#kill three birds with one flaming set of stairs

[incorrect-correct-quotes]

“Kill three birds with one flaming set of stairs”

[insomniamamma]

“Surf City Goodness”: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: This is the same AU as “Ferris Wheels Are for Old People” and “Liminal” but you don’t have to read those to read this one. Ezra loses his arm in an automobile accident which kills his brother, Damon and orphans his niece, Cee. Reader lives across the street from Ezra and they’ve been friendly for sometime but now it’s something more. Set after  “Ferris Wheels Are For Old People” This is for @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and @clydesducktape​ ‘s Writer Wednesday.

Warnings: Language. Mentions of sex. Mentions of drug abuse.  Mentions of traumatic injury/surgical scars. Mentions of Reader’s ex.  Cee needs her own warning, but mostly this is just fluff. Ez and Cee and Reader enjoy a trip to the beach. I will include some songs from Cee’s playlist at the end.

          Iggy Pop's voice warbles out of the speakers. "I wanna go to the beach, I don't care if it's decadent, I don't know where my spirit went, but that's alright..."          "This seems a bit bleak, Birdie," says Ezra.          "Quit your griping, you'll get your surf city goodness soon enough," says Cee and grins. Part of the deal they've worked out is that Cee gets to pick the music for any road trip longer than two hours, otherwise it's NPR until the signal fades and then whatever classic rock they can pick up. The three of you are crammed in the cab of Ezra's battered Ford Ranger. Cee is the smallest so she sits in the middle. The truck's bed is full of gear, air mattresses and sleeping bags and towels, a cooler filled with food and another filled with beer. I don't know what conditions we'll find exactly, Ez told you, We haven't been back here in some time.          "If there's spiders I'm sleeping in the truck," you said and Ezra smiled, and pressed his remaining hand over his heart.          "Never fear, Sunshine, I will protect your from our arachnid friends."

         "Hey Sunshine!" Ezra calls from his front porch. You look up from your laptop to see Ezra and Cee laden with grocery bags.          "Hey, Ez, you need a hand?" He smirks. This is an old joke between the two of you. When Ezra first came home, with Cee and without his arm, they were unloading Cee and Damon's things, bags and boxes and you, without thought had asked if he needed a hand, it just came out and you'd clapped your hands to your mouth, and then spluttered, I'm so sorry I didn't mean--and Ezra laughed, of course I need a hand. I'm down to just the one.          "Always," he says. You loop the plastic bags over your arms, sweating packages laden with ground beef and bratwursts and chicken thighs.          "You all having a party?"          "We're going to the beach," says Cee. "You should come with us. It'll be fun."            "Jesus, Cee," he mutters and then collects himself and smiles, "I had meant to ask you before this one jumped the gun-"          "It's fine. Really."          "You still working remotely?" asks Ezra.          "For now. There's some talk about keeping my department remote."          "Good thing or bad thing?"          "Good thing," you say, "I like working in my pajamas."          "Good thing because you could come with us," says Ezra.          "Ez--"          "I'm dead serious," he says, "Cee's got a four day weekend. We've got decent internet. Damon saw to that before...well, before. Mind you, this will probably be something of a working vacation. Ma's house has stood empty sometime. Damon used to keep it up but..." Ezra trails off. It's a small town. Damon's drug problems were more or less public knowledge. You think of the files you still need to edit, but for once you're ahead of the game. None of that is due until midway through next week. You've got some wiggle room if things go south.          "Yeah? Yeah, fuck it. I'm coming with." Ezra smiles wide, revealing his dimples. And that's how you end up in the cab of Ezra's beat-to-shit truck listening to Cee's fun and somewhat baffling playlist.

         "Talk to me, baby,I'm goin' blind from this sweet, sweet craving, whoa-oh, Let's lose our minds and go fucking crazy, I-I-I-I-I keep on hopin' we'll eat cake by the ocean..."          "Is this a parody?" Asks Ezra, "Like a Weird Al Yankovic thing?"          "No," says Cee, "It's an actual song. One of the Jonas brothers did it."          "Someone greenlit and recorded this on purpose."          "Yep."          "A song. About eating cake on a beach." Cee gives you a sly look.          "It's a metaphor, Ez," she says, "They're eating something but it's not cake." You have to hold in a laugh, watching the gears in Ezra's brain grind, watching his eyes go big.          "Ohmygod! Cee!" Cee cackles and you snort laughter. "You are fifteen years old! You are a minor child! You should not be going there! You should not even know that there exists!" Ezra's cheeks go red. Cee is wheezing, eyes screwed shut with laughter, her own cheeks flaming, "You. Should see. Your face," she says.          "It's not funny!"          "Oh, it's funny," you say, "She got you good."          "Come on, Ez," says Cee, "You think I can't recognize a poorly veiled sexual reference when I hear one? It doesn't take a genius--"          "You are a terror," says Ezra, and Cee grins, proud of the title, "And you--" he arcs and eyebrow in your direction--"Are not helping matters." You give him your brightest smile.          "What can I say? I thought it was just a song about some goofballs eating cake by the ocean." He huffs, but you can see the smirk creeping up his cheek as he drives.

         The house at the end of the driveway is small, a cottage really, single storied and built up on stilts like the others around it, painted a faded robin's egg blue with white trim. The garage is underneath the house, room enough for one car and next to it is a room built to shelter the water heater and plumbing. A wooden staircase snakes up to a deck that wraps the entire structure. Sea grass sprouts in clumps from the sand. It's hot inside, a stale heat, and the first thing you do is open all the windows.          "I think there's a couple box fans in the storage space," says Ezra, "I'll go fetch them."          The back deck overlooks the ocean, pale expanse of sand and the gentle lap of blue-green sea, a wooden staircase reaches down to the sand below. The day is bright and hot and shot through with high cirrus clouds. You and Ezra have stripped the sheets from the beds and popped them in the washer, loaded the dishwasher, put fans in the windows.          "This is cleaner than I expected," says Ezra, "Maybe Damon cared more than I gave him credit for." Ezra's face clouds. You take his hand, squeeze his fingers in yours. You know little about Damon other than the town gossip and what Ezra himself has told you. You don't understand the convolutions of their relationship, you just know that Damon is a slow-healing wound, and that it does Ezra no good to pick at it. You tug at him.          "C'mon. Let's get changed. Cee's already got her suit on."

         "Turn around, Birdie, let me get your back." Cee rolls her eyes but does as she's asked. Ezra sprays sunscreen across her bony shoulders and rubs it in.          "I found a boogie board under the deck," says Cee, "And some toys from when I was real small. I found those floaty things you all used to put on my arms, remember those?"          "I do," says Ezra, "Damon chucked you into the surf without so much as a by-your-leave. It scared the hell out of Ma but you laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You're good to go, Little Bird."          "Thanks, Ez." And she's down the stairs, heading towards the surf.          "Your turn, Sunshine," he says and you turn your back to him. He presses a kiss against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, that one place that makes you squirm and shiver, right on the line between erogenous and ticklish.          "Menace--" you say and then squawk when the cold spray hits you, soothed by the passage of his calloused palm across your shoulders, gently gripping the nape of your neck, and you lean back against him briefly, relishing his solidity, his warmth, his hand rests lightly on your hip.          "Let me get your back," you say. Ezra turns his back to you and shucks out of his t-shirt. He's already ditched his prosthetic arm. Don't know how seaworthy it is, he'd said, as expensive as it was I don't care to find out. You shake the can of sunscreen and blast him with it.          "Christ! That's cold!"          "We gotta make sure Cee reapplies after a couple hours," you say, smoothing your hands over his broad back, relishing the slide of his tanned skin beneath your palms, "She'll burn to a crisp otherwise." You press your fingers into the tight muscles of his neck and he makes a contented sound like a purr in his chest.          "You're always so tense right here," you say and dig your fingers in, feeling the thrumming muscles loosen somewhat under your touch. Ezra leans back into you as you did to him moments ago, your arms snake around his shoulders, tuck your face against the side of his neck. This thing with you and Ezra is soft and languid and you're not sure how to define it. This is not the fevered, clawed territory of young lovers, the sort of push and pull you had with your ex, the idea that love had to keep proving itself somehow. With Ezra there is nothing to prove. He seems content to ride this gentle wave, to let things play out in their own time.          "Turn around," you murmur against his skin, "Not done with you yet."          "Now, I am perfectly capable of applying--" he starts, but you see his eyes drop, and know it for what it is. You've known Ezra for a while. The two of you were always friendly, since you moved in across the street from him. Ezra before was even more exuberant, had a swagger about him, confidence in his own skin that is only just now trying starting to return. Ezra before would preen under your gaze if he caught you looking at him while he repainted his deck or put down mulch in his garden, Ezra now shrinks from your eyes. You can see the self-doubt seep in. The worry about his scars, that the loss of his arm makes him less, somehow.          "I know," you say, "Maybe I just want an excuse to get handsy." He arcs an eyebrow at you, that brief flash of doubt replaced with his more familiar smug smirk.          "Well, have at it, by all means," he says. You spray him with the sunscreen and start rubbing it in, smoothing over his freckled shoulders, down his upper arms, mindful of the tender skin at the end of his stump, the dips of his clavicles, his broad chest, littered in angry pink scars that shout in contrast to the rest of his skin. Punched indentations along his ribs where they'd stuck in tubes to drain the air and blood out of his collapsed lungs. You work your way down along his soft belly and back up his sides, a hissed intake of breathe and you stop.          "Does that hurt?"          "Nah. Tickles."          "Mmm-hmmm. I'll have to remember that so I can use it to my advantage later."          "Oh and I'm the menace," he says, his arm curls low around your hip, pulling you nearly flush with him, and you complete the motion, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him tight against you, your chin notched over his shoulder. Cee is creeping up the stairs with a battered plastic bucket in her hands. She shoots you a grin and you know exactly what she has in mind. You back up a little, cup Ezra's stubbled cheeks in your hands and kiss the tip of his nose.          "Surprise," you say and take a big step back. There's just time enough for that little furrow to start between his brows and then Cee dowses him, a whole bucket of seawater poured directly over his head. He splutters. His eyes go big and round. Cee is doubled over laughing.          "Oh," he says, blinking salt water out of his eyes, "Oh that's it. Today's the day, Cee! I am going to drown you!"          "Gotta catch me first, old man!" says Cee and pelts down the beach. You run after them, their bright laughter peals through the warm summer air. Ezra grabs Cee and dunks her into an oncoming wave. She emerges splashing great fans into Ezra's face.          "It is only proper that I took my vengeance," says Ezra, holding his hands out to deflect the spray.          "I don't think the Geneva conventions apply here, you douche-canoe," says Cee.          "Oi! That language--" This is your opening. You grab Ezra around his waist and push off backward into the oncoming wave, pulling him down with you. The two of you come back up, coughing and laughing, arms slung around each other. There's no shadow in Ezra's eyes now, you press your lips to his, the waves roll over you, the tide dragging at your bodies while you and him remain still. Press of your lips to his, your tongue licks out and tastes salt on his lips and he opens for you, his hand cupping the back of your head, guiding you against him, his tongue stroking against yours, no battle for dominance, this, just the plush heat of his mouth, the heave of your chests when you finally break apart, waist deep in the ocean.          "I--" says Ezra and Cee's splash hits at face level.          "Gotcha!" she crows, and starts running.          "You miserable little rat!" He hollers, chasing her through the surf. You stand hip deep in the water and laugh. You're not sure what you and Ezra are to each other. Lovers? Friends? Family? Whatever it this is, it feels right and good. It feels like being home.

A/n: Here is a sampling of Cee’s beach trip playlist:

“I Want To Go To The Beach” by Iggy Pop

“Telstar” by The Tornados

“Cake By The Ocean” by DNCE

“Rockaway Beach” by The Ramones

“Misirlou” by Dick Dale and his Del-Tones

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH65

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 65: The Queen’s Inheritance (IV)

Amid the dragon’s roar, the temple of cult ceremony began to collapse, but this did not stop the battle between the dragon and the monster. The two creatures in their full forms fought in this temple, and the devastating dragon breath burned around the altar, while the monster’s tentacles clung to the body of the dragon, making it impossible to bite off its tentacles.

The monster summoned by the blood of nearly 100 people couldn't fight Ning Zhou who hadn't shown his magic dragon form yet. However, after the irradiation of that strange eyeball, the monster had evolved strangely, and it had gained the power of the Devil of Power from the empty void, which made it stronger, scarier, and more cruel than before!

Like the magic dragon, it had surpassed the half-field level. Compared to Ning Zhou, who was still suppressing his own strength and avoiding being swallowed up by the origin of destruction, the irrational monster was much more terrible. It indulged itself unscrupulously, as if it were the evil in the world itself.

In the frenzied battle, no one noticed that Qi Leren, unconscious in a pool of blood, was fighting against the bewitching influence.

"Through the evil and filthy world, your soul will reach Utopia.

"There will be no more troubles and disappointments, and your life will be immersed in endless happiness and well-being.

"Demons forget the bloodthirst and desire to kill, human beings forget selfishness and greed, and all life is treated equally in Utopia.

"There will be no more death, because the soul is immortal, and you will have eternal life.

"You will also see your love, in that immortal paradise..."

Qi Leren suddenly woke up.

His body was still numb, but his consciousness woke up.

It seemed to be a whisper or a talking voice, which was still ringing and droning like a set program, but he was awake from the trance-like state.

He had suddenly thought of his lover, who wouldn't be there—a carefree Utopia.

He would only be in hell.

If he hadn’t couldn’t see him and bring him with him, he would have stay here forever, and accept all the torture in the world like self-punishment, until the dead lake water rose over his head. He won't even struggle, just sinks to the bottom quietly.

Qi Leren woke up because he couldn't let Ning Zhou go.

Being paralyzed, he couldn't move, and it was difficult to breathe deeply. Qi Leren choked back the stiff pain, slowly moved his heavy iron hand to his chest, and slowly clenched the item [Prophet's Heart] given to him by the Prophet.

[Prophet’s Heart: A god-level item hand-made by the noble and great Prophet that can make you feel the pleasure of turning into a bird. Holders can summon an archangel to come and fight on their behalf for 3 minutes with a cooling time of 24 hours.]

The battle between the magic dragon and the monster has been heated up, and the eyeball suspended in the air had continuously strengthened the monster’s power, making it quickly recover its damaged limbs, while the magic dragon has gradually liberated his own strength, and had become increasingly violent and crazy dominated by force of destruction. Under the imposing manner of the Destroyer, even such a horrible monster cannot take the upper hand.

The passerby—the initiator of this chaos—had stepped back a little, and retreated to a safe distance.

At this moment, he should be glad he hadn't gotten involved. The strength of this monster itself was about a half-field, and he could cope with it and experience a pleasant battle. However, when the strange eyeball of the master with an unknown field level had begun to interfere with the ceremony, the monster was itself strengthened to a level close to the field level.

Hmm..... Which Devil King was it?

Having entered the Nightmare Game little more than two months ago, the passerby who was confused about the power system and loyalty factions here scratched his hair and prepared to leave after watching the drama.

Although challenging a master made him happy, and he was willing to pay for it with his life, when he came to this world, he found that it was not an end wall but an amazing new world before him. He rekindled the enthusiasm of picking up the tangdao for the first time and couldn't wait to join the new world.

But not now.

The passerby reluctantly glanced at the chaotic scene and left the chaos behind.

The battle between the magic dragon and the monster became more and more fierce, and the temple became a huge colosseum. Under the duel between two monsters like ancient giants, it was as fragile as a sand castle on the beach. The force of destruction flooded Ning Zhou's reason, and the origin’s sin burning in the blood was imprinted in his soul. He suddenly forgot himself, but was immersed in the power of absolute purity and absolute terror. Until...

The twilit light of Heaven appeared in this sinful ceremony.

Qi Leren, who struggled to hold the Prophet's Heart, took a deep breath and activated the item.

In an instant, the power of the Village of Dusk’s holder ran through the boundless space and pierced the blockade of one and a half fields, falling from the sky, dispelling the bewitching power in Qi Leren's mind, and making him wake instantly.

At the same time, the pure power washed away his consciousness. He flew lightly, and his white wings slowly stretched behind him. Behind him was the Kingdom of Heaven reflected in the dusk, flowers, rites and music, angels… Everything was so holy and beautiful and desirable.

In this pure beauty, the demagogic Utopia seemed to be exposed to strong light, revealing its inner ferocious horror. It had never been a pure land on earth, but a world dominated by the Lord of Power. Walking into Utopia was like walking into a hell under high pressure. All of the self was stripped away, leaving only the dead bodies of human beings and demons, and the instructions of the Lord of Power were uniformly executed.

Under the holy light, the gloomy and evil atmosphere in the temple in the lake faded. What was even more amazing was that the dead bodies all over the ground turned into the soil and flowers under the magic of time, and white flowers blossomed from the blood, swaying in the Kingdom of Heaven at dusk like a dream.

The meat monster let out a piercing howl, black blood erupted from its eyes, and the black dragon took this opportunity to maintain its momentum. The flames of destruction erupted from his mouth, burning the struggling monster to ashes.

"...Prophet, what are you doing here again?" In the Village of Dawn, the Lord of Power felt the abnormality in the ceremony and sighed faintly. With her sigh, the huge eyeball suspended over the ceremony, watching everything, slowly rotated and made a sound.

The holy angel who smiled in the clean white flowers stared at her: "Little girl, your hand stretched too far."

The voice was the voice of Qi Leren, but the speaker was not him, but the Prophet in the underground ice palace in the Village of Dusk. Through Qi Leren's body, he warned the Devil of Power who was observing here and tried to intervene.

"Has it? I don't think so. But since you’ve spoken to me in person, let's call it a day. I have another thing left with you, and I will ask for it when I have time." From the huge eyeball, a buzzing inhuman sound echoed in this building.

"I'm waiting for you," said the holy angel.

The eyeball in the void disappeared, and the consciousness attached to Qi Leren left. Before leaving, he said one sentence to him: "The Illusionist is in the Dragon Ant Queen’s royal palace, and my letter is on the way, so I’ll ask this of you and Ning Zhou."

The Prophet's consciousness dissipated, and Qi Leren was still standing on the ground, with white flowers under his feet. The mechanical clock behind him had not finished three turns, so this power that did not belong to him had not disappeared.

He looked up at the magic dragon standing on the altar, and the magic dragon also stared at him. There was no dried blood on his body and claws, no evidence of his fight against evil and his downfall.

There was a lonely longing in the dragon’s eyes, and it was like a gentle sadness.

Ning Zhou understood his own destiny. Just like every powerful person, the process of becoming stronger was the process of constantly moving closer to his own original force. One day, he would forget himself, his love, how much he loved the world, and indulge himself and destroy everything under the influence of this original force.

No matter how hard he tried to restrain himself and convince himself to persist for the person he loves, he couldn’t deceive his own strength. When he had fought with the monster, he had clearly felt that he was falling. This kind of degradation was a kind of pleasure, and he didn't need to make any effort. As long as he emptied his brain, the strength in his blood would emerge continuously, making him stronger and destroying his enemies.

But when the pool of blood turned into a sea of flowers, and his lover stood in front of him in the form of an angel and looked at him, he felt sincere shame and fear for his weak compromise to strength.

He was afraid that one day he would hurt Qi Leren and the world.

"Ning Zhou." Qi Leren went up the stairs and came to the dragon.

Compared to the huge body of the dragon, he was like a pocket-sized toy. If the dragon's foot even patted him gently, he would be crushed into a pile of meat. This size gap even scared Qi Leren, but he still wanted to believe that he wouldn't hurt him, insisting that the black dragon in front of him is still Ning Zhou.

The dragon closed its eyes, lowered its head slowly, and put it in front of him.

Just like it did in the lake of fire in Purgatory.

It was willing to bow to its beloved and let him comfort its body and soul with his hands.

"It's all right, it's all right..." Qi Leren murmured. The power borrowed from the Prophet had expired, the reflection of Heaven disappeared, his wings disappeared, and so did the intoxicating power. But his calming power still affected the dragon.

So the dragon gradually calmed down, and the force of destruction receded from his body, and he changed from magic dragon to human.

Qi Leren took his hand and looked at him, but his blue eyes that had always been firm avoided his sight.

This was an obviously weak and hesitant attitude, and Qi Leren certainly knew what it’s cause was. Because Ning Zhou had gotten stuck in that dead end again, the dead end that he almost killed himself because of.

He still couldn't accept a self who was a Devil, and was constantly sinking. Even if he was just doing justice as a Devil, it still caused him pain. Because at the end of this road to power, he was destined to become lost like every powerful person.

This was not something that the human will could contend with.

Qi Leren's heart was full of love that he didn’t know how to express, so he stood on tiptoe and left a comforting kiss on Ning Zhou's lips, tender and touching.

He was willing to burn himself with all his strength, as long as he could make Ning Zhou on the edge of hell feel the warmth of the world.

"I once told you, but now I have to say it again: your force has nothing to do with good and evil, and you have never fallen." Qi Leren clasped Ning Zhou's hand and repeated this sentence again.

Ning Zhou slowly rested his forehead against Qi Leren’s, relaxed his stiff body, and closed his eyes.

He wanted to hold this person tight, because this was his last salvation in the world.

-----

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[lakesandquarries]

oh it’s you (that i lie with)

for Oumota Week Day 2 - Timeloop

warnings: major character death (temporary but graphic)

notes: title from as the world caves in by matt maltese but i just listened to the cover by sarah cothran. happy oumota week everyone!! consider joining my oumota discord maybe!

AO3 Link

Kokichi lazily spins a french fry through his ketchup as Momota takes a seat across from him. The movement makes the table jostle. Kokichi doesn’t move.

“Getting used to it, huh?” Momota asks. “I guess this is just life now. Beats being dead, at least.”

“You failed, then?”

“I think every smoke alarm is busted.”

At 6:15 pm, the cafeteria will explode. A stray spark will hit an errant gas line and the entire place will go up in flames. There will be no survivors. 

Kokichi knows this because he has experienced it eleven times already.

The first time was unexpected. Obviously. When he woke up this morning (eleven mornings ago) in his dorm room he assumed today (eleven todays ago) would be normal. 

That assumption was disproven before he died and the day reset, but that’s unrelated.

The first time he died, the last supposedly normal minutes of his life, he and Momota were at this very same table. They weren’t alone then. Their friends had been with them, and Akamatsu had been in the middle of telling a story about a bird flying into the room during one of her classes, and suddenly there had been the loudest sound Kokichi had ever heard. He’d felt an intense, searing heat for just a moment, and then something large and heavy falling on top of him, and then he didn’t feel anything because he was dead.

When he woke up in his bed again he’d assumed it was a dream. Even when the morning played out much like the morning in his “dream” - well, that wasn’t too strange. Saihara had lost his favourite socks, but he did that often. Yumeno fell asleep in the cafeteria during breakfast, but she did that every day. Amami tripped down the stairs and had to go to the nurse, but he never paid attention to his surroundings. 

And then, right at the end of breakfast, Momota got down on one knee, presented Kokichi with a ring pop, and asked him to go on a date with him after dinner.

The beginning of the day had been typical. It wasn’t strange for his dream to match with reality, because his life was predictable.

That was not something he could have predicted, unless he had suddenly developed a new superpower.

The first time, he’d beamed at Momota, took the ring pop, and said he would be delighted to and that if this was a prank he’d have Momota killed.

The second time, he’d just said “What the fuck,” and then took off running.

The rest of the day went differently, but it was just close enough to make it clear. Kokichi had snuck around unused halls, spying on the classes he was skipping. Chabashira still had a five minute argument with the teacher during math, Hoshi still spilled a beaker in science. This time he got to watch Akamatsu’s unfinished bird story play out.

Just like before, he went to the cafeteria, and just like before he felt his bones flattened and then nothing at all.

In the present, whatever that really means, he tells Momota, “I hope I don’t get crushed again.”

Momota frowns. “At least it’s quick. The fire was the worst.”

“Well, I at least want some variety. It is the spice of life and all.”

Leaning forward, Momota rests his chin on his hand. His eyes keep darting to the clock on the wall. “I’ll toss you into the fire this time, if you want.”

“My hero.” Kokichi folds his arms behind his head and leans back.

They’d really tried, this time. They’d tried every time. This time, Kokichi had barely broken into the kitchen when he was caught. At least it was one of the kinder chefs. They’d given him french fries and instructed him to stay in the cafeteria where they could see him. 

“We still have some time,” Momota argues. “I mean, 6:15 is in like, an hour. We can at least prepare for next time.”

“Hm, would you like to scope out some more interesting places to die? I’m getting bored of the cafeteria. At least maybe something different will crush me.” He’s fairly certain it’s a table that keeps killing him, at least in the last few loops. For a second he’d felt the texture of the wood crushed against his face. 

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Momota says. His voice is full of empty confidence, a thin soap bubble that will pop if looked at for too long.

“Well, of course. You still owe me that date, after all.”

Perhaps it’s his imagination, but the glint in Momota’s eyes gets sharper. “I do. I’m a man of my word, you know.”

“You’ve given me your word more than a few times. I think you might owe me a few dates, my dearest Momota-chan.”

Momota’s eyes dart to the clock again, and Kokichi follows his gaze. 5:25.

“I’ll take you on as many dates as you want, Ouma.”

Momota had asked him out again in the third loop, and the fourth. Kokichi had accepted those, though in the fourth one Momota hadn’t bothered to drop to one knee and hadn’t even offered him a ring pop. He’d just turned to Kokichi and asked, “Will you go out with me?”

“I want a ring first,” Kokichi had said in response. 

“A ring,” Momota repeated. “What kind?”

“Grape.”

Momota had presented the ring pop, and Kokichi said yes.

In the fifth loop, Momota got down on one knee again.

“Ouma,” he started.

“Will you go on a date with me?” Kokichi asked. Momota reeled back, looking around the room in surprise. 

“Uh….yeah.” He stood up, blinking heavily. “How -”

“I have my ways,” Kokichi said with a wink. 

He’d skipped his next classes. That had been the first time he broke into the kitchen. He did a decent job sneaking, and his little recon mission was how he figured out the likely cause. He’d only gotten a brief glimpse before the chef kicked him out.

Momota was waiting for him at that same table. “Ouma,” he’d called out, waving him over, and Kokichi obliged him by taking a seat in the same chair he’d died in four times. “Are you hiding something?”

“Always. Are you?”

“You knew what I was doing this morning.”

“I’ve known you were in love with me for months.” Kokichi leaned back in his chair, twirling a strand of hair around his finger. “Obviously I knew what you were doing.”

“But you didn’t! The first - Uh, I mean...Oh, fuck it. You know what’s happening, right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He kicked his chair back, balancing it on two legs. He was not going to be the one to say it first, and it was so fun to get him worked up like this. “I mean, I know everything, but -”

“The loops! You’re the only one acting different! The first loop, you were surprised, the second loop you were - and now you’re stealing my lines!” Momota leaned towards him, hands on the table.

Kokichi raised a single eyebrow. “Your first performance was your best, Momota-chan.”

“So you are aware. How?”

The chair’s legs thudded against the ground. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I…” Momota hesitates, bluster wavering before it comes back full force. “Obviously, the universe knew I was the best person to task with fixing this. I’m gonna save everyone, just you watch.”

“Oh, good. I was worried I’d have to do something.” He stood up abruptly, almost knocking the chair over. “I’ll see you for our date, then.”

A hand grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back down. Momota was reaching across the entire table, gripping Kokichi’s sleeve tightly. His brows were pinched together, face unguarded and open and desperate. There was only a second of hesitation before Kokichi ripped his sleeve away, narrowing his eyes at the man across from him.

“You can’t seriously plan to do nothing,” Momota insisted. “There’s gotta be a reason -”

“Maybe I’m supposed to be working against you,” Kokichi said. His expression fell away to blankness. “You’re so eager to trust, Momota-chan. It’s very stupid of you.”

“That shit stopped working on me last year.” Momota jumped to his feet, hands pressed against the table as he leaned dangerously forward. Kokichi doesn’t need to have time traveled to know he will inevitably topple forward and crash into the table. Perhaps he would be the one to die to it this loop. “Ouma, I know you. Fuck, I asked you out this morning, you really think I’m still gonna fall for your evil bullshit?”

“I mean, it’s worked before. Recently, even.”

“You broke in through my window! Look, you’re missing the point. I know you wanna save everyone as much as I do.” His eyes were alight, grin too sharp for Kokichi’s liking.

“It’s in the kitchen.” 

Momota leaned forward again, and there it was - he fell face first onto the table.

“Idiot. Maybe the universe did choose me to help you. You’re clearly too stupid to figure it out on your own.”

Momota didn’t waste a second. He pushed himself back up as Kokichi spoke, completely ignoring his words. “See! We’re a perfect team, Ouma. What’s in the kitchen?”

A mess was in the kitchen. Every surface had at least five distinct fire hazards, and all together it combined into something unfathomably dangerous. A stray spark ignited a chain, and at the end of that chain was a crater.

Since that loop, they’d tried different ways to fix the kitchen. They’d tried scoping out times where no one was there (there weren’t any), they’d tried convincing the chefs something needed to be fixed (they’d been kicked out), they’d tried fixing it themselves (the explosion happened three hours earlier that loop), they’d tried setting off every smoke detector they could find (none of them worked). 

It’s starting to look a little hopeless.

Students begin filing into the cafeteria, happy and carefree and unconcerned. Akamatsu’s voice carries as she rushes to their table. “Ouma-kun, Momota-kun! I was wondering where you’d gone. The strangest thing happened in math earlier -”

Kokichi lays his head on the table. In his mind, he could only see Akamatsu’s broken body, her flesh beginning to bubble. Her screams were always the loudest.

It‘s always the same. Akamatsu starts her stupid story. Saihara arrives late, feathers in his hair, and Harukawa trails after him and glares at Kokichi. 

She usually survives the longest, from what Kokichi can see. She stays standing until the end. Saihara crumbles quick and quiet.

“Are you alright?” Saihara asks as he takes a seat next to Kokichi. 

Kokichi looks up at him. He’s too tired for expressions. “You’re going to die in twelve minutes.”

“Right,” Saihara says, and then he turns to Akamatsu and asks if she can help him get the feathers out of his hair.

They smile, and laugh, and talk, and at 6:15 exactly, that spark is set off.

Kokchi lives a moment longer than the last few loops, long enough to see Momota crushed by a falling piece of ceiling. 

“Liar,” Kokichi says to him, and then he too is gone.

---

He wakes up in bed.

[sokkascroptop]

traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 4

A/N: ensue cute lil fight scene; this is short but the next part is... v long >:)

part 1 | part 3 | part 5

And then there were three. 

Zuko met Y/N on the steps away from the house. He had a single bag slung over his shoulder. Birds chirped off in the distance and if Y/N really listened she could hear the ocean slapping against the sand. 

“I’m glad I don’t have to convince you that coming back is the right thing to do.” The corner of her mouth turned up. This was the first time she had directly addressed him in three years. “Where’s Iroh?” Y/N asked. 

Zuko picked at his tunic. He had yet to meet her eyes.“He’s not coming.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. Azula said that Zuko and Iroh had been inseparable since Zuko’s banishment. She couldn’t go back to the ship with only one of the captives.  “What do you mean?” 

Zuko sent a look back to the house and started down the stairs that led down the mountain. “Let’s get going.”

Y/N huffed out through her nose and jogged to catch up with Zuko who’s pace was frighteningly fast down the steep stone stairs. “Why doesn’t Iroh want to come back?” 

He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he answered. “He says he’s never known my father to regret anything.”

“I was there when he told Azula. He does.” The lie slipped off her tongue easily. 

Zuko’s eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks. He didn’t say anything but his eyes asked the question his mouth couldn’t form: Really?

He’d always wanted to make his father proud, ever since they were children. Even after all that the Fire Lord had done to him, he was still so desperate for his approval. 

Y/N spoke the words she’d practiced in the mirror before heading up the mountain. “It’s very important to him that you come home, Zuko.” Y/N couldn’t stomach another lie. And technically, this one wasn’t a lie. It was a half-truth. It was important to the Fire Lord that Zuko go back to the Fire Nation, even if it was under the guise that he’d be welcomed back with fanfare. 

Zuko turned to look out at the sea of cherry-blossom trees and rocks to the ship on the water. The ship that he thought was god-sent. 

“Wait! Don’t leave without me!” Iroh shouted as he came down the stairs. 

“Uncle,” Zuko beamed up at him. “you’ve changed your mind.”

“Family sticks together, right?” Iroh asked as he placed a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. 

“We’re finally going home,” Zuko murmured under his breath in amazement. 

The sight of them both staring out onto the water made Y/N bite her lip. She wanted to tell them that they needed to turn back and run but she kept her mouth shut. It was her duty.

“Finally going home,” Iroh repeated as Zuko stepped away and resumed heading down the mountain. He looked to Y/N who worked to keep her face neutral. He didn’t look as fooled by her as Zuko was. 

In front of them the guards lined up on either side of the dock. They stood at attention with their traditional helmets and masks on. Y/N walked ahead, they were almost home free; just a few more steps before she hit the ramp. She walked to stand next to the ship’s captain as Azula addressed them. She was smiling at her victory already.

“Brother, Uncle, welcome” Azula bowed deeply which Iroh and Zuko returned. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

The captain faced Y/N and nodded at her to go up the ramp first. Excitement burned in her chest as she squinted through the sun at Azula and made her way back to the ship. 

“Are we ready to depart, your highness?” The captain asked. 

“Set our course for home, Captain.”

“You heard the Princess! Raise the anchors,” the captain shouted from behind her. “We’re taking the prisoners home.”

Y/N had just reached Azula. Their faces mirrored one another from shock to outrage. Y/N whirled around on the captain who looked like he wanted to die on the spot. “You idiot,” she growled. She landed a swift kick to his stomach, effectively pushing him off the ramp and into the water. Her cheeks heated up in anger. Had he just shut up, Zuko and Iroh would be on the ship and in cuffs down below deck. It would have been easy for Y/N to get over her guilt about capturing them if she didn’t have to look in their eyes and face them. Now there was going to be a fight. 

Iroh had already turned on the guards around him, dodging fireballs and knocking them into the water with the grace of a much younger man. 

There was no one between Zuko and Y/N on the ramp. Y/N still hadn’t pulled her sword. It wouldn’t have been much good against his firebending anyways. “You lied to me!” he bellowed. His eyes burned into hers like he was shooting flames out of them. Y/N felt like she couldn’t use her voice, it had suddenly disappeared between the mountain and the dock. 

It didn’t matter, Azula assumed he was talking to her and answered for Y/N. “Like I’ve never done that before.” She grabbed Y/N’s arm and wrenched her back onto the ship, leaving Zuko to fight the guards that had just been flanking her. Azula gave her a little push to the upper deck and when she removed her hand Y/N realized her arm was burning where Azula touched her. She was geared up for a fight all along. 

Zuko’s anger fueled his fight. He stood on one foot and kicked one guard in the chest and punched the other, flames cracking as they left his hands and feet. Y/N stood on the upper deck watching it all unfold below her. Zuko ignited two knife-like flames from his hands. Azula’s back was still to him and Y/N knew immediately that whatever Zuko had planned was no match for Azula’s fight.  

“Zuko! Let’s go!” Iroh shouted from the dock. 

He ignored his uncle and began attacking Azula with fervor. He punched and kicked and sliced with his fire but each strike just missed Azula by a hair. She weaved around him like cat-snake in the reeds. She blocked a downstroke and pushed him away. 

“You know Father blames Uncle for the loss of the North Pole,” she taunted. “And he considers you a miserable failure for not finding the Avatar. Why would he want you back home except to lock you up where you can no longer embarrass him.” For a moment, Y/N thought that Zuko might surrender, or at least run from Azula and her guards. 

Instead he attacked again. 

Just as before, Azula evaded every strike and she had yet to throw any fire against Zuko. But Y/N was sure that wasn’t because she didn’t want to hurt him, she was just waiting for the right moment. They slowly made their way up the ramp to the upper deck. Y/N held her ground, she wasn’t afraid of a little heat. 

Suddenly Azula grabbed Zuko’s wrist, Zuko tried to jerk away at the last second, knowing what she was going to do, but she held fast. She shot a line of blue fire just over his head as he rolled backwards down the ramp. Y/N caught his expression when he landed in a crouch. Shock. He’d never seen her make blue fire before.

Zuko was still as Azula swirled her arms around her body creating a circle of energy. Lightning crackled around her, ready to be released. 

“Azula, don’t!” Y/N yelled. She didn’t know what made her do it but Y/N couldn’t watch as Azula killed her brother with that stupid fucking lightning. 

Her voice was enough to make Azula falter. The lightning faded for a moment before coming back stronger than before. Y/N drew her sword and started towards Azula unsure of what she was going to do to stop Azula, but Iroh got there first. As she pointed her lighting at Zuko, Iroh grasped her hand and Y/N watched in horror. Surely he would die from that. 

But he didn’t. Azula’s lightning traveled through his body and out his other hand straight into the side of the cliff, exploding rocks everywhere. He had redirected it. He twisted Azula’s arm around and kicked her in the chest, over the edge of the ship.

And then there were three. 

Y/N was caught in a stare down between the two men. She, the only non-bender on the Agni-damned ship, was the only one left standing to fight. But...Y/N realized she didn’t want to fight them. Any adrenaline she’d mustered up to go to battle evaporated. Slowly, without taking her eyes off of them, she let the tip of her sword fall. She watched as Iroh helped a still stunned Zuko to his feet and together they ran off the ship and into the cherry blossom forest. She swore Iroh had thrown a wink back in her direction...

Later, Y/N would tell herself that it was all a defense tactic; that the only reason she let them go was because she didn’t stand a chance against two fire-benders, one of them being the Dragon of the West, a man who could redirect lightning. She would absolutely deny any claim that she let them go because she didn’t want to see either of them imprisoned. That was absolutely untrue. 

A/N: how do we feel about Y/N lying to Zuko’s face? Letting Iroh and Zuko go? 

[readerofbooksandmusic]

Nesta and Cassians kids

Nesta and Cassian had a meeting at the Court of Nightmares, but they don't have anyone to watch their kids. They practically begged Amren who, in return, declared she wouldn't watch their little demons even for the biggest ruby they could get. So this is why the trio was left home all alone for the first time.

"Mom said if you blow up the house she's going to put you up for adoption." Nova, the youngest of the three, a spitfire just like her mother, pointed a finger at her brothers.

"How would we do that?" Ely looked over the leather-bound book he got from Gwyn for his birthday. His hazel eyes narrowed at his younger sister as if daring her to say what she's thinking.

They were interpreted by their older brother before a verbal war started between the two youngest. "I'm hungry!" Cal stretched out his long wings and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.

"Mom and Dad said not to turn the oven on," Nova hit his feet to get them off their mothers' favorite piece of furniture.

Cal huffed, "If we don't tell them and clean up the mess they will never know, and I think we have leftover pancake mix from breakfast." Ely's head shot up at the idea of pancakes.

"It does sound really good, and there is no way to blow the house up by only making pancakes." He narrowed his silver eyes at his sister in mockery.

"Fine," Nova huffed, flopping onto the couch glaring at her brothers as they ran to the kitchen.

Nova mumbled about how she hopes they burn their fingers as she follows them into the kitchen. When she entered Cal was pouring the batter on the pan, trying to remember how he saw his father do it.

"Hey, Nov can you grab the plates?" Cal asked as he poked at the pancake with the spatulas.

"Cal you know I can't reach them," She glowered at him and he huffed laying the spatula down.

Ely was rubbing his temples, "You guys give me a headache."

"And you are no fun to hang out with." Nova shot back with a smirk of triumph lined her lips.

Ely's head shot up and stuck his tongue out at her before his eyes shot wide. "Fire!" He shouted as he jumped off the chair.

But none of his siblings reacted, "no you assholes! Fire!"

Nova turned and saw the blaze and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Nova, grab the tea kettle!" Cal shouted as he poured a glass of water onto the flames.

Nova grabbed the tea kettle that had leftover tea and gave it to her brother. The flames sizzled before flickering out.

Smoke filled the house and the trio began coughing. "Cal! What did you do?" Ely shouted as he opened the windows and began fanning the smoke.

"It wasn't my fault, if Nova could have gotten the plates herself I would have been there to make sure nothing happened!" Cal rasped, "I must have left the rags too close to the burner."

Nova gasped and turned into a coughing fit and tears began to fill her eyes. "Momma and Dad are gonna kill us!"

"No, we'll be fine, we can clean this up and Ely can go open the windows so it will get the smoke smell out." Cal seemed to be thinking aloud, as he tossed a washcloth in Nova's direction.

Ely grunted as he lifted the large living room window, letting the clean air and sunlight fill the smokey room. He turned to open the other window to be stopped in the track by a bright red bird flying into the back of his head.

~

After scrubbing the remains of the charred towel off the counter Cal headed to the bathroom to wash up. He was reaching to turn the water off when he heard his little brother screams through the house.

"What! What's wrong?" Cal ran down the stairs to see his brother laying on the floor covering his head. Another scream echoed from the kitchen.

"A bird! Who let a bird into the house!" Nova came running out of the kitchen, wings wrapped around herself. Her eyes darkened to look just like their fathers as she places her hand on her hips, imitating her mother. Both brothers flinched at the image.

The bird flew in behind her and circled high above them. Ely finally picked his head up and glared at his sister.

Cal rolled his eyes, "Ely gets a basket from the closet, and Nov you get a broom from the kitchen."

They both groaned as they set off to get the stuff for their brothers 'trap.'

Cal and Ely were based at the back end of the hallway waiting for the bird to be chased in by Nova. Cal was ready to open the window when Ely pulled the string connected to the basket that is hung up in the air. Nova planned to chase the bird with the broom into the room.

"She's so slow, mom and dad will be back before she can even get here." Ely groaned as he laid his head roughly against the wall.

"Get ready!" Nova's quiet running steps were heard.

A gasp and a loud bang were heard and were followed by a line of cursing a five-year-old shouldn't know. Her brother's eyes grew the size of saucers.

"What's wrong?" Cal asked moving forward to his sister's side, his jaw dropped at the large painting of the family that was usually hung high on the wall, painted by their Aunt Feyre, was laying on the floor. About at the height of his younger sister a circular hole knocked into the wall.

"Holy shit Nova, Momma is gonna kill you." Ely stood at the top of the state case. "And look, Cal, you left the sink in the bathroom. It's flooded." He grinned then.

Nova choked on a sob. Cal was turning a bright red, "you think you're not gonna get into trouble! You were the one who let the bird into the house!"

Nova was crawling up the stairs, tears falling from her red eyes. "We- we need to pack our bags! They're gonna kick us out!"

At that moment the worst thing that could happen happened.

Cassian burst into the house to see all of his children paled, Cal was looking green.

"Kids! I saw smoke! Holy shit!" Cassian still stood in a battle stance as their mother walked in behind him. She looked as elegant and deadly as always.

Nova fell to her knees crying.

Cal was puking in a nearby house plant.

Ely tried to walk by his parent to be stopped by him mother yanking on his arm

"What the hell happened?" Ely paled then, that was the voice she used to all the bullies at the Illyrian camps for making fun of her kids. The witch they all the other kids called her.

Nova stood, "oh mamma! We didn't mean to!" She ran to her mother to bury her face into her stomach and somehow cried even harder.

Nesta looked around her destroyed house. Smoke settled around the room and the greeting family painting was laying on the floor, a broom sticking out of a wall from a hole. Her favorite glass table was covered in the petals of the fresh flowers from Elain.

"I..." she was interrupted.

"What the.." It had seemed that Nestas' mate was swatting at a bright red bird.

She was seeing red.

"Explain."

Cassian was holding in a laugh, but his children did not know that.

Ely began, "We got hungry and tried to make pancakes as dad does."

Cal was quick to blame, "And Nova distracted me, and the rags next to the oven caught on fire."

Nova gasped, "It's not my fault!" She pointed her finger again.

"To get rid of the smoke I opened all of the windows while Nova and Cal cleaned up the kitchen." Ely was quick to explain. "When I turned around a bird hit me in the head!"

Cassian slapped a hand over his mouth muffling a rumble, and Nesta was rubbing her temples.

"He screamed like a little girl," Cal snorted.

Ely's face reddened and he lunged toward his brother but was stopped by his father's arm around his waist,

"We tried to catch the bird, and that's why the hole and the messed up furniture. We almost had it when we Ely pointed out the water," Nova signed, holding her head in her little hands.

By this point, Cassian had tears of laughter running down his face as he looked between his children and his mate. Nesta on the other hand looked cold and calculated as she listened to her children explain her destroyed house. She nodded her head before starting the motherly speech, "Cal and Ely you should have stepped up and paid attention more. Nova sweetheart, you need to watch behind your brother because boys can be very stupid."

All the males in the house's jaws dropped.

~

The kids were sent to bed after more lectures from flaming parents as they saw the whole house.

None of the kids could fall asleep.

Nova tiptoed through the house, Nesta and Cassin listened as their youngest wasn't being as quiet as she thought she was.

The door to Cal's room was opened, and Nova went and poked on her brother's shoulder.

"Hey, C?" Nova poked again, making him roll over.

"Hmm?" Cal looked at his sister through bright eyes.

"I can't sleep," She whined softly.

"Me neither," He opened his blanket for her and she crawled in beside her. She brought the fluffy blanket to her face where you can only see her eyes before giving a content sigh. They were interrupted by the door opening, a big-eyed Ely stuck his head through.

"Is Nov in here?" He asked and was answered by the youngest popping her head up. Ely smiled brightly before jumping onto the bed, Cal sighed and rolled his eyes even though he smiled.

Cal was almost asleep when he felt a finger jab into his side. "Do you think mamma and dad still love us?" Nova asked in a hushed whisper.

"Of course, Nov," Ely answered.

"Who couldn't love us?" Cal grinned, even when he earned glares.

A soft snort was heard outside their door drawing the attention of the trio. Nesta and Cassian stood in the door frame, both of them smiling at their kids.

"The librarians, the trainers, Amren on a bad day," Nesta answered. She counted out on her fingers all the people who despise her kids as she walked towards the bed.

Cassian continued the list, "I've never seen Elain as angry as she was when you all stomped on her flowers and then went and walked on Rhys' new, white rug. They did not love you then."

They both crawled into different sides of the bed and hugged their children close. Nesta had Elys' head on her chest and Cassian had Nova curled up against him, Cal had his head rested on his sister's shoulder.

"But my littles, your momma and dad will always love you. No matter what." Nesta smiled.

A course of responses was answered.

Though Cassian had one hand holding his family close, the other was placed on the growing stomach of his mate. The secret they still haven't shared with their little demons.

Nesta kissed her son's head and smiled, "I love our family, I wouldn't change it for the world."

[avasghost]

When We Drown Update #1

wip intro here.

DISCLAIMER: this is my original work. please do not plagiarize in any way.

hello!! i’m back with the first when we drown update!

so. i’m around 8000 words into the draft. i started writing on february 15, and its currently march 20, so its already been over a month which is ... wild. time flies when ur having fun kids.

its flowed a lot smoother than crane anatomy so far. i’m really enjoying the process, since i’m not trying that hard to make it good?? i didn’t know i was capable of “not trying to make it good” but maybe i am 👀

the writing style is very different from crane anatomy. CA is very flowery, but the prose in WWD is a lot plainer. i really like both prose styles, which is why it’s nice to be able to alternate between them when i feel like writing in one and not the other.

i used to get these random line ideas when i was only writing crane anatomy, but they didn’t fit the prose of that book. i’ve realized that those lines fit perfectly into the style of this book so yay my children found a home <3

excerpts under the cut.

chapter 1: the lighthouse

the story opens on a lighthouse on new years eve, 1999. this was an image that popped in my head while i was brainstorming and i decided to jump in and start writing because i was Intrigued. it’s a snowy night, and a woman and her four-year-old son (elias) are on the run from other members of the cult she is part of. we see her finally picking up the courage to run away, because unfortunately in this cult leaving isn’t allowed and they want to kill her. this is why she’s so depressed all the time because :) cult trauma :) they escape from their pursuers by hiding in the lantern room of a lighthouse, and then the woman gives birth to a daughter, the protagonist. her brother, elias, is referred to as “you”, and even though she wasn’t born yet, april narrates this scene because she’s been told the story so many times that she thinks of it almost like a memory, sometimes she wonders if she actually does remember it slightly.

the first line:

The first time I met you was on the lighthouse. It was the midwinter of 1999, new years eve, five p.m., already dark. I wasn’t born yet.

i quite like this opening! every opening i’ve written for the last four books has been good so that’s good

anyway here’s some night ocean and moon imagery:

The black ocean dilated in a gauzy breeze far below, waves ruffling like crow’s feathers. The distant sloshing drowned out some of the noise of the men’s boots clattering on the stairs. A cloud slipped in front of the moon, puddling its glow.

then the woman and elias hide under some tarps in the lantern room and the men who are hunting them come and look for them and somehow don’t find them which is completely unrealistic but :) if they got found april would never be born so :) that wouldn’t work would it :)

and then the men leave and april is born in the lantern room which was the most aesthetic birth i could think of okay. i had to. also the new years fireworks start going off:

We slept in the lantern tower. The beam that guided sailors lanced over our heads, a pinprick you hardly noticed. The fireworks all burst at once – a blur of  orange, green and blue lights popcorning in the dark. I was tiny, too skinny, I shouldn’t have survived the night, but I did. Mother told me years later that I was the last baby of the 20th century, and that made me lucky.

the irony <3

chapter 2: lacuna

this is a chapter that takes place years later (and covers the first nine years of april’s life) and talks about her awful childhood. her older brother, elias, is her only friend other than two other girls (Elena and Magnolia). lets just say her life is terrible and i’m v happy i’m not her!

Mother always said I looked like her, and you looked like our father. I never thought so, even though I’d never seen pictures of him. Mother never showed us any. I couldn’t bring myself to associate you with him. From what I’d heard of father, you and him were opposites, different entities, born in different worlds and buried in different graveyards.

and their mother tells the story of april’s birth so often that april thinks of it as a memory, which is why she was able to narrate it:

She retold the story of my birth so frequently that every detail was visceral in my mind: the snow sparkling in juts of moonlight, a lonely rowboat almost invisible in the dark sea, the footsteps thudding along the passage, fireworks sparking in the sky and lighting the night on fire.

chapter 3: found and lost

in chapter three, ten-year-old april and fourteen-year-old elias play hide and seek and april fails to find elias. he is unfortunately never seen again.

the first line of the chapter:

There was a stretch of time when life was at its fullest, even if, for me, that meant half-empty. Ten years old, you were fourteen. Still friends, we didn’t share the usual sibling rivalry. It was midwinter, four days before my birthday. Ice glossed the branches of the spindly elm trees that studded our quiet street, scabbed the pavement so it was hard to walk.

yes i know this is set in BC and it doesn’t snow that much here but the aesthetic was too perfect so this is apparently an alternate BC where it snows a lot <3

another brief lighthouse description:

The lighthouse was a pinnacle that made an incision in the sky, clouds spiralled around it. Close enough to walk, too far to see in detail. Its lonely beam jittered over the water, even in broad daylight.

april counts and then goes to look for elias

Snow crinkled in my mittens, numbed my fingers so I could hardly move them. Rice-paper clouds obscured most of the sun, so the light that dribbled through was watery and lukewarm.

but she can’t find him

I searched every corner of the forest, every backyard of every stranger, I searched the lighthouse where I was born, I searched the rim of the ocean, which churned like a flame, licking the sand, eating it, spitting it out. The world snowglobed around me, disorientating every thought and movement. No birds, no beasts, no you. In that frozen world I was alone. The sky melted into a deep Aegean blue, and the stars winked like exit wounds, every tear an ocean, every finger an ice cap. Tears shuddered down my cheeks. They shattered on the icy pavement as I walked home, hoping you would hop out from behind a tree, a house. Maybe you were already home, maybe this was all a joke.

and time passes and they still can’t find him

Everyone said you must have drowned, even though they searched the ocean floor for days and never found your body. Maybe it had already drifted beyond our reach, they said. Maybe you were eaten by something, and your remains coated the mouth of some sea monster long assumed to be extinct.

at the end of chapter three, there’s a scene break that flashes forward to when april is fourteen, walking along the beach in a mist, and she sees elias’s ghost for the first time, and is momentarily convinced that he’s still alive, just like she thought.

It was almost unnoticeable, the way you popped up. A face in my peripheral, probably just a memory in the corner of my mind. But when I looked, you were there: a pearly mist with a face, eyes, a mouth. You breathed daylight, basked in fog like a natural habitat. I stared, unsure of what you were, where you were. Was this it? Had I been right all along? You were here, drifting in front of me, disembodied but still very much alive.

chapter 4: gooseberries

short flashback chapter! i wrote this entire chapter in about half an hour. its only 700 words, but i’m a very slow writer and that’s a lot of words for me to write in such a short time. also this chapter helped me realize that i want to write this book non-linearly! i love non-linear books and i think its a perfect form for this book!

the flashback goes to when april is still a baby (i know she shouldn’t be able to remember this but? she just does okay) and their mother takes her and elias to the woods and they hide in the roots of this tree while she goes and gets stuff for them to eat: gooseberries and pine needles (had to look up an article about edible wilderness food). april chokes on a gooseberry and elias helps her, which creates trust, and distrust of the mother because she didn’t try to help at all. thats it thats the chapter. not entirely happy with this, it needs a lot of work, but i think its still necessary to keep in the book for now.

She left, and like a mother bird, found food and brought back heaps of veiny gooseberries, her pockets stuffed with red pine needles, which she knew were edible from a wilderness survival course she took in high school. I had no teeth back then, the craggy flesh of my gums wasn’t enough to chew berries or pine needles, my throat too frail to swallow.

that’s all i have for this update! i know i said in the wip intro that there wouldn’t be updates very often, but i think the next WWD update will be soon because i’m really in flow atm!

- Ava

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed!) : @shaelinwrites​​ @august-iswriting​​ @wildswrites​ @nodeadnarrators​ @annlillyjose​ @shaonharryandpannisim​ @letsgetsquiggly​ @strangerays​ @mel-writes-with-her-dragons​  @chloeswords​ @teaandtypewriters​​

[besanii]

shifting ground

WangXian ; 1127 words

[previous parts linked at the end]

He arrives at bottom of the stairs leading up to the throne room just as everyone is disbanding; they trickle out of the building in groups of twos and threes, heads bent close together and mouths too preoccupied with gossip to pay attention to his hurried ascent. Snatches of their conversations enter his ear—words like “trial” and “ascension” and “purify” has his heart skipping a beat and his feet flying over the stairs two at a time as he races past them.

The world comes to a shuddering halt when Wei Wuxian appears at the top of the stairs.

He’s not sure how to quantify the time since they last saw each other. Where does he begin counting? From the moment Wei Wuxian had been taken away in chains and locked into the Demon Tower, or on the execution platform as he faded into dust in Lan Wangji’s arms with Bichen buried in his chest? Or does he start from the moment Wei Ying had turned his back and surrendered his life into Lan Wangji’s hands for the second time?

If the whole purpose of my life is to die here today, then that is what I’ll do.

He can still feel the sigh of those words against his lips, the press of a thumb against his cheek, the hitch in his voice. Every last detail of those final moments in the mortal realm is burned into his mind with excruciating clarity, seared into his bones, branded on his soul. He has been in existence for over a hundred thousand years, long enough to see past the trappings of mortality, past attachment, past death—and yet.

There is little trace of the young vermilion bird spirit in the Wei Wuxian who stands before him now, dressed in robes of black and red that ripple and fall about him like feathers. His grey eyes, once soft like clouds during a gentle autumn drizzle, are as dark as smoke and as hard as steel. They falter as they catch sight of him, still only halfway up the stairs, before shuttering closed, wary and uncertain.

His newly-restored heart beats feebly against his ribcage at the sight.

“Wei Ying.” He catches the spiritual energy radiating from him and stops, his heart in his throat. “You’re—”

Wei Wuxian smiles without humour, sliding his gaze away from Lan Wangji.

“I guess the trial you designed for me was more effective than intended,” he says.

He should be relieved, overjoyed that their plan had worked, that the sliver of the Demon God’s seal had been successfully purged from Wei Wuxian—that Wei Wuxian had ascended three ranks to become a High God, on par with Lan Wangji himself. But he finds he cannot muster even a tiny shred of happiness now, not when Wei Wuxian does not smile, and refuses to meet his eyes.

“Wei Ying,” he says, making his way up the stairs. “Wei Ying, I—”

Wei Wuxian flinches almost imperceptibly at the sound of the name, his hands curling into fists, lips pressing into a thin line. It is enough to freeze Lan Wangji in mid-step, the rest of his sentence teetering at the tip of his tongue.

“Begging your pardon, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian says. “I have only just returned from my trial and find myself in need of rest. Please excuse me.”

He crosses his hands, left over right, and presses his palms to his chest with a low bow—a formal bow, too formal for him to offer a fellow High God, even one with as much seniority over him as Lan Wangji—and moves past him, down the stairs. Lan Wangji’s hand shoots out instinctively to catch hold of his elbow as their shoulders brush, preventing him from leaving.

“I’ll have someone fix up your old rooms,” he tells him quietly, thinking of the cosy little annex in Fuyun Pavilion, still in the same condition as before his departure.

Wei Wuxian pries his arm out of Lan Wangji’s grip.

“Hanguang-jun is too generous,” he says, staring straight ahead, not sparing him a glance. “But I will be returning to the peach forest.”

There is little Lan Wangji can do to argue against this decision. It is only logical for Wei Wuxian to return to the peach forest, his childhood home. What right does Lan Wangji have to keep him here in the Nine Heavens with him?

“Let me accompany you.” He does not care if he sounds close to pleading as he turns his body towards Wei Wuxian, not when Wei Wuxian’s breath hitches as this moves him into his space. “Please.”

“Hanguang-jun—”

“Lan Zhan,” he corrects him. Wei Wuxian shakes his head.

“Hanguang-jun,” he repeats firmly. “It would not be appropriate.”

Lan Wangji exhales.

“There was a time, not too long ago, when you would scoff at propriety,” he says. “And it would not be inappropriate for me to escort my intended back to his home.”

Wei Wuxian turns his head sharply to face Lan Wangji, grey eyes wide with shock; Lan Wangji looks back at him intently, his expression never once wavering.

“Words spoken in a previous life should stay in the past.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is small and brittle and hurt; he draws himself close, holds himself tighter within his body as he tears his eyes away again. “Hanguang-jun should not feel beholden to me.”

This time, when Lan Wangji takes another step towards him, he takes two steps back. Lan Wangji tries not to let his own hurt show.

“I am a man of my word,” he tells him. “It does not matter in which life the promise was made, only to whom. I made you a promise, Wei Ying, I vowed myself to you. So I am yours.”

He watches as Wei Wuxian’s eyes flutter closed as a shudder runs through his body. But when he raises his hand to brush a stray wisp of hair from his cheek, Wei Wuxian avoids his touch and steps back even further.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, pained. “Don’t.”

Lan Wangji breathes an inward sigh of relief at the sound of his name from Wei Wuxian’s lips at long last.

“Wei Ying,” he says. “Please. Can we talk?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and turns away.

“I need time,” he tells him. “Give me some time.”

Then, without waiting for Lan Wangji’s response, he raises his arms and shifts into his original form, leaping into the sky and vanishing in a burst of flame.

Lan Wangji watches him go without a word.

If it’s time he needs, then Lan Wangji will give it to him. He has waited over a hundred thousand years for Wei Wuxian, what is a few hundred more in comparison?

--

Notes:

Follows on from Love and Destiny AU ficlet below, where LWJ has to kill a mortal WWX to help him reascend as an immortal:

https://besanii.tumblr.com/post/620336237706969088/he-watches-as-wei-ying-backs-away-from-him-the [copy/paste link]

And set some time before the other Love and Destiny AU ficlet where WWX carves out his heart to save LWJ and loses his memories in the process:

https://besanii.tumblr.com/post/621699777307033600/you-dont-love-me-anymore-for-wangxian-from-the [copy/paste link]

So technically...part two?

The tag is now shifting ground fic

--

Title is from the idiom 翻云覆雨 (fanyunfuyu, to produce clouds with the turn of one hand, and rain with the other), meaning to shift one’s ground or to be contradictory

One day I will stop writing AUs of the Three Lives Three Worlds dramas, but today is not this day. Also, I’ve decided that Love and Destiny > Peach Blossoms  > Pillow Book in my heart.

--

master post and ko-fi link on my sidebar!

[litwitlady]

whatever walked there, walked alone - part one

My Halloween fic which I love writing too much to abandon. Content warnings: mentions of child abuse, Alex is dead and not coming back to life, blood, emo poetry.

Michael Guerin exits the city limits and heads west. The sun is beginning to set, framing the mountains in flames of orange and red, painting the sky in purples and pinks. His phone GPS says the house is 13.3 miles from Roswell city center. A scant ten-minute drive.

A few miles later, the ironwork of the property’s fence comes into view. The house is hidden behind several large hawthorn and plum trees, creating a dense canopy that protects the mansion from the blazing desert sun.

Michael parks outside the gate and pulls a bolt cutter from the bed of his truck. The ornate ironwork is buried in English ivy. He clears the vines away and breaks through the chains locking the gate doors, swinging them open. They creak and moan as the rusty hinges strain after years of disuse.

It’s like walking into a dream. Or a nightmare. Another planet, maybe. The desert disappears and suddenly there’s thick grass beneath his boots. Flowers bloom despite the heavy tree coverage and everything green is overgrown. But the house is finally visible – the cornices crumbling, the menacing marble lions shrouded in yellowing moss.

A breeze rustles through the leaves, sending a shiver up Michael’s spine. He feels eyes on the back of his head and spins on his heels. A cat hops out of a maple tree, sending several birds flying from their perches. Michael laughs to himself and turns back towards the house.

Dead, drying leaves are scattered across the stone steps. The giant wood doors are also locked with chains. Michael makes quick work of them and pushes against the splinted oak. But the doors won’t budge. The moisture and heat have warped the wood. So, no matter how hard he pushes, there’s no give. With a sigh he climbs back down the stairs. Vows to come back the next day with the necessary tools.

And maybe not alone.

But as his boots sink back into the grass, he hears the doors open. A thick, musty scent settles in around him. When he glances over his shoulder, the doors are gaping at him like a hungry mouth ready to swallow him whole. The cat dashes past him, through the doors, and he swears he hears his name whispered from somewhere deep inside.

He swallows hard and pulls out his cell phone. But there’s no reception. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to go inside. Definitely not by himself. Wants, instead, to head back to Isobel’s and crawl inside his warm bed. Wants to forget this dilapidated old house even exists.

Michael takes several deep breaths, reclimbs the stairs. And then he forces himself to cross the threshold into the darkness.

The foyer floors are filthy. Covered in muck and grime, the black and white checkered marble barely visible. Spiderwebs crisscross from surface to surface, collecting dust and other debris he’d rather not think too much about. The windows are all curtained with heavy, velvet drapes – allowing no light to pass.

Michael runs his fingers along a gilded mirror, eyes catching on a group of picture frames still hanging from the garish floral wallpaper. He leans forward, blowing the dust from the glass. Sneezes several times. The photos show a family. Father, mother, and four boys – the youngest just a baby. In most of the pictures, the father is dressed in full military regalia. His wife pretty and unsmiling. The children with hands in pockets, devoid of that devilish charm so common to young boys.

He begins to notice a pattern as he follows the frames down the hallway. Three of the boys start to grow up – getting taller, shoulders broadening. But the youngest never grows past eight, maybe nine years old. Michael feels a sadness clutch at his heart. Wonders what happened to the little boy. Suspects it’s nothing good. And likely the reason the house has been left to rot for so long.

The cat reappears out of a hall closet. Michael startles and watches him dash towards the curving staircase, bounding up the stairs. He looks back at the front doors, making sure they are still open. The sunlight is entirely gone now. He pulls out his phone and clicks on the flashlight app. Continues further into the belly of the house.

In the kitchen, he finds the cabinet doors all removed – probably stolen by some house foraging flipper – but the bowls and plates left behind. An eight-burner stove takes up a third of the room. The gigantic commercial refrigerator another third. There are two center islands and clearly the kitchen was for catering lavish parties. Michael is unimpressed by the cold austerity of the space and is already mentally remodeling.

He putters through the cabinets and stumbles upon a collection of toddler-sized sippy cups. There are four – each with a boy’s name painted across the top. Clay, Gregory, Flint, and Alex. He reaches up and pulls the one labeled ‘Alex’ from the shelf. The cup is cracked and chipped around the rim. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck shiver, sending another chill down Michael’s spine. He drops the cup onto the floor, the crash echoing down the hallway.

Upstairs the cat screeches.

Michael hears his name whispered again.

And then the doors slam shut.

***

‘The house is haunted, Iz.’ They are at the grocery store, restocking for the week ahead.

She rolls her eyes at him while grabbing more cereal. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts, Michael. It was just the wind.’

He stares back at her like she’s stupid. ‘There’s no such thing as aliens either. And there was no fucking wind.’

Isobel, hands on hips, stops mid-aisle. ‘The place is a gothic nightmare. It got in your head and freaked you out. The sooner you sell that place the better.’

Intellectually, Michael knows she must be right. But he can’t ignore doors closing on their own and floating voices calling his name.

‘Do you know what happened to the original family? I think their name was Manes?’ He’d pulled the old deed. There wasn’t much to go on other than the name Jesse Manes. ‘I don’t remember them from when we were kids.’

She grabs a bag of rice. ‘Jesse Manes was a General in the Air Force. Served as Chief of Staff to the entire USAF when we were in high school. Really big deal. His kids all went to some military academy on the east coast.’

‘Was? Is he dead?’ He sneaks two boxes of pop-tarts into the cart.

‘Not that I know of. He was dishonorably discharged. Not too long after his youngest son died. Something about an extortion scandal.’ Isobel shrugs her shoulders and turns onto the next aisle.

‘His youngest son? The little boy – Alex.’

She narrows her eyes at him. ‘Alex Manes. Yes. But he was 28 when he died. Killed overseas. Maybe he’s your ghost.’

‘Wait – that doesn’t make sense. That house looks like it’s been abandoned for at least a decade.’ He tries to do the math in his head. Three years might lead to some broken windows and cobwebs, but not the level of decay he’d discovered. The grime on the floors alone would have taken at least twice as long. And the bannister was literally rotting.

‘Don’t know what to tell you. Happened three years ago. I was working with the General on a military fundraising event. And then, poof! He was just gone. Nothing left behind but newspaper gossip. And that house.’ She looks down at her shopping list. ‘I’m going to grab some milk – meet you at checkout.’ She gives a little wave and rolls off.

Michael leans against the row of shelves. Thinks about what Isobel’s told him. He doesn’t know why Edna May Rollings bequeathed the property to him in her will. Or all that money. Sure, he’d mowed her grass a few times – changed her oil. But the Manes property was worth well over a million dollars.

Nothing was making any sense.

*

Later that afternoon, Michael decides to do his own research at the town library. He pulls up article after article from the Roswell Gazette highlighting the many philanthropic endeavors of the Manes family. Jesse Manes often lauded as a hero. His sons all highly decorated military officers themselves.

In all the articles, he only finds mention of an Alex Manes once. In his obituary dated October 14, 2018. The paper mentions he’d been killed by IED while serving in Iraq. There’s a grainy, black and white photo above the obit. Captain Alexander Manes in his uniform, blank expression on his face. And it’s a good face – cheekbones for days, expressive eyes, and a full bottom lip. Michael stops for a minute to admire the handsome soldier and to lament his early demise.

He pulls out his notebook and writes down the names mentioned in the obituary. All of the survivors – mother, father, brothers, distant relatives. Surely, one of them lives within driving distance. If not, there’s always the phone or email. He intends to find some answers.

Michael leaves the library and drives to the Roswell cemetery. The plots are arranged alphabetically, for the most part. And he finds the Manes family relatively easily. Alex’s tombstone is the white marble of fallen soldiers. But there’s no inscription beyond his name or the relevant dates of birth and death. It’s odd not to see a ‘beloved son’ or ‘cherished brother’. He’s beginning to suspect the Manes family buried more than just their son three years ago.

*

The next day Michael heads back to the house. But this time he’s not alone. He’s accompanied by an entire cleaning crew and Isobel. Who merely intends to rifle through the family’s forgotten belongings and steal whatever trinkets catch her eye. And to tease him mercilessly about his ghost.

Michael does his best to avoid everyone. He has his own mission in mind and doesn’t want to be disturbed. The upstairs hallway leads to all the main bedrooms – master on the left and the four smaller rooms on the right. Each of the secondary bedrooms is nearly identical in shape and size. Except for last room – tiny and dark. A single bed compared to the doubles next door. He knows deep in his bones that this was Alex’s room.

A terrific sadness envelops him when he steps inside. He tries to flip the light switch, but nothing happens – the only light whatever sun fights its way through the dirty window.

Michael starts there – wiping the glass clean. He sweeps and mops the floor, dusts the baseboards, and removes the cobwebs. Opening the closet door, he finds a torn cardboard box tucked inside. Pulling back the battered flaps, he discovers several yellowing journals. Pages and pages of scribbled notes and poems and the various ramblings of a teenage boy. He takes the journals to his truck immediately, stashing them beneath his seat.

As the day stretches into night, there’s no sign of any ghosts. No weird noises. No strange whispers. Isobel has taken every mirror in the house among several crystal dishes. Most of the rooms are as spotless as they’re going to get, the smell of bleach giving him a headache. But the place is starting to feel less creepy.

After everyone else leaves, Michael takes one more trip up to Alex’s bedroom. Sits in the middle of the room and waits. For what, he’s not sure. A presence maybe. Which he knows is insane, but something or someone called his name the day before.

The sun is nearly gone. The room is dark and still. That sadness from earlier still pushes at him, but he doesn’t feel afraid. Oddly enough, he feels safe and warm. And then the floor creaks. Not just once. Over and over again. Like someone’s pacing from the window to the bed and back again.

‘Hello?’ His voice sounds scratchy, dry and nervous.

The footsteps stop. Michael’s breath catches as he strains to listen. ‘Alex? Alexander Manes?’ Something blows across the back of his neck. He swallows but stays still.

‘I’m going to bring your journals back. I promise.’ Making a ghost angry is probably a bad idea. ‘I just wanted to get to know you better.’

Nothing happens. And he feels a sinking sense of loss.

*

At Isobel’s later that night, Michael is curled up in his bed staring at Alex’s journals. He’s anxious about reading them. Worries that what he’ll discover is worse than anything he could have ever imagined. Worries that he’ll meet someone in these journals that he’ll come to love. Someone that he’s already lost.

The first journal is marked 2003. It’s plain black with a Further Seems Forever sticker peeling along the spine. Opening to the first page, Michael is struck by how neat the handwriting is. His own is nothing but chicken scratch. But this kid wrote in neat, tidy letters – not a smudge in sight.

July 2003

Today I am a teenager. And I missed mom for the first time in forever. I came home and dad was drinking. Started yelling at me to put his ladder back where I’d found it. But I never, ever touched his stupid ladder. That was Flint. He didn’t care. And now my ribs hurt. Happy Birthday, Alex.

I’ve only been home for two weeks, but I already want to go back to school.

Michael’s fists clench but he continues.

August 2003

Flint got his learner’s permit today. Dad is teaching him how to drive stick. Will probably even buy him a car to take back to school. I fucking hate Flint.

I wrote a poem or maybe a song that I actually like. Here it is:

‘The hallways are empty

And I am blind

Locked in this castle

Where no one is kind’

I know that’s not much. But it’s a start. Been saving up for my guitar. Greg is going to buy it for me once I have enough money.

September 2003

It’s because I’m gay. Why he beats me and no one else. I will try so hard not to be gay anymore.

Tears burn Michael’s eyes. He picks up another journal. This one gray with lots of cartoon doodles marring the cloth cover.

September 2007

Senior year has begun. The Academy finally feels bearable. No upperclassmen to avoid. My fucking dad has me flying out this weekend to interview at the Air Force Academy in Colorado. Fourth son, fourth branch of the military. None of us got a choice, but of course he saved the Air Force for me. Of fucking course.

I snuck out with Maria last week to sing at an open mic night at her mom’s bar. I’ve never felt like that before – enjoying all those eyes on me. Most times I just want to disappear. Forget I exist. There was a guy – curly hair, big hazel eyes. He was beautiful and I worked up enough to courage to talk to him, but he wouldn’t stop staring at Maria. So.

I guess someone at the Pony must have known my dad. Because he was waiting up for me when I crawled back through my bedroom window. I didn’t beg this time. Just let him do what he was going to do. Honestly, I felt like I deserved it. For thinking that guy might actually want to talk to me.

Michael stops breathing. He tries to recall a night at the Pony from fourteen years ago. But he can’t remember ever meeting Alex. He had dated Maria, briefly. Maybe it wasn’t him – maybe he wasn’t the curly-haired, hazel-eyed boy. But the possibility lingers thick in his chest.

December 2007

I’m not going home for Christmas. Even though mom has agreed to show up for appearance’s sake. A perfect fake fucking family. I won’t be missed. Dad laughed when I called and told him. Called me a coward and hung up. He won’t have his favorite punching bag and I hope that means he won’t turn his fists to someone else. Like mom.

Things with Danny haven’t progressed at all. I thought he was flirting with me at the football game, but he hasn’t talked to me since. He’s shy though – kind of like me – so I think I may still have a chance. He’s not going home either – his parents are overseas on some mission trip. Maybe I will be brave enough to kiss him. I’ve never kissed anyone and I’m already 17. Pathetic.

January 2008

Sometimes I look up at the stars

And your eyes look back at me

Filled with the fire of an exploding sun

Sometimes I look up at the stars

And there’s nothing there at all

Just empty space, hollow and undone

So, Danny is dating a townie girl. I’m always so, so stupid. But I’m not giving up on myself no matter how hard this world tries to beat me down. And it’s trying pretty damn hard.

March 2008

Dear Alex,

you are blue and black and yellow

bent and bowed like the dying myrtle tree outside that window

your pliant plentiful petals putrefying in the blades of summer grass

you are unseen and forgotten, disgraced by the midday sun

blown apart like the dandelion waste of suburban landscapes

wilted and wallowed and left without a trace of your own dignity

June 2008

My father’s hands have spent so much time taking. Splitting me open and unthreading the blood, the sweat, the tears of me. Spilling my insides and then stuffing the gore back deep in the darkest recesses of my heart.

I want hands that will take but give something back, leave something behind. Hands that will heal and stitch the splintered parts back together. Hands that will shape the dark edges of me into something bright like hope. I want hands with wings to fly me out of this nightmare.

But instead I’m going to war.

After Alex graduates the military academy, there are no more journals until 2017. Michael spends the next several hours poring over the earlier ones – meticulously kept records of a broken childhood. One abuse after another. Cracked ribs, a shattered wrist, and a never-ending deluge of bruises.

But also, so many dreams. Alex was a hopeful kid, despite the sad poetry, with music in his future. There are pages and pages of songs – the scratching down of harmonies and verses. Intricate details of chord progressions and key changes. Michael grabs his own guitar, strums through some of Alex’s notes. The songs are simple but refined. He wishes he could hear them sung with Alex’s voice.

The 2017 journal stares at Michael from his nightstand. It’s dirty and pocket-sized, bent and beaten at the edges. Caked in blood. He opens to the first page. Alex is in Iraq – the place where he dies – and Michael’s not sure he wants to read further. But he also can’t stop himself.

November 2017

The desert here is different. Hotter, I think. I am always sweating and never clean.  

February 2018

There was a boy. In the carnage. Riddled with bullets. Bullets that may have been my own. I tried to feel something. I did, really. I tried.

March 2018

Only two more months. And then one war exchanged for another. Clay is getting married. I think I’d rather stay here.

The next several pages are stuck together with the dull, brown ink of dried blood. Michael can’t make out more than a word or two through the thick stains, but the entries seem longer and more rambling. The back half of the journal is empty – filled with nothing but blood splatter.

Michael pulls out his laptop. Something about the timeline feels off. Alex’s obit and his tombstone both marked his date of death as October 14, 2018. That’s months after this journal stopped. Months after whatever nightmare caused all this bleeding. He thinks briefly about calling Liz and asking her to ID whoever all this blood belonged to.

He googles ‘Alexander Manes Iraq death’ and nothing obvious pops up in the searches. But on the next page he sees a newspaper article from a Virginia paper, clicks it open. It’s from summer 2018 and includes a list of purple heart recipients. A Captain Alexander Manes among the names.

So, he made it home. Hurt but alive. Michael’s best guess is that he returned to Iraq before his death in October.

He runs several searches for Alex’s brothers. He gets a hit on a Gregory Manes. Local newspaper photo of him with several kids from a science fair. The school is near a reservation in the northwest corner of the state. He jots the information down but decides to start a little closer to home.

People in Roswell must know the Manes family. And so that’s where he’ll begin. Starting with local business owners. First thing in the morning.

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: “Lesson learned.” part 2 to

Pairing: dom! Yoongi x sub! brat! Reader ft. Jin

Warnings: smut, fluff if you squint (really hard, like really hard), established relationship, semi- public sex, fire play, oral (m) receiving, rough sex, spanking, orgasm denial (f), degradation speak, slight aftercare, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks)

Rating: 18 and over

You can hardly take it any longer. You swayed your hips side to side to the music playing and could barely maintain any semblance of humanity as the handsome stranger in the club gripped your hips tightly and proceeded to grind his growing erection against your backside. Tomorrow would officially be three weeks since your enforced punishment and you were bursting at the seams with lust and need. You feel your dance partner nibble on your neck and your body seizes in response. “No,” you shove him off of you, heading back to the VIP area. “Girl! That guy is hot! You need to take him home.” Your best friend goaded you as you drink back a shot of vodka. You shrug in response pouring yourself another shot. “Okay, spill it. You have been a moody bitch since that fucking party forever ago. What’s got your panties in a bunch?” She waits for your response.

“Not what, who?” You kill another drink. “Please don’t tell me that we are talking about that fuck boy Min Yoongi?” She spits. You smirk, taking a deep breath while biting your inner cheek. “He's not a fuck boy.” You manage to say, feeling the painful ache of your lesson between your thighs. She practically cackles. “let’s examine the evidence shall we,” she yanks out her phone, “I heard he fucked Lisa two weeks ago.” She shows you picture of Yoongi and Lisa together on Lisa's Instagram and your stomach turns. She pulls her phone away and begins to click and scroll some more. “Then I heard he fucked Jess just last week.” She shows you a different photo now of Yoongi with Jess and your blood boils. How dare he get his rocks off while you wait around yearning for release?

“So, in my eyes and everyone else around you, he’s a fuck boy. I will say what I always say. Get over him girl.” She throws back a shot now, seemingly pleased with herself. “I have to go.” You tell her now, ordering an Uber, and grabbing your purse. She rolls her eyes but asks if you want her to go with you. You tell her to stay and go out to meet your driver. You are seething in the back of the car, trying your best to keep calm, playing Yoongi's words over and over again in your head. “You’re always so good for me baby. Are you gonna keep being a good girl?” You growl a little at the thought, catching the driver glancing at you from the rear-view mirror.

You type and delete 7 different messages. “Is this it?” The driver grunts. You look up from your phone. “Yes, thank you.” “Be safe, pretty girl like you, shouldn't be alone this late.” You exit the vehicle and make your way up the side alley and around the enclosed house and up a set of stairs. Be brave, you whisper continuously to yourself. You stare at the black front door marked 33 and begin to slam your fist on it over and over until you feel it may bruise. It yanks open suddenly and before you stands, “Jin, hi, is Yoongi here?” He smirks at you. “The real question is, why are you here?” You sense movement inside and can hear music as your adrenaline slows and your surroundings come into play. “Are you guys having a party?” He gives you the old up and down and shakes his head. “Why don’t you come in and find out?” You swallow hard and enter the house.

The house is full of people and you immediately regret your decision to pop up. “No turning back now little birdie,” Jin whispers in your ear, “I think I saw him head to that master bedroom with some female. Perhaps you should go check.” You turn to look at Jin and nod. “I think I will. You think I’m afraid of your brother. He doesn’t own me.” Jin laughs and leans in close to whisper in your ear. “No, he doesn’t own you, just your cunt I imagine.” You shove him hard and head to the back room feeling your face flush. You shove the unlocked door open to find Yoongi sitting up in bed opening and closing a Zippo lighter as a random girl dances seductively for him in her underwear. He stares at her unimpressed but seems to light up at your presence. You are fuming, so much so that you grab her clothes from the ground and toss them at the shocked girl. “Get the fuck out.” You shout at her. She looks at Yoongi who nods for her to leave. She sucks her teeth and flips him the bird as she exits.

The room fills with tension as you and Yoongi stare at each other, neither saying a word. The only sound in the room is your labored breath as your chest rises and falls with your anger and the sound of Yoongi's lighter. “You’re an asshole.” You spew. A smirk slowly spreads across his face. “You forget your place, whore.” He mumbles, slamming the lighter shut and rising to his feet. You go to speak but Yoongi grabs you across the mouth with his hand. You moan at his tight grip as his shoves you down to your knees. “You show up here, uninvited, in an outfit fit for a whore. You kicked out my guest and call me out of my name. What ever should I do with my disobedient little cock whore?” He releases his grip from your mouth. “Speak whore.” He commands. “Punish me.” You whisper so softly, its barely audible. Yoongi takes you by your hair and yanks back hard causing you to cry out. Your swollen pussy soaking itself with need. “Punish me, please, I need release.” You beg.

Yoongi pouts at you and begins running his hand from your hair down your cheek. He kisses you softly before standing upright. “Take your dress off.” He says. You stand quickly, removing the tight fabric from your body. Yoongi walks to his closet and returns with a small duffle bag that he places on the hard wood floor. “Time to see just how good my whore has been.” “I’ve been so good for you sir.” You moan, resisting the urge to reach out for him. He tilts his head, “Who gave you permission to speak?” You swallow hard as he begins to remove his belt. You turn now and lie flat on your stomach on the bed. “So good, so eager.” Yoongi praises and you a soft mewl escapes your lips as your cunt throbs in need. “On your back, let me see that gorgeous cunt.” Yoongi states. You flip over eagerly and spread your legs for him. He moans at the sight. “Already soaked and fuck how swollen she is.” He walks over to you now. You bite your lip and shift your cunt closer to him. He looks down at your dripping sex, sucking in a deep breath before slapping it hard, eliciting a loud animalistic cry from you. You arch your back as he gazes upon you with lust in his eyes. “You’re such a sexy little whore. Are you gonna be a good girl for me? I have the best surprise for you tonight.” You nod excited as he lands another open-handed slap on your pussy before sliding two finger inside you. “Yoongi, fuck, God.” Your toes curl as he rubs your g spot and your orgasm quickly begins to build. “Please, I need this so bad.” You plead with him. He growls at your remarks adding his thumb to your clit to continue his assault on your pussy. “Your pussy feels so good, so tight around my fingers baby.” He pants, hungrily fucking you. “Is my pussy better than Lisa or Jess?” You ask as you feel that familiar coil tightens and you clench down around Yoongi's long fingers. Your head drops back as you feel your walls shake. “Yes, don’t stop.” You cry but to no avail as Yoongi yanks his fingers from you just as your high begins to hasten.

You cry out in despair, covering your mouth with your hand. As you go to sit up and protest, Yoongi enters you with his massive cock, stretching you wide. You wrap your arms around his neck as he grabs you by the waist and begins to glide you back and forth with ease along his cock. You feel your climax rising slowly from the pit of your stomach one again as you nuzzle close to Yoongi’s neck. “You’re so fucking tight, is my cock slut ready to cum already?” Yoongi moans into your ear. You try your best to stifle your moans but your so close to sweet release you can barely contain yourself. You begin rocking your hips so hard into Yoongi's cock he’s fearing his own climax rising. “Fuck.” You whisper as your coil snaps. Yoongi feels your walls clench and tosses you back on the bed before you can cum. You cry out in frustration as Yoongi licks his lips watching you squirm. “You fuck.” You growl. “Let that be a lesson to never mention any other women to me again.” He smirks. He looks over to the duffle bag.

“On the floor, now.” You barely manage to get there, as your legs feel like putty but you decide not to give push back. Only this man has that much power. Only he commands you, only he can have you do the things you do. So, you lie back on the cool hardwood floor like a good girl. Like his good girl. He kneels beside you and opens his duffle bag. “Do you trust me?” He asks. “Yes.” You respond without a second though. He leans down and kisses you gently. He takes out a bottle of ethanol, a rag, a blanket, some balm, and his zippo. Your body shivers at the sight of these items. “You know what to say if it’s all too much?” You nod. “Say it.” “Yellow, sir.” You respond. “Arms up and keep them there. Bend your legs. No moving, no matter how much you want to.” He instructs as he sits on your feet. You nod again. You watch Yoongi as he wets the rag in the ethanol and glides it across your belly, the cold path causing your skin to goose. He immediately snaps open his Zippo and ignites the ethanol. You gasp at the sight, feeling the warmth from the flame cause your pussy to soak down to the floor while Yoongi quickly snuffs it out with his free hand.

You release a breath you didn’t know you had in you as Yoongi begins to glide the wet rag across your body again. You moan as your core tightens with the ignition and snuffing of the flames. Yoongi repeats this pattern three more times and you cannot control how your adrenaline builds and your juices flow or the way your cunt tenses. All you know is you’ve never experienced such pleasure in your life as Yoongi sets the ethanol on your belly ablaze one final time and snuffs it out, feeling your whole body shake as your coil shatters cumming so violently you scream Yoongi’s name into the room.

Your body continues to shake as small tremors pulse through your body. Yoongi takes you into his arms and begins to caress your back and pepper your face with kisses. “Happy birthday baby.” He whispers. You moan softly before straddling his waist and lining his cock up with your entrance. He moans as you take him fully. You need more of him and now. “My greedy little whore. You gonna swallow up all my cum like a good girl?” “Yes, sir.” You grunt riding him wildly, digging your nails into his back. He licks his lips as he takes you by the thighs slamming you up and down on his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He warns. You ride him faster and faster. “Now baby. Fuck.” You jump off of him and quickly take him into your mouth swallowing down his cock to the root as he shoots his seed into your throat. He cries out as your Bob up and down on his now sensitive member. Finally coming up for air, he pulls you close to him again. “Such a good girl for me. Has my sweet girl learned her lesson?” “Yes, sir, Lesson learned.” You whisper, resting your head against his chest.

[shewhoridesonrainbows]

Words Upon Your Skin - Ch. 4

Edit: A lot of people were confused about the ASL part so I added a mini explanation.

AO3

Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 *

As they approached the manor Damian swore Todd to secrecy again. He didn’t want the rest of his family’s opinions on the matter until he’d figured out how he even felt about having a person out in the world that was bonded to him. Todd was the only other person to have spent any extended time with the League so he was the only one that understood the mindset Damian was raised with. And he didn’t feel like reliving that aspect of his childhood at the moment.

The cave should’ve been cool but Damian was burning up. He’d thought the sweat building on the back of his neck was from the afternoon sun beating down on his dark clothing but, as the bike pulled to a stop inside the air conditioned area of the Batcave, Damian knew he was most likely experiencing a side effect of what he was drugged with. 

Damian jumped off the bike and quickly checked his arm to make sure his soulmate’s message had faded before practically ripping his hoodie off. Left in just a T-shirt, Damian tossed the jacket on the ground at his feet.

“What’s wrong, Baby Bird?” Todd was still sitting on his bike though his helmet was perched in front of him. Damian glared at the offending garment he’d just thrown to the ground before answering.

“I was drugged today, Todd. Apparently, whatever it was causes hot flashes.” He was halfway towards the computer when he heard the door between the cave and the manor open.  The sound of Todd’s boots followed him.

Three sets of footsteps were making their way down the stairs. As the got closer Damian whipped around to remind Todd of their agreement and when he faced his brother the man was staring wide eyed at Damian’s right arm. He glanced down just in time to see more French as the rest of his family got close enough to see it as well.

It was Grayson that spoke first.

“Why did you write French on your arm?”

“Uhh,” Damian’s mind was drawing a blank. The migraine is really affecting my cognitive skills.

It was Todd that came to the rescue, “He was practicing languages other than English and Arabic, duh.”

Goddammit Todd.

“Jason,” Drake piped up from behind Grayson, “the rest of us understand French. And why would Damian need to practice writing,” he twisted his head to get a better look at Damian’s arm. “Why would he need to write ‘Sorry for writing so much in one go. My friends say I ramble too much. I’ll wait for you-’” Damian cut off the translating by hiding his arm behind his back. He glared at everyone in front of him.

Everyone waited for someone else to break the silence.

“Alright,” Todd clapped his hands together, “I’m gonna bite the bullet and say it. Kid, you’re in a room with the best detectives in the world, everyone has already figured it out.” Grayson winced.

“He’s right but he shouldn’t have said it,” Bruce finally spoke. The man looked at his son carefully before continuing, “When were you going to tell us that you have a soulmate?”

“Were you going to tell us?” Grayson asked when Damian didn’t answer.

“I-” the youngest started, “I don’t know.”

In a rare act of brotherly love, Todd moved in front of Damian to stop anymore questions. 

“Look guys, Baby Bird has only been with us for about seven years. He was raised by the League ‘til he was ten,” Todd took a breath before continuing. “After I was brought back, I spent time with the League, barely anything compared to Damian, but it was just enough to find out what they thought of soulmates.” Everyone started to look guilty when the League was brought up. They all knew how messed up that organization was. And how it messed up a good kid.

“Soulmate’s were a weakness. Nobody could join the League if they had one,” Damian’s voice was weak from behind To- No, Jason, I can at least call him Jason in my mind after this.  “So I never wrote on myself as a child.”

“And you’ve almost always worn long sleeves so you never saw their messages,” Drake supplied and Damian nodded.

Before anyone could say anything else Alfred appeared beside the group.

“I believe Master Damian hasn’t read the newest message yet and, until he deems otherwise, it’s something between the two of them.”

And, since Alfred’s word was law, everyone scattered in opposite directions, leaving Damian by himself. After making sure no one was looking his way, he pulled his arm in front of himself and read.

‘Sorry for writing so much in one go. My friends say I ramble too much. I’ll wait for you to write back before sending another message. I hope you have a nice night…or day. I don’t know what time zone you’re in.’

The words took up all of his forearm and part of his hand. Damian could already tell that whoever they are, his soulmate would talk a lot. And normally that would annoy him but for some reason, reading the long winded messages sparked a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his hot flash. That warmth was urging him to write something back…but what?

After so long of radio silence his soulmate was probably even more surprised by this turn of events than he was. What do you say to someone that everyone else in the world would’ve grown up talking to? ‘Hey, sorry it took so long, my mother and grandfather hated the idea of soulmates and I just never thought about the possibility that you existed after I went to live with my father. How are you?’ No, that was ridiculous. Do I even want to bring them into my life at all? It’s not like being Robin is any safer than being the heir to the League of Assassins. 

Damian was about to go into another downward spiral when his father coughed behind him.

“Damian, I’m sorry you had to go through what you did as a child. And I’m sorry you faced an inquisition here when you’re still figuring this out yourself.” His father awkwardly patted his shoulder then smiled gently. “If you have any questions, I’m here for you.”

“Father, I-” It went against the instincts forced into him as a child, but the last couple years of being surrounded by an annoying but loving family had softened those instincts. So Damian continued, “I don’t know what to say to someone I should’ve known since I could hold a pen.”

“Just introduce yourself. Ask them about their interests. If they’re your soulmate they’re probably smart enough to guess that something in your childhood prevented you from making contact. And I don’t think the universe would pair you with someone that wouldn’t understand that.”

Damian snorted, “I don’t know Father, Lady Luck hasn’t been smiling down at me lately.”

“Well, whatever you do, just know we’re here for you. I can’t say your brothers won’t tease you after everything has settled but just remember that it’s not meant to actually hurt you. If they go too far, tell them and they’ll back off.”

“Thanks, Father,” Damian smiled weakly, “I’ll try to come up with something to say.”

A single nod from his father before he walked towards Drake at the computer.

“What have you found so far?” The eldest Wayne asked. 

Drake sat back in his chair and grabbed for his mug sitting on the console. He took a sip then started reading from his files.

“Based on the info that Damian was able to gather, these guys are bringing in more girls through this dock,” Drake circled Pier 5 on a map of Gotham’s bay area, “tonight. Whatever pre-drugged Damian found out told him to bring Titus so there’ll probably be security measures to keep out thermal imaging. And lastly, the time Damian wrote down was 11 pm,” he looked at Bruce, “if it were me I’d want to be there sooner.”

Bruce nodded, “So, we’ll shoot for the whole team to be there at ten, but I want someone down there now to stake out the area.” He stepped back to look at all of his sons gathered around. “I’m sending Nightwing for now, the rest of you be ready. We leave in three hours.”

Everyone agreed. Grayson bounded off towards the suits to gear up and head out while Jason went to his guns to get them ready. Bruce glared at the weapons before sighing.

“Jason-”

“Don’t worry, Bats,” Jason interrupted with his back still turned towards them, “I’m loading up rubber bullets. They’ll leave a hell of a bruise but they won’t kill.”

Bruce sighed again, shook his head, then walked back upstairs to the manor, muttering about ‘too many kids’ along the way.

With a quick glance to make sure nobody was looking (Grayson suiting up, Jason cleaning his guns, and Drake pouting at his now empty mug) Damian grabbed a pen and walked to a chair sitting in the darkest part of the cave. There was barely enough light to see with as he put the tip of the pen to his skin.

‘Hello, thank you for not asking why this is just starting now. My father suggested I ask what your interests are…’ Damian’s cheeks flamed up. Why did I say that my father told me to ask? I’m embarrassing myself in my first intentional message. He was about to wipe it off and hope that his soulmate had not seen the message yet when ink started welling up from beneath his skin.

‘I like fashion and video games. What about you?’

He was surprised again. They messaged back very quickly and, since the bond could tell that he’d already read the message, the ink faded just as quickly. 

He tried to wipe away his writing but it only smudged. Damian jerked his head up in search of a towel or wet cloth to aid him only to see Alfred already holding one towards him. Damian grabbed it with a ‘thank you’.

“Don’t worry, Master Damian, I won’t tell your brothers,” Alfred said as he turned and walked away. Damian sent a silent ‘thank you’ at the butler’s retreating back.

After carefully cleaning the spot, Damian had to think of a safe interest of his to talk about. He was drawing a blank until Titus bounded down the stairs into the Batcave. 

Damian smiled as he wrote.

‘I like animals.’

He didn’t have to wait long before his arm was full of a block of French.

‘Really? I’ve always wanted a pet of my own but my parents run a bakery so I was never able to get one. After I move I might get a dog or a cat. I used to want a hamster a couple years ago but I’ve realized it wouldn’t work out very well. I might lose them. Do you have any pets?’

He stared, wide eyed, at the paragraph. His ink on his arm hadn’t dried yet so wiping it away was significantly easier this time.

‘Yes, I have a Great Dane named Titus.’ From there the two soulmates went back and forth for a couple minutes, answering back as soon as the other’s message was read.

‘My friend looked it up and Great Danes are HUGE dogs. He even teased me that yours would be bigger than I am… my friend also told me to ask you something called ASL, do you know what that means?’

‘Titus is bigger than some grown men so I wouldn’t doubt that other Great Danes are bigger than a teenager.’ Damian’s face screwed up into a displeased expression at the end of his soulmate’s message unsure on how he felt about it. Before he could continue, another message from his soulmate came through.

‘Nevermind, he told me. He’s grounded from food from the bakery for the rest of the night for making me ask for your "age, sex, location". And, to answer my own question, I’m 16, a girl, and I live in Paris.’ 

‘I’m a year older, male, and I live in America’ Damian didn’t want to get too specific on his location. Getting a surprise soulmate was bad enough, I do NOT need her showing up in Gotham with so many villains running around. He just hoped his soulmate didn’t feel offended about his vagueness and, if his father was right about the universe, she would understand him.

‘Well,’ the word appeared on his arm followed closely with, ‘it was great talking to you. I have to go to bed now, my parents got on to me for staying up until almost 3 playing video games. Oh! I haven’t told them about you yet. The only reason my friend knows is because he’s the one that noticed the first message. Do you mind if I tell them?’ 

Damian’s heart stuttered. She waited to tell anyone until she checked if I wanted others to know.

 ‘I’m fine if you tell the people in your life about me. Most people are very excited to have a soulmate and I’m honestly surprised you didn’t immediately tell anyone, my family already knows so it would only be fair if yours did as well. I know my brothers are just waiting to be able to tease me.’

Great, now I’m rambling. My soulmate has already rubbed off on me. 

‘How should we address each other since the bond blocks our names?’ He asked. The wait between this question and her answer was the longest gap in conversation on her end since they’d first began. 

‘I think it should come naturally, don’t you think?’ 

‘Okay,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll let you get to sleep now, good night.’

He waited until she replied ‘good night’ back then stood. With the soulmate drama taken care of, it was time to suit up and be ready to leave. 

As his soulmate slept, Robin had a job to do.

NEXT

@vixen-uchiha @kel121288 @northernbluetongue @vivalakitty @bluerosette23 @angelofmusickaterinapetrova @zaladanee @crazylittlemunchkin @professionalfangirl1738 @violatiger8 @creator-josie @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dur55 @i-am-fandom-trash30 @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @schrodingers25

[thran-duils]

Devils Look Like Angels (Ch. 8)

Title: Devils Look Like Angels (Chapter 8) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Psychotic!Castiel. An unhinged, criminal, supernatural artifact collector extraordinaire… and the reader caught his eye. It will not take her long to realize that beneath the charm and mystique is a crazed killer who will go to great lengths to woo her. Words: 1,915 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Stalking, angst, death/murder, violence

Chap 7 || Chap 9 || Masterpost  || Fanfic masterpost

Birds sang in the trees as you walked to your car. You planned to go on a walk but realized you had left your headphones in your car. You located them in the passenger seat and leaned over the driver’s seat to grab them.

As you straightened back up, you noticed there was a small envelope secured underneath your windshield wiper. Your forehead crinkled in confusion, wondering where it could have come from; the bunker was far off the road and you had not seen it when you drove home last night, so it could not have come from someone in town. You moved around the car door to reach the envelope. Your name was printed in calligraphy.

Your eyes scanned the area around you, searching the tree line for any sign of movement. Nothing that you could see. Deep down, nervousness was brewing because you knew who would leave something like this. But there was no one in sight.

Opening the letter, you found a curt note.

Y/N, I apologize that I have not contacted you for almost a week. Treasure hunting and all. It was a fruitful venture and I could not help myself to splurge on something for you. It is behind the passenger tire. I hope you find it agreeable. I look forward to seeing it on you.

He had written a date, time, and address again below it.

Another game. You know the stakes, kitten. I miss you terribly. My day is always better when I have the chance to see your beautiful face. Yours truly, Castiel

Hands shaking, you gulped. So much for him being normal. You had foolishly thought he may have cooled off after the last time you had spent together. Why could things never be easy?

Creeping around the car, you spotted the rectangle box he had referred to in his letter. Fingers closing in around it, you picked it up tentatively. It was plain white, like the one he had left in the hospital. The bracelet was still in your dresser; you had not worn it yet.

Your eyes shot around the area once more before you took the lid off. Placed snugly inside was a diamond infinity necklace.

Walk abandoned, you walked quickly back towards the bunker door. The echo of the door closing behind you ringed almost as loud in your ears as the lock clicking into place. You stepped back, still shaking, staring at the door handle as if it was going to move. What if he had been outside and you had simply not seen him? Would he try to follow you inside?

The handle was still, your gaze burning a hole into it. You became aware of how quick your chest was rising and falling, blood pumping in your ears. He knew where the bunker was, where you lived. How? He could not have followed you home without you noticing in the daylight; no one had tailed you the two times you had left. Maybe he had followed one of the guys?

“Y/N?” Dean sounded from the bottom of the staircase.

You gasped, turning swiftly towards him.

His expression hardened, “What? What’s wrong? I thought you were going for a walk?”

“Um… I…” you stammered, unable to gather your thoughts quickly enough.

Dean took to the stairs, determined. He moved past you, hand at the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. “Something out there?”

His hand was already on the lock.

“No!” you blurted. He whipped back around to face you and you shook your head. You said calmer, “I mean, no. Not anymore at least.”

“What do you mean?”

You merely raised your hands, the gift in one, the letter in the other.

Disbelief washed over his face at the sight of them. His hand fell from his gun, asking gravely, “This is not what I think it is, right?”

“He knows where we live,” you whispered, your throat dry.

It was one thing for him to be nearby in Lawrence. One thing to meet him other places. But for him to know where you slept… that was another boundary entirely. One you had not wanted him to cross. Not just for you but for the safety of Dean and Sam too.

Dean for once looked at a loss for words.

Hands shaking, you declared, “I have to meet him.”

“What?” Dean snapped; voice regained on a dime.

“He wrote a date and time for another ‘game’,” you said, gesturing at the letter.

Snatching it from you, Dean ran his eyes over it. Your cheeks reddened, knowing he was seeing the personal inscription.

“A week? It’s been longer than that,” Dean pointed out.

Thinking quickly, you shook your head. “No, no. He contacted me about a week ago. He… he told me that last time when I didn’t show, he –” You swallowed thickly. “He killed them, Dean. I have to play the game. It’s the rules.”

“Wha—Y/N! There are no rules, just his psychosis!”

“Whatever. It is real to the people that are put in danger, Dean.”

Sam sounded from below, “What’s going on?”

Exasperated, Dean turned away from you, taking the letter with him. You followed him down the stairs, still clutching the gift box. Without a word, Dean thrust the letter at Sam.

He read it quickly before demanding, “Where’d this come from?”

“Outside,” Dean told him tightly as you said, “On my car.”

Shooting Dean another look, you stated firmly, “I have to go.” Dean dramatically held his hand up in your direction, staring at Sam for back up. Sam moved to argue, and you cut him off, “I already told Dean that he killed the people at the last game that I didn’t make an appearance at. I can’t knowingly ignore this and let it happen again! Not when I know that I can prevent it!”

“You don’t know that for sure that you can prevent it. And you don’t know for sure that he killed those other people. Did he send you photo evidence?” Sam debated.

“No,” you admitted, and Dean looked smug. “I am inclined to believe him based off his past behavior that we have all witnessed first-hand!”

Dean’s smug smile fell and Sam shot him a look before reading the letter over again.

“It’ll be my fault if they die,” you repeated.

Sam swallowed sharply, letting his hand holding the letter drop. Dean saw him relenting and he let out an annoyed gasp.

“Sammy,” he said in disbelief.

“She’s right, Dean. We can do something.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean snapped, “Great. Let’s give into the whims of a psychopath.”

<> <> <>

Walking carefully, you kept an eye on the ground to avoid tripping over anything. The address Castiel had given was to an abandoned building on the outskirts of Wichita. Sunlight poured through the cracks in the foundation and walls.

Dean and Sam were walking ahead of you, ready to attack if need be.

When a figure stepped out from a room down the hall, they came to a stop instantly, standing defensively. “No need for that,” the man commented lightly. “Boss is waiting in here.” He gestured for you and you pushed past the boys. When you got close, the man said, “By the way, no names.” You gave him a quizzical look and he explained, “For everyone’s anonymity and safety. Understand?”

You nodded stiffly and he looked over your shoulder, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Dean and Sam must have given him affirmation of understanding because he moved out of the way to let you by. There were more of them inside, leering at you as you passed.

Exhaling sharply, you saw there was a man tied, gagged, and blindfolded sitting in an old office chair near the center of the room. Head slumped to his chest, there was a trail of blood down the side of his face coming from a fresh wound.

Castiel was sitting behind the desk, legs up. He noticed your unease seeing the blood. He defended himself, “He would not yield like a good boy. It is not like his death is set in stone. Being rather overdramatic he was if you ask me.”

You said nothing. And neither did the man; the only thing giving away that he was still alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was either drugged or knocked unconscious.

“So, if he gets to go home, I am planning on dropping him off down the road. You have my word that he will remain alive if you do succeed. Just do not want you having to deal with how to get him home. I can imagine that he will not hold back from involving you if he can see your face and be able to ID you to the cops. Hence the no names.”

“I understand.”

Castiel cocked his head, looking you over. “Is the jewelry not to your liking?”

He was offended.

Sucking in your bottom lip, you pondered how to navigate this. You could not stall for too long.

“They don’t go well with jeans.”

A small chuckle, that was good. “Maybe I should take you clothes shopping.” He gestured down at his three-piece. “Find something to match this. Then you could wear all the jewelry I could acquire, and it would match.”

“I’m sure.”

Castiel ran his eyes over you once more, contemplative. You could only imagine him sizing up how you would look in fancy clothes. The moment was brief but enough to worry you that he was seriously considering the clothing expedition.

“Anyway, kitten. Are you ready?”

“As much as I can be.”

With a sly glint in his eye, Castiel presented, “I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?”

Less morbid than the last one; at least it did not make you think of murder right off the bat.

Castiel tapped his fingers lightly on the arm of the chair he was sitting in, watching you intently.

It took a few minutes of trying to tear the puzzle down, but you met his gaze confidently. “A map.”

Admiration poured from his smile. “You are quite astounding.” He moved back, planting his feet on the ground, and pushed back away from the desk. He moved around the desk and past the man to stand in front of you. “That wit and intelligence is alluring; I am like a moth to a flame, kitten.”

You forced a slight smile before asking firmly, “Your word?”

His fingers brushed the side of your face. “Yes. My word. I will keep it.”

Curiously, you asked, “Why was there not a monster here this time?”

The corners of his lips turned upwards at the question. Leaning forward, he told you quietly, “Too many, I am quite monstrous.” He watched your face as his words sunk in, amusement in his eyes.

Squaring back up, he said to his men, “Now, let her leave.” He squeezed your hand and told you affectionately, “Well done, Y/N. Until next time.” His eyes left you, piercing behind you. Lip curling slightly, he stated, his tone dripping with disdain. “And you two as well. Take care of my kitten in my absence. Or I will have more than words with you.”

With another squeeze, he bid you goodbye. Dean and Sam were at your back the entirety of the trek back to the car.

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass

[reddeaddamnation]

Imagine them finding out you’re a demigod [Chocobros + more]

Warnings: Mary-Sueish [Y/N]?, the post consists of short one-shots, spoilers, some are more angsty and others are on the funny side

Noctis Lucis Caelum

He couldn’t believe it...even if he saw it with his own eyes. [Y/N], the daughter of Ifrit going against her own father in combat. They spoke in a language Noctis could hardly understand, as flames danced around them, engulfing the palace’s courtyard and turning it into an inferno of fire. Balls of flame flew all around and Noctis could hardly keep up with dodging them. [Y/N] interfered into the battle just in time and told them to back away and let her handle it. “You can’t do it alone!” the king yelled, worriedly, clueless about her true power and origin until she just smirked and lunged at Ifrit, flame covering her entire body and crashed into his chest roughly, knocking him back. “Fight fire with fire, as they say.” Prompto stated jokingly and for the first time Noctis wondered how he can joke in a time like this.

The fight went on and Noctis couldn’t look away or move even if he was out in the open. Words he briefly understood filled his mind. “You were a mistake!” Ifrit’s voice boomed, shaking the ground with anger “You are not my child!” Noctis felt someone tug at his hand and pull him away from a fireball, which flew straight towards him. “Get away!” [Y/N] screamed in human tongue, before intense white fires started radiating from her body, forming a large, pulsating ball around her. That was the last thing Noctis saw before the four broke into a run, and shortly after, the ball exploded, setting fire to everything around it.

“Get underground!“ Ignis yelled “Quick!“ This was a fight against time. If they didn’t outrun the flames, which chased them, they were done for. Noctis felt the burning heat against his exposed skin, which grew hotter and hotter as the inferno closed in. Luckily, the subway station was nearby and the four didn’t think twice. They lunged themselves down the stairs, rolling down them, until they hit the cold ground. The king laid there, basking in the coolness of the concrete, panting heavily and wondering how he managed to survive. He could still faintly hear fireballs bashing against something and loud voiced, though his ears were screaming, his vision was blurry. 

Some time later, the sounds finally stopped and the first to speak was Gladio “Come on, let’s go see what happened.” Slowly, Noctis stood up and the four slowly submerged from the underground. Everything was back to normal (or at least relatively normal, due to the current situation) and the fires were completely out. As they cautiously walked back to the courtyard, the first thing they saw was [Y/N]’s smaller figure on her knees next to Ifrit’s body, which was laying on the ground, unconscious. Her quiet sobs could be heard as she raised a burning red metal sword and with a scream, plunged it in his chest.

Noctis was speechless. He couldn’t imagine what she would be feeling in such a moment...going against your own father must be hard to overcome. [Y/N] stood there, sobbing quietly until she noticed their presence. She looked at them and smiled through tears, before standing up and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Hey guys.” she murmured “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” In that moment, Noctis desired nothing more than to comfort her, to show her that everything was going to be okay... That he was thankful for her bravery and for what she did to help them.

In several large steps, he walked up to her and pulled her into an embrace and did what he never had the bravery to do ever since he met her. He kissed her lips passionately, intensely, mind blank. [Y/N] was shocked for a moment, but a moment later brought her hands up to wrap around his neck and kissed him back. “I won’t let you die, Noct.” she murmured between kisses “We will find another way. We will bring the light back to the world.”

Prompto Argentum

When the commotion in Altissia happened and all Prompto was busy with was trying to save his life, while fighting imperial soldiers, protect any civilian that got lost and have his friends’ backs all the while avoiding being drowned AND to help Noct fight Leviathan, he didn’t expect to be knocked down by the falling body of someone, who drenched him in water and didn’t even apologize for it when they got off of him! Prom knew that in such a moment being knocked over and drenched was the least of his problems, but he was ready to confront the person when he opened his eyes and sat up... until he saw the face of... “An angel!” he exclaimed quietly, staring up at the girl with a goofy smile and dreamy eyes.

She barely even noticed him, as she was too busy staring down Leviathan with the angry expression of a rebellious child. The goddess was angrily speaking to her in an unknown language, but the girl obviously understood every word. “No! I’m not going back!” she yelled in a childish manner “And you can’t make me!” Prompto completely forgot about the angry serpent, which was now looming over him, as he was too busy staring at the fiery girl. “But mother...!” she whined. Mother? No way, she was the daughter of Leviathan?! But she looked so... human. “I want to see the world of humans! I’m a part of it, even if you don’t want to admit it!” The serpent spoke something in a more calm manner, or at least that was what Prom thought. “Ugh, yes!” The girl groaned “I promise not to get killed and I promise to come back before you wake up and decide to kill me yourself for being late.”

The serpent spoke again one last time, before averting her attention back to the matter at hand. In the meantime, Prompto stood up and shot a smile “Woah.” he started “I bet only you can talk down the Leviathan and get away with it.” She turned around, now calmer and smiled in a way that made Prom’s knees weak. “Oh, that was just my mother.” she stated, as if it was just a normal fact “She gets soo overprotective. Anyway, I’m [Y/N]. Nice to meet you. And you are?” Prompto grinned again and stared at her like he never wants to look at another face again. “M-me? I-I’m... I-I-I’m beautiful...Wait! I mean, I’m Prompto... You’re beautiful.” he babbled, a blushing mess, which made her giggle and sent the poor boy’s heart flying. “Thanks. You’re so funny. And sweet.”

He knew he had some explaining to do to the boys. Explaining was even softly said when they saw him, struggling to answer all her questions and keeping her from tripping and falling over the ruins of the city. “Uh... Hey guys, this is...” Prom spoke with an awkward smile, but [Y/N] cut him off “[Y/N], daughter of Leviathan.” she answered with a smile. The three boys just stared with shocked expressions for a long moment, before yelling out in unison “What?!”

[Y/N] proved to be quite a curious and fun person, always asking questions about the world and ready to try out new things. When they left the island, she insisted on seeing the continent and made it clear that she doesn’t take no for an answer. She was also a very skilled fighter for someone who has never been in the world of mortals and proved it by drowning an entire iron giant in a tornado of water she gathered from the nearby lake. And day by day, Prompto fell deeper in love and couldn’t look away from her even for a minute.

“Ah, she’s perfect.“ he murmured, as he watched her feed a chocobo, petting it and laughing “I knew it was meant to be as soon as she knocked me over back in Altissia...“ he leaned his head on his hands, a dreamy smile on his lips. “Haha, I’ve never seen a creature this sweet before!“ she laughed, hugging the chocobo around the neck. “She even likes chocobos as much as me...“ They were currently at the Wiz chocobo resort taking a break after a long ride from Lestallum. The boys were sat at one of the tables while [Y/N] was playing around with the birds. “Hey, Prom!“ she exclaimed, looking at him with the smile he loves so much “Take a photo!“ He immediately jumped, reaching for his camera, ready to do everything she asks.

Ever since they met, she had always been closer to Prompto. When she needed something, she always asked him and when she had questions, he was the first person she spoke to. Of course, she didn’t mind talking to the others, but Prom was the first thing she saw when she came to the mortal realm, so of course she would be attached to him more. When they were camping, she always put her sleeping bag close to his, shared all her findings with him (Prom will always cherish the gemstone she proudly gave him) and she even ‘commanded’ him to sit in the back seat of the Regalia so she could nap on him while they were on the road. “Got me thinking...” Gladio spoke, chuckling through a teasing smirk watching his friend scurry towards his crush “When you get married, what are your kids gonna be? Quarter gods?” 

Prom stopped in his tracks, blushed and let out a yelp sound, looking at Gladio angrily. He was about to answer, but his beloved master cut him off. “Prom!” she barked in a bossy tone. “Ah, coming!” he stuttered and started running towards her again. 

Ignis Scientia

Ignis had never seen such piercingly cold beauty befitting only the Glacian. And the company thought his glare was scary... She wasn’t afraid to put anyone in their place no matter who... He will always remember how she conjured an icy spear and impaled five imperial soldiers at once without batting an eye. She also wasn’t afraid to destroy a hunter, who dared call them bad hunters, by saying countless of hurtful words, which quite literally left him crying.

But of course, everyone has a weakness. And that of the daughter of the Glacian was indeed Ignis Scentia. When they were together, her icy shell was melted and the real person behind it was shown. The smiling, intelligent, warm girl, who openly talked about her feelings and showed her affection for her lover. 

“Lestallum is beautiful at night.“ she stated, staring at the night sky over the fence of the balcony in their hotel. Ignis came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist “Indeed.“ he agreed “But not as beautiful as you.“ His cheeky remark made her giggle and turn around to peck his lips “You’re so gallant, my love.“ 

The day they met, Ignis never thought this woman would have such an impact on him. Gentiana led her to them and said that [Y/N] can help them along the way and even play an important role in the salvation of the world. That was a time when neither they nor [Y/N[ knew who Gentiana was and who’s child the demigodess is. She didn’t even know who she was back then! 

But when they found out, it was already too late. The train ride to Tenebrae was the worst memory Ignis will ever have. In hope of protecting him and Gladio, she went face to face with the villain himself - Ardyn Izunia. And even though Ignis had lost his vision, it was as if the sight of Ardyn’s blade stabbing through her chest vividly flashed before his ill eyes. And it would stay there forever.

Instead of collapsing on the ground, the girl hugged her knees, levitating off the ground, as a prism of crystal ice isolated her in a shell no blade could pierce. Then, in a flurry of snowflakes, the crystal let out a popping sound and Gladio exclaimed that she had disappeared. In that moment, Ignis thought this was the end... he would never hear her voice again. But her beauty, her smile will always be burned into his mind. And he was happy she was the last thing he saw before he went blind...

Ten long years passed since then and Ignis was never the same man. He hoped that [Y/N] wasn’t dead... that she was just healing and gaining strength. But slowly he felt himself lose hope as time went by and the days became shorter. He contemplated looking for her, but where would he even start, especially in such dangerous times when daemons fearlessly prowled behind every corner, on every road, in every field... 

Then, as if a miracle had happened, ten years later, he heard the all too familiar voice call him softly. “Ignis...?” Hammerhead was quiet. Everyone was asleep. Gladio and Prompto hadn’t returned from their mission yet and Ignis was alone. After spending some time cooking himself a meal, he decided to head for bed himself. He didn’t know how long he was asleep for, but some time later a soft hand caressing his cheek awoke him.

Immediately, he bolted up and frantically started looking around, as if his vision would return to aid him against the unknown intruder. But when he heard her voice, for the first time this rational, logical man wondered if he was dreaming, if her voice was real and not just an illusion of his mind or worse - a daemon. “[Y-Y/N]?” he hesitantly asked. “I’m back, love. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting for so long.” She spoke and the man found himself wielding a new hope. He hesitantly reached to touch her face in the dark and felt her lean against it. “I thought you were dead.” he stuttered, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“In that moment the Glacian saved me. She kept me safe until I was strong enough to leave again.“ The girl explained “I’m sorry I left you back in the train. If it makes you feel better, I never stopped thinking about you.“ Ignis shook his head, swallowing up a sob, before speaking “No...no. Don’t apologize. The important thing is that you are alive. What I have been hoping for...I was so afraid...“ Her lips cut him off with a soft kiss and there was no doubt. This was [Y/N].

Without thinking, Ignis pulled away from the kiss and blurted out a question that shocked her. “Will you marry me, [Y/N]?” A long silence stepped in, during which Ignis’ heart was pounding in his chest. He thought she was going to reject him, but she was just so shocked by the proposal, mouth agape and wide eyes with a deep blush covering her cheeks. “Ignis...I...” she scoffed disbelievingly, before throwing her arms around his neck “Yes, yes I will!”

Perhaps the current situation wasn’t the best time for a wedding, but they were going to make the best of it. When Noctis appeared, Ignis promised her that they will bring light back into the world together. And he felt stronger than ever. 

“You know... When Gentiana...uh...Shiva...my mother...“ [Y/N] cleared her throat “When she told me about you lot, I was a bit skeptical. But now I’m sure I made the right decision.“ she kissed her husband’s cheek with a grin “Because we saved the world...And I met the love of my life along the way.” 

Gladiolus Amicitia

Never in his life had Gladio been so smitten by someone before. The only thing he could say when he saw the one and only daughter of Bahamut single-handedly slash a red giant in half with a greatsword, all the while making smug, cocky remarks was “Where have you been all my life?” This powerful woman who can one punch any man who doubted her all the way to oblivion, chug an entire beer in one go the way he never even dreamed of, beat him up in hand-to-hand combat like he was the scrawniest child, beat him in arm wrestling as well and have him struggle to not lose, while she stared him down with a smirk without breaking a sweat and speak her mind, not caring about anyone’s opinion had this grown-ass man putty whenever she was around. This godly woman who liked to smugly call herself ‘the baddest bitch in Eos’ had Gladio follow her around, ready to do her bidding like a small puppy. And the way she wielded that sword...

“Rise and shine everyone!“ she yelled one morning, turning on the lights in the hotel room they were staying at in Lestallum “We gotta train for that bounty hunt later.“ A variety of groans could be heard, as the boys stirred in their bed, trying to get the light out of their face. What time was it? And the guys thought Gladio’s schedule was bad... “You handle this one, Gladio.“ Noctis murmured, burying his face in his pillow. “Can I at least get five minutes?“ Gladio rasped, voice still hoarse from sleep. “Alright, but if you’re not done in five minutes, I’ll be back to beat your ass.“ she warned, before giving him a quick peck on the lips and exited the room. 

The boys would tease him at first about his crush on the scary demigodess but of course, they knew better than to make it obvious in front of her. Nobody teases her and gets away with it. But Gladio paid them no mind. At the end of the day, they would all start complaining about how the training sessions with her are so hard. Especially Prom and Noct, who could barely stand on their feet after she was done with them.

Gladio lazily got out of bed and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. After spending his gifted five minutes in preparing himself, he exited the room and made his way downstairs to the foyer of the hotel, where she was waiting. “What’s the plan?” he asked, catching her attention. “How about a little bet?” she grinned devilishly “If I beat you this time, you will go on a date with me.” Her initiative stunned Gladio, but his confidence was quick to come back and soon a smirk of his own stretched across his lips “Babe, I’d more than gladly go on a date with you even without all this.”

[Y/N]’s grin widened even more and she slowly walked over to him, swaying her hips along the way “That so?” she tilted her head on the side “So you’re admitting your crush on me Iggy was talking about?” Damn Ignis... Gladio thought Couldn’t keep his mouth shut... “Well...” he stuttered slightly, looking away “I’m not gonna lie, you know.” he scoffed, glancing briefly in her eyes. “Because I like you too, Gladio.” she confessed “I think we’d be great for each other.” 

In that moment, Gladio praised, thanked and practically worshiped Bahamut for blessing him with a woman such as [Y/N]. Because indeed, she was a blessing. All those thoughts ran through his head, but he was too smitten and surprised to say anything out loud. “Well?” she urged “Say something already!” Gladio grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief as he dipped down to plant a kiss on her lips, leaving her shocked and oh, is that a blush he sees? “How’s that instead of words?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest proudly. “You...caught me off guard is all.” she rolled her eyes in return.

“Listen, how about we grab something to drink after the training? Maybe sit at that restaurant you like so much? My treat.“ He offered. “You know, Gladio, that sounds like a plan.“ 

Ravus Nox Fleuret

“Don’t strain yourself...“ Ravus murmured softly, yet worry coated his tone when his lover was overcome by yet another fit of intense, heartbreaking coughs. She was abnormally pale and could hardly stand up from the bed she was laying on. Just several days ago she could barely stay conscious and now at least she spent less time asleep and had enough strength to speak. Ravus took this as a sign that she was getting better. 

When Ravus found her, laying unconscious on the ground among the rubble that was once an Imperial fort, surrounded by Noctis and company Ravus felt an immense fit of rage taking over him, along with worry if she was alright and his heart was slowly breaking the more he watched her in this condition. “What have you done?!” he yelled, storming up to Noctis “You know she isn’t supposed to use her powers!”

“I didn’t do anything! I told her not to do it, but we almost got killed and she saw this as the only way to get out of the situation!“ Noctis defended, anger overcoming him as well, along with the worry whether his friend was alright. “You exploit her kind heart and because of that she nearly lost her life multiple times because of you!“ Ravus knew what happened. The large black cloud, angrily throwing lightning bolts all around it could be seen from hundreds of miles away. And he knew... The daughter of the storm god Ramuh unleashed her powers like never before and destroyed the imperial fort and everything around it.

“I refuse to pick up the pieces after every time you mess something up and risk [Y/N]’s life because of it! I will not let this happen again.“ Ravus concluded, gathering the unconscious girl in his arms and turning his back on Noctis. Everything around them was turned into a wasteland after the raging storm. In the blink of an eye, Ravus was gone, along with [Y/N].

“My dear, what in Eos made you attempt such a stunt?“ he asked her, voice filled with pain. “It was...the will of...Ramuh...“ she rasped quietly. Of course, the cruelty of the gods wasn’t exclusive even for their children... Why Ramuh would make his daughter protect a stranger to her with her own life was beyond him. Wasn’t a father supposed to be a protector? A guardian? God or not. Ravus bit his lip and gently held her hand.

“What if I lost you?“ he whispered, as if the very thought of saying it out loud would make it happen. “Ravus...“ she smiled weakly “I love you.“ Ravus choked out a sob and hunched over in pain, covering his eyes with his hand. He swore to protect her, the one he loved with every fiber of his being and here she was, bedridden with barely enough strength to speak. He felt weak, like he failed... “And... you will never lose me...“ her last words came faintly, because her eyes started closing and soon she drifted off to sleep again.

Ravus never left her side for a minute. He wanted to hold her, but was afraid she might break. So he had to settle with a gentle peck on the lips, as he caressed her cheek and combed his hand through her hair “Rest now, treasure.” he whispered “You have done enough.”

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret

Titan knew his time was coming and Lunafreya sensed it too. “You must protect her, mortal.” his voice boomed in her ears and for a short time, she was confused as to what he was referring to. But then, the shock on her face was eminent when the earth god’s chest started glowing and the small figure of a woman emerged from inside it among the soft glow of white light. Luna’s eyes followed the figure as it glided through the air towards her. 

Luna caught the girl just before she hit the ground and the light around her disappeared. She was unconscious. The blonde’s head snapped up at Titan, expecting answers and they weren’t late. “My daughter.” Titan spoke again “Perhaps even my successor.” Lunafreya looked at the girl again, the shock still visible on her face. But this was the will of the earth god and she wanted to fulfill it.

By the time the unknown girl opened her eyes, they were already far from the meteor. Luna decided there was no point in traveling until she had awoken. ”Where am I?” she asked, sitting up from her laying position. Her eyes traveled to the blonde woman sitting next to her and she was quite surprised and bewitched by her beauty. The sun behind her formed a halo around her and made her locks shine like pure gold. Her blue eyes sparkled like the sun’s rays reflecting on water.

“You are safe. In Eos.“ her voice was like silk, soft and reassuring “What is your name?“ The demigoddess took a moment to answer, as she was still sulking in her beauty “It’s...[Y/N].“ Luna smiled kindly “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Lunafreya.“ she introduced herself and [Y/N] found herself grinning goofily up at her “Lunafreya...“ she repeated, liking how the name sounded.

“Do you know where you come from?“ Luna asked, to which [Y/N] shook her head. “All I know is my father Titan. He wanted to protect me from the world and that’s everything I’ve ever known.“ Lunafreya reached to touch her hand gently. Her touch sent a pleasant shiver up [Y/N]’s spine. “It’s alright. I will help and protect you now.“ And she will. She promised it to Titan and now to this beautiful girl which had so much to learn from the world.

“And what about Titan?“ [Y/N] asked. Luna bit her lip, wondering what to say. It would be a rather dangerous shock to tell her the truth so soon and she was afraid that the girl would blindly want to go back to the meteor, oblivious to the dangers there. “He entrusted you to me. I am the Oracle.“ was the answer that came from Luna.

[Y/N] beamed “Oracle? Will you tell me all about it? And where will we go from here?” her questions made the blonde giggle softly. “You will see. A whole entire world is waiting for you.”

[afarcryfromgotham]

A Far Cry From Gotham

Jason’s story if he didn't go back to Gotham after leaving the League

He gulps down air, sitting on his knees, face staring up to the sky. White and auburn hair plastered to his forehead. Birds circle overhead occasionally blotting out the unforgiving sun. Eyes open as a shadow falls over him. He meets the steeled grey eyes of the older woman, biting his tongue as he learned to do a lifetime ago.

“Well done Jason.” the skin wrinkles around her eyes as she shows her gratitude, “Not only did you survive the trials, but you survived the cleansing. I have nothing else I can teach you.” 

Jason raises an eyebrow, huffing a laugh as she hits him on the head before poking him in the chest, “Control your Rage, little one.”. She cups his face with a calloused hand, “One day your heart will shine brighter than that dark fury inside you, when that day comes it will be glorious.” she smiles at him “tonight you rest; tomorrow you will continue on your quest for knowledge.” she turns walking away, her robes drag over the stone floor as she hobbles away

Jason rises to his feet, stumbling on limbs that feel like jelly “I thought you said-”

“I know what I said, man child.” she glares back at him “you have learned all the all caste can teach you. I know you will not stay here, you are not one who enjoys clipped wings. You will leave tomorrow to find your father for a study in Tranquility.”

Jason scoffs as he follows after her into the mountain face 

The next day sees Jason on a jet funded by the League of Assassins, flying halfway around the world, and air dropping into the wilderness of California.

The next month is spent tracking trails that barely exist, of searching abandoned safe houses and truckstops, all signs are directing him to Hope County, Montana. A name, Richard Dragon, and a reputation, as one of the best Martial Artists in the world, is all he has as he hitchhikes into the southwest corner of Montana.

Jason squints against the sun as the truck rumbles to a stop. He swings down off the bed waving his thanks to the driver. 

He looks up at the Water Tower looming above the town, Falls End, it reads across the side. He raises a hand to block out the sun as he looks around, a pristine white church is to his right, a broken-down bus blocks half the road ahead of him, the town lays beyond it. Light glints off the broken windows of the bus.

“You look lost.” a calm voice comes from the direction of the church. An older African American man is leaning on the fence work around the church, in one hand he loosely holds a bible, the golden cross glinting light back at him “It's okay to be lost, the Lord leads us places all the time, often without us knowing where we’re going.”

“I'm looking for someone,” Jason says, shifting his backpack up onto his shoulders, more than ready to book it up the rock face to his back.

The pastor, signaled by the white-collar, and white leather-bound bible, hums in response, his eyes roaming over Jason. His body language is curious but relaxed, unafraid of him. He's open and patient and Jason doesn't trust it. “Perhaps I can help, do you have a name?”

“Mine or who I'm looking for?” Jason responds shifting in the shadow of the bus so he can see the man across the road better.

“Either. I'm Pastor Jerom Jefferies, this is my church.” he waves to the building behind him as an introduction. 

Ok well now he has to introduce himself, Jason Grumbles “I'm Jason, looking for Richard Dragon.” he sees the man stand up a little more at that, a little more guarded, a little more cautious. So he knows Richard Dragon, or at least the reputation of the man.

“You a student of his?” Jerome asks he friendly tone still his voice

“I'm his son.” Jason finds joy in how startled the other man seems by the declaration “come on in, I’ll give him a call to come down.”

Jason follows under the arch and into the church. The pews are simple and wooden, a few knitted blankets sit on them. The sunlight filters through stained glass windows painting the floor and pews a rainbow of colors. He drops into a pew where he can see the front door and the door in the back and takes a deep breath practicing the meditation Ducra had been into him. He listens to the pastors' voice in the office space not actually paying attention to what's being said. 

“His shift at the lumber yard ends in a few hours,” Jerome says and sits on the opposite side of the pew, “would you like something to eat?”

Jason looks around studying every crack in the wall, and the building in general before shrugging 

Jerome stands to motion for Jason to follow. He shoulders his bag and follows him. 

Jerome asks him questions that Jason barely answers saying he's from Gotham and well-traveled.

Jason looks up at the bar, the neon sign is out but it still shows a woman on the sign with the words SPREAD EAGLE.

The door opens and a girl a few years older then Jason is working the register, two older men are cooking and running food.

Two other patrons, one is carrying a flame thrower the other has a taser. Jason looks around, a set of stairs to his left windows along the back, he can hear a door in the back, it smells pretty good though.

“Jerome” one of the guys greets “whos your new friend.”

“Apparently, he's Dragons son.” Jerome greets

Everyone is looking at him now in surprise, Jason shifts his weight slightly “Jason, sir” he nods hello keeping his hands hooked into the backpack straps

“I can see it, Mary why don't you go help your mother upstairs.”

“But,” the girl pouts 

“Go.” he says his eyes never leaving Jason

Jason stares back, he can see the man is worried and curious. He wants to protect his family. He's got a pistol on his hip tucked under the apron, and a knife on his belt, that Jason doubts he's good enough to use.

“Gary Fairgrave, nice to meet you son.” he cleans the glass he has in hand looking to Jerome

“A table for three, Richard’ll join us when he gets off.” Jerome says

They're seated at a four-person table away from the other patrons. Jason doesn't trust any of it, but he appreciates being sat by a window

“So where’d you serve?” Gary asks as he hands them menus

Jason blinks “I don't understand.”

“Son, you picked out my peacemaker almost as soon as you walked in the door, where’d you serve?” he asks

“I didn't, I grew up on the streets in Gotham,” he responds glancing the room over again

Gary whistles “been there once, back when the Waynes were alive, it was a shit hole then, can't imagine what it's like now.” 

“Hell would be kinder,” Jason responds before looking at the menu

Two glasses of water are set down before Jason decide to just order what the Pastor orders

Jason meets Jerome's eyes and the Pastor is studying him, in return, he sees the Pastor is curious but not concerned by Jasons appearance. He's relaxed even, confident that Jason won't do anything. He's right but he doesn't know that. He bleeds a patience that so sickeningly familiar to his past life it makes Jason want to punch him, the face of an older English butler flashes across his memories. Jason breaks eye contact to look around again, counting anything that could be a weapon “so what's it like here?”

“Falls End is fairly quiet, we’re the only constructed town here, good people, reliable people. What about you?”

“Not much a good people, but I'm reliable,” Jason says with a shrug taking a sip of water before crunching down on an ice cube.

“What makes you say that?” Jerome asks

“Everyone from Gotham is a sinner of some sort, pastor,” he shrugs looking anywhere but at the man in front of him mostly out the window at the slow traffic “you do what you have to to survive.”

‘You've killed.” Jerome concludes Jason nods not supplying that he was an assassin or killed other assassins.

Burgers and fries are set in front of them, they pick at the food, Jason answering his questions.

Jason's eyes go to the door, as the man who walked past the window walks in. The older man is dressed in sawdust-covered jeans, and a sweat-stained shirt, his hair is red with streaks of grey through it, similar to Jason's dark auburn with the white stripe. He smiles talking lowly to Gary at the register before turning and walking towards them. He doesn't carry a weapon, but he doesn't need one. He reminds Jason of a tiger, all lean muscle, coiled and ready to pounce.

Jason meets his eyes, the crystal blue, like what he had before, widen slightly. He wonders what the man sees as Jason stands.

“You look so much like your mother.” is what the man says silencing the bar beside the radio. Everyone's attention is on them again

“I think I look like you.” he responds offering his hand “Jason”

“Richard, but you knew that.” he sits beside Jerome, a beer and an order of fries appear on the table soon after

Jason meets his eyes and is surprised when he can't get a read on the man, beyond the surface level. His hands are scarred from fighting and work, he's content because he has nothing to fear.

“If I’d known about you, you would have been living with me and not him.” the venom in the Russians' voice is surprising. His hand clenches around the bottle. A silent agreement of the two to not speak of the other life before till in private

Jason hums “who was she?”

“Her name is Sandra WOo-San, one of my biggest rivals in the Martial Arts scenes, she had you, then not too long after she slept with that Cain fella, and had your half-sister. I don't know what her name is or where she is, just that Cain raised her to be a fighter.” he polished off his beer and fries as he talked. The man looks at Jason 

“Come on i'll take you back to the house, and we can talk more there.” Richard hums standing tossing down a couple of bills “thanks, Jerome.”

“Of course Richard, call if you need anything. That goes for both of you.” he nods to Jason.

Jason climbs into the passenger seat of an old ford escalade that has seen better days. 

Dragon just sits there for a second “I am really sorry, I wish I knew about you before your passing. Sandra, you’d know her better as Shiva, only told me about you after you were dead in the ground.“ he shifts the truck into reverse and backs out onto the road, before pulling onto the road 

Jason looks out the window as he rides, unable to look at the older man whose regret is nearly palatable. “I was only dead for five months. no one knows what brought me back. I only got my mind back after Talia dropped me in the pit.”

He hears the shocked inhale “where. Where have you been this whole time?”

“Talia found me wandering Gotham as a Zombie. She took me back to Nana Parbat. We guessed at first at how long I'd been back. I was mindless for over a year, she said. Left her son with me. Damian is his name. He brought me out of pit madness after I was put under. I spent a year and a half on her Leviathan guard before Ras started to take notice of me. She sent me around the world to various teachers before I spent the last year training with the All Caste.” 

Jason looks over when the man doesn't say anything, there's pride radiating off him, “sounds like you've learned a lot. Why did you come here, Jerome said you asked for me by name.”

“Ducra sent me here said I need to learn tranquility” he responded 

“And Talia?” Dragon asks slowing to turn 

“She knows I'm looking for you, I haven't told her anything,” he responds 

Dragon nods “good, it'll stay that way, I have no need for the Demons to come for me.”

“Does anyone?” Jason asks and Dragon huffs a laugh

“Absolutely not. “ a small ranch house comes into view surrounded by cars and trucks in various states of disrepair. Jason climbs out looking around his eyes going to the muscle cars 

He hears Dragon grunt, turning to face the man, he's pulling metal and scrap work out of the bed of the truck. Jason moves to help but is waved off. 

“Go inside, the guest room is straight back past the kitchen across from the backdoor” Jason nods and after a moment heads inside. It's a standard hunters cabin on the interior, several sets of various deer and Moose antlers line the wall up the stairs. The kitchen counters are covered in fresh produce and cleaned dishes. He continues past into the narrow hall, the guest room as a bed, a dresser, and a safe in the closet.

Jason sits on the bed listening to the springs squeak and the birds outside. He fishes the burner phone out of his backpack looking at Talias number

“Help yourself to the kitchen kid, I'll be out in the barn if you need anything.” Dragons say after knocking on the door frame

Jason turns the phone off and stands “anything I can help with?”

Dragon smiles and waves for him to follow. Jason tosses the phone on to the bed without a second look. NEXT

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Three

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Shopping Episode, Mental Health Stigma, Molly’s Not Okay, Essek Isn’t Either But He Sure Can Pretend

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The bed was the single most comfortable place Mollymauk had been in his entire life.

His entire memory consisted of about a month or two or three of running amok in between: sleeping in the dirt, fighting or running for his short fraction of a life, and passing out in the dirt again. Rinse and repeat until he was here, in a bed that was actually worth more than a few silver pieces a night, and he was certain that he never wanted to leave. The warmth of the blankets and the comfort of the mattress and the pillow under his head granted the deepest sleep he knew of.

He was clean. His back didn’t hurt. There were no screaming monstrosity trying to eat him. Life just might be a thing worth living, Mollymauk realized. Up until now, it had just felt like an exceedingly cruel joke.

The clattering downstairs was a bit less glorious. He buried his face in the pillow, trying to block out the sound. This was his home now. Forever. Warm and soft and safe, always. Luxury was the only way to live.

Except he did have to piss. And there was a hunger gnawing at his stomach. The prison hadn’t granted him much in the way of meals, nor had Essek offered one last night, which was yet another strike against his hosting ability. And so began Mollymauk’s valiant effort to convince himself that getting out of bed meant relieving all the aches and insistences of his body.

Once he’d eaten, he could simply return to bed, Molly reminded himself, and that was the final burst of motivation he needed to let his hooves touch the floor.

Clean, folded clothes were set just inside the door. He’d slept through it being opened, apparently, something that would have gotten him killed out in the wilds of Xhorhas. Perhaps that was what hedonism meant, self-indulgence to the point of destruction.

Worth it, he snickered, pulling his clothes on before wandering out into the corridor. A trip to the bathroom later, he was sliding down the stair’s rail and to the first floor, following the scent of a slightly-burned something to the kitchen.

Essek was wearing an apron. The material was stiff, like a gift given and never worn, and the straps were tied in a knot that would be a pain to undo later. Still, Molly leaned in the doorframe, smiling to himself at the sight of the respectable Shadowhand grimacing over a pan of sausages.

“Staring at ‘em won’t get you far,” Mollymauk informed him, enjoying the stiffness that jerked into Essek’s back. It eased a moment later, and he had to admit he was impressed by the man’s poise as he turned around to give a perfectly polite smile.

“I hope you’ve rested well,” Essek greeted. He waved to the pan, saying, “I’ve only just started cooking.”

Mollymauk scanned the rest of the kitchen. There was only the one pan on the stove. Only sausages were in the aforementioned pan. No bread or eggs or porridge or anything at all to go with it, traditional breakfasts be damned. “Do you just have that, or…?” He let the question trail out.

Essek frowned at the pan. “I had some groceries sent over, so I need to look through those to determine what would go best with this.”

“Probably should have started with that. Meat cooks fast, and it’ll be cold by the time anything else is ready.” Molly trotted into the kitchen, making a beeline for what was probably the pantry, hanging off one door as he swung it open. He grabbed a loaf of bread, searching for the knife drawer as he chirped, “This will do! Do you want butter, jelly? Do you have those, actually, before I go too far.”

“Butter, yes,” Essek said, watching him with a furrowed brow. Molly hummed as he found the toaster, clamping each slice between metal bars and lighting another flame at the stove to toast them. “And, I am sure they brought preserves of some kind.”

“Wonderful, wonderful.” Perhaps it wasn’t the three course breakfast in bed he would have liked, but the way his stomach was growling, the room-temperature bread alone was looking pretty delicious.

Something took the toaster’s handle from his grasp. Molly blinked in surprise as he watched it continue to turn without his grip, held aloft by an —

“Invisible servant,” Essek explained. “You should sit down. You’re my guest, don’t trouble yourself on my behalf.”

“If you insist,” Molly shrugged. The table was already set, and he had no qualms with falling into a chair to tip it back against the wall and watch Essek work. He was a meticulous fellow. As out of his element as he seemed, fumbling around breakfast plans and overlooking a guest’s needs, there was something very precise in the man’s every detail. The way he moved, drifting rather than walking. Long fingers, clever fingers. A spellcaster’s hands, something in his brain told him, though he didn’t know where it came from. Molly wouldn’t be surprised if Essek were timing things exactly before removing the pan from the stove, the toaster from the flame.

As elaborate as the display was, breakfast itself was comicall plain. Toast and sausages, served upon gilded plates over a pristine tablecloth, water poured into crystal glasses. Mollymauk couldn’t help but lean deep to one side just to check if Essek’s butt was seated fully in his chair, and he felt some disappointment to find that it was.

“I apologize for the simplicity of the meal,” Essek started.

Mollymauk rolled his eyes. “Quit apologizing. I’m still enjoying the bedrest afterglow and the sound of feigned guilt will ruin it.”

“Feigned guilt —”

“Or just shame for your performance?” Molly suggested. “I get the picture. All of this,” he waved to the room they sat in, “is a stage. To impress and entertain, and to follow the script. And you, my friend, are the fulltime actor now that I’m here. One person is always in the audience. And I don’t mean any criticism by that — well, maybe some, but I am a hypocrite. For some reason, I greatly respect the art of entertainment, so at the very least I’m not looking down on you.” He smiled.

Essek’s expression didn’t change, but there was something colder in the glint of his eyes. “You have quite the… active imagination,” he commented, perfectly polite as the script demanded.

“Thank you,” Molly grinned, all teeth.

Essek insisted he didn’t help wash the dishes, and for a blissful moment Mollymauk truly believed he would just spend the rest of the day in that lovely, lovely bed. Instead he heard, “Well, we should be heading out, now. We’ll get your measurements done first and then you can spend a few hours at the spa, if you would like.”

Spa was a word as sweet as bed. Mollymauk had his boots laced in a heartbeat. He looked up to Essek, just in time to be treated to the sight of the elf floating over a pair of fine dress shoes, his long mantle hiding them from view. A moment later, when he moved away, the shoes had vanished from the floor.

Molly sputtered. Essek gave him a Look, a furrowed both and a thin frown as Mollymauk wheezed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing, it’s nothing,” he breathed. “How many of the fine folk here absorb their shoes each morning, or is it just a quirky thing you do?”

Essek opened his mouth. Sharp teeth, Molly noted, approvingly. He closed his mouth, drew in a deep breath, and sighed before drifting for the door. “It’s polite to arrive at your appointments a few minutes early,” he said, smoothly ignoring Mollymauk. “We should leave now to ensure that.”

“Sure, sure,” Molly smiled, sauntering after him.

The streets of the city were disorientingly dark. His brain insisted it was morning, and that they should be strolling through the pale light of the eastern sun. He remembered first seeing that eerie cloud during his journey, hanging in the distance and feeling like an ill omen from so far away. The road to his life, to filling the hole in his chest, sat under a curtain of black.

Now he knew it to just be thanks to the drow’s sensitive eyes. Essek’s were nearly pale as the moon, the softest lavender with no visible pupils.

As he stared, Essek’s ear twitched. His head turned faintly to the side, a glance through the corner of his eye finding Mollymauk’s. “What is it?” Essek asked, facing him completely.

“Oh, nothing,” Molly said. As sincere as the comment would be, strangers didn’t often appreciate his compliments, or took them the wrong way. Molly appreciated different things about the body — the way the merchant’s knuckles jutted out, and the fingers narrowed in between each joint, the lopsided quality to a bartender’s smile and his crooked teeth, or the eerie, nearly-snowblind quality to this dark elf’s eyes. Eerie wasn’t bad. Eerie was captivating, lured him in, left him incapable of looking away. Yet very few people would hear his words how he intended them.

Even with the deflection, Essek kept staring at him. Mollymauk only smiled politely and took hold of his own tail to twine it between his fingers.

They passed large, elaborate properties, many guarded or gated or both. Even once they left the residential area, it was clear they were in the upper class portion of the city. Every last person was dressed nearly as elaborately as Essek. They stared openly, too, and that pointed to being the audacious sort, which Mollymauk wouldn’t entirely mind if it weren’t so rude. He only shook his hair back and started whistling a jolly tune, letting his hooves clack on the pavement in time with the song.

Essek snorted once, what was possibly a laugh. Molly had to grin, counting that a considerable victory.

They hailed a carriage passing on the streets, letting it carry them the rest of the way. Their destination was a sight that made Molly’s tail twist with excitement: a single story building with glass windows displaying suits and dresses and jewelry and an entire array of gorgeous things to wear. Some were far too classy for his liking, but there were enough bold patterns to make him salivate.

They passed through glass doors, a small bell chining overhead. “If any of these are to your liking, you can tell Brirr,” Essek said, gesturing around the shop. “She’s quite talented at matching up your desire with something that will still look respectable.”

“You’re not gonna get respectable from me,” Mollymauk murmured, as he admired a set of earrings. One was a star, a golden stud matched with a dangling silver moon. There were ear cuffs, meant for elves but perhaps he could make them fit the shorter tiefling ears — there had to be variations, after all.

The browsing was interrupted by the seamstress’ arrival. Seamstress Brirr was a bugbear woman, her broad paws doing surprisingly delicate work as she took Mollymauk’s measurements and chatted him up. She questioned his style preference, and his answers seemed to make her eyes gleam. “As loud as you can get while still looking beautiful,” Mollymauk insisted. “Clashing patterns are fine, I can make them work.”

“I’m sure you can,” she rumbled, baring her teeth in a fanged smile. It would feel threatening if Molly couldn’t see his own delight mirrored back at him.

It took far less time than expected. She ushered them out, promising to send word as his outfits were completed, and taking a hefty bag of coin from Essek.

Mollymauk’s ears tilted back. “I didn’t realize how much that was going to cost you,” he started.

Essek waved it off. “The Mighty Nein are heroes of the Dynasty. The least I can do is provide clothes for their friend. We can find more basic wear around the other shops. And — this is yours.”

He passed a small box to Mollymauk, whose eyebrows crept upward as he examined it. Brirr’s name was written onto it in glittering gold ink.

The earrings were inside, the golden star and hanging silver moon. Mollymauk went still as he stared at them, stunned into quiet.

“... If you didn’t want them, I’m sure we could exchange them,” Essek started, when the silence stretched too long.

“ Nope. ” Mollymauk plucked the stud out, fumbling with his ear. “These are mine now, no takebacks.” He swallowed, and then smiled up at Essek. “Thank you. And, be a dear, would you? I can’t do this without a mirror.”

Essek paused before reaching, hesitantly, for the piercing. He was almost too delicate as he tugged Molly’s earlobe, feeding the point through and letting Mollymauk press the back into place. The same was repeated for the other piece, a comfortable weight swinging off his ear. His tail flicked back and forth in unison.

A steady warmth welled up in his chest. He just might like Essek.

Darting from store to store was a process. Essek was silent as Molly browsed, and offered stilted, neutral commentary when asked for opinions. There was something absolutely delightful about dynasty fashion, and that was that with the number of elves with blue and purple skintones, there were more viable options for him than Mollymauk had ever encountered in his brief life.

It was with bags weighing his arms that they at last turned for the promised event: the spa. “This,” Mollymauk breathed, “is shaping up to be the best day of my life. Now, that wasn’t very hard to top, but I think you’re allowed to be proud of yourself.”

Essek let out a soft breath that Molly was starting to recognize as a laugh of sorts. “I’m… honored,” he said. There was a pause before he added, “You haven’t asked many questions.”

“Should I be?” Molly asked mildly, and then smirked. “Oh! There’s one.”

The humor seemed to be lost on his host, as he only said without missing a beat, “It must have been a harrowing journey to get here. It’s well known that the lands outside our cities are dangerous. And you claim that you came all this way, with no memory of the Nein you are pursuing, because of a note?”

“That’s right,” Molly nodded.

“And yet you haven’t tried to find out who they are.”

The words hung in the air a moment longer than they should have. Mollymauk’s gaze shifted away, a low hum sounding in his throat. Tieflings could purr, did so when they were calm and relaxed. A deeper rumble was reserved for the purpose of relax ing, soothing bristling nerves, and now his chest vibrated with that deeper sound. “It’s about the journey, not the destination,” Molly said. “But sure, I’ll bite. How about you tell me their names?”

Essek paused. “Well,” he said. “First, there is Caleb.”

A sensation of heat flashed over Mollymauk’s skin, like a hand drifted too close to a flame.

“There is Beauregard. Expositor Beauregard.”

A mixed sensation — the need to laugh and to snarl in the same moment.

“There is… Jester. Who very much lives up to her name.”

The snarl faded, just a smile, pure fondness and the want to laugh and to make laugh.

“There is Nott.”

An unnamed emotion. Suspicion, and appreciation. The respect for a good grift and the understanding he may be the next mark.

“And there is Fjord. He is typically well-spoken.” A note of derision entered Essek’s voice.

It was familiar to Mollymauk, comfortable and warm.

“And there is Caduceus. He is unusual, but has a keen eye.”

That one, Mollymauk felt nothing. He blinked, silenced by the sudden twisting in his chest. The hole bored just to the right of his heart was suddenly squirming, uncomfortable. This was why he didn’t want to know.

“Oh, there is one more,” Essek murmured. “She was gone for a long while. Yasha.”

It ached. He was nearly breathless from it, heat behind his eyes and a sudden yawning want, his skin felt cold, the air around him empty when there should be something filling up the space behind him, guarding his back, holding his heart. Delicate and dangerous as belladonna.

Yasha. Yasha. His heart, his heart was gone, that was the hole in his chest, hollowed out and, “Empty.”

The word was what caught Essek’s attention. Or, not the word, but the inflection behind it. It was the dullest he’d heard Mollymauk’s voice, and the sound was nothing short of alien.

“Empty,” he said again, but it shook this time. And then he gasped and clutched at himself, wheezing on a breath and stammering out, “Empty. Empty. E-empty, empty, empty.”

“Mollymauk —” Essek halted. The streets weren’t crowded, but those passing by had already been staring. Now they watched as the tiefling hugged himself and babbled, wide-eyed. The bags he’d been carrying slumped to the ground as he started to sink, until Essek moved forward to catch his weight.

Arms flung around him. He tensed, heart skipping with a brief panic before he realized Molly wasn’t attacking him, but clinging. He was shoving his face into his chest and muffling each empty into his clothes.

People were staring. A hot flush burned Essek’s skin as he burned magic far stronger than he should have to get the bags to lift themselves and travel along as he struggled to untangle Mollymauk’s grasp.

He sucked in a sharp breath, shutting off his own panic. Essek tipped Mollymauk’s chin up, forcing the tiefling’s wild eyes to lock with his own. “ Mollymauk ,” he crooned, enchantment lacing his voice. “ You’re okay. Just follow me and everything will be okay. I promise that you’re safe with me.”

The tiefling had been able to shake this magic before, but perhaps thanks to his scrambled mind, Molly’s eyes glazed over. The panicked breaths evened out. The hand still fisted in his clothes relaxed. Essek took it, leading him without resistance through the streets.

Enchantment was a dangerous school of magic. Few people appreciated having their minds toyed with, emotions changed, reasoning blurred. But this was necessary, Essek told himself. Mollymauk had been having some kind of a fit in the middle of the streets.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen such a thing. Soldiers often collapsed into wails or tears or labored breaths. He himself had experienced these fits before. Stress weighing on the brain, he knew, all fairly common in his occupation but not to be witnessed. Not to be displayed.

He tugged Mollymauk along to a public park, to find a secluded spot to sit him down. A bench was framed by brambles, dark blooms resting among thorns. Mollymauk sat, stilted and doll-like, to stare blankly Essek’s way. He wasn’t charmed, just convinced of the truth Essek had told him: as long as he were here, as long as Mollymauk followed him, there would be no troubles.

Essek braced himself as he dropped his hold on the spell.

The light returned to Mollymauk’s eyes. There was a beat before he stiffened, and then leaped to his feet, pulling away from Essek. His lip curled, a snarl on his face as he bit out, “Do not — N'bb sph oep jlqh hnal.” A hiss of infernal rose from Molly’s throat, the hair at the back of Essek’s neck standing on end.

He raised his hands. “I apologize,” he said, and Mollymauk silenced to just glower and pant. “I apologize,” he repeated. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

The moment stretched out, the air thick between them. Molly’s tail twisted and lashed, and Essek’s ears pinned low. He saw the tiefling’s throat bob as he swallowed and puffed out a breath.

“Fine,” he said, short and harsh. None of Mollymauk’s jovial attitude remained, not in his posture nor his voice. “But do not do it again. This is why I don’t ask questions.”

“I understand,” Essek murmured. Calm and rational, that was what he needed.

He watched as Molly calmed himself. It was a visible process, grasping his tail by the base and sliding up to its spaded tip, like smoothing wrinkles from a garment. The tension dropped from his shoulders, he shook his head and swept his hair back into place.

“Okay,” Molly said. “I forgive you. But you had better get me to that spa now, or I’m rescinding my forgiveness.”

“Generous of you,” Essek gave a thin smile, one that didn’t betray his relief. He started forward again, saying, “Right this way, Mister Tealeaf.”

After a moment, he heard the clopping of hooves following. “As you command, Mister Thelyss,” Mollymauk called. It was pleasant to hear the smile in his voice.

[rattlung]

i wanted to get this out for halloween but then it ended up getting (and taking) too long so i was like aight whatever i’ll split it and post the first bit so i know at least some of it will be in time for the spooky scary. not that it’s really spooky scary, but yknow

anyway the second i saw cowboy mirage and vampire crypto i knew i had to write a wild west au with them. if any of you knew me from my glory ovw days, you know wth im talkin about. 

so anyway, slooow burn, animal death, blood, blood drinking, and possible ooc-ness because i couldn’t decide on whether i wanted mirage to have a very thick southern accent or not so his dialogue may be a bit whack. also with it being an au, characterization probably got skewed to shit. sorry about that :^(

cross posting fucks up formatting, so to be safe here’s the ao3 link but if that’s not the jam for your bread, it’s all under the read more

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The sun had set hours ago, but Elliott remained at his post.

Crickets and grass were his only companions on his porch, not even a candle was lit to keep him company. He didn’t want anyone to know he was out there and the little flame would have given him away. Besides, the moon was high that night and the stars glittered from behind it thanks to the cloudless sky. His eyes had adjusted well enough, and the open fields of the farm didn’t provide enough shadows to cause much concern.

No, Elliott was confident he’d catch who he wanted tonight, it was only a matter of whether or not the little bastard would show up.

He sighed and leaned forward in his chair to rest his crossed arms on the railing of the porch, then placed his chin on them. He hoped whoever it was would show. He couldn’t afford another big hit to the stock again. In the last week, he’d lost three chickens - one of them was the hen he’d sank three dollars into earlier in the month. It’d been a good one, too, healthy eggs up until she went missing with two of her sisters.

It was like nothing Elliott had ever seen before. There were never any carcasses left in the coop or on the land, no blood and maybe only a few stripped feathers. Coyotes were never that clean - not in Elliott’s experience anyway. And to take so many at a time?

Then the marks started showing up on the cattle. Two clean little holes at their shoulders that Elliott would have missed had it not been for the blood that oozed out of them, staining their fur a rusted brownish red.

That changed things. The body-less crimes started making sense, because they weren’t being killed - they were being stolen. Chickens were easy to make off with. Just toss a few in a bag and be on your way. Cows, though, they were marking those. Maybe one man was sent to scope out the pens to pick out the healthiest ones, then send off a crew to look for the marks and round them up to bring them home.

Elliott fought off a yawn and the on coming sense of second guessing himself. They would be coming with a group. He hadn’t thought of that before. If they did show up tonight and they were armed, there would be very little he could do with his mother’s old rifle. Quickly he decided he wouldn’t leave the porch if he saw anything. Just fire off a few shots and hopefully scare them off.

All of the Witts had met unfortunate ends. Two Witt sons died in the war, one to the flu soon after his third birthday, their mother to the plague - and the last Witt, dead to a bullet wound received while defending the cow that sneezed on him that very morning?

Yeah, no thank you, he’d stay right there on the porch, yes, ma’am.

So sit he did, scanning the horizon, the treeline, the pens, and tried not to fall asleep. He wondered if Ms. Williams had any hounds she’d be willing to part with to do this kind of stuff for him. Growing up, he’d always wanted a farm dog and Anita Williams trained some of the best he’d ever seen. Elliott would be able to leave it outside to patrol the land, sleep out on the porch, and chase off any predators or thieves that might be lurking while Elliott was in bed. That would be better than suffering through the brutality of waiting for the sun to rise himself.

Elliott didn’t notice his eyes had closed until they snapped open at the sound of sudden rattling in the hen house. He waited a moment, wondering if he imagined it, but soon there was a murmur of cluckings and Elliott got to his feet. He picked up the hat he’d hung on the back of his chair and placed it on top of his head before grabbing the rifle, standing at the very edge of his porch.

Surely they wouldn’t be going for more chickens, would they? When the cows they had marked were out roaming?

Elliott stepped off the stairs and onto the dirt pathway. If it was chickens being targeted tonight, that means there was likely only one of them. He checked the chamber of his gun before heading off, getting onto the grass as soon as he could in order to dampen the sound of his approaching footsteps. By the time he’s at the fence, the clucking had shifted and grew into something louder, the few hens he had left squawking at whatever was in there with them.

And maybe it was because their din was too loud, but Elliott couldn’t hear anything else. Nothing but feathered ruffling and the scrape of chicken feet.

A chill raised the hair on the back of his neck but he crept forward anyway. He wiped the palm of his hand off on his jeans and pushed open the gate, wincing hard when one of the hens in the coop got louder. The rest were a bit hysterical in their noise making, but this one’s panic was visceral. This wasn’t just someone walking through their nests and aggravating them out of sleep - these chickens were scared for their lives.

Elliott crept up to the wired entrance of the shed and peeked around. Small shadows flicked back an forth on the hay-filled floor in a frenzy. Hoarse, creaking noises spilled from their beaks and wings fluttered as they battled each other in their panic to press to the corners of the shed, close to the walls to get away from -

Now, Elliott wasn’t a religious man - which was an odd thing, when one lived in a small town like he did, where the person he bought canned goods from was the pastor’s brother, and the biggest building was the church which was always filled on Sunday. He never went to mass, not even for the holidays, and the Witt Family’s bible had been left in the bedside table’s drawer since he was a boy.

But he didn’t have to crack apart the thin pages of God’s Word to determine that whatever the thing was in front of him was bad.

Especially when it turned, a chicken limp and unmoving in its hands, and stared Elliott down with eyes that burned like indigo flames.

This isn’t a coyote, his mind helpfully informed him just as his mouth spit out, “Oh, fuck.”

The creature stood up fully and despite all its human-like qualities, there was still that electric energy that was just not right, uncanny and out of place. It showed off a human face, but its skin was so white it almost glinted blue when it passed through the moonlight that bled through the shed’s wooden panels.

Which is how Elliott noticed it was moving toward him. He raised the rifle up and pointed it square at the thing’s chest. If froze in its step, still as stone in half a second, but above the crying of his birds Elliott could hear the trill of something moving in its throat.

“Dro - Drop the chicken,” Elliott ordered, the stillness in his limbs compensating for his trembling voice.

To his surprise the creature listened to him. Its trill from before burst from its throat and its frown opened to let out a hiss, pitched low and piercing. The teeth it bared to him had a pink sheen, wet with blood, and its canines ended in vicious points - points Elliott was sure would match with the ones marking his cattle out on the fields.

“Oh, shit, okay - “ Elliott muttered, too panicked to remember that the creature could hear him.

It hunched down suddenly, dropping into a stance that made Elliott think it was going to lunge for him. Before he could really process that information, could even think to fire a shot at it to knock it down, to kill it, the creature spun around and crashed through the other side of the coop. Elliott blinked at the wire it split through like paper then hurried around the house. It was fast, already having leaped over the fence, a black shape that moved without sound, whispering over the grass in one, two seconds before it disappeared into the trees.

“That’s not a fuckin’ coyote,” Elliott said over the thundering of his heartbeat and the screaming of his chickens.

----=----

For a whole entire day, Elliott allowed himself to think that it was over. He let himself think that that was the last he’d see of the thing, that he’d scared it enough to retreat just from pointing a gun at it. Maybe the fear of Elliott actually using it would keep it away, whatever it was.

Truth be told, he didn’t really want to find out what it was. From the look he got out of it from the shadows, it looked human enough. A man as tall as him, dressed to the nines in black and red silks, slim with features Elliott might have tipped a hat at had he not been terrified the time he saw them. Human features. It looked human.

And yet, the bloodless chicken he’d been forced to get rid of proved otherwise. Once he’d been able to move, he’d wandered back in to examine it and found that it was little more than a husk, dried out and useless. It’s carcass was clean, feathers mostly untouched with no red soaked into them. On its breast were two, neat puncture holes.

The next day, one he’d used to catch up on sleep, he started feeling watched.

As he left the stables after shoveling out the floors, a familiar chill walked along his shoulders like icy fingers, eliciting a shiver from him. It lingered for a moment and slowly dissipated when he searched his surroundings, forcing himself to outwardly appear calm when he found nothing.

It would happen again - and often - in the following weeks. When he left the stables after milking, he’d feel it then. When he fed the chickens, when he lead the two horses out onto the pasture, checked on the hogs - someone was watching him. Waiting. And yet, as each night passed and he’d wake up, Elliott would set out to work and find that none of the livestock had been touched. The hens didn’t go missing. The puncture marks on the cows had scabbed over, and no new ones appeared.

Worriedly, Elliott wondered if he were next, that he was the one being stalked - but why wait so long? He lived alone on the Witt farm, and no one had visited him in the time between then and the encounter.

The idea of a peace offering came to him when he had to put one of the roosters down. It was the older one of the three, the one that was always more aggressive and tried to start fights with the others. Apparently, it had to learn the hard way that all fights it started were not always ones it could win. Elliott should have separated it sooner, or maybe had done something, but his mind had been in other places as of late. He’d felt terrible - for the cockerel, for himself. For his family. The only thing they’d left behind was this farm, and he was making a mess of it.

So, out he marched at the first sign of dusk, right to the edge of the trees where he’d seen the creature dart off all those days ago. He planned on calling out to it until it showed, dropping the rooster at its feet and declaring, There, see? I’m doing just fine on ruining everything on my own, so why don’t you just take the damn bird and go?

He didn’t do any such thing. He just stood there for a long moment, listened to the robins in the woods and the huffing of cattle behind him, and stared down at the rooster in his hands. Eventually, the watched feeling came. Elliott was so used to it that the chill hardly even registered. It was just eyes on him, now, no longer threatening or frightening.

For a moment, neither of them did anything. Nothing jumped out to attack him, and Elliott didn’t say a word. He never actually did. Eventually, he dropped the rooster onto the grass and turned back to the house, not even waiting to see if the creature would show itself.

The sun was finally wishing the horizon a farewell, sinking just under the trees as he’s finishing up the last of his rounds. Elliott tested the locks on the doors of the stalls to make sure they wouldn’t swing open and cast a long look at a cow sitting on the other side of one. She stared back at him. The scabs on her shoulders were just about gone, now, and her fur had grown over the little pink marks that’d been left behind. The rest of the cattle’s marks were just about the same. Nothing fresh.

Inside the Witt home, it was dark. There was still washing up he had to do in the big metal basin sat underneath the kitchen’s window. He probably wouldn’t get to until the next morning, so he pointedly kept his gaze away from there. He moved passed the old dining table that hadn’t seen use in years - mostly it was just full of tools he hadn’t moved back into the shed yet - and made his way toward the fireplace. Soon, the cold blue glow of the darkening sky was warmed by the slow starting flame. Elliott poked at it until he was thoroughly bored of watching sticks crumble into ash and was sure it wouldn’t smother itself.

With a heaving sigh he got back to his feet but didn’t go far, falling onto a wooden bench close to the fireplace. There were bigger and more comfortable places to sit, like the large wicker chair right beside him or the stool that had a pillow sewn onto it haphazardly, but Elliott had always sat on the bench. Maybe tomorrow, after he was done the cleaning, he’d move all the extra furniture out into the shed along with the tools on the dining room table. No use in having so many if he wasn’t using it. He didn’t get much company - none at all, really.

Elliott found himself staring at the book left on the seat of the wicker chair and doubted he’d even get around to doing the washing up.

Over the crackle of the fire, something thumped right outside the front door. Elliott straightened, twisted around to look toward the noise, and thought how weird it was to be thinking about never getting any visitors only to have one stop by. Or maybe the word was ironic.

But then he remembered the time and he held his breath to listen. There was no shuffling of someone on his porch and no knocking on his door. If someone rode all the way out to the Witt’s Farm after sundown it’d be for an emergency, so there was no real good reason for the stranger to be quiet.

Slowly, Elliott stood. Avoiding the floorboards that creaked, he crossed the room toward the door and picked up the rifle he’d left there. The silence was deafening and ringing with the dreadful thought of how he might actually be going crazy. Then, the idea of Elliott opening the door and finding nothing at all was almost as terrifying as opening it and revealing the shadow from the hen house. Had he actually heard something? Was there really something in his woods? What if he went outside to the coop and all of the lost chickens would be accounted for? What if the marks on the cows had healed so fast because they’d never been marked in the first place?

Elliott put his hand on the doorknob, sucked in a breath, held it, then twisted it and pulled it open. The door’s creak seemed like a wail in the empty night - because that’s what it was. Empty. No one standing at his stoop, no shadow perched on his railing ready to strike.

Nothing but the rooster he’d left at the trees, untouched and dropped carelessly at his door.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, Elliott narrowed his eyes down at it and felt angry. Maybe it was the sleep he was losing, the constant worrying, the loneliness - or maybe he actually was losing his mind. Whatever it was, it was enough to have him bend over, snatch up the bird, and stomp down onto the path toward the trees. When he got there, he still said nothing, but that time he didn’t even wait around. Elliott just tossed the bird back onto the grass where he’d left it the first time and turned to storm away, ignoring the petulant feeling that rose at the display.

He made it about four yards before something hit the dirt behind him. He froze without looking back and grit his teeth.

“Alright, you sumbitch.”

Annoyed, he faced the trees again, passing the bird on the road. That chill was back. Instead of stopping him, have him think twice, it only achieved in making the anger thrumming around in his chest burn defiantly brighter.

Two indigo flames held his gaze when Elliott noticed them, dimmer than the last time he saw them. They regarded him with disinterest and that alone had him nearly seething.

“I’m tired of playing this game you’re havin’ with me,” he snapped. The shadow might have raised a brow at him, but with how dark it was Elliott couldn’t be sure. It didn’t say anything, so the question - the one he’d been wondering since that night - burst out of him. “Why haven’t you just killed me yet?”

Now the eyes moved, turning in a way that told Elliott that the creature had tilted its head. But still, the silence. Slowly, it looked down at the rifle Elliott had nearly forgotten about, pointedly, then back up at him. Elliott heard it hit the ground in the next second, which is how he learned that he himself tossed it aside.

Something that was smothered by the heat of the moment whispered to him, You sleep deprived idiot, just what in the hell are you doing?

What he said out loud was, “Do it, then. Nothin’s stopping you, so do it.”

The shadow did nothing; not a sound, not a movement.

Elliott heard his own breathing over the gentle breeze and wondered why it was so slow. He’d seen the speed the creature had moved at and his only protection was too many paces away. If it wasn’t planning on killing him, the anticipation should have been. But he was calm, staring demise dead in its lightning blue eyes, fists clenched at his sides.

The thought of it being incapable of speech occurred to him, but with the way it watched him, Elliott didn’t find it likely. Despite how inhuman they were, there was sentience behind the shadow’s gaze. Maybe too much for something that fed on blood. It looked at Elliott and he felt that it was capable of telling him exactly what it wanted to with a stare alone - all that and more. It was a heavy kind of thing to know. Elliott realized he had a hard time looking away, so when he managed it he didn’t dare look again.

“Just, get - get out of here.” He started making his way back - and didn’t look at the damned rooster again, either. “Leave me alone and terrorize some other poor bastard’s chickens.”

Coward, he thought, but didn’t know who it was directed to.

----=----

The next morning, Elliott woke up to one less crowing and his rifle propped up on the porch railing outside.

Something in the woods still watched him.

----=----

A few days passed until he saw the shadow again. Elliott was leaving the hen house and had thrown a look up at the sky to gauge the time, sighed at the moon, and turned to shut the wired gate behind him. When he turned around, a figure that definitely had not been there before stood in the path in front of him.

He gasped and sent himself back in a fit of shock, back slamming up against the shed. He scowled once he realized what - or, rather, who it was, but that was gone in the next second, too. The shadow’s posture was still one of casual disinterest; hands in pockets, shoulders relaxed, and expression blank if not aloof. But it was different, Elliott was sure. The skin, while always having been pallid, took a different tone, now, one that was qualmish and almost sickly. And the eyes - the eyes hardly even glowed.

It looked more like a ghost than a shadow.

“What’s wrong?” He asked - and why was he even concerned? It hadn’t tried to kill him yet, sure, but it was responsible for taking out almost a quarter of his chickens.

True to a pattern, the creature said nothing, however, it did give a meaningful look into the shed behind Elliott. When its gaze returned, he could see how its throat worked around a swallow.

“Are - “ Elliott looked back at the hen house as if to check to make sure that was what the shadow had looked at. “Are you asking me to - “ He cut himself off again, but pointed into the house.

It narrowed its eyes at the incredulous inflection in Elliott’s voice but did not say no.

The whistling of grass is the only sound for a long moment as a cool night’s breeze moved over the fields, Elliott at a loss for words. As the wind washed over him, chilling him that much further, he could see the creature’s nostrils flare minutely, and this time when its throat moved it was around a rumbling noise. From the base of its chest it traveled up and out as that familiar trill. It filled Elliott with a sense of urgency, one he couldn’t really explain.

He was torn. It was strange to be asked such a thing, but he supposed he should be grateful of the fact that it was asking at all. But how was he even supposed to answer? As far as Elliott knew, none of his chickens survived. He’d never found markings on them, they would just disappear. With the colder seasons approaching, he really couldn’t afford to lose any more of his livestock.

The cows, though, they’d apparently survived a few run-ins with the shadow.

Elliott looked over to the stables and felt shameful the second he did. Was he really considering it? Other than the fast healing punctures on their necks or shoulders, there had been no real changes in their behavior or health. The morning he’d find the marks on them, they’d appear nonplussed. But what if it hurt them? What if the experience was traumatic in a way Elliott couldn’t see?

Then again, could he really afford to deliberate on this? In that moment, with the shadow looking at him expectantly, it seemed to be between Elliott and the cows. Really, the choice was an easy one, but he was still allowed to feel guilty.

“Follow me,” he told the shadow.

As the temperature steadily declined throughout the days, Elliott had started rounding the cows up into the stables more often. It got too cold at night , and he didn’t want to give the cows a chance to catch an illness. It meant waking up earlier to give them more time to graze but it was safer. While he was unlocking the paneled door to the stables Elliott thought that maybe that was the reason he was losing more chickens. It was harder to get through a locked door without raising suspicion than it was kidnapping a few birds and letting the farmer’s blame fall onto coyotes.

The shadow didn’t make a noise but when Elliott turned, it was standing right behind him, nose wrinkled a little at the intense smell of animal and dirt. He didn’t jump that time. He picked up the unlit lantern he’d left behind on the stacked bales of hay, lighting it fast and hung it on the rung in between two of the stall doors. Inside one of them, the dull eyes of a cow shimmered and regarded him blankly. Elliott drug the door open and stepped inside next to her, touching at the glittering wet nose and felt her hot breath huff against his hand in recognition.

“It doesn’t - there’s no - it - it’s not gonna hurt her too much, is it?” Elliott couldn’t help but ask. Now, he expected a nonverbal answer so he looked back to shadow for it, finding more whites in its eyes and the stoic expression looking cheaper. It wasn’t watching him anymore, purely focused on the cow Elliott was petting at nervously.

It stepped closer, into the stall, and Elliott watched as the cow’s head tipped up apprehensively. The huffing of her breathing got a little bit faster and Elliott heard himself shushing her lowly, scratching around the longer scruff by her ears. He couldn’t imagine he was helping too much, but the only thing she did when he saw the shadow disappear around her other side was let out a small grunt of displeasure.

Time passed; the only sound came from his and the cow’s breathing and the brisk wind rattling the wood of the barn. Elliott kept up his attempt at comfort, watching her face intently, and was surprised to find her calm once again. Slowly, he stepped away, gauging her reaction at the movement but didn’t get one.

He moved back into the base of the barn and heaved up one of the metal buckets he’d filled with grain. It was a favor he’d done for himself that night to save himself some time when he woke up to feed them, but he figured that the cow deserved some special treatment. Elliot brought it over to her front and held it right under her nose for her to sniff out, knocking the handle out of her way and hugging it to his stomach due to the weight of it.

The cow’s ears twitched back and forth in contentment, dipping her snout into the grain and eating it by the mouthful. Relief coursed through him like the blood in his veins and Elliott felt himself smiling a little.

“Good girl,” he told her, to which he got very little in the way of a response.

The shadow straightened in a fluid movement, one Elliott watched with rapt attention. Even in just the few short minutes, there was an excruciatingly apparent change in the creature. The intensity of its eyes returned, their brightness amplifying its now fuller features and adding more color to the porcelain-looking skin - it was the most human Elliott had seen him.

“You were starving,” Elliott muttered with a voice awed in his realization. He thought back to the look the shadow had given the cow before and identified it now as a pained and feral sort of hunger. “Why didn’t you just take the damned rooster?”

The creature wiped the cow blood off of wet lips and had the audacity to look at Elliott like he was the disgusting one. Before he could remark on that, prove to the other how backwards that was, the shadow’s mouth opened and for the first time, he spoke. In a voice that was low and smooth, with layers upon layers of something deep and new to Elliott threading through the syllables, he simply stated, “It was dead.”

Elliott sputtered, a little dumbstruck. “So?”

The shadow’s eyes narrowed into a disbelieving glare. “It was dead for a long time.”

“You’re gettin’ partipu - pertil - picky about what blood you’re drinking, now?”

If he were being frank, Elliott wasn’t sure why he was antagonizing the shadow. He’d been merciful so far in not maiming him. And Elliott couldn’t exactly say that if he’d left something out for the hours the rooster had been sitting, he would drink it, either.

But surely drinking blood wasn’t enjoyable in any sense.

Elliott pulled the bucket out from under the cow. Some feed stuck to the wetness of her nose which she cleaned off with a few swipes of her tongue. “I guess we’re done here,” Elliott said to her, but mostly to the shadow.

The shadow that had since disappeared from the stables.

Sighing, Elliott replaced the now three quarters filled bucket with the others as he shook his head. “Guess we are.”

----=----

They weren’t, but Elliott had expected that much.

Every other night, now, when Elliott was finishing his rounds he caught sight of the shadow leaning against the barn doors like it was an arrangement they’d agreed on. He’d finish locking up and meet him there where he’d open the doors and wave the shadow inside, direct him to one of the seven cows, and pretended it wasn’t abnormal. Every farmer had an odd case; a pair of horses that only fed at a specific time of day, cattle that grazed exclusively on the left side of the pasture, a herding dog that befriended and mothered ill lambs.

Elliott’s odd case was a vampire, but it was fine. Every farmer had an odd case. Some odder than others.

Things started to change on the evening Elliott had just left the stables unlocked. One of the pen’s posts had crumbled from age and the fences around it sagged too close to the dirt. It was a reminder that he’d have to put work into replacing them before the winter, or else he’d have a lot more work come spring. Like the dishes in the basin and the extra furniture still in the front of his house, that was a problem for tomorrow’s Elliott. He’d just repair the broken one for now.

He was just testing out the sturdiness of the new post when he noticed that the shadow was standing behind him. By then he was so used to the minor jump scares that he only just barely lost the hammer in his grip. It thumped onto the old, rotten fence post he’d left laying there and landed quietly in the grass.

“Lord - Jesus - Chri - you gotta stop doing that,” he told the shadow, hand over his heart.

Silence from the shadow. He’d gone back to his quiet pledge, not having spoken since their very short conversation in the stables.

Elliott was used to that, too, so shook his head and leaned down to pick up the hammer and the post. He could leave it to dry out on his porch, break it apart further and use it for tinder later. “I left the barn open,” he said when he saw that the shadow was still standing there.

“I know,” the shadow responded. Something flashed in his eyes, probably on account of how fast Elliott snapped up to look at him, not having expected an answer. It was some kind of struggle, Elliott imagined, because his mouth opened a second before he said anything. “Thank you.”

Elliott’s eyes widened. “I - uh. Y-yeah, you’re welcome. It’s fine. It’s - y’know, it’s better than you killing my chickens.”

That flash of something struck again. Elliott wanted to apologize. He genuinely didn’t want to offend the shadow, and he might have actually done it if he didn’t speak before him. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

And that would have been smart, wouldn’t it? Letting the town know about the blood drinker in their woods. They could have helped Elliott a few dead birds earlier, rounded up enough of them for a search party - if they even believed him in the first place. But that would have involved killing the shadow, or running him off, and Elliott didn’t really enjoy the idea of that. In some kind of morbid way, through all of the heart-pounding meetings and stress-induced nightmares, he kind of liked the company. He’d probably miss it if it were gone.

Besides, the nightmares were really nothing new.

Still, he decided he wasn’t going to tell the other that. He just grinned, leaned up against the freshly repaired fence - very sturdy -  and said, “I think I’ve got you handled.”

The shadow’s brow rose and he looked Elliott up and down, then finally back up again. “No,” is all he said.

The smile dropped from Elliott’s face but he didn’t say anything more on that, because, unfortunately, the shadow was being very fair. “Right, well,” he muttered, pushing off the fence. He was ready for bed. “Have a good night, then.”

“Are you Witt?” He was asked after a few paces.

Elliott paused, turned around slowly. “How’d you know about that?”

“I listen,” the shadow stated simply.

Looking around acres of empty land, Elliott wondered, to who? “Yeah, I - well, I’m one of them. Witt’s my last name, so there’s… Well, there’s been a few Witts.”

The other’s head cocked to one side. “Which Witt are you?”

The only one, really. “I’m Elliott.”

The shadow nodded, looking him over once more. “Good night, Elliott.”

All he did was stand there for a moment, blinking, too caught up on how his name sounded in the smooth whisper of the other’s voice. He’d never heard it be said like that before.

Then, finally, his brain caught up.

“Hey, wait,” he called, despite the shadow not having moved an inch. “That’s not very fair, now is it? I don’t get to know your name?”

He wouldn’t exactly say that the shadow was the teasing sort, but it did take numerous weeks to get a decent two-sided conversation out of him. Mostly, Elliott expected the same response from before. Another ‘no’ before he disappeared for a few nights again.

“Tae Joon,” was what he got, though.

Elliott tried it out for himself. “Tae Joon.”

The shadow’s head tilted further.

Elliott smiled, tipped his hat. “You have a good night, Tae Joon.”

He shifted the wooden post around for easier carrying and put his back to the shadow, knowing that if he turned around now he probably would find empty air. It was fine. Elliott knew he’d see him soon.

=====

yyyyeaahh this is what i’ve been putting off prompts for BIG oof :^(((( 

not sure when i’ll finish the rest of it tbh but here’s this for now i guess