#approaching BUS levels of unhinged

[thenightshadowqueen]

Sorry About my Nan—Watchthrough Thoughts

Okay so firstly: what the fuck was that? (very positive) Secondly: sorry that this is so late and that these have been so irregular; I’d love to be able to commit to doing them every time and more promptly, but I’m not in a place to do that at the moment, so for now, they’ll probably stay rather sporadic. Thirdly: what the fuck was that???? (still very positive)

I’m going to try to make this one a more reasonable length than the others, but no promises

Ooh, Luke’s hair looks great! (Obviously it always looks great, but it’s a bit longer in this one, and it’s wonderful)

Okay so this opening scene might be my favourite opening scene from anything ever (I adore these ones where they’re just waiting for someone else to establish the scene and no one is doing it)

“…just to sit with it… before you have a breakdown.” Very relatable, AJ

“Who invites their nan on their bachelor party?” Ah, scene established

“We… have just been… really close recently—” “Yeah, I could tell.” I’m getting the sense that this guy and Johnny from Oh No That’s a Door need to have a chat

“Go back into the toilet” I’m getting Aubergine flashbacks

“Just a little recap” I love AJ

Oh, I love that Sam’s the one who fucked up the name this time (AJ said his name slightly first, so I’m giving this one to him)

“You don’t want it” you know what, I’m going to take his word for it and ask no more questions

“I just feel shattered, you know?” With the way they all broke, I feel like that has to be an inside joke/reference to something (or else it was just unexpected, like a ‘be careful’ sort of situation)

Tom assigning himself as the insane nan… eldritch creatures and old women: his speciality

“I’m your best friend, okay?” Desperately reminding myself that I don’t need to ship every set of best friends in anything ever

“I’ve stood by you through a lot” stop making me ship them (also now I desperately want to know what this entails)

“I can’t get through the door” Jimmy??!!!????!!

“Are you my best friend? Are you my best friend?” “I’m your best friend!” I’m so fucking invested in this friendship already

Ooh, Tom’s pulling out the Mama Twilliger fingers! These fingers have seen many things!!! (Nan = Mama Twilliger headcanon?)

See, when I say that, on the rare occasion when Tom does choose chaos, he very well might be the most unhinged of all of them, this is the shit I mean

I thought that Oh No That’s a Door was the most distressed Sam could get, but this is already coming close and I’m six minutes in (also side note: what is up with the Tom-AJ grandmother-grandson incest-adjacent vibes recently???)

“🎶 Nananana nananana nananana nananana, Ethel! 🎶” I love her

AirTags in their drinks???? I… Why??????

“My big day” oh no

“Our big day” …are we doing this?

Okay, we’re not doing this; thank god

Tom in the background of this discussion being unhinged is giving me life

Tom (him lying on the chairs being adorable)

“It’s pre-used” ???????? Tom what the fuck

Tom you are putting your face so close to AJ’s— (I’m actually a little scared that Nana is going to try to kiss her grandson, because I really don’t need that to happen)

“Very enthused” you know, Tom is the only person I’ve ever heard use that word (oh, god damn it, now I’m going to start using it, too, aren’t I? This is always how my dialect/word choice gets updated—)

Tom’s silent frozen laugh face oh my god

Tom’s silent frozen laugh face transitioning to death/coma/sleep????

Tom is fucking on fire in this one oh my god (obviously he always is—they all always are—but you know what I mean)

“Thank god” I love Sam

“I mean… oh, god… thank you” Jamie, babe, that’s the same thing

“Adrenaline” … sure thing

“Why—Why?” Me too, Sam, me too

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY” Tom’s characters of questionably sound mind are the best (senile Sherlock, for example)

“You’ve got so many teeth” Tom what the fuck (and his placid little smile afterwards—I love him)

“So you know I’m marrying… Lucy” oh, god damn it, you were doing so well, AJ! (I love it when he messes up a name)

You know a play is chaotic when Sam’s the one being sensible (cue the flashbacks to the Lighthouse)

“What the fuck do you think?” Oh, Jamie is so fucking done (I don’t blame him at all)

…Jim adjusting his nan’s skirt while Jamie talks to the farmhand… why???

“What the—Was she always like this?” I adore Jamie, oh my god

“Very inspiring figure” in the context of… this… I’m not sure I want to know what that means

“On the farm, we have a statue to her” …why????

“If you’re not going to take Ethel, please just leave her alone” …take her where???

Jamie is so distressed already and I’m loving it

“She gives you life” okay, what the fuck is going on here???

“She tears you apart and rebuilds you” um… yikes?????

Oh I love Luke

Oh I love Luke

“Keep going” Tom

Okay, what happened in Berghain???

Tom is so good at being creepy, holy shit

“Good boy” um

“What if we just leave her with this guy?” Jamie wants to get rid of her so badly

Ah, yeah, a cult makes sense. Like, of course she’s started a cult. Of course she has.

“Please stop looking at me” you know what, I stand by Jamie here; that is a totally fair request

“Take a seat, boys.” … “Not one seat each.” I love it when they just make things difficult for each other (and also, way to make me ship them even more, good god)

“Come on, be a good mate” you know what, Jim, you first (he’s not a bad friend, but he is really pressuring poor Jamie here)

“You’re really pushing that” he really is

This is so awkward oh my god (nope, yep, I’m decided; Jamie is absolutely in love with Jim)

“Constrained by our doubts, our fears, social morals” see, the thing is, I don’t disagree with her

Jamie is so viscerally uncomfortable around Ethel and it’s giving me life

“I’ve made them into something greater than they were before” …that doesn’t sound at all problematic

“Please don’t touch me” Jamie I love you

“I’m here for my best friend’s stag do. I will do what he wants to do for the rest of the weekend, and then we will move on” Jamie, darling, babe, love… you do realise you’re allowed to have, like… boundaries, right?

“Then let’s get started, boys” okay, no, that reaction was just Sam

“It’s like an A24 film” …please tell me I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what that is

“Crawl through here” …sure

“They really are” oh good god

Ah, so Ethel’s on meth… Yeah, that checks out (I would bet anything that Old Lady Marjorie is her dealer)

That’s one of the longest first scenes they’ve ever had; that’s really cool

…Luke???

“Can you turn a light on or something, please?” “NO!” Well that’s just great

“My name… is Wilhelm!” Hey, it’s not Hans!

“Great” that was the most unenthusiastic response I’ve ever heard in my life and I love it so much

“This is what we’re doing for your stag do. Your fucking nutter grandma’s scavenger hunt to find ourselves.” That is a brilliant description, oh my god

“Choose your weapon.” “WHAT?” Jamie is so. Goddamn. Done.

“Be careful of the credenza” ….. ?????

“Numchucks” I love the subtitles calling him out so much

“Why? Why do you go to that?” Oh Jamie I love you

“What the fuck’s a credenza?” I love Sam

“I just assumed we had to, like, kill each other or something.” “Why?” I’m actually so obsessed with Jamie; I think he might be up there with some of my favourite characters ever

“Sometimes I always drump to, like, you know, the worst conclusions” I love the subtitle callouts

“Probably being raised by that nut job” so Jim was raised by his nan? What happened to his parents? Is that why he’s like this? What was his childhood like? (I’m so invested)

“Draw your nunchucks” Jim no (also good on AJ for getting the name right!)

I love that AJ isn’t the confused one in this play

Jim NO

“You’re beginning to get it” ?????????

Love Sam bringing back the credenza—✨stagecraft✨

“This is how it ends?” Jamie is so fucking pissed off (very justifiably)

I’m genuinely so fucking invested in this relationship, oh my god

JIM NO

Wilhelm?????

Tom with both a table AND a microphone? Oh, this is about to be incredible

I’m sorry???? The way Tom is sitting on that table???? (He is killing me)

“I know; I checked the ticket sales” I love Tom

“You are going to witness two friends attempt improv comedy” I love Tom so much

This character is 1000% giving me Magnus O. Puss vibes (and also kind of the O’Hands brothers? Ooh, and Creepy Jim, actually, for my fellow Patreons)

Also: the “every German is camp” rule returns in full force (and I am, as always, completely here for it)

Okay but Tom’s physicality is fucking unparalleled

Look at the expressions! Look at the movement!

I have had the insane camp German cabaret improv host for five seconds and I would die for him

AJ remembering a name Sam forgot??? (Hell yeah; I love switching it up)

That “Jesus Christ” and step away felt so instinctual

The booping growing more ominous until Jamie obeys it is so fucking sinister and I love it

“That’s not my nan. It’s a different character.” I love it when they get confused and I don’t know why

Letter of Complaint—hell yeah!!!

I’m so. Fucking. Invested. In this goddamn friendship.

Tom is everything ever, actually, oh my god (the commentary? The posing? The expressions?????)

Oh, Sam and AJ did that in-character letter of complaint so well??? (Also I swear I’m not shipping Jamie and Jim or anything… 👀)

“…and flash their vajayjays at each other” Tom??? Why???

Tom sitting on Luke is everything to me (also, like, shoutout to Luke for just lying there. For several minutes straight.

“It’s good to take a load… off” oh my god

“She made a pass at me, okay?” Oh no

Tom I am begging you to stop breathing into the microphone

Fuck you to Sam and AJ (very lighthearted) for getting me so goddamn invested in this

Tom’s goddamn facial expressions oh my god

“He’s busy right now” ????

“I forgot the word for hole” Tom has never been more relatable (I too forget common words right when I need to use them)

“He’ll wake up again soon” …okay

This little reversal/Wilhelm coming back to life/Jamie running away/the host singing creepily bit is so fucking horrifying and I’m so intrigued by this world???

“Did you enjoy the show today? … Me neither.” This is so dark and I’m so fucking intrigued (and also if you haven’t watched the QnA for this play, definitely go do that, because Tom says something about this line (I can’t remember the exact phrasing) that really gives it this whole extra meaning)

“I hope my fiancé gets here soon” the audience’s lack of reaction and the look Luke gives them for it is brilliant

“Are we in Bristol?” …why Bristol??

That little look that Jim does between Julie/Lucy and Jamie???

Sam, stop it; I already care too much about these two!!!

“This is fucking Bristol” that is so irrelevant and it just makes me love Jamie even more

I do not trust this

Luke is so good at being subtly offputting????? Like? How???

“Life changing” well, yeah, sure, babes, but is that necessarily a good thing?

“I recently found out that my nana is, like, a cult leader for people in Germany. And that, um, is so weird.” Jim I love you so much

You see what I mean? So offputting!!!

AJ’s acting in this scene is incredible

“Of course I believe him. He’s my best friend.” Stop making me fall even more in love with these two characters and their friendship!!!!

Of fucking course it was another test. Of course it was. I’m not even surprised anymore.

Jim and Jamie are going to spend the rest of their entire lives wondering what’s real (and now I’ve made myself sad)

Luke’s clapping

“WE’RE NOT IN BRISTOL!” What the fuck happened to Jamie???

…Why are we joining in on the chant?

This does not seem good

Ooh, so we do get to see the real Julie/Lucy

Ah, so she prefers Lucy

Or she doesn’t? Is she just changing her name because that’s what Jim wants? Because that doesn’t sound healthy, babe—

“I’m pretty sure you got the message from the whole stag business, but, whatever you choose to do… Nana’s got your back” yeah, that’s what I took away from the stag do. Sure. (Also, another Tom character Ethel reminds me of: the George’s bra seller (promoted by the “got your back” quote))

Nana no

“I want to thank you for forgiving me” ah, okay, good to know

Also where’s Jamie?

Nana NO

“And also, I want to thank you for convincing me to bring your nan to my bachelorette party” okay woah wait hold on a goddamn second what the fuck happened at the bachelorette party??????

“It was life-changing” oh I need a sequel so badly

I’m getting so many CDIYW flashbacks with this wedding

And we’re ending on a grand Luke and AJ kiss, just like CDIYW

I’m so sorry, the way Luke always holds his arm out and sits so delicately and beautifully whenever the others take it upon themselves to carry him bridal style???? I adore it so fucking much

“To Berghain!” Oh, good god (I’m sure this is going to end so well)

So, final thoughts:

What the fuck was that? (extremely positive)

Okay so Jamie and the fucked-up improv host are two of my new favourite characters ever

I love this play so fucking much

…This is not a reasonable length, is it?

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations DYLAN! You’ve been accepted as NEPTUNE.

Dylan, I was so excited to see you apply for a second character and even more excited to see you apply for Neptune! The cosmic metaphor that you weaved throughout the entire app is something that I absolutely loved. Making Avery be the second born and comparing it to leftover cosmic energy had me howling! I also loved that you wrote about how special twins are when it comes to mutants - their powers being the yin to the others yang was especially something that stood out to me. I’m so, so excited to see you bring Avery to life! 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Dylan

PRONOUNS: He/Him

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT. 6/7 Days

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Avery O’Brien aka Neptune

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Male, He/Him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

Avery can take you by surprise. At first you might just see this edgy kid walking down the street, fists clenched and ready to throw them at the first person to give them a skew look. With a packet of Marlboro in his back pocket and tongue primed with his general response, ‘fuck off’, you just simply wouldn’t expect Megan the Stallion to be blasting through his earphones as he walked.

Sure, Avery definitely knew how to get himself into trouble and he had picked up a few bad habits along the way but Avery would probably be the kindest and most loyal friend you could make. He’d often babysit his neighbors kids and he genuinely enjoyed it. His aesthetic was mostly a facade, tough and ready to rumble when he’d definitely prefer to avoid a fight if possible.

He might be young, but don’t underestimate him. He’s been on the street long enough to know how things work and life has definitely taught him how to look out for himself and his sister. He’s pulled off countless jobs since their parents kicked them out and has managed to keep his hands as clean as they could be. So what gives Avery the edge? He’s cunning and smart, he knows how to work angles and get what he wants, one way or another.

As for Avery’s powers, he doesn’t really understand them, and nor does the rest of the world, to be honest. He’s read multiple essays and watched countless videos on dark matter and energy and what that meant exactly. When he uses his powers, it’s as if he can feel each individual molecule of something, measuring up its mass. He can then change how gravity affects the object, making it ‘heavier’ or ‘lighter’. He’s also experimented with dark energy blasts which seem to be an invisible force that pushes everything out of its way and constantly expands if he doesn’t control it. Honestly, his powers frighten him, as does the unknown to all humans. What really gets to him is that if Dark Energy is what causes the universe to keep expanding, should he really be playing around with that shit?

BIO:

TW: Homophobia

Penelope was born first and then Avery, like the leftover cosmic energy when a star is born. The two were inseparable and doing so would bring about the same results as splitting an atom, metaphorically. As they grew older, they spaced apart but were still always in each other’s orbits, one revolving their life around the other and visa versa. As far as Avery could remember, his early childhood was a good one, or maybe he was just far too young to really see how his family life really was. He went to school, worked hard and would come home only to spend the rest of his free time with Penelope.

As he got older, Avery was always testing his boundaries. How far could he push his luck with his parents, peers, teachers, and even law enforcement. He hung around with the wrong crowd and got pulled into things he never originally wanted to do. It was nothing serious until he was involved in the destruction of a school bus. Nobody could explain how the bus had been crushed nor who had been involved. It happened just after summer break, Avery and a group of his friends had snuck onto school campus that night just to mess around and smoke some weed. Avery was mainly there for Mitch Evans, Avery’s love interest at the time.

The night progressed and the group ended up hanging out in a school bus. The group whittled down to just 4 kids when Avery finally gained the courage to make a move on Mitch. He had tried to kiss the other and Mitch’s reaction was violent and resulted in Mitch punching Avery in the face and shoving him out of the bus. The flurry of embarrassment and heartbreak felt as if it was crushing his soul and before he knew it, the bus started to creak as the metal began to indent. The group inside had mostly been able to get out untouched, everyone except Mitch, who’s leg got stuck under a chair whilst the bus was imploding. After managing to free Mitch from the bus and getting him to the nearest hospital, the group vowed never to mention what had happened out of fear that whatever crushed the bus would follow them. Little did they know that Avery was the one that had crushed the bus and the only other person to ever know this would be Penelope. That was also the last time that Avery ever spoke to Mitch Evans.

That was just the beginning of weird events that would follow the O’Brien twins. Their father seemed to end every day with a bottle of whiskey and their mother seemed to become more unhinged every day. Avery pushed through, working hard at school, knowing that getting into college would be his escape. Having Penelope was also a blessing, having someone he could trust and open up too was a privilege he knew not many had.

Half-way through high school was when it all changed. Their parents had officially rejected them and kicked them out of the house. They had nowhere to go and started crashing on their friend’s couches. Soon Avery was given the opportunity to work a job with one of his friend’s older brothers and he took it. They robbed a yacht and got away with a bag full of expensive jewelry and cash from the on-board bar. It took a couple of weeks before the money was laundered, but Avery got his cut and a reputation. He was asked to do a couple of more jobs and started learning the ropes. It was his senior year when he pulled off his own job. He put most of his money into a savings account to buy a place for him and his sister. He finished school and was given a bursary to study engineering at a local college.

Now, at the age of 24 he is still studying engineering and lives in a decent apartment with his sister. He also works as an intern at a local high-end engineering firm that specialises in space technology. At night he works as a bartender which is mostly a cover and is where he gets approached by most of his clients to pull off jobs for them for a percentage of the cut. There’s been a change in the winds recently though and whispers of new and powerful mutant gangs coming to Miami has him watching his back.

His life is extremely busy so he’s constantly living in the now. If you stopped him and asked him what his goals were, he’d default to saying something about making sure that Penelope is safe, not that she needs his protection, but he barely thinks about what he wants these days. That’s why everyone in his life that has a ‘more than friends’ status seems to come and go, Avery doesn’t think about what he wants and always puts others first before himself, stretching himself as thinly as possible which often leaves his partners feeling neglected or toyed with.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Penelope O’Brien. It’s said that twins have some sort of special connection, and if that were true for humans, it was definitely true for mutants, especially if their powers were the yin to the other’s yang. Penelope was like the birth of a brand new star whilst Avery was the death of one. They were each other’s best friends from the second they were born. Not only was Penelope always there for him, she was the only one he confided in after the school bus incident. They spent countless nights staying up until sunrise chatting about boys and girls, school, life goals, games and so much more! Penelope was the first person Avery spoke to about his powers and he was so happy that he wasn’t the only twin with ‘gifts’. Being able to support each other was so much easier since they shared a secret. If anything weird would happen they’d race to the other and tell them, learning about each other’s powers together. Penelope wasn’t just his twin sister, they were his best friend too! Considering that Avery struggled to keep love around, this meant a lot to him. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without her and that’s why he’d die for her. He’d rather not be alive than live a life without her. This is where Avery’s loyalty turned fierce and where he would definitely cross a line if need be. In a sense, Penelope was Avery’s weakness in more than one way, emotionally and physically. He was sure that if there was anyone that could match his powers it would be Penelope and to what extent, he had no idea and he hoped that he’d never have to find out.

EXTRA:

Oh boy oh boy. I MEAN. What shouldn’t I put here?

I’m thinking that his reputation might get one of the groups to approach him? Maybe more than one group gets him to work for them as a freelancer?

Honestly I’m probably going to make a lot of content for Avery throughout the next week purely because I have so much muse for him, but I also kinda wanted to get this app in and this doesn’t influence decisions so… but here’s a link to the Pinterest board:

https://pin.it/3FkPGew

I might also make a mock-blog? And on there I’ll have graphics and headcanons? IDK. I’ll send it in if I do.

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope! All good! I honestly love this RP so much and I’m waaaaaay too invested for my own good.

[stusbunker]

Known: Case of the Weak, Part C

A Supernatural DARK Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean x Demon!Reader, Dean x Female Vessel OC, Sam, Alan OMC, Crowley, Abaddon

Summary: The Winchesters do what they do, Chloe is still a bit occupied, our reader waits for the bus and Abaddon meets her match. Not anything worth warning you about, unless you haven’t watched season 9. And if you haven’t what are you doing here?! xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

Still in Rock Springs, WY

April 12, 2014

“Exorcizamus te-,” Sam’s voice rang out behind you, Dean’s face smugly twisting with vindication.

“Omnis immundus spiritus,” you continued, whispering in disbelief beneath your breath. That made Sam stutter briefly as your eyes went black against the chant. You reached out to stroke Dean’s face, but he ducked out of your reach, swatting your new vessel’s hairy arm away.

“omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii,” Sam spoke louder as he stepped closer.

“Figures.” You sighed dramatically before squaring your feet, preparing for another vacancy. “Good luck and take care of our girl,” you said directly to Dean’s stunned face, ignoring Sam’s looming sneer. You jumped from Alan’s body and out through the bathroom window out to the limitless night sky.

*^*

“What the hell was that about?!” Dean shuttered against the uncomfortableness, catching the guy in front of him before he hit his head on small table. Alan’s eyes blazed open, panic and confusion escaping in gulps and off-putting moans. “Hey, man it’s going to be okay. We gotcha, just breathe.” Though still visibly annoyed Dean’s tone seemed to soothe the recently unpossessed man to functionally acceptable levels.

“What the hell, who was she?!” Alan glared at Dean like he had kicked a puppy.

“That was a demon,” Sam sat on the table top and began to give the spiel.

“Why was she was obsessed with you?! Her mind was filled with you doing all sorts of awful things, man.” Alan started to get scared again as he tried to reason with the memories of his possessor and the reality in front of him.

Dean cocked his head and met the accusations with a rueful squint. “Forget about that bitch, demons mess with your mind. Make you see things and worse. I think it’s time you go home, maybe get drunk and sleep this whole night off, like a nightmare, mhmm?”

Alan left on shaky feet, the world wider and darker than he had ever imagined. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean carefully moved CC back to their room, playing drunk themselves as to why they were carrying an unconscious woman into their hotel room. After securing the doors and windows, they were able to think about their next steps.

“Where’d you think it went?” Sam was watching Dean carefully, unsure of how much it was run-of-the-mill demonic manipulation and how much of the bravado was sincere.

“How the hell should I know? Did you see that, man, it tried to put the moves on me,” Dean scrunched his face before stepping back to let Sam check on CC himself.

“Yeah, pretty clingy, for a demon,” Sam acknowledged offhandedly as he checked CC’s eyes, not sure what he was looking for beyond reaction to light, which he hoped was normal. She was breathing and her heartbeat was steady. “Think Cas can swing a visit or are we really going to send you back in?”

Dean stared at Sam like he had something on his face. “What?”

“Yeah, that came out wrong.”

^*^

The road was endless and smooth, the slight breeze swaying the massive vehicle enough to keep up the illusion. The trucker played a slightly staticky station, humming along at random. She knew he would have had a GPS or the CB going if he was real, but he was just another ferryman. If everything was so obvious, why couldn’t she work out what decision she had to make? Chloe huffed, shifting against the seat belt as the heat waves rose before them in wilted warning.

“You know you ought to have just stayed home, don’t ya?”

She closed her eyes against the accusation, however gentle. “Nothing back there has to do with what’s happening to me now.”

“Well, there’s nothing out here for you that’s gonna help until you know the question.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you could just tell me and save the return trip?” CC didn’t want to be rude, it was a free ride and he had been nothing but kind. Even if he kept changing faces, Bobby, Rufus, Roger, Reynolds, Ellen, and now it was Pastor Jim. It was the faces that didn’t turn up that made her uneasy, her mother, the other elders, John even. The one face she had never seen that she longed for above all others.

“Can’t tell you something you already know.”

“If I wanted to answer a riddle, I would have found a bridge,” CC grumbled, rolling the heavy crank in the door, needing to stick her head in a wind tunnel for the sheer mindless pleasure for a few minutes. She let her eyes tear and her hair trail behind her to inevitable knots. The sun was warm, and the air dried the trails of saline as fast as they formed. The hiss of brakes and the sudden pull of gravity broke through her revelry. She fell suddenly against her chest strap. Confused, she looked back to see the driver’s side door hanging open. An ear-piercing screech followed by a jarring thud forced her to see what her guide was up to. The entire trailer had been unhinged, whatever load left precariously angled against the blacktop.

“What’d you do that for?!”

Geoff’s mischievous smile greeted her, his eyebrows waggling conspiratorially. He swung back into the seat and started the engine, spinning the unweighted cab deftly on its remaining ten wheels. “Better?”

“We’ll see.” Chloe held onto the handle above her head, a hopeful glimmer spread through her.

^*^

Dean didn’t know what he had expected, but the potion still tasted like the wrong end of a junkyard dog. He sucked it back as Sam watched with a look of sheer disgust on his dumb face. Dean inhaled the musty motel room air and coughed, the taste burned, spreading through his chest. He didn’t know why exactly, but he dropped down beside CC’s body, and threaded his hand through her cool fingers. Before he could finish listening to Sam’s instructions, Dean drifted away.

He awoke in the passenger seat of the Impala, parked at an awkward angle in a forgotten, yet familiar driveway.

He knew he was younger, by the easy roll of his shoulders and the old leather jacket stuck with sweat to his face, while bunched against the window. The Mark blatantly missing from his forearm as he brushed down his sleep-ruffled hair, he checked his face in the sideview mirror. For a second, he thought he saw a gangly Sam in the backseat, but as soon as he turned around, he realized he was alone. Good, Sammy should be watching out for them in case the demon returned, not jumping headfirst into CC’s head. He felt bad enough about doing it without her knowledge, even if invading privacy was par for the course of desperate times.

Dean climbed out of the car, closing the door with a resounding clunk. He walked up to the old cast iron framed porch. The inside door swung open before Dean could knock, his hand held precariously in the air as he breathed out his greeting, “Uh, hi.”

“Go home, Dean.” Old Man Collins was exactly like he was the last time Dean saw him, in a word, dead. The entire right side of his face was peeled off, he remembered the chunks the wendigo had slashed from the ancient hunter before they had found him. Luckily for the situation at hand, his clothing was obscuring the more grotesque wounds. “This isn’t about you, boy.”

“Sir, I, uh,” Dean opened the screen door and met Chloe’s grandfather’s deep-set eyes. “Look, I need to find her, she got possessed on my watch and I need to make sure she is okay. I fucked up, bad and its on me to fix it.”

“Save your guilty sob story, son. That thing had its sights on you before CC showed up, but it’s not why Chloe’s gone. Not really.”

Dean’s mouth froze open, brow pinched in confusion. “Okay? But I need to know that CC is going to wake up.”

“She’ll live.”

“Forgive me, but that’s not too reassuring.”

The old man walked away, back into the house and settled in the recliner near the half wall between the living room and the kitchen. Dean followed, looking around as if someone else would appear at any moment. “Sit down, since you can’t bother to listen to reason, at least relax.”

The television was on, but the sound was off, an outdoor channel with fly fishing tips flickered on the old console set. They sat in uncomfortable silence before Dean stood suddenly. “Do you know when she’ll be back or, do I need to hop in the car and track her down?”

“She’s on her way now, but you’re going to leave before she gets here. She has enough things she needs to answer to without you mucking it up.”

“But I can help.”

The old Cheyenne man stood to size up the spunky upstart hunter. “You really can’t. You know I’m not Old Man Collins, right?”

Dean paused, nodding slowly. “You’re part of Chloe’s subconscious.”

“Yeah, the logical, bullshit free part. So, take that shiny black car and get. Before I start listing the reasons why you are no longer welcome in my home.”

“But, Cease and me–,” Dean gestured awkwardly then fumbled for words, the more he thought and spoke, the more he realized the apparition before him was right. Amused acknowledgement sparkled in the man’s dark eyes as Dean’s sheepishness stilled his tongue. “Is she going to wake up?

“That’s up to her, but she’ll live, neither Hell nor Holy water can snuff her out so easily.”

The walls shook and the sun set in a blaze as if in time-lapse, the dark room groaned as Dean caught himself on a lamp stand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not for you to know. Now, go. She can’t face what’s in the woods until you’re gone.” Dean felt lightheaded, he struggled to hold himself upright. Old Man Collins approached him, patting him firmly on the back. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“No, wait, Mr. Collins, please–,” Dean sat up, wrenching CC’s arm up as he turned to face the dream in which he was no longer welcome.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice and face were suddenly close as Dean squinted into the dim morning light.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean groaned, untangling CC’s hand from his before kicking his legs off the side of the bed.

“What happened?”

“I got kicked out. Couldn’t even get to her.”

“By whom?”

“Her grandad.” Dean shrugged. “Well, the stubborn ass part of her brain that showed itself as her grandad.”

“Huh.” Sam chewed on the information.

“Yeah, well, good news? She’s fine, physically, apparently. So, what’d you say we head home? Get her set up in safety while we wait for her to come to?”

Sam nodded, watching Dean’s disappointment bury itself behind action and planning. They carefully laid her in the backseat, consequently, it was still early enough for them not to draw any concern from other guests. Sam paid for both rooms, while Dean stopped to gas up her truck. Simple, easy tasks, busy work to be done as the Mark made its renewed presence known, tingling along his skin.

^*^

Denver, CO

Slipping back into your dissipated form was overwhelming, especially as you traveled farther away. You tested your limits, spiraling as fast as you could go, paying little mind to direction or destination. Experiencing the world as a raging cloud of damnation meant you sensed emotions and actions instead of seeing them. You bee-lined toward a city, with vessels to spare and fear and anger pulling you from your own thoughts. Thoughts of the ultimate rejection, and the look on Dean’s face as he let Sam’s words sweep you into the dust bin. Like you were nothing, or nothing more than the kill of the week.

If you had a gut, it would have rolled with your swift descent.

In the formlessness, with the vast sea of humans littered beneath you, every molecule of your being seemed to hum. Emotions and justifications rushing through your thoughts as you streaked against the heavy spring air. You were bombarded with their feelings like sound vibrations, rattling from an untested speaker system. When you found a corner where a pair of people sat, drenched in fear and lust, you landed at last.

The man was buzzed, but you weren’t sure if it was the gin or the pain killers for his back that were making everything fuzzy. They were on a bench, waiting for a bus. The African American woman sitting on the furthest edge away from the portly white man, who had clearly been making her uncomfortable. Once you got your bearings, you turned to her and smiled. “Don’t worry, Miss, he’s going to be out of commission for a while.”

She muffled a shriek and called on her savior as you stood and sauntered down the street.

*^*

May 6, 2014

Humboldt Hotel

Cleveland, OH

Dean’s body pulsed with purpose, defined by the certainty of his mission and its now tangible completion. If he could just keep Sam from getting in the way; it would be clean and quick. God help him, Dean’s brother always questioned direct orders; Dean tried to come off as practical, cautious. Meanwhile he was jonesing for the fight. The elevator seemed to take forever, the Penthouse unrestricted to even the likes of him, which set his hunter’s logic from four to twelve in the time it took for him to breach the top floor.

Crowley was scared, but he wasn’t stupid. The minion went down easy, almost too fast for him to enjoy it. Before Dean could continue his search, she was there. The Ginger Bitch herself, red lipped and gloating. He couldn’t wait to finish this, and the tug of a not-so-distant strand of memory told him that even this demon couldn’t hold him for long. The lethal combination of the Mark and the Blade only increased his confidence. The Knight that would be Queen was his to finish, if he could just get his ass off of this wall.

Abaddon wasn’t fucking around either, she knew he was her biggest threat despite her haughty sass. She didn’t even hesitate to throw everything she had at him. As the First Blade slipped through his fingers, Dean’s resolve stuttered, but the pull from the Mark centered him, honing the rage and blood lust to draw the weapon back into his grasp. At the moment of reconnection, Dean knew she had reached the bottom of the barrel, her powers no longer strong enough to contain him.

He didn’t register Sam’s entrance, or Crowley’s astonishment, he narrowed his eyes and stalked toward his prey. It was almost sad how easy it was now, the mangled bone slicing into her voluptuous vessel, impossibly smooth and satisfying. Once he had a taste, he needed more. Abaddon’s cries a siren’s call. Dean hacked into the demon, even as the flashes of her essence faded. The blood smattering his face and the floor, it’s warmth delicious, but the hunger never abated. It was only Sam’s voice breaking through the fog that got Dean to look beyond the corpse before him and his need to destroy.

The tunnel vision righted, and Dean was himself, or the new version of himself, the marked and armed version. Letting Crowley talk his way out of their demands, Dean knew that his list of potential kills held few as deserving as the King of Hell. But a Winchester didn’t back out on a deal and Crowley had done right by them, until CC’s face floated through his thoughts. He never even asked whose stooge had made a vegetable of her. Unfounded retaliation sounded perfectly acceptable now. The calm returned, because Dean would find the demon and he would take his time.

Tags: @mogaruke @dontshootmespence @mrswhozeewhatsis@smi727@sassykayla255@supernaturalboi@dumbthotticus@eve05glee@veroinnumera@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester@fanfictionrecommendations-com@soullesscollection-world 

Next Chapter: Angels are Assholes

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Invincible [Chapter 9] Future on Hold [Katsuki Bakugou]

This is what I have been waiting for. Rescue training; a chance to prove that my quirk is more than enough if I go pro. I am thrilled by this. It’s Wednesday when Aizawa mentions this to the class, holding up a card with the word ‘rescue’ on it. My fingers curl around the corners of my desk, almost cutting off the circulation. But, I am too pepped up to care. It’s true I lack in skill when it comes to fighting, but I’m not half bad at controlling my quirk – the 10 months I trained prior to the entrance exam helped me out a little. I just want a chance to prove my worth. Here lately I feel like I’m not cut out to become pro. That will change today.

Class is dismissed for now, and Aizawa gives us the option to change into our costumes for the trial. He informs us that a bus will take us to the training site. I debate on whether to dress up and decide to do so. I have no clue what the place we’re going will be like and if I make the wrong call, I may be unprepared for the outcome. Taking my case from the wall, I follow a few of the girls from my class into the locker room to get dressed.

To be honest, I forgot how tedious it is to get into my costume. The accessories are too much, but I have no doubt that they help. As I try to zip up the back of my suit, I feel someone tap on my arm. I look over my shoulder and notice the round-faced brunette close to me. Shock pours through me as she asks my permission to help. No doubt a red flag goes off in my head. Ochaco and I never talk. I try to keep clear of Tenya and her whenever they are around, so I feel nervous whenever she asks this. What could be the reason she wants to approach me? I don’t question my uncertainty to her, but I agree with a nod, pulling my hair into a messy bun while she zips me up.

“Need help with anything else? I don’t mind. I noticed you have a lot of stuff to put on, so I thought it would be nice to ask.” She seems sweet.

I can’t help but to smile, fixing my head piece in the mirror. “Not really, but I appreciate it. Thank you, Uraraka.”

“No problem,” she replies happily.

I understand why Izuku and she are friends. Ochaco is a nice person. She seems to care about the people around her. I misjudged her, but I do feel a little more jealous of her friendship with Izuku. She is far better suited to be his friend then I am.

I notice the corner of my lips fall into a frown. The mirror shows me how selfish I am, but I know Izuku and Katsuki cannot fit into my world, not at the same time. Not if they don’t want to. I fix the mirror until I am able to see Ochaco. She looks at me with a sad expression, like she knows my pain.

“Can I ask you something, Uraraka?”

She nods. “Anything.”

“Is Izuku happy?”

“Deku seems happy, but there is more to him that even I don’t know,” she answers. Her words seem true. Ochaco plays with the belt of her costume; a visible redness on her cheeks. “The truth is, I wanted to come speak with you because Deku always talks about how nice you are to him. I understand to some degree the level of friendship you both had, but he still talks about you as if the bond never ended.”

“It has,” I say feeling sad. This bridge is gone; burned away. But, another can take it’s place. “Once he’s ready to talk, I’ll listen. He and I can try again – build another bridge; one stronger than the last. Until then, please keep him happy. I can tell he likes you, Iida too.”

The girl smiles. She nods and leaves me in the locker room to think. Will I really ever be ready to speak with Izuku again? I hope by this time, he feels brave enough to tell me the truth. Until then, I need to prepare myself. I leave the room feeling a little better about the situation. The walk to the front gate is lonely, but once I am there, I find Katsuki and stand by his side. My thoughts are so broken, that I don’t even notice Katsuki calling my name until his fingers hook into my cheek, yanking it painfully out. I cry out, swatting at his hand until he lets go.

“The hell is up with that dumb look?”

I narrow my eyes at him, rubbing at my sore cheek. “It’s nothing. Besides, you could have just asked me without the attitude.”

“Not my style,” he grunts.

I mock him under my breath, opting to pull at his mouth. Instead I ignore him and wait for the bus doors to open. Tenya tries to get everyone to board the bus and sit according to their student ID, but Katsuki makes it clear he doesn’t care by pulling me along once the doors open. We sit in the first roll, on the right side. The bus is set up differently than most, having 2 rolls of seats, parallel to one another at the front of the bus. Once everyone is seated, the bus begins to move. I sit back and try to enjoy the ride.

I occupy my time by practicing with my quirk, making simple shapes with the water. First, I make a sphere. It’s easier to make, and the most used form I can manipulate the liquid into. Next, I make a triangle; three sides are easy enough. After that, a square. My ability to do so makes me happy. I believe I am doing well. A tap on my should nearly pulls me out of my concentration, however. Ochaco and Momo are watching me, the brunette being the one to get my attention. I nearly stop, but Ochaco urges me to continue. She asks me to make a heart.

That’s sort of tricky, but I can do it. I gesture with my fingers, starting at the top before connecting the ends at the bottom. Ochaco claps and Momo seems impressed. I move the water back into the bottle and turn my attention back to them.

“You have an impressive quirk,” Momo mentions. “It’s the manipulation of water, but the liquid seems to be controlled by your thoughts. I didn’t notice it before, but seeing your quirk close up, I can see the concentration you are using.”

I agree with a nod. “I call it Shape of Water, but it’s more or less Hydro-Telekinesis. I’m able to do much more, like solidify it and encapsulate objects within the liquid, but controlling it is hard.”

“That’s so cool, Usui-chan. Your quirk sounds like it’s super strong,” Ochaco says with excitement.

I feel my face heat up. I’m not use to people complimenting me, but I thank her regardless. It’s nice to know that my quirk is thought of as such – super strong. Do the others think of me like this too?

Asui Tsuyu pulls me from my thoughts. Her opinion to Izuku catches me off guard. She mentions that his quirk resembles All Might’s own. I never thought of it like that. It’s a strength type quirk, but not exactly like the one All Might has. Eijirou backs this claim, stating that Izuku hurts himself. There is a similarity between the two, but there’s no proof that All Might even has a strength enhancing quirk. The public seems to assume so, but he’s never actually confirmed it. I admit, I’d like to know as well, but I assume the hero just isn’t ready to announce it to the public yet. The class seems to be onboard now, but they switch topics, talking about the type of quirk it takes to become pro.

I am, however thrilled to witness Eijirou’s quirk again. He activates it as he talks to Izuku, hardening the skin on his arm to a point. It’s no wonder he didn’t have a scratch on him after the battle trial. I have to agree with Izuku, his quirk is plenty enough.

“You wanna talk strong and cool? That’d be Todoroki and Bakugou.”

Eijirou’s opinion catches the attention of the blonde. His foot stops tapping as he glances at the red head. So very like him to hear his own praise. I smile and gently poke his cheek with my fingertip. He huffs and ignores me completely, acting as if he never heard the statement in the first place. That changes once Tsuyu says what’s on her mind.

“But Bakugou’s so unhinged. He’d never be popular.”

He’s so easy to anger. Katsuki jumps to his feet, shouting at her. He easily proves her point. I grab his arm, urging him to sit back down. He doesn’t listen, but he also doesn’t mind nearly shoving my body out of the seat just to throw a tantrum.

Denki jumps in too. “We’ve only barely started socializing and already you’ve made it abundantly clear to us the unpleasantness of your steamed turd of a personality.”

At this, I can’t help but to laugh. Katsuki is smart, most of the class doesn’t know this, but when he is tempted, his anger blinds him from seeing the whole picture. Denki is obviously trying to upset him now. But, Katsuki doesn’t seem to care. He glares at me; wisps of smoke float up from his curled fingers.

“You want some too, fuck munch?”

I shake my head, blinking the joyous tears from my eyes. “Try to relax, Katsuki. They’re only trying to get a laugh out of you. It’s to prove a point.”

The blonde drops into his seat, growling beneath his breath. I rub his arm, but it doesn’t seem like he’ll calm down anytime soon. His body shakes in anger, but at least he is quiet.

“You got me, Blue. Leave it to the cutie to figure me out,” Denki says with a wink.

His flirting is getting more blatant. I feel my face heat up. The compliments and proximity off all the guys in Yuuei lately is more than I can deal with. The blonde stiffens; I can feel it. His eyes are bright and wild, staring at me through the reflection of the window as I move closer to him.

Eijirou, thankfully comes to my rescue. He leans his foot forward and kicks Denki in the shin, earning a scowl from the blonde-haired teen. “That’s not very manly of you to flirt with someone who’s taken. She’s Bakugou’s girlfriend.”

The entire bus falls into hysteric chattering, which seems to be a daily thing with them – I should give up with thinking that this class is normal. Questions are thrown at me left and right. Honestly, I feel overwhelmed. I don’t know what to say.

“Shut the hell up,” Katsuki snaps. “You damned extras are giving me a headache. Fucking nosy people.”

The class does as he asks. I feel relieved. My cheek rests his shoulder. I thank him quietly, certain that Ochaco chuckles at this. Aizawa finally speaks up and lets us know that we are at the training site. I glance out the window and see a large dome-shaped building with the words USJ in gold letters above the door. The bus comes to a stop, and the class follows Aizawa through a large blue gate into the facility. It’s massive inside. A central plaza connects each of the simulation rooms as well as the main entrance, which we’re standing near. It’s like a spin on Universal Studios Japan without rides.

A well-mannered voice brings my attention to a space themed hero, standing near Aizawa. “There’s the flood zone. Landslide zone. Conflagration zone … etc. Every disaster and accident you can imagine,” they explain. “I built this facility myself. I call it the Unforeseen Simulation Joint.”

I know of them; the space hero, Thirteen. I grab Katsuki’s shoulder in excitement, but he swats me in the head. He orders me to calm down, but I don’t care.

“Before we begin, I have one or two points. Or three; four.” Thirteen raises their fingers as they explain. “As I’m sure many of you are aware, my quirk is called Black Hole. It can suck in and tear apart anything.”

“And you’ve used it to save people in all sorts of disasters,” Izuku states. The brunette next to him nods, almost like she might float away in excitement.

Thirteen agrees. “Indeed. However, my power could easily kill. I’ve no doubt there are some among you with similar abilities. In our superpowered society, the use of quirks is heavily restricted and monitored. It may seem that this system is a stable one, but we must never forget that it only takes one wrong move with an uncontrollable quirk for people to die. During Aizawa’s physical fitness test, you came to learn of your own hidden potential. Through All Might’s battle training, you experienced the danger that your respective quirks can pose to others. This class, will show you a new perspective. You will learn how o utilize your quirks to save lives. Your powers are not meant to inflict harm. I hope you leave here today with the understanding that you’re meant to help people.” They stop and bow. “That is all. I thank you for listening.”

My fingers dig into Katsuki’s arm. Honestly, I don’t know how I feel after this. I never looked at my own quirk as being dangerous to others. I realize I can harm someone, maybe even cause them to drown, but the only person I’ve hurt with my quirk is myself. I hope to stop this; closure for my mother and for myself. I feel Katsuki clutch my hand. It assures me, bringing a smile to my face.

Aizawa begins to prep us, but something stops him. I feel it; a light breeze pulling at my hair. I shiver, feeling sick to my stomach all of a sudden. Aizawa shouts for the class to huddle together and not move. I am confused at first, but suddenly I see them; people gathering in front of the fountain in the central plaza. They exit out of a black vortex, dozens at a time. My heart sinks in my chest. Villains. Here of all places. Am I ready for this?

[giant-spider-boyfriend]

Acrid

George had been settled in, in the middle of moving his life out of the Swedish apartment and back to his family home in Michigan...and then the call back came. He knew he wasn’t getting out of there that easily. There’d always be another mission, and another, the Big Guy was just one of those difficult to replace agents. He limped over to the com and activated it. “I’m coming,” he said in response to the calling.

He pulled a jacket on and gathered his kit. Strapping the Colt 45 to his hip and rolling his shoulders. George briefly caught his image in a mirror, god he looked old didn’t he? He was only 53, hardly that old. Hard life, hard lines his father had always said and he’d embraced the concept. It was just strange seeing himself as an old man.

Not too old to go to work.

Even if he wasn’t feeling up to seeing the man who’d called him in. He caught the bus to the headquarters of Overwatch, the peacekeepers of the globe. He stepped out to see the Strike Commander standing there with a distinctly severe expression on his face. Something tragic had happened, and it had something to do with his men. George recalled making that expression back when he was in the Seals and an op was going pear shaped.

“Jack.”

“George.”

The uncomfortable silence followed and the Strike Commander wordlessly motioned for George to follow. They moved through the headquarters, there was a lot of fallen faces, Ana especially had that hard look she used to hide the real feeling beneath. So it was serious he had to assume. Serious enough to bring out the controlled disaster.

The pair stopped at the Commander’s office, and Jack paused for a moment. “The reason I called you back is because we’ve hit...possibly the worst disaster of Overwatch’s life,” he said looking up at George who stood nearly a head taller. “I know you know the risks of covert operations and intelligence work. Our Blackwatch unit is in the middle of a disaster zone.” He was being rather vague.

“Disaster zone, can’t you fish them out then? Did they cause it?” George asked, the door to Jack’s office was opened and they stepped inside. Only after the door lock clicked, did Jack decide to spill all the details.

“No, they didn’t cause it, Blackwatch were observing a cult group, some kind of omnium worshipping group. They were not to engage until they had enough info to strike at the core of the group and dissipate them…” he started.

“Things went pear shaped.”

“Yes, very. The cult got some kind of tip off that Blackwatch was among them, they captured the operative and accelerated whatever plan they’d been cooking up. The group stormed an old nuclear site, and within hours they’d caused a meltdown of spent fuel rods, we’re talking thousands of pounds of nuclear waste washing into this town,” Jack continued, his voice held as steady as he could. “Evacuation went well with the help of military police and Overwatch...but our team, hasn’t made it to the LZ, and we only got one message before we lost contact.”

Jack pushed a button on his desk. The voice of Reyes spoke: “Three critically injured, requesting support, McCree, specifically is in bad shape. I think he’s going into shock…” Static cut off the rest of the message.

“McCree, oh your cowboy, the kid;” George said with an understanding look. “You want me to go save your black ops team then?”

“That’s the idea, radiation in the intervening area is too high for anyone else to pull them out and we need to level a lot of buildings to bury the Radiation as much as possible. Hephaestus is listed as impervious to radiation poisoning, and he’s a helluva wrecking ball,” Jack said trying not to make a personal appeal. That ship had well sailed, this was just him asking for the favor he was owed. “You’d be doing me a helluva favor.”

“I’d be doing my job, Commander.” George crossed his arms over his chest. “All my gear still here?”

“Yes it is. It’s waiting in the hangar.”

“Right, gimme the coordinates. Where do you want me to take your boys to?”

“Anywhere outside the radiation zone is good enough, can you manage to find a path through? We can hook you up with a Geiger counter?”

“No, Hephaestus will just short it out, he can find a path I just don’t make any promises on whether he’ll do what you need…”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter. They’re dead if they stay, and I don’t have any other options on who to send...George, I’m...sorry. This isn’t exactly how I’d hoped we’d be meeting up again,” Jack said carefully.

A shrug of his shoulders is all George gave in return. “I have to go get ready,” he said and left the office with Jack watching him go and sighing.

“Helps coming Jesse...please just hold on,” the Commander murmured to himself.

The hangar was full of activity, medical teams shipping out to assist with injured and help with relief efforts. Loads of equipment being loaded onto ships, and then being flown out with haste. Overwatch watchpoints nearby would also be shipping out. George furrowed his brow; he didn’t know the extent of the disaster, but from how much manpower was being dedicated to it, he was starting to get the picture.

“You George?” someone said from the prep stations. “Your gear’s over here, you’re going to be on my ship. I’m doing an airdrop since we don’t have sufficient radiation shielding to get in too close. You alright with that?”

“Yeah, done it before…” he said limping to a secluded spot to pull on the special clothing. It didn’t look particularly odd, a tank top and pair of loose looking pants but within the fibres they held special purpose. The woman looked skeptical as George limped back.

“...I can’t help but notice your limp,” the pilot mentioned as she pointed at his leg curiously. He shrugged, picking up the hefty looking hammer of sorts. “Parachute?”

George just smiled and shook his head. “He doesn’t need one, and I’m not the one who’s doing the work, you just get us there ma’am and we’ll do the rest,” he said and nodded as he walked over to the vessel, something stirring in his mind. A sleeping dragon.

“Right, okay, checks are done moving out.”

The vessel was off the ground and they were headed out for the disaster zone. It wasn’t long before they were over the flaming remnants of the city. High temperature waste had ignited gas lines, burst pipes and sewage. George took a deep breath, and stepped to the open door, wind whipping at his hair. “Ready for deployment.”

“Jump now,” came the answer.

And he leaped, closing his eyes, and fading away.

The ground came fast, feet to the ground smashing into the pavement body moving to a crouched position. A surge of static crackled along the ground, and over the man’s form. Someone new had landed in George’s stead. He stood up to a full height of 7 feet, hair being snatched up by the raw static that clung to him. The hammer at his back lit up, the lightning rod for the unhinged power.

He stepped from the impact sight, looking around, a rudimentary HUD and heat mapping overlay his vision. Unique features of the nanite construct. He reduced the range, zeroing in on the human body’s signature. Then the coordinates, there you are. “Hmmm,” came the noise as bare feet slapped on the pavement. He started into a swift run, hammer pulled from his back he discharged a raw bolt into a bit of the surrounding refuse, buildings already charred started to fall. It was calculated. No sign of the Blackwatch unit no need to worry about whether one of these buildings was where they hid.

The coordinates led him to a centralized spot, radiation levels seemed to be mildest here, interesting. His swept gold eyes around. A huddled group of human figures stuck out among the radiation and flooding. Several seemed quite cold, corpses perhaps?

The door of their sanctuary had a broken lock, so it was kicked down with unnecessary violence. The group looked up aiming weapons at the creature that stepped from the smoke. There was a few moments of fear.

“Hello, do not be afraid, I’m the rescue,” came a voice that was human, albeit that voice seemed to lack much in way of correct expression. “Which is closest to death?”

Reyes cleared his throat. “Hephaestus, right, they would send you. We have 2 dead, one in critical condition;” he said. “Is there a ship coming?”

“No ship, too much radiation. I’ll be your guide,” again it was nearly there, nearly friendly almost pleasant...but inherently wrong. “We will be leaving the dead behind, they may be collected after radiation has be buried sufficiently.” He stepped over to the Blackwatch commander kneeling over the barely conscious McCree.

“Right. Men, leave unnecessary gear behind, we’re going light we have to go quickly,” Gabriel explained and like the well trained men they were, they dropped weight. Rations, ammunition and even their kevlar. If it wasn’t required for running it was lost. “We need some kind of cot for McCree it’d only slow a man down to carry him alone.”

“No need, he will not slow me down,” Hephaestus replied, putting his hammer on his back and hoisting the injured man up. “Are you ready to leave?” Reyes raised a brow.

“Men?”

“Yes, sir,” came a combined affirmative.

“Lead the way.” Gabriel watched Hephaestus turn his back to them and start back out into the ruined block.

Jesse was only barely aware of everything happening, when he’d seen Hephaestus approach him he’d been sure it was some angel or demon come to take his soul away. Must be surely. He could tell he was being carried but maybe he was flying.

It must be a demon holding him, as it tried to smile...it all felt so wrong. Hair flickering like fire in tones of red and yellow, the inhuman eyes, surely it was evil. He had no power to fight it’s hold.

Each time he closed his eyes he felt he was getting closer to hell. A Metallic taste in his mouth, the heat of flames. His hazy grasp of the world. Ruins of civilization and he swore he could hear screams, there must be screaming. The damned. That’s what they were, that mad man had said as much. The taste started to fade away but his teeth hurt, he felt itchy, his left arm was asleep. It was itchy, he wanted to scratch it.

He couldn’t move it.

Then he blacked out.

And when he was conscious again he found himself lying in a ship, someone snoring next to him, some old man. He closed his eyes and fell unconscious again.

Flashes of activity followed his long darkness, voice of people; some he recognized, others he didn’t. Many pokes, many prods, and the itching that just wouldn’t go away. His left arm was still numb, and yet it itched. He couldn’t find a way to scratch it. He’d just fade back away for a while, hovering in between awake and asleep. He thought of the monster, was this the hell he’d been brought to? Asleep, yet aware.

It seemed like an eternity, as he finally opened his eyes and was blinded by fluorescent lights in the ceiling. He felt dizzy, and sick. He coughed, and that caught someone’s attention.

“Jesse?”

Who was that? He furrowed his brow and turned his head to see. Commander? “...Jack?” was all he managed to rasp. His throat felt so dry, he tried to sit up only to find himself too weak to do so, how long had he been in bed like this?

“Hey take it easy, you’ve been through alot, you’re okay though,” Jack said in a calming tone, putting a hand on Jesse’s his right one. “Are you thirsty? I can sit you up.” McCree nodded to the question. The bed moved rather than him putting him into a sitting position. “Can you move your arm for me?”

Jesse took a few seconds then moved his right arm up, squeezing his fingers closed and then opening them. They were stiff, his arm was stiff all of him was stiff. “Stiff…” he mentioned.

“Yeah well you’ve been laying in bed for a while, are you in pain at all?”

“A little.” He looked to the glass of water Jack had in his hand. He reached out for it, nearly dropping it when the glass was transferred to his grasp. He sighed and did his best to be careful with a sip. A few swallows and he seemed to feel better. “I can’t feel my left arm...I think it’s asleep, but it’s itchy…”

Jack got a funny look on his face. One Jesse couldn’t parse. The commander seemed to be avoiding something. “I’m...I’m sorry Jesse, there was nothing we could do,” he said vaguely. This made McCree’s blood run cold. For some reason he just kept avoiding looking over at his arm. Like everything in his brain was telling him not to.

“What do you mean?” he asked, slowly letting his gaze turn, he had to know. He didn’t want to know. Nothing. There was nothing there, it was like someone had just deleted half of his arm. A pit made it’s place in his stomach. “...but...it itches...I can…” He could feel it.

“I’m sorry…” Jack repeated.

“I...can I...alone?” Jesse finally asked. He just needed space to think.

“Yeah, of course, all the time you need,” the Commander replied standing and briefly putting a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Buzz the nurse, and I’ll be right back if you need.” He stepped back and away from the younger man, closing the door when he left.

Jack was heading for his office, head focused on the ground, nibbling his finger out of habit. He ran hard into something, a person he had to assume as his head wasn’t aching from contact with something more solid. He looked up uttering an apology quickly before he too real note of who he’d ran into. “Oh...George…” he said and sighed.

“Commander, how’s the kid?” George asked taking a few steps back. Jack frown a bit and gave a vague shrug.

“He’s, alive. Thanks to you, I owe you…” the commander said softly as he rubbed his chin, taking a deep breath. “I know this really isn’t my place to ask but...would you...could you talk to him?” That cause George to raise a brow curiously.

“Why do you want me to talk to him? I don’t really know him,” George asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Jack seemed to hesitate with the explanation, eyeing the prosthetic that had replaced George’s right arm at the shoulder. No sense tiptoeing around it he had to just come out with it. “Cause, he’s lost an arm, and I don’t really know what that’s like. I don’t know how to talk about it, or help.” Finally George seemed to understand. “I know, I really don’t have a right to ask…”

“Fine. I dunno what you want me to say to him, but what harm can it do?” George said raising his hand to shut the stuttering blond up. “How old is he anyway?”

“21.”

“Lemme fetch something, and I’ll talk to your cowboy.” With that George stepped around Jack and headed for the exit.

It’d be an hour or so till George returned, with a messenger bag, and new fresh clothes. He headed for the medical wing and managed to avoid pulling any suspicion as to what was in his bag, knocking on the door to McCree’s room.

“I’m not hungry,” came a call and George snorted. Nurses, and their resident doctor could be a bit...overbearing. Ignoring the dismissal the big man pushed open the door, and stepped inside letting it close behind him.

“Don’t worry I don’t have any food,” he mused as he grabbed a chair and set it up backwards, sitting on it the wrong way around.

“Oh...uh, do I know you?”

“Nope, well, not really anyway; Heph saved your life though,” George set the bag down, and it made a noise like glass clinking. “Not that you probably remember much of that, you were pretty gone. But, Jesse McCree’s your name right? Mine’s George Pickford, formerly Lieutenant Colonel.” He offered his right hand for a shake, Jesse sort of stared at it for a while.

“Right…” he put his hand in the metal one and they briefly shook. “Nice to meet you I guess, so uh whats the story for you visiting me? You’re not Blackwatch.”

“Be honest I was asked to, cause we’ve both be in similar situations,” and George held up his arm again. “What with losing our arms in the line of duty. Guess it’s been uh tough, itches doesn’t it?”

Jesse furrowed his brow, George’s accent lended this sort of easy, fatherly vibe; but his words hit McCree a bit hard. “I...I’m trying not to think about it too much, but...yeah itches like the devil.”

George nodded as he reached down into his bag pulling out two glasses and setting them on the little tray next to the bed. Then he set down a bottle of Tennesse Whiskey and Jesse glanced at the door. “Would have been in sooner, but figured you could use something a little more potent than hospital jello,” he offered as he popped the cap off and poured enough to fill each glass about a third of the way.

“Where’d you even get this outside the states?”

“That’s Classified.”

Jesse was patient as George set the bottle back away in the bag, lest some nurse come in and attempt to confiscate it. “You on pain medication?” he asked.

“Little bit, I don’t...I don’t honestly feel much of anything.”

“Burns’ll do that to ya, I didn’t feel much but that ache, like the pins and needles when your foot wakes up,” George replied as he handed over the glass.

Jesse observed it for a few seconds, it smelled good, reminded him of home. He sighed and took a small sip, watching George take a more generous helping. “Will it...will it always do that?” he asked softly, feeling the warmth of the drink after another sip.

“Yep.”

“...oh,”

“Now I don’t mean to be depressing about it, you get used to it, you forget about it; the metal ones help but your brain will always be looking for what you’ve lost; there’s nothing you can really do about it,” George said with a bit of a smile. “Life goes on, they’ll get you fitted up with something like I’ve got. You stop thinking about it after a while.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better,” Jesse replied taking a longer sip.

George shrugged. “It is what it is, I dunno what else to say about it, you can’t dwell on it; it’s gone. It doesn’t come back,” he said as he took another drink. “All I can say is what not to do. Don’t get angry, don’t get bitter; you do that and you’ll start to give up. Not your fault, not anyone’s fault it’s gone.”

McCree gave a shallow nod, looking into his cup. “I just...I dunno, I guess…”

“You figured you were invincible.”

“I- no...well…” He went quiet.

“You’re 21, in some gang for years, then you join the league of heroes, I mean why wouldn’t you think that? Sure, you know there’s danger and maybe you’ve even figured that you’ve accepted your mortality. Then it happens,” George went on finishing his glass and setting it aside. “You bleed. It’s okay, kid; it’s okay to be scared, to wonder why, to hurt. It’s not easy really facing that and coming out with that reminder.”

Jesse sniffed and rubbed his face. He’d managed not to cry, but it was starting to hit him. Really shaking him up. He put the glass down and reached over putting his hand on what remain of his left arm. “It all just feels like a bad dream, like it didn’t happen to me...it happened to someone else,” he said and swallowed.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” George said and reached his hand over putting it on McCree’s shoulder. “Listen, you got lots of good people around you, they want to help. Just remember that. You’re not alone.”

McCree and George settled in, for a while talking about a lot of nothing. McCree found the older man good to listen to, he didn’t fool around, kept things simple. After a time George was getting ready to go.

“Hey, would you mind me holding onto the glass? I’d like another but I’d hate to keep you if you gotta go,” Jessy asked, raising a brow. George hummed.

“Sure, I already broke up the set, wife took one, just one I think to piss me off; I’m getting out of here in a few days, don’t plan on being back, so you can hold onto it,” George replied and poured a bit more whiskey into the glass. “Everyone needs a good glass for good liquor. Keep your chin up kid.” He tossed the bag back onto his shoulder and started out. “Oh...hey you know what, hows about I leave this with you. I just thought about it.” George turned back around and wrote up a number on a napkin. “There, you need something, I don’t know an ear to talk in, you take that and give me a ring. I don’t know how much good it’ll do ya, but my best friend from back in the day gave me a paper like that same deal...so I’ll pass on the favor.”

“Oh...huh thanks are you sure? I mean…” Jessy fumbled, little taken back by such /easy/ kindness even after 4 years. “I...hey, thanks. I’ll do that, if you don’t mind I mean.”

“Don’t bother me none,” George replied. “See ya around kid. Good luck, don’t let Gabe work you too hard. Don’t do anything you don’t believe in.”

And he walked out the door. “Adios, George…” Jessy mused taking a sip of his refilled glass with a smile.

Finally home, George took a deep breath, setting his bag aside and falling onto the couch. “Welp...buddy, looks like we’re finally retired,” he murmured to himself, glancing at his reflection on the TV. A figure stood behind him, Hephaestus, though it was all in his head. “Sorry, I’m...not up to it anymore. You did your best, you did enough. Don’t worry about it.” He leaned back and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, we did alright. Time to go to sleep Hephaestus...for a while.”

…’sleep?’

George leaned back. He closed his eyes. “Yeah, sleep.”

‘Okay.’ The figure disappeared from the screen.

[thelifeofascholar-blog1]

In Which the Scholar Embarks on a Voyage, pt. 3

(Artwork: Juxtaposition of Black and White (and Green) no. 99, or No Longer Bread. Ink on Paper. © The Scholar, July 2017)

The time is nigh for me to bring this sorry tale to its conclusion. I have steeled myself against the ignominy with an immense helping of marshmallow-laden breakfast cereal and a scented candle, and yet my resolve wavers. Strength, I say unto myself, courage, for the event must be told.

Why must it be told? Why torture myself to inform you of my great misfortune? The answer is simple: it is imperative that the reader understand that I, above all, have suffered. Surely I could simply state the fact and leave it, but to do so would be to leave doubt in your mind. Every person thinks themselves the most unfortunate, but I must prove unto all that I actually am. A lesser person would fold, would crumple beneath the horrors that I have withstood.

Now, we left off just as I had settled into my place at the back of the dank metal tube whose wheels were to convey me in three hours’ time to the front door of my dear, suffering mother. The bus was to depart within minutes. There was a welcome buffer of several seats between me and the nearest other occupants, a mother and child appearing to me to have comparable levels of intelligence (note that this witticism is not intended as a compliment to the child). More passengers boarded by the second, however, and I feared that my buffer would be lost to the spatial insensitivity of some imbecile.

Just then I had a stroke of insight. The reader will, perhaps, recall that I had smuggled on board a specimen from a home biology experiment I had theretofore been conducting: a slice of white sandwich bread sporting an advanced splotch of bread mold. I had brought it along strictly in the interest of scientific inquiry, but it seemed it could serve me in a more pragmatic capacity. I placed it on the seat in front of me and waited.

It wasn’t long before there approached a boor of the sort one would expect to see riding on a bus. I watched him with a devilish countenance, glaring him down with all the fire my eyes could project. I’m sure this in itself was intimidating, for though I am physically slight and slow to violence, the surgical mask I wore combined with my traveling cap must have given me a rather unhinged appearance. The brute, sadly, was undeterred by my threatening visage; I don’t know if he even saw it before arriving at the seat ahead of mine, well within my delicate personal space.

He paused, noting the specimen on the seat. I had assumed that the mold specimen would quietly deter him and all other comers, but he did not shrink even in the face of that discovery. Instead, he reached for it. I sprang to action.

“Unhand the bread!” I cried.

He recoiled, his dark designs frustrated by my valiance. Rather than show any kind of courage and accept my challenge, he instead shrank like a coward, muttering toxic epithets of little effect. In this moment, however, he revealed a grand flaw in my plan. While I had successfully blocked his entrance into the seat before me, I had overestimated the moldy bread’s effect on deterring the occupancy of neighboring seats. My aggressor sat in the seat across the aisle.

Woe, woe I felt as my tormentor stripped from me my buffer of solitude. Not only was I doomed to pass my minutes in a sardine can on wheels, but I had also to sit within potential smelling distance of a man who, though not yet having offended, was sure to emit some foul odor before long. I wondered if my facemask would withstand it.

Rather than give that heathen the satisfaction of seeing my discomfiture at his presence, I faced the window to my right as the great behemoth of a vehicle began its departure from the station. Not knowing whether to breathe a sigh of relief at the expedition’s outset or to gasp at the multitude of frightening prospects that might become of me, I struggled to breathe at all for a moment.

That blasted metallic cavity in which I rode was nightmarishly bumpy. I had hoped against hope to rely on the sleep-inducing symphonies of Ludwig Beethoven to calm my troubled nerves and drop me into slumber for the duration of the trip, but with the continual quaking, the incessant swaying to-and-fro of the vehicle, not a modicum of rest was to be had. I was reminded of tales I had read in the post of torture stratagems designed around the deprivation of a victim’s sleep. Clearly, the transit authority was composed of sadists, intent on finding the acceptable threshold of comfort and always falling short of it. I placed my headphones back in my valise with the utmost dejection.

With the swaying so pernicious, so maddening, I was similarly unable to calm my troubled mind with regards to the enigma of my mother’s missive. It preyed on my mental faculties, threatening me with wild scenarios of domestic unrest and international intrigue. It so occupied my thoughts that I scarcely noticed the approaching tattooed woman until she was nearly upon me.

“Stay thine sullied skin from touching me!” I commanded, recoiling startled from her. The wench, however, seemed not to be intentionally accosting me, but rather accessing a curious little closet in the rear of the vehicle, whose entrance was just to my left.

What could that space be? Was it a pantry, stocked with simulacra of sustenance for the braindead clientele? Was it, improbable as it may be, an open balcony, for the benefit of health-conscious travelers seeking fresh air and elderly travelers seeking a patio on which to ruminate? Could it be some sort of sensory deprivation environment, designed to reduce the severe adverse effects of extended bus travel on the psyche? This last option, though absurd to expect from the likes of the local transit authority, captured my mind. If it were so, then the chamber must be mine and mine alone, for I alone held the mental capacity to appreciate it.

I arose and began to bang on the door. “Relinquish the chamber posthaste!” I cried.

“Keep your top on, I’m almost done,” she replied. I thought to object that I was not, of course, in any mind to doff my shirt and that to suggest as such was patent stupidity, but I sharply realized that the statement was a crude attempt at idiom. I could not return to reasonable civilization soon enough.

The door opened. The ink-stained mongrel of a woman stood squarely blocking my path, emitting an odor most foul.

“Get—out—of—my—way!” I urged as I battled past the woman, catching an elbow to the stomach and a shoulder to the face in my efforts to negotiate the limited space by the door. In the struggle, I lost my balance and fell face first into ever-insuperable embarrassment, the worst I have ever endured.

You see, the chamber was not a balcony, a greenhouse, a conservatory, or a sensory deprivation chamber. It was neither a pantry. When I fell, I toppled onto the grimed floor of a (and my hands shake as I hesitate to write this next phrase), onto the grimed floor of a public restroom.

How could I, most talented and gifted among men, have been brought so low? I pondered my outrageous fortune as I wallowed there amongst filth, even more literal than the human filth I have heretofore described. Why did fate and god and science see fit to abase me so, to drag my good name through the mud and my good person through lavatory grime? And, more pressingly, what was I to do thereafter? Stricken with horror, I lay paralyzed across the threshold of the water closet, willing myself in vain to arise.

“O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,” I soliloquized as I lay prone. The imbeciles with whom I shared my travels took no notice of my suffering, but only to glance stealthily and quickly feign ignorance.

I called them on their misdirection. “You cannot fool me!” I cried. “In the name of all that is good and proper, I demand assistance!” But what kind of adjuration was that, to the proto-hominids around me, who surely held the same respect towards goodness and propriety that they demonstrated towards hygiene and dress? The encroacher who had earlier taken the rear seat opposite my own was the only to respond, and only to ask with characteristic consideration (which is to say none at all) what was my problem.

What response could sufficiently reprimand such an idiotic question? He sat not five feet from where I wallowed, but could not see the nature of my plight. I deemed that further communication with the lout could only damage my mental state, and thus ignored his inquiry.

Where I lay in the restroom there was nothing within reach on which to hoist myself, save for the metallic seat of the toilet itself, which, like any person of class, I dared not touch. I did find, however, that by wriggling myself just so, I could inch out of the stall and into the bus aisle. I admit it must have looked rather silly, me slithering along the floor, but I thought not of appearance. Nor thought I of the myriad pathogens and infective agents that I was allowing to contact my clothing and exposed dermis as I crept. It is truly remarkable what the human body can accomplish in a moment of crisis.

I had thought to hoist myself back into my seat and continue the ride southward in as much cognitive detachment from present circumstances as I could accomplish. However, I had, in my enthusiastic wriggling, proceeded one seat too far forward. As I reached blindly up to the seat, my hand came down not upon seat cushioning, but rather the sickly fuzz of a moldy piece of bread.

My reaction was involuntary. I retracted my hand, feeling ever sicker in my innards, and the bread came with it. It would seem either that the mold had developed adhesive properties, or my hand had become sticky from contact with floor detritus. Either way, in a moment the bread was soaring, thanks to an overzealous response from my hand to fling it.

The remainder of the ride I recall only in snippets: the bread piece colliding with the back of the tattooed lady’s bulbous skull; her angry rush at me; once again lying on the bus floor, this time suffering the pain of repetitive kicks and bruises; and then blackness.

When I regained consciousness, my transport had come to a stop, but not at my destination. I found myself outside of it, being hoisted into an ambulance, head splitting, clothing soiled, and reputation irrevocably marred. I managed a pained whisper to the EMT that I was not normally in such a disgusting, pitiful state, but the slouch didn’t acknowledge me with any more than the minimum required of professional courtesy.

I had every intent to sue the assaulting tattoo woman, but I would discover later that the remainder of the bus passengers had conspired against me. They all colluded in the absurd fiction that my assailant never touched me, that I had simply cringed at her approach and crumpled to the floor. Even as silly as it would be to believe one of them individually, their collective and coordinated testimony created an undeniably strong case for the defendant. As usual, justice was not to be had by the Scholar.

There did come from the event, however, a small karmic consolation: I was free of the cursed bus, as the ambulance carried me the remainder of the voyage. While the EMTs tending to my ailments were poster-children of banality, they were at least not of the awful pedigree that sat inside of that great metal tube. Sadly, my caretakers demonstrated only minimal shades of competence with their profession, for as I requested them to document my state of injury for legal retribution, they failed to find any contusions or lacerations.

Thus concluded my harrowing voyage southward. I arrived via ambulance, in pain both mental and physical, coated in floor grime and bread mold, and preparing against my better reason to return to my mother’s home, the patrimonial shack within two-hundred miles of which I had not set foot in several years.

The tale of my arrival on the doorstep has yet to be told, of course, but I grow weary yet again and require a bath. I shall return in my next installment to apprise you, my dear readership, of what lay beyond.