along with some Wasabi supplies...” she gulped, “...the module were estimated to use large amount of energy... but Alivia and Alivia Jr helped me sabotaged the process before aiding me to escape that hell hole!”

“Calm down, dearest.” a tall figure, wearing a set of laser sight goggles, patted her shoulders sympathetically as she cried uncontrollably.

“Go calm your wife, Hayato. I fill in the rest of the details to you two later.” The lady in charge pardoned them as they walked back to the kettle. “Unfortunately, even with their best efforts in sabotaging, the heavy aircraft was built. If he manage to tame the Great Zapfish to do his bidding, Inkopolis is doom to be destroyed.”

“And as Octarians ourselves, we know how Octavio operated behind his DJ set. If we let that happen, we would be back to the starting point! Are you ready to oppose against the hypnotisation once more, my fellow friends?!” she shouted in a fierce tone.

“YES, MISTRESS!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Erek woke up early in the morning, the sky was bright and the sunlight shone through the windows. Lazily, he stretch his body as he get up from his bed and walked out from his bedroom. The birds were chirping and enjoying the cool breeze when he opened up the slide door that leads to the balcony. The dew drops were falling from the leaves of various flowers he potted yesterday. The sun was rising up from the clouds as he water his flowers.

Just as he walked back to his bedroom to take some clothes for his fresh debut, there came a huge knocking and loud ringing on the main door. 

“Must be the neighbours... Cod, I forgot about introducing myself to them yesterday!” the boy mentally slapped himself, “Coming!”

He rushed to the door, not before he tied his tentacles to Topknot, and opened it to see three inklings standing there. One of them, the cyan ‘inkling’ girl, looks familiar but he couldn’t pinpoint on where he seen her before. The middle one of the group, a pink inkling girl, decided to talked.

“Hello there, rookie! The name’s Callie Mac N! Callie for short. On my left is one of my Roller buddies, Mike!”

Mike, an orange inkling boy, raise his Octoglasses and rest it in his forehead, “Hello~!”

“On my right is our little floof of our humble crew, Jewel!”

The cyan girl smiled brightly, “Hewwo, I’m Jewel. Your neighbour at the corner over there! My mommy told me about your arrival yesterday. What’s your name?”

The three of them stared at him with excitement. Nervously, he scratched his head before replying, “Oh... uh... My name is Erek! Nice to meet you all! Want to come in? I’m about to change my clothes and start cooking breakfast.”

“Oh, great! Thanks, buddy. Don’t mind us crash-... WOAH!” As soon as they were welcomed into Erek’s home, they were met with the most freshest living room they ever seen. A bookcase full of the latest video games, a clearly expensive LED TV along with its loudspeakers, limited edition of Chirpy Chips poster with the members’ signature and, is that a freaking CoroCoro hoodie hanging on a coat rack that was supposed to be out in like, next year?

“Umm, guys? You have been standing here for a long time. I made some light breakfast so we could... uh... chat?” Erek, now donning the Starting Gears, was quite concerned about his new friends, who gawked at his living room quite a long time. “Is it weird? My living room?”

The trio snapped out of their daze. “What, no!” Callie exclaimed, “It’s just... woah! My daily earnings couldn’t even pay for this kind of luxuries! Let alone that hoodie! How did you managed to get that?! It was supposed to come out next year!”

“Next year? But I got it for my birthday three days ago. My friend, Kevin, who gave me that just said they have extras so... yeah!” Erek recalled a little. 

“Dude, you don’t actually mean Kevin, the famous trendsetter who just opened a company called Cuttlegear? That guy knows his stuff about fashion!” Mike gushed, “This Octoglasses? Automatically became my favourite headgear after he post some cool model pictures with them. And you know him?!”

“Yes? He works for my Grandmama and he take care of my wardrobe since I was young.”

“Wow! That is crazily fresh! Can I check your closet?”

“Mike, that is rud-”

“Sure, go straight and turn left, you should be able to reach my gear wardrobe.”

Mike cheered as he rushed to the location. Jewel facepalmed, “I’m sorry about my boyfriend.”

“It’s fine. I could give some gears away if he loved it so much. I was planning to buy my own clothes with empty slots anyway.”

“Wait, wha-”

“OH MY GOD! CALLIE! JEWEL! LOOK AT THIS! EREK HAVE SUPER FRESH CLOTHES! EVEN THE SLOTS ARE GOD TIER! I’M IN HEAVEN!”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Gramps, come on... pick up the cells already...” Marie is pacing around the studio. After her cell ended with the monotone message and a beep, she heavily huffed before looked helplessly at her cheerful cousin, which now have a frown on her face as she fiddling with her thumbs. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.” she plopped down to a sofa as Callie sat down nervously beside her. 

“It can’t be... he usually would answer us in a few rings. And now this happens!”

“It’s going to be alright, Cal. Once we finished our broadcast, we head straight down to Octo Valley to check up on him. He’s the strongest squid we have ever known.”

“I know, Marie. But, it’s Gramps we are talking about. Possibilities are limitless! What if his SquidCell is broken? What if he was kidnapped? What if-”

“Callie, calm down!” her cousin smacked her head slightly before caressing it gently. Callie pouted before surveying around the studio. The production team is a hectic mess. Bumping against each other frantically, papers are flying everywhere, the cameras are being thrown left and right.

“Squid Sisters? Five more minutes before we start the Inkopolis News!” a female show betta glided gracefully in front of the two cousins, pointing at her blue watch impatiently.

“Ms Betty!” the Squid Sisters immediately stand up and bow to her. “Sorry, me and Marie were-”

“I know,” Ms Betty halted the black inkling, “I’m not blaming you girls. This is probably the first time we have to broadcast this kind of news. If it weren’t for that Great Zapfish to go missing on us...”

“We understand, Ms Betty. We truly do.” Marie grimaced a bit before following behind their director. Once they arrived at the Inkopolis News Studio, they immediately went into position, just like they had been practised for the last few weeks.

“Don’t be nervous and follow the script. Add some colours into it like you are not reading whatever was written here, okay? That was what made this program famous for.” Ms Betty addressed, “We are ready in three, two...”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Man, you are a really good cook!” Callie complimented Erek as they finally arrived at the Plaza. Jewel nodded shyly, agreeing what she had said while Mike is burping loudly, “Yeah, you should totally teach me that recipe! I could cook for my babs and mother-in-law too!”

“Mike!” Jewel slapped his back softly. They laughed loudly at the interaction. Probably loud enough to cause four certain inklings to turn their heads to them. 

“Oh, you guys! Where have you been?!” a dark blue inkling boy with glasses asked. Callie shrugged it off when her new friend have a questioning look, “Those guys are the rest of my crew. From left to right, we got the ever so quiet Kitty,” she gestured excitedly to a lime green inkling girl who just waved before turning her focus back to her SquidPhone.

“Marcus, the ‘cool guy’ wannabe,” a purple inkling boy just flicked her some fingers before finishing his drink.

“Blitz, my roommate and another Roller Buddies,” the boy with the glasses offered to shake hands. Erek accepted it and shake politely.

“And Marlee! Our new member from last week!” a dark green inkling girl grinned at them.

Once introductions are done, Blitz pondered a bit, “I’m going to assumed you haven't watch the news, yes?”

“No. Why?” Mike asked back, “Are the news reporter some blacklisted musicians?”

“No,”

“Racist?” Jewel cautioned.

“No,”

“Famous enough to actually expect them to report Inkopolis News?” Callie guessed before squinting at the big window where the reporters would be sitting. “Well, yes! But it’s not the point right now! The content-”

“HOLY ZAPFISH, IS THAT THE SQUID SISTER?! I’M A BIG FAN! HEY CALLIE, WE HAVE THE SAME NAME!” Callie Mac shouted enthusiastically as she run up the walkway and squeezed her way through the crowd outside.

“Why do we elect her as the captain?” Marcus scoffed at her behaviour. “So crazy, that woman...”

“I’m a big fan as well... but not as hyper as Callie is.” Erek giggled. The crew laughed it off for a while. 

“So, back to the topic, what do we miss?” Mike questioned with a curious tone.

“You see, well,” Blitz looked at his clueless teammates, and a new friend, with a sense of guilt, “I don’t think we could participate this month Splatfest.”

The trio gasped. They were shocked, especially Erek. His first day of debut had clashed with a horrific news. The kind of news he didn’t expect to happen in the first place.

“Are you serious, mate?” Mike fretted, “We never ever have a Splatfest cancelled before! All they need is to postpone, like they did in that Pencil vs Pen Splatfest!”

“News Flash, brother.” the purple inkling roughly tilted his friend’s head up, the rest of them followed suit, “Our humble energy source had disappeared!”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Staaaay fresh!” was all she last heard before turning off the radio. Furrowing her eyebrows, Tres quietly packed her Splattershot Jr. Before she could even tiptoed towards the old, rotten door, she was hugged from the back. Usually, she would roundhouse that person who dared to risk their life to hug her but there are few exceptions, especially this little yellow figure behind her is her baby sister.

“Paula...” she turned around before kneeling down to hug her back, making the little inkling giggled silently. Tres smiled softly, “Go back to big brother, would you? Breakfast’s ready.”

“Annnd you are going to stay this time, Big Sis.” another yellow figure, slightly smaller than Tres, spoke sternly while pointing a pan to threaten her. Tres smirked a bit before running to the door. She was succeeding before her face got stuck. A freaking clear tape prank. 

“Cielo... Zona...” she pulled the tape immediately before screaming in pain, “Again?”

“It’s ya fault that ya makin this easy for us, Big Sis.” two small orange figures appeared outside the door. They laughed heartily at her before shrieked as their eldest sister hugged them off the ground. It’s not long before the rest of the siblings decided to join their group hug.

They settled down after they finally convinced their eldest sibling to stay back and properly eat her breakfast. Although it’s been a while since they have breakfast together, Tres still wolfed down her share of food. Diego couldn’t stand this any longer as he hit her softly but still painful enough with the very same pan.

“Eat it slowly, Big Sis. It’s not like the Inkopolis Tower is going to run anywhere.”

“I know but the faster I earn some cash, the sooner we can get the surgery to be done.”

“Big Sis...” the small twin-tailed inkling mumbled before she quickly snatched back her small bits of bread from her twin brother. The eldest grinned at this sight before excusing herself from the table. She pecked each one of them before heading out.

“Be careful not to overwork yourself, Big Sis!” Diego shouted. Tres halted her movement before glancing back at the eldest brother of the house. “I can’t promise that.”

She sighed before whispering, “Not when our dad have his life on the line.”

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball GT Retrospective (7/7)

[Note: I wrote this on January 16, 2013.  Originally, I had embedded a video of Goku Junior slapping his bare ass for like ten hours, but it’s down now :(   Such is life.)

Well, I know I said I finished watching Dragon Ball GT, but there's one last thing in the box set: Dragon Ball GT: The Movie

This actually isn't what it sounds like.  I'm pretty sure the "movie" was actually a TV special, and it didn't really have much at all to do with the characters or plotlines of GT.   Really, it's more of an epilogue tale of the future, set one hundred years after the events in Dragon Ball GT.   Of course, GT was set some forty years after the beginning of the first Dragon Ball storyline, so it seems like a jump too far.   From what I understand, the original plan was to wrap up the GT series with the end of the Baby Saga, but something happened and they ended up making another twenty-odd episodes.  In between all that, they had this GT special set up, probably as a final sendoff to all things Dragon Ball.   This was somewhat undermined by flashing a hundred years back for Super 17 and Shadow Dragon Sagas, but in the final episode of GT, they flashed forward yet again to tie the series finale with the special.   So, the premise of the special is pretty straightforward.  One hundred years after Baby's defeat, Goku and everyone else from Dragon Ball is dead.  The only one left is Pan, who's looking pretty spry for a a centenarian.  Actually, I'm not sure 100 years was the best time frame to use.   Goku's master, Master Roshi, was already three hundred years old when Dragon Ball started, and he survived all the way to the end of GT, never really aging much.  The implication was that his lifetime of martial arts training somehow allowed him to unnaturally extend his lifespan, but it was never actually explained.   Further, we never really found out what the lifespan of a Saiyan is.  Goku and Vegeta aged very little across the timeline of DBZ/DBGT, and Vegeta explained that Saiyans have a much longer physical prime than humans do.   Humans like.... Master Roshi?   I don't think anyone really put a lot of thought into this, probably because no one ever seriously planned to cover the world of DragonBall that far into the future.   Even if we knew how long Saiyans and humans can normally live in that universe, the Saiyan-human hybrid characters would still be an x-factor.   I guess what I'm trying to say here is that we really can't tell what keeps Granma Pan so fit.  Is it because she's one-quarter Saiyan?  Is it because of advances in that Earth's medical technology?  Is it because any human in that world could live past 100 with proper diet and exercise?   Or is she tapping into the same ki techniques that preserved Master Roshi for so long?   What I kind of dig about the special is that no one really knows, and we may never know.  The world of Goku and his friends is gone, lost forever like a forgotten dream.  Pan seems to be a minor celebrity in her own right, but it's because she's Pan, not so much because she was related to the mysterious Son Goku, daughter of the brilliant scientist Son Gohan, or the heir of the legendary world champion Mister Satan.  If she married, her husband is never seen or mentioned.   We have no idea if she had brothers or sisters.   She must have had at least one son or daughter, but the only reason we know this is because of her grandson, Goku Jr.  There's a melancholy to that.  Maybe some of these missing figures are still alive, but they're clearly not part of Pan's life anymore.   It's just her and her grandson living in Satan City.   Goku Jr. probaly knows the city was named to honor his ancestor's heroism at the Cell Games, but the information is meaningless to him.   It's ancient history, especially to a small boy.  Goku Jr. is the spitting image of his namesake, but this doesn't mean that much to him either.   He knows Goku was a great warrior, someone whom Pan respects tremendously, but he might as well be Abraham Lincoln.  He looks in the mirror and sees himself, not a cartoon character who could blow up entire planets with his fingers.   Pan tries to train Goku Jr, but he's kind of a klutz.  More to the point, he's timid and doesn't want to fight.   A bully named Puck takes a cool-looking novelty pen from him, and he just lets him keep it.   Pan gives him shit for not standing up for himself, but he doesn't see the big deal.   During this conversation she has a heart attack or something like that, and we cut to the hospital, where Pan is apparently in bad shape.  Goku desperately promises to train harder and fight anyone he has to if it means she'll pull through.   This is where Pan realizes she's been too hard on the boy.   I like this scene because it would have been too easy to forget that Pan was kind of a pushy jerk when she was a kid.   The adult Pan is still demanding and refuses to take crap from anyone, but she's been wanting Goku Jr. to be like her grandfather, and he has been all along. Son Goku wouldn't start a fight over a pen, no matter how many cool floaty things are inside it.  But he would go through anything to save Pan, and that's what Goku Jr. is determined to do, too.   When Pan takes a turn for the worse, Junior heads home, and notices a photo of Pan as a child, holding a Dragon Ball.  He flashes back to a time when Pan tried to tell him the story of the photo, but he was too preoccupied playing video games.   PAN: Hey, check this out.  It's a picture of me and my robot friend Giru.   And I had a dopey orange bandana, and I whined all the time, and Vegeta never got to do anything cool, and-- GOKU JR.: That sounds really boring, granma.  I'm gonna play more Super Mario World.   It's hard not to like Goku, Jr., is what I'm trying to say.   Anyway, Goku Jr. doesn't know the whole mythology of the Dragon Balls, but he does vaguely understand that they grant wishes, and the four-star ball was sort of a family heirloom, so he devises an ill-conceived plan to travel to Mount Paozu and search his ancestor's home for it.  A truck driver offers him a lift, but this is just a trick to get all the stuff in his giant backpack.   Evil Truck Driver is perhaps my new favorite GT character. GOKU JR.: So what's in this truck?   ETD: It's full of hamburgers, kid.  It's pretty awesome.   GOKU, JR.: Wow, you sure have a lot of food in the cab.   ETD: Yep.   I've got even more food in this bag here, too.   You want some?   GOKU JR.: Nah, I've got my own food in my backpack.   ETD: ... Really?    Uh... say, you want to hop out and take a whiz?   It's a long way to go.   GOKU JR.: Yeah, I guess I'd better.   I'll just leave my backpack stuffed with food in your truck filled with even more food.     ETD: Delicious.  Uh... I mean, scrumptious!  I mean!  I'm driving away and taking your food with me!  Ha ha ha! I feel really bad for whoever's expecting those hamburgers to arrive.   Actually, maybe he's not even a real truck driver.  He just stole the truck one day and he's been living off its cargo ever since.   Ironically, this turns into a lucky break for Goku, because he meets Puck while he walks to Mt.  Paozu on foot.  Puck had heard about Goku's plans before he left, and he was so impressed with his daring that he wants to tag along and watch when Goku is eaten by wild animals or bandits.  The thing is, Puck's a pretty fair outdoorsman, so as they get closer to their destination he's able to help Goku live off the land.  Along the way, Puck begins to bond with Goku Jr., and they have a few minor adventures.   Wolves attack them, but they're rescued by a woman with a shotgun who takes them to her home for the night.   Unfortunately, she turns out to be a witch or a demon or something.   Whatever she is, she eats people.  Goku Jr. is suspicious from the start (due to his past experience with Evil Truck Driver), so he and Puck manage to escape.   Their partnership comes to an end on a rickety bridge.   Goku Jr is afraid to cross until Puck proves it's sturdy enough.   Even so, the bridge nearly collapses, and Puck falls off in a failed attempt to rescue Goku.  Goku manages to climb back up on his own, and then he rescues a bearcub from one of the same demon bandits he escaped earlier.  In gratitude, the bear’s mother escorts Goku to his ancestor's home, but they're once again attacked by the bandits.   This time, they're joined by Lord Yao, their leader.   The mommy bear tries to fight him off so Goku can take her cub to safety, but she's hopelessly outmatched.   Worse, the baby bear slips away and tries to help, so Goku can't even save him.  Frustrated with his powerlessness, Goku Jr finally loses his shit and transforms into a Super Saiyan.  He clobbers Lord Yao and frightens his henchmen away.  When he reverts to normal, he has no memory of the battle, and believes the bears did all the work.   With all that out of the way, Goku Jr. locates the Four-Star Dragon Ball in the ruins of what was once his ancestor's childhood home.   This is really a melancholy scene.  The house belonged to Son Gohan, the kindly old man who adopted the elder Goku when his spaceship crashed on Earth.  When Dragon Ball begins, Goku leaves that home to begin his adventures, and aside from a couple of trips to pick up his things, he never really returns.   Now, some 140 years later, it's still standing, but derelict.  No one remembers the kindly old man who lived there, or how his compassion changed the universe for the better.  Someone must have left the four-star Dragon Ball there to honor his memory, but even the significance of that gesture is lost in the sands of time.   Goku Jr. doesn't understand how the Dragon Balls work, so he starts praying to the four-star ball, asking the Dragon to restore his grandmother's health and bring Puck back to life if at all possible.  When he gets no answer, he becomes upset, and then he notices the original Goku standing beside him.   He introduces himself as Goku Jr.'s great-great-grandfather, and explains that the Dragon Balls only work when you have all seven of them.   Nevertheless, he congratulates his descendant for his courage and strength, and then Pan and Puck arrive on the scene in an aircraft.   Apparently they didn't die after all.   The elder Goku disappears without a trace, and Goku Jr. is left with the lesson that his inner strength was what saved the day.     I'm not crazy about the ending of the story, since it's never explained how Puck survived his fall.   Pan's recovery is no big deal.   No one knew for sure whether she would live or die, so it's entirely plausible that she got better, went home, and realized where Goku Jr. must have gone.   But Puck fell off a bridge into a deep canyon.  Unless Pan swooped in and saved him in the nick of time, I don't see how else he would have survived.   Of course, some other superhuman resident of Mount Paozu might have stepped in, but the special seems to be built on the idea that the superheroics of old are no more.   Of course, based on the finale of Dragon Ball GT we might infer that Goku Jr.'s wish really was granted after all.   In the final episode of the series, Goku merges with the Dragon Balls as Shenron exiles himself from the earth.   So if the Four-Star Ball was sitting in his old house, it must have been Goku himself who put it there, because no one else would have had it.  And it's reasonable to assume he had the other six with him, so when Goku Jr. made his wish, he really did get it to work after all.   The implication is that Goku is the Dragon, and he's not too picky about the rules.  I think this is what Toei was going for, but they wanted to keep it ambiguous.  Maybe Goku did come back from death to grant his descendant's wish, or maybe Goku Jr. imagined the encounter, and Puck and Pan's survival was just a fortunate coincidence.   The next time we see these characters is in Episode 64 of the regular GT television series.  Goku Jr. has learned to harness and control his powers to become a talented martial artist.  He enters the World Tournament and faces one of Vegeta's descendants in the final round of the Junior Devision.  Pan is still in good health, and she meets Vegeta Jr.'s mother, indicating a friendly, if not close, relationship still exists between the two families.  The elder Goku reappears once again to watch the tournament finals, but Pan only glimpses him for a moment before he vanishes again. There's a bittersweetness to the special that really makes it worthwhile.   Beyond that, it's actually kind of boilerplate.  It reminds me a lot of the "Episode of Bardock" special that was recently produced.   In that, Goku's biological father Bardock miraculously survives the destruction of his home planet by getting thrown back in time, where he becomes the hero of the pre-Saiyan Planet Plant and turns Super Saiyan at the climactic moment.  It's not a bad story, it just doesn't have a whole lot else going for it other than being a callback/tribute to the main Dragon Ball storyline.   A lot of fun was had with these future scenarios, depicting heroes who would carry on after Goku: Future Trunks in his alternate timeline, Uub at the end of DBZ, Pan as the heir apparent in GT, and Goku Jr. in this special.  But none of these characters ever really goes anywhere new.  At best, they follow a path similar to the one charted by Goku and his contemporaries.  The moral is that the story is the same no matter who the main character is.  Goku Jr. barely knows the legend of his famous ancestor, but he carries on the tradition nevertheless.   That's the "hero's legacy".  Goku might be forgotten after a few generations, but the things he stood for, the causes he fought for, the example he set, those things are timeless.   And that brings us full circle, because I think the chief mistake of Dragon Ball GT was in trying to de-age Goku to artificially loop his character arc.   Toei wanted to make Goku his own successor, when they probably would have been better off making Pan the main character, having her own goofy adventures with Goku and Vegeta chilling out in the superhero retirement home.  Or they could have skipped ahead and made the series about this Goku Jr. kid, since he has the look they wanted without all the baggage.  GT ended with a ham-fisted morality play about how the Dragon Balls had been overused, which is humorous coming from a studio that couldn't let the Dragon Ball franchise end with dignity.  With the special, they kind of got it right, but only for a moment.

[cleighwrites]

Sucker Love

SPN Fanfic

Characters - Sociopath!Sam x serial killer!Dean 

Summary - Sam and Dean were raised drifting from town to town, left to their own devices regularly by their father who left them to hunt and kill monsters. Little did he know that he was raising two monsters himself. In his own way, Sam is in love with his brother, who has his own ways of dealing with their life. John starts to act suspicious of Sam, but Sam isn’t about to let anything come between his brother and him, not even their own, worthless, father.

Word Count - 1,397

A/N - Beta’d by the amazeballz @impala-dreamer. This part fills my Dark Fic square on my @spnkinkbingo card. 

Warnings - sociopathic tendencies, incestual feelings, murders, audio-voyeurism, pseudo underage (Sam is 16, no sex...yet)

~Sucker love is using someone for sex until you get bored of them~

“Sucker love a box I choose

No other box I choose to use

Another love I would abuse

No circumstances could excuse” - Placebo, Every You Every Me

“Mmm, yes, Dean. Yes!” the slut screamed from the other side of the door.

Dean had kicked Sam out about forty-five minutes ago so he could ride their current town's bicycle. Sam had brought his science book outside with him to work on his homework, but he didn't make it past their motel room's window before he stopped and sat down. As jealous as he was of all the girls Dean fucked, he could never pass up an opportunity to hear the moans and grunts of his big brother as he came inside of them. Sam was a romantic like that.

Dean was his first kiss, for educational purposes only, of course. Dean was the first one, other than himself, to jerk him off. As far as Sam was concerned, Dean really was the only one. The only one that mattered anyway.

Their father had started to get suspicious of their time spent alone together. Maybe he had caught Sam staring one too many times as Dean would be getting dressed after a shower, or maybe he had woken up to Sam wrapped around Dean as they slept. None of that bothered Sam, but the way their dad would fight with him was becoming an issue.

Dean, ever the obedient little soldier-boy, would do whatever it took to appease the man, but would try to keep them from fighting. Sam was never quite able to put anything before his brother, which had grown to include their predominantly absentee father.

“Sam's old enough to stay on his own now; you should be coming with me. Help me on this hunt.” John had been looking directly at Sam the entire time he was talking to Dean.

“Dad, he's still in school, people will notice if he's living by himself in a motel room,” Dean had argued.

John had only glanced at Dean before fixing his gaze back on Sam. Sam gave as good as he got, his glare never wavering, nor the smirk that accompanied it.

“It's just a salt and burn, you don't need me anyways,” Dean had added in an attempt to break the mounting tension in the room.

John couldn't argue that, so he placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye as he delivered his warning, “Watch out for Sammy.” Then he was gone.

That had been two days ago. Dean had been a little more distant than usual with Sam after their dad left this time. He slept in the other bed, closed the door to a crack when he showered, and didn't hack the TV to pick up porn their first night alone like he typically did. Their dad had put a rift between them; Sam had to fix it before it was too late and he lost Dean for good.

The sound of choking called Sam's attention back into the room and his dick stood at attention as he strained to hear the struggle he knew was going on. The scrape of nails on the cheap motel sheets, the soft drumming of fists on hard, toned skin, the final grunt of Dean's orgasm, and finally, the limp thump of a lifeless arm on the mattress.

Knowing it was safe for him to reenter the room, Sam folded his papers and pencil into his book and stood. Before he could open the door he heard the water running, then the unmistakable sound of the Impala down the street.

Sam burst into the hotel room, holding back his scream, “Dean!”

“Sammy, what the-” he stopped himself, listening.

“Dad,” Sam hissed, turning to the bed to find the bicycle laying haphazardly across the mattress, arms splayed out, legs still spread open. “Dammit, Dean.”

Dean's face went chalk-white as he stared at Sam, eyes as wide as saucers. “Fuck, Sammy.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the girl's body. “Fuck!”

The Impala pulled into the parking lot and Sam sprung into action. He ran to the bed, picking the slut's clothes up as he went, throwing them on top of the girl before pulling the discarded comforter over her and turning her head on the pillow; she could be sleeping.

Dean's eyes looked like his heart was going to break, just like his voice did, “Sammy.”

There wasn't time for anything else as the motel room door swung open and their father stepped in. Dean stood ramrod straight, wide eyes glued to his commander. Sam had taken a seat in one of the chairs at the table and opened his book back up to where his homework was still waiting to be finished.

John's eyes scanned the room and landed on the girl tucked into his own bed. “You boys have a party while I was out?” He leveled his gaze on Dean.

Dean tried for a guilty grin, but failed miserably. “I met her down playing pool last night.” Truth, “We didn't get a lot of sleep; I didn't have the heart to wake her up.” Lie.

“Yeah, well, you should know better than to do that sort of shit with Sammy around.” John took a step toward the bed and Dean shot a panicked look to Sam.

“I'm sixteen, not twelve. It's not like I've never seen boobs before,” Sam sneered, succeeding in drawing their father’s attention away from the fresh corpse.  

“That's not the point.” John's voice was hard, and his eyes dangerous when they turned on Sam.

“Dad,” Dean interjected, as always trying to take the brunt away from Sam, which unfortunately, was becoming a regular occurrence.

“What are you even doing here, need a shower before you hit the bar?” Sam was seething, matching John's tone.

“You watch your mouth, son,” John yelled. He jerked as if he'd done something wrong, then turned to look at the girl.

Sam winced, knowing that anyone would have stirred at their outbursts, drunken slut or not. The girl remained unmoving. Dean took a step forward when John reached out to put his hand on the girl's shoulder.

He barely laid his hand on her when he knew that she was gone and jerked it back. He looked to Sam and then launched himself at Dean. “How could you do this?” Sam heard the crunch of bone as John's fist made contact with Dean's face.

“Dad!” Sam yelled from the other side of the room.

“You fucking killed her! Sammy's here!” Punch after punch landed on Dean's bloody swollen face as John pummeled him.

Dean wasn't even trying to fight back, and Sam couldn't take anymore. He dug through his father's army duffel and pulled out his own handgun. It had been his birthday gift that year, but John didn't trust him to keep it himself. The metal was cold in his hand, and the white marble handle shone in the little sunlight that was streaming in through the tacky motel curtain. With practiced hands he checked the cartridge, cocked the barrel, and took aim.

“Stop!” His voice was steady, and he had thankfully not cracked when he said it; his voice still in the process of maturing.

John stopped mid-swing, turning his head to see the gun aimed at him, and let go of Dean. Sam spared a quick glance as he watched his brother slump to the ground, spitting blood from his busted-open lips.

John turned slowly with his palms up, facing Sam. “Now, Sammy.”

“Don't placate me!” Sam's voice was full of rage, but his hands were steady and his aim was true.

“Just think about what your doing, son.”

Dean groaned from his place on the floor as he tried to crawl away. Sam had never seen his big brother afraid of anything in his life. That alone was enough to set Sam's resolve.

“We're in a small room in a crowded motel. Even if you did shoot me, where could you go? What would you do?”

“Sa-my” Dean coughed, his eyes were pleading, probably for him to not shoot.

Sam kept his eyes on his father and the gun aimed while he reached over and grabbed the pillow out from under the slut's head. He doubled it over and held it in front of the gun. “We're gonna salt and burn your bones.”

Then, just as John lurched forward, Sam squeezed the trigger, just like his late father had taught him.

Part 2

Please reblog if you liked it! Feel free to ASK for anything else you may like to read or if you would like to be added to my tag list!

All the tags:

@amanda-teaches @waywardbaby @impala-dreamer @ericaprice2008 @whimsicalrobots @evansrogerskitten @chloeaacole @mcchubbin @danica-queen-of-hell @holyfuckloueh @wonderfulwinchestersmut @andkatiethings @dean-winchesters-bacon @mogaruke @super-fan-of-all-things @speakinvain @superlightalternateuniverse88 @kittenofdoomage @myxtina @babypink224221 @just-another-busy-fangirl @81mysteriouslyme @brewsthespirit-blog @curly-haired-disaster @closetspngirl @death-unbecomes-you @mrswhozeewhatsis @phanslittleplayroom

[percywinchester27]

Unconventional Roommates (Part-5)

Word count: 4K

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Warnings: Fluff-ish? ;)

Series Summary: Now that his brother is at Stanford, for the first time in his life, Dean does something for himself. He takes a step towards chasing his own dreams and moves away from Lawrence to start college, which is both thrilling and scary at the same time. Only catch, in this unknown town, he is stuck with the MOST infuriating female on the planet- the roommate from hell!

A/N: Yes they’re talking!! ;) This is also written for @spnfluffbingo

Square filled: Slow burn

Thanks to my Darling @deanssweetheart23 for beta reading this. This wouldn’t have been possible without your love and encouragement. Love you <3

Unconventional Roommates masterlist

"Why do you look like someone died?" Cas' voice was curious, but his expression was borderline pitying when he found Dean on the lone bench in the quadrangle with his head in his hands.

"It's me. I'm about to get butchered in there," Dean sighed.

"C'mon, it can't be that bad."

Dean looked up to meet Cas' eyes. "You know exactly how bad it is."

It was Friday. In an hour and a half Zachariah's class would begin and Dean would be thrown out again if not failing for the whole semester. He had just one set of drawings done along with the assignment written one and a half times. That asshat of a professor was going to bury him alive. But Dean knew he couldn't have done any better. With all of his college work drowned, he had other subjects to take care of, too, and yet, he had put in every free second into this stupid redo.

So much for wanting to be in college.

Cas nodded sympathetically because he knew of the flooding tragedy that had befallen Dean, but then he smiled, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Well, my dear friend, I have some good news for you."

Dean doubted it but he still tried to put on an interested face while internally trying not to drown in doom.

"Zach's class is cancelled today."

"You're kidding!" Could it really be possible? Could such good luck have really befallen him?

"Yep," Cas smiled. "I was just at the office and the assistant was talking over the phone trying to reschedule Zach's lecture to Wednesday. Apparently he has the flu."

"You're me telling the truth, right?" Dean asked, barely believing his ears.

"Hundred percent," Cas grinned.

Dean got up, smiling for the first time in the past couple days. "You're a frigging angel or something."

"Barely," he said. "You deserve a break, man. It's been coming at you from all sides, all the time. How about you join us tonight? There's a party at the beach and you can tag along with me, Meg and the other guys."

Beach sounded tempting, but given the chance, he would rather stretch his legs and complete the backlog at a more comfortable pace than the desperate speed he'd been working at.

"I'd love to come, but I think my sanity would thank me for a full night's sleep now that I have the option."

"Well you have to go there two weeks later anyways to click pictures for the paper, it would be nice to get to know the area."

This was going to be his first assignment for the magazine. "What're the pictures going to be about?"

Cas' face brightened up. "Oh, there's going to be the fall fair there. Ferris wheels, games  and all that stuff. We cover it every year for the paper."

Again, Dean was tempted to say yes, but he knew better.

"Thanks Cas, really, but I think I'll just have a quiet evening. I could use some quiet about now."

"Alright. Let me know if you change your mind."

Dean watched Cas walk towards his class, thinking about how people seemed to actually have a life here, while he was stuck trying to grasp the pieces to keep it all together. At least, there was one person whose life seemed to be as boring as Dean's. He hadn't seen her since the broken tap debacle. God knows what she did in the day, but, by the time he got back home, her bedroom was always locked.

He'd spent most of those nights in the living room, drafting the sheets on the small table in front of the TV. It was large enough to mount an A0 sheet. More times than necessary, his eyes had flitted towards the red door, even though he knew there was no one behind it. Dean had tried his best to forget the look of absolute panic on Y/N's face when he'd asked to enter her room and he found himself wondering what could possibly be in there. Years and years of filthy clothes? Maybe that was it, maybe she hadn't cleaned the place in a while and was embarrassed by it.

Then there was also the question of what she did. About that, Dean had some idea though. Only the night before, when he'd left the work table alone to make himself some coffee at 3 in the morning, he found math books had been laid out on the counter in front of the coffee machine. They were all worn out and from what Dean could guess very advanced math. She'd probably put them out to dry after the water in her room. So, she was a university student too, either she took night classes or it was correspondence.

That gave Dean some perspective about her life. She attended the night classes and took up a job immediately after. Maybe a call centre? But that seemed unlikely given how uninterested she was in any sort of conversation. He'd laughed out loud to himself even picturing her speaking to anyone politely. What an impossible idea. But no matter what, Dean could see she was taking so many efforts to learn. He could respect that. For all he knew, she worked a day job, too. He was just never around to ascertain it.

Dean spent the rest of his day trying to figure out how to finish his work. It seemed impossible in  every way, but he was sure going to try. When the last lecture for the day ended, he quickly picked up his bag, flung the leather jacket over his shoulder and got out of his seat, only to be obstructed by Meg.

"Where you heading, pretty boy?"

"Home. You guys have fun at the beach."

Her brows furrowed. "You're not coming?"

Before Dean could reply, another guy from behind her spoke up. "Oh, he needs to figure his shit out first. Trying to ace the class and all."

Nick, Dean remembered. His name was Nick and he was the asshole who always snickered in the back of the class when Zachariah gave him a hard time.

"He's better at this than all of us put together," Meg shot him down, but Nick only smirked and sidestepped Dean to walk out of class.

Dean couldn't care less. He did thank Meg for extending the invitation though. She'd been very supportive of him in the class and otherwise. He knew that he could trust her and Cas without question, and that was something.

Dean didn't pay any attention to the door on the opposite side out of habit when he got home. Since the rare opportunity had presented itself to him, he just walked into his room, pushed the jacket and the bag in a chair, stripped down to his boxers and threw himself on the bed face first.

Sleep. He needed some sleep to function and before he could even complete that thought, Dean was out like a light.

The room was immersed in complete darkness when he woke up, and Dean sat up bolt, his heart pounding, before he remembered that it was Friday evening and he still had 5 days to finish the stupid assignment from hell. He let himself breathe in and out deeply a few times before pushing himself off the bed. On his way out, he grabbed his black T-shirt and pulled it on. He took a minute to splash water on his face before dragging his feet to the kitchen to boil water for instant noodles. That would have to do. Only when he turned around did he notice a small figure huddled in the corner of the sofa scribbling furiously on a small notepad. Black shirt, black tracks and a black beanie. Y/N looked ready for ninja action.

"What're you doing here?" Dean asked, all sleep suddenly gone.

"Uhhh I pay the rent?" She replied. "More than you."

Oh, how he had missed the snark.

"I meant why are you home at this time," he said patiently, going to sit on the sofa opposite to her. "You work nights, don't you?"

"I took this weekend off," she said, without looking up from her little notepad.

"Why?"

She looked up this time, judging whether or not it was worth telling him, then muttered quietly. "I'm visiting my family."

That seemed fair enough, but another thought had stuck Dean- if she had to request an off, that meant she worked weekends, too. That looked like a lot of hard work.

"Does your family live close by?"

"Close enough," she muttered, her tone effectively ending the conversation. Dean left her to it, going back to his noodles. He briefly wondered if he should ask her if she wanted some, then decided he would make for two anyway. If worse came to worst, he'd have to put the rest in the fridge and reheat it the next day.

She looked up again when he put a bowl in front of her.

"Chicken noodle," Dean commented, taking his seat back. "Eat."

And she dead ass picked up the bowl and emptied it in a minute flat. All Dean could do was stare.

"You want me to finish yours, too?" She grinned, clearly smug about his shocked expression, then shook her head a little. "Thanks for the noodles. I was hungry."

"Yeah, I could tell," he murmured, trying to scarf  his own noodles.

"Why are you up at 1?" She asked, and Dean realized he'd never actually checked the time. She probably had her sleep cycle inverted anyway.

"I've got to finish my assignment," he said.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "It's Friday night. You got nothing better to do with it?"

Dean had a retort somewhere about how she wasn't doing anything too exciting with her life either, but it got stuck in his throat, because the remnant of her grin was still visible in her odd eyes. It was distracting. He just blurted out the truth. All of it, from the delayed assignment that had to be done five times, to the ruined sheets from the water.

Her face was a delicate mask of horror when he was done.

"I don't blame you for any of it," Dean clarified quickly. "I just don't know how the hell I'm going to finish it."

"How much are you done with?" She asked, and even without looking, Dean could hear how sorry she was.

"One set of the sheets. That's a total of 5 sheets and the assignment one and a half times."

"Hey you have one set done, the rest is easy right?"

Dean stared. "How is that easy? It took me the better part of 4 days to get 5 sheets drafted. I just have 5 days for 20 more sheets."

"Just Glass trace it." She shrugged, like it was the simplest solution.

"Excuse me, what?"

She looked at him like he'd suddenly grown a third eye, but elaborated all the same. "You have one set of all drawings done, so just trace it."

"How?"

She grinned cockily again. "Wait here."

Dean watched as she disappeared into her room and appeared with a light bulb, a holder and an extension cable. She screwed the bulb to the holder, attached it to the extension, which she then connected to the nearest switch.

"Hand me some scotch tape," she ordered and Dean followed her instruction, curious to see what she was up to.

Y/N carefully taped the bulb to the underside of the glass surfaced table he'd been using as the makeshift drafting board.

"Hand me your completed sheet," she said and Dean did. Y/N mounted the sheet on the table. She then placed another blank sheet over it, perfectly aligning the edges, then turned on the bulb.

At first, nothing happened, but when she turned the lights off for the whole living room, with only the bulb under the table glowing, he understood the term "Glass tracing" exactly. The bulb was illuminating the lines drawn on the sheet below to reflect it on the sheet above. The section, isometric view and components of an diesel engine were perfectly visible on the new sheet, too. All he had to do was take a pencil and trace it out now.

"I'll be damned," he swore softly and somewhere over him in the dark, Y/N's soft chuckle sounded.

She turned the lights on.

"That should help," she said. "I can't believe you didn't know about this. What sort of Mechanical student are you?"

Dean was asking himself the same question. For crying out loud, he'd been an assistant in college for 3 years. How did he not know?

"Let me take a look at your report," she asked, and he handed that to her, too, mutely, still lost in his own thoughts about the trick.

"This seems easy enough," she commented, reading through his assignment. "Calculating the load on the engine, I see. If you get the formula correct, the derivations are easy enough. This is good math."

He nodded, mentally realigning the time-table he'd drawn for himself in his head. He had a lot more time on his hand now.

"Tell you what, just get done with all your sheets while you are at it. Who knows, maybe after the weekend, you wouldn't have to worry about them at all."

She turned to leave for her room, but Dean stopped her.

"Hey, Y/N!" He called. "Thanks."

Her Y/E/C eyes were ambivalent. "For what?"

"For… for letting me know about this trick."

She didn't dismiss him quickly, like he'd come to expect, instead, she tilted her head to a side and then murmured, "You surprise me, Dean Winchester."

He hung his head, expecting as much. "Because I'm stupid enough to not know about it?"

"Because you are sincere enough to not know about it," she said, not as praise, but as a statement. Somehow that just gave more meaning to her words. "Not very many people are that sincere… they all know the cheat codes… except you, apparently."

"Thanks… I guess?" Dean frowned, unsure what else to say.

"Get some sleep, Romeo. I'm sure you can afford some more of that now."

Long after Dean had settled in his bed, her words still hung in the air. Something about the way she'd said it made him think that sincerity was a quality she valued. If only she wasn't so cryptic, he'd know what to make out of her.

The next day he'd fried enough eggs and bacon for two. When he went over to knock on her door, it was locked. Again. Who knew how early she had gotten up to see her family. Dean wondered if they were as weird as she was.

Having the whole house to himself for the weekend made him restless, and it was hard to believe that just a week back he had been hoping for this very thing with all his heart. Nevertheless, he put his time alone to good use, tracing all sheets to the best of his abilities. He was smart, he knew better than to just blindly trace, so he made sure that all the drawings had light guidelines in the background to make it look like they had all been drafted individually. It took a little more time, but it was thorough. It assuaged some of the guilt he felt for tracing.

Come Sunday evening, Dean found himself lounging back on the sofa, phone in his hand. He'd been so busy that he'd never had time to reply to Sam's hundred missed calls or messages.

His brother picked up on the second ring.

"If I didn't know better, I'd have thought that you disinherited me," Sam jibed and, even thought Dean could hear his brother's scoff, there was also a petulant hint of accusal in it.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, running a hand over his face. "Things have been crazy around here."

"Crazy enough to forget that you have a little brother? You could have at least picked up one call."

Dean wanted to laugh out loud, not because Sam's worry was hilarious, but because it was comforting. Over the last year since he'd started at Stanford, Dean worried if Sam would grow distant, love his new, exciting life more than the one Dean could provide him in the dusty town of Lawrence, but Sam had never fallen back on his calls, and even though Dean used to be rueful about the two or three calls in a week, turned out Sam was much better at keeping contact than he was.

"Look, I'm really sorry. I know you must've been worried."

"Worried?" Sam said. "I went so crazy worrying that I almost drove over."

Oh. That wasn't good.

"But you didn't," Dean tried meekly. He was really feeling bad now.

"Yeah, only because Jess said I should call up the University pretending to be a worried kin. But, I was a worried kin."

Dean smirked. "Jess, huh? At least you're talking to her."

That calmed down Sam some. "Some student body person told me your attendance checked out and I know you wouldn't pull a bunking stunt in the first week. That's how I knew you were alive."

Sam lecturing him like a mother? Oh how the tables had turned, but secretly it made Dean feel all calm inside.

"Tell you what?" Dean tried to placate him. "I think I have the next weekend free. How about I drive over? It's like 6 hours. We can grab a few beers and I'll tell all about my misfortunes."

"Misfortunes, huh?"

You have no clue little, brother.

"Something like that," Dean smiled, because not all of it had actually been unfortunate.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam smiled. "I'll look forward to it. Don't stand me up."

Would the kid ever stop whining? "Do I look like the busty blonde who bolted on you yesterday?"

Sam chuckled on the other side of the line. "This one didn't bolt. Sleep on that." With that call ended.

Dean looked at the phone for a hot minute. Even Sam was getting action- Sam, the eternal virgin Sam! While, he, the apparent leather- jacketed stud the rest of his class thought he was, was stuck doing homework.

Such was life.

Monday morning was relatively more cheerful. If he stayed up for the rest of the two days as well, he'd manage to get the assignment written, too, the remaining three and a half times. That way he could catch up with rest of it before weekend and then he'd be free to go see his brother. It sounded like a lot of work, but, at least, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Even Bobby noticed when he caught him whistling.

"You're happy, boy!"

Dean nodded, putting his head back into fixing a bike that none of Bobby's other boys could figure out what was wrong with.

"Is it the girl?" He asked, and Dean threw back his head, laughing.

"Who? Y/N? God, Bobby no. It's not like that. She's a crazy girl."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Dean considered. "Nothing actually, but it's not like that." He'd be getting way more action if it had. But he answered Bobby's question more fully now. "I'm happy cause I'm going to see my brother next weekend… if there's no work here that is."

"Go on, boy… there's nothing that we can't manage here," Bobby said gruffly. "Didn't know you had a brother."

"I do, a little brother. He's up at Stanford," Dean said proudly.

"Two University boys? Your folks must be proud."

Dean started working back on the bike, fixing the wench under the engine. "They're both dead."

"That's… uhhg-"

"It's okay, Bobby. It's been a while now, we were kids then."

Dean drove back thinking if he should have told Bobby the truth. The full truth that is, about his parent's death. Sure his mom had died when he was a kid, but his dad had been alive up until a few years ago. Dean just wasn't sure he was ready to talk about him yet.

He walked up distracted. Absentminded enough to even realise that the lift was working. Finally! He was all the way up and almost to his room when a voice that seemed too familiar called out to him.

Y/N was standing by his makeshift worktable, looking harassed.

"What happened to you?" Dean asked, rushing over. "You look-"

"Like someone drowned me 5 times and was brought me back just as many times?"

"Well… yeah." She looked exhausted, sleep deprived and ready to kill." Knowing her, he wouldn't put that past her.

"The traffic on the road sucked!" She said. "I thought I'd never make it back home in time."

"It's okay, you're back now," Dean urged. "Sit down, you look ready to fall."

She shook her head, then pulled out something from the puffy satchel hanging across her frame, and dropped a thick bundle on the table. "Here."

"What's that?" Dean asked curiously.

"Your assignment done five times over." She looked pleased with herself.

His eyes widened as he bent down to pick up the neatly stapled bundle of papers, scourging through leaf after leaf of tall pointed handwriting, neatly compiled into what was now the assignment.

"When? How?" This was better than he could have expected.

She hesitated, the way she did when she was sharing something she wasn't sure if she should. "Me and my sister did it together. I wrote it, looking at the one you'd already done and she drew all the diagrams. I mean, you're new, it's not like that douchebag professor would know your handwriting to notice the difference. Besides, all your assignments from now on would be typed, anyway. This will never come up."

That was probably the longest speech she'd ever uttered.

"You spent your time away with family writing my imposition? Why?" Dean was astounded. It was all beyond him. The girl worked so hard so she could get a weekend away to meet her family and then she uses that time slogging through his work? Wow, she was crazier than he ever gave her credit for.

Y/N stole looks from under her long lashes. "Well, it was my fault you had to do it anyway and then some of it got drowned… also because of me." She paused for a second, looking him  full in the eyes. "And, also, because my sister isn't like me, she's a nice person who didn't mind carrying my guilt and helping a stranger."

"Well, looks to me your sister is a lot like you… Good," Dean mumbled, still shocked. This cleared up his week completely. He would surely get to see Sam now. "Thank you so much, Y/N. This just- you just did me huge favor."

"Just don't ever mention it," she all but warned. "Ever."

She hurriedly readjusted the satchel and then turned to leave.

"Where're you going?"

"Work! Now shut up, so I can leave."

But Dean just couldn't let her go yet. "You'll go to work in those?" She was back in the baggy black pants, grey hoodie and beanie.

"Oh, I can always change when I get there," she smiled unexpectedly, like it was her own private joke.

"Hey, Y/N," Dean interrupted her again, just to annoy her and her expression didn't disappoint when she turned around.

"What now, Romeo?"

He simply grinned. "Try not to murder someone tonight."

She winked. "I'll try." Then the door slammed shut, leaving Dean grinning in its wake. Maybe not everything was unfortunate after all.

************************************

A/N 2: Any guesses about where this is headed? 

A/N 3: Please do consider reblogging my work and leaving feedback. Reblogging helps spread it, and also helps against the “best posts first” option tumblr has. The more the notes, the less chance of it getting buried beneath others posts. And the comments are what keep me going. I love you guys and I’ll be in forever grateful <3

Here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

UR taglist:

@deanssweetheart23  @captainradicalpassion  @docharleythegeekqueen  @sleepless-sin    @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester  @ohgodwhybloggg  @roxyspearing  @oneshoeshort  @theofficialduke  @wildlandfox  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @emoryhemsworth  @dslocum89  @justacinnamonroll  @fanfreak07  @dustycelt  @serienjunkiegirl   @thinkwritexpress-official  @babykalika2001  @daskleinevolk  @jayankles  @blacktithe7  @pensysto  @iyannamckague  @shamelesslydean  @mysupernaturalfics  @crystallstaircase  @melonberri  @commander-meghan-shepard  @trenchcoat-angel  @smiling-meerkat  @sprnaturallover  @violinbetty  @fandom-trash-worth-it  @grace-for-sale  @katsanders  @samwinchesterfanfic  @bluestarshining  @torn-and-frayed  @adaliamalfoy  @anathewierdo  @gabavaldman  @brindz30  @heavymetalhauswife  @sdavid09  @hatemeup  @plaidstiel-wormstache  @deannawinchesterpie  @kit-kat-katie99  @jessieray98  @mlovesstories  @thing-you-do-with-that-thing   @directionernullneun  @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou  @theoriginalvicki  @angelessquirrel  @thereisnolumos  @julie121899  @blushingokoye  @mikid2000  @freekryptonitecloud  @padasteph-nie  @luna-plena-venandi  @tiffy119  @jayattemptstoruletheworld  @linki-locks11  @mirandaaustin93  @pjofangirl18  @hunterswearingplaid  @cookiechipdough  @superlock-on-pc   @daughterleftbehind  @abumbling-bee  @savanna1899  @imweirdandobsessed  @emilycollins11  @diariesofthebeautyobsessed  @bakabozza  @imascio08  @luvspnandphan  @stormisamystery  @atc74  @aiaranradnay  @bellastellaluna  @deansgirl215  @xristina-gkika  @almostelegantfire

[sending-the-message]

For Better or For Worse by Ilunibi

When I was eleven, my parents divorced.

I didn’t understand why because they always seemed to get along, and my mom’s reasons always seemed very petty. Even if I can recognize that she probably thought she did the right thing for herself, I always held onto this tiny bit of resentment because she didn’t try harder to make it work. It put a distance between my dad and myself, and created this soul-eating jealousy as I watched my younger half-sister become his golden child. Though I tried to pretend it didn’t leave a mark on me, it did, and the trauma of “losing” my father made me swear that, if I ever got married, I would never, ever get divorced. I would do anything in my power to make it work.

Considering my husband, that’s not always been the easiest task. Tyson is, at his core, a good man who just happens to have very bad genes. He’s quiet and not very affectionate, but he’s supportive and hardworking and has a dry, dark sense of humor that never fails to make me laugh. Despite his size and resting bitch face, he’s a massive pushover who’s only ever been good at posturing himself to look intimidating. In fact, he tends to short-circuit when confrontation rears its ugly head.

That said, Tyson is also schizophrenic.

Being fresh-faced sweethearts who were exchanging vows within a year of graduation, we had exactly two years of marital bliss before he started hearing things, seeing things, and wondering just how many people were out to get him. It started with small, innocuous things--staring at the vents for a second too long, checking every closet when we’d come home from a night out--but by the age of twenty-three, he was talking to nonexistent visitors and barking threats at our bathroom mirror. I came home from work to find he’d duct taped all of the vents shut and, when asked exactly why he had to do that, he offered a nonchalant shrug and told me it was to keep “them” out of the house.

Who is “them?” That’s an excellent question that I tried to figure out for seven years. He’d never tell me. I’d push and push, and he’d roll his eyes like I should already have known.

In stark contrast to what I’d seen on TV and in movies about people with the illness, he was infuriatingly blasé about the whole thing aside from becoming mad at the occasional imaginary intruder. While I struggled to piece together whatever skewed narrative he was building in his head, he approached the subject of “them” and all of his quirks with a matter-of-factness that pissed me off.

Except I don’t know if I was angry or scared. I didn’t like the idea of the man I tied the knot with becoming a shadow of what he once was, especially so young, even if he seemed less terrified and more perturbed by the unusual direction his brain decided to go. Regardless of what the root of the matter was, his eccentricity and my own exhaustion trying ended with us trading barbs more than a couple of times, snarling and hissing and spitting at each other until he’d storm out angry or I’d lock myself in the bathroom. Most of the time it was the former since, as I said before, Tyson tended to panic when tensions ran high.

There were times when he’d leave and I’d have to go get him because he felt “safe” outside and didn’t want to come home. He’d accuse me of messing up his attempts to keep the mysterious “them” out. Sometimes, I would catch him watching people in public with a peculiar look on his face, or staring at reflections in car windows or grocery freezers, or gawking at blank spots in store aisles like something was blocking his passage. Any questions I had he’d answer with the same sigh and shrug.

Occasionally, he’d throw in something along the lines of, “Whatever. At least I know how to deal with them.”

I just kept chanting to myself that divorce wasn’t an option as I made sure he actually went to his appointments (that he claimed he didn’t need) and took the medicine (that he wondered whether or not was safe). When he finally wound up on disability, so caught up in his hallucinations that he couldn’t keep a job, I worked twice as hard to make up for the slack. Divorce wasn’t an option because he wasn’t a danger, he never threatened me, and I loved him. I didn’t like him sometimes, but I loved him.

It all came to a head last night, when I came home from a long, frustrating day at work and saw the vents sealed. Again. Or, rather, I caught him on the stepladder with a roll of duct tape, trying to tape shut the one above the entrance to our hallway. We’d had multiple talks about how it wasn’t necessary, and I’d even thought I had worked it out by reasoning with him using his own logic, but there he stood, silver-handed.

When I asked him why he was doing it, he quietly finished his work and stepped down from the ladder with the same composed tone and indifferent shrug he gave me every single other time I called him out on it.

“They’re in the vents again.”

I demanded to know what “they” were. Who was “them?” What did he think was in the goddamn vents this time?

“I love you, you know.”

I told him that wasn’t an answer. So he repeated it again, firmer this time, like there was an implication behind those three words that I should have magically picked up on. Instead of heeding that and spending the rest of my evening trying to decode what he meant, I spent it prying the tape off of the walls and floors. Tyson watched me, bemused and then dejected and then with mounting concern. When I caught him following behind me, trying to redo what I undid, I confiscated his tape and chucked it out the kitchen door into the cold.

He tried to tell me that I was making a huge mistake. Tired, angry, and bristling, I responded that I wanted a divorce.

Time stopped. Oddly enough, he didn’t respond by storming out and finding a place to hide. Tyson just stood there, with this look of confusion on his face, like a dog that heard a weird noise. Then, with a shake of his head, his expression melted into the same look of exasperation that one would give a toddler throwing a tantrum. When it sank in what I had said, however, I burst into tears.

Divorce wasn’t an option. I was just miserable and lashing out. I never meant to say that because I took a vow, for better or for worse, and I knew I could work harder to help him when he was the one who was truly suffering. He smiled as I spewed out apology after apology, begging him to forgive me. He just wrapped an arm around me and started escorting me to the bedroom.

“I know you don’t mean it. You think it, but you don’t mean it. I think things, too.”

He paused.

“Like whether you’ll let me redo the vents.”

I told him that if he did, I would walk out of the house right then and never come back. His face fell and his body stiffened. After we reached the end of the hall, he leaned past me to glimpse at himself in the bathroom mirror through the open door, pausing long enough to investigate his own reflection. He poked and prodded his face, inspected the corners of the glass, then sighed.

“We’ll be fine for one night. Probably.”

That made me feel a little better. I felt like I had won, as hollow of a victory as it was. If nothing else, once he got me in bed, he made sure that I knew that there was only one “hard feeling” he had towards me. Still, as much as I appreciated the attention and as much as I wanted to believe my win would break the cycle of his behavior, I mostly just wanted to go to sleep and forget the night ever happened.

We dozed off on opposite sides of the bed. I coiled up like a snake with all the sheets in a corner, and he was a full foot away from me on the mattress. Occasionally, my anxiety would wake me up and I’d feel for him, just to make sure he hadn’t gone and fetched the tape or ran away entirely. I’d brush an arm and feel comfortable enough that I wasn’t alone, then immediately drift off again.

Then, something other than anxiety jostled me awake.

It was a sound, like hushed and angry whispering, coming from behind me on the mattress. I could tell that it was male, but it didn’t sound like my husband; he was a large man with a large voice, but this was smaller and raspier, older and hissing. If smoke could speak, it’s like what I would imagined it sounded like. Too groggy to be scared and only dimly aware of my surroundings, I curled up tighter in my blankets and scowled.

“The fuck?” I wondered aloud, like the sage I was. The whispering continued and nobody answered me. As the seconds ticked on, I became more and more alert and I could feel this cold, sinking feeling in my gut. I tried telling myself that I was dreaming, but everything was too solid. I could feel the sheets against my skin and I was hyperaware of every overpriced thread.

“The fuck,” I repeated, less a question and more a statement of fear. I hoped I had said it loud enough for Tyson to hear, though I was beginning to wonder if it was him making the noise. After all, isn’t it a trope or something that schizophrenic people change their voices and talk to themselves? Different personalities and all that? His doctor had been frank that he doubted multiple personality disorders existed, but at the time, that was the only reasonable thing I could come up with.

So, I called his name. And I did it again. And again. And when he didn’t respond, I shifted my weight uneasily and decided that if I could just reach out and touch him, that maybe it would confirm my suspicion that nobody else was there and he was just very good at voice acting. Maybe it would even startle him enough to shut up. Holding my breath, I started to wriggle free of my cocoon when I heard something deep, familiar, and startling.

“Don’t.”

It was Tyson. The whispering was talking over him. Unless he’d learned the secrets of Tibetan monks last night, there was no way he could talk in two voices.

“What is that?” I demanded.

“Them.”

I was in no way shocked with his answer, but it did make me nearly puke in fear. A defiant part of me wanted to roll over in bed and see if I could see anything, but common sense and terror held me glued in place. The most I could do was look at the floor, trailing the moulding until I came across my bedroom vent, partially covered by the bed skirt. It fluttered as the heater blew, but I could see something moving and hear scratching, like rats trying to scamper up the ductwork.

Then, as clear as it would have been in daylight, I spotted a single eye. An eye belonging to something that shouldn’t have been able to fit in the vent, and unmistakably human. It was a stark white against the blackness of the room, lolling and rolling until it came to rest on me. The whispering fell silent when our gazes met.

“Don’t look at them,” Tyson warned, so I shut my eyes and pulled the blanket over my head. The whispering started again, louder. I whined over top of them, asking him what they were.

Again, he told me they were “them.”

Who is “them?” That’s an excellent question that he’s been trying to figure out for seven years. They wouldn’t tell him. He’d push and push, and they’d just laugh at him like he should already know. The only thing he’d managed to figure out was that they were invisible in the light, aside from reflections, like weird, reverse vampires. You could always see them in windows and mirrors and anything made of glass, no matter where or when you looked.

Were they dangerous? Probably. Thankfully, they seemed to go “someplace else” every so often, which would give him enough time to try to figure out how to keep them out. Did duct tape work? He had no clue, but at least he didn’t have to look at them or hear them.

When I asked if this meant he hadn’t been schizophrenic the whole time, he actually growled at me.

“Look, I probably am, but you can be crazy and competent at the same time, alright? Just go to sleep.”

I told him that he was insane. I didn’t want to go to sleep with those things haunting my house. I wanted to get up and get out, and maybe live at a goddamn Marriott for the rest of my life.

“You’ll just piss them off, babe. Just go to sleep.”

“How?” I demanded.

“Just do it. I manage it every fucking night you make me take the tape off the vents.”

I didn’t fall asleep. I never fell asleep. I spent all of last night staring at the wall beside my bed, wondering whether or not I’d make it through the night alive. It was only when the first light of day spilled through my window that I gathered up the courage to jump up, over my husband, and out of the room. In one fluid motion, I had scooped up my clothes from the floor, grabbed my purse, threw on some unseasonal sandals that had been next to the door, and was gone. There was a 24/7 Wal-Mart two blocks away with a hardware section that had my name on it.

Tyson was, as expected, fine when I got back, in his boxers, on a step-ladder, taping shut the vents with the tape he’d recovered from the driveway. When I came in with six rolls of Gorilla tape, he eyed me up and down and cocked his head. He asked if I was giving him permission to do what needed to be done, and I answered that I would start in my bedroom and meet him in the middle.

I called into work today and the house, while freezing, has been quiet as of ten o’clock tonight. No whispering, no eyes peering out of the darkness. I haven’t seen anything in the mirrors and, according to Tyson, neither has he. That said, I’ve just been glued to the living room couch, afraid there may be something underneath waiting to drag me under if I put my ankles where they could reach. I’ve been obsessively trying to figure out if there’s a vent I missed.

But at the end of the day, all I can be thankful for is the fact I married a man who, despite his flaws, has been taking care of me despite the fact I would never listen to him. Despite being so conflict-avoidant, he’s been trying to keep these things away from me for years. I’m glad I took that vow when I was younger that, no matter what, I would find a way to work through it. Not just because I love Tyson, but because now that they’ve seen me, I think he’s the only one who can keep me safe.

[ayearofpike]

The Immortal

Pocket Books, 1993 213 pages, 16 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-671-74510-7 LOC: CPB Box no. 705 vol. 16 OCLC: 27434465 Released July 1, 1993 (per B&N)

Did you ever take a vacation because your best friend insisted that you had to? Josie Goodwin is. At the suggestion (or maybe insistence) of her oldest compatriot Helen Demeter, her family is spending two weeks on Mykonos in the Greek isles. Helen’s there too, and she has a lot to show Josie from her trip the previous summer, not the least of which is a sacred island with a plateau that has a mythical connection to Apollo. What Josie doesn’t know is her own connection to Apollo. But Helen does, and it’s a connection that calls for no less than cold vengeance.

I have distinct memories of reading this book on a summer vacation road trip with my dad. But aside from the fate of the main character, I found that I didn’t actually remember that much about this story. Revisited in 2018, this is some Percy Jackson shit. Like, not to the point where Rick Riordan owes Pike some money, but it definitely doubles down on the sex among gods, mortals, and monsters. It’s fitting that I read this one while reading The Sea of Monsters to my kids, because I was already in the Greek gods mode for it. Although enough people have written about Greek myth in modern times that I can’t say anyone is directly ripping anyone else, necessarily. Maybe they just have the same muse.

So, all right, where do I jump in? The beginning is as good a place as any, I suppose. We’re on a plane with Josie and Helen (who, by the way, maybe couldn’t have a more Americanized Greek name) as it descends into Athens. They’re traveling with Josie’s dad, a once-hot screenwriter who is currently struggling, and his current flame, a failed alcoholic actress. Josie wakes up knowing they’re close, with a sense of almost being home. Which is weird, right, because she’s never been to Greece before. Foreshadowey! WOOOOOO

They have to cab to a smaller airport and hop another plane to the island of Mykonos, which is their final destination. Helen can’t warn the Goodwins about the rudeness of Greek people enough, but Josie finds them very pleasant. She wonders if maybe it’s this difference in attitude that makes boys who are initially attracted to Helen eventually want to be with her. Yep, Pike did it again with the accidentally-steal-yo-man girl, only at least Josie is honest with herself and admits that going out with her best friend’s ex makes her an asshole. Not that she’s going to stop. There’s one boy in particular she’s thinking of here, who went with Helen and then with her and then moved away and dropped off the face of the planet. Remember when you could do that, all the way back in the 1990s?

So they get to the hotel, drop their crap, and decide to go snorkeling at Paradise beach. They have to rent motor scooters to get there, but it turns out Helen has an ulterior motive for wanting to go so far away: a guy. Specifically, a British bartender named Tom, whom she met during her trip the previous summer. Of course Josie is instantly smitten, but she’s not immediately planning to steal Tom. They plan to go out later, the three of them and one of Tom’s friends, and then the girls get their snorkeling equipment and get in the water.

It’s when Josie pushes herself too hard that we learn a little more backstory. Seems she had a mysterious heart inflammation the previous summer while Helen was in Greece and almost died from it. The experience has made her appreciate life more, and so she really wants to tackle everything that comes her way. But her endurance is still not where it should be, and she’s been swimming for an hour. As she struggles to get back to shore, Tom plunges into the water (in his full bar uniform, no less) and pulls her in. Interesting that he was watching her swim while he was supposed to be at work, yes?

So they go back to the hotel and Josie grabs a nap, and then she decides to interact with her parentals. She argues with the girlfriend, who is drunk in the bar watching TV, and then finds her dad pecking on his laptop on his room’s balcony. Seems he’s been fighting with a science-fiction screenplay for about a year. Mr. Goodwin has never before had this hard a time unfolding a story; before, they always just came to him, but now he can’t figure out where to take it. He knows that there are humans in an interstellar war with aliens, and that the humans have captured one and are going to make her escort a single pilot on a suicide mission to blow up the alien homeworld, but he doesn’t really know why or what comes next. (I think the screenplay is supposed to have some parallel with the narrative, but it’s a pretty big stretch.) He’s interested in Josie’s ideas, and she tells him she’ll need to think on it.

Right now it’s time for her to meet Helen and the boys for dinner. She finds Helen at a restaurant in town, and they talk about their mutual attraction to Tom, and Helen says she won’t be upset if Tom prefers Josie only she is obviously lying. Tom shows up a little later with his roommate Pascal, a big French dude who works with handicapped kids most of the year but is spending his summer delivering vegetables to restaurants. In fact, he’s got a truck coming in on the late ferry, and he wants to take it for a ride with one of the girls — only (obviously) neither one wants to leave Tom to the other. So he takes off in the truck, and the other three go to a bar, where Helen drinks too much and pukes on Tom’s shoes, so that’s over. Josie takes her home, they fall asleep, and Josie dreams of being a goddess suffused in radiant blue light. When she wakes up she’s totally fine and feeling great, even though she drank at least two bottles of wine and should be a little hungover. Did the light save her from the booze?

Of course, being totally sick doesn’t keep Helen from having an agenda. She wakes everyone up the next day (even Josie’s parentals) and makes them take a boat to the island of Delos. It’s a sacred holy site, which Josie learns about by reading along the way: supposedly it’s the birthplace of Apollo and Artemis, fathered by Zeus and borne by the titan Leto (which I had to look up because I was confusing her with Leda) on an island that was not fixed in place, as Hera had banned Leto from giving birth on terra firma. The mythology of the place made it an important site of worship, even though nobody could live there, and today it is essentially a museum full of excavated ruins. Josie’s dad’s girlfriend thinks it’s junky, of course.

But what Helen most wants Josie to see is the top of Mount Kynthos, where Apollo was supposely born. And it’s true, the sun does feel stronger and more intense up there, and Josie senses a connection to something greater than herself. Helen knows it, and she sprinkles in a little more backstory by saying that when she got out of the hospital she knew that this was a place she had to come, for some reason. We learn that Helen tried to kill herself, not long before Josie had her heart ailment, but we don’t really learn how or why. Josie wonders if the boyfriend they shared was an impetus, but she sure as hell doesn’t ask any more questions about it. Still, they both share that getting so close to death has provided them with a new understanding of what they should do with life. Still, we start to wonder about their friendship. How close are they actually? Do they even still like each other?

Josie doesn’t help matters by immediately going to see Tom at the beach when they get back from Delos. They try to figure out how to get together without upsetting Helen, and don’t come up with much other than everybody hanging out again. After a swim and a stint of topless sunbathing, she goes back to the hotel, where she tells her dad that the suicide pilot in his script has something to live for and then puts off Helen’s attempt to go get dinner, as she needs to wait for her sneaky plan to happen. She dreams of a secret altar to Apollo, where she prays for insight and information to pass along to humans, and then she and Helen go to the same restaurant as the night before, where Tom and Pascal just happen to show up. Only Pascal’s fumbling English gives away that it was all planned, and Helen storms off, but not before revealing to Josie that the reason their mutual boyfriend hasn’t been in touch is because he died at the end of last summer. Helen has known this all along, but she has obviously kept it from Josie out of spite ... or something. I think here their friendship is officially ruined.

Josie and Tom try to salvage the evening by going out on the bay in a rowboat. While they’re out there, though, the temperamental summer winds kick up all of a sudden, and they lose their oar and can’t get it back. Tom jumps in the water to get it, but before he can get back the boat blows out to sea with Josie in it. All Josie can do is bail as it takes on water and pray that the wind stops before she sinks. And, like, literally as soon as she prays, the weather lets up and the water gets calm. She passes out in the boat and wakes up on a rocky beach, which she’s pretty sure is Delos. So she goes to try to find the archaeologists on the island, but before she can she discovers that the ruin is somehow a living city, and they welcome and worship her.

And suddenly we’re flung into a new myth, one of Pike’s own making. We learn about the muse Sryope and her best friend Phthia, granddaughter of Zeus. They are both in love with Aeneas, half-blood son of Aphrodite, and Phthia seduces him and gets him to swear an oath of fidelity before she goes back to fucking around. This pisses Sryope off, and she figures out how to get Phthia to forgive the vow: a story contest. If Sryope wins, Phthia will release Aeneas; if Phthia wins, Sryope will never tell anyone that her father is Alecto, one of the Furies that guards the underworld. Yeah, I know, and so does Pike — Furies in myth are traditionally portrayed as female, but there’s some shape-shifter tales throughout fiction.  Of course Sryope basically goes back on her word immediately, telling a story of a Fury who impregnates a goddess by impersonating a handsome warrior and begats (?) a daughter, just changing the names like that hides anything. Of course Phthia gets pissed and yells at Sryope, then takes off without telling her story, never to be seen again until Alecto finds her dead and floating in the river Styx. Upon which he (she?) arrests (?) Sryope on suspicion of murder.

This is where Josie wakes up with the sunrise in the ruins of Delos. There’s a tiny marble statue of a goddess next to her, which she recognizes as Sryope, so she pockets it, but then she realizes she’s going to get in trouble if she’s found there. She gets out, hides among the tourists, and takes the first boat back to Mykonos, where her father and his girlfriend are anxiously talking to the police on the dock. Seems Tom made it back to shore and warned everyone that Josie was missing, and now that she’s back they call off the search and get everyone ready for a celebratory barbecue at the hotel. But first she tells Tom what happened, and shows him the statue, which has since the morning become flecked with clear crystal somehow. He’s not sure he believes her, but he does promise to stay with her and protect her from any more weirdness.

The girlfriend runs the barbecue, maybe out of guilt of not being more ... motherly? I don’t know. Is that really the responsibility of a thirty-something woman whose boyfriend has an eighteen-year-old daughter? I know, cultural expectations and all that bullshit. But Helen helps make the burgers, and Josie asks for two but can’t finish the first so Tom eats the other one. While she’s eating, Josie talks to her dad some more about his script, and suggests that the pilot plants the bomb on the planet but that the alien is struggling to tell him something that she’s been programmed against. Then Josie goes to bed and  dreams about Sryope’s trial, where she is twisted into lying about knowing Phthia’s parentage and discusses how she shares stories and ideas with mortals, in particular a certain screenwriter and his daughter.

Josie wakes up feeling like crap. The statue is still there, but now it’s totally clear, with a red swirl in the center. She tries to call Tom, but Pascal says he’s too sick to answer the phone. She’s starting to worry about all of it, so she finds her way over to his house and realizes he needs to see a doctor. At the health center, Josie collapses in the waiting room and sees more of the trial, where Minos (the underworld judge) shows Sryope forcing the daughter’s best friend to drink poison, and then sees herself forcing the spirit of Phthia into the best friend’s dying body. Sryope realizes that it’s Alecto impersonating her, but there’s no way to provide a realistic motive without going back on her lies about Phthia and Alecto. So she accepts her punishment, which is to give up her immortality and take the place of the dying spirit in the screenwriter’s daughter.

Josie wakes up with her family around her. She asks to talk to Helen alone, because by now they both know the story. Helen tells Josie that she put ground glass in her hamburgers, and there’s no way to get it out of her system. I don’t know if that’s how it works ... isn’t finely ground glass essentially sand? Snopes says this isn’t inherently fatal, but we didn’t have the Internet in 1993 and so it scared the piss out of me at the time. Helen isn’t really upset about Tom being collateral damage, either, because he treated her wrong. She’s taken a similar revenge on their dead mutual ex, in fact. She tells Josie that this was her plot, abetted by Alecto, and all she has to do to live forever is to sacrifice somebody to the Furies — in this case, Pascal — on the summit of Mount Kynthos.

So with no hope for themselves, there’s no reason to go to the mainland hospital, but there’s still time to save Pascal. Before she goes, Josie leaves a note for her dad that tells him the planet is actually Earth, and the aliens are what humans would have become if they stayed. Then she rouses Tom out of bed and tells him about Helen’s plan, and they sneak out of the health center. They grab Pascal’s gun from the apartment, then steal a boat and rip over to Delos.

He’s already bewitched and is ready to obey Helen. There’s no other option. Josie tries to shoot her but the gun doesn’t go off. Tom (the stupid idiot who thinks he knows better than killing) knocks the gun out of Josie’s hand, and Pascal grabs it. Helen tells him to put it in his mouth and pull the trigger, which he does — but it still doesn’t go off. Josie realizes the safety must be on, but Pascal doesn’t. The gun in his mouth is enough to break his hypnosis, and he faints. Helen doesn’t realize about the safety either (I guess she thinks the gun is busted) so she pulls out a giant knife and literally lifts Tom off his feet, telling Josie she wants her to watch him suffer before she dies too.

But Josie has one more trick up her sleeve: her camera, which is in the pocket of the windbreaker she’s wearing. If she can get one good shot, maybe the flash will distract Helen enough that she can grab the gun and kill her before she kills Tom. And it’s a good shot. So good, in fact, that it lights up the entire island as though from the sun. Helen is momentarily blinded and drops the boy, and Josie has enough light to find the gun, flick the safety off, and fire six shots into Helen’s chest.

So Pascal is now safe, but Josie’s still dying, right? And Tom? Hang on a second. Josie realizes that the red in the little statuette is blood. Her godly blood. In fact, when she takes it out of her pocket, the head has turned into essentially a flip-cap. But there’s only enough for one person, so guess what. Yep, she makes Tom drink it, and once again Pike has killed off the first-person protagonist. Really — he’s done it in literally every single (YA) story written from 1PP so far. I’d say to start expecting it, only the next major one from this perspective is The Last Vampire, so ... but maybe he’s counting that as dead?

Our epilogue finds Sryope at the top of Mount Kynthos, conversing with Apollo, who she has only now realized is her own father. He is interested to know what she’s learned from her time on Earth, and as they arise into the sun she begins the tale of a girl on a plane to Greece.

And hereby we close The Immortal. I have to say I’m not mad at it. The agency of the girls and goddesses is useful, and it certainly does more with the kinky Greek myth sex than anything teachers will let you read. The parallel of the higher being dying after fulfilling an important informational mission between the narrative and the dad’s screenplay is super-thin, and I could have done without that, but Josie and Helen are kind of badasses who don’t apologize for their desires, and I’m glad. I’m also glad that this re-read gave me the thought to check on that ground-glass thing, which makes me more OK with hamburgers.