#we also gave the US death caps so it's even

[galehowl]

Somehow one of the mildly annoying things I still think about now and then in encountering a "new" mushroom species in our forests last year, Aureoboletus projectellus, or how it's locally dubbed the "golden bolete", which is an invader from north Murica lmao. It started appearing here about a decade ago and slowly taking over Europe's forests, and there's so much of it here now

[aizenat]

There is this girl I went to hs with and the nicest way I can say this is this girl was smart but not particularly so, and had a high sense of self despite being remarkably average. Again, that's the nicest way I can say that. She also got very triggered whenever I was better at her than something (in all fairness, she was like that with anyone better than her, but my friend caught her shit talking me once when I was the only person in my English class to get an A on my Catcher in the Rye essay--something I expected simply because I'm a writer, was then, and I never once got anything less than A on an essay my entire hs career--and that pissed me off particularly because my writing is the ONE thing in this world I can truly say I do better than most people).

Anyway, I learned a while ago that she moved to Boston, and she was associated with Harvard in some way. Without getting too into it, she works there in the weirdest and most random department (not as a professor or anything meaningful or prestigious, which will make sense in a second), doing basically admin shit it seems. I was curious because she's still listed on their site and it says she's been there for like eleven years. I was wondering if she ended up going there as a student in something, but without a linkden or something, I couldn't see. But every time I googled her name and the school, the only thing that came up was her staffing position. No information to indicate she was a student.

Which is funny. I looked up to see if you can go to Harvard for free if you work there, and the do have a reimbursement program, but you'd only get like 75% of fees back, so you'd still have to come out of pocket. And this is an IVY, so that's going to be pretty. And considering what she does, I can't imagine it paying that much where she could easily afford it. Maybe she does take classes and is slowly working her way to some kinda degree, but I doubt it. I feel like she'd at least be able to brag by now given how long she's been there (the site fucking says when she started lol).

Either way, the reason this is funny to me is because she was never even close or talented or impressive enough to anyone let alone college admissions to get into a school like Harvard (I know for a fact she didn't get in in hs lol), and transferring into schools is typically easier, she didn't get her degrees from there according to the site. So I just lowkey find it funny because the closest she'd ever get to Harvard is not as a student or even as someone brought in to teach, but by getting some admin job and sticking around long enough to get her picture on the school's site. She looks so proud in her Harvard shirt, thinking she finally "made it" but never in a way that would actually impress everyone.

It just all feels very fitting for her. In the right spaces to be around more impressive people while being overwhelmingly mediocre her own damn self lol.

[rainybubbles]

141 coming back to you after a eight months mission

Plus size reader :) !

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC)

G H O S T

-Eight long months, every fiber of his being yearned for a hot shower, his eyes struggled to stay open.

- Yet, it wasn't his shabby apartment that the taxi drove to.

-Simon, buried beneath the Ghost's mask, still held a glimmer of humanity within him, a breath hidden beneath Ghost's blood, death, and violence.

-But on that evening, what he ardently desired was them: their gentleness, their scent, their warmth.

-Like a wild animal slowly tamed by food, he returned to them whenever possible.

-Under the pouring rain, he advanced, hastily thanking the driver, the heavy bags weighing on his shoulders.

-He stepped into the still slumbering pastry shop, and the bell rang.

-And there they appeared.

- Covered in flour, with a pastry cap and apron, they were surprised to find someone there at five in the morning.

-"Simon," they murmured.

-The sound of his name was so sweet, so soothing.

- But he wanted more.

-He wanted them to whisper his name over and over again, filled with desire, until they could only utter it, clouded with pleasure.

-His bags fell to the ground, and his arms enveloped them in an instinctive movement.

- Their hair smelled of sugar and butter, the flour staining their black sweater. Simon wanted more.

-"Y/n"

-" I missed you," they whispered.

-He couldn't bring himself to respond, to admit this longing, but they could sense it.

-His arms didn't let them go.

-"Scone?" they asked.

-"No. "

-"Muffin?"

- "No."

-" Croissant?"

- "You," he finally said.

A silence stretched between them.

-"I have to finish my batch, I open in an hour. Do you think you can wait?"

-No, he couldn't. But reason prevailed, and he nodded.

-"I'll help you," he murmured.

-"You barely know how to fold a dough."

-"I can follow orders."

-"Sorry, soldier."

-Their laughter echoed, and a sense of relief washed over him.

- He wanted to hear that sound again and again.

- In silence, they worked. Simon followed every move, ignoring the pain, stretching each muscle. He was ready for anything.

-When the last batch was ready and the saleswoman arrived, Simon breathed a sigh of relief.

-Y/n gave their final instructions and left.

-Alone on the street, they walked together.

-Like a starving beast, Simon jumped at every crumb of affection, grabbing their hand, his fingers brushing theirs through gloves.

-"We need to talk, don't we?" they finally admitted.

-"Yes," he replied.

- "About what happened before your deployment…"

-The kiss. A hurried kiss, without thought.

- Lips so soft, erasing the bad news of his deployment and eight long months of silence.

-"I… "

-'Don't say you regret it," he finally said.

-"No, I don't. I mean it. But I don't want it to destroy us."

-"It won't."

-"I know you avoid people, Simon. Attachment."

-"Yes."

-But not them, he thought

- Since the moment his feet led him to that pastry shop. Simon knew he was doomed.

- A stupid cake for Soap's nephew, and he found himself charmed by a baker making incredible scones.

-Simon had become a regular there, a man of habit enjoying the good things, he told himself.

- It was close, he said.

-Close to his shabby apartment, to his gym.

-Just a daily stop for coffee and scones, he reasoned.

- But every morning, his eager eyes searched for their silhouette.

-Their rolls, their belly, their thighs, that smile.

- Every crumb he could get, he took.

-They eventually noticed him.

-A mountain of muscles, hidden by a mask, softened by scones, it wasn't the most discreet.

-They greeted him.

-Always the first customer at dawn.

-In reality, Simon came so early out of military habit but also to avoid the saleswoman.

-Simon desired the baker, not the small, slim saleswoman.

-Slowly, they spoke to him, and everything fell into place.

- They had become his anchor, an anchor in reality.

- A tough mission, and he came to them silently, without needing to place an order, without having to face the crowd, slipping to the back and watching them work.

-No questions, just comfort.

-The smell of sugar, flour, and eggs permeated his clothes in the most exquisite way.

-And now he dreamed of a life where this scent would be constant.

-"I don't want us to drift apart," they said.

-"We won't," he assured them.

-"So, what do we do, Simon?"

-"Kiss me."

-It was a prayer, a barely audible order, a cry for help.

-Slowly his mask fell.

- Their eyes met, hesitant but filled with desire.

-And they kissed him.

- In that dark street, under the pouring rain.

-"Again," he murmured.

-"We have to go back," they said.

- "I don't care about going back," he replied.

- "Simon, you don't want to spend your leave sick."

-"If I stay with you, I do."

-"Idiot."

- "For you."

-Their laughter burst out, and Simon kissed them again to capture it.

-Slowly, they finally arrived at their place.

-Their dog welcomed them, barking happily at Simon. And after eight long months, Simon could finally breathe.

-"I'm home," he murmured.

- "We were waiting for you," they replied.

-Nothing surpassed this feeling, he thought as he kissed them again.

-Simon was a man, and like any man, he had finally found his long-desired home in their arms.

__________

P R I C E

-In an emotionally charged atmosphere, Price let the water flow slowly, carrying away the remnants of blood under his nails.

-After eight long months, he felt like a ship drifting without a course, without a real destination.

-At least that's what he claimed to anyone who would listen, but the ring hanging under his uniform whispered different truths to him.

-Staring at his own reflection, Price read the inscription inside the ring, a name he hadn't uttered in years.

- Like enchanted by a spell whose charm he feared, he hesitated to whisper it again.

-Yet, his heart demanded it.

-He knew it was the longing that drove him.

-Without those eight months, he wouldn't be here, longing desperately to have them back in his arms.

-(It was false; since the divorce was signed, he dreamt of them.)

-Since the day their marriage ended, he had wanted to throw himself at their feet and beg them to come back.

- He desired their warmth, their ridiculous work stories, their cooking, their scent, their fingers, their kisses.

-They were the oasis in the desert of his life, and through negligence, he had let them evaporate.

- It all dated back to before his promotion to captain.

- Back then, he was just a young lieutenant full of ambition, willing to sacrifice anything to obtain that coveted title.

-But the long hours at the office had gradually poisoned his time with them, an absence they had signaled to him, one he had ignored, one he had maintained until everything exploded like a grenade.

-Now, he stood there, on the minefield of his emotional life with a ring they had probably forgotten, longing to hear them say yes once again.

-As he dried himself off, Price settled into his office.

-He told himself it was just simple nostalgia, but the bitter taste of tobacco wasn't enough to distract him, remembering how much they hated that smell. He extinguished his cigar.

-To take his mind off things, he decided to go to the nearest bookstore. A good book would be welcome, he thought.

-"John?"

-That voice, which had haunted him for three years and eight long months of divorce.

-"Y/N."

-It had been so long.

-Too long, he thought, seeing them so different.

- He admired their new haircut, their new clothes. What a lucky man he had been.

-"Yes. Still teaching?"

-"Yes. And you, did you manage to become a captain?"

-"Yes."

-The silence stretched, their eyes avoiding his.

-"But it wasn't worth it," he admitted.

-"Too much work?"

-"Not enough of you"

-"John," they interrupted.

-"I'm not trying to get us back together, far from it. I know it won't happen, but I wanted to be honest with you. I think this divorce has been the biggest failure of my life, and you deserved better than me."

-Hesitantly, they opened their mouth, a mouth he had kissed so many times, one that had shared all their troubles, all their doubts.

-"Thank you, John. But I'm also to blame. I should have told you everything that was going on in my head, everything that wasn't right."

-"You couldn't, when all I listened to were orders."

-"Maybe…"

-"Good person, wrong time, it seems."

-"Nothing prevents us from correcting the timing, right?"

-John raised an eyebrow.

-"It doesn't mean we have to start all over, but… you've been a pillar in my life, John. I missed you. Whether as friends or more, it doesn't matter."

-"Thank you, love," John murmured.

-They approached him, and during this long absence, John could finally feel human warmth again.

-To just be John again, not Captain Price.

-Their hands wrapped around each other.

-They both knew it wouldn't be purely platonic, but like a suspended promise, for now, they would stick to it, hoping that one day the rings would find their respective places again.

-Theirs from their drawer to their finger, and his from his neck to his hand.

-"I missed you."

-"You too. Tell me what I've missed."

-And John could only smile.

-If these eight months of hell, these three years of desert led him back to them, then it was worth it, he decided.

- So when he packed for his next return, the soldiers watched him curiously because for once the captain had a home where he really wanted to be.

_________

S O A P

-Immersed in an ocean of turmoil, Soap returned after eight months of absence, longing to celebrate his return with his family.

-His thoughts, drowned in alcohol and his mother's reprimands, were rocked by the cheery laughter of his nephews and nieces.

-Between the urge to scream and the desire to simply savor their presence, he oscillated.

-When the festivities finally came to an end, he could finally breathe.

-Eight months.

- Alone in his flat, memories flooded in, evoking strategies, bombs, deafening tumult, and lingering smells.

-Everything was an attempt at distraction; the television, the rain, a run, a cup of tea, messages on his mobile.

-He longed for something, even if he didn't know exactly what.

-But it was missing, creeping under his skin little by little, scratching at the door of his mind.

-"Again, really?'

-His eyes fell on his neighbour.

-The same one who had endured his screams at three in the morning, his hurried departures on missions, his heavy suitcases dragged at seven in the morning.

- And now, at four o'clock, they stood before him, a mischievous gleam in their eyes, the result of an incident involving dumbbells in his hands.

-"Sorry.", he apologized.

-"I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

-"On purpose…? "He raised an eyebrow.

-"So that we see each other. You know, like in those cliché romances where the noisy neighbour ends up seducin' the complainin' neighbour."

-Incredulous, he couldn't help but laugh.

-"Ye wouldn't need that."

-A teasing smile stretched across his neighbour's lips.

-"I know. But you seem to need it. Not an adventure, but a distraction."

-They referred to the dumbbells.

-"Aye."

-"I make cookies." they said.

-"At 4 a.m.?"

-"I know how to keep myself busy in silence."

-"…"

-"Interested?" they asked.

-The latent feeling under Soap's skin resurfaced.

-He nodded and followed them. And then he realized.

-The warm atmosphere, the decor, the unstacked dishes, the soft carpets.

-That's what he had missed, a heaven of peace.

-"They won't be the best cookies in the world, but they'll do."

-"Ah'm good at it." he said.

-"Pastry chef?"

-"Military."

-"Hm, that explains a lot. "They gave him a complicit look.

-"Like what?" Soap asked.

-"This horrible haircut."

Laughter erupted in the kitchen.

-"Ma haircut is incredible."

-"For a 6-year-old."

-"Ah look handsome with it."

-"Even without it."they said.

-"Good at flirtin'?"he asked.

-"With the right person, yes."

-Soap smiled.

-"Ye would be bonnie with a mohawk."

-"No thanks. But, well, I understand the muscles and the irregular movements now."

-"Aye, Ah don't choose my hours."

-Too bad, you'd think criminals can't be punctual, huh? "they joked.

-He smiled.

-"Exactly."

-Hands in the dough, Soap couldn't help but let his gaze drift over his neighbour's curves.

-He admitted that sometimes his door slammed a little louder in the hope of catching a glimpse of them, like a good luck charm before a mission.

-Curves he longed to explore, letting the eight long months fade from his memory to be replaced by love for them.

-"Ah should hae made more noise if it means havin' cookies."

-His neighbour smiled.

-"Maybe. I was worried about this silence, you know."

Soap felt touched by their concern.

-"Ah'm sorry."

-"Don't apologize, you didn't decide on that. It's just… maybe I could give you my number? If you ever have plants or stuff like that, I'll take care of them."

-"Okay." he acquiesced.

-He took the paper feverishly, keeping it as a precious treasure, and continued cooking.

-At the end of that day, returning home, Soap could finally close his eyes.

-The creeping feeling had come to an end.

-That longing, that emptiness, it was them, the sound of a life together.

-He brushed the paper, a smile on his lips.

-Getting up, he decided to drop a dumbbell loudly.

- A noise at his door rang out, and he smiled. Nothing was worth his neighbour.

-So slowly he opened the door, and dinner followed to apologize.

-Then another to repay.

-And slowly, they erased from his mind the eight long months that had haunted him.

G A Z

-After eight long months of absence, Gaz finally found a moment of respite in his humble accommodation on the base.

-The deafening noises of the base's incessant activity, the hurried faces, the soldiers' rushed departures, everything seemed to dissolve into a chaos filling his ears.

-Everything seemed to fade away as soon as he could cross the threshold of his room.

-Here, in this haven of tranquility, he could finally silence the external turmoil.

-His pulse slightly quickened as he reached for his phone, his fingers instinctively finding his favorite contact: them.

- He felt this visceral need to reassure them, to feel their presence through the voice that was so dear to him.

-In this suspended moment, he longed to hear nothing but their soothing breath, to lose himself in their tender words.

-His ears buzzed, every beep deafening his eardrums and…

-"Hello?"

-"Y/N," he murmured, relieved and tender.

-The echo of their voice provided him with a welcome comfort, a balm for his weary soul.

-"Kyle. Back among us?"

-"Yes, I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you."

-"No, I'm on break. I have a shift tonight."

-A silence stretched.

-"Is everything alright?"

-Kyle hesitated before speaking.

-Is everything alright? The blood, the bruises, the cries, the deaths… Everything seemed to still be on his skin, vivid in his mind.

-"I don't know," he admitted.

-"You didn't break an arm, did you?"

-Kyle smiled at the memory.

-After a rough mission he had rushed to his flat ignoring the pain in his arm and the medics.

-Yet he ended up to E.R days later with a blue arm and broken bone.

-Y/n was one of the nurse who was in charge of him and his cast, they kept contact.

-"No, I don't know how I managed to cope without hearing from you."

-"Charming," they laughed at his attempt at flirting.

-"Maybe."

-"More seriously?"

-"Tired," he admitted.

-"I would tell you to sleep, but I imagine you don't want to."

-"I can't."

-Not when he knew the nightmares awaiting him.

-"…I finish at 1am, if ever. I'm not implying anything, I know your base is super far, but I know that company can help."

-"Hmm, I don't know, will there be food?"

-"My company isn't enough for you, Kyle?" they joked.

-"I fear not."

-"Damn," they exclaimed, laughing.

-Ah, there it was.

-A tender smile stretched across Gaz's lips.

- In this exchange, he found comfort, a precious connection.

-His body relaxed slightly.

-"I missed you," they confessed.

-"You too."

-"You know, I bought those awful biscuits you talked about so much, hoping you'd come eat them at my place."

-"I'll take it as a declaration at this rate."

-"Shut up, I know you'd never buy them because 'no time'."

-"I like speed."

-"Even in bed?"

-A mischievous smile formed on his lips.

-"That's for you to find out."

-"You always say that."

-"I mean it."

-"About?"

-"Us."

-"Kyle…"

-"I know, after eight months of absence, it might just be the longing speaking, but… the only thing I wanted was you. Coming back to you, holding you in my arms, making you laugh one last time. And… staying friends… it's worse."

-"Worse than eight months without me?" -"Yes."

-"You're horrible for doing this."

-"I know."

-"At a distance, over the phone. I can't… I can't guess anything."

-"I guess I'm a coward."

-"Shut up, I… I swear I'm going to hit you and then kiss you."

-"Kiss me?"

-"Of course, do you really think I answer all your calls at any time out of friendship?"

-"Y/N…"

-"Last time there was an eight-hour time difference."

-"You told me…"

-"That there were only two, yes, because… I didn't want you to worry. You're a stubborn idiot always thinking of others, so I wanted to be selfish for once that you are."

-"I am. I want you, Y/n."

-"Then come get me."

-Kyle smiled and hung up.

- In his car, stress, fear, adrenaline surged. But for once, the enemy wasn't to be fought.

-Once in front of the hospital, hours of driving later, he stood at the entrance and saw them come out.

-Their name spoken from their lips, and he embraced them.

-"Never again," they whispered.

-"I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

-"I swear I'll kick Price's ass if he does that again."

-"I'll help you."

-"Promise?"

-"Promise."

-And he kissed them.

-Suddenly the eight long months evaporated on Y/n's couch, his fingers sliding through their hair, and his lips on theirs.

-The silence returned and Kyle could finally breathe.

If you want more : my masterlist

[sungbeam]

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐒 — part one (i – vii)

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

your sister's dead, but apparently that's not the most shocking news. maybe she wasn't killed on accident, maybe ji changmin isn't really human, and maybe the monsters were never under the bed but all around you...

▷ genre, warnings. strangers 2 reluctant allies/friends 2 lovers, slow burn, demon/supernatural creatures au, angst, action, murder mystery-ish au, forced proximity trope, suspense, gore, depictions of violence and blood, themes of death and grief, use/description of weaponry, swearing, a slightly unreliable narrator bc she has no idea what's happening, reader's sister is dead, mentions of stalking, humor bc coping mechanisms, reader has hair long enough to braid sorry, blood drinking, the barest of proofreading and editing done...

▷ part word count. 22.3k words / 47.4k - read part two here

▷ associated songs. teeth (5sos), wet nightmare (bibi)

a/n: i tried to make it scary I SWEAR but changmin brings the clown out of me 🤥 anyways i ripped a chunk of my heart out and im serving it to you bloodied on a gold platter, i hope u love her :') read the warnings ofc and lmk your thoughts <3 also i completely gave up on wrestling w blr so im dropping it in two parts, but both of them at once 🤣 pray for me.

#1—NEXT OF KIN.

THEY TOLD YOU YOUR SISTER'S DEATH WAS AN ACCIDENT, they being the authorities who had shown up at the front door of your apartment with their caps in hand, solemn faces pressed into lines that you could not read between. The world had fallen out from beneath your feet like someone had just yanked the carpet out, and you hadn't yet stopped falling.

The funeral was set on the rolling green hills of Elysium Memorial Park, the cemetery where your parents were buried, where your grandparents were buried, and now, where your sister joined them six feet under. Generations ago, your grandparents had purchased plots for themselves and their future family members while the land was cheap. When it came for your time to leave this mortal coil behind, you too would join them in the dirt of Elysium. It almost seemed right that the sky had opened up to reveal a blindingly hot sun, not a cloud to be seen in the sky. Perhaps the sky would not weep for your sister, but celebrate her life instead.

But while the heavens above would shed nary a tear, you could make up for that loss yourself. Having little to no living relatives left, you had been expected to take responsibility for all the arrangements, all while grieving, all while studying, all while trying to not fall apart some more. You were holding it together by the zipper of your dress pants and the caffeine from your coffee. You couldn't stop crying for the entire service, the forced silence of your cries balanced by the violent tremors in your shoulders.

Your sister Sena's patch in the land was now marked by a heaping pile of dirt. She had a lot of friends—most of whom gathered behind you and had thrown their flowers upon the dirt hill. You had a few distant relatives as well who you'd managed to remember (somehow) amongst all the madness. A couple of them were able to fly out for the event, but most had to decline.

When you heard your name being called, you drew your blazer sleeve over your eyes in a futile attempt to dry them.

Walking towards you now was a couple, middle-aged, dressed in black from head to toe, not far from how you looked right now. You knew them from about a week ago when they had sought you out after the news of your sister's death spread.

You hadn't the heart to sue them when they confessed who they were. It's our fault, they told you in the quiet of the hallway outside your apartment, we're so sorry. We understand if you'd like to press charges.

Sena was a victim of an automobile accident. You didn't know the entire story—was too tired for the whole story—just shocked she was even in the country. She was supposed to be across the world for a study abroad program, but why was she discovered on the side of the road, a few towns over, inebriated and dead? She became nothing more than roadkill and a statistic in death, and maybe that was why you were so bitter.

"Yn, it was a beautiful ceremony," said the woman—Julia, she had introduced herself as that week ago. Her nose was reddened from the friction of tissue paper, her eyes damp and glittering in the sunlight. "I'm sorry you—that you have to deal with all the pomp and circumstance."

"We know you deserve your time alone," joined her husband, Carter. He tucked his hands into his pockets, mustering up a smile for your sake, but you could still see the guilt flooding his eyes with water. "We just wanted to say thank you for letting us come and pay our respects."

And for not pressing charges. But you dashed that thought away. That was the bitterness talking, but these were good people. They had come forward and been honest, and it wasn't their fault Sena was drunk. (Why in the world was she drunk and here and why didn't she tell you the truth—?)

"Thank you for coming," you replied, "I wasn't sure if you would take me up on the offer, to be honest."

You wrapped up conversation with the couple and watched them depart across the grassy hills toward their car. Your eyes surveyed the last bits of the lingering crowd for familiar faces—anyone at all. But all you found were strangers.

These were all Sena's friends, after all. She had always been the more adventurous of the two of you.

You sighed and resigned yourself to start looking for the funeral coordinator to discuss payment and the like. Though the event was over the worst was just beginning. There was so much to do, and so little energy left to perform them.

But as you began trudging through the plush grass toward the far end of the plot, you noticed a man standing beneath the shade of a nearby oak tree. He wore typical funeral attire—the black dress shirt, pants, shoes, and even a pair of rectangular shades to cover his eyes. Like many of the others, you didn't recognize him—at first.

And then he shifted, lenses of his glasses reflecting sunlight and you could just barely put together the puzzle of his face and his identity. Ji Changmin.

What was he doing here?

They were friends, too, Yn, you reminded yourself. Yet, you weren't sure why you were so surprised he was here. Maybe it was because you never remembered extending the invitation to him (but someone could have spread the news by word of mouth). Maybe it was because several months had passed since you last saw him. Maybe it was because you always thought there was something… strange about him (but that could have been your bias; there was always this thing about him that irked you). Either way, you never had anything to say to him before, and that had yet to change even in light of your sister's death.

The two of you stared each other down, and for a moment, you believed he was going to walk over to you.

But instead, he pushed off the tree trunk and made his way toward the trickle of funeral goers up the hill, leaving you to wonder after him.

The next time you saw Ji Changmin was a week after the will reading.

Because you were Sena's next of kin, you were contacted by your shared attorney about Sena's will. Apparently, she had a will. After all these years, you couldn't even fathom the idea of needing one so early, but for some reason, she had. (Maybe that worried you a little more.)

The strangest thing was that your attorney had delivered to you a flat lockbox made of steel and secured with an old fashioned lock and key. Along with the stash of money in her savings account (where the Hell had all of that come from anyway?), Sena also gave you that. Whatever it was.

You had yet to open it when you bumped into Changmin on your way out of your college's academic counseling center. With recent events, your departmental advisor called you in to discuss your academic plans for the foreseeable future.

You can take as long as you like, Yn, she'd said to you. You're already ahead of schedule to graduate anyways. But that wasn't the point was it?—

"Oh." You stopped short as you rounded the corner and nearly crashed into something. "Sorry," you said before you even recognized him.

A pair of dark, feline eyes looked you up and down. "Yn, right?" Changmin drawled. A pair of white wired earbuds hung from his ears and his shoulders were fitted with a dark colored bomber jacket that was familiar to you. You'd seen it draped over the back of one of your kitchen chairs once when Sena had him over for a project.

Your eyes shuttered. "Yeah. Changmin?"

His nod was barely there. He cocked his head to the side in a way that felt like he was trying to gaze into your soul. "I'm—I'm sorry for your loss," he said, grappling for the right words. "Sena was a good friend."

"I didn't realize the two of you were so close," you told him. This was probably the most he'd ever said to your face, and you to him.

Changmin gave a small shrug. "We worked closely together, so it was kind of inevitable. How are you doing?"

You didn't think the conversation would last this long. "Oh, uhm, I'm fine." You inwardly knocked yourself over the head. He's probably just trying to be nice, Yn. "I mean—" you amended, "—I'm doing as well as you can imagine, I guess. Just lots of legal stuff and…" Her room. Cleaning out her room. Opening the lockbox. Reading her last will and testament for the fiftieth time.

When you didn't finish your sentence right away, he nodded again, shuffling on the balls of his feet. Was he feeling as awkward as you were? "I get that. Hey, if you—y'know, like, need anything—"

"You don't have to do that."

"What about coffee? Just… to talk."

Coffee? You considered him for a second. Before, you nor he had ever given any indication to the other that you acknowledged the other's presence. In fact, you confessed to Sena once that he intimidated you, even if he was just sitting there in your shared living room while pouring over JSTOR academic essays.

He was patient, you realized. Then you relented. "Okay. When's good for you?"

You thought you saw a glimmer of relief in his eyes, but that could have just been the afternoon sunlight. "Now?"

Your eyes widened a smidge, and you coughed. "Uhm now? I—I have class…?" You didn't, but the curve ball that was an impromptu coffee session with Ji Changmin wasn't something you needed right now.

His eyebrow lifted as if he didn't believe you. "Okay," he dragged out. "Tomorrow morning?" He offered as a counter.

Your brain did cartwheels in an attempt to figure out if you would have the willpower to do that. "Okay," you said. Better to get this out of the way, right?

"Do you know that one place on Magnolia?"

"The one across from the Eight Ball?" You perked up in recognition. You and Sena used to go all the time. The two of you liked to say that Magnolia was her street because it housed all her favorite places; just the thought of taking a stroll down it made your eyes water. "Yeah, Sena and I used to go all the time."

Changmin paused, his mouth opening, then closing.

You guessed what he was thinking. "It's fine if we go. I'm not gonna like, burst into tears or anything," you chuckled awkwardly, clearing your throat when excess tear fluid made you congested.

His lips pursed, impressing a dimple into his cheek. "Okay, only if you're sure."

"Yeah, I'm sure." It seemed that everything you said to people was something like a lie nowadays.

It was late when you finally faced the lockbox.

The box was an unassuming hunk of metal, flat and slim and no bigger than a standard piece of paper. You warmed the key in your palm until it was hot to the touch and made your skin redden. The sky outside your apartment window had darkened to a blot of ink, the white shutters drawn shut to create a white paneled shield. You just finished up a very lazy dinner, washed up, and decided to confront the last thing on Sena's will.

The lockbox in the bank under my name goes to my sister, Yn Ln. She is the only one allowed access to it until she opens it; what she decides to do with the contents is her choice.

There must have been something important inside it, you reasoned, otherwise it wouldn't have been a part of the will and it wouldn't be under lock and a single key.

"What is this, Sena?" You asked aloud, venturing to twist the lock open with the key. The locking mechanism gave way, and you set the lock and key aside. The shorter end could slide open like a hidden door, and you peered into the dark depths, almost afraid of what you might find between its jaws.

You could make out the silhouettes of shapes at the bottom, the soft-cornered texture of a wad of bills. You reached in.

One of the things she had left for you in her will was all of the money in her savings account. It had shocked you to see the number—you always thought her only job was at the library, but clearly, she was not just on a librarian's salary.

Pulling out a stack of cash from the box was yet another thing that helped solidify in your mind that something was off. The confusion settled first, and then the betrayal. Had she not trusted you with this knowledge while she was alive? You were the one going into accounting and finance, and yet, she hid all of this money from you? Was she afraid of something? Afraid of judgment, of the law?

You tossed the twenties onto the table. The note slipped between the rubber band and the first piece read something along the lines of 'in case of emergency.'

You made a plunge into the box again. This time, you pulled out the last two things at the bottom, a standard white index card and a small, fabric pouch. The card displayed Sena's familiar scrawl:

You're probably wondering what any of this is, but if you're reading this, it means that something's gone wrong—like really wrong. The necklace in the pouch is super important. DON'T TAKE IT OFF. Don't let anyone touch it before you do. Don't trust anyone. This is really important to me, Yn. Please be safe; I love you.

x, sena.

Please be safe? Safe from who or what?

You held the note in your hand for a moment and couldn't believe this would be the last thing you received from her. It would be a tangible legacy, in a way, and you weren't sure how to feel about that. You moved the note to the table and turned your attention to the pouch.

You carefully tugged it open. She said it was a necklace, right?

"Oh," you voiced aloud while fishing out a thin, silver chain.

There was a pendant attached to the end with some heft to it. It was a deep, bloody red in the loose shape of a teardrop. There wasn't a sharp peak, but a slightly flat end on one side and a rounded end on the other. You would guess it was some kind of precious stone, but when you stared at it long enough, it looked like the color pulsed… like a heartbeat.

Your breath hitched.

Eyes narrowed, you held it up to the light by the chain. The vibrant red remained stagnant—perhaps you were just tired.

Don't let anyone touch it before you do. Don't take it off. Don't trust anyone.

Strange request about a necklace. For a moment, you wondered if your sister had indulged in some unsavory acts to achieve the numbers in her bank account and the previous stone in your hands. If you put this on, would you be counted as an accomplice to robbery?

"God, you just need to go to sleep, Yn," you muttered, swiftly clicking the chain into place around your neck. There was no way your sister would have anything to do with—

You froze.

From the other side of your shutters, you swore you heard the sound of shuffling. It wasn't unheard-of that the leaves and tree branches knocked against your second-floor window once in a while, but there hadn't been much wind as of late.

A chill spider-crawled up your spine as you strained your ears to hear more.

When you came up with nothing, you shoved the pendant under your shirt and cleaned up the lockbox. You had an early day tomorrow, after all; sleep was dire to face Changmin.

But as you crept into bed, you couldn't help but feel as if the stone on your sternum did have a heartbeat, and that something in the dark was watching you.

#2—GHOSTS ONLY HAUNT.

YOU STEPPED FOOT ON MAGNOLIA STREET looking for signs of your sister.

The morning air was a little cooler as spring filtered into town, and it also meant that this street in particular would begin to swirl with baby pink petals from the trees of the street's namesake flowers. There weren't many people around on a Thursday morning, but the sun peered between the buildings to say hello, at least.

You were in good company.

"Hey."

"Holy shit—" you whipped around to find Changmin almost right behind you. Your heart stuttered against your ribcage, your hand flying to your sternum where the necklace was. You were still getting used to its presence.

He gave nothing away with his facial expression. Damn him.

"I didn't realize you'd be early," you breathed as you tried to get a grip on yourself. Did this guy just materialize out of thin air everywhere?

Tongue in cheek, he said, "Well, I couldn't really sleep, so I figured the morning air might freshen me up a bit. Shall we?" He gestured with his elbow and chin to the establishment to your right.

There sat the quaint, little coffee shop you'd both agreed on yesterday. This one was one of Sena's favorites. She always claimed that their blueberry scones were the best in the world.

When you didn't say anything for a little, he cleared his throat. "We don't have to, if you can't or don't want to."

You hadn't even realized you were being quiet. Thoughts had been muddled as of late. You cleared your throat and stumbled for the door. "No, we can go in."

Two cups of coffee arrived at your table seven minutes later in compostable cups and a pile of artificial sweetener packets and creamer. You straightened in your seat across from Changmin and began ripping open sweetener packets and wondering if you should have gotten something of substance to eat. (You had stared at the blueberry scones for a long minute before deciding that today was not the day you wanted to cry in front of someone, especially this someone in particular.)

Changmin moved his cup toward his side of the table but made no move to add sugar or cream, or to even drink it.

This place was so familiar to you that you knew exactly how many packets of cream and sweetener to mix in, and you gently blew a breath over the steam floating off the surface. When the liquid hit your tongue and your throat, its warmth enveloped your nerves in a warm embrace, assuring you everything was going to be okay. The emotion hit you like a freight train.

You pressed your thumb against the rear gland in your right eye and willed it away. "So uhm," you said, fanning your eyes gently as you attempted to pull yourself together in front of him, "what… what did you wanna talk about? If there was anything?"

He folded his arms over his chest while leaning back in his chair, and you thought you saw his gaze soften. "Why don't you take another sip?" His eyes went to the coffee. "It'll help."

You couldn't deny that suggestion, and you reached for your cup to take another small gulp. The breath you let out rattled.

This was a bad idea.

"Are you gonna be okay if I talk about Sena?"

You nursed the coffee cup in your hands and nodded slowly.

He eyed you for a moment, then relented. "Did she happen to leave anything that was marked for me? Before the—the accident, she said there was something she needed to tell me."

Something she needed to tell him? You racked your brain, eyes drilling into the wood grain of the coffee table between you two. The will hadn't mentioned anyone else but you. And all of the letters or notes from Sena that were given to you were all for you; the attorney would have handled the rest and mailed them off to anyone else she'd written something for.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "No, I can't think of anything. You say you were expecting something?"

The resolve in his eyes steeled over, and that little bit of softness you'd seen before disappeared as if it had never been there in the first place. You couldn't read him anymore. "Yes, I have her texts."

He fished out his phone from his pocket and you pursed your lips as he maneuvered to a screen of his and your sister's last messages to each other:

sena: i think i'm going back home soon, so i'll c u then changmin: okay that's fine changmin: wait ur still over there?? i thought u left already? sena: had to talk to someone abt the thing, but it was a dead end sena: just remind me that i have something to tell u changmin: what? sena: it'll be better if i said this in person

That was all Changmin let you see.

You leaned away from his phone, head reeling more from the fact that he knew she had been out of town and knew where she was and why she was there. Never mind the fact that apparently, Sena was holding onto important information for Changmin. You couldn't care less about that.

You supposed the texts were for him to prove to you he was telling you the truth. It wasn't like you weren't telling the truth either.

"Why was Sena out of town?" You asked him. "Did she ever go on any of those study abroad trips?"

Changmin paused, then something flickered in his eyes. "I think I showed you too much."

"I think you showed me too little."

"Yn, did she tell you anything about what she needed to tell me?"

You were going to push against him for your own agenda again, but the slight pressure in his tone made you think twice. There was something urgent in his words, his expression, his body language. You couldn't tell what it was, but something about this had to have been important.

Absentmindedly, your hand rubbed the area where the pendant sat on your chest beneath the collar of your shirt, and his eyes followed for a moment before flickering back up to your eyes. "No," you told him quietly. "She didn't tell me anything."

He must have believed you, because defeat shuddered across his face, and he said goodbye to leave. He didn't even take his coffee with him. Asshole.

You told yourself it would be months before you could bring yourself to go through Sena's things, but after this morning's run-in with Changmin (because it wasn't even a session; you could hardly call it anything but a run-in because it lasted maybe ten minutes), you were determined to unlock her door and do some digging. Clearly, she was hiding more than her money and jewelry(?) from you.

Changmin… he completely ignored your questions confronting him about Sena's whereabouts and her purpose for traveling. You were getting more and more suspicious as to what your sister had been up to lately. Changmin had to be in on it, too, then. He had to be.

Sena's door took up your entire vision as you stood before it with the key in your hand.

You weren't entirely sure what you were expecting when you opened it, but it was as if she had never left. Everything was where she left it—plum-purple covers tucked beneath the mattress, vintage national park postcards hanging from fairy lights by wooden clothespins, jackets layered over the back of her desk chair. There was an empty mug on her desk with the remnants of a red lip tint on the edge, and you knew you weren't going to remember to take it out to the sink later.

The small shelf-nightstand hybrid next to her bed was filled to the brim with books and notebooks and magazines. You settled gingerly upon the edge of her bed, palms pressing against the comforter.

The room still smelled like your sister.

You took the small bottle of perfume on the nightstand and spritzed a little onto your wrist. You pressed it to your nose, letting the scent make your senses woozy. It wouldn't bring her back; it didn't smell exactly the same when it was on your skin.

You set the bottle back onto the nightstand, then lowered yourself to your knees to pull all of the books off the top shelf. You stuck your head into the empty cupboard—you weren't really sure what you were looking for.

All of the titles here were the normal things you remembered seeing her read: assorted mythologies, books on the occult and supernatural, her textbooks for anthropology and archeology. There were about a dozen and a half National Geographic magazines that you flipped through within the next two hours, as well, all of which turned up nothing of curiosity.

None of the bound books were notebooks of any kind.

You crawled over to her desk—rifled through those. Nothing. They were all school related and completely, utterly ordinary.

Disappointment weighed you down into her desk chair as you hit another dead end.

Was there nothing she could give you?

No, she's dead, you thought to yourself. You'd never known Sena to be a secretive person, especially with you—in fact, you were the quieter of the pair, and she always managed to coax the right things out of you.

Sometimes you had felt like the older sister because you handled so many of the logistics and practical things, but when the world became too scary, you could always count on running to her to feel safe again…

Safe.

Sena, were you ever safe? You were beginning to think not so much.

"Do I need to file for a restraining order?"

It was getting ridiculous how many times you ran into Changmin in the past two weeks. It was outside the advising office, on your way to the store, in the hallway outside your finance lecture. And now, he loitered in the lobby of your apartment complex with a wired earbud in one ear and the other dangling freely.

He seemed to be unfazed by your remark as he peered over at you from beneath the brim of his cap. "What if I just live here?"

"But you don't," you huffed, coming to stop right in front of him. You had a feeling you would have definitely known if he moved into this building. "What do you want from me, Changmin? I'm not going to magically lead you to my sister's secret stash of whatever. I just want to get to class."

"Then go to class," he said simply. He gestured with the phone in his hand toward the door. "I'm not here for you."

You narrowed your eyes at him. Perhaps you were being a little silly, and this was just some weird trick your brain was playing on you to make you notice him more. "Answer me something."

"Only if you answer something for me."

"This isn't a negotiation."

"Worth a shot," he said with a sigh. "What shall I answer for you?"

"You and my sister weren't dating, were you?"

He must have choked on his own spit because he coughed, furiously thumping his chest. You would have laughed if this was any other circumstance, and if you and Changmin were friends (but you weren't). He shook his head at you. "No. Your sister wasn't interested in me like that and neither was I. We were strictly colleagues."

You cocked your head to the side. Colleagues… you let that marinate. "Okay, so did she have anyone she was seeing then? Just out of curiosity." A former lover you didn't know about would make sense, something like a Bonnie and Clyde situation maybe. Or perhaps you were chasing after ghosts to get a glimpse into the past.

"Someone I suspect, but I don't have their contact," he replied, mimicking your head tilt and narrowed eyes. "If you had her phone—"

"I don't."

"Ah, a shame then."

"Do you?"

"And why would I withhold such an important item from the next of kin?" He drawled.

Changmin suddenly jolted upright from the relaxed position he stood in. It was so abrupt, it gave your heart a start. "That's my cue."

You followed after him out the front doors. "What cue? Did you hear your microwave go off or something?"

You swore to God you saw his mouth curl up in amusement. But it might have been just your imagination. He yanked his other earbud out and lifted a hand in goodbye. "Something like that! See you around."

He disappeared around the corner before you could follow after him. Plus, you really did have a lecture to get to. (Wait, did he say that she was seeing someone—?)

You sighed, wondering if you should follow him… something in the back of your mind told you it would be safer not to.

#3—MONSTERS AMONG MEN.

YOU SWORE JI CHANGMIN HAD TO BE a psychic with the amount of times he predicted your whereabouts. Every time you saw him in your vicinity, you and he shared either a verbal sparring match or stared one another down. He seemed amused by it; you were growing increasingly concerned, even if it was all just coincidence.

(There was this one time, on a Wednesday this past week, where you were the one who appeared at the anthropology department to see one of Sena's old professors. Changmin was there, as it was his major's headquarters, and shot you a curious glance. The meeting was innocent and an accident. No, you definitely weren't stalking him. Absolutely not.)

(It was interesting to consider whether both of you thought the other would lead you to something of Sena's. You were certain he knew more than he let on, and perhaps he thought the same of you… Shit, maybe you should invest in a taser.)

Additionally, the weird sounds around your apartment had increased. Sometimes when you walked around in the evenings, the hair on the back of your neck and your arms stood at attention, as if you could feel the gaze of someone or… something watching you. However, every time you turned to look, the crazier you were convinced you'd become.

It didn't help that the necklace Sena left for you kept mimicking your heart beat when you weren't paying attention. If you willed it to repeat the steady beat in the light so you could observe it up close, it would cease.

It was as if distance from your skin or touch left it without a heart to echo.

You were half certain you were losing your mind. It had to be all this stress and emotion overwhelming you.

Saturday morning, you decided to pick yourself up and go see your sister. The funeral home had called you earlier this week to say that her headstone was complete, so this would also serve as a trip to ensure everything was engraved correctly before it was placed over her grave. You dressed yourself up in a dark top and comfortable jeans, something you might be able to sit in on the grass as you lingered in her presence, even if she was dead.

Ever since you went through her things, you hadn't ventured into her room again. You thought it might preserve the way it looked, smelled, felt… preserve something of her.

Once you'd gone to the funeral parlor and management center at Elysium Memorial Park to confirm the engraving, you took a brisk walk up the hill to where you remembered Sena's plot to be. The sun peered out between clouds this morning, giving the sky a dual-toned appearance, one half a dark gray, and the other a gossamer yellow.

You started down the hill, head ducked to watch for any graves or hills so you didn't trample over other people's bodies. A bundle of flowers from the grocery store sat cradled in the crook of your arm—a bundle of pink carnations ("I'll never forget you") and dark crimson roses (mourning). You didn't often pay attention to the meaning of flowers, but you thought if you weren't able to choke anything out today, then at least they could speak for you.

Just as you neared the grave between oaks, you lifted your head, your footsteps slowing at the person who stood over your sister's grave. "You have got to be shitting me."

"Isn't it a sin to curse over someone's grave?" Changmin asked as you stopped short of where he was. There was a single stem of sunflower (adoration) seated at his feet on the bundle of earth that was Sena's resting place. "Well, I wouldn't know. That's not my expertise."

"What are you doing here?"

He gave a loose gesture with a flourished hand. "Visiting a friend. Don't leave on my account. She's your sister."

It was as if he could read your mind. You didn't count on anyone being here when you saw her, but he had a right to visit her, too. The bitterness seeping into your bones would have to be squandered for today; the universe just needed to stop making the two of you bump into each other.

You ignored the quickening pitter-patter of your heart and the necklace, and trudged over the grass to where he was.

You gently placed your bundle of flowers next to his, then straightened to stand beside him. The two of you stared at the patch in the ground in silence.

A frown etched itself onto his face, along with a crease between his brows. He seemed almost angry—at what, you couldn't tell. Not you, you hoped.

Quietly, you lowered yourself to the grass to sit down and be closer to her.

I miss you, you voiced into your head, as if you could transmit these thoughts to the dead body in the ground. I'm so… it's too much, Sena. I can't do this. I don't know what you want from me, I don't know what Changmin wants from me. The apartment is cold. Why didn't you tell me you were home all this time?

For the moment, you let your vision blur with tears.

You covered your mouth with your palm to dam the emotion inside, especially with someone else right next to you, but dignity be so fucking damned. Your body trembled with the weight of everything and beyond—you were Atlas carrying the world upon his shoulders. Pressure mounted in your cranium from how hard and freely you sobbed, your fingers pressed to your face to support your head as your tears wet the earth beneath you.

A presence lowered itself to the ground beside you, and Changmin remained politely quiet. He breathed in deeply, but you heard the slight tremble of his breath when he exhaled.

Maybe you were crying for the both of you.

After what seemed like eons, you sniffled, pawing at your puffy and reddened eyes with the sleeves of your shirt. You hadn't brought along any tissues or anything, an oversight.

You gathered your wits about you and clambered to your feet, your knees knocking together like a baby deer. Changmin still had his eyes pinned to the ground.

"Whatever the Hell you want from me," you told him hoarsely, "I don't care. Just leave me alone."

You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Without another word, you walked away to head back to the bus stop.

Your skin prickled when you returned home. The air was oddly… off, and a strange smell lingered in the air. It was subtle, only becoming apparent to you with deep, focused inhales. The identity of the smell eluded you and it wasn't something you were familiar with.

You kicked the front door shut behind you, and noticed that the window was ajar. Had you accidentally left that open before you left?

Strange.

You padded across the room to peer out at the street below. There sat the usual tree that occupied the space in front of your window, the one that you assumed (hoped) was the thing making all of the noises outside the past few weeks. (Because if it wasn't that, you didn't want to know what it really was.)

The thought occurred to you that you might have opened the window before you left to air out whatever smell had crept through the air vents. Yes, that made a whole lot of sense.

Settling with that explanation, you cranked the window closed slightly, only leaving a sliver so you could muffle as much of the sounds outside as possible. This part of town wasn't the noisiest, luckily, but when there were vehicles that drove by, they tended to be loud for no reason.

You sighed, settling down onto your couch with your bag. The whole rest of your day was open, and the only thing you had thought of was to go see Sena.

The feeling of eyes on you loitered on your skin like an invisible ant crawling over your body somewhere. You swiped at your neck, rubbed your arm… you couldn't identify it when you swung around to observe your own home.

This was your home, wasn't it? Why did it feel like you weren't alone in it?

You were going to go close the window—

A shadow appeared on the ledge of your window sill and you let out a scream.

The mass gnarled its teeth at the sound, pouncing at you with claws and fangs that glinted in the daylight.

You scrambled backward on the couch, toward the opposite end, your heart throwing itself up against your ribcage. "What the fuck?" You breathed, trying to figure out what in the world it was.

Bad idea. Oh, baaaad. Bad. Bad. Bad idea.

You shouldn't have stared so long; then you wouldn't have realized it had multiple rows of teeth, a face pale as a full moon, and two beady eyes narrowed into slits. Saliva dripped from its maw and down its chin as it crawled on its haunches and arms to you.

It made a guttural noise, then lunged.

You swore and fell over the arm of the couch, dragging along the lamp on the side table. You tried to move your right leg off the arm—it didn't budge. Oh god, it had its claws in your pant leg—

"Mine," it snarled, surprisingly sentient. "Master wills it so."

You kicked it in its face and managed to scramble away, clutching the lamp in front of your body as a weapon.

It ran after you, and your body leapt into instinct.

You nearly slipped as you fumbled to your feet and tipped the coffee table over the creature. "What the fuck are you—SHIT."

Wood splinters exploded as the creature smashed clear through one of the legs and went careening for you.

"HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE," you begged, running for the kitchen and the block of knives in your sight.

Your knees hit the wood floor with a vengeance, and you had no time to mourn over bruised knees. You twisted around and just barely shoved the lamp between its jaws before it could enclose them around your neck—

Somebody pounded on your front door. "YN? YN!"

Familiar—that was all that went through your head. "HELP ME," you screeched, your hands growing slippery from the slobber. Desperation filled your veins and you gave a violent shove.

Your front door bursted open, the handle banging against the opposite wall and leaving a dent.

Changmin charged into the room with a dark look in his eyes, a swear on his tongue. "You're the little weasel who's been fucking with me."

The creature shifted his attention to Changmin. "Your Disgrace," it gave a mocking bow.

That seemed to be his ticker.

You couldn't comprehend what happened—only an exchange of blows, a blur of body mass—Changmin brawled with the creature on your floor and you dragged yourself behind the kitchen counter to hide. You reached for a knife from the knife block up above and pulled your knees to your chest, the sounds of snarling and wood breaking and bones cracking—then—complete silence.

You slapped a palm over your mouth, eyes going toward the ceiling to pray to anyone who could hear you.

This was when you died. The creature had killed Changmin and now it was coming back to finish what it started.

You held your breath with your eyes wide open. You strained your ears. The sound of a sigh met your ears, one that was oh-so familiar to you.

"Shit," came Changmin's voice. "Yn. Yn? Yn, where…?"

He rounded the counter, his hair sticking up in different directions and a large tear at the top of his shirt, but other than that, he seemed no worse for wear. He eyed the knife pointed outward at him, and he showed you his palms as if placating a rattlesnake. "Woah, hey, it's okay. It's gone now."

Your body trembled from head to toe with all of the pent up fear and adrenaline. You shook your head, your hand still clapped over your mouth to keep your screams or cries in.

Changmin lowered himself to your level slowly. "Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise, it's gone and you're okay now. Let's put the knife down."

You slowly, slowly brought your extended hand down, letting the blade point toward the ground and away from the man in front of you. "What—" you choked, "—what was—who are—"

His facial features arranged into something short of stress. "It's a long story…" He roughed a hand through his bangs. "That thing back there? Yn, that was a demon."

You blinked.

He exhaled sharply. "I'm a demon."

"Don't fuck with me."

"You think I'm fucking with you?"

Your free hand clutched at the pendant around your neck. "You—you don't look like that thing though."

He gave a nod. "Right, I don't. I'm… a different kind of demon." When you remained quiet, he prodded, "You're not going to fight back? You're not gonna tell me you're going crazy?"

"Oh, I know I'm going crazy," you nodded vigorously, wiping away the snot that dribbled down your nose inelegantly. He reached over the counter to grab the roll of paper towels and slide it over to you in an act of (rare) kindness. Your head made contact with the cabinet behind you. "Is the carcass lying on my living room floor, Changmin? Tell me it is not lying on my living room floor."

"It's not."

"Then where the fuck is it?"

He licked his lips, closing his eyes. "It escaped."

"Out the window?"

"No, through a portal—"

You wheezed, and you were sure you looked half mad to him. "Oh my god, I really am off my rocker." A portal. A portal! Of course it was a portal.

He pinned you with a look. "Yn. Yn, listen to me. You're not safe here."

"No shit. I almost died two minutes ago." You saw his unimpressed expression and forced an apology out of your mouth. "Sorry. Humor is a coping mechanism. You can't just tell me demons exist without me thinking we've both gone absolutely insane."

Changmin settled into a more comfortable position on the floor, gripping onto the edge of the counter behind his head. "Yeah, your sister reacted similarly when she found out."

Everything came to a screeching halt.

"What?"

He stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Supernatural creatures exist. The ones that you read about in books and in myths and legends, and watch in silly movies and TV shows?" He gestured wide with both his arms. "They exist—we exist."

You could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. You swallowed. "And she… she knew this?"

A nod. "Yes. We've all been walking among you this whole time."

"What does this have to do with Sena?" What did any of this have to do with your sister? Was this even worse than you imagined it was?

He pursed his lips, exposing the little mole beneath his bottom lip for a moment. "Sena and I were… business partners. We were in the bounty hunting business, essentially."

There were words coming out of his mouth, but it was too much. All of it hit your head and fell straight to the floor, and none of it truly sank into your sense of reality.

Sena was a supernatural bounty hunter? And she died while on a case. A personal one, he said—?

"—I was coming over to show you something when I felt my trap get triggered."

"Wait, wait, wait," you cut in. "Trap?"

"I've been hunting that demon for weeks now," he explained to you, but the words were coming out slowly like he was reluctant to let them go. "It's been… avoiding me, and I tracked it to your apartment and realized what, or who, it was after." His teeth ran over his bottom lip and his eyes narrowed on you. "You're wearing it, aren't you? The pendant?"

On instinct, your hand shot up to your sternum. "How the Hell—"

"That's what Sena and I were looking for." His sharp, feline gaze remained pinned on you as you slowly lifted the chain to take the pendant out. It glistened like a fat, red ruby in the daylight. "What did she tell you about it?"

"Absolutely nothing," you said plainly. You set the knife on the ground beside you and adjusted your sitting position with a shaky exhale. "Except that I shouldn't let anyone touch it before me, that I shouldn't take it off, and to not—trust anyone."

You stiffened when Changmin reached for something in his back pocket.

"Relax, this is what I wanted to show you." He held his hands up after retrieving a cream-colored envelope from his back pocket, majorly bent and crumpled in some portions, but intact for the most part. He slid the envelope across the kitchen floor to you, and you immediately recognized your sister's handwriting.

You gingerly picked it up off the ground and inspected it. It couldn't have been forged—the way she wrote her R's were too distinct. She was so weird about always writing capital R's even if it was supposed to be lowercase.

You opened the flap and tugged out the letter inside. As you made your way down the note, it came to you that this was his evidence. This was his evidence that Sena knew him personally and that, according to past-Sena, you could trust him.

Your fingers shook as you pushed the letter back into the fold, and you shoved the envelope back over to him. "Okay," you muttered. "What now?"

Something akin to relief washed over his face. "She didn't tell you anything about the pendant? Nothing?"

You shook your head, fondling the stone between your fingers. "No. I found it in the lockbox she left for me with cash and a small note."

"Lockbox?" He perked up. "Are you certain there wasn't anything else in there? Not a second stone or a second necklace? Nothing?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in thought, and you pressed your thumb and forefinger to your closed eyes when they began to sting from dehydration. "No. It was just those three things I mentioned earlier. Why?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," you said. "I am absolutely sure. You don't think I turned that thing upside down?"

Changmin stood up and began to pace around his side of the kitchen, his head buried in his two palms. "Oh fuck," you heard his muttered swear.

"What is it?"

He rubbed his hands down his face, and it reset him to that careful blankness from before. "Do you trust me?"

"No," came your automatic answer.

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Your sister was after something important before she died. She—she was supposed to update me about it when she got back, but she never did." He carded a hand through his hair again. "It could reveal to us more about what happened. Didn't she mention anything about how important this was?"

He wasn't wrong, unfortunately. Sena wrote it plainly in her final note to you about how important this necklace was, and keeping it with you. You supposed you could dash out any thought that she stole this from a bank or jewelry store… a mortal one, at least.

What the fuck was this thing made of?

You enclosed your fist around the stone. "So what are you saying?"

"We need to finish what she started." He considered something for a moment, then added, "And you're not safe here."

Something panged in your chest. "I'm not teaming up with you."

Changmin took a couple steps toward you and from this distance, there was an unmistakable ferocity in his gaze. "I would agree with you, but unfortunately, if I want answers and the pendant, then I'm stuck with you."

Your blood pressure spiked. "You're such an ass."

"Ass or not," he drawled, "you can stay here and risk that cretin coming back for you, or you can come with me, and we can figure out what the Hell happened to your sister."

Your bones, your joints—everything ached as you clambered to your feet. God, you were tired. A grave sort of determination trickled into your mind, though, at the thought of getting away from this. It didn't seem like there was much other choice anyway.

#4—SURVIVE THE NIGHT.

IT WAS LATE WHEN THE CAR pulled into the motel parking lot. Your ass was on fire from the long drive, and your mind hazy from sleep deprivation. Fear kept you awake for the entirety of the eight hour trek between home and nowhere. You would have worried about Changmin in the driver's seat, but considering you found out he was a supernatural being literally eight hours ago, your worries consoled themselves.

"This was the best out of the selection," he murmured, barely audibly, as he put the car in park. The glow from the motel lights was the only light for miles, and the red-violet from the neon sign washed over Changmin's sharp side profile like a grungy teen thriller show.

A yawn stretched out of you and you reached for your seatbelt. "Wasn't complaining."

He sent you a pointed look. It was a silent "Really?" You pointedly ignored it.

The two of you clambered out of the car and you massaged your back and butt with reprieve. Your hand reached for the red ruby settled beneath the fabric of your T-shirt, the warm stone solid and present between your fingers. Changmin slammed his side of the car closed as he slung his bag over his shoulder, and you were swift to follow his lead.

Your fingers drummed against the side of your pants just as the main office came into view. There was someone seated behind the front desk with her head buried in her phone and Candy Crush on the screen. You and Changmin walked up to the counter and her head flicked upward.

Her eyes darted between you two and something or other clicked in her head. "Room for two?" She droned, already clacking away on her computer screen.

"Yes please," you sighed. You knew there was no way you were getting around her assumptions.

She smacked the gum in the side of her cheek, twirling around in her chair to reach for a key on the wall behind her. "It'll be thirty bucks," she said, sliding the key across the counter, "and we don't have condoms."

You and Changmin both coughed, heat rushing to your face. "None needed," he muttered as he slid a twenty and ten dollar bill over to her.

You collected the key and checked for the room number. Sleep crept into the corners of your eyes again and they were starting to sting from dehydration.

Changmin eyed you from his peripheral vision and nodded his silent thanks to the girl. He swept an arm loosely around your shoulders to guide you back out to the night beyond the main office. The room you were assigned was on the second floor of a building just a little ways down the complex. It was outfitted with a single queen-sized bed and bathroom, and the lights fortunately worked well enough. You couldn't decide if it was a good thing that you were too tired to assess the cleanliness of this room, but you made a beeline for the bathroom.

"I'm taking a shower," you announced, already closing the door.

The last thing you heard was his grunt from the other side.

You dumped your backpack on the lid of the toilet then braced your forearms on the sink counter. The lights in here were a dull gray and made you look sickly in the mirror. Dark bags hung beneath your pinkened eyes—the receptionist probably thought you were drunk or high. Exhaustion hit you like a bus, your limbs sluggish and heavy.

So much had happened in the past 48 hours.

You ripped the shower curtain back and fiddled around with the shower until cold water spouted from the top.

Changmin was a demon. He was Hellspawn. You'd messed around with the idea of him being a pain in the ass before, but you never expected his demon-ness to be true.

When the water warmed as much as it could, you stepped beneath its drizzle. The ruby pendant from your sister sat on your sternum, safe and warm, and you watched it pulse with a glowing scarlet beneath the stream of water.

Your sister.

A few weeks ago, you watched her body lowered into a ditch in the ground. A little before that, you were told her death had been an accident. Now, you were on the run.

From who or what? You weren't completely sure. That was what Changmin was here for. Well, technically he was here for the necklace your sister left with you, but after what happened at your apartment that caused the two of you to go on the run, here you and the necklace were. Plus, the note your sister left explicitly instructed that the necklace be kept with you—on you. (You still weren't too certain of anything.)

When your fingers began to prune, you reluctantly stepped out of the shower to slip on a new set of clothes from your backpack. You went through the motions of getting ready to sleep, too, mind fuzzy and unable to make sense of anything.

You wrestled down a sigh and desire to cry. You were tired, for fuck's sake, you were so tired.

But when you opened the bathroom door, flicking the light off, you paused. The room was dark.

Your breath hitched in your throat and the hair on the back of your neck stood at attention. Heart pounding, you took a step into the main room.

"Chang—" A palm closed around your mouth, another cupping the back of your head.

Panicpanicpanic—

A warm breath by your ear. "Calm down. It's just me." Changmin.

Fucking Hell.

You found his eyes as yours grew more accustomed to the dark. His head twisted over his shoulder to the window by the door where you could see silhouettes walking past, silent and stalking.

"Someone's here," he exhaled as he slowly removed his hand from over your mouth. His dark bangs hung in his eyes, his mouth set in a firm line. "They can sense the pendant, I think."

Your heart thundered against your ribcage—ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom—

Changmin's head whipped back toward you and he fished something out of his pocket. He reached for your hand, closing your fingers around something cold and metal. "Slowly put your backpack down and barricade yourself in the closet over there," he instructed quietly, finger pointing in the direction of the sliding doors just to your left. "If it comes to it, use the knife, Yn."

You bit your tongue to keep your breathing as steady as possible. Your hands shook around the switchblade he'd passed to you, and under his sharp eyes, you carefully lowered your bag to the ground without making as much noise as you could. Then, with his go-ahead, you crept as quietly as possible toward the closet.

Just as you reached for the slot in the door, all Hell broke loose.

The window shattered open, the door kicked off its hinges. Your entire body tensed as you dropped to the floor behind the bed, clutching the knife in front of you.

Changmin swore, nice and loud.

Shadows pummeled him to the ground until he was tangled in darkness, like nightmares brought to life. You saw a flash of claws in your view, your scream caught in your throat.

"You."

A blur of shadow whisked across your vision and your eyes went wide.

The creature crawled over the bed and pounced toward you—you rolled away from him, blade held out in front of your body. Oh, there was an awful wave of déjà vu coming over you.

"You are a difficult being to find, pet," the creature hissed. You were beginning to make out its features now—dagger-like eyes, claws that could easily rip flesh apart like cloth, and a maw of knives for teeth. Shit straight out of nightmares.

It cocked its head at you, crouching on the floor a few feet away. Why hadn't it attacked you yet?

"Curious," its scratchy voice croaked. "The master will be pleased when the asset is brought home to her."

The asset? It must have meant the necklace.

You heard a snarl from your right, and in horror, noted the thick, dark liquid splattered all over Changmin's clothes and body. When he snarled at the demons holding him down, you spotted the gleam of fangs.

"What do you want from me?" Your voice trembled, returning back to your main problem. The necklace sat warm and present, the pulses matching your racing heartbeat.

The creature released a sound like grating metal, something akin to a laugh. "Your guardian is more dangerous than he appears," he said instead while tilting its head to the side. "Clever being, that one. Master will be pleased when we bring his rotted corpse home."

You didn't anticipate how quickly it would move. You screamed as the creature dove for you and you swung out of the way. Its claws dug into the meat of your thigh, clinging to the flesh there with all of its might.

Fear struck painfully through your chest and you desperately twisted around to stab the blade into the side of the creature's neck.

It screeched. You drew the knife out to impale it in the back area, messily splattering an arc of its black blood everywhere.

You sucked in a sob as you scrambled backward. Its body dragged along the ground from its claws still sunken into your leg. The body was limp, but your nose wrinkled from the acrid, hot smell reeking from the corpse. It smelled burnt.

You peered at the blade in your fist with new eyes. The silver glowed gold in the darkened room; you shouldn't have expected anything less. Why did you think a mortal weapon could defend you from demonic creatures?

"YN!"

Too late.

Claws sunk into the sides of your throat and trapped your voice there. You thrashed around; panic stabbed your chest. Pathetically, desperately, you reached your arm back to try and drill the blade of your knife into the creature behind you.

Hot blood squelched down your throat—you were losing feeling there. Numb numb numb—it hurt, oh fuck, you were going to die—

All at once, the pressure subsided.

Breath could only flood into your lungs as quickly as blood spilled from your throat. You were choking, eyes wide up at the ceiling.

This was it, this was it. Maybe you'd see your sister in Hell.

A face appeared above you, sweaty but familiar. Your blurry vision couldn't make out the emotions on his face, but you could hear him… boy, could you hear him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed, rustling around and adjusting his position above your body.

His rough palms cupped your face. You could hear your heartbeat slowing in your ears. Ba-boom… ba-boom… ba… boom.

"Stay with me," he panted. His left hand pressed against that side of your neck to staunch the blood flow. He sucked in a breath and he ducked out of your view.

You felt a different wet sensation over your open wound. His tongue was rough, yet soothing as he lapped and sucked on the gouge in your throat. Feeling sparked in that area; you could feel your skin physically stitching itself together. If you could squirm, you would have.

He was swift to switch to your other side and copy those actions there. He groaned low against your skin, one hand cupping the side of your head to hold you in place.

Oxygen rushed through your lungs and you gasped. You tore your neck away from his mouth to dry retch. Blood dripped from the side of your lips to the dusty carpet. You had been asphyxiating on your own life force.

You flopped back onto your back, tears rolling down your cheeks as you gestured wildly at the steaming demon carcass still attached to your thigh. "Ple-please," you whimpered. "Please, get it off."

Changmin crawled onto his arms, sliding down toward your leg. "Yeah, sweetheart. I got it."

He looked up at you as he dug his fingers into the creature's skull, ready to pry the thing's claws from you. Something dark was smudged over his face—his nose, cheeks, across his eye. "It's gonna hurt," he warned, voice hoarse.

You moved your head in a microscopic nod.

Tears pricked at your vision, and your leg screamed. Blood filled your mouth even more from the force you used to clamp down on your tongue. Changmin was swift, but gentle as he removed each claw from your thigh, then tossed the body somewhere behind him. He lowered his face to your leg to carefully lap at your wounds like he'd done before.

When he was done, he flopped onto the floor with you, his sigh filling the awful silence.

You could feel everything. It was pulsing all over your body. Your skin, threading together, tingled and ached and throbbed. Your cheeks were damp with tear tracks and your fingers finally loosened their grip on the switchblade. Your mouth was coated in the metallic iron taste of blood.

The only familiar feeling was the pendant on your sternum. The bane of your existence.

"So you have magic spit?" You croaked, your voice scratchy from your sore and bruised throat.

You heard his huff, the closest thing you'd ever heard to a laugh from him. "It's regenerative," he exhaled deeply.

You snorted, then winced when it hurt.

If you could look up, you would've seen the corner of his lips twitch.

"Are you sure you're not a vampire?"

You heard a soft shuffling sound as he clambered upright to lean against the wall. His head thumped against it, eyes fluttered closed. "I don't drink blood, sweetheart."

"I didn't say you drank it."

You grimaced as you struggled to swallow. Reality was swooping in on you like a vulture above a carcass. Doom swirled in your stomach—you almost died just now. You choked on a sob, and you reached up to your face to brush away your tears.

Oh god, everything hurt.

"I want to go home," you whispered. It wasn't even to Changmin, just to whoever could hear you. Homehomehome, but where was home? They could find you anywhere.

A beat passed.

"I'm sorry." Changmin's head hung, either out of exhaustion or genuine regret. "I promised your sister I wouldn't get you involved."

You still couldn't move your head much, so you kept your gaze on the speckled ceiling. "What?"

"I have… had sisters."

You didn't hide your surprise. You didn't think you would ever get anything personal out of this guy, let alone the fact he had family. But his confession planted a seed of sympathy in you… maybe he was human before, or maybe he wasn't at all, but he had family. That had to count for something.

He released another haggard sigh. "So that was one of the few things we could agree on—keeping you out of this unless necessary."

Necessary. You should have never put on the necklace, should have never touched the cursed thing. Now, you were literally chained to it and its fate.

He went quiet again and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You thought he was going to say something else, but instead, he rose to his feet. Taking slow, careful steps, he made his way over to your body.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," he murmured as he tucked his hands under your armpits to haul you upright.

You cursed under your breath at the ache and the blood rushing to your head. Your left leg was pretty much useless, and he had to cup the nape of your neck to his shoulder so you could lean on him.

"Can you walk?" He asked, his breath by your ear again.

You shook your head, pressing your mouth against the muscle of his shoulder. He smelled like demon blood, and you shifted to lean your cheek on him instead, holding in a gag at the wretched stench.

"Okay. Hold on a second."

He helped you sit down on the ledge of the bed, before going around the room to collect things. He plucked up your backpack from the floor, then his own bag, hoisting them both over his shoulders before returning to you. From your vantage, you could see all the limp demon corpses lying on the ground, unmoving. You wrestled down the bile creeping up your throat and looked away.

Changmin scooped you up in his arms with a grunt, and you looped yours around his upper body, tucking yourself into him. "We have to get out of here before someone comes to check this shit out," he said to you as he exited the room.

You gave a nod. "Aren't you tired? Hurt?" You asked, guilt and fear twisting something horrid in your chest.

"Don't worry about me."

"How could I not?"

His lips twitched. "Oh, so you care about me now?"

You closed your eyes against his shoulder. "Don't be an asshole."

"Sure, sweetheart." He made it to the car and instructed you to reach around his back to get the car key hanging from his bag strap. Changmin managed to get the car door open and deposited you in your seat. Your body molded into the material, exhaustion settling once more into your bones and joints.

In a blink, the two of you were back on the road.

Changmin carded a hand through his damp hair as he pulled out onto the barren street. You rolled your head to the side, eyes drinking him in. There were scratches over his exposed skin, barely there, but still present as if they had healed over already. His clothes were splotched and stained, as well as ripped in other places. And of course, there was the blood smeared all over his face, his neck. The bastard didn't even look fazed.

Right, demon. What did that even entail?

Your eyelids were beginning to droop, yanked down by the force of gravity and the human necessity to sleep. You didn't want to sleep though; you didn't want to be attacked a third time. Though most of the adrenaline had dissipated, your shoulders were still tense, your senses alert and unable to relax just yet.

Changmin glanced over at you briefly. "You should sleep."

You moved your head. "Can't," you rasped.

He reached over then, his palm warm against your head, as he gently brushed his thumb over your eyelids to coax them closed. "You're safe with me, Yn," he promised. You were reluctant to believe him, but after what just happened, at least you knew he could take care of himself and you.

Sleep was already coaxing you into its jaws to devour you, and the pendant under your shirt pulsed to a steady beat to encourage your descent. "Morning will come soon."

All you could do now was trust him.

#5—THE ANGEL BLADE.

THE DINER OFF THE INTERSTATE was like the ones from the movies: red, vinyl seats that squelched when you scooted over them; blind fluorescent lights that flickered every time a fly died against them; people minding their own business as they hunched over grainy coffee and burgers that looked a little too good to be true. You sat across from Changmin, hands laced over the white table surface while he had his arms braided over his chest.

Another eight hours had passed since the motel. You'd found a rest stop to clean up and change clothes on the way, but when you could no longer deny your need for food, Changmin made the executive decision to feed the monster that was your stomach. Executive decision meant he was driving you somewhere to eat something so you wouldn't pass out from stubborn, self-induced hunger.

You're not gonna die if you want fries and chicken tenders, Yn, he'd said with a roll of his eyes.

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the target of every other supernatural being within a fifty mile radius. Perhaps by association, but still.

It was fascinating what a few hours of rest and magical demon saliva could do to help the human body. All of your wounds had pretty much closed up—albeit a tad sore, but nothing as awful as the pain you were in when being clawed in the moment. It was even more fascinating how alive Changmin looked despite literally not being alive. And the fact he hadn't slept a wink within the past day at least.

You, on the other hand, looked like a dumpster fire. Your hair was a bird's nest, eye bags more expensive than Louis Vuitton. Your stomach gave another whining growl; you'd ordered not five minutes ago with a middle-aged woman in too-bright red lipstick and a blue collared dress uniform.

"Are you sure you're not like, a vampire?"

His face dropped into a deadpan you'd seen before. "Oh my God."

"You can say His name?"

Your lips curled into a self-indulgent smile at the way he rolled his eyes so hard, he could probably see his brain back there. (If he had one.) "Sorry."

"You're not sorry," he said, eyebrow arching. "Do you have any real questions?"

Your hands shifted to your lap as your gaze moved to the window next to you. The sky was an ugly, sickly shade of gray-green. It reminded you of the lighting from the first Twilight movie, and you gagged at the thought. The bright red and neon of the diner clashed horridly with the sky, too. All of it was a little disconcerting.

Back in the car, when Changmin was first introducing you to the real world, he'd given you the short version of the supernatural who lived amongst oblivious humans. He hadn't gotten down to the nitty-gritty, just the shit he needed you to know so he could justify hauling you across the state, and to understand all the supernatural creatures after the little pendant resting beneath your shirt collar.

Two mugs of coffee were set onto your table, the dark liquid sloshing over the sides to stain the white below it.

You reached for your mug first, gently cooling it down with a breath. When you took a sip, gingerly, you grimaced. You somehow managed to wrestle the liquid down, but the searing bitterness was enough to make you push the cup away and reach for the sugar packets at the end of the table.

Changmin watched you in amusement, tongue poking the inside of his mouth.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you ripped a Stevia packet open. "What're you laughing at?"

"M'not laughing," he shrugged. He picked up his cup of coffee, clinked it against yours for good measure, then chugged the cup of shit in one sitting.

You watched in ill-concealed disgust, horror, and… maybe you were a little impressed.

When he set the drained cup on the table, he wiped his smug mouth with a napkin from the aluminum dispenser.

It was your turn to deadpan. "Show off," you muttered, stirring your artificial sweetener into the dark brown brew.

He shrugged again. "What? Like it's hard?"

"Oh my god, you can be funny."

Your chicken tenders arrived. Steam wafted from them and you closed your eyes to inhale the beautiful smell. Happiness on a plate, you liked to think.

Changmin thanked the waitress who had also delivered him a plate of blueberry pancakes. He eyed you quietly as you inhaled the food on your plate, despite the dull throbbing in your throat.

You caught his gaze, stopping mid-tender. "Want some?" You asked after swallowing the bite, gesturing to your fries.

He shook his head and began buttering up his hotcakes. "Nah. Have at it."

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence as you ate your separate meals. Changmin had told you before that demons didn't need all the typical things humans needed to "survive" or "live." Technically, since he was undead, there were only a handful of ways he could die. Eating and sleeping were necessary for human life, but they were more so preferences for him. If he wanted to eat, he could eat. If he wanted to close his eyes and dream, he could try.

The thought had you waving a fry at him. "The switchblade," you began, drawing his attention and pancake-stuffed cheeks, "what was it? It definitely wasn't something human-made."

Changmin swallowed his bite. "It was an angel blade."

"You're kidding," you drawled in disbelief.

He challenged your stare. "Believe it or not, it was. Forged up there." He lifted the prongs of his fork up toward the ceiling, shaking his bangs out of his eyes.

Your jaw dropped. "So the Big Man Upstairs does exist?"

"I mean, I don't really know. I've never met him if he does. I just know the angels are ruled by the Seraphim," he told you. "Lots of hierarchical bullshit I didn't care to pay attention to."

He impaled another piece of pancake. "Angel blades are one of the few things that can kill a creature like that."

"A demon?" You asked.

"Yes. Lower level demons are easier to kill, especially with a blade like the one I gave you." He shoved the bite into his cheek to continue, "That's why I was able to take on multiple at once."

You made a noise of indignation. "So you're telling me you're a higher level demon?"

His shoulders fell in a half-hearted shrug.

"Helpful," you muttered as you washed your meal down with bittersweet coffee. You paused for a moment, cleaning your fingers off with a napkin. "The… the licking thing."

Changmin's eyes could not meet yours. "Mhm."

"Do you… do you do that often?"

"No," he said curtly. "That party trick only works on humans and I don't really enjoy the taste of blood."

You pursed your lips at his rather clipped response. "Oh." You recalled the sound he'd made as he cleaned your blood up with his tongue at the motel… maybe it was something out of disgust. You suddenly felt out of place, like you had made his shoulders tense up and the air crackle. You racked your brain. "I—thanks, by the way."

With a cough, he murmured, "Welcome. Couldn't have you dying on me."

You nursed your coffee cup, reaching up to absentmindedly fondle the pendant under your shirt. "Yeah."

"Have you ever met an angel?"

The car was quiet as Changmin peered over his shoulder to switch lanes, the blinker tick-tocking away until it was turned off. "Yeah."

You stared out the front windshield to count the white colored cars on the highway amongst you. "What're they like?"

"They're like every other species," he said, unenthused. "Some are more asshole-ish than others. You'll find good ones and bad ones." A sigh. "The ones I've met have largely been the latter though."

"Oh." You weren't sure if you were disappointed by that answer.

The diner had been less than half an hour ago and you were back on the road again. Yours and Changmin's ETA to your sister's safehouse was supposedly another five or so hours. You couldn't believe she owned safehouses. For fuck's sake, she lived with you for majority of the time before she went to study abroad… she probably wasn't even abroad all those times, you realized anxiously.

It was like he could sense your change in mood from bored curiosity to tense overthinking. He dug around in the pocket of his pants and handed you the pommel of the switchblade from the motel. Angel blade, he'd called it.

You glanced at him in question, but he only pushed it into your palms.

"Get comfortable with it," he said. "It's a decent size as far as angel blades goes, since those fuckers don't really like to give them up. It's good for self defense."

The blade looked like something one could buy at a gift shop, slim with some heft, painted a shiny white color. There was no logo on it, but if you looked at it from the right angle, it shimmered. You unlocked it and let the blade whip out of the slot. The blade was shaped like any other box cutter you've seen before, but the underside had a serrated edge for extra ease in slicing through tougher materials. Your finger ghosted over the glowing metal, silver warming to a yellow-orange, but only if you didn't blink in the daylight.

You killed a demon with this. The blade burned the creature.

"How'd you get this if they don't like giving these up?" You asked as you figured out how to put the blade back into its sheath.

His fingers drummed against the wheel. "Won it in a poker game," he said.

Your eyebrows lifted. "Seriously?"

You swore there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Seriously."

With nothing better to do, you flicked the blade in and out, in and out. You'd only ever really held blades in the kitchen and when opening packages. "Do you have a name for it?"

"A name?"

"Yeah," you said, shifting slightly in your seat as an ache crept into your spinal cord, "y'know like the fantasy books where they name their blades." You inspected the switchblade again, rotating it in your hands. "Looks like a Clyde."

Changmin let out a huff from his nose. "Clyde?"

"What? Got any better ideas?"

"How about we don't name dangerous utilities for murder," he drawled.

"I can't believe you didn't just say 'weapons.'" When he didn't answer you, you made an indignant little noise you hoped annoyed him and admired the angel blade in your hand in a new light. Clyde. Hi, Clyde. You're pretty.

"Don't tell me you're communicating with it," he said to you.

You ran your finger over the flat side again with a fond smile—just to annoy him. "It doesn't give me lip."

A sigh. He tended to do that a lot. "How's your neck?"

Your hand lifted to your throat and massaged it lightly. "It's doing alright. Does it still look bruised?"

You tilted your neck so he could take a good look at it. He eyed the span of flesh there, his dark irises taking on a strange tint. The corner of his mouth curled downward as he turned his focus back to the road. "Yeah."

"It doesn't hurt as bad anymore, if that's any better."

"I guess," he grumbled. "Humans are so fragile."

"Hey man," you huffed, "is it my fault that I don't have magic spit or my skin doesn't heal fast—"

"How many times do I have to tell you? It's not magic spit. That's just how human biology reacts to demon saliva." Changmin tapped the back of his hand on the steering wheel as a vague gesture.

You shifted in your seat to look at him and so that you could take pressure off one side of your back. "I have a question. Why does demon saliva have healing properties when usually lore says that you guys are opposite in nature? Actually, that kind of sounds prejudicial," you thought aloud.

"It is prejudicial," he replied. "Well, mostly. It depends on the demon, but we're just like any other species. It's just that most pop culture depicts us as evil. Demons and vampires are derivations of each other in that—"

"So you are a vampire!"

He didn't even try to counter you this time. "Both species have saliva that can heal wounds, not large wounds, but you can probably imagine that vampires use it to seal puncture marks post-meal."

That made sense to you. "But why do demons need it?"

"Human blood…" he trailed off for a moment as he narrowly missed a car zooming past, his glaring eyes trailing after them, "...is like our saliva. It regenerates us. It's kind of like an energy drink, so it's not a necessity, but more so like a luxury or privilege."

You swallowed and you could've sworn you heard a soft huff from his mouth like a laugh. The thought of your blood being like an energy drink for him—and he'd literally licked your wounds clean at the motel that night. Was that how he was able to heal so quickly? It was a marvel he hadn't drunk you dry. But then again, he'd also said blood wasn't his taste…?

"Are you sure you don't like human blood?" You asked, sounding like a broken record, but more apprehensively this time.

"Sweetheart, you really think you'd still be here if I did?"

Touché.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Changmin stiffen. His hands tightened the slightest amount around the steering wheel, his eyes darting from the front windshield to the rearview mirror.

"What?" You asked, taking a look through the side mirror on your side. "What's wrong?"

Changmin's face washed over in a careful blankness. "We're being followed."

Your whole body tensed and you had to physically restrain yourself from twisting around in your seat. "What?"

"Hey, stay calm." He flicked his turn signal on casually as he exited off the freeway.

"Why are you telling them where we're going?!" He was literally signaling to whoever was following you exactly your next move.

"Just because we're on the run, doesn't mean we shouldn't follow basic driving safety."

You sent him a very emboldened stink eye. "Out of all the times, you choose now to have a sense of humor and to be an upstanding citizen?" Where was this during the entire road trip thus far?

Changmin made no other comments as he turned right onto the street leading further away from the freeway. You sat quietly for a moment, monitoring the cars behind you from your side mirror. Your knee started bouncing as you took note of the white sedan following behind, not tailgating, but its intentions were clear enough where even you could pick it out.

"What're we gonna do?" You murmured.

Changmin glanced over at you briefly. "We're gonna be fine. We just have to lose them."

"No shit."

"And you say I give you lip?"

Without any forewarning, Changmin jerked the car to the left, practically zooming across the intersection to catch the yellow light. Your whole body sailed across the center console, and before you could give him a piece of your mind, he was sending you crashing into your doorway from another sharp turn. You glared daggers at him, but turned to peer out your window.

The white car was still following after you. They must have run the red light then.

Changmin's sharp eyes sliced across the rearview mirror, and his foot lowered on the gas pedal like a challenge. His eyes whipped back and forth for somewhere he could go next, brain working double the speed. "Hold onto something, sweetheart."

"I don't think that would—HELPPP!" You sputtered and yanked on the handle above the door, hugging yourself to that side of the car.

You could hear the tires of Changmin's car burn rubber and squeal as he zigzagged through streets. You were pretty sure half of this was residential, you thought as the landscape blurred past.

"Do you even know where—" You swore as your body flailed around from another one of his god awful swerves, "—we are?"

He shook his head and floored the gas. "Nope."

Great.

It was about fifteen minutes of this supposed drag racing before his driving finally began to even out. You were seconds from hurling up diner food when you realized…

"Where the fuck did the trees come from?" You asked, lowering your tense form from the door handle.

You pressed your nose against the window to gawk up at the towering trees on your side of the vehicle, all dark green and beautiful. A light fog clung to some of the leaves, making the sunlight streaming through them look like golden strands of gossamer. The road you drove on held to the side of the mountain, but from what you could tell, Changmin had officially lost the white sedan.

Changmin visibly relaxed. "You might wanna pull up a GPS."

You reached over to your phone in the cupholder. But you pretty much tossed it right back. "No bars. Where did you take us?" You didn't even realize there was so much forest in this area. How come you hadn't seen it from the highway?

He gave a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. "Shit."

The car sunk into silence. Changmin could do nothing else but follow the road until you hit civilization or some kind of sign as to where you two were. You hadn't been in this part of the state before, so it wasn't like you could point out any landmarks. But as you both continued along, you settled into a sort of calm—the trees here were beautiful, untouched by man. Even from inside the car, you could feel the serenity.

Your finger pressed down on the button on your door to lower the window. You stuck your head out, hair flowing behind you. With a great inhale, your mouth broke into a smile. It smelled just as gorgeous as it looked. Fresh and clean and—

"You've got to be shitting me."

You pulled yourself back into the car and raised the window back up. "What?"

Changmin's mouth was set in a firm line, a dimple pressing deep into his cheek. "Wolves."

Your brows knitted together. "Huh?"

"We're in wolf shifter territory."

Just as he said this to you, the car rounded the side of the bend and revealed a large green sign that read: WELCOME TO MOONSTONE CREAK! Population 276.

The sign following it did not make you feel any better: CAMPERS! BEWARE OF WOLVES.

#6—BEWARE OF WOLVES.

AT THE FIRST SIGN OF WOLVES, you sunk low in your seat. You'd made eye contact with one of the furry creatures hidden in the brush, their sharp predator eyes narrowing at the sight of a foreign entity in their woods.

"By wolf shifters," you said quietly, holding onto Clyde in your lap, "you mean like… werewolves?"

Changmin's eyes stayed on the road ahead, but every once in a while, you would catch him scanning the forest, too. "Those aren't the same things. Werewolves are the things you read about in lore, half-man and half-wolf. Wolf shifters can change completely from man to wolf and vice versa."

"Oh." Well, that cleared some things up. "I'm guessing they don't take kindly to trespassers?"

He bit his lip. "I mean, it depends on the pack. If my hunch is right about where we are though, we shouldn't have to worry."

You gulped. "And if you aren't?"

"Well, I told you to get used to that angel blade, right?"

The trek further into the forest and mountains continued. The scenery around you was still as stunning as it was before, and you thought to yourself how dangerous a beautiful thing could be. Every time you peeked out of the car window, you saw a flash of something in the woods beyond the road. There had to be a reason why they hadn't attacked the car yet, right? If this was a pack of wolves who didn't like trespassers, then why were you and Changmin still alive?

Maybe they wanted you in a place where there was no chance of outsiders hearing you scream…

Your intrusive thoughts were getting to you.

There was a dead end, a near broken road sign and fence directing all passers-by that this was the end. Changmin was forced to take the off-road path, beaten into the dirt as it wound through the forest. If you didn't have signal up on the main road, you definitely would not have any here.

It was a few more minutes of traveling down the path that two wolves appeared before the car. Changmin brought the vehicle to a slow halt. The wolves were relatively large, spanning about six feet and about as tall as the bottom rim of the car door window. One of the wolves had black hair like a raven, and the other had hair like a field of grain.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as the wolves stared right at you. "Changmin…?"

He met their staring contest with little intimidation. "It's… it's fine. I think they recognize me."

After a moment, the two wolves broke their strange staring contest and trotted off to the side of the road. They were back so quickly, you almost didn't realize what had happened. Like magic, they had transformed into two toned young men, both nicely built with their lean upper body on display. They must have had a strategic stash of shorts hidden behind a tree for after they shifted to their human forms. One had cropped black hair, the other blond. Well, at least that made sense.

Changmin slumped in his chair, relieved. The corners of his mouth curled upward in an almost-smile, as the two wolf shifters came over to greet him at his window.

The brunette bent his head down to the window with a broad smile, the kind that made your stomach fill with butterflies. (Not to mention the eyeful of abs you and Changmin were getting…) He leaned his arms over the top of the car window, eyes flickering from the demon to you. "Long time no see, Changmin. Who's your friend?"

"That's Yn," your demon guardian said, clasping one of the man's hands in greeting. He reached for the second wolf shifter. "Haknyeon, nice to see you, too."

"Good to see you, Changmin" said the blond.

Oh, so he knew them.

Changmin gestured to the two men. "Yn, this is Kevin and Haknyeon. They're with the pack."

"Not that we're unhappy to see you," Kevin drawled, "but how did you find us?"

Okay, wait. If Changmin knew them, then why wouldn't he know the location of their pack? You sat quiet, waiting for someone to explain it to you… or just explain everything to you.

"Someone was following us and I lost them," Changmin told them, "but I managed to get us lost, too. Coincidence that we ended up here. I'm glad it's you guys and not another pack."

Kevin's eyebrows flew up. "Yeah, for sure. Well—" he turned his head up toward the treetops and scanned the skies. They were beginning to bruise like your skin as the sun sank somewhere amongst the trees and into the horizon. You hadn't even realized how dark it was starting to get. "—sun's already pretty low right now. Why don't you guys shack up with us tonight and then we'll help you out in the morning?"

"That would be great actually." Wow, really? You kept your surprise at bay. "Lead the way."

With no further discussion needed, Kevin and Haknyeon disappeared behind the same large tree trunk from before, then re-emerged as the wolves from before. Kevin, the one with black colored fur, pointed with his snout in the direction the path would take you. The two wolves began to trot down the path, and Changmin waited for them to get somewhat ahead before he flicked his headlights on and followed.

It was a curious act of consideration, you thought.

You watched as the wolves began to pick up speed, your eyes flickering to the speedometer. "So…" you drawled, "what the fuck just happened?"

A sharp huff, his version of a laugh. "They're old friends," he said.

"How'd you not know this was where their pack was if they're old friends?"

"I met them out of the pack," he explained. "It was somewhere in the New England area, and we just happened to be hunting the same thing."

Hunting? Oh, bounty hunter. Right. "And the—the shifting thing."

"What about it?"

You made a face of frustration. He always made you pull teeth when you wanted background information. "Everything."

He glanced at you. "I think it'd be better if one of them explained it to you. Better to have one of their own say it right than risk me getting something wrong."

That was, unfortunately, a very fair answer.

Instead of pushing on the wolf topic, you had more questions that he could answer. "So what now? Are we just gonna stay the night? Is it safe?" What if that white car found a way in here? Neither of you could see who the driver was, and so how could either of you be sure they weren't trying to perhaps get you both here? And if they also had the means to come in here without being marked as trespassers?

"It's safe," he said with such confidence that you arched your brows. He saw your expression, making a soft turn along the road as the wolves had, the pads of his fingers lifting off the steering wheel for a second in gesture. "I know what you're probably thinking, but it's safer than sleeping out in a motel off the highway, alright? Packs usually don't drive cars, and they have maybe one or two for convenience sake. They can smell trespassers from miles away, and they usually have people on watch all the time, which is how they found us so quickly."

You supposed that made sense. The forest here seemed denser, and with the quickly fading light, it made it all the more unnavigable. If you were to try to run… good fucking luck.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. As the car rounded the bend, yours and Changmin's faces illuminated with the glow of light.

The town was laid out flat before you, not over a ridge, not over a mountain, but a path that led into a central meeting place with wooden buildings all around it. The lights were all from candle-lit lanterns rather than the LEDs and fluorescents of the human world. There were a mixture of both wolves and people milling about, an air of warm cheeriness that you could feel even from the car. You felt a fuzziness manifest in your chest at the sight.

Kevin and Haknyeon directed Changmin toward a back road to the right behind a row of buildings. It was most likely to avoid getting in the way of the pack members, you guessed. You kept silent as you averted your eyes from the void-like darkness of the forest beyond to your right.

Up ahead, you saw the two wolves trot into a small paved area with one other car parked along the walkway. It seemed to be like a makeshift alleyway of sorts between two blocks of buildings. With some maneuvering, Changmin managed to parallel park into the space that was just big enough for his vehicle.

When he parked, he gestures for you to follow his lead and get out of the car. "You should be safe to come out with me. We'll probably meet the pack alpha and get everything settled—" His head tilted to the side, "—hopefully."

Your eyes shuttered. "Hopefully?" You echoed. Pack alpha? What the fuck did that entail? From what you remember in the books and shows, you thought to yourself as you clambered out of the car and stretched your sore limbs, wolf packs had an alpha that would lead everyone. You weren't sure if you would have to go through some kind of cult initiation or something to be granted permission to stay the night.

The angel blade sat tucked into the pocket of your pants along with your phone, and you slammed your car door shut. From here, you could peer down the alley and see out into the glowing atmosphere of the town center. It sounded like fun, actually—all of the chatter and laughter. You hadn't been anywhere so lively-sounding in awhile.

"Yn right?"

You startled a little, whirling around to find the brunette—Kevin was his name—smiling at you sheepishly. He was back in human form with a pair of shorts and a plain white T-shirt on. "Sorry I snuck up on you," he said.

"Oh, it's totally fine!" You laughed bashfully, smoothing a hand down your hair. "And yes, I'm Yn. You're Kevin, right?"

Man, he was so much prettier up close…

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, it's nice to meet you. Changmin says this is all pretty new to you." He gestured loosely to the world around him, an all encompassing notion to the entire world you had just unearthed beneath your nose.

Your eyes darted behind Kevin where Changmin and Haknyeon were gathered on the other side of the car, pulling yours and Changmin's bags out the backseat. Changmin caught your eyes, lifted his eyebrows, then returned to his conversation.

So he was just gonna leave you in the hands of the very handsome wolf shifter? Cool.

"Yeah, it's kind of a crazy story," you mused. Understatement of the century. "Thanks for taking us in, by the way.

"It's no worries," he chirped. "Changmin and us? We go back pretty far, I'd like to think."

"Oh, cool! He mentioned something about that… and something about meeting the pack alpha?"

Kevin's eyes flickered to something behind you, and you turned around to see what or who it was on instinct. "It's nothing to stress about—he's coming this way, actually."

You felt his hand, warm and large, gently settle between your shoulder blades to guide you toward the two men making their way down the alley toward you both.

One of them… well you could feel the subtle shift in the air. It was as if molecules in the air moved for him. He boasted a powerful sort of stature, with dark hair parted neatly to frame a carved face. For a moment, you didn't know if you were supposed to bow or something, but then he smiled, and you nearly fell over from that alone. He wasn't so scary once he smiled.

The man next to him was a lighter brunette with a cheery expression engraved onto his face as if that were his default setting. There was something about him, however—you thought he glowed a little in the dim light. The angel blade in your pocket seemed to warm slightly at the sight of him.

(So was everyone just super attractive in the supernatural world?)

"Changmin-ah," greeted the man with darker colored hair. He clasped his hand with Changmin's in greeting. "It's been awhile."

"It has," your demon counterpart agreed. "Thanks for taking us in on such short notice. I wouldn't have intruded had I known."

The man brushed the thought away. "It's okay, really. Nice to have a couple new faces around."

"Speaking of new faces," drawled the second man. He beamed a pretty smile your way, waving. "Hi, little one."

Something warm blossomed in your chest. "Hi," you said softly. You weren't certain of etiquette—if you were expected to speak for yourself, to bow…

But it seemed Kevin had your back. He clasped his warm hand on your shoulder. "This is Yn. She came in with Changmin."

"Nice to meet you, Yn. I'm Sangyeon." This was the man with black hair, who felt like the tangible version of power. He must have been the pack alpha. He had to be.

The other man placed a hand on his chest. "And I'm Jacob!"

"We're just looking for a place to stay for the night," Changmin piped up. He tucked his hands into his pockets, eyes shifting over to yours.

"Well, why don't we head over to the pack house and we can talk about all the details of a plan," said Sangyeon. He inclined his chin in the direction of where you assumed the pack house was. Then his eyes, you watched their keen movements, latched onto Kevin's as if they were communicating silently. "Yn," you nearly jolted when you realized he was addressing you. "Kevin's gonna take you to the small inn we have here. It'll give you a little more privacy, and I'm sure you've felt pretty overwhelmed."

It didn't sound like he was asking you, but there was a warmth to his smile. You couldn't help but feel inclined to agree.

Changmin's head went on a swivel. "Wait, she's not coming with us?"

Haknyeon and Jacob were already rounding on either side of him to guide him in the opposite direction Kevin was leading you. Something in the back of your head made you turn over your shoulder to look at him. Was being separated such a bad thing?

Haknyeon suddenly tossed Kevin your backpack, the latter shouldering it.

"Come on, Yn," Kevin chirped, angling his body as he nudged you along so you could no longer see Changmin. "There's a lovely hearth in the main lobby, and the auntie who runs the place makes the best cookies ever."

You nodded slowly as your brain struggled to think of any reason why they would separate you from Changmin. And why did he sound so surprised? Your hand drifted toward the pocket that hid your angel blade. "Oh, really? That sounds nice."

They didn't drug them, did they? Your shoulders tensed at the idea.

Why did they separate you and Changmin—

The inn was the building right outside the alley with a porch that spanned the front facade. The architecture reminded you of an upscale cabin with large oak logs piled atop each other to make up the structure. A warm light emitted from the front windows and glass doors, and you swore you could smell the cookies from here.

When you and Kevin entered the building, he called out a greeting to an older woman stationed behind a reception desk in the back corner. She greeted the both of you with a cordial smile, wiggling her fingers in a wave. Her head tilted curiously at you, however, her eyes zeroing in on…

Your attention was drawn away and you were directed toward the seating area on the other side of the lobby.

"Can I get you any water or anything?" Kevin asked you as he motioned for you to take a seat in the armchair adjacent to him. He set your backpack at your feet for you.

You lowered yourself onto the edge of the seat, hand reaching for the pendant beneath your shirt—you stopped short. Could he sense the power of the pendant? Was that why they separated you from your demon bodyguard? Oh fuck—

"Hey, hey," Kevin suddenly said softly, face morphing into an expression of concern. "No need to get panicked, okay? You're safe now."

Wait. What? You wrung your hands in your lap, heart still throwing itself up against your ribcage. "Safe? What do you mean safe? Safe from what?"

Kevin considered you for a moment, but the gentleness from his voice and body language never left. "You're safe from Changmin."

"Safe from Changmin?"

"Yes," he affirmed patiently. "The bruises on your neck—"

Your hand went to cover the side of your throat where it had been pierced by the maw of a demon, but not Changmin.

"—does he feed from you? They look fresh—"

You immediately put your hands up to gesticulate in wild opposition. "Oh, no, no, no. He—he didn't feed from me; he saved my life, actually. We were attacked by other demons and I was bleeding out, and he just closed the wounds. He… he isn't, uhm… yeah."

Kevin's posture changed, and his smile became relieved—sheepish even. "Well, shit. I'm sorry for assuming, Yn; it's just that a lot of people end up here because they're in unhealthy relationships, and I saw the marks on your neck and just assumed the worst." He cupped the back of his neck. "This must have been really confusing for you. Sorry about that."

Okay, now that made a lot more sense. Your adrenaline was slowly teetering out and the tension left your shoulders. "No, please, that's honestly really nice that you would help victims like this. It did give me a little scare, but… yeah no, this wasn't Changmin's doing."

"That eases my mind a lot," he chuckled. Then he turned and nodded to the auntie behind the reception desk. You watched as she disappeared out the doors of the inn. "She's just gonna let Sangyeon know that everything's good."

"I thought you said you and Changmin go way back…?" Did they not trust him?

Kevin leaned back in his armchair. "We do. It's just protocol, you know? Whether or not we know them, it doesn't matter."

That was good for victims, you thought. Though, you couldn't imagine what they were really discussing with Changmin then… "So Changmin…"

"Sangyeon, Jacob, and Haknyeon would have taken care of him if I told them he was harming you," he replied, lips pressed together. "They really are talking about how you both ended up here though—that, and plans for the morning."

It was like he could read your mind.

A lot had happened just now, and you were still reeling from the fact that you didn't need to prepare to run. Though, you were still hyperaware of Clyde's warmth in your pocket.

Kevin noticed your far-off expression. He leaned forward onto his knees, that kind smile of his curling onto his face and making you feel some sort of woozy. "I know it's probably been a lot for you. Do you have any questions for me?"

He was so different from Changmin. While with the demon getting information was like pulling teeth, here was Kevin offering you information. They were polar opposites, really. You wondered what it might have been like if Kevin had been the one to take you on this quest instead—your mind shuttered. What a strange thought. Changmin might have been a pain in your ass in the beginning (and still now), but… it wasn't like he hadn't protected you. You didn't know.

"I guess," you started, "what's gonna happen now?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Well, uhm, I think we're both gonna find out once Changmin gets back. See what they've all decided on. But for sure, you and he will be able to shack up here for the night."

You gave a slow nod. "Is Sangyeon the pack alpha? Kind of a stupid question—"

"It's not a stupid question at all," Kevin said. "But yes, he's the pack alpha. You can just consider him as a community leader, essentially."

"And you're all wolf shifters?"

A nod, then he paused, tilting his head. "Yes, but Jacob's not a wolf shifter; he's an angel."

Your eyebrows flew up. Everything was suddenly making a lot more sense. "An angel? So he and Changmin aren't, like, mortal enemies or anything?" You hadn't noticed any wings on him…

Kevin laughed. "Oh, you're cute. No, thankfully they are not mortal enemies. Jacob's too nice to have enemies."

"Even someone like Changmin?" You jested.

"Even someone like Changmin," he said, humoring you. "Speaking of the demon, you two aren't…?"

You sucked in a breath. "Definitely not. We're not together or anything. It's a long story, but our meeting and traveling together is just because of a common goal." You couldn't tell why the thought of you and Changmin being an item made your heart cartwheel. Perhaps it was simply the anxiety of being thought of as Changmin's significant other that made you want to jump to correct that assumption. Yes, that was it.

Kevin bit his bottom lip like he was trying to hide a smile. "Ah, I see. That's good to know."

"And why's that?" You asked.

You could have sworn if he was in wolf form, his ears would have been tucked against his head. "Nothing!" He insisted. "It would just be a shame to not take a chance when it's presented, you know?"

You weren't quite sure what he meant by that, but for some reason, you were eager to find out.

It was late still when Changmin knocked on your open door, lingering on the threshold. You had just stepped out of the shower in the private en suite your accommodations had, a towel settled upon your shoulders to act as a barrier between your wet hair and dry clothes. He didn't look any worse for wear—then again, he never did.

"Everything okay with Kevin?" He asked, clearing his throat. You felt his eyes on you, scanning your body as if searching for any signs out of the ordinary.

You were searching for your phone charger in your bag. "Yeah, it was good. What—what happened with you?" You asked and lifted your eyes to meet his as you fondled the cord between your fingers.

He stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Well," he drawled, "Sangyeon offered to send a small group out to scout for any signs of our pursuers from today. In the meantime, we're invited to stay here to recuperate for a couple days. If not, then they'll restock our supplies and help us out of here."

"I'm guessing you already made a decision." You paused when you realized there weren't any outlets in this room. Anywhere. A curse fell from your lips and you dumped your cord and dead cell phone into your bag.

"I figured you could use the rest," he said.

Your head whipped upward.

He arched a brow at you. "If that's alright with you."

Was he really asking you? No buts, no ifs, no snark? "Yeah, that's fine with me."

"Maybe a couple days here will be good for your frail, human body anyway."

There it is. You rolled your eyes so far back, you swore you saw your brain waving at you. "And maybe some fake demon sleep will make you less grouchy."

You thought he smiled. It could have been a trick of the light or sleep deprivation. "Whatever."

Just when it seemed like he was about to turn and leave, he stopped. "Kevin's taken a liking to you."

You stilled, attention piqued. "Really? How could you tell?"

Changmin gauged your reaction, and again, you couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. "You need to sleep."

"Wait, you're just gonna ignore my—and he's gone." You huffed and collapsed onto the bed. It was awfully comfortable.

Leave it up to Changmin to leave you high and dry like that.

You rolled over the surface of the bed to close your door. Quietly, you went around the room to close the knobs of the lanterns to put out the lights like Kevin had showed you earlier. The only light now came from outside the window, the campfire and lanterns in the pack center streaming through the shutters to create an elongated stripe pattern along the walls and floors.

You climbed into bed—it was a strange, but welcomed feeling.

Only a couple days without a bed, yet it felt like years had passed. You could only hope you didn't wake up to a demon at your throat this time.

#7—THE ONLY ONE.

WOLVES BEAT EVEN THE SUN from her slumber, you came to find out. The next morning, you rolled out of bed to hear the sound of muffled voices outside your window. Your body ached in places you didn't even think they could ache, and you stretched your arms up over your head as you opened the shutters.

Just a little off from your window stood a small gathering of creatures, both in human and wolf forms. You recognized Kevin as one of the human ones among them. It was the noise of your open shutter that had him turning his head up toward your window. He saw you there, and a smile blossomed on his face, bright and easy. He wasn't wearing a shirt again, as was the other man standing beside him. The other two in their group were wolves.

Kevin waved at you, catching the attention of the others with him. The man beside him beamed and waved, too.

You chuckled to yourself and returned the gesture.

Kevin beckoned you down with his hand.

You searched the window sill for the latch, muttering in triumph when you managed to notch it open.

He had walked over to stand directly below your window by the time you stuck your head out. "Good morning!" He chirped. "Good sleep?"

"Good morning, and so far I think so," you mused, unconsciously smoothing down your hair. You hadn't even checked the state of your bed head. Yikes.

"There's breakfast in the pack house if you'd like," he offered. "I can walk you over?"

You leaned your cheek against your fist. "Sounds great. Give me some time to get ready."

"Take your time!"

You locked the window back up, dropped the shutters, and hurried to get changed. It occurred to you, as you were getting yourself prepped and primed to face another day in a new world, that you hadn't felt so giddy in awhile. And about a boy nonetheless. The skip in your step was crazy to you, and—did you even have anything nice to wear?

You just managed to yank one of the nicer of your graphic tees over your head when you heard a knock at the door.

"Just a second!" You called, carding your fingers through your hair and separating into three so you could braid it out of your face.

You ripped the door open. "Hi."

Changmin stood on the other side looking slightly refreshed with his dark hair damp and plastered over his forehead. His eyes narrowed slightly at your lightened countenance, the way you actually cared about how you were doing your hair, the… everything. He sent you a look. "Breakfast is in the pack house, but I have a feeling you already knew that."

"Yeah, I was just headed down, actually." You stepped out into the hallway with him, closing your bedroom door behind you. Clyde sat in your pocket, replacing where your phone would have been stashed had it any use.

He cocked his head to the side. "You seem a lot more…" He made a gesture with one of his hands. "Alive."

"Well, considering I don't have magic regeneration—"

"Forget I said anything," he said, shaking his bangs from his eyes and beginning to walk down the corridor toward his room. "Go get sustenance, Yn."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You watched him disappear into his room before you made your way to the stairs.

Kevin was waiting for you in the lobby, perking up when you appeared on the stairway landing and made your descent. He took a couple steps to meet you in the middle, and you noticed that he had found a shirt to put on. Damn. "Hope you like waffles," he said as the two of you fell into step beside each other to head out of the inn.

"Love 'em."

It seemed that the entirety of Moonstone Creak was awake, even at such an early hour. The sun had yet to even clamber up above the treetops, leaving the sky a soft mesh of purple and orange. The air was as fresh as it had been yesterday, cool and pure, washing your lungs and waking you up some more.

"Is everyone awake so early?" You asked him, inhaling as much of the peace as you could.

Kevin nodded. "Pretty much, unless you're just coming back from a night watch. We usually encourage the pups to come out and exercise with us."

"Us?"

"The pack's primary watch," he clarified. "You probably saw me talking to a few of them earlier."

"Ah," you hummed. "That's nice though. You're all such a lovely community… It's refreshing."

His eyes twinkled as he smiled at you. "Thank you. I like to think we're a really big family."

You could see as much. By the way Kevin greeted all of his fellow pack members, a part of you wondered what it might have been like to grow up somewhere like this instead of always chasing after safety and security.

You and your sister had always got by somehow, but it had never been like this. With your parents gone so early in both of your lives, you only really had each other to rely on, besides the occasional aunt and uncle who took turns caring for the both of you until your sister turned 18. And now with your sister gone?

For some reason, it felt like you were still taking care of her in death. But perhaps that was the cost of seeking closure.

You weren't sure what you were expecting when they said pack house, but what you saw was about what it sounded like it was going to be. It was similar to the inn and many of the buildings around the area with its log cabin likeness, but this one was much, much larger. You could hear the squeals of children from out here, and there were smaller wolves chasing each other's tails around the wraparound porch. A few stopped to sit and cock their heads at you as you passed, their tails tick-tocking behind them.

It was strange seeing wolves carry around infants and toddlers in their hulking jaws, too, and Kevin chuckled when you almost stopped in your tracks. "It's no harm to them, don't worry."

"Yeah," you laughed nervously, fingering the pendant at your sternum. "It'll take some getting used to. Are you born as a wolf or as a human?" You asked him as the two of you stepped up the front steps of the porch and walked through the entryway.

"Depends—woah, hey guys. Careful!" Kevin clicked his tongue as he caught and lifted one of the younger boys off his legs just before he accidentally knocked over a table holding a vase of flowers.

The kid and his friend giggled as Kevin put him down away from the table. "Sorry Kevin!" And they were gone, out the front door.

He shared a smile with you, cupping the back of his neck. "Where was I?" He gestured to your right down a hallway; you could smell the sweetness and buttery goodness of breakfast. "Oh, right. It depends: since wolves and humans are mammals, giving birth is a little easier than other non-mammal shifters."

"Non-mammal shifters?" Your eyebrows shot up. "What other shifters exist?"

"Any you can think of, to be honest," he said. "All pups learn about their own growth and development though, especially since learning to shift and stay in touch with both their animal and human sides is so integral. It would probably be better if I connected you with someone who identifies as female to talk about birth specifically though," he admitted.

The kitchen was painted a pale shade of yellow that reflected the golden rays of sun and made the whole room much warmer and brighter. There was a mishmash of wolves and humans milling about the central island where a buffet-style breakfast was being served. The variety of food before you was enough to make even—as you liked to think—Changmin's mouth water. (He didn't need to eat, your ass. You saw the blueberry pancakes on the far end and wondered if he had some yet.)

Kevin passed you one of the plates stacked at the end before grabbing one for himself. "Lily, thank you for breakfast!"

Lily, you identified, was the woman leaning against the sink with a pale blue apron tied around her waist and baby bump. "You're welcome! Haknyeonie helped out, too."

Haknyeon's blond head poked in from where he was partly hiding in the butler's pantry, his cheeks stuffed with food. "Hm?"

You laughed to yourself as you started off by transferring a waffle to your plate. "Yes, thank you so much for breakfast. It looks delicious."

"Oh, no need for that," Lily beamed as she came over to the island across from you and put more food onto your plate. "Take more, please. We have so much to go around."

"Oh," you blinked, watching Kevin start to pile things onto his own plate. "It's so much; I don't want to take more than I can finish—"

"I'll help you finish," Kevin offered, shoving a strawberry into his mouth. "I'm sorry if it seems like we're pressuring you, though. I guess we're all just used to making sure the other is fed around here."

You could melt like a slab of butter between two warm hotcakes. "Thank you—I appreciate the thought."

Kevin ruffled your hair as the two of you continued around your tour of the island. "Of course."

From the entryway you had just come in, Sangyeon arrived whistling an offhanded tune under his breath. "Good morning, everyone!"

"Good morning!" Chorused around the kitchen at differing intervals as everyone greeted their pack alpha.

Sangyeon beelined around the island and over to Lily, the two of them exchanging fond touches and a warm kiss in greeting. "Morning, love."

"Good morning," Lily said. "Eaten yet?"

The dots connected in your head and you nudged Kevin as the two of you finished up at the island. "Lily and Sangyeon—?"

"Yeah, she's our alpha female," Kevin confirmed. "Six months pregnant. They celebrated nuptials about a year ago."

"Ah." You didn't mean to stare, but they were such a beautiful couple. Though you thought Sangyeon's smile was warm, it was nothing compared to the one he saved just for his partner.

He must have felt your eyes on him, and he lifted his gaze to yours while he held one of Lily's hands. "Yn, sleep well?"

Your eyes widened. "Oh, uh, yes. Yes, thank you."

"All of your accommodations are to your satisfaction, I hope?"

"More than satisfied," you stammered with a sheepish smile; he was talking to you, right? Everything was way beyond what you had been living with for the past couple of days. A demon-infested motel or this? Well, no competition there. You could still feel the impression of Changmin's passenger seat in your back.

Sangyeon nodded. "Good, I'm glad to hear that. I was hoping to speak with you and Changmin after breakfast about your situation. It'll be with myself and my closest advisors, plus the two of you."

"Yes, of course," you said. "Does Changmin already know?"

"I'll have someone run and let him know."

You and Kevin were dismissed to go forth with breakfast. The two of you settled in a room next door to the kitchen fitted with a long dining table that reminded you of a cartoon rich people banquet table. You sat adjacent to each other, Kevin at the head, and you with the seat to his left.

You smeared butter over the slots of your waffle. "Do I have to worry about what Sangyeon's gonna talk about at the meeting?"

Kevin shoved his bite into his cheek. "To my knowledge, no, but if you're worried, Sangyeon's advisors are a pretty cool crowd."

"Oh yeah?" You asked.

His lips turned up as he chewed. "Mhm," he hummed before swallowing, "I should know since I'm one of them."

Sangyeon had an office deep within the first floor of the pack house. It was tucked away somewhere between the living room in the back and the door down to the wine cellar. (Kevin joked that the first pack alpha had planned the layout of the first floor deliberately.)

Following your hearty breakfast, you found yourself seated in one of the armchairs in the leader's office chambers, amongst Changmin (in the chair next to you) and the other members of the so-called inner circle. Kevin lingered nearby, leaning against the office's hearth with his arms and ankles crossed idly. It seemed that the advising board included not just Kevin, but also Jacob, Lily, and someone named Juyeon. You learned that he was out on night guard when you came in last night, so you weren't able to properly meet him until now.

Sangyeon stood next to the office chair seated behind the grand, mahogany desk; Lily was automatically given the chair because of her pregnancy, and because she'd been working all morning. "Concerning the white sedan you said was trailing after you two yesterday—" he said, "—none of our scouts could follow a solid scent past the freeway entrance. It was interesting, actually."

Changmin leaned forward onto his forearms. "How so?" He asked, eyebrows creasing.

Sangyeon nodded to Juyeon, who filled in, "Well, we couldn't figure out what their scent is."

"How is that even possible?"

You blinked, brain whirring into overdrive. There was something you were missing yet again. What was the context here?

Kevin stepped over to your side and murmured to you, "We can usually pick apart scents to identify the layers, so this is why it's… concerning."

"Ah," you nodded. "Thanks."

"It was distinct for sure," Juyeon supplied with a vague gesture of his hands, "but it was nearly impossible to tell what species they were. It was easy enough picking apart the entity from the car smells—" Exhaust fumes, metal, seats, you assumed, "—and we could follow the smell as far as the entrance to the highway you guys came from, but…" He shook his head. "No-go. In all my years, I've never come across anything like it."

The helplessness that settled into the grooves of the room made you squirm, and your fingers fondled the red pendant at your collar again. Here was a space of the all-powerful, and yet, something as simple as a scent was throwing them all for a loop. You couldn't begin to wrap your head around the implications, because, well—you didn't know the implications.

(Dark. You were always sitting in the dark.)

Changmin passed you a glance, and you couldn't tell what he was thinking, as usual. "There has to be a way to somehow analyze it. Could we consult a witch?"

"I've already called an old friend," said Lily. "They're on their way over presently."

"Could I see the pendant?" Jacob's voice carried out into the room. Though he himself was soft-spoken, one could not mistake his volume. Everyone's attention cut over to you, and you wanted to be swallowed up by the earth beneath your feet. "If that's okay," he added. "It feels familiar."

"Feels?" You echoed, gripping the stone in your hand. The chain dug into the flesh of your neck as you anxiously yanked on it.

Changmin's eyes darted from the stone to you. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" You were overwhelmed; that was what you thought. You fisted it in your hand, suddenly reluctant to part with the thing that had caused you so much trouble as of late. You felt… an uncanny urge to keep it in your possession. "Uhm… you can see it, but I won't take it off."

Your devilish counterpart narrowed his eyes slightly, cocked his head to the side, at your behavior. He didn't say anything though, as if this truly was just all your decision. Perhaps this was because he knew that you weren't exactly buddies with these people yet. In retrospect, they were still strangers, and thus, potential threats to you.

Jacob took easy strides over to you from where he was standing by the desk. He passed you a reassuring smile as he knelt in front of you, close enough that you could see the eyelashes brush his cheeks. There was something warm radiating from him, and you swore you saw a flash of gold in his eyes.

Angel, right.

He rose up on his knees, holding out his hand, but not touching you. "May I?"

You pinched the part of the pendant attached to the chain and stuck it out toward him.

Jacob's eyebrows knitted together as he touched the pendant with only the tips of his fingers. You held your breath throughout the entirety of his assessment. When he finally leaned back onto his haunches, you blinked away whatever angelic warmth still lingered. "Juyeon, come smell the pendant."

Your eyes widened. "Uhm—"

"Hold on, what?"

"Wait, Jacob."

The latter two responses came from Changmin and Kevin, respectively, the two startling at Jacob's request.

There was a swift exchange of glances between everyone else and the alpha wolves in the room.

Lily said, "Yn?"

"Why are we sniffing the pendant now?" You asked, finding your voice.

Jacob looked up innocently. "Sorry, I probably should have explained myself. I think it might smell like the scent Juyeon was trying to track."

Something in the room shifted. You glanced down at the pendant in your grip and the questions in your head accumulated and accumulated and accumulated. What in Hell did you get me into, Sena?

"Okay," you said, "you can… smell the pendant."

You weren't sure why he couldn't smell it from where he was, but he took a couple steps over to you and replaced Jacob's position. Changmin's hand appeared on the arm of your chair as he leaned forward slightly.

Juyeon took a cautionary sniff, and his eyes widened. "That's it. It's—it was slightly different, but similar enough where it has to be the same entity." He looked up at you. "Is this the only one of its kind?"

You met Changmin's eyes.

He looked away first. "No."

Your gaze became earnest in his direction, and if you could, you would burn twin holes in the side of his head like a snakebite. More shit he hadn't told you. Were you surprised?

No? What did he mean no?

"We need to talk," you forced out of gritted teeth, gripping onto the arm of his chair now.

He passed you a glance. Later.

"Well, we can only really assume that the person following you was most likely after the pendant," Jacob said plainly as he stood from the ground and dusted off his pants. "But now that we know the origin of the scent, per se, it'll make the hunt a little easier."

Sangyeon gave a bob of his head. "Kevin, you're leading the search party for the day."

Kevin's head perked up, hand on the back of your chair. "But—"

A single look from his leader made his mouth snap closed.

"Yes, sir," Kevin murmured with a shallow nod of acknowledgement. He gave the back of your chair a small pat, then departed without another word from the office. You thought you could feel his presence leave your side, from the room. All of this feeling… was this how the supernatural operated? Was this what a sixth sense entailed all along?

"Juyeon—" the man in question raised his head, "—go find where Haknyeon and Eric are." Sangyeon scratched his temple with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like exasperation. "Grab them and round up the pups."

Juyeon brightened. "Are we taking them down to the creak?"

Lily nodded her approval. "Ooh, nice idea. Yn and Changmin, you're both free to join us. It's lovely down there."

You forced your hand to fall away from the pendant, but not before tucking it back beneath the collar of your shirt. It felt too exposed out here, sitting on your sternum for all to see. You nodded though, trying for a small smile. "Sure, sounds nice."

Sangyeon patted the desktop. "Excellent! The two of you can continue to make yourselves at home."

Though this was a physical conclusion to the meeting, your stomach continued to sit uncomfortably. This conversation should not have been over so quickly… right? Was there not more to discuss? Perhaps not now then. Maybe it was better to take your time letting this all sink in.

"Ah, before the two of you go join the little ones," Jacob cut in. He shot Changmin a pointed look. "You owe me something."

Changmin roughed a hand through his bangs, but you could have sworn his lips curled up with a smile. "Aish… your memory."

"It never fails me when I need it."

You glanced between the two; Changmin did owe you yet another explanation, but if there was something these two planned to settle… "What? What is it this time?"

Jacob grinned, and you definitely hadn't been hallucinating when you saw flickers of gold in his irises. "He owes me a sparring match."

a/n: i am clasping my hands in prayer for a reblog, comment, or ask. take a moment to grab a snack, drink some water, and head over to the second part! thanks for reading

read part two here (if it's not linked yet, refresh and it'll be at the top)

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @ericlvr @kflixnet

[tobi-smp]

I'm breaking my silence:

beeduo was never actually a good duo name, we were just used to it because that's what everyone called it.

alliumduo is tied to ranboo and tommy's first meeting, where ranboo gave tommy his first gift and tommy Kept It. with it coming back around after tommy's death, with ranboo Finding It and realizing how meaningful it was (thinking about how tommy cared for him, and how he should've done more to show his care for tommy).

it's a 10/10 for being something obviously relevant to both characters and their relationship to each other (and Meaningfully so) + something directly and majorly plot relevant so most people are aware of it.

clingyduo comes directly from tubbo and tommy (with tommy playfully accusing tubbo of being clingy when he's obviously just as, if not more so), while Also being a statement on their relationship As Characters. the fact that they Are tied at the hip, how their connection to each other is a major part of their identities. they come together, and some of the biggest moments of drama on the server are those events that drive them apart.

I'd say that alliumduo is a Little stronger, just in the sense that it's connected to two major events that are outwardly acknowledged in the text as being symbolic for their relationship (which makes it easier to point towards as the Specific origin of the name), but it's still a solid 9/10 from me

benchtrio is a Doozy for me. on the surface it sounds a little silly, but it's Significant because of what it represented In The Moment. tubbo and tommy sitting on Their bench to listen to Their music discs has been a Theme in clingyduo. it's how they've capped off major arcs of the series, it's representative of Them. so the first moment that tommy invited ranboo to sit with them Was Significant. it was tommy inviting ranboo into that dynamic he'd built with tubbo, even as he'd felt insecure In that relationship.

no notes, 10/10 from me boys

and then beeduo is !

it's !!

well, I'm sure there was a moment where ranboo gave tubbo a bee or perhaps beefarm, or maybe ranboo Also expressed a liking for bees. I don't remember what that moment was and I doubt I've ever heard of it before and I've never seen anybody else talk about it Either.

they're literally married and have a child together, tubbo killed Multiple people after ranboo died, he's haunted by the literal ghost of his husband. they have a mansion in the tundra, they have a commune, they built a home together, ranboo was his minutes man and tubbo was his president, I Dunno ! there's just so much symbolism you Could work with

and beeduo is just that tubbo likes bees

I dunno, 4/10 at least pickleduo was weird and specific enough that people remember where it came from

[thumpypuppy]

hey can you talk about I WON’T LET YOU GO HOME from ISAT and how you went about making it? It is so good. me and friends really like it. thank you in advance if so! the game is so good and your soundtrack has played a key role in making it literally life changing.

Lindar here!

Thank you SO MUCH for the kind words.

Firstly, I have to give credit to InsertDisc5 who gave incredible direction and has been to date one of the best people I've worked with.

So let's start from the beginning: We establish a specific instrumental tone with the pseudo-chiptune synth we've heard a lot, especially in the title theme. This was created using NI Massive, which was one of the most heavily used synths in the OST. We're doing kind of a basic heavy metal riff here, but making it chiptune-y.

Next we fade in for the first and only time in the soundtrack a SNES strings pad to fill out the chord structure and provide additional melodic content.

Then of course for our more intense moments we roll out Toontrack Superior Drummer 2 + Metal Foundry, featuring the amazing drumming styles of the one and only Sandra Baker. I think she went absolutely ham to contrast with how simple the first section is.

So next we hit our stride and establish what the piece is really saying. The drums simplify a bit to leave room for the melody, and then we hit a "drop" of sorts into the next section.

Now we're rocking to a reprise of the title theme in a more major tone, but it's feeling less hopeful and more like a longing attachment to memories of the past.

In the second half of the title theme we run a reprise of the death/loss theme as a counter-melody while also introducing a new little motif stab underneath. We hear it in the strings as sort of the response to a call that hasn't actually been made, and then it's repeated in the bass, and finally the whole band states it all at once as we move into the next section.

Again we're stating the title theme, but this time in a different mode with a gliding, reverby, monophonic lead that feels like it's floating. Each phrase keeps rising in intensity, desperately reaching for that memory.

Finally after all of that wildly changing energy and anxiety ramping up we hit a breakdown featuring probably some of the best orchestral composition I've managed thus far (not to toot my own horn). I was really shooting for "pained" as the sound of this section. Half-time feel drums where we're so incredibly out of energy, but no! The drums pick up into double-time as we desperately reach out for comfort!

I gotta say Sandra went absolutely wild with the blastbeat snare while still doing a half-time feel. Like it feels like there's so much tension even while we're winding down to the end of the piece, floating in a place where we keep moving towards hope but always resolving on the minor. We have a lot of movement here through different keys and modes that continually give us a feeling of moving forward while always returning to the feeling of loss.

Finally, for the album version, we cap the ending with a slow restatement of the beginning of the piece for piano and violin (I don't remember the specific piano I used here but it wasn't the Spitfire Labs muted piano for once, and the violin is from Spitfire's Sacconi Quartet).

As far as an in-depth musical analysis goes, I'd have to open the session again to get really specific with what I did on a theory level because it's been like a year or more since I wrote it, and my computer's primary hard drive died (luckily I have all my sessions on a different drive), so I'm spending the weekend reinstalling everything.

I think the crux of this piece in particular is that, while there is new melodic content that explains the emotional context of the scene, we still rely on the recontextualization of leitmotifs for added effect. I'm not sure if it makes me lazy or a genius, but it's something I leaned into heavily.

It's like…

Step 1: Someone is crying. Their friend tries to cheer them up. Play something kinda sad and a little bittersweet.

Step 2: Play that same melody in a different situation but slightly different to be totally appropriate while also calling back to the original event.

Step 3: Make it into a major-key power metal song because you're winning with the power of your friends caring about your feelings.

Humans are pattern-recognition machines. It works with motifs, it works with specific instrumentation, it works with pretty much anything. Make an aesthetic choice about your instrumentation, utilize it, and punch people in the feels.

As soon as the studio is back up and running I'll see if I can't add on to this with an actual theory analysis, and meanwhile I'm gearing up to start doing classes on mixing and sound design, so look out for that as well!

Thank you again for your ask!

[sensitivehandsomeactionman]

Inside ‘Supernatural’s’ Evolution From Monster-of-the-Week to Psychological Horror

by Danielle Turchiano | Oct 1, 2020 | Variety

A little boy sits alone on the floor of his bedroom. Backlit by a window, he leans over pages of construction paper on which he is obsessively drawing. A platoon of little green Army men guards the pages, and ultimately the boy. As the camera pans around him, he does not speak — in fact he has not spoken at all since his father drowned in a local lake the year before.

This is not the first time the audience, or even the main characters of “Supernatural” are introduced to this boy, as the moment comes a little less than half-way through the third episode of the series. But through the scene setup and shot style, it is the first time the audience gets a glimpse of the boy’s psyche, which will prove to be indispensable as the Winchester brothers work to solve the case of the mysterious lake deaths. It is also a turning point for a first-season show that would eventually run for 15 years.

“I watched Kim [Manners, director] set up this one shot and I thought, ‘That’s the way the show should be shot. This is the look we should be going for,'” executive producer Bob Singer tells Variety.

Creator Eric Kripke originally pitched “Supernatural” to studio Warner Bros. and eventually then-network the WB as a monster-movie-of-the-week drama about two brothers (Dean and Sam Winchester) who travel the backroads of America hunting the things the audience would remember from urban legends. But his main goal in his original pitch document was that “the weekly stories have to be SCARY AS S—.” (And yes, the all-caps was his emphasis.)

While he wanted to make “this series as scary as I can,” he wrote at the time, not all fear comes from an external source. Soon enough, it was the characters’ own trauma and internal struggles that were driving story and adding rich complications to an already well-known genre.

“We set out to make a horror show, and those were the initial stories we wrote. But you learn and adjust as you start watching the film, and a few things conspired to tell us, ‘We have to focus a lot more on the characters than we’re currently doing,’ which is we realized the actors we had,” Kripke tells Variety now. “We saw that they were just both wildly charismatic and emotional and were knocking everything we gave them out of the park. So we were like, ‘We should start giving them harder things to do because they can handle it.'”

The pilot introduced Dean (Jensen Ackles) and Sam’s (Jared Padalecki) trauma briefly, first by revealing that their mother died under mysterious circumstances in a house fire, resulting in their father devoting his life to hunting what killed her — even when it meant dragging his school-aged kids on the road and leaving them alone for days on end in rundown motels. When Sam’s girlfriend dies in a similar way in the present-day portion of the episode, a deeper, psychologically-scarring mythology is hinted at — but the focus of the first few episodes of the series is really more on the “task at hand” of taking out whatever creature is right in front of them — from a Woman in White in the pilot, to a wendigo in the second episode and a ghost in the third.

“When you get hired as staff on a first season show, you get handed the documents they used to sell the show, and that included some of the family secrets and what was going on with Sam. But it’s more like it was a headline that these children had been through a lot because of, we’ll call it, their unconventional life — and the details come when you start to have more space to tell the story,” says Sera Gamble, who penned “Dead in the Water,” the pivotal third episode of the first season with Raelle Tucker, and later went on to run the show in the sixth and seventh seasons.

When breaking the story for “Dead in the Water,” Gamble recalls a conversation with Kripke about how “most young children, especially who have been through something, [are] not just going to open up and give you all of the procedural information you need as an [exposition] dump in the scene.” In discussing how it needed to be harder to draw information out of that child, Gamble says she was inspired to “dig deeper into the psychology of the characters in that script,” which became a baseline for episodes going forward.

“Now I can’t imagine approaching anything with a fantasy element without starting from that place,” she says. “These stories were scary to us because they feel like they tap into something true. Your road as a writer to something that’s going to terrify the audience is through human psychology.”

What each audience member finds scary can vary — and often comes from factors outside a show’s control, from the person’s own upbringing and experiences to the kinds of other stories they consume. In order to to make sure to deliver unique horror elements in each episode, Singer says that from the beginning, “one thing we always said was that the shooting style should be commensurate with what the monster was or what the tone was, so we didn’t feel like we were doing a cookie-cutter horror [show].”

The characters within each of those episodes also had to be unique, even if the type of creature the Winchesters were fighting was something they’d encountered before. “Halfway through Season 1, the first run of the scripts, we realized we were going to run out of monsters in a hurry,” if we didn’t, Singer says. “So if we did a vampire story, each version would not be what you’ve seen before — each version had their own story.”

Often these characters had traumatic backstories of their own, such as Gordon (Sterling K. Brown), a hunter who was on a one-track mission to eradicate the supernatural from Earth after his sister was taken by a vampire when he was just a teenager. (In the most heart-wrenching twist, he later was turned into the thing he hated the most.) Sometimes they even brought out complicated issues for the main characters, such as when Sam fell for Madison (Emmanuelle Vaugier), a werewolf who he was going to have to kill, reigniting the fears he had about losing the women he loved.

And as time went on, those issues and fears began to pile up and often go unresolved. Dean never truly mourned his mother and Sam didn’t fully get to grieve his college girlfriend Jess (Adrianne Palicki) and both had complex feelings about their father and the way they were raised. But then Dean traded his life to save Sam’s, sending the older Winchester to Hell (literally), while the younger one had to carry on alone. Being the true vessels for Michael and Lucifer could have pitted the brothers against each other but ultimately this time it was Sam who went into the pit to Hell, leaving Dean to move on. Sam also lost his soul, got addicted to demon blood and never quite could shake his PTSD from his time with Lucifer (Mark Pellegrino); Dean ended up with PTSD after getting back from war-like Purgatory. Both brothers struggled with wanting to believe in Team Free Will, even when learning they are literally God’s (Rob Benedict) favorite television show and their lives have been manipulated for it. And of course along the way they’ve lost countless other friends and loved ones, from surrogate uncle Bobby (Jim Beaver) to Charlie (Felicia Day) and even their mother (Samantha Smith) again after she was brought back from the dead, only to eventually be killed by Lucifer’s son Jack (Alex Calvert).

“Sam and Dean both went through a ton of trauma. Sam probably had more reminders of his trauma because, obviously Pellegrino remained as Lucifer for many, many years, and Sam had to be facing his No. 1 offender in causing his PTSD,” says Padalecki. “The writers, obviously, always were aware that Sam had been through what he’d been through with Lucifer so they peppered that in [but they] allowed me to take it further if I needed to.”

While Kripke acknowledges that the broadcast format — especially back in 2005 — lent itself well to a slow burn on mythology in the beginning, he also believes characters are more interesting if you “peel back those layers one at a time” as the show goes on. But there is also a more pragmatic reason behind easing the audience into the more psychological horror of “Supernatural” according to Dr. Lynn S. Zubernis, a licensed clinical psychologist, professor and author of several “Supernatural” books, including this year’s “There’ll Be Peace When You Are Done: Actors and Fans Celebrate the Legacy of Supernatural.”

She explains: “One of the reasons that we as humans have so much trouble processing trauma is that we literally store those trauma memories in a different way to store our regular memories and then we can’t get to them and they just end up split off and unprocessed and we don’t want to go there. So we have a lot of defenses against looking at our own trauma. That’s why projecting onto fictional characters is such a great way to do it. But if it came at us all at once, our brains would be like, ‘No, no, no no; we’re not going there.’ You have to go slow in the beginning and then be hooked in and trust the storytelling, in a way, before it goes that deep.”

The same was true for the actors. “Early on, we maybe had to use some techniques or some tricks of the trade to get to a certain point emotionally, but as time went on and the seasons went on, we didn’t have to use those tricks,” says Ackles. “Living with this story — not just living with the characters but living with this story — when things happen, we’re able to really feel it from a character’s perspective because we have lived with it so long and we understand their hurt and their pain and their laughter and their joy.”

Adds Padalecki: “We lost so many characters, I feel like we had a lot of chances to deal with what Sam and Dean would go through with the loss of a character or friend, and so, after the 30th time, it was like, ‘OK I remember what Sam goes through; I remember how he feels; I remember how to be and where I want to be in the storyline as a whole.’ If God forbid there came a situation where they were like, ‘Hey we need to shoot this scene tonight, it’s two pages, it’s you and Dean and Lucifer, then I could have done it — and Mark and Jensen could have done it as well.'”

As the show evolved, the type of horror it delivered week after week would consist different ratios of a combination of jump scares and more of a “disturbing fear that doesn’t leave you — the kind of fear that gives me chills, instead of making me want to scream,” as Zubernis puts it.

“I remember getting a note from Eric that changed the way I wrote the show and kind of cracked the show open for me,” Gamble says. “It was [for] an episode where a demon in the body of a woman has, I want to say, Bobby tied up and they are snarky back and forth but he is her prisoner. And what Eric said was, ‘You’re writing these lines where the demon is very witty and funny and smart, but the thing that is so terrifying about a demon, even as you are entertained by it is that they can see straight into your soul.’ So this thing that they will say to you will be the thing that hurts the most. And so, that was the guiding principle for writing the bad guys: They had to be incredibly insightful to find these guys’ Achilles heels.

“It was also the guiding principle in writing Dean, who was very much going to say the funniest lines in episodes, but he’s never trying to crack you up — he’s actually speaking from a deep well of pain and his way of processing that is to say something hilarious like he’s tough and it doesn’t matter,” Gamble continues.

“We knew the guys had deep trauma and deep pain and were frequently struggling quietly with something, and we always held the monster peril or the danger to a high standard of, ‘We’re not going to make this a joke. This is going to really be life or death.’ So if you have those pieces of the puzzle where the life or death stakes are there, the emotional truth is there, and then you have characters who crack a joke in the face of death, then you can go a lot of places tonally.”

This included expanding the world out to get inside the heads of other core characters — from Castiel’s (Misha Collins) own struggle with how he allowed power to corrupt him, to Jack’s guilt over killing Mary, to diving into memories of Bobby losing his wife and Jody Mills (Kim Rhodes) losing her own family. In some cases, it meant quite literally spending the majority of episodes inside characters’ heads, as well — from Season 2’s “What Is and What Should Never Be,” in which Dean’s psyche is in an “apple pie” alternate reality while he is losing his life to a djnn, to Season 4’s “The Rapture” when Sam is detoxing from demon blood, to Season 7’s “Death’s Door,” which sees a dying Bobby trying to outrun his reaper.

In the latter episode, Gamble reminds, the show was “exploring his core wounds by seeing the memories that are the most important to him.”

“We observed from just watching so many shows in this genre that the Big Bad gets bigger and bigger every season and the war gets more massive and pretty soon you’re a tiny little Lego guy and you’re literally facing God,” she explains. “So part of our job from very early on was to slow down or to avoid running into plot that was so massive that you’re just little specs in a giant galaxy. The way to approach that is always to come from what is personal inside of the story to the boys.”

After all, at the core of the show was always the Winchesters — whether the danger they were in was because of a literal demon in front of them or an internal demon they had yet to conquer.

“If you put them in real jeopardy — believable jeopardy for our world — then the scares will take care of themselves,” Singer says.

(Pictured: Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki in “Supernatural,” which returns with its final seven episodes beginning Oct. 8 on the CW)

[babygirl-riley]

I love angst, can I make a request? y/n having crush on Ghost and them finding out that he had a lover that died. Only if you are not busy 🥹 Thank you!

Ghostly Lover

Ghost has always been your major crush and before you can even tell him, he confides with you.

“Invisible machinery, these moving parts inside of me. Well theyve been shutting down for quite sometime. Leaving only rust behind.”

A/N: Omgggg you had me have so many ideas. So I hope this one was something you had in mind! Also I am never busy for request! I love having them 🖤🖤

Warnings: angst, like seriously pure angst, mentions of cancer, minor character death, soft!ghost, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

You had liked Ghost for years now, ever since being introduced to the team. At first he was distant and never truly paid any attention to anyone. Which was fine. He would come and sit but never engage. After landing on the tarmac he would pace and be the first one out. It made everyone wonder if he had a lass back at home. He would deny which eventually you thought it was true.

You knocked on your captain’s office waiting for his gruff voice to beckon you in. You stepped in closing the door behind you. “Everthin’ alright Sargent?”

You nodded little nervous to even ask the question. But both Gaz and Soap asked and got shot down. Soap mentioned that you were basically Captain’s long lost daughter so maybe he would answer you. You also wanted an answer kill the rumors and he done with it.

“Yeah yeah Cap just have a question.” You started smiling as you took a seat in front of the desk.

Price looked over you before shaking his head. “Nope not my business.” You gave a quizzed look before opening your mouth and shutting it. “You ask Ghost not me.”

“How did you…”

Price looked up from his papers once more and sighed. “Kid I have been hearing non stop asking from Soap and Gaz randomly has an interest in it as well. It doesn’t take a donkey to know what’s going on.”

You sighed leaning back into the chair. “We tried he doesn’t give us an answer.”

Price frowned before placing his pen down and leaning in. “Sargent, sometimes when people don’t say anything means they don’t want no one to know. Maybe this is one of these moments. Leave the man be.”

So you left it at that, felt like an asshole and told Soap and Gaz the same. So everyone dropped it. It wasn’t until the past two years he became more involved with the team. Coming to bars. Playing cards. Everything up the nine yards. You and him particularly became closer. You noticed that he would be keeping an eye out for you on missions and the same thing for you. Making sure each other’s backs were covered.

You both would banter back and forth with each other. Playful always. Ghost isn’t the touch type however, small touches will be played against your clothes or pat on the shoulder. Something that he wouldn’t do around the others or to others. It just fed your mind more your crush turning into a like.

It wasn’t until now you wanted to tell him. Couldn’t hide it anymore. Both of you worked together and it was just getting harder and harder not to show it. Finally when the team went out for celebrations you asked him if he wanted a smoke. He agreed and followed you out.

It was quiet for a moment listening to the cars passing by. You inhaled the cigarette you held before exhaling. “I like you Ghost.” You mumbled.

It went quiet again, you damn near thought he didn’t hear you from the no response that was suppose to come after. You were about to leave it as that and move on, not even making eye contact with him. “You can’t.” He said quickly not looking at you as well.

You snapped your head up to him. “And why can’t I?” You sounded irritated and as you should have. What gives for him to tell you that you shouldn’t.

Ghost shook his head. “Because ya don’t need to, kid”

You stood there for a moment before shaking your head. “Why?”

Ghost looked up at you, reading your eyes. He has known that you liked him for awhile, deep down he did but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to tell you but at the same time he wanted to. You both stared for a moment before he inhaled. “‘Cause anyone that does dies and rather keep ya alive.”

Ghost didn’t move after you blinked couple of times. “Ghost I won’t…”

“Kid,” He looked away before taking an inhale of his cigarette. “‘M also in love with someone and I don’ think anyone can replace her.”

“Oh,” You said quietly, this is one of these moments, you could hear Price’s voice in the back of your mind. Despite that voice you sighed and mumbled. “Could have started with that.”

Ghost felt bad that all this time of showing he felt the same, now that it was brought up it was gone. Not gone that he didn’t feel anything but guilt. Guilt was hitting his chest. His wife. What would she think? What would she do? Ghost sighed. “Why all the subtle hints then?” You asked look at him.

There it was. He was hoping that it wouldn’t have gotten this far. For you to confess all that. “I don’t know.”

You scoffed. “This is embarrassing,” you punched the bridge of your nose. “Well I am going to go now. I will see you inside.”

Ghost looked back down at you, watching as you looked away, started to head out. He felt bad that you were embarrassed, he hated that he made you feel that way. “She’s been dead for couple of years,” You stopped in your tracks, slowly looked over at him. “Cancer, terminal fucking cancer,” He paused scoffing, he wanted to stop talking wanting to shut up. He has told no one besides Price. Price was the only one who knew. Now you do. “It’s not that ya not amazing ‘cause you are it’s just…”

“I’m not her.” You finished half smiling. “It makes sense,” He gave you a quick confused look, he thought there was going to be a slap or yell but you were calm, happy? “You would be so anxious to leave years ago and just the last couple it’s like you never want to leave.”

Ghost looked away, shrugged, and sighed. “When you joined she was diagnosed, so getting home to her so I could spend time…it was important to me,” Ghost didn’t look at you the whole time. Looking ahead of him or to the side. “I wish I could move on, I’ve tried. She told me to, to move on and find someone. Just can’t.”

You frowned and nodded, your heart hurting for him. “I’m sorry LT.”

Ghost sighed. “Doesn’ matter anymore, kid. I just don’t want you to chase something that isn’t worth chasin’”

It was quiet for a moment, listening to the surroundings. “You would be to me but I won’t because your heart belongs to her and I won’t get in the middle of that.”

Ghost was shocked in his head. You respecting his boundaries and saying that made him respect you. Ghost nodded as he looked down at you. God he wish he could move on, your personality was similar to his lost lover. Deep down he missed the soft touches, the going out, the laughter, the warmth of someone he called home. He just couldn’t. You weren’t her. And you planned on not being her. Which he appreciated.

“Ya find someone who will want to. It’s just not me.” He said trying to sound encouraging.

You sighed and nodded. “Maybe Soap?” You smirked knowing how he would respond.

Ghost almost choked his cigarette. “Not that bloke. Let me look around before ya knee deep in mud yeah?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “No this isn’t your game to play Ghost. Besides I am a big girl you know.” You said patting his chest before heading inside.

Ghost shook his head and chuckled lowly. “‘Ight but don’t come cryin’ to me if he does somethin’ crazy.”

You put your hand on the handle of the bar. Inside you were sad not only being rejected but because Ghost was in pain that you couldn’t understand. You haven’t been through that pain yet. So you couldn’t understand but you can be there for him. “Ghost,” He locked eyes with you. “If you want to talk more about anything I am here for you.”

Ghost’s mind raced, he could just go on a couple of dates. Maybe explore this. Just his heart ached knowing that it could have been his ex-wife. The whole time he would imagine it was her, thinking about her smile and not yours. Ghost just nodded as you walked inside.

However, he can’t go chasing after ghosts yet he will always be chasing after hers.

[blooming-violets]

Hii! Can I request a Joel miller x fem!reader where Abby goes to golf town on reader instead of Joel and Joel is in Ellie’s position watching her get killed. Just utter angst💔🥲thank youuu❤️

An Eye For An Eye || Joel Miller x fem!Reader

A/N: I meant to do this from Joel's pov but somehow ended up in Reader's pov. Enjoy some death! (Also threw in a little Glenn from the Walking Dead winkwinknodnod in there, too)

Fire rained down on the infected as the people surrounding them tossed molotovs over the wrought iron gate. 

The heat of the flames bathed over their skin to push the wintery chill from their bones. 

Joel could feel your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, clinging protectively onto him, as he slowed their horse next to Tommy’s. When your grip didn’t loosen to climb down, he gave your hand a gentle pat of encouragement.

“I don’t like this,” you whispered in his ear. There were too many people. More than you were anticipating. Large groups of strangers were never a good sign. 

His head tilted back towards you, his eyes closing peacefully at the feeling of your cold breath against his cheek, “You worry too much. We saved that woman’s life. It’s fine. We need a place to ride out the storm. Just behave yourself.”

You replied with a quiet laugh. Joel Miller was the king of worrying too much and the master of bad behavior. Who was he to tell you otherwise? 

“You’ve gone soft, grandpa. I blame Ellie,” A kiss was placed to his gray peppered beard before you jumped off the horse. There wasn’t even that big of an age gap between you two but you were still fond of the nickname, simply because it made Joel groan every time he heard it. 

Joel smiled, following you off the horse, “I blame you both. I only have this gray hair because of the shit you two put me through.” 

The moment the garage doors closed to block off the incoming swell of snow flurries, a weight of dread settled in your stomach. You ran a mittened hand over the hind haunches of your horse to wipe away some of the snow in an attempt to help soothe your unease. 

“Hey, I heard you guys saved Abby?” A short haired woman approached you with a warm, but hesitant, smile. “Thanks for bringing her back to us.” 

You looked over and did your best to flash her a smile of your own. Trust had to be built somehow. You might as well try to start here. 

“Oh, yeah. No problem.” You tugged off your mittens, stuffing them in your jacket pocket, and reached out your hand to shake.

“I’m Mel,” she spoke softly. “Nice to meet you.

You returned the greeting. She seemed nice enough. For now. First impressions meant nothing in this world. Everyone could act kind until they weren’t. You’d been fooled one too many times to take that sort of chance again. The moment she let go of the hand shake, she turned to Tommy to repeat her introductions. Your guard was on high alert, trying to take stock of anything you could use as makeshift weapons and plot the best hiding spots. 

Joel slipped his arm around your waist. He could sense your worry and pressed his lips against the side of your head, smelling your hair, as he spoke. 

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled into your hair. “Tommy and I got this covered. We’ll hang out for the night. We can take turns staying awake so someone’s always on watch. Then we’ll be gone in the morning after the storm.”

“That sounds like some famous last words,” you grumbled. 

The three of you were led into the room off of the garage. A large wooden bar sat against the wall and you took note of the half filled bottles of alcohol cluttering the surface. 

“Maybe it won’t be so bad afterall,” you nodded to the drinks, giving Joel a cheeky wink. 

He hid a smile by scratching at his beard and turning to the new people, “What are y’all doing out this way?” 

A man with a baseball cap answered, “Oh, just passing through. You three live nearby?”

Tommy took that as an invitation to invite them back home to restock their gear. As if you wanted these people anywhere near your family. 

It was clear neither party really trusted the other. There was a tension in the air as each individual tried to make sense of the other. Both parties were searching for hidden dangers. Your eyes sought out everyone, studying them, trying to find their strengths and weaknesses. It was Abby quietly conversing with another man in the corner that caused your heart rate to spike. You didn’t like the way they were whispering. From behind, you could tell her body language was tight, nervous. Your stare stayed trained on the pair as they whispered back and forth. Even as they stood quietly in the shadows, trying to appear relaxed, you could tell she was mulling over something in her head. 

Your hand found Joel’s and you gave it a small squeeze. You leaned in closer, standing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe we’re better off risking it in the snow? We can find some place to stay that’s not here.” 

Before he could reply, Tommy was throwing around more introductions. 

“I’m Tommy,” he announced to the group. He was too calm for your liking. Too friendly. Something was wrong. This wasn’t right. They had to leave. “This is my brother…Joel. And this is his partner-”

You couldn’t hear his introduction of you. You were too busy watching the change in Abby. The entire room fell silent. Her shoulders tensed. Her jaw tightened, flexing subtly as she ground her teeth together. Her back straightened up to attention and she shifted the shotgun in her hands.

You knew it the second Joel did. 

This was bad. 

“Y’all act like you’ve heard of us or somethin’,” he muttered, trying in a last ditch effort to soothe out the peace. His arm instinctively pushed you protectively behind him just as gun shot rang out. 

“That’s because we have,” Abby said as the trigger was pulled. 

You let out a scream of terror, watching Joel yell in pain, his leg shooting out from under him, and tumbling to the ground. 

“Joel!” You collapsed down to his side, throwing your body protectively over his head to block him from any more bullets. 

“No!” Tommy shouted. 

Two men were on him before he could even move. They pinned his arms down, throwing him back against the bar, and struggled to hold him steady while he thrashed wildly against them. You couldn’t help him. You refused to leave Joel. All you could do was watch in horror as Tommy was bashed repeatedly in the top of the head with the grip of a pistol until he went limp. You had no idea if he was dead or knocked out. Thick lines of blood trailed out from under his hairline and waterfalled down his vacant face. 

You reached for the knife hidden in your back pocket. The second someone grabbed your arms, you slashed out, making contact with someone’s cheek. 

But there were too many of them and so little of you. 

The knife was wrestled out of your grasp. You were being dragged away from Joel with two men clamping down tightly to your arms and throwing you up against a window. The back of your head bounded against the glass pane causing a shooting pain to ricochet through your brain. 

“No!” You could hear Joel cry, his voice deep with worry. “Get off her! Don’t fucking touch her!”

He struggled to get up but his leg was useless under him. Blood spurted from his thigh and soaked into his tattered jeans. He tried to take down the person closest to him but all it took was a bullet whizzing by your left ear, instantly deafening that ear, and shattering through the window behind your head for him to stop. 

The howling wind burst through the broken, jagged hole to swirl snow around the room. The cold caught in your lungs, mixing with your panic, to make it difficult to breathe. You gasped for air, eyes watering, as you stared helplessly back at Joel. The look of anguish you found staring back at you was enough to break your heart. He knew you had been right. He knew he should have listened. They couldn’t trust these people. He knew. 

But it was too late. 

It took two men to pin his arms up against the back wall as if they were about to crucify him. His ragged, angry breaths filled the room to meld together with the howling wind. 

“Don’t hurt her,” he panted out with a hiss of pain. “Don’t hurt her. Me. Hurt me. Not her.” 

It was hard to hear him. You reached your hand up to cup over your left ear where the bullet had shot past. You could feel the stickiness of blood leaking from your burst eardrum. Subtly, you tilted your right ear towards him so you could better understand what they were saying. 

Abby had leaned down in front of him. She was breathing nearly as heavily as he was. Fury etched into her every crease and a burning hatred scalded Joel in her sights. 

“Joel Miller,” she whispered. Not asking. Not confirming. A statement.

“Who are you?” He shot back. 

“Guess.” 

Your eyes slipped close with dread. You knew Joel had no idea who this woman was. Joel’s past was filled with all colors of evil. She could have been anyone. It didn’t matter who she was or what Joel had done to her. Everything he’s ever done to survive, every horror, every act of ruthless murder would be flashing before his eyes right this very moment. He could pick any one out at random and it would be enough for someone to want revenge. He didn’t care who she was. She had her reasons and she was probably right for wanting his life. His past was bound to catch up to him eventually. He was just sad you had to be here to bear witness to his end.

The resignation you saw settle slowly onto his face was enough to push the tears stifled in your eyes down your cheeks. 

“Why don’t you say whatever speech you got rehearsed and get this over with,” he spat out at her with a scowl. “I’m the one you want. Neither of them ever did anything to you. They’re innocent and deserve to live. Kill me and be done with it.”

“No!” You cried, begging them for his life. “No! Please. Please. I need him. Please. Don’t do this.” 

Joel turned to your cries and gave you a half hearted smile. If they killed him, the one they were clearly looking for, then there was a chance that you could go free. If there was a chance to save you, he would take it. Always. 

Abby took notice of the look on his face when he stared back at you. She turned between the two of you and a dark smile grew across her face. She stood up, walking from Joel over to you. 

The move was all it took for Joel’s panic to immediately kick in, “Wait, stop! Leave her out of this! I’m the one you want!” 

Abby grabbed a fistful of your hair and jerked your head back to expose your neck. She leered back at Joel, “Do you love her?”

He tried to lunge forward to reach them but was held back by the men. The blood loss from his leg was making him weak. You could see the color paling from his face. His eyes were turning bloodshot. 

“Leave her alone!” He shouted, his voice coming out like a pained roar. “She didn’t do anything to you!”

Abby tossed your head back and walked over to the bag of golf clubs at your side. You watched her browse through each one before pulling out the one she wanted. She held it up to the light from the broken window to admire the view. 

“I said,” she whispered, the sound deadly. “Do you love her?”

A scream of rage ripped out from Joel’s throat, “Yes! Fuckin’ dammit, yes! I love her!”

A look of sorrow flashed across Abby’s face like she wasn’t entirely sure this was the plan she originally wanted to go through with. She down at you with regret, “Then I’m sorry to do this. It’s not your fault. But revenge is revenge. An eye for eye, if you will.” 

You swallowed, eyes widening as you stared at the end of the golf club, realizing exactly what was about to happen but being useless to stop it. 

You were not going to leave this cabin alive. 

“Joel Miller killed someone I loved,” she sighed. “I am going to kill someone he loves.” 

“No!” Joel screamed. From behind Abby, you could see him thrashing violently against the men. He caught one of their hands in his mouth and bit down as hard as he could, mauling his head to the side with a jerk, as the sound of snapping bones echoed through the freezing air. The man shouted in pain as his finger was nearly ripped straight from his hand thanks to the death grip Joel had with his teeth. 

Another gun shot rang out to silence everyone. This time it flew over Joel’s head and the bullet lodged into the back wall. 

“Enough!” Abby shouted. “Hold him down, dammit.”

“Then hurry up and get this over with!” The man standing at your shoulder yelled back. “Before he bites off more of Jordan’s fucking fingers.” 

The sound of your cracking skull was all you could hear as the club came straight down to make perfect contact with the top of your head. You hadn’t even seen her lift it over her to strike. You had been too busy trying to keep Joel in your sights.  

You slumped forward, falling onto your knees and holding yourself up with your arms. 

“Joel,” You mumbled through the delirium setting in. Your brain was rattled. Hot blood washed away your blurring vision until all you could see was red. “Joel…stay…me…with me…stay…”  

Wack. 

Crunch. 

Wack. 

Splash. 

Your breath strained in heaving, gasping wails as your brain function rapidly declined. Blood showered down around you, seemingly falling from the sky like rain drops on a dreary evening. It reminded you of the way rain clings to the leaves to roll down their waxy surface and drip in warm drops down onto your forehead. A pleasant, familiar feeling. If you looked skywards, you wouldn’t see a ceiling, but a forest canopy of wet, green leaves. 

Your arms shook under your weight to hold you up and pushed you back into a kneeling position. Your body swayed on unsteady legs, unable to focus on any one particular part of the room. The socket of your eye had been shattered. Your eye bulged in your head and hung loosely out of your skull. 

You remembered the first time you found Joel. Over a decade ago. Smuggling supplies back and forth into the Boston quarantine zone. He had hated you. Thought you were annoying and never shut up. You’d pester him with a million questions, desperate to learn all his survival techniques. Somehow he never managed to shake you from his gasp. At some point along the way, you had weaseled your way into his hardened exterior and made a home inside his heart. He could complain all he wanted. He enjoyed your company.

Crack.

Your body gave out. You slumped onto your side. 

From this position you could make out the hazy vision of Joel through your one working eye. There were tears streaming down his face. You’d never really seen him cry before. Not like this. His mouth hung open in a scream but you could no longer hear what was being said. You didn’t need to hear to know he was wailing out in agony for you. This was the kind of torture being inflicted on him that was meant to destroy his soul. This was worse than his own death. This was going to break him. 

Oh, Joel. 

He was on his stomach, arm outstretched, desperately trying to reach you. 

You remembered the late nights of sitting around a campfire, with a cup of stale, weak coffee shared between you two, out in the woods. Joel always hated campfires at night. They were dangerous, easy to be seen, but you had convinced him to give it a try just this once. Just long enough to heat up your coffee. The coffee had tasted watery and bitter but his lips tasted sweet and soft. The risk of the fire was worth watching the way the warm orange glow danced across his skin. 

Your fingers twitched out to reach for him. 

If only you could touch him. 

One last time. 

You stretched your arm as far as you could. 

Crack. 

You were reaching blindly. Both your eyes are gone now. No sounds. No sights. No pain. Only Joel.  

In the darkness, you reached for him. 

His calloused tipped fingers brushed across your bloody hand. He was only close enough for your fingertips to reach but they laced together the best you were able. 

A smile flashed onto your dying lips. 

Crack. 

You didn’t need to see him to know him. 

His face exploded behind your blinded vision to greet you in the dark. Always sweaty and covered in dirt. Salt and peppered hair. Eyebrows tugged low in a permanent frown. The slope of his strong nose. Pouted lips peeking out from under his unkempt beard. The frown lines etched into his forehead that would soften whenever he caught sight of you. The warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around your body to keep you safe from the chilly nights. 

His quiet whispers of “I love you” spoke into your ear when he thought you were sleeping. 

He hardly ever said those words out loud to you when you were awake but he never had to. You could see his love through his every action. 

Even now. 

His last act of love he could ever give you was to fight against his restraints and reach far enough for his fingers to graze yours. So you knew you weren’t alone. So he could keep as safe as he was physically able to. 

So he could touch you one last time. 

I love you, Joel Miller. 

Crack.

This was fun a little side step away from my usual beloved Andrew Garfield muse. I don't think I'll write for Joel much in the future. Not because I don't adore him but because I just write for a different fandom and struggle to do both at the same time. But I enjoyed a little peek into some Joel angst for my Sunday afternoon.

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER SEVEN: Downward Spiral

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After agreeing to go on a date with Matt, you start realizing the weight of your decision, and your thoughts begin spiraling. In a moment of need, you turn to the only close friend you have in Hell's Kitchen, hoping she can pull you away from the edge of the very steep cliff your trauma is trying to throw you into.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST (the caps feel appropriate here), mentions of domestic violence, suicidal thoughts, allusions to a suicide attempt, allusions to sexual assault, mentions of being taken advantage of by a superior, (I guess you could say) mentions of hypersexuality, self-loathing, PTSD, some foreshadowing, mental breakdown, alcohol, Season 1 related plot (spoilers)

Word Count: 6.4k

A/n: Surprise! I'm posting early because I'm going to see my family this weekend, and after I had an epiphany at two in the morning and spent 3 days writing this, I got it done, and I'm actually quite proud of this (or maybe it's the caffeine). Anyway, heed the warnings because the topics of conversation in this are pretty dark. That's why I highlighted the angst. And if you haven't watched past episode 1 of Season 1, this might spoil some things for you. (Also, I have no idea how this turned into a beast with a word count over 6k. Sorry in advance.)

Read Chapter 7: Downward Spiral here on AO3

You don’t know what came over you.

You typed in Matt’s number in a moment of weakness, and once you heard his voice through the line, you gave up on being careful. You gave up on denying yourself what you’re so desperately craving, and you abandoned all rational thought.

For him.

You promised not to get attached to someone ever again—let alone a man. You started a new life in Hell’s Kitchen to find your way back to normalcy. You took all the necessary precautions, and even though you look back at the shreds of your old life every day, you are never going back.

Two years. That is the longest you have managed to stay in one place ever since you left California. But you still haven’t found your way back into the real world.

You have been guarding yourself, afraid of having your heart broken, afraid of losing this chance at a new life, and afraid of the man who ruined you. 

Every time you close your eyes, you see his face. You hear his voice in the back of your mind. He’s everywhere, even when you don’t want him to be. 

It’s easier to put a wall between yourself and everyone else. A wall no one can break through, not even yourself. You trapped your soul for the sole purpose of keeping yourself alive after you made the hardest decision of your life. When you ran, you believed your life was over, but you have always been too much of a coward to end your misery. God knows you’ve tried, but even a trained doctor can’t fully understand death, and some things just don’t work out the way we want them to. 

Drunken one-night stands can’t possibly compare to a meaningful emotional connection, but they satisfy the need for physical intimacy. At least for a little while. It killed you; slowly, almost pathetically, but sleeping with strangers in dirty motel rooms did a better job than you ever could. 

For the longest time, you used sex as a coping mechanism. You let strange men use you because that is the only way you know how to be with someone else. You let them hurt you to feel something, anything because pain is better than feeling nothing at all. But when you finally got settled in Hell’s Kitchen, thanks to Claire, you stopped. 

You locked up your heart and threw away the key. You started to shield your body the same way you have shielded your soul. You retreated into a shell of restlessness and constant fear of every little sliver of hope you feel being taken away from you. 

You have nowhere else to run, which is why keeping a low profile is so important to you, but after two years, don’t you deserve to finally live? 

We don’t exist to just survive; we exist to live the life we were given. You are Olivia Clarke now, not the broken girl you left behind, but every time you think about it, his voice returns and backs you into a corner that you can’t escape from. 

Every time you see the scars on your body, all you want to do is rip the skin off your bones and feed it to the dogs. 

The men you slept with while you were running from your past saw you as a mere object, and you are used to being seen that way, but it was isolating nonetheless. They didn’t care about your scars, they only cared about what you could give them. They treated you like he did without lifting a finger. 

Even though you don’t do that anymore, it still weighs heavy on your wounded soul. 

Matt treats you like a person. He can’t physically see, but he still sees you. He sees you in a way no one has ever seen you before. And he is gentle, and patient, and—

You scream into your pillow. Your nose still hurts, but it is nothing compared to how fast your heart is beating. 

To you, Matt is perfect. You know that no one can be perfect, and you should be careful, but he makes you feel things you have long denied yourself. He makes you feel wanted. Desired. Like you can be yourself around him and still be worthy of his attention. Like you matter. And he has a certain way of being around you that makes you feel protected, almost. 

You don’t need protection. You have made it this far without a bodyguard by your side. You know how to fight your own battles better than most, but you can’t deny that you wouldn’t mind being saved by him. 

You wouldn’t mind those hands he always wraps around his cane to wrap around you instead. He can’t see your scars, but he can feel them, and as terrifying as that thought sounds, it also excites you. 

You’re treading dangerous territory, but God, he won’t leave you alone, not even when you’re trying to sleep. He could offer you a sense of normal that you have long missed. He could teach you how to be a person again. And maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself be cared for by him. 

You roll back onto your back when you need to breathe, one of your hairs getting stuck to your lip. You let out an annoyed huff. There won’t be much sleeping tonight, you’re sure. Not when you keep thinking about tomorrow.

“You’re not fifteen anymore,” you mutter to yourself. “What is wrong with you? God!”

It’s almost too surreal to believe that this magnetic force of a man managed to retrieve some of your long-lost hope, and he only had to call you beautiful once for you to be completely smitten. 

When he allowed you to take care of his injuries on the first day you met, you didn’t think a person could be this guarded yet so vulnerable at the same time. He’s breaking under an invisible weight that must have been on his shoulders for years, maybe even decades. You’re painfully aware of other people’s feelings, and it wasn’t hard to tell that Matt carries a lot of unresolved pain with him. Always. He reminds you so much of yourself, it’s like staring into a mirror. Two broken halves of a whole. 

Your thoughts won’t stand still, no matter how hard you try. You’re stuck inside an invisible hourglass. Not even heaven knows what will happen once time runs out. You don’t understand why you’re overthinking this while, at the same time, knowing exactly why. And you hate it. 

There is a part of you that you can never get back. A little girl who grew up too fast. A girl who didn’t know any better. A broken teenager who wanted nothing more than to escape and live a better life than her parents could ever give her, and when she did manage to escape one hell, she found herself in a new quarter of purgatory built just for you.

You used to think that maybe you just bring the worst out in people, but after seeing the worst of humanity outside of your broken relationships, too, you’re not so sure about that anymore.

The fact that you don’t understand why you can’t stop your usually so intelligent brain from spinning out of control makes you want to claw at the walls of your apartment that threaten to cave in on you.

Part of you wants nothing more than to run and never look back, but you can’t run forever. This time, you wouldn’t be running from the Devil; you would be running from a fear of your own feelings. Human feelings. Feelings that have a high likelihood of recurring, and then you will have to run again. 

You can’t run from reality forever. It’s a different reality now, but it’s a better reality. That is a rational thought, but being rational currently has no place in your mind, so you’re spiraling, and all because a nice guy asked you out for coffee. 

You find yourself in a cab a few minutes later, wearing a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized shirt, with an untouched bottle of wine in your bag. Your worn-down sneakers are not the appropriate footwear for today’s weather, but you couldn’t be bothered to pick another pair. 

You’re aware that it’s late and maybe you should have texted, but you’re already here, and Claire told you that you could always come to her, even if it happens to be the middle of the night. If the rule still stands after she suddenly decided to stay at your co-worker’s place without a proper explanation, you’re not quite sure though. 

You knock. At first, no response. You knock again. The floorboards creak on the other side of the door. 

“Claire, it’s Liv,” you call out.

You can hear the exact moment the person inside the apartment starts to panic. The floorboards creak again, more frequent this time, and it sounds almost as if Claire is turning the room upside down. You raise your eyebrows. 

Before you can knock again, the lock finally clicks, and she opens the door. She’s more of a mess than you are, and that is put lightly.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Claire greets you. “What are you doing here?”

You blink a few times. “Hello to you too?”

She sighs. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night.”

“I can see that,” you answer. “Are you alright?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She looks you up and down. “What happened to your nose?”

“It’s a long story.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Can I, uh, come in?”

She hesitates before stepping aside to let you in. “Sure.”

You take a quick look around the apartment. Nothing seems out of place. A bowl of cat food stands in the corner by the kitchen. The window in the living room is open, but it seems intentional. 

The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air. You’re not sure if your nose is betraying you as you breathe in, but the smell is familiar. Bandages, disinfectant, and salve. You don’t want to question it, but you can’t help it. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” you ask. 

Claire blows her nose behind you. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was actually sick. She shakes her head upon hearing your question, but there is a faint blush on her cheeks. 

“What makes you think that?” she retorts. 

“Oh, no particular reason. It just smells very… hospital-y. That’s why I asked.”

“I, uh, I had to put a bandage on my leg earlier ‘cause this stupid cat decided to scratch me after peeing everywhere.” She sniffs. “Had to clean the wound, that thing—“ she nods toward the cat sitting in the cat tree, “and then the apartment. Maybe that’s why.” 

You follow her gaze toward the little furball resting on his cat tree. You approach him, but Claire seems less pleased at the prospect. 

“Be careful. He’s pissed.”

“At you,” you correct her. “Also, you’re having an allergic reaction, and—if he really, honest-to-God scratched you—very probably an infection. Why are you even staying here?”

Your voice rises in pitch when you reach the sleeping cat. “Hello, you.” You stroke his fur. He only opens one eye to sniff you, but once he recognizes you, he starts purring. For a moment, you forget the reason why you even came here. 

Claire exhales loudly. She scratches her neck, her skin threatening to break out into hives. “It’s a long story,” she says. 

You glare at her over your shoulder, your hand still stroking up and down the cat’s back as he settles back into a deep sleep. “I’m worried about you."

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.”

“You called out of work and told Shelly you were sick.” You straighten up and turn back to face her. “You’re not sick, Claire.”

She sniffs as if to prove her point.

“Your immune system is overreacting by producing Immunoglobulin E. The antibodies are traveling to the cells responsible for releasing chemicals into your body, causing you to get a stuffy nose and break out into hives. You’re not sick. You’re allergic to cats and sharing an apartment with one. There’s a big difference,” you state. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but you have to admit that, from where I’m standing, your behavior looks a little suspicious.”

“I’m going through some shit, alright?” she says. “And it’s a lot easier to deal with them here than back at my place. That’s why I called in sick.”

You don’t know what to make of her answer. It’s vague. You don’t like vague answers because they often indicate a bigger problem. It is one thing for you to deal with your demons on your own and refuse to talk about it with your best friend; it’s another thing entirely to keep a dangerous truth from the person you’re closest with, one that could potentially lead to worse consequences. If Claire were a naturally secretive person, maybe you would understand, but she isn’t like that. She isn’t you. 

She’s the only person who knows your entire story. She saved your life. You can’t imagine her keeping secrets from you that might end up hurting her. 

You dare to ask, “Are you in danger?”

She shakes her head a little too fast. “I’m fine, Liv. Really.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that.”

“It’s…personal.”

“Personal? Oh, my. Are you sleeping with Luke again?”

Claire stammers. The look on her face suggests that she didn’t expect you to jump to that conclusion. “What? How did you even–”

“Are you?” you repeat your question. 

The last time she slept with Luke Cage, she lied to you about it. She knew you would worry. It’s only natural for you to come to that conclusion now. Except that Luke is in prison, serving his sentence, and it doesn’t make sense. 

“How would I sleep with an incarcerated man?” Claire deadpans. 

“I’m sure you have your ways,” you say. 

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“That’s… true, but it’s coming from a place of love.”

She responds with a sigh. “I don’t wanna fight.”

You join in. You exhale, slowly lowering yourself down on the couch. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “Just tell me you’re okay, please.”

She offers you a gentle smile. “I’m okay,” she says. 

“Thank you.” 

You choose to believe her. For the time being, at least. 

The silence tugs at your brain cells. You obsessed over Claire’s situation because you didn’t want to face your own, but now that your thoughts have regained the freedom to roam and cause irreversible destruction, you start spiraling again. 

You reach into your bag. 

“You brought wine,” Claire points out. 

“Yep,” you say. The bottle weighs heavily in your hand.

“You need a glass?”

You unscrew the top. “No.”

She doesn’t listen. Claire makes her way into the kitchen, reaching for the wine glasses in the cupboard. “Does this have anything to do with why your nose is all blue and swollen?” 

You shake your head at her question. “That was a patient I tried to sedate. No, I, uh… I have a date,” your voice falls flat. 

The wine glasses move back into the cupboard. Claire turns around, her eyebrows moving up to her hairline. “Come again?”

“I have a date.”

Saying it out loud makes it real. Something so surreal cannot be real, but it is. You have a date with Matt Murdock. Your heart begins racing again, and you feel the same desperate urge to scream into the nearest pillow again. 

You take a sip of wine straight from the bottle. You have a date with a nice man who, for the first time in two years, made you see some resemblance of light at the end of this endless tunnel of despair, and the thought alone is terrifying. Because how are you supposed to live after just existing for the longest time? After you dedicated your life to the act of survival?

Claire steps out of the kitchen and in front of you. “Liv, that’s… that’s amazing!” she says. She sounds like a proud mother. Maybe she is. 

You want to shake your head, but you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than put the bottle back against your lips and take another sip. The alcohol burns down your esophagus into your stomach, spreading a warm feeling through your fragile body, and into your broken soul. 

“Or not,” she corrects herself upon seeing the expression you’re carrying. Your eyes are empty. “I’m confused,” She pauses, “Are we not happy about the fact that you’ve finally got a date after two years of being miserable?”

If she puts it like that, you feel even more miserable. Another sip of wine finds its way down your throat. 

“Okay, maybe you should put the bottle down. I’m sorry if I said something wrong–”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” You put the bottle down. 

Claire sits down next to you, but you get up before she can take your hand and look at you with that caring look she always gives you when she’s worried. You’re not even mad that she played your concerns down when you expressed them and now she is expressing concerns about you; you’re mad at yourself. 

She watches you. “You have a date. That’s a good thing. It means you allowed yourself to finally say yes to someone interested in you, right?”

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You’re pacing over the creaky floorboards. “The last time I went on a date with someone was after my intern year.”

Her gaze softens. “You told me that,” she murmurs. 

“He took me to a restaurant,” you tell her. Your lip quivers as you speak, and your nails dig into your palms until they draw blood. You can barely feel it. His face is right in front of you. “It was a nice restaurant. He paid for me, even offered me his jacket while we were walking home. It was the best date I ever had. And then he kissed me on the doorstep before wishing me a good night.”

“I know. You told me all of that before. But you couldn’t have known that he would turn out to be who he turned out to be. He was your boss. He had no right—”

“That is precisely the problem, Claire!” your voice breaks. “The guy I met, he’s… his name is Matthew. He’s… he is so nice to me. He cares. He treats me like a human being. He… he’s respectful. He called me beautiful. I don’t even know how he knows that. He just… he was so nice to me, and I feel so comfortable around him. I haven’t felt this comfortable around a man in so long. I… I wanted to go out with him. I flirted with him, for fuck’s sake! And when I’m with him, I finally feel wanted again.”

“But you know who else was nice to me when I first met him?” you say. “Who was respectful? Who said I was the only real thing in this world, the only important thing in his life, and that he loved me? You know who made me feel safe and wanted, and who said he cared about me? John said that I was the most beautiful woman on this planet, and I fell for it because he was nice to me. He–”

“But that guy isn’t John,” Claire cuts you off. She raises her voice only slightly—only enough to make you stop and stare at her, tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re miserable. You’re a mess. It is truly embarrassing. But she doesn’t look at you any differently.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap back. 

“Liv–”

“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I’m 32, and I can’t sleep without a nightlight most nights because I wake up in a cold sweat. I can’t drop a glass without going into shock. I can’t look in the mirror without feeling his hands on me. Without feeling disgusting and worthless, and…” You can feel the shiver traveling up your spine from the thought alone. “I can’t exist without feeling like he should have killed me when he got the chance.” 

“Liv, I know you’re upset, but please, don’t say that,” Claire says, her voice gentle yet assertive.

“Why? It’s true. I wish he would’ve killed me. He took four years of my life that I can never get back. At least if he’d killed me I wouldn’t have to suffer now.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want you saying things like that.”

“You don’t get it,” you say. “Every time I look in the mirror, I want to vomit because I see what he made of me. I can’t even meet a nice guy and allow myself to like him without seeing his face and hearing his stupid voice in my ear, telling me—telling me that no one will ever love me, that he tainted me, and that I will never be free of him because I can’t exist without him.” You break into a sob. 

“And he was right, you know,” you cry. “I ran from him. I made the hardest decision of my life after years of living in his shadow, and I almost died. Because of him, I can’t trust a kind and respectful man who treats me like a person to actually be kind, and I recoil at the thought of someone being gentle with me. Something is seriously broken inside of me, Claire. Very, very broken.”

Claire opens her mouth, but all she can do is bear your tirade. She knows that if she speaks now, you will find another reason to shut her down. This is your pain talking. It’s a powerful avalanche set out to cause destruction on a global scale.

“With Matt, I—” you exhale. “I was myself around him for the first time since I ran away, and he didn’t shy away. I had hope, Claire. I felt like I could finally step into normal life again after settling down here, and I thought I’d have a chance,” you say. “But I just have to close my eyes, and John is right there to ruin everything for me. He is always right there, and I can’t fucking escape him. That’s the problem. That’s why I can’t be happy about this date because I’m fucking terrified. I can’t go through this again. I—I can’t give myself to someone again because there is hardly anything left of me. He took everything, including my ability to love another man ever again, and that thought is fucking with my head.”

You fall silent. The tears continue running down your cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands. Your knees are so weak. You don’t have it in you to hold yourself up any longer. You drop to the carpet, crying into your hands, but you don’t sob. You stay silent because your pain is so great, you don’t know whether to scream or shut down, so you scream internally and shut down from the world around you because you can’t face it. You can’t face Claire. 

The couch creaks. Her feet brush against the carpet. “He abused you,” her voice borders above a whisper. 

She kneels beside you, her hand reaching out—but not touching you. She knows what lines to cross and which to better leave untouched.

“What he did to you wasn’t your fault. He’s a cruel man with cruel intentions.” When you don’t shy away from her proximity, she finally places her hand on your shoulder. “You did the impossible. You survived. You’re here now because you chose to save yourself, and that is so admirable,” she says. “It’s been two years. You’re safe here, you’re not alone anymore, and I know it hurts and it is terrifying, but it’s a good sign that you want to feel more of what this guy made you feel.”

“But I can’t,” you choke out. 

“I know, and I wish I could help you, but I’m not a professional. The truth is, John may have made you feel like there is nothing left of you, but you’re not Olivia Clarke. You’re still you. You’re still…” Claire takes a deep breath before she utters your name. Your real name. The one you were given when you were born. 

The mention of your name makes you shiver. “She’s gone,” you say. “He killed her, but he left her body alive.”

“She’s not gone, she’s just buried very fucking deep. I mean, you said it yourself. You could be yourself around this other guy, and he took you for who you are. That isn’t Olivia, that’s you. And it’s such a good sign that you want to go out with him. That you like him. John hurt you, but he didn’t break you beyond repair. Please, you have to remember that.”

Your tears slowly subside. Her words finally manage to reach your rebelling mind through your ears. Even though everything feels like it has been wrapped in cotton, she manages to get through to you like no one else. It was a subconscious decision to come to her, but perhaps your soul knew something that you didn’t, and you can’t say that opening up didn’t help. 

The mess slowly subsides. Left behind is nothing but hot air, and the words Claire decided to share with you. 

You look up to meet her eyes. She smiles down at you. “I just… I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whisper.

“That’s why I think you should go on that date,” she tells you.

“Yeah, but who wants to sign up for a mess like me?”

“Seems like he does. And if he’s a good guy, he’ll like you regardless of your mess.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

She shrugs. “I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pretend it never happened. And you can’t give John the satisfaction of putting your life on hold because of him. That’s just giving him what he wants.”

“I don’t want to give him what he wants,” you’re quick to answer.

Claire hands you a tissue, and you take it gratefully, wiping your runny nose and the salty tears stuck to your dry skin.

Her words stir something within you; even though you don’t want her to be right, she is. Matt may not deserve a mess like you, but if he’s truly a good guy, it can’t hurt to see if it would work between you. And when your past comes out eventually, there is a chance that he won’t abandon you. A slight chance, but a chance nonetheless. That’s a positive outlook you still have to learn how to adapt.

“C’mon.” Claire helps you off the floor and onto the couch. 

You reach for the bottle of wine instantly, but she takes it away from you. She screws the top back on and places it aside, far out of your desperate reach.

“This is not the answer,” she says, “talking is.”

“Can’t we talk and have wine?” you counter.

“Not when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

You sniff, wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks with the tissue. 

“We need to take care of you, and alcohol won’t fix your problems.”

Once again, she isn’t wrong. You let out a defeated sigh before dropping your head in her lap. 

A long time ago, you used to be an affectionate person. The fear of being hurt again, of someone raising their hand against you, took that away from you. With Claire though, it’s different. You know she won’t hurt you. She’s not that kind of person, and you can say that with complete certainty. 

Claire Temple is not a violent human being, except for when the people she loves are in danger, but only then. 

She gently brushes the hair out of your face and crumbles it into a messy bun at the back of your head. She wipes at your nose and the last of your tears before they can dry out your skin more than it already is. The past couple of days have taken an emotional and physical toll on you. 

You wince slightly when you notice how sore your nose is. It isn’t broken, but you still got hit. You’re not quite healed yet. A shiver rolls down your spine. 

Shaking her head, Claire gently removes her hand. “You always get yourself in trouble when I’m not around,” she mutters. 

You scoff softly. “Maybe that’s a sign.”

“A sign for you to be more careful, yeah,” she says. 

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” You try to joke, but your voice falls flat with the weight of your exhaustion. 

Claire offers you a chuckle, but it’s more of a pity laugh than anything else.

You sigh. You know that you’re not an example when it comes to the significance of making the right decisions. Not at all. 

“Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” you ask her then, breaking the silence between you in two.

She leans back against the cushions. “Once or twice.”

“Not nearly enough then.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, if you hadn’t come into Metro General with your hand in a man’s chest cavity, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to help you. You chose to stay.”

“Well, I had my hand on his vena cava, so, letting go would have been unfortunate for the poor guy.”

“That’s true.”

“But if you hadn’t disobeyed protocol, risking your job by putting your trust in me, I wouldn’t have had a reason to stay.”

Claire looks down at you, and you meet her eyes. “That sounded a lot like a love confession,” she nudges you.

You roll your eyes playfully. “You wish.”

“Hey, I’d understand it if you were in love with me. I’m hot.”

She never fails to make you laugh, even when you feel like a truck has rolled you over and broken every bone in your body. That is one of the many qualities you value about her. She’s a good person with a good heart, and she is the kind of person you could trust with your life and she would always make sure that you come out on the other side unharmed, mentally and physically. 

If she hadn’t taken you under her wing, you’re not sure where you would be, but it surely wouldn’t be where you are now.

When your laughter quiets down, you nod. “I can’t argue with that. You are hot. If you weren’t my friend,” you say, “I’d ask you out.”

“And if I were into women, I’d say yes,” she says. 

“I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of dates though–” She stops when you sigh a little too loudly. Claire shoots you a stern glare before she continues, “Promise me you won’t cancel.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. She wants you to mean it. You won’t lie; canceling your plans with Matt did cross your mind, but after Claire worked her magic on you, you can see a little clearer. The fog that kept your mind clouded has started to lift slowly but steadily. You’re no longer spiraling as fast as you have before. 

If you could wash your hands and wash him off of you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem as it is, but you’ve tried. You have tried washing all memory of him off of your body, out of your mind, but he’s a resilient son of a bitch. John will always try to drive a wedge between you and a normal, happy life, the question is just if you will allow him to do so without even being near you, or if you will finally allow yourself to crawl out of the dark hole he tossed you into. 

You can’t do it alone, and asking for help is terrifying. You have spent the past two years trying to push through. Unfortunately, your healthy coping mechanisms won’t work forever. 

You sigh again, a little quieter. “I won’t cancel,” you tell her, your voice barely above a whisper, yet still so very certain. As certain as you can be, anyway. 

“Thank you.” Claire reaches for the wine bottle next to the couch. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Hm,” you can only murmur. 

“What?”

“What are you doing with the bottle?” you ask. 

“Drinking,” she says. 

“Now I feel betrayed.”

“You should celebrate the fact that you found a Matt, or whatever his name is, and not another Mike.”

You promptly sit up. “Hold up. Pause. Rewind. Mike, like your ex?”

Claire takes a sip of the bottle. A storm rages behind her hazel eyes. You have never seen her that conflicted before. 

“Is he the personal reason why you’re subjecting yourself to a constant allergic reaction by staying here?” you ask. 

The pieces slowly start falling into place. She nods. “Not Mike Mike, but yeah. It’s always the Mike’s.”

Your jaw drops. “I feel like you skipped some chapters there. You met a guy and you didn’t tell me? What–”

“He met me,” she corrects you. “I didn’t tell you because we’re not a thing. Let’s just say there’s a reason his name is Mike. That’s why I’m here.”

Claire takes another sip. You watch her closely, trying to catch her in a lie, but it seems like she’s telling the truth—or a version of the actual truth, but that still makes it true. She’s giving you as much as she can after you cried your eyes out to her. 

You clear your throat, lowering your voice. “But you’re not in danger?” you ask to clarify. 

She shakes her head. “I just have shitty taste in men, even if it's platonic, apparently. It’s like… I’m trying to exist, and then I find a stray cat in a dumpster, but the stray cat has been stabbed and needs medical attention.”

“But you’re allergic to cats and you’re not a vet?” you try to make sense of her analogy. 

When she lets out a sigh and nods, you figure you came as close as possible. It still doesn’t make sense to you, but when does anything? At least when it comes to romance and people’s love lives.

You decide to push a little more, “Did you actually find an injured guy in a dumpster?” 

She shakes her head. The reaction comes a little fast, but you don’t question it. “No, that–that was just an analogy,” Claire says. 

“And Mike is the stray cat in that analogy? But not your Mike, another Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, you’re frying my brain cells.”

“The single one you still have, or did you buy new ones?”

You try not to laugh, trying to look like you are genuinely offended, but your lips still curl up into a smile. “Shut up,” you mutter. You reach for the bottle, against better judgment, and take a sip.

Claire shakes her head. “What I’m trying to tell you is that, if he’s a good guy, you can’t let him slip away. You can’t let a good thing slip away and possibly end up with a–a Mike kinda guy for the rest of your life.”

“I know.” You look down at your hands, your broken fingernails, and sore knuckles from the constant scrubbing. “I just wish I could understand what he’s doing to me without questioning my entire existence.”

“Some people are just that enigmatic,” and she sounds as if she knows exactly what she’s talking about. 

You wonder about Mike. Not her ex-boyfriend but the one she mentioned. He sounds like he has no sense of self-preservation, and he may not even be a good influence. He reminds you of yourself, and that’s creepy—you don’t even know him. 

And then there is Matt, who is also so eerily similar to you, but in different ways. It’s more of an emotional connection. His heart is in the right place. And unlike the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he doesn’t have a savior complex.

Why did he even come to your mind? His existence should not be playing into the equation. You brush the picture of his chiseled chest in that tight shirt away, or the way he looked even more dangerous with that smirk below the the mask. 

You hand the wine bottle back to Claire. If you don’t cut yourself off now, you will melt into a puddle of embarrassment. 

Your focus should be on Matt and Matt alone. You have to try. Claire was right. You can’t sacrifice your happiness because you’re scared—you can’t give the man who dedicated his life to breaking you and your confidence down the satisfaction of cowering in fear every time a man shows an interest in you. A good man. A man who could make you happier than he ever had. 

You won’t run this time. You will face the situation head-on. You owe that much to the little girl who dreamed of a life beyond the hell she grew up in, the same girl who was obsessed with finding her soulmate and still believed in true love. Above everyone, you owe it to yourself. No one else matters quite as much as you do. 

And for the sake of seeing what could be instead of wondering what could have been, you have to try.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Pomposo

Chapter Fourteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Sam, Dean/Jo, John/Kate, Adam, Ellen, Garth/Bess (in passing), Cas and Mary (mentioned)

Word Count: 4559

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining. MORE BACKSTORY AHEAD, story takes place currently in Dec 2017, flashback to Jan. 2004 in italics, talk of Sam's past use of hard drugs, hangovers, vomit, car accidents, injuries, character death, guilt, John was not so great a parent or husband, some paraphrasing of last chapter unbeta'd

Special shout out to @thoughtslikeaminefield who helped immensely on sorting out the backstory for this chapter too, way back when I started outlining this thing.

Series Masterlist

Sam settled on some old school soul music to start their road trip and Dean couldn’t even come up with a reason to complain. Aretha sang in the background and they headed east, the world was their oyster and all that. Dean held onto the small bit of smug satisfaction from the interview with Meg as the city disappeared behind them. She really wanted him to crack, but he hadn't and that gave him some hope for going home.

They veered north for a bit and continued on I-40 until they hit Flagstaff. Dean liked the mountains, the air was infinitely better than LA and there was something about spending the holidays where it got cold that made sense. Unfortunately, it was just an overnight stay. How they managed a room in the first hotel they tried, he’d never know. He just shuffled in with his duffel bag and his ball cap over his now sleep-sloppy hair. There was a player-piano in the lobby and Dean had the fleeting thought about how Cas was spending the holidays.

Maybe he’d try and leave him another message, it had been months.

Sam called Madison after dinner and Dean decided to check out the amenities in order to not have to watch Sam get all goopy. Dean hadn’t packed a bathing suit, but a gym’s a gym even if it’s just three treadmills, a stair climber and free weights. So, he jogged for a little bit, watching whatever passed for news. He forgot his earbuds in the room and it really wasn’t worth going back for, he was finding his groove even without music as a buffer to the world around him.

After a solid 5k, Dean stepped down to stretch. Which worked out because a couple in their fifties came in just as he started some curls, leaving the treadmills open for their evening stroll. They talked about their family, the wife explaining what she got each of their grandchildren and where they were supposed to be on which day. Perfectly normal people conversation, but something about it made Dean sad, so he tried to tune them out and focus on his reps.

Part of his life after Cain and Alistair was a loss of gym time. Sure, he could work out at home or even do laps around the neighborhood, but it wasn’t the hours in the ring or at the bag or with a jump rope full-body-punishment that he had worked himself up to. It was also a lot more peaceful, less reactionary. And Dean decided he would find a balance between stagnation and self-destruction. Twenty eighteen was just around the corner afterall.

Dean got back to the room in time to shower and crash. If they wanted to push it, they could make it to their Dad’s place the next day. But neither of them were in a hurry, even in Sam’s fuckboy Charger it was nice to be on the road together. Dean took the first stretch towards Albuquerque, but Sam called it in Santa Fe. He had thought ahead and booked them a hotel instead of chancing it again, which surprised Dean for some reason. Sam had gone and gotten to be responsible while Dean was busy fishing himself out of professional purgatory.

“You talk to Bela?” Sam asked as they waited for their pizza to be delivered. 

“Uh, she texted me that she landed at Heathrow, but not really. Why?” Dean asked after taking a sip of his beer.

“Wasn’t sure if you guys were doing the whole gift exchange thing,” Sam shrugged. “Madison made me wait until after we get back to give her hers.”

Dean chuckled. “I don’t want to know what you’re giving her, alright?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the innuendo. “Won’t people be asking about what you got her?”

Dean hadn’t really thought about it. “I guess I could ask Trouble for some ideas, see if she thinks it’s necessary we post about it. I don’t know, I was kind of hoping of forgetting about the whole thing until New Year’s at Elizabeth’s, you know?”

Sam leveled Dean with a glare. “You know Dad is gonna ask to meet her.”

Dean set down his beer. “Well it’s a good thing she’s halfway across the world then.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Mom loved that show,” Sam said thoughtfully.

He was right. Dean had completely forgotten about why he’d recognized Bela the first time they’d met at your housewarming party way back when. But, yeah, Mary had watched ‘Red Sky in the Morning’ every Tuesday night after she put them to bed. Once Dean reached junior high, he was able to persuade her to let him stay up and watch too.

“I can’t believe it was on as long as it was, it was fucking awful,” Dean said playfully.

“Yeah, but it was her escape,” Sam added gently.

Dean took a long pull off his beer. “I guess so.”

When Sam went to meet the delivery driver, Dean turned on the television, banking on some sort of Christmas special to take his mind off memory lane. They ate quietly, letting last minute sales commercials drown out their thoughts. Tomorrow they were going home, or as close to it as they had outside of LA. Dean felt lopsided over getting to see Adam, having to navigate his dad, and tiptoeing Kate’s well-meaning but invasive nature.

But that’s family for you, nothing more important than that.

Dean rolled over on the couch, something had woken him up and he was too hungover to let it win. But it didn’t stop, a trilling sound coming from his pants pocket, fuck, it was his phone. He cracked one eye open and checked the caller id.

He closed his eyes and answered. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Dean Winchester?” a harried voice asked, decidedly not Jo.

“Ellen?”

“Yeah, listen— there’s been an accident. Jo and Y/N were T-boned on Hound Drive last night. Can you come to the hospital? I just came home for a change of clothes, but I’m heading back there now.”

Dean sat up, liquor and a headache dulling his reflexes. “Ellen? What are they saying?”

“She’s in the ICU. I— we need you there.”

 Terror flooded Dean’s system, churning with a relentless guilt. Jo wouldn’t have been out so late if it wasn’t to see him. He swallowed. “Uh, of course. Do you want me to drive you? I can be there in ten minutes.”

“I’ll pick you up. I’ve got my truck, the roads are still a mess.”

“Right, okay, I’m at Dad and Kate’s— do you–”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Ellen? Be careful.”

“Don’t you start young man.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Ellen hung up.

Dean stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. He didn’t have time for a shower. Instead he grabbed his shaving kit and threw on a fresh layer of deodorant and brushed his teeth. He pounded three Advil with the water from one of those flowery Dixie cups Kate kept in a plastic dispenser on the counter. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, he knew how bad he must look. He stomped back into the living room and swapped his sweaty flannel for one that smelled neutral from his duffel. Adam showed up as Dean was shoving his boots on.

“Dean? Can I put on cartoons?”

He didn’t jump, Dean didn’t get scared of six-year-olds in footie pajamas. He was just on edge, was all.

“Knock yourself out,” Dean said.

“Where are you going?” Adam asked, stealing the afghan Dean had left on the floor.

“Uh, friend of mine had an accident, so I’m heading to the hospital. Can you tell Dad? I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“You can tell me yourself,” John’s voice pressed in behind Dean as he came in from the kitchen, mug of coffee in hand.

“Dad—,” Dean looked at his father, a man who had been on the road cheating on his mother for years. The same mother who died in a fire because John couldn’t bother to make sure to keep the electrical in their shitty double wide up to code. “It’s Jo. Ellen’s gonna take me to the hospital. Dad, I—”

John’s entire stance changed. “Go. Call when you know something. I’ll send Sammy when he’s up, he’ll know what to do.”

They both knew Sam couldn’t stop whatever was happening, but he’d keep Dean from causing a scene.

A car honked in the driveway.

“I gotta go. Thanks,” Dean brushed past his dad without even a glance at Adam.

Dean wouldn’t let Ellen drive, even hungover he trusted himself behind the wheel more than a desperate mother. She only pretended to argue before sliding across the bench seat and letting him in. The roads were a mess. In the thirty minute drive to the hospital, Dean saw another two cars in the ditch. Though, it was clear now in the morning sunshine, everything was blinding in its whiteness.

“Listen, you shut up and keep your head down. Let me do the talking,” Ellen warned him as they approached the reception desk.

“Hi, I’m Ellen Harvelle, I’m here to see my daughter Joanna? This is her fiance.”

Dean squirmed, but nodded at the nurse who looked at him like she wanted to reach over and hug him. “Of course, right this way.”

She led Dean and Ellen down a hushed hallway, the beeping of machines and huffing of ventilators the only sounds escaping the doorways as they passed. Dean looked around for a trash can, the painkillers in his stomach threatening to come back up. Ellen took his hand and pulled him into a room. 

Jo was hooked up to more machines than should have fit in the tiny room. Her hair was matted with blood and she was drowning in the hospital gown. Her beautiful face was swollen and red, the bruises still forming where she hit the passenger side window— or maybe that was the dashboard, Dean couldn’t tell she was so misshapen.

“Oh, Jo,” Dean’s voice broke. He stopped himself from saying anything as the nurse talked, but all he wanted to do was sob.

 He didn’t realize he had let go of Ellen’s hand until he was clenching the rail along Jo’s bedside. Ellen stood on the other side of her, carefully brushing the hair out of Jo’s beaten face. Her one arm was framed in a metal fixator, skin angry from where the bone sliced her open from the inside. Her leg was in a brace, but at least that meant those bones were more salvageable.

“What happened?” Dean said eventually, unsure of when the nurse left. He eyed the machines tracking Jo’s heart rate, but he wasn’t sure if the readings were good or bad.

“Someone was driving on the wrong side of the road— couldn’t see the lines and Y/N swerved to miss them, they spun out and the other car didn’t stop. They took her to surgery– her right knee was shattered.”

“Jo took the brunt of it,” Dean stated the obvious, still too terrified to reach out and touch Jo. She was suddenly so very fragile.

Ellen sniffed.

“They are watching for internal bleeding before they’ll operate. Her brain—," Ellen couldn’t finish.

“Hey,” Dean rushed around the bed and pulled Ellen against his chest, finally giving his hands something to do. “They’re doing everything they can.”

“It’s not enough,” Ellen argued.

“I know,” Dean agreed, squeezing her tighter.

Ellen pulled back and wiped her eyes, muttering to herself about going soft. Dean needed to give her a moment, hell, he needed a minute to catch his breath. He told her he was going to find coffee and she told him they had a waiting area down the hall. He nearly ran out of Jo’s room.

He checked his watch, it was just after ten o’clock. And as exhausted and hungover as Dean felt, he was pretty sure Ellen hadn’t slept at all after closing the bar. He wondered if she’d even made it home before getting the call. He found the coffee maker and pushed a button for something hot and thin and caffeinated. He wondered if Y/N had passed a breathalyzer, knowing how much Jo had been drinking didn’t make him certain her driver was much better off.

He was gonna be sick again.

He left the paper cup on the grate and fell into one of the stiff plastic chairs around the small table. He put his head between his knees and breathed, resting on his elbows. Dean counted the flecks in the white linoleum squares beneath his feet.

Nothing made sense. They were just getting started. Last night there was the impossible giddiness of seeing her in person after so long and now the unabashed horror of her mother sneaking him into the hospital as her fiance so he could see her before…

She was eighteen-fucking-years-old and he was going to lose her.

And it was all his fault.

He stared at the floor until he couldn’t anymore. The coffee was nothing more than a passing burn on the way to his knotted stomach. But he couldn’t stop the tears and he wouldn’t go back to Ellen until they were dry, she needed him to be better than that. When he couldn’t cry anymore and after he used his last single for a pack of peanut M&Ms, Dean went back to Jo’s room.

Ellen was asleep in an ugly mauve chair with her hand clutching Jo’s good ankle over the thin hospital blanket. Dean found another blanket from a CNA and tucked it around Ellen’s shoulders. He stood guard, through Ellen’s brief nap and the three o’clock shift change, even after Sam came by with lunch but left because he wasn’t allowed on the ward.

The seizures started around five and Ellen and Dean were asked to wait outside. Before six, she was wheeled away from them into emergency surgery and by seven she was gone. Dean had to hold Ellen back from slugging the surgeon. He caught her when she finally sank into reality, and somehow Dean found more tears.

Nothing felt real, least of all Dean himself.

Adam looked Dean in the eye and grinned.

“Get over here you little shit, I told you to stop growing the last time I saw you didn’t I?” Dean hugged his youngest brother hard, thumping him on the back as he rocked from foot to foot. “Good to see you, man.”

“You too,” Adam grunted out before Dean could release him.

Then came John, waiting for Dean as he walked through the front door. They didn’t say anything, just gave each other the once over and went in for the hug. John held him tight until he cleared his throat, stepping away from the vulnerable moment. Sam came in with his bags and hugged Kate first, who had been waiting in the hallway to the kitchen.

“Sammy,” John said, holding out his arms.

“Hey Dad,” Sam hugged with genuine warmth on his face, Dean never thought he’d see the day. But time does things to a person, and forgiveness was always Sam’s superpower.

“You boys hungry? I can reheat dinner, I know you’ve been on the road, wasn’t sure when you’d get in,” Kate offered as Dean went in for the obligatory hug. She had colored her hair, instead of her natural blonde it was a mature auburn, covering the gray and giving her a different air.

“Don’t worry about us, we can scavenge for something later,” Dean assured her. “I like your hair.”

That startled her. “Oh! Thank you, yeah I just figured I’d do something different for winter, you know.”

“Don’t she look good? I told her redheads are feisty,” John teased, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Gross,” Adam called on the way to the basement, where Sam had headed down to watch him finish his game.

“Beer?” John offered and Dean gladly accepted.

Arriving three days early was pushing their luck, Dean knew that, but there was nothing keeping him in LA. And after the novelty of catching up and last minute shopping in the tiny downtown of Mills’ Crossing, there wasn’t much more small talk to be had. 

Naturally, John started it. But it was over Sam that had Dean’s hackles up first. They were sitting down for a late lunch, having gone to church as a family for the first time since Kate and John got married when John made a comment about it was good to see Sam’s forearms ‘healthy��. 

What he meant was he was proud of Sam for kicking his habit, for staying clean. What John didn’t know was that Sam was so good at hiding it, Dean had to check between his toes before he finally got him into rehab the last time. Seven years since Sam had kicked it and John still needed to point it out.

The jam session that night seemed to clear the air. Adam had decided he was a drummer sometime after Dean and Sam’s first platinum album so John built him an entire soundproof room in the basement to go wild. Which meant the Winchester men were a full four piece, if they got to pick their parts. Dean abstained from playing lead because it was John’s house after all, but the old man’s hands weren’t what they used to be. And that gave Dean a little bit of satisfaction.

They rolled through the classics, even playing a couple of Phantom Traveler’s songs that didn’t rely too much on the keys. Dean made John sing though, laughing when he made up his own lyrics.

They ended the night with a drunken, almost punk rendition of Jingle Bell Rock after which Kate shut the lights out on them and told them to go to bed.

Christmas Eve was boring, Dean had gotten stir crazy and kept checking his phone. He knew you had gotten in the night before, but he couldn’t justify trying to hang out while you had such little time with your family as it was. Sam gave him a look and they started playing poker, teasing Adam that he needed to know every version of the game if he was gonna hold his own one day. 

Kate wiped the floor with them all.

They had eggnog and exchanged one round of gifts before going to bed, no expectations of Santa Claus or any set wake up time scheduled. It was just another day. Dean barely slept, anxiety churning inside him. He tried meditating. He even prayed, but God, who was understandably busy that night, didn’t save him. Because he woke up with a bug up his ass and, naturally, his father was the first one to point it out.

“You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?” John asked after Dean cursed at Adam’s obnoxious ringtone.

“Do a lot more with it than that,” Dean muttered before he could stop himself.

“Dean Winchester,” John snapped as if Dean was still sixteen, still living under his roof.

“Oh, come on, kids in college, he’s heard worse,” Dean griped, going back to his coffee.

It all went downhill from there. Naturally, Adam got the lion’s share of gifts. Sam and Dean didn’t need anything, but it was so uneven it looked like John and Kate didn’t even remember they were coming to visit. Meanwhile, John’s plasma screen had arrived two days earlier and Sam and Dean were tasked with installing it in the living room midmorning.

Nothing says family time like manual labor and micromanagement.

Dean started drinking before Kate had taken the ham out of the oven. And while Sam wasn’t exactly keeping track, Dean felt like he was asking for whatever bitchface he got next. He just couldn’t stop himself once he started snarking.

Adam was telling them about the musical composition class he had finished and how he had written something for a string quartet. 

“Our new keyboard player went to Julliard, you should send it to him,” Dean said off the cuff, before shoving some venison sausage in his mouth from the snack trays Kate put out.

“So you upgraded from Cas officially now?” John asked suspiciously.

“Dad, Cas left the band last spring, of course we made it official,” Sam cut in. John already knew this.

“I know, I just hoped you boys would work it out.”

Dean laughed darkly. “Nothing to work out. Dude left, we moved on.”

“And why did he leave exactly?” John goaded Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes, John was one to talk. He had pissed off half of all musicians between the Rockies and New Orleans before he hung it up.

“Let’s call it the Winchester temper and leave it at that,” Dean smiled without teeth, then popped more snacks into his mouth.

“Yeah, cuz the Campbell blood held only saints,” John muttered.

“Dad!” Sam admonished.

“That’s fucking rich! Talking about her when she’s not here to call you on your shit. I fucking punched Cas, alright?! You happy?! And who, DAD, taught me how to do that? Huh? Winchester temper. Not Campbell. That one was all from you.”

John stepped into Dean’s space, but spoke to Sam. “Sam, take your brother outside for a walk to cool down before dinner.”

Sam grunted in confirmation.

“Watch how you talk to me in my own home, Dean. Or I’ll show you a Winchester temper,” John said lowly. “You understand?”

Dean rolled his shoulders and looked his father in the eye. “Who exactly paid for this house again, Dad? Yeah, I’ll talk to you how you deserve it. I’m out of here.”

Dean felt Adam watching from the corner as Kate pulled John out of the kitchen and into their bedroom to give him a piece of her mind. Sam nodded at their younger brother, silently thanking him for holding down the fort as Dean stormed out the front door.

The Roadhouse was blissfully the same, with only a handful of beaten down cars in the parking lot. Dean had spent enough Christmases at bars or taverns throughout his life, but now he just wanted something that felt like home to get through this tightness in his chest. What they found inside was something altogether more special.

Ellen’s entire face lit up as they walked in, an empty plate in front of her and Garth manning the food line. Dean got his hug in first, but Sam took his time asking about what was going on. Then you were there, and Dean felt a hot shame creep up because he was this close to falling into old patterns. And that wasn’t how he ever wanted you to see him. He zipped his lips, pleading with himself to get a handle on his temper already.

He felt you breathe him in, the truth was never hard for you to suss out. And yet Dean held on, needing you close, being stupid and selfish as ever.

They took their free meal and ducked into a corner, watching as Ellen played angel to the downtrodden of Boone county. Slowly, Dean was able to set his shit aside. With Sam talking about anything and everything across from him; he accepted his resentment for his father, his frustration at himself and the stupid fucking feelings he had for you. It all seemed much more manageable when faced with people who had to get over much bigger obstacles with so much less. There was one more thing he promised he’d do while he was home, now that he’d visited Ellen. And he double checked that Sam was still good to go with him, to be his chauffeur.

They helped clean up, though Ellen moved a mile a minute and did tasks faster than she could explain them. And then Ellen was handing you off like a Christmas present, one that Dean couldn’t ever accept. 

Ellen said her goodbyes and left Dean standing in the parking lot without much of a guess on what you wanted to do next.

“I guess we better get going,” he said, asking Sam more than anything.

Then Sam reminded Dean about the cemetery and a new wave of guilt seeped into Dean’s stomach. When it came to Jo, you had first dibs. She was your best friend and Dean’d be damned if he’d visit her without you getting a chance to too. As macabre as it was, he felt he owed it to you.

You looked like you were going to be ill.

“Maybe we should ask her if she wants to go,” he told Sam, searching your eyes for permission at the very least.

You took your time with the idea, but turned him down. “If it’s okay, would you mind dropping me off first? I know it’s in the other direction.”

Dean felt you sinking behind a wall the further they got from the Roadhouse, you asked questions and made conversation, but you weren’t really in it. He probably shouldn’t have brought up Jo, but with Ellen and Christmas and the Roadhouse, she was already everywhere anyway. 

They let you out at your parents’ and headed back across town. The streets were almost empty with the sacredness of the holiday. The cemetery was decorated in pine wreaths and cheap red ribbons. The narrow paths were  silent beneath their feet. Dean had thought he knew what he wanted to say when he decided to take this little side quest to see Jo.

What he said once Sam was safely back inside the Charger was something else entirely.

“So, I’ve been better. Not like I’m bad now, but I’ve been doing actually better. I was a mess for a long time. And not just from you, but a lot of shit. And last year, I guess earlier this year really, I kind of imploded. I started hurting people, like actually hurting them and justified it to myself somehow. Then I pushed Cas away from helping me, after breaking his nose. And well, the bands a lot different now. But we’re still doing it. 

Look, Jo, I know you wanted me to live my dreams and see the world. Things I always wish you could have done. But sometimes dreams are regular everyday things, like bringing home pie or having somebody to say goodnight to. And I haven’t let myself have dreams in a long, long time. But I think maybe I’m starting to again.

And I just need you to know that I’m gonna be okay. And I am gonna do what I can to keep your people safe, because they’re my people now too, you know? You gave me another mom and a best friend without even meaning to. And we all miss you like crazy. But, we’re okay. Merry Christmas, beautiful. I  hope the angels pull out all the stops up there.”

Dean exhaled, his nose thick and eyes stinging in the cold air. He wiped his face and looked at Jo’s name one more time before turning back towards the road. Sam waited until Dean was buckled in before asking, “you good?”

“Yeah, man. Let’s get back before I cause more of a sensation,” Dean said, not meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Okay,” was all Sam said.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter 15: Rubato

[ahotpileofs-it]

I have a shit ton of ideas for tanaka cause hes my favorite hamster in funger

Tbh these ideas kinda give him the plot armour funger never gave for our shonen anime protagonist so if you don't like that, feel free to scroll past

What would Tanaka be like as a playable character?

Here are my ideas:

Since he is a latent soul, he can get the skill trees of others without killing them (of course it will take longer to obtain them rather than killing them, though).

This mechanic will basically be asking others to teach you how to do their stuff TM

So because of this there will be a 'friendship' system for Tanaka. (Canonically, Tanaka won't see this as friendship, tough guy since four and all,... but my fanon heart says that yes he will. I will force Tanaka to be emotionally vulnerable for my fanon heart, and I say this as a threat.)

Some characters are more unwilling to share their skills with Tanaka, depends on persuasion and first impressions (based on what dialogue you choose and how good you are at observe).

I think a special case would be Daän as I theorize that Tanaka asking for his knowledge and skills would remind his relationship of himself and Eihner Von Dutch... probably if you play as Tanaka on a run he would be the first person willing to bring him under his wing, so to speak.

You can probably gain multiple skills from others at once, but for characters that we know do not like each other, if they do realize that Tanaka is also mentored by the guy they don't like, they'll stop teaching him and his persuasion won't work as well on them. Also 'friendship' decreases with them. Sometimes both characters pull out which would be a great loss. (Like anyone with pav, karin with the magicians and daan, if you attempt to learn from caligura in front of any contestant, etc.)

Really big point here: we know that Tanaka is unprepared for the Termina festival, thus being the weakest contestants in the beginning. You'll have the most opportunities for death playing as his character, especially so on harder modes, and that can easily end your run.

Also why Tanaka is the hardest character to play as, because you need to stay alive (which WILL be hard, as both mind, body, and hp are significantly lower. Remember, unprepared hamster not ready for the fears of the jungle) for long enough to be able to start learning from others (would think that this studying starts at day 2, or day 1, which if I remember are the days with the most amount of events that Tanaka could die).

I would like to think that him learning from Marcoh would always be canon, even in any multiverse. He really needs the hp boost.

As you learn more and more, these can be things that naturally give Tanaka increase in body, mind, hp, and any other stats. You can still get these stats from items though.

Because Tanaka never experienced something like termina before, his mind stat is irreversibly capped less higher than other contestants. I think that could be a great way for the game to signify that Tanaka is really traumatized by these events. And also went a bit mad for his late meeting lol.

I really think we should bring back "handsome rugged looks" skill for Tanaka. It would be really funny if he were to be the only contestant that could seduce. Will also increase affinity with Sylvian.

With this "rugged handsome looks" skill your persuasion would be improved, and you can make certain enemies skip their turn using that.

Dialogue would probably be like "... is shocked at your vulgar display." I think the moonscorched villagers were raised in pseudo-christianity where they probably said sex isn't ok and the only exception is for Sylvian cultist/sacrifices for sylvian... and I believe in my heart that this skill is obviously not for that god. (a/n: considering that funger has shown rape, I don't think that this would be realistic... probably still effective, but not THAT effective).

Would think that enemies like the Sylvian trooper would either be unfazed or say some flirty stuff idk (skill won't work)

Also! I really like the extra coin toss skill that other folks think would happen with non npc! Tanaka. Really neat.

Speaking of persuasion, Tanaka would have more effective persuauion than other because he is a salaryman. It's basically his job.

On the 'friendship' system, based on different friendship stats you will get different b endings as what your skills are are directly affected by who teaches you. I would also like to think that once Tanaka's latent soul 'awakens', he won't be willing to go back to his old job with new skills he isn't going to use. (a/n: this is where the op part kicks in. Realistically, his b ending would just be the same: only how fast you defeat Termina and if you did succeed would be affected. Still, I like dreaming for my favourite boy to be happy for once. And leave his family cause they really were not good to him, even though they are miles better than other families, they still suck).

When one of the contestants that teaches him moonscorches, if you encounter them he won't fight them, no matter what you do. He will never fight the person that helped him from the ground up. He can never bite the hand that feeds, even if the hand tries to choke him. And that is written in his stubbon nature. (a/n : he was raised to NEVER reky on others, and even if learning from others DO go against this pesson, it will become his character arc to depend on someone else to be stronger. However, I do think canon!Tanaka does still have some self-preservation, and in this case canon Tanaka would probably prioritize his life over morals like this. But my fanon heart is a sobbing girl that likes to think that it's favourite characters would rather kill themselves than kill their friends, and honestly it needs more angst to feed from).

And this part is REALLY, REALLY plot-armoury and really not canon, but in my heart, and even my head, they both agree that Tanaka's b-ending (in my ideas) wouod be the most canon b-ending, as other contestants 'live on' through Tanaka. He carries their memories, and skills, and he uses them to fight Per'kele.

Note: I still like the idea that the logic god ending is canon and what would happen in the 3rd installment, though.

This is the end to my ramblings, sorry for any grammar mistakes, spelling mistakes, etc. English is not my first language. Tahnks for reading this far, to this long-ass tumblr post. I wonder if I can make this into a scarf.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Roadkill: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Someone is using their vehicle to run people over, but why? What compels someone to take another life?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"I'm not sure about automobiles. With all their speed forward they may be a step backward in civilization." - Booth Tarkington

You have some time before the briefing to steal away for yourself, and you and Spencer are in the break room alone together. You're leaning against the counter and you pull Spencer in closer to you by his hands. You wrap your arms around his neck and look into his beautiful brown eyes.

"I got us a nice hotel room for the both of us this weekend. It has a fireplace and a really big bathtub that can fit two people. What do you say?" you grin.

"That sounds amazing. We could really use it to get away."

You pull him in closer and kiss him slowly with a hint of tongue. No one else is around to judge you, but that blissful peace doesn't last long. Derek walks into the break room just as you pull away from him.

"I'm telling you right now, we're not leaving the room," you chuckle.

"What are you two talking about?"

"How much hot sex we're going to have over the weekend."

Spencer blushes deep red and Derek laughs as he pours himself some coffee. He caps his cup and walks past Spencer but not before he pats his chest.

"Wrap it before you tap it," he winks.

"It's so easy to get you like this," you smirk and pull away from Spencer. "You're cute when you're flustered. If only they knew what you were like in the bedroom."

"Don't you dare tell them," Spencer gasps when you walk away.

"Yes, sir," you smirk and wink.

Everyone makes their way to the briefing room where JJ is getting set up. Once everyone is in, she puts up pictures of current victims and their crime scenes. This unsub is killing people with his car; that's new.

"An unsub that kills with his car? I haven't seen that before," Emily says.

"Neither have the police in Bend, Oregon which is why they need our help. There have been two victims in the last twelve days. The first victim is Maria Delgado, twenty-three. She was hit on a morning jog. The second victim is Shannon Makely, forty-three. She was stranded on the side of the road when her car broke down.

"What makes the locals think that they were connected?"

"For one thing, they were both backed over after the initial impact. This wasn't an accident. Plus, they matched treads in both scenes. They were large wheels for all terrain. Their wounds also indicated a raised bumper, so they're thinking a large SUV to a truck."

"Do they know the make or model?" you ask.

"No. The tires are made for multiple kinds of vehicles."

"I'll do what I can to see what kind of car it is."

"Were there any witnesses to either incident?"

"No, both victims were attacked in secluded areas."

"Two tons of metal make a hell of a weapon," Derek says.

"Serial killers have been known to become rather attached to their vehicles. Bittaker and Norris even gave theirs a nickname. Murder Mac," Spencer explains.

"Bittaker and Norris were sexual sadists. There's no sign of torture here. This sounds like thrill kills for easy targets randomly selected."

"We need to think about if they're not random. We need to see if there is a connection between the two victims."

"With this type of impact, the vehicle shouldn't be hard to pick out of a lineup. There should be significant front-end damage."

"Somehow I don't think it's gonna be that easy," Rossi shrugs.

"Well, I think it's safe to assume our unsub is male," you say.

"I agree with you, given what we know about aggressive driving and road rage."

"And the fact that men have an unnatural bond with their cars," Emily adds.

"That is true," JJ nods.

"Wait a minute, I don't know about unnatural," Derek says.

"I once dated a guy who washed his car more than he washed his hair," JJ says.

"A nice car needs love."

"A woman doesn't?" you ask Rossi.

"I'm not qualified to answer that."

"I'm just saying a big car is phallic like he's overcompensating for something. Maybe he's impotent. If the unsub sees himself as physically defective, the car not only gives him the power and control he otherwise lacks, but it also serves as a shield."

"Maybe a way to avoid physical contact?" Hotch asks.

"Now we're going in a different direction. Power, control, and female victims equal up to a rape profile."

"Rape and thrill kills are two very different profiles. What does victimology tell us?"

"Nothing, yet. Shannon Makely was a white, married, commodities trader. Maria Delgado was a Hispanic grad student and a competitive tri-athlete."

"So far, gender's our only link. Hopefully, the crime scenes will tell us more."

It takes eight hours to get to Bend, Oregon from where you are, and Detective Quinn is waiting for you, Derek, and Rossi when you arrive. The rest went back to the station to get set up. The crime scene is so new that the blood is still on the ground from where Shannon was hit. You're kind of floored by the energy she left behind, you have to take a moment to gather yourself.

Rossi and Derek immediately talk to the detective while you stay where you are. All the officers and police cars disappear until the only one that's left is Shannon's car. She is stuck on the side of the road after her car broke down, and she's holding her phone up to get a signal to call for help.

She gets out of her car and starts walking in hopes that she catches a connection. She doesn't get far when the unsub comes around the corner. He stops exactly where the tire tracks are found in real-time. Time slows down the second Shannon turns her head toward the unsub. He slams his foot on the gas and lurches forward, still in slow motion. He rams her at full speed, backs over her, hits her again, and speeds off down the road.

You walk closer to the spot where Shannon's car broke down and focus on the big lifted truck instead. You rewind the events until the truck is right beside you. Of course, you can't see anything inside the car. Either the windows are tinted or your abilities can't put together what the inside looks like. Still, even though you can't see inside, you feel the unsub looking at you.

There is no distinctive mark that tells you what make and model this is, but you do know a couple of things. This is a lifted truck that someone put time and effort into, it's black in color, and the taillights are rectangular and small. You replay the events five times before letting the unsub escape. You're not getting anything else off the truck, but you're glad you got this much.

"Tell us about what happened," Derek's words bring you back to reality.

"Shannon lived a little outside of town and was on her way home from work when she broke down."

"So, she breaks down and gets out to start walking. Why not call for help?" Rossi asks.

"There's no service," you say. You point to the tire tracks on the ground. "He made a complete stop here then hit the gas at full speed. He hit her twice and then sped off."

"Full stop in the middle of the road? I take it there's not a lot of traffic out here?"

"Not on this stretch," Detective Quinn says. "Not at that time of day, at least."

"She was done working by three in the afternoon? What did she do?"

"She was a broker that specialized in foreign markets. The time difference made for some odd hours."

"There's something not right," you say.

"What are you thinking about?"

"What are the odds that she breaks down right here? She can't use her phone, there's no traffic, no witnesses, and nowhere to run. It's the perfect place for an ambush."

In the case of Maria Delgado, she was hit while she was jogging. The area in which she was hit is a popular spot for joggers, and not many people can take the stress of that hill. Maria was a tri-athlete that was jogging up there from off the main road. The unsub drove in where he could and ran her down the hill.

That's theory one. Theory two is that he was already there lying in wait. A woman jogging alone would be aware if someone was tailing her. She was the reason he was up there lying in wait like he knew she would be there. These attacks aren't random; they all have some significance to the unsub, which means they can be connected.

Once finished at Shannon's crime scene, you headed back to the police station to talk with the other half of the team.

"The only thing I got from his car is that it's a lifted truck that someone put time and effort into, it's black in color, and the taillights are rectangular and small," you say after you explain what you saw. "I also think he may have targeted these women. They have to be connected."

"That takes thrill kill off the table."

"Why, because the murders were planned in advance?" Quinn asks.

"Yeah, this type of stalking behavior indicates a personal motive. There's a reason he chose these victims. He knows their work schedules, jogging routes, and drive patterns. That would explain how he knew where to strike."

"It explains Maria. She was on a run, but he couldn't have known Shannon's car was gonna break down out there."

"Did you look at her car?"

"The guys at the impound lot said the water pump blew. They said it's a common enough problem."

"We should look at it. I might be able to get something off it," you say.

"Why don't you and Rossi head over there, and let me know what you find out," Hotch says.

You and Rossi head over to the impound lot to see Shannon's car. There isn't a lot of damage to it externally since the unsub didn't hit it. However, the deeper they went, the more they found the problem of why it stopped. No one else can see this, but you see two legs sticking out from underneath the car. The legs have the same energy as the energy you saw at her crime scene.

The unsub tampered with her car which is why he knew it would stop in that location.

"Can you tell us what the problem is?" Rossi asks.

"We figured it was the water pump because it was pretty much melted, but we didn't prepare for this."

The mechanic shows that there is a clear cut in one of the tubes inside the engine.

"This car is pretty new. This wouldn't be normal wear and tear, right?"

"No. The rest of the line is in good condition. Someone punctured it. You can tell from the smooth edge."

"How did they do it?"

"Probably reached a blade right through the grille with a penknife or something like that."

"They wouldn't have even had to pop the hood. If she drove away without water in the radiator, it explains the overheating."

"Could somebody possibly gauge how far she could have traveled with the car in this condition?"

"Someone who knows cars could make an educated guess, sure."

"Thank you." You and Rossi walk away from the mechanic. "The unsub did this to her car. He screwed with it. I saw his legs from underneath his car. He must have gone from the bottom instead of through the grille."

"Sabotage. He's more focused than we thought. He's well-organized and highly motivated."

"By what, though? What do these women have in common? They're all of different ages, appearances, and social class. He's not hunting a specific type. Their only connection is the unsub. There has to have been contact before the attacks."

"We profiled a guy who's afraid of contact. The truck's a shield," Rossi says.

"Maybe the contact's incidental. There's something he perceives in their exchange, something about his perception triggers his fixation. It could be the way she looks at him, something she says, or even something as trivial as what she's wearing."

So far, the team has narrowed down the lifted truck to an older model that's American made. He must have removed all emblems from the car so it'd be harder to track the car to him. One way you can narrow down the list is to send what you have to the DMV, but you're going to waste a lot of paper that way. The truck is only going to get you so far, so you have to build on the profile if you want to catch him.

Some things you know about the unsub are that he's mechanically inclined since he certainly knows his way around an engine, and he's strong enough to pull out dents in his car from each accident if he's fixing the damage to his car. Both victims were killed during office hours, so he must have a flexible work schedule or none at all. If he's stalking someone and getting to know their schedule, he has to put aside a lot of time for that.

Why did he start doing this in the first place? If he doesn't have a job, then losing it could have been the stressor. Eight percent of this state is out of work recently. You need to look for men who are employed as mechanics, work in a body shop, and have criminal records for reckless driving and assault. Two murders in two weeks isn't much of a cooling-off period, so he's not going to wait for another opportunity to present itself.

He's gonna create one, and soon. You just didn't think it'd be this soon.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Nethys: The Arcanotheign

CR 15

Neutral Medium Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 298

As we get closer and closer to the end of Misfits and Monitors Month, here we have the penultimate Neutral Herald, and possibly the most powerful of the Heralds... when she first came out. Like many of the Heralds of the main gods, the Arcanotheign first appeared in an Adventure Path, specifically Serpent's Skull: The Thousand Fangs Below, pg. 82-83, but her case is a special one. You see, whereas most of the Heralds became more consistent or stronger with the clarified vision of their powersets and the consolidation of their abilities into keywords or magic items on their person, the initial release version of the Arcanotheign was incomparably powerful, to the point she could have easily hovered around CR 18 or even CR 20.

She had not one but four at-will abilities tied to her ranged attack that would remove their initial target from the fight instantly (including one that was outright full death by disintegration on a failed save), the ability to ignore any spell or ability that relied on alignment, the ability to heal from both positive or negative energy damage, and an aura which dealt constant damage to everything around her (while healing her as it did so). Capping it all off? Alter Objects, an ability I'm a little sad she didn't get to keep in her reprint; Alter Objects allowed her to freely reshape anything she got ahold of, changing either its shape or the material it was made out of, OR animate it via Animate Object, with basically no limitations as to how dramatically she could reshape it or what material she could turn it into besides A) she can't do both transformations at once; no turning a teddy bear into a sword and no turning a stick into adamantine and then animating it, and B) the transformation always reverted 1 minute later unless she actively concentrated to maintain the effect. It was still a bonkers ability that gave her almost godlike control over her surroundings, especially since she only had to be within 100ft of whatever she was altering. Not even touching it!

Her final iteration in Inner Sea Gods is toned down considerably, to put it mildly. I wish she kept Alter Objects in some fashion, but with the severely compressed space in ISG, I can understand why it was trimmed. She's also lost more than a few of her bells and whistles, including a handful of her spell-likes, which must be especially painful for the servant of the God of Magic! But despite all of these nerfs, ALL of them, she remains one of the most powerful Heralds in the setting. Her might is all the more startling for any fiend or foul element which catches her in her mortal form as a gray-skinned beauty that seems to have a Disney Princess-esque magnetic effect on small animals and children (she's even got +35 to Perform (Sing) checks!) and thinks she'll be easy prey, her energy form exploding from its shell and raining terrible, eldritch energy upon the attacker until they're dead or gone. And then she folds back into her human(ish) form and goes back to playing with the kids, transforming their toys into new shapes to amuse them.

Most of the children visited by the Arcanotheign are blessed with magical genius or even magical power, blooming into casters (especially sorcerers) as they age, but whether the Arcanotheign unlocks these talents or is drawn to people destined to have them is left ambiguous. Planting the seeds for future generations of casters is but one of her duties in service to Nethys, though, the others being "encourage people to use magic" and "destroy anything that tries to stop people from using magic." While most parties would thus not have a reason to get on her bad side (even the most grumbling barbarian can appreciate a magic axe and a healing potion), she unfortunately DOES serve a guy who has the unenviable title of "Mad God," and as such she may be the party's ally--or at least a neutral force--for one session, only to turn on them the next for reasons only her god understands.

She's noted to ask "personal, direct questions" to anyone she's sent to interact with, whether it's to share a vision, heal them, destroy them, or teach them, and though her target will likely never know the reason for her barrage of questions, in truth it's because she wants to know why she was sent there. Why does this particular mortal deserve this blessing or punishment? She wants to know just as much as they likely do! Despite being directly formed from Nethys' will, not even she appears to fully understand it, and most of her free time is spent contemplating the purpose of her existence and her place in creation.

But we're not here for existentialism, are we? I mentioned she may be an ally one day and an enemy the next, so let's see what happens when that happens...

Let's begin with the biggest part of her kit: You're not hurting her with magic. She serves the God of Magic, so casters have to be very clever about how they use their spells against her, because most straightforward tricks simply will not work.

Blindsight out to 60ft and Arcane Sight out to 120ft besides, illusions, invisibility, and other such trickery won't work against her unless they're solidified from shadow magic. She has 31 Spell Resistance, the highest of any Herald besides the Grand Defender (who cheats by having "SR: Infinity"), which typically means a lvl 11~13 caster needs to roll an 18 or higher to affect her with most spells... which then have to contend with her saving throws, which are also higher than most Heralds at +18/+13/+17, which is increased by an additional +2 if the source is any alignment except true Neutral, because she's got ALL FOUR Protection From [alignment] spells on herself constantly. In addition to that, she has 30 Resistance to every element except Force, including a heretofore unseen 30 Resistance against typeless divine damage from effects such as Flame Strike and Hellfire Ray, and other, more esoteric spells and abilities, all but assuring those otherwise fairly reliable damage sources cannot harm her even if she fails her saving throw.

Able to resist every element, the Arcanotheign can also throw out consistent elemental damage in return. She's surrounded on all sides by a 30ft Energy Channel Aura, which... which in ISG is a little ambiguous in its function; in the original Adventure Path printing, the aura was always active unless the Herald shut it off and dealt automatic damage constantly to any target she desired like a proper aura, but in ISG the aura's wording has been changed considerably and seems to require the magical avatar's standard action to use, like a proper Channel Energy from a Cleric. This is supported by the fact she has the Command Undead feat but no normal ability to channel energy, but in my mind, a meager 2d6 damage (of Fire, Cold, Acid, OR Electricity, mind) is too pathetic to justify the use of her standard action, so I personally choose to believe the aura is constantly pinging every enemy inside (Will DC 26 halves) and she can switch which element is flaring out at will. If you want to add some extra spice, you can give her back her ability to also deal positive or negative energy damage with her aura.

It depends on how you want to run it, I suppose. I know I like automatic damage!

There IS an important bit here: this damage is tacked on to her two incorporeal touch attacks without offering a save to resist them. These attacks deal 4d6 untyped damage and 2d6 extra energy damage depending on what her aura is tuned to, but unlike many Heralds, she really, really doesn't want to get into melee to do that. Despite her considerable defenses against magic of any sort, she's actually got the least AC of any Herald at 27, and lacks ANY form of DR or protection from weapon attacks besides the fact she's incorporeal. Side note: This also means spells which deal physical damage affect her, provided they can pierce or ignore her monstrous SR.

Her full suite of Protection From [alignment] spells means she can't be touched by any summoned creature with an alignment and her 60ft of perfect flight gives her some evasion, but that does little to dissuade the Rogue and Fighter getting Fly and speeding up to her. She doesn't even have Dispel Magic to end such effects, which is a little weird and surprising to me. What she DOES have, however, is her Eldritch Blast, a pair of ranged touch attacks she can unleash at will which deal 1d10+her Chari-- whoops hold on, wrong game, 4d6 untyped damage as ranged touch attacks, and her blasts have one of three additional effects she can tack on which can be resisted with a DC 26 save (what kind of save depends on the effect). These effects are already bad, but a character who fails two saves against the Eldritch Blast effects in the same round suffers a debilitating status ailment instead.

The effects are:

Fortitude: Every round for 10 rounds, the affected creature teleports 5ft in a random direction at the end of their turn, potentially ruining any positioning they were trying to get going. If a creature is struck by this blast twice and fails both saves, they're shunted into a Maze automatically.

Reflex: The blast deals an extra 2d6 Fire damage. Failing two saves instead causes the victim to catch fire, taking 1d6 Fire damage a round every round from there on out until they use a full-round action to put it out.

Will: The blast confuses the creature for 1 minute. Failing two saves causes permanent insanity.

Functionally, targeting Will is typically her best bet and Reflex is barely worth considering; confusion has a 75% chance to neuter or entirely remove someone's turn, though one shouldn't sleep on what she does to people with low Fortitude saves. She's got Cloudkill at 3/day and is immune to poison, allowing her to cast it directly on her own position to gradually wear away at the party's Constitution and thus lowering their ability to resist being booped around or shunted into Mazes, removing them from the battle and leaving the rest of the party open to her shenanigans.

This is actually one of the most heavily nerfed parts of her kit, because her original incarnation in The Thousand Fangs Below, where her Eldritch Blasts could also choose to tack on 10 bleed damage (failing two saves instantly killed the target), paralyze the victim for a round (failing two saves inflicts a minutes-long Slow effect), and the Fire damage was doubled in every respect. She's also lost both Cone of Cold and Fireball, but she's managed to hold onto the reliable Lightning Bolt and Telekinesis (both 3/day) at least!

And you know what else she has? Both Heal and Harm at 1/day... and Limited Wish 1/day, with all the toolbox potential that comes with it. Though neither lore blocks presented offer it as a possibility, Limited Wish can mimic any Wizard spell of 6th level or lower, and Contingency falls into that bracket. Imagine finally catching the Arcanotheign off-guard, grounding her and beating her down to 10 HP... only to have a Contingency she prepared a week ago go off, instantly casting Cure Critical Wounds on her and restoring enough of her health bar to let her get a Heal off next turn (or, if the DM wants to be generous and round up, letting her just prepare a contingent Heal). The other options aren't much better, as she has both Greater Teleport/Teleport and Plane Shift available as emergency escape buttons, and those are just what she's got on her own sheet! With access to the minds of some of the greatest mages in the universe in Nethys' home realm in the Maelstrom, she can get a scroll of a wand of almost any spell in existence (which her +28 to UMD means she can easily use) to either prepare ahead of time with Contingency, or simply use as required.

It's almost a relief that she serves one of the more unstable gods, and is thus just as likely to be sent on some meaningless nothing task as she is an important and destructive one. Most of the time, she doesn't really need her magic because of how debilitating her Eldritch Blasts can be; knowing that she has a blank check in the form of Limited Wish almost feels like unnecessary overkill... which makes the actual Theme Finale of this month all the funnier.

You can read more about her here.

[bulkyphrase]

Cap-IM Rec Week - Better Together Monday

Welcome to @cap-ironman Rec Week 2024! I've got some fun lists planned for this week, starting with this one, which features some of my favorite fics where, via assorted shenanigans, Steve and Tony are now sharing their thoughts, feelings, or personal space.

So basically, stories where they've been forced together into a magical "We Will Get Along" shirt.

inside my shell-shaped mind by Mizzy (@mizzy2k) (616, Teen And Up Audiences, 18,217 words)

Summary: Before Ikaris of the Eternals died along with the rest of his people, he gave Tony Stark the power of the Uni-Mind, a power Tony used in order to help stop the Horde from destroying the universe. The Magistrati are the Living Tribunal's enforcers of Universal Law. They are the judges, jurors, and advocates of the universe. And Tony’s Uni-Mind ability has been judged too dangerous: he must be put to death. Steve thinks he has a solution. To save Tony's life, he must undergo an intimate version of the Uni-Mind known as the Gann Josin, a type of bonding that creates a mental union between two people...and makes them lifelong soulmates. Well, it's probably not the oddest way to save someone's life, but it's certainly not going to be easy. Especially when Tony seems determined that the bond should be broken, as soon as possible. (Set just after War of the Realms #4.) Also available as a podfic read by Pywren (@phyrrhicvictory)

Machines and Marvels by rainbowninja167 (@rainbowtitania) (MCU, Teen And Up Audiences, 23,443 words)

Summary: "The only future in which you have a hope of defeating Thanos is one where the Avengers remain whole and undivided. Do you understand? No matter what else happens, it’s imperative that the Avengers stay together." “Wait. What the fuck are the Avengers?” Or: In an alternate timeline where the Avengers never formed, Steve and Tony need a crash course in team bonding. Stephen Strange just had to take that literally.

More below the cut!

Breathless by @kandisheek (MCU, Explicit, 36,966 words)

Summary: How do you even start a conversation like that? Hey, sorry, but last night you sort of jerked me off through our bond and now I know the serum makes you shoot off in like two seconds, oops. Wherein Tony can feel everything Steve feels and it makes things very awkward.

made to make you blue by @gottalovev (MCU, Explicit, 26,022 words)

Summary: Steve, drunk for the first time since the serum, hits on Tony. It's everything Tony's ever dreamt about, but he refuses to have sex with a drunk Steve who can't truly consent. They do kiss, though, and Tony stays the night. The morning after brings a misunderstanding of disastrous proportion, where both men wrongly assume the other is uninterested. Life gets extremely complicated when Enchantress, mad at Thor, casts a spell that links people who love each other together, letting them feel the other's pain.

read my mind by orphan_account (MCU, Explicit, 6,691 words)

Summary: A run in with Loki gives Tony the ability to read Steve's thoughts. Unbeknownst to Loki, it actually brings them closer together.

Never Too Late for Love by @sineala (Ults, Explicit, 98,060 words)

Summary: Steve has always believed that a soulbond is a blessing -- a rare and beautiful miracle, joining the thoughts and feelings of two people forever, from the first time they touch. Steve knows he's not going to be one of the lucky ones. He knows Gail isn't his soulmate. But he loves her, even if they're not soulmates, and he's going to do right by her. After the war's over, he's going to marry her, and they're going to settle down. They'll buy a house. They'll have children. He'll see his family again. Maybe Bucky will live next door. It's going to be a good life. He doesn't need a soulbond. He'll be fine without one. Then Steve wakes up sixty years in the future to find that his wonderful life has moved on without him. His family is long dead. His fiancée married his best friend. And the only purpose he has left is leading the Ultimates, a misbegotten team of superheroes with flaws too numerous to count. Steve hates everything about the future -- but most of all he detests Tony, flashy and flirtatious, who embodies everything Steve hates about a world he never wanted to live in. And, oh, yeah, Steve has a soulmate after all: Tony fucking Stark. Also available as a podfic read by Cathalinareads (@cathalinaheart)

one foot in (and one foot back) by kehinki (MCU, Explicit, 32,479 words)

Summary: This isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to Tony, but it's in the top five.

When I Think (Oh, it Terrifies Me) by celli (MCU, Explicit, 8,642 words)

Summary: Look, some mornings you wake up and little green men are invading New York City; some mornings you wake up and you can hear Captain America's voice in your head. Tony has been an Avenger long enough that he saves his freakout for important things. Also available as a podfic read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton)

A Meeting of Minds by Nix (CrimsonQuills) (616, Explicit, 17,770 words)

Summary: As it turns out, the Extremis hadn't quite finished rewriting Tony's brain. The only potential fix has...consequences.

[writingshushf1]

Lover - chapter 1

Summary: the next 4 minutes have decided your whole life.

Rating: +16

Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, grief, mention of death, drinking during (unknown) pregnancy, mention of abortion.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: some fluffy mick x you baby fic! but it’s not what it seems- so, jdssjdjssjd i hope you guys enjoy! this one is already completed so i’ll post every 2-3 days, also available on AO3.

 masterlist

APRIL, 2024.

“The smell here is very strong, not liking it.”

"You'll get used to it."

You were walking around the paddock with Sebastian Vettel; he was your godfather and the fatherly figure you had after your father died, his wife also played an important part of your life, you even spent some holidays with them. Now, he was guiding you to meet one of his “paddock kids”. First, it was Charles Leclerc, he was nice with you two, loving the idea of being important enough for the german driver. Then, it was Lewis, he wasn’t one of his “kids”, but a real close friend of his; the Mercedes’ driver was also very nice towards you. And the last one, Mick Schumacher. The other blonde was the closest to Vettel, you heard of him a lot, but never had the time to meet him, your dad hated the sport for some reason - it was ironic, because one of his closest friends was a racing driver.

The boy was exceptionally nice, yet very shy towards you. His blonde hair was tidy, his racing fireproofs down to his waist, showing the shirt of his team, your godfather told you that he changed from Haas to a new one this year, so his hopes were up for possible podiums and wins. The older german excused himself for a while and you had the time to properly talk.

“I heard of you, a lot.” You said, adjusting your cap.

“Same.” He smiled. “So… How come we didn't meet before?”

“Well… Seb is indeed my godfather, but my dad hated Formula 1. Or any sport that involves vehicles.” The blonde chuckled and you felt your heart flutter, it was weird, how fast you were feeling tipsy for someone you just met. “It’s ironic! I know!”

“Did you lie to your dad about going out with your godfather and ended up getting here?”

“I wish.” You smiled.

Before you could explain, he was back to you two.

“Let’s go to our seats? Mick here is the nicest person and gave us access to his garage .”

“I still can’t get over that you retired, uncle.” You said. “See you after the race!”

“See you, guys.”

You walked with Vettel and sat down. Media knew you very well, since you were a kid, even though your dad didn’t allow you to go on races, you would often be seen with Sebastian and his family. He liked to spoil you and in some way, you were the older sibling to his kids.

It was actually weird that Mick and you never crossed paths before, as long as you knew, his dad was close to the german. Maybe it wasn’t the right time.

Vettel and you were closely watching everything that was happening, the older would explain to you things that you didn’t understand. You found that the sport was actually interesting, however you were getting nauseous and your head felt like it was spinning. You grabbed your godfather’s arm lightly.

“Hey… Can you get some water for me? I’m feeling a little sick.”

“Yes, stay here. Anything else?”

“Some painkillers? My head is pounding.”

Soon he got back with what you needed and you could at least put up with the rest of the race. That was weird, you usually didn’t feel sick, or at least not that badly in the middle of the day. Sebastian kept looking at you, he was very worried about your state, but still cheered for Mick when he got P4. The retired driver explained that he was keeping a good pace since the beginning of the season and now it was the closest to a podium, they were hoping by the next race he would get into at least 3rd place.

After the race, you waited longer to meet with Mick and walked together till the parking place, now with only a few fans.

“So… There will be a gathering later, in Ocon’s place… Do you want to join us?” He asked for both of you.

“Nah, I’m too old for this, but you two should go!” Vettel put his arms around both of you. “ Especially you, Olli.”

“Fine! I’ll go, just let me back at my hotel room and change?” You said. “And we agreed to never use that nickname again.”

“But what should I call you then?” Seb loved to tease you with that, Mick looked confused at both of us.

“By my name!”

“Uhm… Can I ask why?”

“Yes!” Of course, he was going to embarrass you. “So, when she was younger, she used to eat trolli gummy bears a lot, but had trouble saying the ‘tr’... And I thought it was the cutest and refused to call her anything except for Olli.”

“I was four.”

“Still the cutest.”

“You want to kill me with embarrassment.”

“I thought it was very cute.” Schumacher intervened into the conversation.

“See? I’m a genius.”

“You’re too old, go to your hotel room to sleep!” You said, the three of you laughing.

…............................

You were nervous, no one actually knew you there except for Mick, so the moment you walked in with him, people got closer to him, talking and pulling him, while you stood there, being recognized as “the girl who Sebastian took to the paddock”. The blonde noticed how you were looking like a deer in headlights, so he got you closer and introduced you to people.

The night was going fine, you, Schumacher, three of his friends - that you learnt they were Ocon, Stroll, Albon and their significant others were sitting on the balcony, drinking different types of alcoholic drinks and talking shit about life.

“So, how could we have never seen you before? I mean, paparazzi pictures outside yes, but… Never around.” Esteban asked, he was drunk and genuinely curious.

“My dad hated Formula One, so he never let me be around it.” You smiled, remembering the memories. “I told Mick that and how funny it was one of his closest friends was a four time world champion.”

“Was? But you still go around with Seb.”

“Well…” That was the hard part. It’s been two years already, however it would still hurt you every time you have to tell someone new. You felt tears prick your eyes. “My dad died, it’s been a while actually.” They all felt silent. “He was sick, very sick and it got to a point that there was no way of him being what he was.” You sighed and felt a hand on your shoulder from Schumacher. “We didn’t know how his state actually was. Decided to turn off the machines, it was better than maybe to wake him up to see if it had any brain activity and see him suffering.”

“Wow, that was deep, sorry.”

“It’s okay! I’m happy that I spent the rest of his time with him. I try to always remember him with smiles.” You took another sip, feeling your stomach reject that, so you put the drink aside. “We should always remember people with happy memories, it’s how they would like to be remembered.”

“That’s beautiful.” Mick smiled at you, squeezing your shoulder.

“Who wants more booze?” Lance broke the sad moment because of his drunk self- and you were grateful for that.

Everyone laughed loudly and he got more alcoholic drinks for everyone, but you refused, taking the sparkling water.

“Are you ok, girl? Not the biggest fan?” Elena asked you.

“Not feeling the best. I’ve been feeling weird all day.”

“Did you check the last time you got your period? Maybe there’s a little Mick coming soon.”

“No!” You said out loud, hiding your face with your hands. “Girl... Just friends, nothing else.” You laughed along. “I hope that was a joke.”

You looked at the blonde, who had bright red cheeks, waiting for him to give you support on the answer.

“Yeah, it would be pretty weird-”

“I was a joke, relax you two.” Elena squeezed your shoulder in reassurance.

“And I’m not pregnant. Impossible. It’s been a while that I don’t have a nice time with anyone.” You cringed right after that, earning a sweet smile from the girls, who giggled.

“It’s ok, we’ve all been through that.” Stroll got on the subject again, being even more drunk than before.

“Someone will need to carry him out of here.” Albon commented.

“He’ll sleep on the sofa, probably.” Ocon spoke.

….....................................

It was around 3am when Mick offered you a ride home, he didn’t drink anything because he knew he was the assigned driver for Albon and Lily - and now you too, not that he hoped all night that you accepted going with him. You were the last one to be dropped off before he went back to his hotel. The movement of the car was making you sick, your eyes were closed, trying to not feel worse than you’ve been after that last drink. Your throat was burning and the sensation was causing the symptoms to be even worse; the car stopping and going back again was driving you mad.

“Mick.” He was too focused on the road and didn’t listen. “Mick.” You called again, which took him out of his trance.

“What?”

“Stop the car.”

“Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” You took a deep breath, however it was a bad idea. “I’m going to throw up and I don’t want to do that in your car.”

He quickly entered an empty street, stopping suddenly. You opened the door and walked a few steps, until you couldn’t hold anymore, putting everything out of your body. The german got out of the car and closed the doors, running towards you, pulling your accessories and some strands of your hair back. His hands were cold against your body.

“God, this feels awful.” You let go of his touch, it felt too much for you, everything was overwhelming in that moment.

“Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

“I’m fine, Mick. Maybe that drink didn’t sit right with me. Please, just... Take me to my hotel, I’m exhausted.”

“Okay, but I’ll leave my phone number, in case you don’t want to wake Seb up.”

“Fine. Thank you.”

It still had twenty minutes before you arrived at your hotel, so you ended up drifting off and sleeping on the passenger’s seat. Schumacher was looking at you a few times, smiling at the fact you slept so quickly; he took some of the hair that was sticking to your face due to the sweat, but feeling your skin was cold, so he took his coat from the backseat and put it on top of you.

When you arrived, he squeezed your shoulder slightly, calling your name.

“Hey, we’re here. Do you want me to take you to your room?”

You woke up, taking off your seatbelt and his jacket. “No, I’m fine, I swear. I’ll only call you if it’s an emergency.”

“Right. I’ll believe in you.”

You walked out of his car, getting into your hotel room next to Vettel’s. You got naked and entered the shower, letting the warm water run through your body, calming your nerves. After a long time in the shower, you brushed your teeth and laid on the bed, saving Schumacher's number.

i’m alive, lol

going to sleep

see u

mick: thank god

good night

see u

…................................................................

The next morning, you woke up feeling horrible, with morning sickness, terrible headache. It felt like even though you didn't sleep. Normally, you would think this was some bad hangover, however, things were hitting you differently. One thing you could be sure, you weren't pregnant, the last time you did a test, it came back negative.

You got up, feeling the same as last night, running towards the bathroom and throwing up. Probably it was all the junk food you ate in those last days. You took a shower and changed your outfit; when you were brushing your teeth, a soft knock on your door could be heard.

"Hey, Olli, it's Seb. Good morning."

You smiled, finishing and going towards the door and opening to him.

"Good morning. How are you?" He walked in and opened the curtains before sitting on the couch.

"Me? I'm fine. I want to know about you. Mick left a message in the middle of the night saying you weren't feeling good."

"Oh!" He really needed to tell that to him? "I was, maybe it was the drinks that we had, they weren't strong, but I was with an empty stomach."

"You're sure? Yesterday during the race you were not feeling good either."

"That was the headache, you know I have bad ones."

He wasn't buying your excuses, but he let it go. For now.

"So what will you do today?"

"I was waiting to tell you this later, but… I got a new job! And I'll move to another country." Vettel looked at you, very surprised. "Uncle Seb, it's the one. I did it."

"I'm so proud of you, kid." He hugged you.

This moment made you tear up, finally getting your dream job as a manager in an entertainment company was a big accomplishment. You wished your dad was the one hugging you, saying that he believed in you and everything was happening because you were good. Before you could understand, the german was wiping the tears that were running down your face. He kissed your forehead, looking a bit too worried about you.

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah, it's just… I've always wanted this, so badly and I wanted to share it with my dad, but he's not here…"

"Olli, I'm sure he's proud of his little girl."

"Thanks, it means a lot to me, you know?"

"I know. Can I tell Hanna?"

"Of course you can!" You laughed between tears.

"Where are you moving?"

"Well… For now, they want me in Monaco, most of their clients live in the countries around it."

"That's good! Mick just moved there too, Daniel lives there as far as I remember, Charles too. They're good people and will make you feel at home."

"Thanks, Seb. I know they will." You smiled. "I just hope I didn't scare Mick after last night."

"I'm sure you didn't."

Both of you laughed together before you started to pack your things.

"I'm going back home tonight and booking a hotel for next week there, in the meantime, I'll find an apartment. They want me working as soon as I can."

"That's good! It means they really are invested in you."

"If you say anything else, I will cry again, uncle."

"Okay! Okay! I'll stop."

Vettel decided to get back home with you, because you lived in the same city, close neighborhoods. That night, after booking the hotel, you started to pack your things, the most important thing that you would need to have on the first week at the new apartment.

You were feeling your body being more tired than usual, but it was a long flight and an even longer weekend you had, so it was understandable your tiredness. The sickness was becoming an obstacle now and it made you madder than usual, resulting in a broken cup and a quick visit to the hospital to get some stitches in your palm; of course that wouldn't stop your moving and working.

…..........................................................

Monaco, there you were. New life, new things and a beautiful view from your apartment after a week in a hotel. It was smaller than your old one, but it was worth it. One bathroom, two small bedrooms - which one would be turned into an office - an open plan kitchen with living room and the balcony where you could see the ocean. The feeling of being independent was amazing, especially when you thought that everything was happening because of your dream job.

Immediately you texted Mick. This past week you became closer and your friendship was growing, both of you liked that, because a new city could be lonely for both foreigners.

the view is awesome, omg

*attached picture

mick: how is your view better than mine?

are you jealous?

mick: maybe…

really?

you should come here then lol

mick: i don't have anything to do rn

if you let me…

im knocking on your door in 5

if you bring good wine, im in

mick: then give me 10, ok?

sure, ill get the snacks ready

mick: fine see you xoxo

xoxo

You got all the snacks into different bowls, most of them healthy because you knew that Mick was usually on a diet to keep his weight, even though the smell and taste of them were feeling weird for you. In 10 minutes, he was knocking on the door, asking to get in; you thought it was very funny how loud and noisy he was being, almost saying no, but then you thought about the wine and let him in.

"Wow. It's cozy."

"I know, right? I'm loving it here."

"Do you want to drink now?"

"Oh, yes! The first two weeks have been good, but it's too much work! I need to chill."

When he gave you a glass, the smell bothered you, but you ignored, trying to give it a shot. On the first sip, it was bad, but you could handle it; however the second made you gag slightly. The nauseous feeling came back and you put down the wine, sitting back on the sofa.

"Maybe I won't drink today. My body is not feeling it."

"Really? That's sad, more wine to me, then!"

"I'm feeling like I'm about to throw up. Again."

"Are you ok? The last time we saw each other, you threw up in a corner of a sidewalk."

"I'm fine, it's probably stress."

"Are you sure?" He was very worried about your state of being.

"I said, I'm fine! Mick, you don't need to get worried, okay?" You snapped at him, soon regretting when you heard his voice.

"Oh. Okay. Sorry for that."

"It's okay… I was rude to you."

Later that night, you were laying with your head on his shoulder, watching some random TV show, when you needed to get up to go to the bathroom again. For the fifth time in 1 hour.

"I'm going to ask you again. Are you ok? It's not normal to get up around every 15 minutes to pee."

You sat down and started to question what he said. He was right. It was indeed weird.

"Now you've got me. But I don't know what it could be.”

"Let's think about the most common problems and get into a solution?"

"That would be fun."

And then, you two spent one hour trying to figure out what could be wrong in your body so you were acting like that. And nothing would match, from the simplest to the most obnoxious diagnosis. This was getting boring when he looked at his phone and back to you three times.

"There's one possibility that we didn't think of." He said.

"Which is…?"

"Pregnancy. You could be pregnant. "

"What?" You scoffed. "Impossible. I did a test and it came back negative!"

"When?"

"Around six to eight weeks ago?"

"That was a very long time. A lot of times it could be a false negative."

"Mick, you're scaring me." You felt your anxiety crumble up into a pile; your hands were wet with sweat, your breathing was shallow. He held your hands, looking at you.

"You should do a test, just to keep this option out of our mind. Okay?”

"I'm going to buy one. I'll be back in 5. Stay here please. I know it will be negative, but I need a friend around."

"You can count on me."

The nearest pharmacy was walking two blocks down, so in less than 5 minutes you were in the elevator, feeling your nerves running up your sleeve. It was an embarrassing situation asking for the test when your French wasn’t the best. The worry was growing, you couldn’t be pregnant, at least not now.You opened the door, looking at him and walking towards the bathroom.

The next 4 minutes have decided your whole life. From the peeing on the stick, to waiting for the results and the shock when it was positive. You washed your hands and face a couple of times, trying to put yourself back before looking at it again.

You were pregnant.

From there, everything was slow, like your mind was denying what just happened. Before you could understand, your sobbing was so loud that Mick ran to the bathroom door, knocking softly and calling for your name. It took a few minutes before you opened and walked to him, letting the blonde hug you while you cried into his chest for several minutes.

"I can't believe it. Why? Why now?" Your voice was muffled from your face still against his hoodie. "I was having the perfect life and then… Boom! One night of fun turned into this."

"Hey, I'm with you, Seb is with you. We're going to help."

"It's not just that. My career, I just started it. Maybe they won't fire me now, but in a few months? Hell yeah. And I’m in my twenties! I’m too young to have a kid, I don’t know what they will need."

"I'll be ready to sue them and to learn with you about babies, kids, teenagers."

Between your tears you chuckled a little.

"You don't need to do any of that."

"We're friends, right? So I'll do anything for my future godchild."

"You're too good for me." You sniffled and looked at him. "Thank you, for actually wanting to support me. I don't think the father will want anything with it."

"You don't need to thank me, but maybe you'll have to tell Seb about it."

"Yeah, but as soon as he knows, the first thing he'll do is fly over here to talk about the options. "

"Options?"

"I don't know if I want to keep this baby, Mick. Abortion could be an option… But here I can't do it, in Germany either and I don't have that much money left after I got this place."

"Well… We'll work it out with the decision you make. Because you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because friends support each other on anything."