#Flash is just that cryptid in the corner- he's fine

[wingedqueenlynx]

Silly lil goobers

This one was fun lol

[naffeclipse]

Always A Hunter

Reader x Cryptid!Eclipse

Commission Info

I have another lovely little request from @counterbalance with the little hunter adjusting to life after F.E.I. and learning how to hunt on their own. There's a setback and discouragement, but it's nothing the cryptid boys can't handle. They will remind their heart what a great hunter they are despite all the changes and challenges.

———

A branch snaps under your foot. You wince as you fear the sound echoes through the dense trees. The forest thickly crowds around you, pressing close as if to suffocate you within its embrace. The shadows stretch blue and little starlight touches the moist earth. 

“Are you alright?” Moon rasps just behind you. His presence is a constant cool against your back, confirming without a word that he is still with you.

“I’m fine.” You glance around and then stare down at the detector. “Just afraid I’m spooking the hidebehind away, that’s all.”

The green dot only picks up the demonic cryptid within the animatronic vessel, not the monster you hunt this very night. You sigh and lower it back down. The screen flashes green. You stare out into the thick columns of tree trunks, wondering what may lurk behind each one.

Moon’s hand ghosts over up your arm. His fingertips press into the flesh along your shoulder and you close your eyes briefly as he tenderly works the muscle. You hadn’t noticed how tight it’s become since you stepped foot into the woods. 

“You’re anxious,” he says. His hand brushes over the nap of your neck to reach for your other side but you straighten and step forward.

“I’m fine.” You glance down at the detector and try to bite back a scowl. “The hideaway is notoriously difficult to document. Though it’s blamed for causing people to disappear in thickly wooded areas, like this, no one can properly describe it except for its hands which wrap around the tree, peeking out from behind—hence the name. It’s said to be animal-like with thick, dark fur on its arms like a sloth, with three long talons on its hand.”

You’re hoping Moon’s presence will cause it to show itself, struck by fear of the demonic cryptid. The unfortunate thought of your sweetie’s presence triggering the exact opposite effect brushes your brain before you shove it aside and stomp forward.

It’s here. It has to be here. You did your research. You collected the best evidence you could find through the internet. 

“It’s shy,” Moon says, then rumbles a deep laugh. “A coward.”

“We’ll take care of it.” You turn back briefly to smile at Moon but it doesn’t quite touch your eyes. Immediately, you feel a wave of cool judgment from the possessed animatronic.

Touching the strap which allows the crossbow to hang on your shoulder, you continue forward.

“No one has ever looked at it directly,” you continue, lowering your voice as you step over a log. In the corner of your vision, Moon steps over it with ease using his long, lanky limbs. “It conceals itself quickly behind anything it can find, including the observer. It takes its victims by surprise.”

“It must be weak.” Moon’s arms hang heavy by his sides as he reaches you. He stares down at you with wide, pale eyes. “We’ve been walking a long time.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” you huff, exasperated before inhaling deeply. “It’s here. I know it’s here.”

You make your way around a tree. A rustle of leaves sets your heart on edge. You stop, eyes darting to what may be movement, but you spy only a lone deer darting through the underbrush. You sink slightly where you stand.

Moon’s hand falls on your shoulder.

“I can’t sense anything unusual,” he murmurs. He stares down at you. The end of his patched nightcap falls over his shoulder, silent despite the bell at the very end. “You need to rest.”

Disappointment snakes through you, leaving you writhing where you stand as you stare down at the detector. It gives no sign of any other presence despite the one in front of you.

“It might not have a heart you can sense, like the vampires,” you say, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to you.

“Maybe,” Moon says softly. His fingers knead softly into the meat of your shoulder that he didn’t get yet. “Take a break. Your heart is fluttering like a bird.”

“Sweetie,” you sigh deeply and rub your temple, not helping your image, “I can’t. The hidebehind has been reported in this area. There was a news clipping about a man who went missing when he went out to cut some lumber, and stories are dating back twenty years ago of something hiding behind trees in this area.”

You step out from under Moon’s reach. You ignore his hand still outstretched, still wanting to touch you as you march forward into the darkness and tree-littered maze. 

Unless you missed something. How does F.E.I. do it? Without fail, they have sent you towards a cryptid using their findings and research. What if you don’t? What if you constantly chase hoaxes and rumors and find nothing but emptiness while real cryptids are out there, terrorizing and killing people? But you had the reports and the stories. You have a missing man. 

Your body heats up as your breath quickens. You squeeze the handle of the detector. Looking out between the trees, you hope against hope to see claws and a wicked creature lurking, ready to attack when you least expect it, but there is nothing. Only quiet shadows.

The first hunt without Vanessa and since leaving F.E.I. should go better than this. What are you doing wrong?

You hear a soft, thick sound of a footstep. Claws sinking into the earth. A presence most unholy. The coldness of a demonic cryptid’s presence washes over you. Before you can turn around, two pairs of arms surround you. 

A limb wraps over your shoulder and another clings to your chest. The lower pair hugs your waist, squeezing softly until you stop. Claws of scarlet and deep blue softly pet over your clothes, not severing one fiber despite the wicked edge that has cut through meat and bones.

“I’m fine, sweetie.” You pat at what you can reach. Their body is oozing and dark, as thick as shadows at midnight. Their large hands easily contain you. You try to wiggle free but they stay firm. 

“Take a break,” a voice, low and demonic, rumbles. You vibrate with the intensity of two voices speaking at once. “We can carry you back.”

“No,” you breathe. “The new snippets were credible. The man is missing and no one has found him yet. It’s been a week. Many locals testify of sensing something in the woods—but never seeing it, only fearing that it’s there, watching them.”

“If it’s here, you can hunt it tomorrow.” Long, inky fingertips roam over you, tracing your hip and caressing the length of your collarbone. “Heart, you’re exhausted.”

You blink. Slumping slightly, the arms support you. A cool breath yawns against the nap of your neck. The softest flick of a tongue swipes the sensitive skin there, and you close your eyes, brow furrowing.

“Maybe the local story was just sensationalized,” you admit. You deflate like a balloon left over from a children’s birthday party. “Maybe I just… got it wrong. Maybe I can’t be a cryptid hunter without F.E.I.—”

“Enough,” the growl at your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “That is not the truth.”

“Eclipse,” you say, perhaps in protest or argument, but it sounds tired. You are tired.

“Listen to us.” A dark mouth presses behind your ear, whispering into your hair. “You are a great cryptid hunter. F.E.I. has nothing to do with the aspects of your love for people and your will to face dangers. It’s alright, sweet heart.”

They lower their rumblings into a purr-like vibration that fills you to the brim, soothing the anxieties bouncing off of the inside of your skull.

“This is your first hunt starting anew. It’s alright.”

You lean back into their touch. Their teeth wetly touch the shell of your ear until you shiver. 

“It’s alright if you make a few mistakes.” A red claw softly pats your chest, right where your heart is tucked underneath your sternum. “That does not damper your abilities. That does not take away from who you are, little hunter.”

“Eclipse,” you say much softer. A thickness gathers in your throat. You can’t cry. Perhaps you were on the road for too long and maybe you did walk through the woods most of the night. The exhaustion is sinking into your bones, infecting your marrow. 

“You are strong. You are kind.” A kiss touches your temple—as much as a creature without lips or flesh can kiss you. “You will find a cryptid. Perhaps this one is a hoax or in hiding but regardless, you can keep searching tomorrow. It’s time to rest.”

“But if it’s here—” you start.

“You will find it tomorrow.” Eclipse gives firmly.

You stare out into the darkness. The trees thickly crowd one another, and though there are plenty of spaces for a hidebehind to, well, hide behind, you see nothing. Your detector doesn’t beep. Your skin doesn’t crawl with an unwelcome presence.

Maybe it is here, hiding, or maybe it’s not. It’s okay. You pull in a deep breath as a blue hand wraps around your waist and caresses your side. There’s tomorrow. One bad hunt isn’t the end of your career. 

The heaviness in your chest eases.

“Okay,” you finally give in. The air leaves your lungs and you feel lighter, catching the rich scent of the earth and the crispness of the green leaves caught in a late-night breeze. Your tongue fumbles for one moment, an old, crippling fear returning as you cling to the demonic cryptid hands holding you. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, heart?” A nuzzle burrows into the crook of your neck. You are gently moved as they press deeper against your throat, and a stray flick of a tongue finds the pulse in your neck.

“I thought I would be better at this by now.” You sigh deeply, staring down. “I thought I could do it without faltering.”

“Every winter has a spring,” they murmur gently against your jawline. “You will do your best. You will have mishaps and mistakes, and you will try again. That is the kind of human you are.”

You make a soft noise when they nuzzle against your shoulder, not unlike a cat wanting affection. You reach up a hand to find their flat, dark cheek. You slip your other fingers between the claws of a deep blue cryptid hand. A soft rumble follows, and you close your eyes.

“But we should keep looking,” you murmur. You’re both here. What if the hidebehind attacks someone when you decide to leave? 

In answer, Eclipse nuzzles deeper against you, roaming over the back of your neck and pressing their teeth gently against your skin. You shiver, feeling the graze of their horns and spikes but never once being cut by the sharp edges. Held gently in large, dangerous arms, you find yourself releasing the anxiety within you that whispers of tragedies and fears, of failures and blood. Tears gather behind your eyes.

One drop spills out of the corner of your eye. A scarlet claw catches it against your cheek, wiping it away delicately. 

“Okay,” you say finally. “Let’s go. But we will come back tomorrow.”

“Of course, little hunter.” Glinting teeth once more kiss your hair, clicking softly against a black hairpin you wear, before releasing you. “Give us a moment.”

Four arms slip away from you, reluctantly trialing over your wrists and hips before finally lifting away. You wait. Looking up between the brief breaks in the green canopy above, you stare at the night sky as stars twinkle with a promise. A familiar sound of footsteps, metallic but lighter, returns to your side. 

Moon’s pale eyes hold your gaze as he takes your hand within his.

“You take care of the scary things,” he reminds in a gentle rasp. 

You smile, almost about to cry. He tugs on you gently, and you follow him out of the forest.

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

[ffxiv-f13ndish]

Mine

collab. drabble with @sorrel-haven [Dolly, Lament].

Despite his condition, Virgil embarks with Dolly to the perilous Great Gubal Library in search of answers to fix what he had done to Dante. Lament seeks out the stubborn Elezen.

Virgil wasn’t going to give Dante his eyes, but he did intend to try and help him. Only thing was, he needed to first find a solution… but given the nature of Dante’s problem, searching in just any library wasn’t going to suffice. There was only one library that could have the information he needed — one fiercely guarded and swarmed with creatures.

It was not going to be an easy task, but by no means impossible. After all, Virgil has confronted the mystical storm of the inside of the library once before. Although, that was a time when he was of better health. Before the knowledge, which he seeked – from this very library itself – had brought him to undergo a detrimental change. In spite of his condition, he set out to face the library in the depth of the night. At least he left a letter to inform the household that he’ll be out — to where, he didn’t clarify — and set out with Dolly. 

Clearing the opening hall was easy enough for the summoner. However, as the monstrous Cursed Tome fell, Virgil felt that he would, too. He collapsed onto his knees in the next room, heaving as he felt at his pocket for a particular potion that was made for him. All that was in his pocket was shattered glass and wet cloth. His brows strained as he heard the next swarm of beasts approach. 

“Do get behind me,” he said to Dolly through clenched teeth. 

“No need,” Dolly said as a flash of a portal opened up before them and a dervish of bright blue light and shadow cut down the swarm. “Hello Lament. . .”

Lament straightened up as he ran a hand through his bangs before looking back at the pair.

“Hello Dolly. Funny to find you here,” he said as he shot Virgil a look.

Virgil gave a heavy sigh when Lament appeared amidst the storm. Or what was a storm. He glanced down at the fallen creatures at Lament’s feet.

“Lament. Evening. Pray, I do hope you saw I had left a note?” Virgil blankly greeted Lament as he took in a breath and straightened his posture once more. The pages of his book flipped in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he drained the energy of a rogue book cryptid that bounced up behind Lament. 

“A note, with enough words to fill a novel but no meaning.” Lament smiled. “Dolly is a fine companion in here, however she only cares about Odetta and Fiora.”

“That’s only partially true. . . I also like Lulu,” Dolly objected while fiddling with her hair. Lament gestured to Dolly as she illustrated his point.

“Ah, of course. She has been fine company, indeed. And I suppose on that note, I can presume you’re here to accompany me because you care about me?” Virgil remarked, his tone unchanging, though there was a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Yes. Was that not clear?” Lament said unphased by Virgil’s chiding.

“As clear as peering through frosted glass. You need to find better use of your time, Lament. You have sonnets to write, yes?” Virgil continued the banter as he began to start walking down the hall again. 

“It’s my time to spend as I please,” Lament said as he fell in step with Virgil. Dolly trailed behind the pair.

“How much of that consists of taking up my time?” Virgil remarked. His gaze hardened as the doors up ahead burst open, a new swarm incoming. He gave a heavy sigh through his nose and raised his book, the pages flipping in a flurry.  As he focused a spell on the attack up ahead, he failed to notice what approached at his right side. 

“Watch out. . .” Dolly said, almost bored sounding as one of the giant living suits of armor ran at Virgil.

Lament rushed the armor, each magically infused slice making noticeable marks on the steel. As she felled the suit of armor she turned to the mob behind it and summoned forth a shrouded void creature that finished them off in one swoop before evaporating into the same shadow that swirled with Lament’s magic.

Virgil had just dispersed of the creatures coming in through the door when he heard the sounds of combat on his blind side. He staggered back and prepared to summon in defense, but paused as he watched Lament take care of the cursed armor. He stood still for some time. When the void creature evaporated, his gaze fell on Lament.

“Impressive,” he hummed, tucking his book back under his arm. The room seemed clear for now. Just enough to allow them to look around a bit. Still, his gaze remained set on Lament. 

“A minstrel and a reaper. I can’t decide which side I find most thrilling,” Virgil teased. He walked over to a shelf to look at the books available. 

“I have no bad sides,” Lament shrugged. “Take your pick, change your mind as it suits you.” 

Lament kept their scythe at the ready as Virgil perused the books. Dolly began looking through the books as well, she searched the lower shelves as Virgil searched the upper.

“Mayhaps I’d have a proper judgment if I got a closer look,” Virgil absentmindedly responded, finger dragging along the spines of books as he looked for something that may catch his eye. 

“Get as close as you like,” Lament said just as absentmindedly as their eyes scanned the entrances to the chamber they all were in.

Virgil shot Lament an incredulous look, uncertain if he had heard her right. 

“At this rate of searching for plausible books, Dante would have the opportunity to catch up and pluck my eyes from my skull,” he murmured with a slight frown. Virgil pulled a particular book from the shelf.

There was a creaking groan that radiated throughout the library. Cursed books hopped from the shelf above Virgil, and he quickly jumped back. Lament whipped around and rushed forward, they cut through the voidsent occupying the books with relative ease. 

“You’re a magnet for them huh?” Lament playfully asked. Stowing their scythe for the time being.

“We’re in the wrong section for what you’re looking for Virgil. . .” Dolly said while looking through a book idly. “We should move on.”

“Of course. Impeccable timing, Dolly,” Virgil flatly remarked as he proceeded towards the next room. He wiped the dust of the books off of his finger onto a handkerchief.

“It has been some time since I’ve been here. Ironic, I met Dante shortly after my endeavors in this library. And now I’m here for him.” Despite Virgil’s stoic expression, the man was troubled by matters regarding Dante.

There was another creak and groan, followed by a sickening snap as a shelf fell away from the wall.  Virgil didn’t need the time to think much of it before he grabbed Lament’s arm and pulled him out of the way of the falling shelf and towards him. Lament fell into Virgil, surprised by the sudden pull. They grabbed on to Virgil to try and keep him steady on his feet and not knock him over.

“I didn’t think you’d try and get this close so soon,” Lament tried to tease but there was almost a nervous sounding chuckle with it.

Virgil quickly let go and straightened up with a hardened expression. Though, there was no denying the faint flush that brushed his cheeks. 

“Don’t try to play cute. Be vigilant,” Virgil sternly remarked as he smoothed out his shirt. He glanced to the shelf when he heard movement, raising his book in warning – only to see it was just Dolly. 

“Don’t worry I’m fine. . .” Dolly said, crawling from under the shelf, it thankfully didn’t fall all the way down. Lament turned and helped Dolly the rest of the way out. 

“Do keep close, Dolly,” Virgil remarked. He took a weary glance around. He couldn’t shake the chill from his spine at the unnerving sensation of rumbling beneath their feet. It was a mere aftershake of what lay in the next room.

“Please… tell me we are in the right spot, and that which we seek is not in the space ahead.”

“I will not tell you that. We need to go in there,” Dolly said flatly. Lament stretched and cracked their neck.

“Right. Of course you won’t,” Virgil said with a sigh.

“Right then, shall we?” Lament said with a smile as they drew their weapon, heading into the next room.

Virgil steeled himself and proceeded to the next room. A cold sweat produced at his brow when the roar of the Bibliotaph rumbled through his whole being. Virgil tightened his jaw, book held up high as the pages flipped.

While the use of his magic was a great burden on Virgil, he called forth Ifrit-egi and focused an attack on the creature which charged at them. Following the summoning, the man fell to one knee. After he had fallen, he couldn’t find the energy to pull himself back up. 

Lament grabbed the attention of the giant book creature as they slammed the butt of their scythe in its face. A sigil flashed on impact marking the creature. They enhanced their attacks with voidtouched magics, each swing feeding into the next. When they had openings they summoned their avatar to strike the creature leaving it vulnerable for their more powerful attacks. 

Bibliotaph took the hits in stride, a blast from the Ifrit Egi made it turn its attention away from Lament for a moment. Lament took advantage and swung hard and a trail of aether shot crystalline spikes from it into the creature. Bibliotaph staggered as Lament summoned their avatar once more and struck in tandem with it. The creature fell as Lament let out a breath.

“Lament!” 

The viera turned to the source of the shout and saw Dolly standing next to Virgil. They saw a group of creatures closing in on them and Virgil had dropped to one knee. Dolly began to cast a spell in defense but it wasn’t going to be fast enough. 

Lament summoned their avatar as dark energy of red and shadow which enveloped them. With a burst of energy Lament transformed wrapped in a cowl of shadow and cracking red energy. They ripped open a portal and leapt through. They were a dervish of crimson and black as they sliced through the attacking voidsent. 

Lament was left panting as the last one burst into shadow. Virgil could hardly keep his eyes open as he fought to stay conscious. Still, even with the nauseating spinning in his vision, his gaze followed Lament for some time. 

“Incredible,” he murmured faintly under labored breaths. He blinked, and Lament seemed to be suddenly there beside him. They had rushed to kneel beside him.

“Are you alright?” Lament asked as they put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. Beneath the still present cowl Lament’s eyes shone with a crimson energy.

“I’ll… I’ll manage. I may have… exerted myself,” Virgil huffed. He teetered forward as he lost balance in his kneeled position, feeling as if the world slipped out beneath his feet. Lament caught him.

“No nono, stay with me.” Lament said as he cupped Virgil’s cheek. “Dolly! Please!”

Without a word she stowed her staff and pulled a book off her hip. She summoned forth a ruby colored carbuncle and used it to help channel a healing spell into Virgil. Lament watched for a sign it was helping.

Virgil felt as if his heart stuttered in his chest. He said nothing for some time, his eyes shut tight and tense as he attempted to steady his breathing while the healing spell binded him back together. He leaned into Lament’s hand. His skin was cold and clammy like ice, but soft enough to bruise like a rotten peach. 

There was no rotting away, however. The magic did its duty, and life returned to his features once more. He took in a deep breath, as if he hadn’t been able to breathe before. As Virgil took in breath once more Lament let out the one they had been holding. They touched their forehead to Virgils in relief as the cowl faded away, returning Lament to normal.

Virgil initially tensed as Lament moved into closer proximity, but he couldn’t find the energy to pull away — or perhaps, he simply didn’t feel the urge to do so. And so he allowed himself to stay there for that moment.

“We are… wasting time. The floor is dirty, too,” Virgil said, pulling back. “I do… appreciate your assistance, however.” 

“Virgil… you already pushed yourself once today.” Lament said as they brushed some hair out of Virgil’s face. “Let me handle any fighting okay?”

Virgil glanced to the hand which soft brushed his hair from his tense brow. He lifted his gaze and stared Lament in the eyes, his head giving a minuscule tilt in question. 

“Why?” Virgil inquired, not quite referring to fighting specifically. “All of this — what is your game, Lament?”

Lament gave a confused look. “‘Game?’ There is no game. Have I not made it clear that I care enough about you that I don’t want to see you get hurt?”

“I know that well enough that you are concerned for my well-being. It’s this… this game of affections I cannot bear,” Virgil said with a huff. He shut his eyes for a moment and took in a breath.

No, now was not the time to mull over his confusion. He brushed off the dust on his pants and moved to stand.

“Nevermind all that. Disregard what I said, I don’t believe I’m thinking clearly.” Virgil straightened his posture. 

“No, I don't think I will disregard that. What are you talking about, ‘game of affections’? Any affections I give are genuine I assure you. Has it really been so long since you’ve been given a friendly touch?” Lament sighed looking up at the elezen from their still kneeling position. “I care about you Virgil, how many times must I say it for you to believe me?”

Virgil’s eyes lingered on Lament, a storm of frustration and confusion in his icy gaze. He mindlessly reached out, resting a hand on Lament’s cheek as he gazed down at them. His expression was stern, but the touch was gentle, endearing.

“Your camaraderie is appreciated and permitted. However, spare your affections for someone who is befitting of it. Your song is not to be shared with me,” Virgil spoke. “Now, do get up and help me search. Fight as you wish, but we won’t get far if you stay seated on the floor… and frankly, it does not become you.”

“Hey no,” Lament stood, “you don’t get to decide who is deserving of my affection. I do. And I decided you are!”

“I-” Lament took Virgil’s hand. “I understand that you have done some messed up things. And I understand that you probably aren’t sorry for half of it. But I also see that you are moving towards the right direction. You’re here. Helping someone you hurt even though you don’t have to, even though he attacked you! You are far more deserving than you give yourself credit for, than anyone gives you for!”

Lament’s eyes were full of a passion that normally wasn’t there. Virgil didn’t know how to process it. He stared at her in a heavy period of silence. 

“You seek for me to change-”

“No I don’t!” Lament interrupted. “You’re changing on your own. That’s what people do, we change. Just because I’m noticing does not mean I am making you. Do not assume to put words in my mouth.”

“I believe you notice far too much for my comfort. And I often wish I could perceive less,” Virgil remarked, his eyes lowering to the clasped hands, which he hadn’t realized he had reciprocated. He slackened his fingers. “As I’ve said, this can be discussed another time.”

He turned his gaze to look for Dolly, only to realize she was gone.

“She couldn’t have even pointed out the general location of where to look? Of course,” he grumbled, tugging his hand back and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Lament looked down at their hand as they felt the absence of Virgil’s. They didn’t want to let this go. Not yet.

“You can’t bring all this up and then tell me to drop it!” Lament closed his hand in a fist. “Virgil I- I want…”

What did Lament want?

“I want you.”

Virgil paused, feeling his breath catch in his throat. His straight-faced expression fell away into both shock and perplexion.

“Do not say that, Lament. What do you… what do you even mean by that?” Virgil uneasily stated, averting his gaze. His fingers nervously tapped together as Virgil attempted to keep himself composed. 

“I mean,“ Lament closed the distance between them, “that I want to be with you.”

Lament placed a hand over Virgil’s heart.

Virgil felt as if his heart may just give out.

“You will… regret it, the more you come to accept it. Are you truly certain of that, Lament?” Virgil’s voice lowered, almost delving into an apprehensive whisper. Lament gripped the fabric of Virgil’s shirt and pulled him down to their level. They leaned in close.

“I am certain, and I won’t regret anything.” Lament knew that if they didn’t act on this impulse that would be something they would regret. Lament kissed Virgil as they placed their other hand on the back of his head.

Virgil wondered if he was hallucinating. Yes, this was all just a bad spell. Bad? Well, he wasn’t certain about that. No, very much not bad. If that was the case, Virgil wouldn’t have made the effort to kiss back. 

He reciprocated, albeit stiffly… awkwardly. He rested a hand on their shoulder. Lament pulled back after a moment and looked at Virgil. 

“Oh good. . . You figured it out.”

Lament turned their head to see Dolly walking back in, arms laden with books.

“Impeccable timing as always Dolly.” Lament grumbled.

Virgil’s pallid cheeks were more lively than over with the rosy hue that bloomed across them. He avoided looking directly at either one of them, remaining silent as he processed what just happened. His gaze roamed over to the books which Dolly held… and further past her, he caught a glimpse of a shadow at the doorway. As quickly as he blinked, the shadow disappeared. 

His brow furrowed, and he walked towards the door. There was nobody there. 

“Is something wrong?” Lament asked as they followed him.

“I thought… somebody had been here. But perhaps I was mistaken,” Virgil murmured, taking a tentative step back. Whoever it was, if it was someone, didn’t seem to be a threat presently. And really, he could just be seeing things… lots of strange things in this library. 

Such as what had happened just a moment ago. 

“Let’s get to reading and get out of here.”

[onyxbird]

...The "reverse Thames Tumble" concept latched onto my brain and wouldn't let go, so all y'all get to be subjected to it, too. (I blame @vickyvicarious and @bigscaryd.)

The Seal Job

Eliot sloshed out of the sea, wearing just a seal skin draped over his shoulders. He headed towards the wharf where a fishing boat had just finished docking, dragging something behind him through the surf. The—

"Hold on!" said Eliot.

Leverage HQ:

"What do you mean 'just a seal skin'?" Eliot said.

"You're supposed to be a selkie," said Parker. "A selkie that just shed his seal skin wouldn't be wearing clothes."

Eliot sputtered. Hardison smothered a snort of laughter, earning a glower from Eliot before he returned to the problem at hand.

"Parker, I am not flashing my dick in front of a wharf full of fishing crews to satisfy your desire for cryptid accuracy."

A squeak escaped Hardison before he clamped a hand over his own mouth, smothering any further sound.

"I don't think they'd mind? It's a nice dick."

"I mind, Parker!"

"Fine." Parker huffed as if Eliot was just being difficult. "A swimsuit, then. We'll just have to be careful to wrap the seal skin to hide it."

-

Eliot sloshed out of the sea, wearing a seal skin draped over one shoulder and wrapped strategically around his hips. He headed towards the wharf where a fishing boat had just finished docking, dragging something behind him through the surf.

The “Siren's Song” was the newest acquisition in the mark's fishing fleet, bought cheap after its previous owner had been forced to liquidate his business. The mark's operation had moved into town the previous year, cutting corners and breaking laws to undercut the more established suppliers and sabotaging the competition at every turn. They systematically forced most of the smaller operations out of business, gaining an ever-growing stranglehold on the local industry. To add insult to injury, those who could no longer afford to keep their own businesses and boats afloat in the face of the new competition still needed the work to keep themselves afloat, forcing many to accept jobs on the very boats they and their neighbors used to own. Eliot could see their client, the son of the boat's previous owner, on deck prepping to unload the day's catch.

“Sophie,” Eliot growled into his new waterproof comm, “you'd better have primed this guy right. If I did this for nothing, someone is gonna die today, and it ain't gonna be me.”

“That expression is perfect, Eliot,” said Sophie, as if she hadn't heard his threat. “You look terrifying.” She did not sound terrified.

He'd drawn the first stares only seconds after he surfaced. Not surprising—this wasn't exactly a popular swimming location to begin with, and, well, the swimmer being a guy dressed in a seal skin (and seemingly only a seal skin) was pretty much guaranteed to keep people's attention once he caught it. Besides, Hardison and Sophie had been working overtime get the local rumor mill charged with tales of mysterious lights on the water and strange noises, as well as the inexplicable equipment failures that had been plaguing the mark's fleet for the last two weeks and had lured him to show up in person.

More important, for their purposes, the team had been running a campaign of psychological warfare on the mark himself, to two ends: 1) cultivating general paranoia and superstitious feelings that some nebulous entity was targeting him and 2) priming him with subtle references to seals and the harm posed to them by his illegal fishing practices.

The closer Eliot got, the more heads turned his way. Work on the near end of the wharf ground to a standstill as he approached. The more workers who stopped to gape at his approach, the more the silence drew others' attention.

Their mark was oblivious, his back to Eliot as he watched the crew unload.

As he climbed the steps onto the structure itself, the spreading stillness was just reaching the Siren's Song crew itself. Eliot saw a tool drop out of their client's slack hand as he caught sight of Eliot. The mark, furious at work slowing to a crawl, finally turned to see what they were all looking at…

And came face-to-face with Eliot.

His dripping hair was braided and adorned with shells. Saltwater dripped from his hair and his seal skin to puddle around bare feet. Eliot managed to refrain from shivering, despite the breeze over mostly bare, wet skin.

Wordlessly, he hauled the illegal trap he had dragged from the shore in front of him and dropped it at the mark's feet, the broken device spilling dead fish across the man's shoes. Piled inside the trap was an assortment of the trash and empty chemical containers that his fleet dumped overboard. The mark's face was ashen. There wasn't a sound on the wharf except the whistling of the wind, the splash of water, and the creaking of the boats.

Eliot crunched down on the fish-oil capsule tucked into his cheek, suppressing a grimace as his tongue quickly dispersed the pungent oil around his mouth. He leaned in close, over the trap, close enough for the mark to smell the fish on his breath despite the brisk breeze.

“We were in these waters before you came, and we will be here after you're gone,” he growled. “You are a menace we will not tolerate. You have two days to remove all the equipment you have left in our waters. If we see another boat fishing under your name, another trap set, another piece of poisonous trash dropped in our home, then we will come hunting in yours.”

With that, Eliot turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the trap at the mark's feet and a wharf full of fishing crews staring at the despised fleet owner and the evidence of his crimes. He descended the steps to the shore and sloshed back into the waves, diving beneath the surface to vanish back from whence he came.

-

Leverage HQ:

“And that's the plan,” said Parker. “It's a reverse Thames Tumble.”

Eliot scrubbed a hand over his face. He sighed. “OK, first, why am I a naked seal man in this con? I can threaten this guy perfectly well as a human. And, second...I'm a little scared to even ask, but how the hell is this a 'reverse Thames Tumble?'”

“Well, as we all know, a Thames Tumble is when someone the mark knows falls into a body of water to escape a romantic overture...”

Eliot bit back a retort about not knowing that because there is no such con as a Thames Tumble, and stuck with a noncommittal grunt. Hardison was pretending to be engrossed with crunching data on his computer, but Eliot could see him smirking.

“...so a reverse Thames Tumble is someone the mark doesn't know emerging from a body of water to tell them they suck.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

Meet Cute (GN!Reader/Mothman)

Pairing: GenderNeutral!Reader/Male!Mothman

Genre: Cryptids

Warnings: Car accidents, descriptions of bruisings and pain

Word Count: 2564 words

Summary: After an incident, You find yourself in the care of a rather strange savior.

Request: Hey, long time fan, but I could never think of anything to request! I was wondering if cryptids were considered monsters here? Would you be willing to write a meet-cute with Mothman? Maybe something along the lines of them saving the reader from a disaster and sparks fly, and boy, if that's not a pun: like a moth to a flame. Mothman can be man or gender neutral, and I'd like the reader to be gender neutral! But everything is to your discretion! Have fun~! And thank you~!

He doesn’t usually do this.

As he cradles your neck, feeling the microfibers of human hair at the base of your skull and your thrumming heartbeat, it feels as if you could shatter apart in his talons. Your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, the pain of the collison definitely affecting you, even in your near-unconscious state. He sets you down on the scraps of thrown away jackets and ratty down-comforters, paying extra attention to your head and side, where splotches of purple and yellow already bloom up your ribcage. You easily fall into the warmth of the pile, snuggling into the fabric.

He sighs, anxiety decreasing as your body relaxes. Having already checked you, he thinks you should last a night before needing to go to a human hospital, just to double-check. He perches by you, tuning the ancient radio to a subtle night-time station, and waits.

Your chest flutters rhythmically, peacefully. Your features seem to shine in the firelight, catching the shadows and giving the appearance of a Baroque painting. So serene for someone just hit by a car.

He sighs.

He just hopes you won’t freak out.

-------

You wake up in a jerk, immediately filled with regret as your right side screams in pain. You clench your teeth, hand immediately checking your ribs as the memories of last night come flooding back.

You had been walking back home after a night out with your friends. You weren’t drunk, barely even tipsy, but had decided to walk the short path to your tiny house anyway. It was quick, just a 5 minute jaunt by the side of the highway and away from the bar. Just enough time for some asshole to swerve off the side of the road, send you flying, and take off without a care for the deer they assumed they just killed.

It takes a little while longer for you to process that you are definitely not in a hospital right now; Not even in your own house, or any house for that matter. A dying fire crackles nearby, the rising sun beams peaking through makeshift curtains attached to a structure of branches. You sit in a small pallet of fabric, right next to a collection of newspapers and old cctvs.

It’s ramshackle, sure, but well-loved. It doesn’t look like a permanent residence, but is lived-in nonetheless.

“Are you feeling alright?”

A calm tenor breaks the silence, causing you to shoot your eyes away from your surroundings and to focus on the person across from you.

Well, person probably isn’t the right word.

His eyes, even in the morning light, flash with red. They’re huge, set deeply into his face with very indistinguishable features. His neck is nestled into a large amount of fluff, reminiscent of winter scarf, that extends back into his large wings, which are tucked behind him. The antennas that flicker on top of his head are distinctly insect-like, but his long, muscular body and hands are more mammalian. Not human, but more similar to an animal. His hands are long and near-spindly, each finger ended with a long claw.

All these features should come together into an uncanny-valley, terror-inducing nightmare. But there’s something about his voice, the way he sits, so cautious yet concerned, that says the contrary.

“U-Uh...I think so.” You shift your body, a lightning bolt of pain shoots through your ribs and you wince. “I’ve felt better, though.” You tentatively lean down and touch your side, trying to check for a fracture without hurting yourself even more.

The creature stands up, wings still closed and kept to his back, and walks over to you.

“Would you mind if I checked your injuries? I have some experience with collisions such as yours.”

After a second, you nod. He steps closer to you, still moving at a micro-speed, and his hands slowly begin to wander up your side. You suck in a breath, but are more afraid of the potential pain than him. His slow, southern drawl reminds you of old movies and your grandpa, radiating comfort with almost every word. Plus, whatever he was, he had shown you more compassion than the human asshole who had hit you last night, so you felt a little more relaxed having him this close.

Nevertheless, he treats you gingerly, fingers just grazing your bruised side. You wince as his index finger finds a particularly dark bruise, and the creature quickly pulls back.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it just-fuck that hurt.”

The creature nods but doesn’t move to touch you again.

“Does it hurt when you breathe deeply?”

You shake your head. You had been taking calming breaths to assuage the anxiety of waking up in what might be a monster’s den.

The monster hums, a light chittering sound, like several wind chimes all at once. He reaches over to a small, nearly-rotted, medicine bag in the corner and pulls out an ancient-looking jar of pain cream. He gingerly slides it towards you. “You may try this, it might relieve the pain for a while. Although you should probably see a human doctor to see if you’ve sustained any serious damage to your ribcage.”

You uncork the cream and tentatively dab a bit on your fingers, looking up with a  shaky smile to your savior.

“Uh, t-thank you. For everything-”

Growl

Your hand jerks to your stomach, face going flush as you accidentally brush against your swollen side. The creature perks up.

“I believe I have some human food. Would you like some?”

Sucking in a quick breath, trying to hide the tiny pain and your embarrassment, you nod.

The creature stands up, fumbling with the remains of a kitchen cabinet. From his hunched posture, you’d guess this tiny shelter isn’t big enough for his full height. With his long fingers, he reaches and flicks on the radio. The sounds of a local station’s jingle filters through the air as he grabs a can of beans from a shelf.

You slowly begin to rub in the medication to your side, occasionally looking up at your savior as he flutters around his den. Despite his extended limbs and large body, every movement is very similar to that of a human’s; He moves around the make-shift kitchen like a doting partner, a thought which brings a small blush to your face.

The illusion is shattered when he tears the top of the can clean off, cutting through the metal like a hot knife through butter. As he turns to rekindle the fire and start your breakfast, you quickly look back to your wound, trying to hide your curiosity.

The creature lazily stirs your breakfast as a song begins playing on the radio. The strumming bass is perfect for the morning haze, the low drawl of the singer rhythmic and relaxing. You notice the creature bobbing his head, humming along to the tune. His voice sounds slightly distorted, squeaking like the crackle of tv static. You find you quite like it.

The silence returns, filled only by the radio and the crackling fire. The creature's disposition is amicable, but you're still not sure how to initiate small talk.

“Um, thank you, again. For everything. You really saved my ass.”

The creature gestures with their hand as if to say “No problem.”

“I saw that man hit you with that car and take off. As you were hidden from the road, I thought it best I intervene.” The creature pulls off the now-cooked beans and grabs a spoon, handing the can to you. You take it eagerly, another rumble growling from your stomach. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, foregoing all table manners to scarf down the breakfast.

“If I am being honest, I don’t typically interact with humans in such a….direct manner.”

“Ah, I guess that,” You eyes do another survey of his gangly, inhuman appearance, “makes sense.”

The creature nods, grabbing an apple before sitting across the fire from you. You can tell he is tense, probably waiting with baited breath for you to come to your senses and scream. There is a small part of you that wants too, desperately, but you silence it with a large mouthful of beans. The apple is tossed back and forth between the creatures hands, his eyes locked on the fire. The curiosity of how he eats things sneaks its way into your thought process. “Do you have a name?”

The creature perks, pausing it’s movements and looking at you with its large, red eyes.

“.....I’ve heard humans call me Mothman. I think it is quite accurate.”

You nod, swallowing down another bite of beans. “Do you...like that name?”

The creature doesn’t respond, eyes still piercing into your heart. His face has a small micro-expression, but you’re not sure you can read it. “Because my brother always said first impressions are the perfect time to reinvent yourself, so I could call you something else if you wanted?”

The creature's eyes flicker, in a movement you think is slight shock, before his eyes roll back to the fire. The small light of the fire flatters the dark black of his fur (You think it’s fur?) and only accentuate his large eyes, flashing and reflecting like rubies. In his relaxed position, he sort of looks….handsome.

“You may call me Mothman. Thank you for asking.”

You nod, letting the strumming banjo of a new song on the radio fill the void. The bouncy beat has you unconsciously bobbing your head as you scoop a spoonful.

“I love this song.” You mutter, lamenting how you're almost out of food to stuff your mouth with.

Mothman hums in agreement. “Me as well, this station is my favorite.”

Given your empty bean can, you take the leap into a conversation.

“Do you have a favorite kind of music genre?”

Mothman fiddles with the stem of his apple, brow (if it can even be called that) furrowing.

“I guess I never thought of what my favorite would be. I mostly listen to whatever the radio plays, enjoyable or not. Though,” Mothman points his thumb to the radio, “I love the sound this instrument makes, though I am unsure what it is called. It’s almost like….”

Mothman’s voice begins to make a squeaking trill, one extremely similar to that of plucked strings, although much sharper and shorter.

“Oh, you mean the banjo? Uh, the one that goes like-” You try your best to imitate the chords of the banjo, unconsciously moving your fingers to imitate playing. It’s not nearly as musical as Mothmans’, but his eyes widen and he nods excitedly.

“Yes! Yes, that sound is very pleasant. I’d say any music with that in it is my favorite.”

“Ah, country, that’s a really popular one around here. Have you ever heard ‘Goodbye Earl’ by The Chicks?”

Mothman shakes his head. Your face drops in surprise.

“Oh, it’s so good, it’s about-” As you lean over to give a long spiel about the song, another bolt of pain shoots up your side, forcing you to bite your cheek so as to not cry out. You keel over your legs, clutching your rib cage.

Right, car accident.

In a second, Mothman is next to you, tentatively laying a hand on your shoulder. His fingertips just barely brush your skin, yet you can still feel a slight fuzziness, the same that covers his whole body.

“You might want to see a human doctor, soon.” You suck in through your teeth, slowly adjusting yourself back upwards. “Yeah, yeah, that’s probably a smart idea.

“I can take you as far as the end of the highway, if you’d like to call a friend or a cab.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady. Mothman’s other hand slowly moves to your other hip, only applying a modicum of pressure.

“May I help you stand up?” He almost-whispers, a hot breath of air blowing across the side of your neck as he speaks. A shiver runs down your spine as his large fingers play gently against your skin, covering a good portion of your pelvis. You’re thankful you can explain away any blush with the pain. You nod once more.

The two of you stand up gingerly, Mothman almost extending to his full height and brushing the blanket-ceiling with his antennae. You take a couple of small steps, the pain in your side taking the occasional moment to sting you.

Your eyes squint as you exit the encampment, sun already fully risen and in your face.

“If at any point you feel uncomfortable or in pain, let me know.”

You turn your head towards Mothman, but before you can ask any questions he sweeps you up in a bridal carry and extends his wings in one motion. From the corner of your eyes you can see dark red patterns that swirl on them, invisible until caught by the sunlight. Your hands instinctively lace around his neck, fingers tucking into the soft fluff of his neck. Mothman gives you a quick nod and what you think is an assuring smile

Without a word, you two take off.

----------

You two fly low to the ground, Mothman expertly maneuvering through the trees and underbrush as he glides along the highway. You’re sure if you were to drive by, he’d look like a flickering shadow in the woods, nothing more.

He sets you down by the edge of town, just out of sight of the semi-busy main street. You basically collapse to your feet, heart pounding with adrenaline and mind wracked with “Holy fuck, I just flew with the goddamn Mothman.”

“This is where I must depart. Do you think you can find suitable transportation to the hospital from here?”

You nod, still trying to wrestle your vocabulary from ‘What the fuck, Holy shit, Oh my god.’

Mothman gives you another smile and comforting nod, patting you on the shoulder.

“Very good. Good luck on your travels. Oh, and try not to be hit by any cars, alright?”

With a playful glare from you, Mothman begins to unfurl his wings and ready himself to fly back into the woods, buut before he can-

“Wait! Uh….” Mothman halts, wings still wide open. Your mouth and mind stagger, not even sure what you wanted to say. “I have some old country cassettes back at my place. If I found my mom’s old WalkMan I could….show them to you? Some time, maybe? Give you a chance to be your own radio DJ?”

Mothman’s face remains relatively neutral, but the way his antennae unfurl and his wings slightly perk upwards betrays his interest. It’s extremely adorable, like a little kid who hears the word ‘ice cream.’

“Yes, I think I would love that.”

“A-Awesome.” You breath out, not realizing how long you had held it in. “Same place, maybe next Saturday? Though hopefully I won’t be thrown in there by a car this time.���

Mothman lets out a series of squeaks, which you assume is his laugh. He gives you a thumbs up. “Cool, it’s a date.”

With the last word, you walk away, still hobbling with your probably-fractured rib, a large smile on your face.

As Mothman flies away, the cold wind of a West Virginia morning blowing across his body, he can’t deny the certain warmth that radiates from his chest.

I have a date.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :) 

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends. 

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier. 

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier. 

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off. 

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go. 

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach. 

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure. 

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.” 

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.” 

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side. 

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated. 

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?” 

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip. 

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?” 

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.” 

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].” 

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously. 

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape. 

[sparrowsocks]

asking this public ally instead of in dms i need more about ur au but what do Grian and Pearl do after seeing their Deer Cryptid (get it? deer dear?)

Bless your soul key.

They were just out in a corner of the woods, a road could be heard from the south, they’ve been in this forest plenty of times since basically grew up in it, alas, they were lost.

“You said you knew where we were”

“It’s dark Pearl I can barely see the gps”

“Its a screen Grian, it glows”

“…”

“Grian?”

“It died”

“Oh my g-.”

A wind blew in so suddenly, strong enough to knock the two down, their flashlights sputtering across the forest floor, clouds covered the moon removing the very little natural light they had. A low howling came from in front of the two, it didn’t sound like a canine, which was much more horrifying.

Then they saw it, a rough silhouette, barely visible, but it was real. It was bipedal and had antlers that very well could be over a meter long. It’s tail swung roughly on the ground.

*click*

Grian, in a panic took two photos. The flashes made it leave in an instant, the way it moved looked almost unnatural. They know how most larger animals move, they’ve seen plenty of deer, elk, caribou, and even some moose. But the thing they saw despite it being so dark was very clearly not a Cervidae.

They rushed south toward the highway and hoped they’d be able to find their way home from there.

…

“We should name it.”

Grian was on the floor with the printed photos, pinning them onto the nearly empty board of evidence they’ve collected.

“Pardon?”

“Well we can’t just keep calling it the deer cryptid, that’s not right.”

He put a pin through a news paper article from 3 years ago.

“Well if we’re going to name it, make it cool”

he started to unravel the string, wrapping around pins, connecting them.

“What about, uhhh. An Onyx deer.”

“Pearl you literally just said it wasn’t a deer.”

He picked up the board and started to attempt to hang it on the wall.

“Ok mister G-man, what would you call it then?”

He paused.

“The antler howler”

She grabbed the board out of his hands and hung it. Looking at him deadpanned as she did it.

“Ok fine we can call it an onyx deer.”

——

[elareine]

JayTimSpooktober - Cryptids

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s a shadow,” Tim explained patiently.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can see that, thank you. Why are you pointing a camera at it?”

“It might move.”

“It hasn’t done shit during the week you set up surveillance, but it will move now that we’re here with an entire crew and your camcorder, staring at it?”

“Maybe it’s into that.”

“Did you just imply that this Shadow… person… is kinky?”

Tim smirked. “You went there, not me.”

In a flash, Jason was up and walking toward the end of the small alley.

“Hey, Shadow Person!” he called out. “I’m getting a bit bored here. Wanna get kinky with your shadow tentacles?”

Tim groaned. “Jason…”

“Not even some shadow theatre?” Jason asked. “Everyone can do a dog and a tree. C’mon. Gimme something, I’m dying of boredom.”

Tim jumped up, something like genuine fear on his face. “Jason! I told you to stop provoking them, what if—“

Jason scoffed. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“People disappeared, Jason! We don’t know the answer to that, but it’s nothing good.” Coming to a stop next to Jason, Tim shivered. “Whoa. That’s quite the cold spot.”

“The freezer from the restaurant on the other side of the wall, you mean.”

“That would send out heat, not cold,” Tim shot back.

With a sigh, Jason slid off his jacket and draped it around the shorter man’s shoulders. “Sure. It’s totally a cold spot.” A wink at the camera. “Nothing else it could be. That’s why I’m fine with my shirt. Nothing to do with you being a total bean.”

Tim glared at him, but when they went back to their observational posts, he snuggled into the jacket all the same. “What’s got you so riled up about this one?” he asked.

Jason ran a hand through his hair. Shrugged. “Dunno. I just don’t get why this particular alley is any scarier then thousands of others in Gotham.”

“A kid is supposed to have died here.”

“Again—how’s that different from the rest of Gotham?”

“You know as well as I do that violence leaves a mark.”

Okay, Jason couldn’t argue with that, so he tried a different tack. “Even if this—this Shadow person exists—and that’s a huge if—what’s the big deal? I always wonder about that.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You wonder what’s the big deal about a Shadow Person that snatches those that walk by?”

“Yeah! That’s just your ordinary vigilante. Or, like, take the Yeti. What’s so cool about a hairy dude in the mountains eating tourists? At worst, that’s a serial killer. Nothing interesting about these dudes.”

“We have no actual evidence they eat people.”

“We have no actual evidence they exist, Tim.”

“We do!” Tim’s cheeks flushed, as always when he got into his area of specialty. “What else do you call the Indian army tweeting about it? And there was that one picture—“

Jason leaned back, the small smile on his face hidden from the camera, as Tim rambled on and on and on, only stopping when the sun finally rose.

After, when the crew had left and it was just the two of them debriefing, Jason said: “That was a nice touch, don’t you think? Nothing to talk about, no monster to speak of, so let’s bring up the Yeti.”

“I know you play it up the cameras, Jay,” Tim told him. “And the viewers love it. But deep down, I think you know I’m onto something here.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Drake.” Jason shifted uncomfortably. Something in Tim’s blue eyes was disconcerting.

“Oh, you can keep denying all you want, but I’ll have you admit it eventually.”

Jason couldn’t help but grin. “You’ll just have to convince me.”

Tim leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then, while Jason gaped at him, stunned, he ran, hastily calling out: “LookingForwardToIt—byeee!”

Jason stared after him. His cheek burned when he lifted a hand to touch it. That was—did that mean—

…it meant he was acting like a schoolgirl in the fourteenth episode of an anime, that’s what it meant. He turned to the shadows. “Not a word.”

The darkness stayed silent. Good for it.

“Now, you seem to be new, so I’m cutting you some slack. This is my city. If you wanna feast on those who harm others, be my guest. I’m not gonna complain if some would-be rapists were to, say, vanish from the corner of Johnson and Third. But if you touch anyone innocent—or anyone that is mine—I will find you, and I will burn out what little is left of your miserable little existence. Understood?”

Jason let his eyes turn green just a little bit, a mere hint of what it was dealing with. It was enough for the shadow to shrink.

Jason nodded, satisfied. “Good night. Let’s not do this again.”

As he walked away, secure in the knowledge that nothing and no-one would block his path, he considered today’s filming. Tim was right—the people loved their banter. Team Sceptic vs. Team Believer and all that. Jason had seen shirts. Today’s subject would be fresh and exciting enough to keep the discussion going.

A Shade. Who knew. You’d think Gotham would be full of them, but this was actually the first one Jason had come across.

That was the thing with cryptids, though. Hard to predict which ones were real and which one only existed in the collective mind of an internet forum. And sometimes, the lines between those blurred. Just ask the Slenderman. Guy was a bit of a dick, though, so Jason didn’t exactly feel sorry for him.

He actually had no idea about the Yeti or the Chupacabra. The only reason Jason knew that Mothman was real was that he’d accidentally ran into him on a road trip once. Like called to like, and all that. The Lizard Man of Swamp Ore was, sadly, either a myth or very shy. Jason had spent enough time with Tim in that miserable tent to know.

Or maybe, the Lizard Man had just been afraid of him. It didn’t matter.

What mattered that Tim—sweet, curious, sharp-tongued Tim, the boy that Jason had met ten feet away from a vampire nest and had offered to start a show with just to stop him from entering—was safe. Would be safe, as long as Jason was by his side. The funny internet discussions were just a bonus.

[greytoiletpaper]

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish street-siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re still awesome). I present to you... Angst.

Drizzle | AO3 

Chapter 2: Deluge

Felipe Garzonas falls.

Jason cannot find it in himself to care. The man was human garbage at best-

A shriek of anguish rents the air, a woman's, while the stalking man pounces on her and bays with his manic glee.

-and they were just going to let him go? No dice. Jason did not push him off the edge, but it’s still satisfying enough for him to know the man is gone now.

It is here, on this rooftop, that Jason understands that the horrors of the world can never be contained, only controlled. In what ways, he isn’t sure yet, but when he thinks of killing, all he can imagine is a figure adorned in a red helmet, ruthless and proud.

When Bruce takes Jason away from the scene, long crimson snakes flow off Garzonas’ body with the deluge, painting the face of Gotham.

Cass believes Jay when he says he didn’t kill Garzonas. He can lie like the best of them, but he can never hide anything from her. Bruce still doesn’t believe him even when she says as much.

“You’re a danger to yourself and the people around you,” Bruce is saying. Cold is the only way that Cass can describe his body.

For as long as she has been with Bruce, Cass has not thought of David. But looking at him now, a small, insidious part of the man that projects the urge to control (something she had only seen from David) starts to slip through. She is so thrown about what to think that she almost misses him firing Jay as Robin.

“No.”

“But Cass-.”

“No.”

Jason resists the urge to groan at his sister. Above them, the three names of his potential mothers are displayed clearly and brightly.

“I get why you don’t want me to. But think of what will happen if we manage to bring one! We could- we could-.”

“My brother,” Cass says, with finality. She gestures to the names (although ‘Sandra Wu-san’ in particular catches both their eyes). “Not theirs.”

Cass makes that stance she always does when she wants him to stop, her back hunched and her eyes pleading. He hates it when she does that, which is why he bites back a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll leave it alone,” Cass has been trying harder to get her smile right. Her effort shows when she gives him a mega-watt grin when he relents.

“My family, love,” She says as she hugs him before leading him away to raid the freezer for Neapolitan.

Later that night, Jason leaves his copy of Huckleberry Finn on her nightstand. He has to make sure that she doesn't think he'd left her behind when he goes. As Jason leaves the window wide open, his sole companion is the rain for the first time in years.

Gotham feels it as it happens. As the madman clubs her boy over and over with his crowbar. She feels every bruise, every bone that fractures, every act of pure, unadulterated cruelty inflicted on Jason.

Her eldest cradles the body, surrounded by a field of debris and smoke left in the wake of the monster that is the Joker. She washes the blood away with her tears.

When Cassandra wakes to see her brother’s prized possession on her nightstand, she instantly knows and never lets it go, even as the sky opens up in time with her tears.

--

As the casket lowers into the earth, she absently notes no rain, not a cloud in sight. Somehow, in the void that is the Jason-shaped hole in her heart, she realises he would have hated it.

“I think… I want to have my burial when it rains. Gives a whole ‘nother meaning to bleary doesn’t it?” Jason had confessed that once, a slight chuckle drawing from his chest. It fades as fast as it came. He looked away, then. “I don’t think I’d rest in peace without it.”

Cassandra fills the silence with the hymns of her tears – droplets staining the well-loved pages of the last piece of her brother – and hopes that it will be enough.

In her mind, her efforts are for naught when they devolve into wails as the first shovelfuls of dirt encase the ebony coffin.

--

The first thing she sees when she enters the cave is- is the atrocious thing. All the noise in the cave seems to phase out. The squeaking of the bats. The banter between Dick and Babs. The low murmurs of Bruce and Alfred in the corner. All she can focus on is the caricature of her brother in full view of everyone in the Batcave. She looks at it, and the world becomes a sea of pink and brown and white. The uniform he died in still bloody and ragged; all her thoughts a cacophony of wailing; iron on her tongue; roaring in her ears; she feels nothing in her but pain.

Jason Peter Todd

A Good Soldier

She hates it. Hates it with a passion because Jason was so much more than a soldier. He was her Jay, her brother, everything; all she has left of him is a small paperback and this disgusting mockery of his memory.

But he’s Batman, and he grabs her by the arms and pins her, even as her legs kick out viciously. She headbutts him and manages to push him off, nailing him square in the jaw with her knee as she flips back.

“Cassandra-.” Batman starts.

“Mine,” She snarls, eyes blazing and her hand pushing Bruce away from her. Even with the pads of his armour, she knows it hurts. She turns to leave.

“Not Robin. My Jay. My Brother. My Jason.”

Standing in Jason’s room, Cassandra closes the window he left open. She notices a picture frame on his nightstand. It’s of them, Huckleberry Finn spread between their legs and their foreheads pressed together.

Cass curls into a ball and clutches his treasures to her chest, sobbing because there is no rain to fill the vacuum she’s found herself in.

--

Far, far away, a man between worlds shatters the dimensions. The ripple disturbs Gotham, but she cannot deny her love of the results.

Gotham watches as her prodigal son begins his dramatic return; rising from below to walk above once again.

--

“So, is it really true that you took down Troia when you were only thirteen? All on your own?” The new Robin, Tim, is okay. Really. Cassandra just can’t look him at and see someone else in the uniform. When she doesn’t answer, the boy seems to fidget nervously. She doesn’t even know what his eyes look like.

“I–I guess, since I’m here to be Batman’s new Robin, I was hoping I could be the Robin to –.”

Cassandra doesn’t even let the boy finish before she leaves.

--

Jason wakes up drowning. It’s not water that enters his lungs, but an unnatural, sickly green liquid that vexes and rots and makes his body feel like he’s on fire. Nandra Parbat is where he is when he’s calmed down from being dipped into the Lazarus Pit, trapped in a fortress of assassins that want to mould a Bat into one of them. It’s an entirely different League.

This time, Cass is not here to keep them away.

--

When she meets Steph, Cassandra is enamoured because the girl smiles and laughs (except she still isn’t the same, no one is), almost just like Jason. But there are slight differences between the girl and her brother. Her hugs are great, but they don’t feel right. She smells like lavender instead of the rain. Despite how much the girl likes to joke with her, not one of them manages to draw out her smile.

Cassandra holds onto the girl like a lifeline anyway.

What bone she can throw, Steph has an uncanny knack of finding things that others take ages to locate, which is helpful enough for right now since Tim is still missing. It doesn’t help when Steph reads that Tim is in a warehouse with none other than The Joker.

--

He’s practising his aim when she comes in, almost plucking the gun out of his hand. Jason grips the girl’s arm and flings her over his back. Rose Wilson, a wolfish grin plastered on her face and snowy hair fanning under them, doesn’t even look fazed.

“Wow Jace, if you wanted to pin me you could have just asked,” His only friend in this place is what keeps him sane; when the Joker of his nightmares haunts the edges of his mind, she is there to let him know it isn’t real. Despite how different they are, she’s a breath of fresh air in this hellhole they’re in. He should probably tell her how he feels.

“You’re such a fucking chicken-shit,” Is what comes out of his mouth instead. Rose only smirks at him, silver mane and eyes with almost the same mischief his sister had.

“Your aim still sucks balls by the way.”

He growls, raising his arm to let his gun do the barking.

--

Ranting and raving greet her as she sneaks in through a window, a litany of nonsense and stammers echoing around the warehouse. She drops from the catwalk as silently as she can, but the madman obviously still hears her as his head bends at an impossible angle to look right at her.

“Oh. Look who showed for quality time with Uncle Jay!” She doesn’t mean to, but Cassandra flinches, and the Joker’s twisted grin shifts. Big mistake. “Oh? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” It takes every inch of willpower in her not to rasp the words, but Joker sees through it regardless.

“What? Don’t like my name?” The Joker pouts, but it looks more like a sneer. “It’s just me yaknow? Your Uncle Jay.”

Another flinch, and the Joker steps closer, a snake in the reeds.

“Mister Jay,” He’s stalking closer now; her body won’t move. “JayJay.”

“Jaybird,”

“Jay,” She is so still as the Joker seems to tower over her, his sick grin crueller and sharper (David flashes in her mind) than any other time she has ever seen it. Poison flows from his mouth like saliva as he croons.

“That’s what you called him, isn’t it? When he was still here, your precious Robin. Not this -,” He gestures to Tim, who is wide-eyed and struggling. “-phoney replacement. Want me to-? Let me tell-.” The Joker stops, frowning at the ground before continuing, his voice aberrantly low. “When I beat him over and over with that crowbar – pink with blood and brown with dirt over the white of his skin –, do you want to know what he was saying?

“The only thing that came out of that pretty little mouth of his was how sorry he was that he was for leaving ‘Cass’ behind.” The madman leers at her. “Was that you? Cass? I gotta tell you, the whole apology shtick got really boring after a while, but…

“I’ll tell you one thing. Something you can keep between just you and your Uncle Jay,” He leans in close to her ear. “I think that our Jay is almost just like me now!”

The madman cackles, his eyes sick and twisted, and his body is nothing but mania. Something in Cassandra, strained and twisted for the past three years, finally snaps.

She strikes him, harsher than she’s struck anyone ever before. So severely, she can feel his ribcage snap. His flesh becomes mince under her fists. He stumbles and contorts as she overwhelms him with every piece of her fury. The gale-force that is Cassandra Todd blows through the Joker, who laughs and laughs and laughs.

The monster scrambles for his gun, suddenly slick and focused. Cassandra snaps off the comic ‘Pow!’ that sticks out of the muzzle when he fires it at her. She backhands his face with the full force of her knuckles, knocking him down, and all he does is chortle. The Joker’s body twists and squirms as he is pinned in place. She raises the broken end of the comic and skewers his leg into the ground.

The Joker’s mouth froths. His eyes are bloodshot as he becomes more depraved and maunders yet, he’s still fucking laughing. Laughing as his spittle flecks onto every surface around them when he thrashes. Laughing even as she clenches the sides of his head and pulls. Laughing even as they both feel his flesh strain and shear as she tries to tear it off. The part of her that has so vehemently denied killing now cries for bloodlust. For this is justice, this is vengeance, this is for her, Jay. Cassandra, with all her might, prepares to wrench off the monster’s head and-.

And Batman pushes her off him. Batman blocks her assault on his body when Cassandra rebalances herself. Batman protects the god damn fucking Joker. She roars with her rage, her grief, and doesn’t even feel the sedative that Tim plunges into her side until it’s too late.

Glaring at Bruce, at Batman, all she sees from his body is fear and concern and all the latter is directed at the death-worshipping monster he cradles in his arms. Absently, before it all goes to black, she thinks she should leave. Leave without Batgirl, without Jason, without everything she has ever cared for.

She does, and like her brother, the tears of Gotham are the only family she has left.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Longest Night (Indruck)

Prompt for the 31st was : Halloween.

Thank you so much to everyone for reading and sharing these fills! I had a great time writing them. And thank you to @thats-amnesty-babe for playing in this space with me on Discord.

Happy Halloween!

Halloween doesn’t exist on Sylvain. However, as in many places, there are rituals and celebrations to mark the end of the growing season, days to remember the departed. For Sylphs, these are marked by The Longest Night, the time when malevolent, restless spirits roam free. 

Tradition dictates gathering with friends to hunker down until darn, dimming lights to keep the spirits from knowing you are home, telling scary stories to keep everyone alert against danger, and eating to keep up energy.

In practice, this means having a giant sleepover and binging on sweets. 

Tradition also suggests that, should attendees have romantic designs on each other, they can use this night to demonstrate their willingness to protect each other. 

In practice, this means inviting a crush to the celebration in hopes of cuddling up in a dark corner. 

Exiled Sylphs continued this tradition, setting on Halloween to avoid detection. And they kept all the practices, especially the romantic ones.

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

“I’m so excited” Indrid, perched near the fireplace, looks up from his sketch, “I have not celebrated The Longest Night properly in a century.”

“Yeah, we’ve had to keep it kinda low-key in the past because, y’know, no one knew there were a bunch of Sylphs up here.” Barclay shoos the mothman aside so he can tend the fire, “so we’re gonna do it up a little more this time. You inviting anyone?”

“No” the reply is far too fast, “I, that is, there are people I might invite as friends, but none in the more, ah, traditional sense.”

Barclay dusts off his hands, “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

The cook nods and flicks his gaze over Indrid’s shoulder. He turns in time to see Duck walk through the lobby doors, chatting with Ned as he helps the older man navigate on still-recovering legs. 

“I don’t know what you are implying, Barclay.”

“That spending half your nights at his house, getting invited on hikes--and then going on them--with him, and the amount of doodles on that page that are his face might be a sign you’ve got a crush on a certain human.”

“I do not,'' Indrid quickly flips to a new page.

“You can’t hide it from me, Cold. I know what I’m talking about.” He teases, standing and stretching his arms, “and the reason I know just got off work, so I’m gonna go see him.”

“Yes, yes, run along and kiss your human.” Indrid waves his hand, aware of booted footfalls getting closer. 

“Hey ‘Drid.” 

“Hello, Duck. Are you staying long?” He tries, as always, to keep his eyes on the ranger’s jacket so he won’t melt into a useless puddle at the first sign of a smile. 

“Nah, promised I’d meet Juno for dinner. Speakin of which,” Duck sits down next to him, making them face to face, “you wanna get dinner or, uh, lunch on Saturday?”

Is he smiling like that because he likes the idea of taking Indrid out? Or is it due to being excited to see his friend later? Is it just because Duck smiles easily? Regardless, Indrid should probably speak rather than stare at him. 

He glances sideways, catches Barclay mouthing something to him in Sylph. 

Fine, he will do this. If it turns to a disaster, he can blame Bigfoot.  

“Actually, Duck, I was wondering if you were coming to the party on Saturday…”

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

Right before Duck arrives at the Lodge around ten at night Indrid, grooming his feathers for the fifth time in an hour, runs through his plan once more. 

Step one: Choose darkest corner for movie viewing. Arrange for optimal comfort. 

Step two: Bring Duck all his favorite foods as an offering of affection. 

Step three: Date Duck.

The first two steps go off perfectly; Duck takes the seat Indrid offers him without so much as looking at the other options and takes the plate of candy, baked goods, and other snacks Indrid offers him with a grin. 

To increase his chances of a smooth flirtation, he spreads his wings, showing off the green and blue light crackling in his usually white and grey feather speckles.

The human doesn’t notice, likely due to the presence of many candles, the fire, and string lights. But halfway through the movie, Duck adjusts so the right wing drapes over his shoulder. 

Indrid, thanks to future sight, sees all the jumpscares in the movie coming. Duck only jolts on the first few, but then a well-executed one makes him jump into Indrid’s lap. 

As the post-jumpscare giggles ripple through the room, Duck looks up at him.

“Damn, you’re real comfy all mothed out.”

“Thank you” Indrid flicks his antenna, proud, and reaches for the plate, “Snicker?”

Duck opens his mouth in reply, and Indrid feeds it to him. The human angles himself back towards the T.V, shoulder and part of his back resting against Indrid’s chest. 

“Are you comfortable?” Indrid dips his head to mumuring in Duck’s ear. 

“Yep, you’re all nice and fluffy. Pick good snacks too.” 

“I was to pick your favorites.”

Duck’s smile changes to something surprised, “Oh, uh, thanks.”

Indrid purrs, low and quiet, as they focus back on the movie. He knows Duck cannot purr in answer to show his interest, but he’s on alert for any sign that indicates the same general thing.

“Aw, knew you’d be all happy and shit tonight” Duck tips his head back so he’s looking up at Indrid, “there’s enough sugar here to keep you satisfied for months.”

Summoning all his charm, Indrid runs a claw through Duck’s hair, “There is a lot of candy present, but there is only one sweet thing I need.”

Duck arches an eyebrow, “Nog?”

His charm, and nerve, crawls back into the shadows, “sure.”

“I can go check the fridge if you want. Close enough to nog season for there to be some.”

Indrid tries again, wrapping his arms cautiously around Duck’s waist, “But I do not want you to leave,  you're so warm and pleasant to hold. Like a teddy bear.”

A chuckle, fingers stroking his cheek, “Aww, the big ol' cryptid needs a teddy bear for the scary movie. That's real cute. Be right back with that nog.” He pats Indrid’s arms and the cryptid releases him, tracking him through the room until he’s out of sight. 

“I am in hell” Indrid mutters. 

“One of your own making.” Barclay, empty tray in hand, stares down at him, “usually helps to check if a human knows Sylph customs ahead of time. I get the feeling Duck’s got no idea about this one.”

“But plenty of that was flirtation by human standards! Perhaps I am truly terrible at this. Then again, maybe if I show off my wings a bit more..”

“Oh my fucking god just tell him.” Barclay clangs his forehead into the tray in frustration. 

A drawl calls out from the kitchen, “Hey ‘Drid, can you give me a hand?”

The cook shoves the tray into Indrid’s grasp, “That’s your cue.”

The kitchen is dark save for the light from the fridge as Duck reaches into it. 

“There is some nog back here. Need you to carry the glasses, since I’m grabbin’ some refills for Mama and Ned too. Kinda wish I could turn on the lights, but I don’t wanna ruin the moo--oh damn!” The last thing Indrid sees before the refrigerator shuts is Duck smiling, “your wings are lightin up. Do they always do that?” 

“No. Do you, ah, like it?”

“Yeah.” Duck steps forward, holding out the glasses so Indrid will take them, but his eyes never leave Indrid’s wings, “can you control it, like a cuttlefish?”

Indrid inches forward, still holding his hand, “They are emotion based. See?” He traces his claw tips up Duck’s wrist and glows brighter. 

“Oh.” Duck smirks up at him, “movie scarin you that bad?”

The Sylph growls in frustration, not at Duck but at himself, at the fear that rises up and chokes the truth before it reaches his tongue. 

“Wait, are you mad about something?” Duck frowns, worried. Indrid can’t stand the sight of him even a little bit upset, but the words still won’t come. So he does the next best thing, leans down to bump their foreheads together.

“‘Drid?”

“It is nothing, shall we go back to the movie?”

The human rubs their foreheads once, “Yeah.”

As they make their way back to their viewing spot, Indrid decides he will not press the matter further; he will follow Duck’s lead, keep the evening as romantic or platonic as the human desires. More than successful flirtation, more than a kiss, what he wants is to be near Duck and for Duck to be happy. 

The movies give way to a round of scary stories by the fire, Stern and Dani proving the most consistently terrifying. In spite of their talent, Indrid is not the best audience; he responds too soon, doesn’t yelp in horror at the right moments, and sometimes laughs at reactions he sees coming. The upside of this is Duck finds it hysterical, though he tries not to break the mood for everyone else, burying the laughter in the fluff of Indrid’s chest. 

Were Indrid optimistic he’d think Duck was using each bout of laughter to cuddle closer, to leave his cheek on Indrids down and his hands toying with the feathers of his wings. They opt for another round of movies, and the human grumbles when Indrid stands up to retrieve more food, nestles right back in his arms the moment he returns.

The Masque of the Red Death is not as terrible as the other films of the night, but even it cannot distract Indrid when Duck’s hands lazily card through his wings. It occurs to him, with the kind of clarity that only comes hand in hand with fear, that there is no way Duck is familiar with mothperson anatomy and his fingers are  about to hit an extremely sensitive part of his wing.

An involuntary purr buzzes out of him. Duck grins up at him, pleased, and touches the same patch of his wing again, scritching and massaging it as Indrid becomes one with the pillows, going pliable and relaxed under the human’s touch. It’s not sexual, not yet anyway, but sweet Sylvain does it feel good. 

“Indrid, for crying out loud, you’re flashing MAGENTA! Get a room already.”

He sits up, glaring at Barclay, pointing a claw at Agent Stern cuddled up in his lap and petting his fur. Duck’s gaze ping-pongs between them, gaining more understanding with each pass. He does nothing else until Barclay and Stern face the screen once more. Then he grips Indrid’s chin, forcing him to look down. 

“You after another kind of sugar, sugar?” His playful smile transforms into one of pure, wicked delight. 

“I, ah, I” this is his chance, and also the moment his mind goes blank and his wings flutter helplessly. 

Duck presses his free hand into the sensitive patch of wing, “Explain. Now.”

He had no idea Duck could sound that way, voice a little deeper and rougher than usual. It lights up long ignored corners of his mind, and he chirrs with nervous arousal, wings flashing white and pale green.

“I’m waitin.” Duck tightens his grip with both hands.

Indrid chirps, forces it to become a sentence, “The Longest Night is, is, ah, traditionally used for flirtation.”

“So that is what you've been tryin to do.” 

“You could, ah, could tell?”

“YepWHOAHfuck.” Duck faceplants into the pillows as Indrid, glasses thrown on, scrambles to his feet and sprints down the closest hallway. He feels rather like the heroine two movies ago, running in twists and turns through the darkness. 

Reaching the farthest hall from the lobby, he slumps against the wall, panting. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“AH!” He backs into the corner, Duck holding out his hands in a gesture of calm. 

“‘Drid, the Lodge ain’t that big. Kinda easy to follow you.” He places his hand lightly on Indrid’s arm, ‘I’m sorry if I came on too strong a minute ago. But will you please just tell me what's going on so I don’t fuck up again?”

“You didn’t fuck up, Duck. I did. I, at first I thought I was being obvious, assumed you knew the customs associated with tonight. Then when I realized my error, I thought I was being too subtle and should just leave it be. But if you knew this whole time then I...I assumed I had been making a fool of myself and you were not interested. Hence the embarrassed flight from the room.”

Duck’s hand slides down his arm, curling around his fingers, “What’d you think all that cuddlin you was? Orthe  pettin you?”

“I…” He pulls his hand free, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Duck lets him go, takes a step back, expression gentle but puzzled “I had a hunch you were tryin to put the moves on me, but when you didn’t up the ante I figured I was wrong. I mean, you can see the future, why not just look and see what I’d do?”

“I am not always good at reading subtext, and sometimes I require explicit confirmation of things to notice them. As for my powers I, ah, I was afraid to even look.”

“Afraid? Indrid, I saw you tied up by goatmen and you looked calm. How is askin me out scarier than that?”

“Because I have not felt this attached to someone in years! And…” he stares at the patterned carpet, “and in the first scenario, only I was hurt. If I made an error here, you might be hurt too, think I had only been kind to you for selfish reasons or manipulated you. I do not enjoy that sight, even in futures that never come to pass.” Heart creeping up his throat, he meets Duck’s eyes, “now it is my turn for a question: why did you follow me just now?”

“I was worried about you. I care about you, fluffball.”

“I am only a fluffball part of the time.”

“I know, care about you when you’re a beanpole too.” Duck touches is cheek and, as it always does, the touch makes Indrid turn into the way a sunflower turns into the light, “‘Drid, if you wanna be more than friends, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Would…” Indrid squeezes his eyes shut, “would you like to go out with me, Duck Newton?” 

A kiss the lips, lighter than moth wings. 

“Yeah, sugar, I would.”

Indrid embraces him, chirping excitedly, tries to lift the ranger and spin them around before remembering he can't do so in his human form. Then his feet are off the ground as Duck picks him up, kissing him soundly. 

“Chosen strength has its pluses.”

“Indeed.”

“You want me to put you down?”

“Not just yet.”

“So tell me, mothman of mine, what does magenta mean?”

“Ah” his skin reddens, “desire. And since you are about to ask, green is comfort and blue is affection.”

“And the white?”

“....Submission.”

Duck tosses his head back with a laugh, setting Indrid down, “shoulda used that voice on you sooner I guess.”

“Yes.” Indrid purrs, slipping his hands into Duck’s back pockets

“Plenty of time for me to bust it out later. C’mon, let’s go finish the movie.”

Returning to a chorus of “about time” form their friends, they hunker down in their same spot, Duck resting against the pillows with Indrid’s head in his lap, the Sylph purring as Duck rubs his neck and pets his hair. They make it through two more movies before people start dropping off to sleep. Indrid joins them eventually, snuggling down beneath a plaid blanket with Duck’s head on his chest and his friends snoring or chatting softly all around him. 

And the morning after the Longest Night, Indrid Cold takes his new boyfriend out for breakfast.

[annoyedfanfiction]

Growing Pains

angst angst angst angst

Obi-Wan x reader, inspired by Growing Pains by Maria Mena

“Have we considered,” Cody asked Anakin one evening, “That he hasn’t been, well, cared for since his Master died?” Obi-Wan was sitting a little further away from the crowded circle – not outside, but just far enough to not be touching. Anakin’s gaze followed Obi-Wan’s to his own Padawan, where she was laughing with Rex, sitting amongst the Clones. Knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder. Touch had always come naturally to him, and to her in turn. But Obi-Wan… since Anakin had grown out of his need for almost constant physical affection, so too had Obi-Wan grown away from touching him.

No one will tell you about the limit They put on how long you can grieve

“You have a Padawan to train, Knight Kenobi.” Mace’s face was hard and drawn. “There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no death, there is the Force. It is time to move on.” The funeral pyres had barely been put out. Only a week after Naboo. “He’s not doing anything wrong!” Anakin argued, eyes flashing, still bright and shiny and new to all of this. Mace looked down at him with distaste. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, flatly. Anakin grumbled something, still glaring at Mace from beside his unseeing Master. “Is that all, Master Windu?”

No one will warn you when you're winning How heavy a lost love can be

“There was a girl, once,” he answered, eventually. “I don’t know if she was a Jedi… Certainly powerful with the Force. She was the first one to make him smile, after Qui-Gon… after Naboo.” “Not you?” Cody asked, curiously. “I mean, the General has always looked at you and Ahsoka as though you’re the greatest good in the galaxy.” Anakin chuckled, dryly. “Even when he’s mad.” “We grew into that,” he admitted, memory wandering back to the cynical, but kind boy who’d greeted him on Tatooine. “But (Y/N) was something special.”

They do not tell you about the friendships You'll lose once the lights are dimmed down

“Master Windu.” Even Obi-Wan’s gaze lifted at the new voice – you, standing in the doorway of the courtyard, emerald robes billowing around you. “I’ll take it from here.” Your tone brooked no argument, but Mace still hesitated, disapproval ready on his lips. “Or perhaps you’d like to further disgrace Qui-Gon’s ghost?” He physically flinched at that, and you could not find it within you to find any satisfaction in the reaction. “I’ll inform the Grand Master,” he hissed out, whirling past you into the Temple. You descended the steps slowly, gracefully, until he was out of sight, then you were running. Anakin almost wondered if your feet even touched the ground as you hurried towards them. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” And, for the first time since Obi-Wan had carried his Master’s body out of that generator, Anakin watched tears form in his eyes. “I couldn’t get a transport, and then – oh, Obi.” You let him melt into you, hiding his tears in your shoulder. “We’ll be alright.”

How humble you'll feel about your past bliss Once the tables have turned 'round

But I wanna tell you I got through The hardest of times on my own

“That doesn’t seem like making him smile,” Cody commented, dryly. Anakin whacked him in the shoulder. “Padawan Skywalker,” you smiled at him, pulling your door open. “And Obi-Wan. Come on in.” The space was, in many of the same ways Qui-Gon’s had been, not quite the stark, blank canvas of a Jedi’s room. A small bookshelf stood in one corner, books ranging from old Jedi texts to fairytales from around the galaxy to books on political history. A cracked kyber crystal glowed on one shelf, and a rack of spices spun on your kitchen counter. A couple of cushions, faded and worn, decorated your old couch, along with a patched throw. You had discarded your robe in favour of a light long-sleeved shirt to manage Coruscant’s oppressive summer heat. “Something smells delicious,” Obi-Wan commented, his voice still quiet, but brightening. “That’s promising. But I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see if I’ve lost my touch when you taste it, Knight Kenobi,” you smiled, quickly excusing yourself, leaving Anakin and Obi-Wan in the living room as you began serving dinner. You returned, balancing three bowls as you made your way towards the wooden dining table, bare except for the small pot of blooming vormur flowers in the centre. “Is that what I think it is?” Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as he and Anakin made their way to the table. “Stewjoni dumplings,” you grinned, triumphantly, finally coaxing a true smile out of Obi-Wan’s reserved deference. “It has not been so long that I have forgotten your favourite dish.”

I made some mistakes I made a few But I learned that I am strong

“So where’d she go, then?” Cody asked. Obi-Wan stood, and met Anakin’s gaze across the fire. He offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Anakin shrugged, noncommittally. “From what I gathered over her brief stay, she wasn’t particularly popular with the Council,” he explained, poking at the campfire with a stick. “She didn’t wear the typical robes, she back-chatted, she had normal emotions. Not exactly your ideal Jedi.” Obi-Wan disappeared back into the ship, leaving the rest of the soldiers to their brief respite.

And just because it hurts Doesn't mean it isn't worth it

“(Y/N) is a Mandalorian name,” Ahsoka pointed out the next day. Cody looked up at her in surprise. “What? I know things.” “Well, yes, but…” He trailed off. “You don’t think she could’ve been that (Y/N), do you?” Ahsoka raised an eyebrow. “Which one?” “Hey!” You dropped from the ceiling, landing on Maul’s shoulders and throwing him to the ground. Satine gasped a deep breath. “Why don’t you try that on someone your own size?” “So Kyr’am lives,” Maul hissed, spinning on his heel to face you. “You really should learn what titles mean before you say things like that.” You caught his blow, red clashing against white. “And you didn’t really think a little thing like a crash would kill me, did you?” “All the better,” he sneered. “I can kill you, then the Duchess, and see how Kenobi likes that.”

And even if it stings It's just a temporary thing

“A white lightsaber is a Grey Jedi thing,” Ahsoka hummed, thoughtfully. “So it could well be her. Sounds like Master Kenobi knew her, definitely.” “Kyr’am is basically a myth,” Cody told her, tiredly. “Her name literally means “death”. But she’s really just the General’s ex?” He paused, letting that register for a moment. “How does that even work? Jedi are sworn celibates.” “I’m pretty sure the only people who follow the Code to the letter are Master Windu and Master Yoda,” Ahsoka told him, matter-of-factly, “The former because he has a rod up his arse, and the latter because he’s 900 years old and no one wants to see that.” She clapped him on the back and strolled down the hallway, leaving him gaping after her.

I'm not saying that changing Won't cost you love won't make you cry,

“You’re making a mistake.” Your old Master sat across the room from you, smaller than you had seen him in a long time. “Disgrace us you do,” he answered, not meeting your eyes. “His judgement you cloud.” “We are not the ones whose judgement is clouded,” you retorted, holding your head high. Mace scoffed. “I am not the one making this decision from fear.” You looked around the chambers – a few cold eyes meeting yours, but most gazes shrinking from your defiance. “Fine. But know this – if any disgrace is done to the Force, it is done in this room. Not in the temples of Jedha. Not in the paths of the Grey. The Sith rise and threaten us all – threaten the very societies we live in; threaten our peace; threaten the prosperity that some among us have accrued; and threaten most of all the vulnerable among us. And you sit enthroned in your precious Temple passing judgement on those of us who do the dirty work you turn a blind eye to.” You met Mace’s eyes, and a sharp smile carved onto your darkened face. “This Council shames the Jedi and all that they have stood for. And you, Master,” you glared down at your Master, who was still adamantly avoiding your eyes, “Your 900 years have made you stubborn and unseeing, and the galaxy will pay for it.”

But it will all make sense... When the growing pains subside

“Jedha,” Anakin repeated, staring at Ahsoka and Cody as though they’d each sprouted another three heads. “You want me to look for a Mandalorian cryptid who may or may not be Obi-Wan’s ex on Jedha.” Ahsoka didn’t even have the courtesy to hesitate before nodding eagerly. “Have you considered that if I am the dubious one, this may be a mistake?”

Jedha was a cold planet – a desert, plummeted into icy frost on evening, dotted by frosted mesas. Having listened to nothing but wind humming in his ears for eight hours, Anakin almost didn’t notice the eerily familiar singing floating out of the abandoned mountaintop temple.

Nothing can shield you from the silence Nights spent on his side of the bed

The inside of the temple glowed with the warmth of a campfire, the gentle soothing of a song etched somewhere in his heart. He hesitated in the doorway, images of Padmé, of the life they could have, of her dead on stony ground. Fear and hope and love and bitterness, warring in his mind, weaved into the web of the song. He stepped inside.

Praying for help to please stop crying My life just got turned on its head

Shrouded in robes of the same emerald green, you sat cross-legged before the fire, upon which a small kettle boiled. You looked up at him – crows feet crinkling around the edges of the youthful eyes in his memory, a few hesitant streaks of silver streaking your hair like starlight. “You have grown.” You lifted the kettle from the fire. The mug was blissfully warm between his frozen hands as he crouched next to the fire. You watched him, placidly, sipping your own tea. “I am surprised I didn’t find you on a battlefield,” he admitted, eventually. You smiled, sadly. “This has taken some getting used to.” You peeled back your skirt to reveal a metal foot, exoskeletal braces disappearing up into your robe.

They fail to explain how complex love is... Like why I mostly miss him as a friend

“I am not the same woman I was when you and your Master knew me, Knight Skywalker.” Your fingers tapped a mesmerising rhythm into the metal mug. “Nor are we,” Anakin countered, grinning in the face of your flat gaze. “After 13 years, I’d imagine we’d change. And certainly, this war has changed us all.” He could feel your Force presence thrumming across from him, but could not read it – a hard wall struck up between the two of you, allowing him barely a glimpse of your familiar aura. You hummed, and returned your gaze to the fire.

Or how big of a blow, it was for my ego That she might be better for him

“I admit, I am confused as to why you are here.” You refused to look up at him. “Rather than on Mandalore. Satine is everything Obi-Wan needs, Anakin.” Here, you finally looked up at him. “A pacifist, she shares his ideals but is not afraid to challenge his methods. It cannot be a secret to you that they call me Kyr’am.” There were nights you laid awake, bathed in the light of your ‘saber, not tearing your gaze from the white plasma blade for fear that when you looked back it would be stained red. “Satine cared about Obi-Wan.” Cody’s words rang in his memory. “But not for him.” You pursed your lips, searching his face. For what, Anakin didn’t know.

But I wanna tell you I got through The hardest of times on my own

Landing on Vicondor in Anakin’s M ship was a surreal experience – trees parting around you to reveal two large troop carriers in the clearing. A crowd of clone troopers lazed around the clearing, clearly taking advantage of their brief respite from the war. A small Togruta girl hurried out from among them as you stepped out of the ship. “He’s coming and he’s mad,” she warned, “You better have his girlfriend on there or nothing is going to save us.” You poked your head out, and she immediately breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m –“ “Enjoy your midnight stroll?” Her introduction was immediately cut off by the cuttingly dry question. “How are you this morning, Master?” Anakin asked, too politely. “You retired early last night, are you quite well?” Peaking out from between Anakin and Ahsoka, you saw Obi-Wan narrow his eyes. “What are you up to?” Anakin failed to suppress a grin. “A Padawan of yours, up to something?” you asked, feigning incredulity, “What’s next, Master Windu smiling?”

I made some mistakes I made a few But I learned that I am strong

“Obi-Wan, you’re my best friend,” you told him, sternly, “But if you don’t sit still while I heal this so help me I will throw you back out there with the Fyrnocks.” “You wouldn’t dare,” he protested, nevertheless restricting himself to wincing at the anti-septic. “I dared to learn Jedha dark transfer. I dared to look Master Windu in the eye and tell him to pull the rod out of his arse. Don’t think I wouldn’t dare dangle you down there as bait, you reckless fool of a Jedi,” you scolded, the light glow of Force-healing now flitting around your fingertips.

And just because it hurts Doesn't mean it isn't worth it

“If I’m a reckless fool of a Jedi when I know I have one of the best healers in the Galaxy available,” Obi-Wan demanded, hauling you into his arms, “What does that make you?” Somewhere in the woods behind you were his men. Your men. Cody. Blasters dropping from their last shots – on their General. What choice did you have?

And even if it stings It's just a temporary thing

“It’s over, Anakin.” Mustafar burned around you, but you couldn’t focus on the battle. “I have the high ground.” Sweat streamed from your brow as you knelt over the frail body beside you, belly still swollen with the children she and Anakin should have raised together. Darkness flittered from your fingertips, and she gasped, eyes flying open. In an instant, you were carrying her to the ship. Weak, drooping, but still breathing.

And no one said that changing Won't cost you love won't make you cry,

The boy fretted in Padmé’s arms as you cradled the young girl – well fed, content, and drifting off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the image haunting behind your eyes, behind Padmé’s, behind Obi-Wan’s. Anakin, broken and burning on that stony ground, eyes burning yellow.

But it will all make sense When the growing pains subside

Tatooine blistered before you all – a baby cradled in each of Padmé’s arms, your hand fixed on the hilt of a new songsteel blade you had gambled for while Obi-Wan bartered a price for a speeder to get you out of town. Lightsabers were too obvious – just a heavy weight, now, hidden beneath your emerald robes.

And just because it hurts Doesn't mean it isn't worth it

You sang Padmé to sleep that night, the twins tucked into a makeshift cot beside her bed. She was so young to have lost so much. Her parents. Her planet. Her husband. The Republic. And yet here she was, still fighting. For something. Something better. Something brighter. A world she could somehow see, behind all this pain, all this evil. A light that still shone in her eyes.

And even if it stings It's just a temporary thing

“How did I go so wrong?” Obi-Wan leant into your side, staring up at the ceiling. “I failed everyone. Qui-Gon. Satine. Anakin.” “You never failed me,” you countered, fingers sifting through his hair. “And it was the Order that failed Anakin. The Council.” You reached over and turned his chin so that he was looking at you. “You did the best you could for him. It was not your responsibility to protect him from the people responsible for helping you both.”

And no one said that changing Won't cost you love won't make you cry,

“If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” Obi-Wan didn’t move, lightsaber holding Anakin’s steadily. You could hear Anakin scoff beneath the mask, and he struck forward. “No!” Luke. Obi-Wan fell. Immediately, the troopers turned, firing. You wondered if Anakin realised how your stomach churned at the sight of the familiar uniforms, almost expecting Cody’s smile, Rex’s sharp bark of laughter. You snatched up Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, clipping it to your belt, and ducking under Anakin’s blade as he struck at you.

But it will all make sense When the growing pains subside

“Run!” You could hear Obi-Wan shouting to Luke as your blade met Anakin’s. “It didn’t have to be this way,” you told Anakin, countering his next strike. “(Y/N)!” Leia shouted after you. You could hear the Falcon’s engines whirring in the background. “Go!” you yelled back, vividly aware of the rapid blaster fire around you. “We would’ve fought for you. We would have died for you.” “Shut up,” Anakin breathed, and you could almost hear the crack in his voice beneath the mask. You smiled, bitterly. “We loved you.” He thrust his ‘saber into your chest and the breath choked out of you in a shuddering gasp.

[painted-piggy-ships-archive]

Demons & First Dates

A Hellboy x Ronnie oneshot.

Word Count: 695

Warnings: Alcohol consumption.

Summary: Ronnie and Hellboy’s first official date and kiss!

Tag List: @ghostlyvenus @heavenshipped @the-schizotypal-cryptid @heartstringsymphonies

“I don’t even know why I came down here,” Ronnie scoffed, trying not to let their eyes linger too long on Hellboy’s shirtless form as he performed bench presses in the Bureau’s new, recently finished workout room.

“Well,” the half-demon grunted, “you have been ogling me for a minute.” He set the barbell in its rest and sat up, throwing a hot towel over his shoulders. “Something on your mind?~” He flashed a grin as he asked, to which Ronnie reacted with a roll of their storm-coloured eyes.

“No,” they huffed. Hellboy shrugged.

“If that’s the case, then,” his gold eyes shifted around the room, “how about you and me get the hell out of here and go get a drink?”

“I-I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ronnie stammered, their pale face beginning to flush, “... why do you offer?”

Hellboy grinned again, “I knew you were interested in me.”

Ronnie let out a stilted wheeze of a laugh, “wherever did you get an idea like that??”

“You’re blushing.~”

“Hmph!” They turned on their heel and faced away from their fellow agent, crossing their arms defensively over their chest.

“I’m not hearing a solid ‘no’…” Hellboy playfully teased.

“Oh fine!” Ronnie replied exasperatedly, “... swing by my room in a half-hour, I want to get ready,” they glanced over their shoulder sharply, “don’t be late or I’m not coming.” With that, they briskly walked out the door, making a beeline for their quarters. Hellboy chuckled to himself and went to his own room for a quick shower and to get ready himself.

~~~

Half of an hour passed, and Hellboy stood outside of Ronnie’s room, impatiently rocking on his heels.

“C’mon kid, you said…” he muttered to himself before the door opened. Ronnie stepped out, wearing a blue, satin, knee-length gown and black heels, as well as pearl earrings. Their pale face was done up in bold, dark eye shadow and fashionable, dark red lipstick. They smiled shyly at Hellboy.

“Well… how do I look?”

Hellboy realized he was staring and quickly shook himself.

“Shoot, Ronnie… you look like the belle of the whole damn ball,” he complimented. If his skin had not been such a bright red already, his face would’ve been the shade of a tomato at this point. He tugged nervously at his shirt collar and coughed, “I wasn’t expecting you to get all dressed up just for a beer.”

“Aww, thanks, Red… and I… hm. I suppose I just wanted to look nice for once,” they responded, hooking arms with the large half-demon, “shall we go?”

Hellboy cleared his throat again and nodded, sneaking Ronnie and himself out of the bureau and into town. The two walked to a convenience store, where Ronnie walked in and purchased a pack of cheap beer before returning to Hellboy’s side. They sat on the corner of the sidewalk, cracking open their drinks and looking up at the night sky.

“Is this a date?” Hellboy asked with a smirk. Ronnie flushed, but did not react negatively like they usually would have.

“I suppose it could be,” they spoke before looking at him, “do you want it to be?”

Hellboy swallowed, “do you?”

Ronnie pondered this before exhaling and slipping their hand into Hellboy’s.

“Yes, I think so,” they told him quietly. Hellboy gently bumped his forehead against Ronnie’s temple.

“I love you,” he purred, “more than I’ve loved any goddamn thing on this Earth.”

“I love you, too, Red.” They turned their face to his and they slipped into a gentle first kiss… that was ultimately interrupted by a BPRD car pulling up. Ronnie sighed after they pulled away, resting their head on Hellboy’s shoulder. Hellboy stood and picked them up.

“Don’t worry, I won’t put the blame on you this time,” he chuckled and winked, causing Ronnie to roll their eyes yet again, a small smile on their face.

“You gotta stop doing this,” John said as he rolled down the window of the car, “... did you convince Enigma to follow you, too??”

“It was a date,” Ronnie piped up.

“Sure was,” Hellboy added confidently as the two got in the car, “and we’d do it again, too.”

[sora-writes-things]

In My Blood

Cryptid AU Oneshot

Content warnings: Cursing, blood (minor), and a small bit of body horror (technically?? idk, you be the judge lmao).

This one focuses on Vampire! Luca’s transformation into a vampire after Aesop attacked him and took enough blood for him to become affected by it. This is also one of my favorite oneshots that I’ve written from this AU, so enjoy!

————————————————————————

Luca absentmindedly rubbed at his neck with his hand, wincing as his touch caused the puncture wounds on the side of his neck to sting a little. He was still a bit freaked out by the whole thing, since he’d been practically ambushed by someone he thought was just trying to be friendly...

And that person just so happened to be a vampire, and he’d sucked out a good portion of his blood.

The blood loss wasn’t significant enough to be fatal, but it was definitely enough to make him feel incredibly drained.

He had been completely spaced out when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, causing him to flinch. He turned to look at who tapped him, relieved to see Tracy settling down on the floor next to him.

“... Are you okay? You seem a little pale...”

Luca hesitated. Should he tell her what happened? Or should he just keep it a secret, like Aesop had asked him to do?

“It’s all good... I’m just... tired...” Luca finally said, flashing her a dreary smile. It wasn’t entirely a lie- he was extremely exhausted.

Tracy nodded, though she looked unconvinced. “Okay... You should probably get some sleep if you’re super tired...” She stole a glance at him, concern flashing in her eyes. “You really don’t look so great...”

Luca hummed softly in response before he felt the exhaustion completely take over, his consciousness slipping from his grasp as he fell over towards the mechanic, instantly falling asleep.

Tracy flinched, surprised by the suddenness of his actions. She stared down at him for a moment before managing to stand without disturbing him. “Well... This isn’t a great place for sleep... I should take you to your room...”

Luca twitched, but didn’t wake up. Tracy sighed, slightly reluctant to try to drag him, but not seeing any other method of getting him where he needed to be.

The mechanic gently moved him away from the wall he was propped up against before picking him up from under his arms and attempting to drag him, though it was incredibly difficult with how much larger he was than she was.

“Jeez Luca... You couldn’t pass out closer to your room?”

She continued to drag him, though her progress was slow due to her lack of strength, until she finally reached her adopted brother’s room, allowing his limp body to slump to the ground as she opened the door.

Luca groaned quietly as he stirred slightly, his eyes still closed. Tracy turned back to him with a renewed look of concern in her eyes. “Luca... Are you sure you’re okay...? You’re really pale...”

The other survivor didn’t answer, still not fully conscious or capable of giving a verbal response. Tracy sighed again, picking up his front end once more and dragging him into his room.

She propped him up against his bed before heading back towards the door, considering leaving for a moment but eventually deciding to stay with her brother. He was acting really weird, and she was worried about him.

She closed the door and turned back towards Luca... Only to stop dead in her tracks as she noticed something different about his appearance.

His eyes were half-open, and the very edge of his irises had shifted from their usual gray color to a bright purple hue... And the color continued to change with the longer she stared.

“...Tracy..?”

The mechanic flinched as her brother spoke, though his voice sounded slightly rougher then normal. “Yeah...?”

“...Can you stay here with me? At least for a little bit?”

“Umm... Yeah? What’s wrong?” Tracy cautiously walked over and sat down next to him, her concern rekindled once again.

Luca was quiet for a moment before he answered. “I feel... really weird...” He put a hand to his forehead, exhaling shakily.

Tracy didn’t respond, not wanting to bring up what she had seen out of fear that he would panic. She stared down at her feet, not wanting to look into her brother’s unfamiliar eyes.

Luca leaned into the mechanic, his head resting on her shoulder. “I’m not sick... I’ve felt fine all day... So I can’t be sick... Can I?”

“I mean... It’s possible? You could be dehydrated or something...” Tracy replied, glancing over at him and biting her lip.

Luca shook his head. “No no... It’s not that...” He sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong... All I know is that something doesn’t feel right.”

“Well... It’s kinda hard to help you when I don’t know exactly what’s wrong...”

He laid down next to her, laying his head down against her leg and closing his eyes. “I can’t explain it... I’m really tired... My neck is sore, my head kinda hurts... I’m hungry....” He paused, fidgeting for a moment. “There’s this spot between my shoulders that feels really weird... And my mouth feels weird too...”

He covered his eyes with his hands, exhaling slowly. “I really don’t know what’s going on...”

Tracy didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure of what was happening either, and she didn’t know how to help. “...Should I get Emily?”

“No- Uhh... I mean, I think I can h-handle this on my own...” He forced a grin, but his sister could see right through it.

“Clearly not, if you’re so insistent that I stay,” Tracy pointed out, idly running her hand through Luca’s hair as she tried to think of what could be wrong.

“We don’t need to bother Emily... We can figure it out...” He opened his eyes, which had fully shifted to a bright violet color. “...Right?”

Tracy shrugged, averting her gaze once more. “I guess... I’m honestly thinking you just need some sleep...”

Luca sat up, rubbing at his damaged eye with a blank expression. “Sleep has never really been that big of a deal with me...”

A moment of silence fell on the two adopted siblings, with Tracy staring mindlessly at the door and Luca gazing past the mechanic with a hazy look in his eyes.

Tracy’s attention was soon brought back to her brother as he suddenly twitched, reaching back towards the space between his shoulders with one arm.

“You good..?” Tracy asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Luca kept rubbing at the spot, narrowing his eyes as if he were fiercely concentrated on something. “What...?” He suddenly froze, the irritated expression on his face being replaced by a look of pure horror.

“Luca...?”

His breathing became hitched as panic began to settle in, although Tracy has no idea why. “What the hell..?”

The mechanic’s confusion turned into concern once more, and she turned to face her brother, though she stopped herself from doing anything else. “What? What’s the matter?”

His breathing continued to escalate, and his other hand slowly rose up to cover his mouth. “Wh-What the fuck?!”

Tracy couldn’t see it, but beneath Luca’s hand, he could feel a strange lump emerging just behind his shoulder blade, and he could only assume that the same thing was happening behind his other shoulder as well.

“Luca, please...” She put her hands on his arms, hoping she could get him to look her in the eyes. Luckily, he seemed to get the message, and he glanced up, a terrified gleam in his violet-colored eyes.

She felt her heart wrench a little at the sight of Luca’s distressed expression. She’d never seen him so distraught before. Whatever was happening certainly wasn’t good.

“I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you keep trying to hide things... So please..? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I-I don’t...” He glanced back, lifting his hand for a brief moment before covering the spot back up after realizing that the lump was continuing to grow larger, pressing against the fabric of his shirt a bit.

He shuddered before looking back up at Tracy, the fear in his eyes becoming increasingly prominent. “I don’t know what’s going on... But I’m scared, Trace...”

The mechanic felt a chill crawl up her spine at his words, not used to hearing such tangible fear in his voice. “I-It’s okay... I won’t leave... I’m here for you, alright..?”

A reluctant smile appeared on his face for a brief moment, though he didn’t seem any more relaxed despite his sister’s attempt at comforting him. “Okay...”

After a few moments, Luca was able to calm himself down, still keeping his hand over the strange lump behind his shoulder for a short while after before he decided to let it go, seeing as his panic wasn’t helping anything.

He could handle this.

Sure, whatever was going on was incredibly weird, but he was certain he would get through it.

He was probably just imagining it.

After all, he was extremely tired. All sorts of crazy stuff could happen when you’re sleep-deprived.

Luca had just managed to calm himself down completely when his shoulders suddenly twitched involuntarily, just before he felt something push up from where the weird lumps had formed behind his shoulder blades, causing him to yelp in surprise as he lurched forward towards his sister, gripping her shoulders as if to steady himself.

Tracy didn’t notice anything immediately, but she jumped at Luca’s vocalization and sudden movement, along with the brief sound of fabric tearing. “Luca?!”

Luca didn’t look her in the eyes, moving a hand to his mouth once more. “Oh my god...”

He didn’t want to look back. He had a vague idea of what had happened, but he didn’t want to confirm it.

“Luc...” Tracy trailed off as she caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of her eye, causing her to steal a glance over her brother’s shoulder.

What she saw made her heart skip a beat.

Folded against Luca’s back was a pair of small black and midnight-purple wings, resembling those of a bat.

“T-Tracy... I-I’m really freaked out right now... Wh-What’s going on..? What’s happening to me?” Luca’s voice broke with undeniable fear, clearly struggling to keep himself from panicking in the situation.

Tracy hesitated before she spoke. “Do you want a hug..?”

Luca nodded, allowing his sister to pull him into her embrace. The terrified survivor immediately felt comforted by the mechanic’s presence, resting his head on her shoulder. “Thanks, Trace...”

He closed his eyes for a moment before he suddenly became aware of something else.

It was something he hadn’t noticed before, but he could feel the mechanic’s pulse from where his head was positioned.

He wasn’t sure why, but he began to feel a strong sense of hunger gnawing at his insides... and that pulse of life that was just in front of his nose was becoming strangely tempting.

In that moment, something primal began to take root in Luca’s mind, and he turned his head so that he was facing the mechanic’s neck.

All he could think about was that overwhelming hunger he felt inside. Everything else seemed to fade away to the back of his consciousness. Anything rational that would have spoken up was instantly shoved away by the promise of blood- which his thoughts insisted would satisfy his starvation.

He wasn’t aware of his canine teeth rapidly growing into sharp fangs as he lost all control over himself, suddenly lunging toward the side of Tracy’s neck and biting down, breaking her skin and drawing blood.

“Ow!! Luca, stop! That hurts!” Tracy yelped loudly in both pain and shock, struggling for a moment and kicking out her legs, managing to strike the other survivor in the gut and prompting him to let her go.

Luca released her, scrambling backwards and growling slightly while holding a hand to his midsection, where he’d been kicked. The feral gleam dissipated from his eyes as he stared at her, horrified by what he’d done.

The smell of blood hit him like a bullet, at the same moment he caught a glimpse of a tiny trickle of blood running down his sister’s neck. He held a hand to his mouth, sickened by the knowledge that he’d done it.

Tracy glanced at him with a hurt look in her eyes. “Wh-Why did you bite me...?”

Tears welled up in the corners of Luca’s eyes as the words left her mouth. “Oh my god... I-I’m so sorry...”

“Luca...” Tracy kept her tone as gentle as she could, trying not to freak him out even more.

“I... I attacked you...” He gnawed on the fabric of his glove, continuing to back away from the mechanic as his breathing escalated once more. “Holy fuck, Tracy...”

The scent of blood was overwhelming. It was simultaneously both nauseating him and feeding his uncontrollable hunger at the same time, and it was becoming too much for him to handle.

He stole a glance at the door for a brief moment before looking back at Tracy, his eyes wide with horror.

“Luca... It’s alright... I’m fine...”

The terrified survivor hesitated for a split second before he suddenly jumped to his feet, his newly-developed wings fluttering as he made a beeline for the door, throwing it open and bolting into the hallway.

“Luca, wait!” Tracy shouted after him, but it was no use. He was already far gone by that point.

He heard her call, but didn’t slow down. He didn’t want to. He had to get away as fast as he could, before that awful hunger took over and forced him to hurt her once more.

He blindly ran towards the main lobby of the manor, hoping to find someone he could feed off of, at least enough to satisfy his need for blood.

He burst into the room, panting heavily as he looked around, his violet-eyed gaze resting on Freddy.

The wererabbit was staring off into the distance, though his expression implied that he was deep in thought. Luca crept forward, instantly picking up on a pulse of life that was similar to what he’d been tempted by earlier... Except the voice in the back of his mind wasn’t protesting against what he was planning to do.

So, in one quick motion, Luca shot forward with a feral hiss, grabbing ahold of the lawyer and pulling him out of his chair, which fell to the floor with a loud clatter as he pinned the other survivor against the wall, biting down on his neck and letting the taste of blood wash over his tongue.

Freddy had let out one small, shrill screech before Luca slapped his hand over his mouth, silencing him. He pulled away from the lawyer’s neck for a brief instant, his lips stained with blood as he glared at the wererabbit.

“Don’t scream. Let me take what I need, and I’ll let you go without draining every ounce of blood from your pathetic body. Understand?” The vampire growled, his eyes alight with feral bloodlust.

Freddy, his face almost completely colorless, barely managed a nod, his heart racing a mile a minute as Luca bit down on his neck once more, greedily taking as much blood as he could in the moment he had before...

“...Luca!”

The newly-turned vampire pulled away at the distant sound of his sister’s voice, and he quickly bolted off towards the door to the gardens. Once he got there, he sat down on the edge of the fountain, as far away from the door as possible.

Gradually, he felt the gnawing hunger in his stomach begin to fade, leaving him to think about what had happened.

“Holy shit... I’m a vampire...” Luca murmured, his wings fluttering slightly.

The motion grabbed his attention, prompting him to think about himself for a moment. He began to realize just how weird his whole situation was. Since when did vampires have wings?

He stared back at the small bat wings, pondering it for a moment. Did Aesop have wings? And if he did, how did he hide them so well?

He sighed, bowing his head and staring at the toes of his boots, trying to take his mind off of everything.

His moment of peace didn’t last long though as he heard the creak of a door opening, followed by the sounds of cautious footsteps.

Luca frantically turned his head to catch a glimpse of whoever had come into the garden, his violet eyes wide with alarm. However, his panic quickly faded as none other than Aesop stepped out into the open, his blood-red eyes gleaming silver in the moonlight.

Luca felt an intense anger begin to boil up within him, his expression furious as he locked gazes with the other vampire. “Why are you here? Haven’t you done enough?!”

Aesop halted in his tracks, glancing back towards the door. “...I didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“I didn’t think you’d come to find me after what you did earlier,” Luca’s voice shook with poorly suppressed rage, his blood-stained lips pulled back to reveal his sharpened fangs.

Aesop huffed under his breath, continuing in his approach towards the angered survivor. Luca visibly tensed with the closer Aesop drew to him, much to the silver-haired vampire’s annoyance.

“Relax. I’m not gonna take any more blood from you.”

“Of course you aren’t!” Luca practically exploded, causing Aesop to flinch. “You fucking turned me, you idiot!”

The embalmer went silent, averting his gaze once more, clearly regretting what he’d done. But Luca didn’t stop there.

“Well, guess what?! Because of you, I attacked my sister! I fucking turned on her and bit her! And it’s all your fault!”

Aesop winced, finding himself completely consumed with guilt. “Okay... First of all, I never intended to turn you... Second of all...” He trailed off for a moment. “There’s not much I can do about it now.”

“Are you kidding me?! I attacked my goddamn sister! And if you hadn’t done this to me, it woulda never happened!” Luca snapped, unable to calm himself down.

Aesop said nothing. He had no idea of how to respond to anything the other survivor was saying. He felt guilty as hell, and honestly? He had good reason to.

He had let himself get far too carried away with taking Luca’s blood. He had been incredibly greedy, and this was his consequence.

And so, because of his guilt, he allowed the other vampire to keep chewing him out, not really sure of what else to do in the situation.

“I could have killed her, Aesop.” Tears had begun to well up in Luca’s eyes once more. “I could have killed her, and she would have been dead! And no one could fix it!”

“You literally couldn’t kill her, you weren’t hungry enough, and I doubt you could even take that much blood so early...” Aesop mumbled under his breath, not wanting to actually speak up about it because he knew that Luca wouldn’t be in a good frame of mind to actually listen.

“I woulda had my sister’s blood on my hands! My fucking sister! She’s one of the only people I actually care about in this hellhole! I-I don’t know what I’d do with myself if anything happened!” He sniffled, his shoulders shaking. “There’s a difference between killing a random person and killing someone you care about... And I don’t wanna be reminded of what that feels like... Not again...”

Aesop was quiet for a moment. “Luca, nobody’s dead. Sure, that could’ve happened, but it didn’t. The past is in the past, and you’re just gonna screw yourself over more if you keep reflecting on it.”

When Luca spoke again, his voice came out as a bitterly broken hiss. “Aesop, you don’t understand! If I did it now, who’s to say I won’t try to do it again?? I might kill her next time! All because you decided that you wanted a snack!”

Aesop became defensive at the accusation. “I was starving, Luca. I didn’t realize it would turn you. And if you listen to me for five goddamn seconds, it won’t happen again.”

Luca’s wings fluttered for a moment. “Why should I listen to you?! For all I know, you’ll find a way to make things worse somehow!”

Aesop sighed. “Look. I know for a fact that you’re still hungry. Give it a week or two, and you’ll be after Tracy again. You’ll end up putting her in the same situation I ‘put’ you in. Do you want that to happen?”

Luca was silent, though the intensity of his violet-eyed glare didn’t lessen.

“Hurting people is, for the most part, optional. So if you don’t want to hurt her, you’re gonna have to listen to me.”

Luca huffed irritably before responding. “Fine. I’ll listen to you... But if I still hurt her, I’ll make you regret being born.”

The embalmer rolled his eyes at that statement. “Yeah, you have fun with that.” He glanced over at Luca, narrowing his eyes as he noticed that the other vampire was glaring sourly at him. “Don’t give me attitude, I swear to god. I’ll kick your ass.”

“You shoulda thought about that before you turned me into a fucking vampire,” Luca retorted angrily. “And I’d like to see you try to attack me again.”

Aesop snickered. “You think I would purposely give you immortality? Fuck no! I don’t want to deal with you any longer than I have to.”

“Well, too bad for you, ‘cuz you’re stuck with me now!” Luca sneered, sticking his tongue out at the other vampire. “Besides, it’s all your fault anyway.”

“Why are you so insistent on that?”

“Because it is!”

Aesop raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Please, elaborate on how preventing myself from starving to death is cause for you to hate me with such a burning passion.”

“You could have chosen anyone else. But no! It just had to be me, didn’t it?”

“Really? Name literally one person I could have gotten away with.” A challenging gleam appeared in the embalmer’s blood-red eyes. “Name one person.”

“Let’s see... Freddy and Kreacher off the top of my head. Nobody cares about them. I fed off of Freddy myself just a few minutes ago,” Luca replied, a snarky tone in his voice.

“They’re both cryptids,” Aesop pointed out. “Unless the victim is 100% human, neither of us get jack-shit out of it.”

Luca looked away with a scowl, crossing his arms. After a moment, he spoke again. “Fine. Who else is human around here?”

“Nobody, as far as I know.” The silver-haired vampire paused. “Tracy and Helena are. But we both know why both of those people are terrible ideas.”

Luca cursed under his breath, not wanting to admit that Aesop was right.

“Tracy’s got an army of robots to defend herself with, and Helena’s got at least half the manor on her side, including two werewolves and a literal Mother Bear.”

Luca shot a glare back in Aesop’s direction, remaining silent.

“What? I’m right, aren’t I?”

The other vampire still didn’t answer. He knew Aesop was right, but he was far too ticked off at him to admit it.

Under his mask, Aesop had a smug grin on his face, and it didn’t take Luca long to pick up on it.

“Stop,” Luca hissed, his eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“C’mon. I know you’re smiling under that stupid mask.”

Aesop hummed in amusement, raising an eyebrow. “Hm. I have no idea why you’d think that, Luca.”

“I can see it on your face!” Luca insisted, his wings flapping slightly.

Aesop barely held back a chuckle. “You can’t see shit.”

“I can see shit, and I know you’re smiling! I’ll rip that dumb mask off your face to prove it!” Luca threatened, inching closer to the other survivor with a devious smirk on his face.

“Oh no, you will not.”

“Yes I will!”

“If you touch my mask, I’ll make you regret it,” Aesop growled, putting a hand to his mask defensively.

Luca snorted, unconvinced by the embalmer’s threat. “Ah yes, I’m so scared.” His wings fanned out behind him in a mocking display.

The two vampires stared at each other for a moment, with Luca looking as smug as ever and Aesop looking completely irritated.

“Seriously, don’t touch it. Please.”

Luca snickered, his wings folding against his back once more. “Alright fine. I won’t touch it... At least, for now.”

Aesop sighed, silently cursing himself for the millionth time that day for turning the other survivor. Luca smiled, enjoying the small victory he’d gained in the moment.

They were silent for a few minutes, before Aesop decided to speak again.

“Oh, and uhh... Just one thing.” He paused. “Just wanna make sure you know... You are still going to have to take blood.”

Luca scowled. “And if I refuse?”

“You’ll starve, you’ll go feral, and you’ll attack someone,” Aesop responded, his expression serious. “It’s why I attacked you. It was because I was starving.”

Luca fell quiet for a moment. “Then why didn’t you eat before that?”

“...Like I said, cryptid blood doesn’t work.” The embalmer averted his gaze. “...I didn’t really have any other options... I had meant to just take what I needed from you and get out of there, but... Things got out of hand.”

Luca didn’t seem to be entirely satisfied with the answer he got, but he didn’t push the subject further. “I guess that kinda makes sense...”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“...You okay?” Aesop finally asked, looking over at Luca.

“You mean besides spontaneously growing wings out of my back, getting the sudden urge to suck out my sister’s blood, and then being forced to feed on a rabbit man to try to satisfy that same bloodlust? Yeah, life is just fucking wonderful right now,” Luca replied, though his tone was slightly less salty than it had been previously.

“Sorry I asked...” Aesop grumbled, slightly irritated that the other vampire wasn’t letting go of his grudge.

Silence.

“Soo... If Tracy and Helena are the only two humans here... Where the hell do you get blood now??”

Aesop laughed sarcastically in response, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. “No idea!”

Luca narrowed his eyes, slightly annoyed.

Aesop noticed his glare and shook his head, sighing. “There’s probably someone else. I just gotta go around and check.”

Luca’s expression turned to one of utter disbelief.

“What?”

“You don’t know?!” Luca exclaimed, surprised that Aesop wasn’t more well-organized with this whole ordeal, considering how he was about literally everything else.

The silver-haired vampire glared at the other survivor. “If I had known of someone else, I wouldn’t have gotten this screwed over.” He thought for a moment. “...Worst case, you can always take a little from Tracy while I figure it out, but I have a feeling you’re going to get mad at me for suggesting it.”

He paused, his gaze and voice softening a bit when he spoke again. “She’ll probably let you if you ask.”

Luca sighed, his wings drooping a bit. “I really don’t wanna take from her... But I know she’s probably gonna suggest it herself...”

“Don’t worry, you won’t hurt her. She might be a little bit tired for some time after, but it’s nothing rest can’t solve.”

Luca was quiet, thinking for the first time since the conversation had started. Aesop watched him for a moment before looking away, his gaze shifting to the night sky outside the garden window.

“So... When are you gonna have to get more blood? I’d rather you not get that hungry again,” Luca asked, though he still didn’t look the other survivor in the eyes.

“It’ll be around a month. Hopefully I can find someone before then,” Aesop answered, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “If I don’t... I’ll just be really off until I figure something out.

“I hope ya do. I’d rather you not do anything to my sister, and I don’t think anyone wants to find out what would happen if you messed with Helena.”

“Usually, when I go feral, I end up going after someone who won’t change anything. You’re not really in your right mind to figure that out. You know that,” Aesop pointed out.

The embalmer really wasn’t entirely sure on anything he had suggested. He didn’t know how Tracy could be affected by any sort of blood-taking for an extended period of time, and he didn’t know for a fact that there even were any other humans in the manor to feed off of.

He just had to act like he knew what he was doing, and hope that Luca believed him. He could figure it out later.

Luckily, the other vampire seemed to understand, and he nodded solemnly. “I guess you’re right...”

Aesop was quiet for a moment. “Trust me, it’s not all that bad. You’ll get used to it.”

Luca shrugged. “Yeah...”

The two vampires avoided eye contact, sitting in silence for a few moments long before Aesop finally stood up. “Well... I’m going to sleep now.” He glanced at the other survivor. “You should... probably get some rest too.”

Luca sighed. “Yeah... I think I’m gonna sit out here for awhile. Try to get my head on straight.”

“Makes sense.” Aesop paused. “I’ll... See you tomorrow at some point? I mean, it’s kinda impossible to avoid you around here.” He chuckled, though he didn’t meet Luca’s gaze.

Luca said nothing, but simply nodded in agreement.

Without another word, Aesop left, leaving Luca alone once more to reflect on all that had happened that day.

[woppy42]

Strangers

A birthday present for @mememic-bry, featuring her cool OC En and a certain mothy cryptid. (Thanks for giving me a good title! :D)

The wind was cooler, now.

Through her perpetual haze, En had noticed other things, too. The days were shorter. The sky was grayer. The forest was chill and damp, and the air had a bite of pine and old leaves and rusting things.

A gust of wind blew, dislodging one of the final leaves to cling tenaciously to its branch. En raised a hand toward it as it spiraled past her. The leaf passed through her fingers like they were fog, landing among its fallen brethren on the forest floor – a single spot of color in the endless expanse of sodden brown leaves.

She tried to feel something. Disappointment. Wistfulness. Yearning. All but the faintest shadow of those emotions seemed lost to her. Fitting, in a way, since she was only a shadow of an existence.

En closed her eyes and stood, just breathing.

-=-=-=-=-

She had taken corporeal form again. She couldn't remember why, or when, or whose face it was that she currently wore.

Time had passed, too, although she couldn't say how much. She had drifted for a while. There was some memory of old railway tracks long fallen into disuse. She wondered where they led, who laid them, what had traveled them. She had followed the tracks while she thought, heedless of time or the world around her. A week could have passed. Or an hour. Or a month.

It didn't matter.

She inhaled, and shuddered slightly with the reminder she could now feel the chill in the air instead of just being aware of its presence. She could taste the air now, too. It was much colder, and cleaner somehow. The taste of snow.

As if conjured by her realization, fat white flakes began to drift down from the sky. A thin layer of white began to cover the array of dead foliage, branches, and slumbering plant life that covered the forest floor. It was calming, but ephemeral. Like a blanket pulled over a pile of clutter. A strange memory. Was it hers?

She let her mind wander as her body did the same.

-=-=-=-=-

Her thoughts returned to her body with a jolt when she nearly tripped over an object half-buried in the snow. Curious, she crouched down and examined it. An old road sign.

Her fingers drifted across the surface of the abandoned sign, feeling the cool of the metal and the rough texture of the rust covering most of its surface.

“Pleasant,” she read aloud, her voice unfamiliar to her ears. A name? A slogan? It was impossible to tell; rust had eroded nearly all the text. She left it to be buried in the snow and continued forward.

-=-=-=-

It was Christmastime, she realized.

Her wandering had led her straight into a town. Strains of cheerful music drifted through the air, accompanied by the tinkle of shop bells and the sounds of laughter and pleasant conversation. She let herself wander through the crowd, pretending to be part of it.

A man jostled her shoulder and turned to her with a start.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there.” He frowned slightly, glancing around the relatively empty street corner. “Must be more distracted than I thought.”

“It's all right,” she said softly.

The streetlight turned, and he gave a pleasant smile before starting to walk away. “Merry Christm--” he trailed off mid-sentence. Who was he talking to? He shook his head and continued down the street. Holiday stress, he decided.

En watched him leave.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.

After nightfall, she found herself sitting atop an old abandoned building, dangling her feet over the edge. Christmas lights twinkled pleasantly below, and the warming scents of cinnamon, cider, chocolate and baked treats wafted upward. A coffeehouse or bakery must be nearby.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck pricked up, and she suddenly became aware of a shadowy figure on the roof with her. She turned slightly, regarding it curiously. Upon seeing her turn toward it, it stepped into the dim light of the moon--but seemed to bring the shadow with it. It seemed almost to be made of darkness, except for eyes that glowed a deep, foreboding red.

A human would have been scared half out its mind, surely, but En was… interested.

There was silence for a moment as the two regarded each other. She couldn’t see them clearly, but for a moment she got the impression of large wings fluttering almost nervously behind the creature.

“How long have you been there?” she asked.

The creature blinked, its red eyes winking out then reigniting. She got the impression it had been some time.

She tried again. “Why are you here?”

The figure lifted an arm and pointed. A few more shops lay in that direction, and the river glistened in the moonlight beyond them.

En shook her head. “I don't understand.”

The creature lowered its arm. Slowly, almost hesitantly, it came closer to her. Its head cocked slightly as glowing eyes fixed her with an intense stare.

“What--”

Suddenly, images flashed before her eyes. People screaming, running, a sense of desperation—a bridge, shining with a silvery metallic finish—a horrible sound. Death. Too much of it.

Incredible sadness.

She gasped as the images faded.

“You tried to warn them,” she whispered.

The figure stared toward the water.

“It's not your fault,” she said softly.

The creature's gaze lowered, and his head seemed to shake slightly.

She sat down on the cold concrete that formed the roof of the building, staring with him into the darkness, moonlight glittering off the water where a bridge had once stood. Perhaps she couldn't convince him, but she could join his vigil. A burden shared is a burden halved, came an unbidden thought.

They stayed that way for hours; a silent watchman and an invisible girl, mourning the past of a world that did not know them.

Eventually, a cold gust of wind reminded her of her corporeal form and she shivered, drawing her clothing tighter about herself. The chill of the concrete seemed to have seeped into her bones. The figure at her side turned toward her, his stance emanating concern. Somehow, since he had shared those images, it seemed easier to read his intentions.

Concern? For her? The concept was foreign, but... not unwelcome.

“I'm fine,” she assured, although the cold added an involuntary tremor to her tone.

He cocked his head, then swooped off the side of the building.

Well. I guess that's that.

It was very unexpected when, a few moments later, he dropped gently back down onto the rooftop beside her.

It was even more unexpected to see that he was carrying a steaming mug.

He offered it toward her, and gratitude overwhelmed confusion as she took it. She wrapped chilled fingers around the mug and breathed deeply—cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg wrapped in a warm, fruity scent. She took a sip and the drink warmed her from the inside out. Memories danced on the edge of her mind.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

Silence fell again, but their gaze drifted from the dark water in the distance to the glowing, cheerful bustle below.

Her recollections of Christmas were dim, but fond. It was a time for coming together in peace and love. Remembering the past, perhaps, but not in a way that caused pain. A time to be content with what you have and enjoy simple pleasures with those who cared for you.

The figure finally sat beside her on the cool of the roof. He didn't seem to give off any warmth, but he didn't contribute to the chill either. His presence was more... an absence of cold. It was odd, but she got the sense that his anguish had receded slightly. He seemed almost peaceful now, silently watching the people go about their shopping and dining and hand-in-hand walks in the cold.

En gripped the cup tightly and took another sip, warmed both by the drink and the care that had brought it to her. She hadn't experienced anything like Christmas in a time beyond telling, but this, well.

Perhaps this was close enough.

[nei-ning]

I had 3 dreams.

1. In first dream I had traveled to Japan with my ex-friend from my childhood. We were, at the late evening / night, in this old wooden building which just kept going no matter where you looked.

There was super tiny kitchen with a customer service desk at the corner, but it was very pretty. Reddish brown wood, some small red decorations etc. As I sat there, rather alone since my friend was doing her own things further behind me, I mumbled to myself how I hadn't bought anything to myself during this short trip since we were leaving in the next day / after some hours. I felt devastated.

Then a young Japanese man, behind the desk, looked at me sitting alone around this small round table. He smiled at me, asking me to move to sit and eat at the desk. He would cook and serve me for free, as a gift because I hadn't got myself anything.

I got happy, slightly excited too, as I lifted my head asking: "Really?" He was smiling and nodded happily. He was so sincere. There was no way I would had refused from that so I moved to sit at the desk which had tiny "eating" level going around it.

He made me this big bowl of ramen which looked so delicious with the broth, nuudles, some vegetables, little bit of meat and that boiled egg - cut in half. I thanked him with a bow as I accepted the food, saying: "Itadakimasu!" before starting to eat. It.was.so.good!

This young man then turned to his left, saying something. After a few seconds he turned on me, smiling, saying they wanted to give me another gift. I was stunned but happily agreed to accept that too. This gift came from an old man who, either, lived there or was some sort of protector of the place. He WAS a Master. Like, very strong high leveled spiritual master. The typical looking. Long white silky beard, slightly or fully bald, dressed in a white "dress" etc.

There was a small stage on my right so I watched the play to start, but forgot to eat since I was captured by the play instantly. On the stage was ancient Rome kind of building / temple with white pillars as this old Master stood in front of it, huge old Chinese dragon (the costume one what's used on events etc) emerging from the building. However, it was a symbol of something which was attached on me, something what I shouldn't have with me. I heard a male voice saying this was a cleansing perform, the Master's gift to me was that he cleanses me. I was fine with that, definitely.

I watched how the Master walked sideways behind two pillars, this dragon trying to get him from between them. Tho his head was too big so he couldn't go between the pillars. Master used his right hand, hitting from up to down, straight on the dragon's face, saying firmly: "Begone!"

He did this a second time, dragon's mask cracking now a bit as it backed away a little, launching towards the Master again but still those pillars were in his way. With the third demand and hit, the Master cut dragon's mask in half, part of it sinking in its head while the eyes popped more or less out of the dragon's head. Now it withdrew back into the darkness and the cleansing was over.

I'd moved to sit back on my previous spot, this Master coming to me. He said nothing as he placed something on the table, my eyes focusing on it. It was slightly long in shape, square too but not too wide, and it was wrapped in the most high quality and wonderful white fabric. I have no idea what the fabric was tho. Or what was inside it. There also was either small red rope or piece of red envelope going around it. It was a gift too, most important and highest of them. I didn't dare to touch it, it simply felt so important. But I was deeply touched, truly appreciating it. Ps. I took it with me, tho.

I then realized I hadn't even do any packing yet and I was supposed to leave in / after 10 hours at max. My luggage was a mess as I tried to pack it, wondering why I had so much (and unnecessary) clothes - like thick and big winter shirts. Then I woke up.

2. Faint memories / flashes. It was dark outside as I, once again, was on a strange place with someone. At the area was said to be a flying demon / - cryptid. At some point it was chasing me - or I was chasing it since I wanted to find out what it was. There also, at one point, was old make priest and he was angry at me. He ranted at me, tried to lecture me and force me to say or do something what he wanted. I was having none of that. I'm not religious person and there's no way I would ever let anyone tell me what to do - if I really didn't want to do it myself. I ended up on tall city building's roof when something snatched me from behind, taking me in the air when, out of nowhere (even that I had sensed it), purple slime kind of demon, ugly, tried to attack me. It jumped after us, but luckily didn't reach my legs. I didn't see my rescuer, but I instantly felt and heard him. It was Akira a.k.a Devilman (from the 90's movies)! Apparently there were people and demons who were after him while he was after the demons who were kidnapping people in the area. Not killing, just kidnapping.

3. Long dream, but I keep it short. Sis and I were at the cemetery and somehow my aunt's big, curvy and beautiful wooden dinner table was there. She doesn't have it in real life. Sis was touching the table, saying she wants it. I told her she can't have it since aunt's own daughter had booked it for herself with some other furniture what sis wanted.

Then, at the edge of the cemetery, was underground room where this middle aged mafioso man, with his members, was gambling via card games. His wife, I think, was nagging at him while showing him how he was playing cards there. She was nagging at him something like how those games were useless and how he only ended up wasting electricity by keeping the lights on there in the underground room during the games. Apparently she cared about the nature a lot.

From the next part I remember this: Sis and I had some big furniture, to her new place, and for a some reason there was a police officer pair. They gave us a ride back to sis' place, escorting us all the way inside of the building, and they both were so kind and humorous. Apparently someone else would bring the furniture. I don't remember what we all talked and joked about, but when they were leaving and existing the building, I yelled after the shorter and thinner officer (short brown hair and more kind / humorous than his partner): "I wish you all the best in life!" I heard him, still, chuckle with his partner (taller, bigger and bald) as he yelled back: "Thank you. Same for you too!"

This was a third dream in my life where I meet and spend time with nice police officer. I don't know why these dreams come to me since, I'm bluntly honest, I don't find cops attractive, hot, sexy etc. No any uniform turns me on :'D

19.7.2021