#He's a kid! He's dreaming and imagining! He's got a thousand lives ahead of him!

[phoenixcatch7]

Man, I want shapeshifter cap SO BAD.

I want to see a Billy that really leans into the wonder of the world, the million paths a child could take in their life.

I want to see a Billy that wants to try everything, at least once.

A Billy that looks at all the people who spit at him, deride him, pity him, dismiss him, ignore him, because he has no future, no prospects, a child in the gutter and say no. I'm going to grow up to be whoever I want to be.

And a captain marvel that says you're going to be amazing.

Billy taking the premise of captain marvels form - his ideal self, a blank slate for Billy to paint his bright colours, the person he wants to be deep inside - and dialling that freedom up to eleven.

A dancer, a dinosaur, a train conductor, a tiger, an ice cream maker, a butterfly, an astronaut, a shark, a college student, a Tamaranean, a mouse, a scuba diver, an elephant, a doctor, a moose, a race car driver, a dog.

A child wanting to see the world.

If you want to find captain marvel, well first you've got to try his comm, probably a couple times.

Then you've got to go to fawcett, hope he's there and not saving the yetis from a salamander invasion in a different dimension.

You've got to ask around, because it often goes by word of mouth here, no matter what technology you bring. Don't worry, it'll spread very quickly, but if you're in a hurry you can find his commemorative statue and leave an offering. No one knows if it really works, but it's a good way to pass the time and feel productive.

Soon, a face will peel out of the crowd. It's always familiar, but it's never the same one.

Wait for the flash of lightning in a cloudless sky.

And then you will find captain marvel.

[jackiearbs]

things that rwrb characters have said that i will never forget, a thread:

alex claremont-diaz, giving off dumbass™ energy (he has the most on this thread, for obvious reasons) 

- "put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room-" 

-  “Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. cornbread knows my sins, Henry. cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”   

- "do it for the 'gram"

- "leading member of korean pop band bts kim nam-june" 

- "whatever, fine. henry is annoyingly attractive. that’s always been a thing, objectively. it’s fine.”

- "see attached bibliography"

- "i said, you look great, baby!”

- "yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe"

- "awesome, fuckin' love doing things out of spite.”

-”Huge Raging Headache Prince Henry of Who Cares”

-”it is amazing you can sit down to write emails with that gigantic royal stick up your ass.” 

- “who names a dog David? He sounds like a tax attorney.”

-” “Do I go on your side of the cubicle and turn off your Dropkick Murphys Spotify station, no matter how much I want to?” Alex demands. “No, Hunter, I don’t.”

- “for fuck's sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night.”

- “Bake Off makes Chopped look like the fucking Manson tapes.”

- “THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW I HAVE ROBBED THEM OF FIVE-STAR ACCOMMODATIONS TO SIT IN A CAGE IN MY ROOM, AND THE MINUTE I TURN MY BACK THEY ARE GOING TO FEAST ON MY FLESH.”

- “You’re from Boston, Hunter. You really want to talk about all the places bigotry comes from?” (he really hates hunter goddamn) 

-”so, what? you want me to quit politics and go become a princess? that’s not very feminist of you.” 

hrh prince dickhead😎  - "the moment you first called me a prick, my fate was sealed. O, fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde! Take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. If only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys with chin dimples are mean to him.”

-"“I’ve been gay as a maypole since the day I came out of Mum, Philip.”

-”i will turn this car around.”

- “yes, the cocaine, alex.” 

-”i am a delight!”

-”have i mentioned lately that you’re a demon?” 

- “are you psychoanalyzing me? i don't think royal guests are allowed to do that.”

- "i can't believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

-“the phrase ‘see attached bibliography’ is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me.”

-"i just mean to say, you know, Philip is the heir and I'm the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty five and I've got malaria, whither the spare?”

- “they wanted something less fruity than the truth, but truly, what is gayer than a woman who languishes away in a crumbling mansion wearing her wedding gown every day of her life, for the drama?”

- “You are a delinquent and a plague. Please come?”

- “fat and sexually conquered, snuffed out in the spring of my youth. Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.”

june:  “- that is a clear quartz crystal for good vibes do not @ me.” 

- “He’s just so frail, it’d only take one good push-”

- “ugh! men! no emotional vocabulary. i can’t believe our ancestors survived centuries of wars and plagues and genocide just to wind up with your sorry ass.” 

nora: 

-”sorry, are we not? did i skip ahead again? my bad. hello, would you like to come out to me? im listening. hi.” 

“prince henry is a biscuit. let him sop you up.”  

- “you’ve been, like, Draco Malfoy–level obsessed with Henry for years.”

- “i don’t know, man. I was in my junior year of high school, and I touched a boob. It wasn’t very profound. Nobody’s gonna write an Off-Broadway play about it.”

dahra: 

- “You need to get back to fucking England now, and if anyone sees you leave, I will personally end you. Ask me if I’m afraid of the crown.”

- “both sides need to come out of this looking like your little slap-fight at the wedding was some homoerotic frat bro mishap, okay? So, you can hate the heir to the throne all you want, write mean poems about him in your diary, but the minute you see a camera, you act like the sun shines out of his dick, and you make it convincing.”

-”come on, you backyard-shooting-range motherfuckers,”

ellen (should i say PRESIDENT claremont) 

- “Diaz, you insane, hopeless romantic little shit"

-  “I had Planned Parenthood send over all these pamphlets, take one! They sent a bike messenger and everything!”

- ”where? Are you hiding a turkey habitat up your ass, son? Where, in our historically protected house, am I going to put a couple of turkeys until I pardon them tomorrow?”

-“As your mother, I can appreciate that maybe this isn’t your fault, but as the president, all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.”

PEZ !!!

- “frolic naked in the hills, frighten the sheep, return to the house for the usual: tea, biscuits, casting ourselves onto the Thighmaster of love to moan about the Claremont-Diaz siblings, which has become tragically one-sided since Henry took it up with you. It used to be all bottles of cognac and shared malaise and ‘When will they notice us’-” 

-”-and now i just ask henry, ‘what is your secret?’ and he says, ‘i insult alex all the time, and that seems to work.’” 

**extra: nicer quotes from alex and henry 

alex heartthrob diaz  - "never tell me the odds"

-"we were not afforded that liberty."

-“I hate this so much. I know. But we’re gonna do it together. And we’re gonna make it work. You and me and history, remember? We’re just gonna fucking fight. Because you’re it, okay? I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. So, I promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.”

- “On purpose. I love him on purpose.”

- “history, huh? Bet we could make some.”

- “But the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable.”

-“Take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.”

- “Someone else’s choice doesn’t change who you are.”

- “I am the First Son of the United States, and I'm bisexual. History will remember us.”

- “America: He is my choice.”

- “Give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart, There's so much of you.”

- the entire list of the things he loves about henry. i would die 

henry: 

-”i’ll be damned but i miss you.” 

- “when you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you. and then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it?”

- “it sounds like you did your best.”

- “I’ve bloody well had it. I’ve sat about long enough letting you and Gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and I’m finished. I don’t care. You can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, Philip. I’m done.”

- “Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?”

[empire-of-wildfire]

HOLIDAY SURPRISE

A @starseternalnighttriumphant X @empire-of-wildfire CHRISTMAS MINI-FIC COLLABORATION

WARNING: GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT. NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS UNDER 18 YEARS OLD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

a/n: here’s part 3!! Sorry it’s not on schedule, we both have been going crazy with work but we worked really hard to get this out for you guys tonight!

Cassian hung up the phone, running his hand down his face in frustration. His partners hadn’t been pleased when he’d told them he was staying in Velaris longer than planned because they needed him to start working on another case, but he told them he would work virtually until he could return. He hadn’t told them about Amina, wanting to keep her to himself for a little while at least. He’d called and arranged for more of his things to be sent to him in a week or so, and he looked into AirBnBs so he wasn’t living in the hotel long-term. He was pretty sure he’d thought of everything that needed to be handled while he stayed here, although something still nagged at him but he ignored it. The possibility that he wouldn’t be returning to Illyria permanently flickered through his mind, but he shoved it away. It was too early to know that. That would require further planning, and likely an extremely uncomfortable discussion with Nesta. If she didn’t kill him first.

Even just thinking about her for a brief moment, she moved to the forefront of his mind like she always had, since the day he left Velaris. Except now it wasn’t just Nesta he couldn't stop thinking about. Now she shared his headspace with Amina.

Amina. Now that he’d had a little while to get over his initial shock, he marvelled at the thought of her. So many times he’d dreamed of the day Nesta would bless him with children, but his imagination couldn’t have ever come up with such a perfect child as the one he met hours ago. He wished he could’ve been there to see her birth, to see her grow into the fiery toddler she was now. He couldn’t wait to see the woman she would become one day. Tough as nails and sharp as a whip, no doubt, with Nesta as her mother.

He was dragged out of daydreams of his daughter by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. He didn’t even look at the screen, assuming it was Rhys calling him to chew him out some more.

“What, Rhys?” He snapped.

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s your other favorite brother,” a deep voice said, sounding amused.

“Oh shit, sorry Az.” Cassian instantly regretted his attitude. He hadn’t even seen his other brother yet in the hours he’d been home, he didn’t deserve his anger. And yet, Azriel had clearly known about Amina, and had kept her from him just like Rhys. “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Feyre… she sounded pretty upset. Mentioned something about you and Nesta and that she wasn’t sure if you were leaving again?” Azriel said the last part slowly, as if afraid of setting Cassian off.

Cassian sighed heavily, bracing for the conversation he knew was about to happen. “How could you not fucking tell me? I don’t give a shit what Nesta threatened, I’m your brother Az. She’s my daughter. I deserved to know.”

“I know Cass, trust me. I wanted to tell you so many times. But I also knew how much your job means to you. I guess I’d just hoped you’d at least come home to visit sooner than this so you didn’t miss so much time, but then the longer it got the less likely I thought it was that you’d ever come home. And I didn’t want the only reason you came home to be because I told you about Amina. I was afraid you’d come to resent me for taking you away from your career, or worse, resent Amina for it. And I couldn’t risk her getting hurt like that.”

Cassian just sat there for a minute, shocked into speechlessness. For all his anger about how he felt about this, he hadn’t stopped to think about how Amina would feel. He’d just decided she would love him automatically, but what if that wasn’t the case? What if she never wanted to know who her father was? Would Nesta have ever told her, even if she didn’t ask?

“Cass? You okay?” Azriel asked tentatively.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

“It’s Christmas Eve, and I know she’s taken the next week off. Go talk to her. I would assume at this point you know where your priorities are, so tell her that. Apologize. Make her see you won’t hurt Amina, or her, and go from there.” Azriel paused, clearly considering something. “She just dropped Amina off with me and Elain. She’s over in the neighborhood by the Sidra.”

Cassian sagged with relief, glad that someone was telling him something at least. “Thanks.”

“Good luck brother,” was his only reply.

Cassian immediately hung up and ran for his car, taking off for the other side of town. The neighborhood Azriel had told him Nesta lived in was pretty small, but he still wasn’t sure how he’d find her house. He slowly drove through the neighborhood, looking at each house for a sign of the fiery woman he hoped was living in one of them. Suddenly he came to a stop in the middle of the street, unable to look away from the house in front of him.

At face value, the house was simple, but elegant. Nothing overly extravagant, but clearly a well loved home. The thing that stopped him in his tracks though, was the front door. All the other homes had very neutral front doors, black, beiges, whites. This door was a bright, crimson red. He was immediately transported back to a different time in his life, when whispered secrets were shared under soft sheets with the woman that held his heart in her hands.

“When we get our own place, like officially ours, I want the front door to be red. I know it’s weird, but I want it to be a statement.” Nesta’s words rang in his head like she just said them, though that conversation was over five years ago.

Evidently Nesta had taken her dreams into her own hands, no longer wanting or needing Cassian with her to make them happen.

Cassian pushed down the twinge of pain and regret that thought caused, then finally parked and got out of the car, making his way slowly towards that bright red door that represented so many missed moments and realized dreams.

Knocking on the door, he braced himself for the wrath of Nesta Archeron.

As soon as she opened the door, she took a step back and ground out, “What do you want?”

“Can I come in?” Nesta hesitated, scanning his face as if looking for something. “Please, Nesta. I just want to talk,” he pleaded.

Finally she nodded, turning and walking into the house, leaving the door wide open since she knew he would follow her. He quickly stepped inside, following her through the house.

He spied the big Christmas tree in the living room, covered in matching ornaments. Nesta had never really been in to Christmas, but he wondered if that had changed now that Amina was in the picture.

He had to admit, he wasn’t expecting Nesta to live in the richer part of town. She must’ve been doing well at the hospital, being paid well if it meant she was living like this. Despite how awkward it felt to be here, to feel her weighted gaze on him, he was glad Amina would be cared for well, even if things didn’t end well and he ended up going back to Illyria.

“How is she?” he asked after a few moments.

Nesta’s whole body was tense as she poured cups of coffee, and he watched her closely just in case she decided to poison him. “She’s fine.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Tell me about her.”

“Oh, all of a sudden you’re interested?” she asked, her pleasant voice not concealing the venom underneath.

“Nesta, please.” He never begged, and she knew it. Her shoulders dropped in acquiescence, and she walked over with the two mugs, setting one down in front of him as she sat at the opposite end of the table.

She looked out the window to where the sky was dark now, and he had forgotten how late it was. But she just gazed out for another moment before she sighed and turned back to her coffee, staring into the mug.

“She’s super smart. She started walking months before the doctor said she would. She started talking months before she was supposed to. She’s leagues ahead of any other kid her age.” A small smile graced Nesta’s mouth. “She’ll be smarter than me one day, if you can believe it.”

Cassian watched her intently, hanging on to every word as Nesta finally relaxed and talked about their daughter. It was clear that Amina was the center of Nesta’s world, a place that had used to be his. He always knew Nesta would be an amazing mother, and his heart clenched when he realized he’d always thought he would be there for that day that she did become one. And he’d missed it all: the moment she found out, the ultrasounds, the birthing classes, the actual birth of his daughter. And the truth of it hit him square in the chest, making him wince.

As if she had sensed it, she stopped talking, eyes roving over him. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

Ouch. He guessed she was ready to move on to the harder parts of a conversation that was four years in the making. She didn’t give him time to reply as she grabbed her mug and placed it in the sink, walking out of the kitchen. He scrambled to follow her, catching up to her in the living room.

“Nes, you know I loved you. So much. I just wanted to prove I was more than the dumb kid I was here. I wanted to see if I could make something of myself.”

She spun on him, her eyes ablaze. “You don’t know how much it hurt when you told me you wanted to leave. I thought it was because of me. Every insecurity I’d ever had about us, warranted or not, came roaring back.”

“Nesta—”

“We’d been together all of high school and college, and then suddenly you wanted to leave and I hardly got any more notice than anyone else did.” She was on a roll now, and didn’t leave any space for him to interrupt. “I mean for cauldron’s sake Cass, we’d talked about our future together! That didn’t involve you being thousands of miles away and leaving me here. So after you left and I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t want to try and make you come back. And I knew if I told you and you still didn’t come back, it would crush me.”

Her words shocked him. Nesta Archeron knew him better than anyone else in the world, knew him better than his own brothers. And for her to think that… “Do you honestly think that if you’d called me and said we were having a baby, I wouldn’t come back and be there for you? For fuck’s sake Nesta, I can practice law anywhere.”

She crossed her arms stubbornly, fire in her gaze. “You fucking left, Cassian. You wanted to chase your dream, you were so focused on being such a hotshot lawyer, so forgive me for thinking that a baby would ruin that pipe dream for you!”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’ve known me for how fucking long, Nesta?” his voice was hard, and he was struggling not to raise it but he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. “Do you think for one second I would’ve stayed in Illyria if I had known you were pregnant with our child?”

Her jaw clenched. “I didn’t need you to stay here out of guilt that you knocked me up.”

“Gods, Nesta, I’m not standing here because I feel fucking guilty. I’m here right now because I never stopped loving you!”

She froze, her face a mask of pure shock. For once she was left speechless, and Cassian took advantage of it. He closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands and kissing the hell out of her.

He wasn’t expecting her to return his fervor, her hands sliding up around his neck, tangling in the locks at the base of it. Every nerve ending came alive at her touch, his body reacting to her the way it used to over four years ago. The feel of her mouth was like coming home, so familiar and intoxicating that he had half a mind to wonder why he ever left her.

He grabbed her up, somehow finding his way to her bedroom and settling her down on her bed, hands slipping her out of her shirt. As he pulled it up over her head, he realized it was one of his old shirts from college. His heart clenched painfully, lungs refusing to breathe. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what Nesta keeping his things meant. But he wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t push just yet.

As soon as he had her completely naked before him, he pulled back to take in every inch of her. She was completely breathtaking; her sharp angles and curves were softer now, likely an after effect of giving birth. But it didn’t matter to him. This was Nesta, the one woman that he would never get over, no matter what happened between them.

He slid his hand over hip and up her stomach, watching goosebumps pebble her skin. Before he could reach her breast, she sat up and grabbed him, impatiently pulling at his clothes to get him on the same playing field. He chuckled, helping her get himself undressed. He leaned over her again but she surprised him by wrapping a leg around his hip and flipping their positions. She was now atop him, gloriously naked above him, her golden brown hair falling around her shoulders and down her back. Her face was vulnerable, open, her eyes already blown with desire. She was a goddess.

She leaned down to meet his mouth, kissing him long and deep. He groaned against her lips when her hand found his already hard length, stroking him softly. When she ran the tip of him between her folds, he was ready to lose his godsdamn mind.

“Nesta,” he breathed, her name coming out like the holiest of prayers.

She wasted no time in sliding down onto him, and he was already lost in pleasure that he almost missed the sharp gasp that left the woman atop him. She stilled, adjusting to him after so many years apart. His hands wrapped around her hips, thumbs caressing her skin as he met her steely gaze.

“Lost for words?” he quipped, the left side of his mouth hitching up into a smirk.

Her nostrils flared, but instead of shooting a venom-laced reply back at him, she moved her hips, effectively shutting him up and leaving him incapable of any cocky remarks. Her hands braced against his chest as she began to ride him, and he wondered if he was going to die from this. He hadn’t been celibate since he’d left her, but every single motion of hers was threatening to undo the very threads of his life. Coming together after so long was going to ruin him, but he didn’t care.

He watched her as she moved on him, rolling his own hips to meet her movements. She clenched around him and he swore, fingers digging into her hip as his other hand came down between her legs to stroke the sensitive bundle of nerves there. When she let out a breathy moan, he knew she was his again.

He continued his ministrations, watching in awe as Nesta started her ascent, writhing and moaning above him. He took over her movements, thrusting into her slow and deep, feeling every inch of her. When he knew she was close, he sat up, seated inside her at a dizzying angle. He captured her mouth, tongue invading her mouth as he picked up his pace, thumb circling her clit torturously.

Her back arched, chest pressing against his and then she was crying out his name and spasming around him, body shaking as her orgasm overtook her. He didn’t stop, continuing to stroke into her, his mouth on her neck as she trembled. He rolled them so she was on her back, his body resting against hers as he continued his pace, hips stuttering as she clenched around him one last time. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, pulling him even closer, her nails raking gently down his back until her hands were on his behind, urging him to go faster. 

He didn’t resist, bracing himself on his arms as he looked down at her, taking in her pink cheeks and glazed gray-blue eyes. She held his gaze, hands coming back up to slide along his jaw, pulling him back down to kiss him softly. Her kiss seared his mouth, and he sighed in content against her lips, savoring the way she tasted.

“I love you,” she whispered, the worst so quiet he wasn’t sure if he’d even heard her right. His eyes shot open, brows furrowing in surprised but she just kissed him again, holding him close.

Her lips found the juncture of his shoulder and when her teeth dug into his skin, he found release, choking out her name as he emptied inside her, all but collapsing on top of her sweat-slicked form. He couldn’t think straight, could only focus on all five senses that were overwhelmed by Nesta. Everywhere they touched was like fire, all he could smell was her and the evidence of what they’d done. His head was on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, and the memory of her coming undone kept playing in his mind. He felt no better than a house cat as she ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

When he finally lifted his head, it was to place a light kiss to her collarbone, to her jaw, to her swollen lips. Her eyes were already half-closed, trying to fight off sleep, but her mouth curved into the soft smile that had captured his heart all those years ago.

It wasn’t until she was sound asleep that he ran a thumb over her cheek and whispered, “I love you too.”

-

@werewolffprince @schmlip-scribble @justgiu12 @westofmoon @legallyhermione @love-is-a-contradiction @shyvioletcat @oversizedbats @superspiritfestival @ladywitchling @disgreisful @empress-ofbloodshed @lovemollywho @highqueenofelfhame @rocky99 @sayosdreams @mynewdreamwasyou @whydoineedtowriteanamehere @charincharge @sjm-things @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @queenestarcheron @julemmaes @littlehoneyybee @throne-of-crescent-roses @sleeping-and-books @agentsofsheilds @that-golden-lyre @swankii-art-teacher​ @nessiantho @mythicaitt

[silverfootstepswrites]

Eden: BLEACH [2]

ZERO / BLEACH (here) / TWIST / REVERSE / DYE / RED

++++

One lives in the hope of becoming a memory. - Antonio Porchia

++++

There was a knock on the open door. Sakura scowled before she even looked up.

“Go away.”

“You sound more and more like him with every day.”

Sakura finally lifted her head from the ancient manuscript. She lowered her magnifying glass. 

“Headmaster,” she greeted Hashirama. The older man, who hadn’t aged a single day since she had first met him, smiled in return. He lingered in the doorway, well aware of the fact that she hadn’t actually invited him inside. She just blinked at him. 

Hashirama sighed. 

“You’re really just like him. I wanted to let you know that those spell books you requested last month are finally here,” he informed her. And then his eyes drifting to the pile sitting on her desk. “Oh… you already got them?”

Sakura paused. The truth was that she recalled in her long nightmare several days ago that these books would arrive. Just to be sure, she had popped into the library to check. And there they were. Labelled with her name and her department. 

It was unsettling- if that was the right word for a situation like this.

Coincidences happened all the time. But was it a coincidence if so many of them piled up at once like this?

“How goes the research?” Hashirama then asked. 

In response, Sakura extended her hand. She imagined the molecules in the air gathering into a solid surface. The shield expanded, shoving Hashirama all the way out the door. Hashirama examined the shimmering surface of the shield. When he poked it, static electricity crackled off the outside. He jerked his hand back. 

“That’s a nice touch,” he commended. And then he waved his hand. “Alright. I get the hint. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Thank you,” Sakura replied, already turning back to her reading. 

Madara cackled when Sakura recounted the encounter to him that night.

“Good. Keep that geezer far away from you,” Madara agreed, crunching a pistachio between his back molars. 

Sakura thought for a moment. She turned away from the stove for a moment. It was her turn to cook dinner. “You’re no spring chicken yourself, Papa,” she reminded him. Madara frowned at her. 

Sakura paused. She lowered her spatula. 

“Sorry, was that too much?” she asked. 

But Madara only smirked, leaning against the counter. He ruffled her hair. 

“Don’t worry about that kind of crap, kid. We’re always fine,” he assured her. And then he pointed at the pan. Sakura went back to stirring the garlic before it could burn. 

“Quit snacking on those. You’ll ruin your appetite,” Sakura told him. She heard him chuckle.

“Are you my grandmother? Quit nagging.” And then he crunched through another pistachio, grinding it to pieces between his teeth. 

Later that night, Sakura laid on her bed, phone pressed to her ear. 

“Are you sure you won’t come? The guys are cute. I promise,” Ino pleaded one last time. And then she added: “Sorry. It’s just… I haven’t seen you in forever. I miss you.”

And Sakura smiled at the ceiling. 

“Yeah. I’ll sit this one out, Ino. I’m not feeling it,” Sakura answered. She heard Ino sigh. 

Before Ino could worry too much, Sakura then said: “I do appreciate the invites, Ino. I know you’re just thinking about me. I’ll be at the next one.”

Ino’s tone brightened. “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”

“Take pictures so I can see them later.”

“Yeah yeah. I’ll drop by the shop?” 

“Yeah.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Letting out a sigh, Sakura dropped the phone and rolled onto her side. She stretched her arms over her head. As she lay there, she could hear footsteps downstairs. She thought for a moment. And then her mouth opened. 

“Papa,” she called.

No response. 

She considered getting up, and then she extended her left arm. Pointing, she flicked her wrist as she called him again. 

This time, the “Papa” traveled down the stairs, spreading through the third floor like mist. She could feel the way the word surged ahead, knocking walls and doors, spreading until she was sure that it could be heard everywhere.

There was a pause. And then she felt Madara’s magic wash over her in a wave. Soft. Just a little warm- as were the spells of most fire affinity casters.

What.

I’m bored.

There was a drawn-out exhale. Madara trudged up the stairs, his glasses dangling from the chain around his neck. He stood in the doorway, hand on his hip. 

“What do you want me to do about that?” he demanded. 

Sakura tilted her head to look at him. 

“Dunno. I wanna eat something.”

Madara squinted at her. “We had dinner.”

Sakura stared right back at him. 

He pushed off the doorway, already walking out of the room. 

“You want toast?”

“With butter and jam,” she called after him. Hugging a pillow to her chest, she fell back on the bed again.

“Brat,” he grumbled, stomping down the stairs. 

Sakura laughed. 

They stood at the counter eating together, barefoot, scolding each other for getting crumbs everywhere. 

Sakura loved the way the butter melted in her mouth, mixing with the sweet taste of strawberries. Madara even cut the toast into triangles, just the way she liked, even though she had never once asked him to. 

It struck her, staring out the kitchen window, how fortunate she was. The people who had abandoned her had never written or called. She was sure that the Senju Institute and Madara knew of some way to get in touch with them. But she didn’t want to know. 

Madara had taught her when everyone else said there was something defective about her. He had given her a place to belong. And as all these thoughts swam around in her head, Sakura let her head fall against Madara’s arm. 

“You know…” 

Madara looked at her as he took a bite of his toast. 

“I really like being here with you, Papa. I feel happy here,” she told him. 

Madara stopped chewing. He looked away. 

“Then stick around, kid. It’s not bad having you around too,” Madara replied, not meeting her eyes. 

Sakura beamed. She didn’t have to say anything else. They finished eating their late-night snack together. Brushing crumbs off their face and licking jam from their fingers once they were done. 

++++

On the days that she wasn’t working at the dream shop, Sakura was working on her own research. Her thesis was exploring how magical barriers and fields interact with dreams. If shields and charms were cast in the real world, would those protections extend to dreams? (No.) Could they be manipulated to work in dreams? (Maybe- she wasn’t sure yet.)

Her undergraduate studies in abjuration focused mostly on shields and banishment. Shisui had laughed when she announced her major to them one morning at the shop. As Itachi and Sasuke both punched his arms, he tried to explain that it was a good thing. 

Of course you would want to protect people. That’s just like you.

Everyone in the Uchiha family agreed that Sakura’s shields had a kick to them. They didn’t just block. They fought back when attacked. One of her favorite shields was one that she liked to call The Urchin. It looked like any other shield- clear but shimmering faintly under the right light. If touched gently, it had no reaction. But if struck with force, thousands of spikes rose out of the surface to stab the threat. 

For Sasuke, who favored evocation magic, Sakura’s shields were a great source of amusement as he tried to find ways to break them down with fireballs and bolts of lightning. And Sakura in turn would then work to fix those weaknesses to render his attacks harmless. Neither of them ever admitted it out loud, but their playful competition was what had probably driven both of them to excel in their studies during their undergrad years. 

Itachi worked almost exclusively with illusions. His ability to blur illusions with reality made him a fearsome sparring partner. It was no surprise that he had graduated at the top of his class in record time. Even now, his old professors joked that Itachi had walked into the school and then walked out with his diplomas. 

Shisui was the only one among them that hadn’t gone on to college. But that didn’t seem to bother anyone- especially not his parents. Because as soon as it was legal, Shisui was scouted to work with the city’s observatory to test how celestial bodies and their positions influenced casting. It was a new field that not many people were familiar with. Shisui had a tendency to pack his car with his telescope and spectrometer and drive off into the mountains whenever the skies were clear. If his frequent absences irritated Madara, he didn’t say anything. 

With so many people around her who excelled at magic, it wasn’t hard to find someone to assist her with research on most days. Even her friends from school, Ino and Naruto, were usually around to lend a helping hand. 

But Sakura liked it best when Madara was the one to help her with her experiments.  

“Because I ask the least amount of stupid questions,” he guessed when she told him so. 

They sat cross-legged in Sakura’s room in the dream world. Madara looked around at all the crystals that filled the tall shelves. She had recently extended the height of her room just to accommodate them all. 

“No. You just… you’re good at knowing how to help. You’re kind of a natural, Papa,” Sakura replied. 

Before Madara could touch any of the dreams, Sakura made a sweeping gesture with both her hands. The room around them dissolved into a gentle blue mist. And when it reformed, they were standing in what looked like the city park. There was even a swing creaking gently in the breeze nearby. 

Madara was sitting on a boulder now. He patted the surface a few times, nodding approvingly. 

“The texture’s pretty realistic. You’ve got a good eye for detail,” he commented.

Sakura took a moment to smile before she closed her eyes and gathered energy into her palms again. This time, when she swept her arms, the particles in the air began to vibrate, knitting together. Closer and closer, closing the gaps until they formed a standard shield. 

Madara picked up a small stone and tossed it at the shield. It bounced off. 

“Well. Looks like it’s holding this time around.”

As he spoke, the smooth surface of the shield began to ripple. Like a soap bubble, it popped. Sakura’s arms fell to her sides. Her lips jutted out. 

“Oh man, I thought I really had it this time,” she lamented. 

But Madara just patted the empty spot beside him. Sakura made her way over. She climbed up on the boulder and plopped down beside him. 

“I wonder why shields don’t work in dreams. It would be helpful for lots of people,” she grumbled. She pulled her knees up to her chest. 

“Why’d you choose something so hard? No one’s ever managed to make abjuration magic last here. The dream world doesn’t follow the regular laws of nature,” Madara pointed out. And as if to drive the point home, he held up his pointer finger. A flame appeared at the tip. Only it was burning upside down. 

Sakura copied him. She lowered the temperature of the magic until it turned a dull, almost brownish color. When she lowered her hand, the flame dissipated completely.

“There’s lots of people. Kids especially. Who feel scared. And maybe they didn’t have some weird artificer popping into their heads every night to make the nightmares go away,” she explained. When she met Madara’s eyes, he was smiling again. Sighing, he patted her head a couple times. 

“You got a real heart of gold. You know that, right?” he commended. But the praise almost sounded a little sad. 

Madara’s hand fell away. 

“By the way, I wanted to ask.”

“Yeah, Papa?”

“You’ve been at home a lot lately. Something happen with your friends?”

It wasn’t like Madara to pry into her private matters. He hadn’t asked why she had started casting a barrier over their home every night before they went to bed. And he didn’t ask why she had suddenly started texting him every day while she was at work. 

It was just a nightmare. One of countless ones she had dreamt over all these years. It still made her feel sick to remember the scene. So much blood. 

She did feel guilty for not speaking to Gaara again. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But the image of him laying dead there next to Madara had felt too strange. Part of the reason she had chosen to minor in divination was because dreams and divination were often linked together. Dreams could be a warning of some events to come. And if Gaara was part of that ominous message, she didn’t want to involve herself with him in any way. 

“Just been busy. Too tired to go out, mostly. Everything’s fine with my friends. Ino’s gonna drop by the shop tomorrow. I might get lunch with her,” Sakura replied, looking down at her hands. 

They both looked up as they heard distant beeping. 

“That’s your alarm,” Sakura told him, turning to Madara again. 

He hadn’t aged a day since he had picked her up from the Senju Academy all those years ago. She knew that really talented casters who were constantly working with magic often lived much longer. Bathing in all that energy had a rejuvenating effect. She suspected that her aging would begin to slow soon too. It was rumored that Professor Tobirama and Professor Hashirama were centuries old- although no one would know from looking at their faces. 

Madara nodded. 

“See you soon, kid.”

He tapped her shoulder once before he dissolved into black mist. 

When Sakura opened her eyes, she could hear the faucet running in the bathroom. Her phone was buzzing on her nightstand. She reached over to hit the snooze button. The faucet shut off. 

“Papa,” she croaked half into her pillow. 

There was a pause. When she pried one eye open, Madara was opening her bedroom door. There was a towel around his neck.

“Pancakes,” was all she mumbled. 

Madara rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, Your Highness,” he complained, closing the door again. 

++++

The peaceful days continued even as the weather grew cold. Snow fell on the city, but the inside of the dream shop stayed cozy thanks to an enchantment cast by Madara at the beginning of every winter. 

Sakura didn’t really have to duck her head when she entered the store. But her cousins did. It was one of the few times when she was glad to be so much shorter. 

She unwrapped her scarf and tossed it into the air. It hovered there. Waiting until she unzipped her coat and threw it too. Only then did the magic whisk them both away to hang on the coat rack.

“Morning,” Sasuke said from behind the counter.

“Hi. I’m freezing,” she replied. Nose red from the cold, Sakura rubbed her hands together. 

“There’s still some coffee in the break room. Help yourself,” Sasuke told her. And when he began taking off his hoodie for her, Sakura waved his offer away. 

When she approached, Sasuke turned the appointment book around so she could see the day’s schedule. Itachi was upstairs dealing with a client already. She didn’t have anything booked until after lunch today. 

“Shisui?” she called. 

“In storage,” came a muffled reply. 

She found him digging through one of the shelves. To the side were rolled pieces of paper. She picked one up and opened it to find a star map. 

“What’s this?”

Shisui’s head popped up. 

“Ah. Weather looks real clear tomorrow. I’m gonna head out and get some readings.”

Sakura felt her knees buckle. She gripped the edge of the shelf as she remembered something else from that nightmare that had never faded from her mind. 

“Shi.”

“Yeah?”

When she didn’t speak, Shisui straightened. Dusting off his shirt, he stepped toward her. When he saw the look on her face, he rushed the last few steps. He grasped her shoulders.

“Hey hey hey. What’s wrong?” 

Sakura grabbed his forearms. 

“Do you have to go?” 

“What?”

“On your trip. Do you have to go?”

“Yeah, kid. Been planning this for a while. What’s wrong?” he said, slowly. He searched her face as he spoke. She hated the way his forehead wrinkled with concern. Hated even more the way Sasuke opened the door. Standing there with his fists held in front of him, as if getting ready to punch whatever had upset her. 

“What’d you say, you turd?” Sasuke snapped. He shoved Shisui aside. He ducked to get a better look at Sakura’s expression. 

“You don’t look so good. Let’s go sit down,” Sasuke suggested. He took her hand. Waited for her to slowly curl her fingers around his. As he guided her to the door, Itachi appeared. His face brightened as he spotted her.

“Hey. When’d you get here?” he greeted her.

The warmth in his voice made her burst into tears. 

“What’d you two say to her?” Itachi immediately accused. He crossed the threshold to wrap his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. He patted her back as he went on with his scolding the others. “She’s tired enough as is without you two saying something stupid to her.”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

“I just said I was going on a trip.”

Sakura bawled into Itachi’s shirt. She didn’t have the energy to care how stupid she must look. She needed to tell Shisui not to go. Not go away. Because what if that awful dream came true and he disappeared forever again? And then Itachi would go too. And to imagine the sorrow in Sasuke’s face hurt more than all those other things put together. 

“Sasuke, go get her something to drink. Shisui, go get a blanket out of the back,” Itachi was ordering now. And then he lowered his voice. 

“There there. Cry it out. You’ll feel better once you do,” Itachi murmured, patting her back again. 

[rattyarts]

Huge-ask post (I am VERY funny)

Because I have so many questions that can be answered with just text, and I have mentioned my dislike of filling my art blog up with Words Words Words... let’s get them all done in one go!

(You guys can blacklist #rattytalks if you’re just here for the draws, btw)

A shit ton of asks under the cut!

Anonymous said: So for the center of the world, what with it being forcefully PG and all Bad Thoughts TM being prevented, how does having kids happen? Do parents just black out and wake up holding a child in their arms and vague memories of the last 9 months?

Ever seen a movie where they do that “and one day... a baby was born!” thing and a kid just appears offscreen with no explanation?

(This is how it works everywhere, Edgelands included; no one does the do or gets pregnant in this setting.)

Anonymous said: Hello! Quick question, and sorry if you’ve answered this before, but can other elves see the “intangible” bits of one another? Big fan of your work btw!

Nope! And thank you!

Anonymous said: Leopold was in my dream last night but I sadly cannot remember any of it.

I am SO sorry. I will try to keep my stinky murder men out of your head in the future.

Anonymous said: are the floaty bits stuck in one spot, or could the one they are attached to learn to move them around their body as long as its still within a certain distance? like, someone with the Floaty limbs, lets call him Ray, can move his limbs all over his body, allowing him to do all sorts of neat things that others with their attached limbs probably couldn't?

Whatever you want, honestly. As a general rule of thumb I don’t like putting down TOO many hard rules that prevent people from having fun with this setting. (Please ignore and scrap anything you think is stupid, I do this all the time and enjoy keeping this setting inconsistent and contradictory)

Anonymous said: Do elf names work off of Death Note rules, or is it like, if you know one elf’s name, all elves with that name are now unable to harm you? So if all the elf brothers are named Martin, for example, does it only work with blue?

I think it’s prolly just the one! Probably? Idk, might change if I think of something funnier.

Anonymous said: Can elves do magic on themselves or does thst go against the knowing name rule

Most people tend to know their own names, lol. So in my opinion, no, but don’t let me stop you if you got a fun idea.

Anonymous said: Could an Elf stitch on parts from another elf and have them work? i.e an Elf's finds the arm of another Elf. "Hey, free arm, might as well put it to good use", so they attach the arm and now they can give three high fives at once!

Same deal as previous questions, I personally would say no, but I also encourage people to do whatever the hell they want. It’s more fun that way!

Anonymous said: I bet elves are greasy to the touch.

They’re very powdery! Like if you rolled them in flour. And by flour I mean nasty glowing elf dandruff.

Anonymous said: Can elves fly or are their wings just for show?

No flying!!! (Unless you’re a mousefly)

Anonymous said: Something tells me that the elves would LOVE Obatzda.

Had to look that up, but definitely!

no1fan15: Not sure if someone asked already- Does Edgeworld have any equivalent to demons and angels? Like the old rubberhose cartoon kind?

Demons, yes! That’s what imps are: basically any demon, devil, or generic monster, but tiny! Even a couple of pop culture critters in there, there’s probably a very small gillman or robot monster running around there somewhere.

Angels, not so far. 

Anonymous said: How come Margaret hasn't yeeted George's jar into the Edge yet

I’d say being locked in a closet is good enough! (and also I need him for plot reasons, don’t tell anyone)

Anonymous said: If elves have knees bulges in the front then do they have butt bulges in the back?

i do not want to think about elf bulges

Anonymous said: So if you find a baby Therewoof and you say "aw you're so cute", their true name is So Cute?

Yep!

Anonymous said: Since a Therewoof's true name can be something like "cutie pie" or "dingus", does their name have to be spoken with "intent" for it to doggo-fy them? Or do they just have to live with the reality that any casual conversation/flirting can make them lose up to a month to Doggy Mode? My mom has little terrier dog named "Sweetie" so that got me thinking 'bout Therewoof names. & Anonymous said: here's a good question: If someone says a therewoof's true name, but not reffering to them, does it still affect them?

Just saying it will do! It’s based on those old werewolf stories where calling out the person’s name will change them back into a human/cure them, and a lot of the time it was by accident.

(My favorite is the one where they slam the door on the wolf’s tail and then say his name, and the dude ends up with a wolf tail for the rest of his life.)

Anonymous said: Would Seeing eye Therewoofs be a thing?

I... guess? Probably? Since regular dogs can turn into woofs, yeah. You might have to start paying em once they turn into a person tho. 

Anonymous said: Was ChalkZone ever an inspiration for you? Because I just love the silly world of ChalkZone and I noticed getting that same warm feeling when thinking about Edgeworld.

Maaaan, I wish. I’ve only seen about three episodes or so, but it seems really fun!

Anonymous said: So I saw your mimic post, and even though I don't think I've seen any other of your art before I was absolutely HAMMERED with an indescribable sense of slightly unsettling strangeness and comfortable familiarity. Your art feels like something from like, an old point and click computer game I would have had formative memories of before accidentally losing or scratching the disc therefore making me unsure if it ever REALLY existed. Sorry for being weird but I love the wacky nostalgia feel here

Aaaaaah, THANK YOU! That is SUCH a cool comparison and I appreciate!!!

Anonymous said: If the Edgeworld is based on cartoons then is there a Reverse Edge-world that’s based on anime?

Lol, I mean I DID have an anime phase for a while there, so...

caydebug: Man I’d love to see this as a cartoon some day

Honestly, same. Best you’re gonna get is the occasional animatic or gif, tho.

Anonymous said: Does anyone..."go" in Edgeworld? or is it like Pleasantville where bathrooms exist but there are no toilets in them because acknowledging it is yucky?

Oh god I keep getting asked this and have been avoiding it like the damn plague. But... Uh. No. No they do not. I am begging you all not to send any followup questions.

Anonymous said: Have you considered putting computer viruses or illnesses in with the buggymen? Since those are typically called ‘bugs’

Sure!

Anonymous said: are there any limits to what an Animimic could posess? i.e if they were in a costume of a Buggieman with multiple arms, could they control all of them? what about a small Mousefly costume? can multiple fit into one costume like a clown car? and what about in pitch black darkness, where you can only see the lights of their eyes and not their bodies? could one fit inside the pocket of a jacket you are wearing and help you steal things/wield a gun like a living turret?

Since clothing fills into the body type of the intended wearer, they would indeed be able to control all arms/legs in buggieman clothes.

Size restrictions is one of these things I wanna try to be vague about: I personally have been imagining them sticking to hiding in things no smaller than, um. Maybe imp sized, but really, whatever. It’s a cartoon eyeball critter!

You can put multiple animimics in one outfit!

They can move around just fine in darkness without being off screen, yeah!

And sure why not. lol

Anonymous said: I know you have been asked this once before, and you said nah you don't, but with a few more months of worldbuilding, do you have an idea for what could be down the edge now? 🤔

Not really! It’s not super important, honestly. I’d say any fan theory is about as valid as anything else I can come up with.

ps2polpo: I doubt you’ll ever elaborate on The Edge but I like to imagine there’s just one dude there like the Nowhere Man from the Yellow Submarine movie. Mostly cause the thought of someone accidentally winding up there being like “where am I?” And there’s just a guy casually waving at him like a friendly neighbor is funny to me & Anonymous said: The implication that the Edge is the physical manifestation of edginess so there’s probably like, Trevor Henderson monsters hanging out down there.

See above question! Valid! I also accept falling forever, getting erased from existence, ending up in another universe, getting stuck in limbo with thousands of other people, whatever you want, really!

Anonymous said: " he has very few bones and weighs basically nothing, " "Fastball special" trope, but with Leo?

YEET THE NASTY MAN

Anonymous said: did you ever watch dragon tales as a kid? because george and margaret make me think of murderous zak and wheezie from that show, and i love it to bits

I did not, but I would have loved it. Definitely up my alley!

(watched Quest for Camelot a loooot, though!)

Imma go ahead and stop here! There’s more but I’ve been writing for well over an hour and I have things to do. If your question is missing I’m either saving it for later, wasn’t entirely sure how to answer, or it’s spoilery.

Will probably do another one of these at some point!

[idreamofplaid]

Christmas Future

Square Filled: Shotgunning

Characters: Dean x Reader; Sam; Charlie; Jim (OMC); Rowena mentioned

Rating: Mature

Summary: Dean has reached a point in his life where something has to change.

Word Count: 2349

Created for @spnkinkbingo 

A/N: This is Part 3 of Dean’s Christmas Carol. Read Christmas Past and Christmas Present.

Sam found Dean in his cave drinking beer and watching a horror movie. His brother didn’t look up or acknowledge him; he just kept looking at the carnage on the screen. Sam surveyed the room. From the looks of it, Dean had somehow managed to find some takeout pizza on Christmas Day, and he was well into a six pack of beer. 

Sam knew he had to say something because Dean wasn’t going to talk unless prodded into it. “Ever think about trying It’s a Wonderful Life?”

Dean’s eyes were still glued to the screen as he replied. “What?”

“You know, the classic movies. It’s a Wonderful Life. Miracle on 34th Street.” Sam decided to use a different tactic. “Or, you could start with something like The Santa Clause or Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.” 

Dean clicked off the remote and threw it on the coffee table. “There’s no such thing as flying reindeer, Sammy.” He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the table. “At least that’s one thing we don’t have to deal with.”

Sam sat down in the recliner across from Dean. He knew he needed to choose his words carefully when Dean was in a mood like this. “You ever think about having Christmas? I mean really having it? Maybe we could put up a tree in here next year, some lights, make a turkey?”

Dean side eyed his brother. “You don’t have turkey for Christmas. You have ham.”

“Okay, ham then. But let’s really do it.” Sam finished his pitch with an earnest expression that had over the years been very successful when it came to persuading Dean to his way of thinking, but it wasn’t so effective this time.

Dean had rested his beer bottle on the chair arm; he took a swig of it now. “What’s gotten into you? Why are you holiday boy all of a sudden? You’ve never liked Halloween, Christmas, any of it.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just feel different about it, I guess.”

Dean put his feet down and sat up. “Is it Rowena? Is it being with her that makes you want to have Christmas?” Dean cocked his head, thinking. “Do witches even have Christmas?”

“No. They celebrate Yule. Lots of the same traditions. Like the tree.” Sam’s voice was filled with the same enthusiasm he had for lore. 

“Alright, Samwitch. You go ahead and have your Yule tree. Knock yourself out.” Dean flipped open the lid of the pizza box and fished out a discarded crust. He sat back in his chair and knawed off a bite. Sam was quiet. He had given up, at least temporarily. 

Sam made a motion to get up and leave, but Dean stopped him. “Sam, can I ask you something?”

Sam settled back in his seat. “Sure. What is it?”

“Has Rowena changed you? I mean, being with her. Is that why you want Christmas and holidays all of a sudden?”

Sam tilted his head, causing his hair to flip. “Maybe. It...does change how you look at things. Having somebody.”

“Are you going back to her place tonight?” Dean dropped the still uneaten pizza crust back in the box. 

The grin on Sam’s face was so genuine it might have been contagious if Dean had been in a different state of mind. “Yeah. We’re going to make eggnog and burn a yule log.”

“Good for you, little brother. Just make sure she doesn’t put a spell on the eggnog. Or, hell, let her if it makes you happy.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Sam, Rowena, and the sex spell. There’s a Christmas classic for you.”

Sam pursed his lips together. “Seriously, Dean?”

Dean called after his brother as he left, “You’d like it, and you know it.”

Once Sam was gone, Dean picked up the remote and pointed it at the TV but put it down again before pressing the button. He sighed deeply, leaned back into the recliner, crossed his arms and closed his eyes. 

Only a couple of seconds passed before Dean felt someone punch his arm. “No falling asleep. Do that, and you’ll try to tell yourself this was a dream again.”

Dean opened his eyes. This had been a crazy twenty-four hours, even by his standards. Charlie stood in front of him, looking every bit the way she had in life. Dean smiled at the sight of her. “Hey, kid.”  He stood up and hugged Charlie, bringing her close to him. 

“Hey back.” Charlie’s eyes were alight as she took in everything that was the Dean Cave; the bar, the big screen TV, the foosball table. “This place is awesome.” She ran to the foosball table and twisted a couple of the knobs. 

Dean watched her fondly, bit his bottom lip, and let her play for a minute before he said anything. “You didn’t come here to play foosball.”

“You were expecting me?” Her tone had noticeably changed from her earlier excitement. 

“You...or somebody. I wasn’t sure, but I knew someone would come. Sam just thinks I don’t know Christmas movies.” 

Charlie put her hand on Dean’s arm. “Then you know what I’m here about.”

Dean licked his lips and looked away. “The future. You’re going to show me the future.” He dragged his free hand down over his mouth. “Not sure I want to see it.” He looked back at Charlie; sympathy filled her eyes. “I’ve gotten through this life not thinking about the future. Just taking it one day at a time, you know? Guys like me don’t tend to have a future.”

Charlie’s hand was still on his arm, and she squeezed it now. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Dean. You could have a future. It’s up to you. The choices you make can change things.”

“What are you going to show me?” Dean could feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes. This Christmas had been a storm of emotions for him. “At least let me see that Sammy’s happy.”

Charlie smiled sadly. “This isn’t about Sam.”

She squeezed Dean’s arm harder, and they arrived at their destination. It was the same street Bobby had taken him to last night. The quaint black lantern street lamps had been replaced with a more modern version. Dean turned, knowing what he would see. 

The Coffee Nook was in front of him. It had changed too. The hand painted sign that once hung over the door had been replaced by one clearly made by a graphic design company, and the lights in the front windows were no longer the large vintage multicolored bulbs that Y/N loved so much. They had been replaced by the more typical small white lights that could be used year round. Dean didn’t wait for his ghostly escort this time. He knew Y/N was on the other side of that door, and he badly wanted to see her again. 

Y/N was standing next to a gingerbread house display on the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Did she make the house? Dean always imagined her doing things like that, the kind of things that made any day or any event more special; and she had always been so creative. He loved that about her. Once, for a while, he had convinced himself that a free spirit like her could accept the truth about him and what he did. 

She brought her cup of coffee to the same table by the fireplace where he had sat all those years ago on the night she had first asked him to spend the night with her. After that, it had been their table. They sat there together when Dean came into town between hunts, and he had done that whenever he could, no matter how many hundreds or even thousands of miles he’d had to drive to see her. 

They’d laughed together, and he’d fallen in love with her listening to her share her dreams for the future with him. She had made him try coffee flavored with caramel, vanilla, chocolate, and sometimes all three. Dean happily drank whatever new concoction she had invented for the menu. During those conversations, he had started to reveal parts of himself to her; but he never told her his big hunting secret. 

He never got the chance to know if they could have shared something lasting together. An angry vampire had followed him back to the little town where she lived after Dean wiped out the rest of his nest. Dean decided then he had to stay away from her out of fear of what else he might bring to her doorstep. After what happened to Jess, Dean knew he had made the right decision; and he had lived with it all this time.

The years had gone by, and her face had changed; but she was every bit as beautiful as she had been then. Dean sat down across from her. He reached for her hand, but he couldn’t feel her. That didn’t stop him from remembering just how soft her skin had been and how it felt to hold her. Maybe he couldn’t feel her, but he could look at her. 

She reached into her pocket and brought out a lighter. Y/N put a joint to her mouth and lit it. Closing her eyes, she took a deep drag from it. Dean’s eyes got wide, and he reached for her again. “Y/N?”

Charlie had been discreetly standing across the room until now. Dean turned to her. “What is she doing? Y/N never smoked anything, much less marijuana.” 

Charlie came and stood by the table. “She does now. A lot has changed since you knew her, Dean.” Dean turned back to the woman he’d left behind and watched as she partially stood so she could reach up to the mantel over the fireplace. She brought down a reindeer figurine and put it on the table in front of her. It was made out of wood and painted red with a holly wreath hanging around its neck. It was just the artsy kind of thing Y/N loved. 

Dean’s lips parted in recognition. He had given it to her the first, and only, Christmas they were together. They spent that entire day making smores over an open fire, listening to Christmas songs on the radio, and having the kind of sex that blurred the edges between sex and making love. 

Y/N rubbed her fingers gently over the little deer. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Then she placed the little reindeer back on the mantelpiece. Y/N spent a few seconds staring through Dean at what she thought was an empty chair before she dug into her pocket again.

She dropped her cell phone on the table and contemplated it while she finished the joint she was smoking. Immediately, she lit another. Then she picked up her phone and started swiping. Y/N found what she was looking for and hit the speed dial button. “Jim, hey. How was your Christmas? You take the kids back to their mom?” A couple of minutes of small talk followed; then she asked, “You want to come over tonight?”

Dean spent the next few minutes until Jim arrived looking up at the reindeer he’d given her and watching Y/N pour whiskey in her coffee while she continued to smoke. Charlie had hovered nearby since Dean had spoken to her, and now he turned to her again. “Why is she drinking on Christmas, getting high, and making booty calls?”

Charlie’s response silenced him. “Why shouldn’t she Dean? You do it.” Charlie observed his pained expression and softened her voice a little. “Most of it anyway.”

Dean disliked Jim on sight. Maybe he should have given the guy a chance. Maybe Jim could give Y/N something he couldn’t. Maybe he could make her happy. But Dean knew how to read situations, and nothing that was going on here was based on happiness. 

When Jim lifted Y/N onto the counter and put his hands on her ass, Dean attempted to tackle him but went straight through the counter to the other side instead. He tried more words that Y/N couldn’t hear. “Y/N, you don’t want this. You’re too good for this guy. Why didn’t he spend Christmas with you? You deserve more than this. Y/N?!”

Y/N passed him her joint and draped herself on him then she blew smoke from her mouth into his. Jim took a few puffs of his own then he kissed her, and his hands roamed over her body. She looked at him seductively and wiggled when he pushed a hand beneath her shirt. “You’re anxious tonight.”

Dean turned his head and pleaded with Charlie, “Don’t make me watch this. Please. I can’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mercifully, when Dean opened his eyes they were back in the bunker. He grabbed the back of his recliner and leaned on it. “Is that her life? Was that real?”

“Not yet. What you saw is the future. Right now, she’s still trying to have a relationship, meet a nice guy, but it’s not going to work.” 

Dean stood; there was a touch of hope in his voice. “How do you know? Any man would be lucky to have her, to give her the world.”

Charlie sighed. “You don’t get it, Dean. They try, but they can’t. None of them can give her what she wants because they aren’t you.” Charlie paused to let this sink in. “Eventually, she’s going to give up. She’s going to give up and settle for the occasional hookup.”

Dean walked slowly around his chair, and sat down in it heavily. “She can’t do that. Y/N should have kids. She should be making those candy houses for them. She’s supposed to have a home and someone to love her. I left her so she would be safe and loved. Why, Charlie?” There was no answer. Charlie was gone.

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561​ @dawnie1988​ @maddiepants​ @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @oldfreakything​ 

Dean/Jensen Love: @deansyahtzee​ @flamencodiva​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @waywardrose13​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @focusonspn​ @akshi8278​ @ladywinchester1967​ @sgarrett49​ @wingedcatninja​ @coffee-obsessed-writer​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @ellewritesfix05​ 

Dean’s Christmas Carol: @moron225​

[moonlit-jeno]

love sick

Chapter 7- Donghyuck

pairing: nct dream ‘00 line + reader

genre/warnings: angst, character death, mentions of blood/ vomit

words: 2k

summary:

Donghyuck tells himself that it’s the merciful thing to do.

masterlist | prev | next

When Donghyuck is six, Mark Lee is seven. It’s not a big difference, that one year, but it’s enough to give Mark that sense of superiority that the older kids always have. and Donghyuck had just wanted to play on the swings, had just wanted to touch the sky like he’d seen the other kids doing.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Donghyuck looks over his shoulder, the chains still bunched in his fists as he tries to figure out how to get onto the seat. The other kids can do it, so he can do it.

Donghyuck opens his mouth to answer, but the question’s rhetorical. “You’re not going on the swings, are you?”

He nods. The boys standing with Mark laugh, one of them falling to the floor in hysterics. Donghyuck’s eyes fill with tears, but his mom had told him to be strong so he refuses to let them fall. “Can you even reach the swing?” Mark grabs the piece of plastic, yanking it out of Donghyuck’s hands and lifting it out of reach. “Go on then, didn’t you say you wanted to swing?”

It’s cruel and obviously Donghyuck isn’t going to win, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He jumps with his face burning, reaching for the swing. The boys all laugh and Donghyuck feels the tears start to spill, frustration and embarrassment clawing at his insides.

“Aww, he’s crying? Look at this, he’s crying!” Mark laughs, throwing his head back.

“Give him the swing.” The voice comes from behind him and Donghyuck lifts his head and looks over, surprised to see a boy even smaller than him. He’s short and skinny with a weird hair cut, but his eyes are sharp and his hands are clenched into fists.

Mark looks at the new boy curiously. “Or what? I’m older than you, do you know what that means? I get to do whatever I want.”

The new boy just rolls his eyes, bending low to pick up a handful of woodchips. “No it doesn’t. It means that you’re going to give him the swing back.”

He pulls his arm back like he’s getting ready to throw the woodchips and Mark’s eyes widen. He lets go of the swing and runs away with his friends right behind him.

Donghyuck watches him run before turning to look at the boy. “Why’d you do that?”

“You looked scared.” The boy shrugs. The girl who’d been on the second swing gets off and renjun replaces her, plopping down on the seat easily and starting to pump his legs. Donghyuck watches in awe.

“What’s your name?” He should’ve asked earlier, and he knows his mom would be yelling at him for not having manners, but he’s forgetful.

The boy looks at him for a moment before extending his hand. “Renjun.”

It’s been twelve years since he first sat on the swings with Renjun, and he can still see that day as clear as if it happened yesterday. Donghyuck’s never had a great memory. That’s why he’d struggled with school, why his skin would be filled with marker scribbles reminding him to “grab groceries” or “tell Jeno happy birthday”. It’s not that he’s stupid, it’s just that there’s always so much going on, he can’t possibly be expected to remember that many things.

And in his 18 years of life, there are few memories that stand out as vividly as that one does. A dry sob leaves him when he realizes that that might be the only clear memory he’ll have left of his best friend. Well, the only good clear memory.

He takes a deep breath and looks over to where Renjun is sitting on the lawn of a house they’d haphazardly checked, staring blankly ahead of him. You and Jaemin are sitting at the kitchen table, pretending that you can’t hear Jeno in the bathroom where he’s crying so hard that he’s throwing up.

Donghyuck’s stomach is twisting so violently that he wishes he was throwing up, but all he can do is stand there numbly and think about the fact that he’s about to lose his best friend. He can’t even imagine what Renjun’s thinking as he sits there alone, picking at his ankle.

He’d never seen Renjun like this before, though he’s also never seen Renjun stare death in the eyes. The normally level headed boy had started screaming out of nowhere in the car, throwing himself against the door and yelling for you to get away from him. Donghyuck had thought that he was joking, but nothing any of them said had calmed him down.

“Fuck, what’s happening?” Jaemin asked, the car swerving as he turned around to see the commotion.

“You can’t- you can’t be around me!” Renjun was screaming, drawing into himself.  “I’m a fucking zombie!”

And of course, none of them knew what was happening because Renjun was still Renjun, he wasn’t trying to rip their faces off. Donghyuck remembers the exact look of confusion he had exchanged with Jeno as he pulled you into his lap and away from the distressed boy. He remembers thinking that maybe everything was just registering now, that Renjun was having a delayed reaction. And then he saw the cut.

A small scratch, no longer than an inch, on renjun’s ankle. It looked like the type of cut Donghyuck sometimes got when he got careless and forgot to trim his nails for too long. Except, of course, for the way that the veins along his ankle were black. The limb seemed to be pulsing, too, throbbing in a way so unnatural it seemed fake.

You all saw it, except for Jaemin, who was driving maniacally, looking frantically from the road to Renjun as he tried to figure out what was happening.

“He grabbed my ankle.” Renjun explained later, once he’d calmed down. Jaemin had only driven for another 15 minutes before they’d found a house that seemed decently safe, tires squealing as he pulled into the driveway. “I was running from the greenhouse and he grabbed my ankle but- but I thought it was okay, I thought I got away. He must’ve- he must’ve broken the skin without me noticing.”

Renjun’s last sentence had ended with a sob and Donghyuck’s heart squeezed so tightly that he thought he was going to die right then. You’d all looked at each other helplessly, so clueless as you tried to figure out what to do.

“You have to shoot me.” Renjun had said, looking Donghyuck directly in the eyes. “You can’t let me turn into a zombie, please.”

Donghyuck had held his gaze, throat thick with tears, and nodded. Jaemin had been begging, pleading with Renjun as if Renjun was in control of anything, as if Jaemin saying “please, no” would cause Renjun to say “well, since you said please” and be fine.

“Can’t we just amputate it?” You’d asked, voice frantic. “Only the veins in your ankle are black, it might not have spread that far.”

“Yeah, but I also might turn into a zombie and kill all of you.” Renjun had shot back, shaking his head. “We can’t take that chance.”

It’s the merciful thing to do, Donghyuck tells himself. He doesn’t want Renjun to suffer. He most certainly can’t let him live as a zombie. But he also- how is he supposed to shoot his best friend?

That had been an hour ago, and Donghyuck doesn’t know how much time they have. He figures there can’t be much left. The gun is heavy in his hands, and he takes a couple of deep breaths before he turns to you and Jaemin. “Go tell Jeno I’m doing it.”

Donghyuck doesn’t wait for the others before walking outside, tears falling steadily down his cheeks. Renjun turns to face him and the sight he makes is heartbreaking. His knees are drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. His face is pale and his eyes are puffy, cheeks stained with tears.

“Renjun,” He starts, pausing to collect himself when his voice breaks. “Renjun, I love you.”

The other boys shakes as a sob leaves him, nodding forcefully. “Love you, Hyuck.” A pause, a sniff, a laugh. “I’m glad I was the one to teach you how to swing.”

And that absolutely breaks him, knowing that that same memory he was just thinking about is also engraved in Renjun’s mind. “I hate you for making me do this.” He isn’t supposed to say that, but it slips out anyways.

Renjun manages a weak smile. “Take care of everyone, Hyuck. I’m ready.”

Donghyuck raises the gun as Renjun closes his eyes. He starts a mental countdown, breathing as best as he can through his runny nose. Renjun turns his head just as he’s about to shoot. “Hyuck? Everyone includes you, too.” Donghyuck doesn’t respond, just waits for Renjun to close his eyes again

He pulls the trigger.

Blood splatters all over the grass and there’s a moment where Renjun remains sitting. Donghyuck panics, wondering if his best friend has already turned, but then his body falls limp against the ground. Donghyuck stares at Renjun for a moment before spinning around and promptly puking all over the red stained grass. 

You’re all crying when Donghyuck walks back into the house. Jeno has blood dripping from his knuckles, a few scratches on his forearms, and Donghyuck knows that he would find the mirror shattered into a thousand different pieces if he were to walk into the bathroom. There’s a towel blocking the little window, blocking the scene just outside the house, and he stares at the cloth blankly.

And Donghyuck feels the wetness of his face, he knows that he just killed his best friend, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel anything. He sets the gun down and it makes a hollow noise, but even that doesn’t feel real.

He registers you sobbing, babbling about how it’s your fault and that they shouldn’t have fought. Jaemin’s holding you tightly, jeno stroking your hair. and then all of the sudden he is feeling something, all of his hurt and guilt manifesting into something uglier.

“Do you ever do anything besides cry?” Donghyuck snaps. The three of you look up at him in confusion. “Jesus Christ y/n, you’re so fucking self important. I just shot my best friend in the whole wide world. I’m never going to get to see him again, because of you, and what’s the best that you can do? Sit here and pity yourself?”

He doesn’t recognize his voice, barely even hearing himself as he continues. “God, we should’ve never fucking stayed at your house in the first place. I wish we never fucking met you.”

Jaemin lets out a warning call of his name, Jeno shaking his head pointedly. He scoffs, turning his attention to the two boys. “What, you’re going to tell me that I’m wrong? What good has she done for us? Look at the two of you.” Donghyuck motions between them. “You’re best friends, practically soulmates, and what’s the first big fight you get into? You’re really going to argue over her?”

He steps up close to the table now, and you stare up at him silently, eyes swollen and glazed over with tears. “You really tried to play four separate guys, huh. And look what happened. Renjun’s dead because of you, you fucking whore.”

“That’s enough.” Jeno says, stepping up closer to Hyuck. his voice is level but his arms are crossed and even Jaemin’s glaring at him.

Donghyuck steps back, hands held up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just telling the truth. Even now she’s got you whipped, turning you against me.”

“No, Hyuck, you’re just being an asshole.” Jeno shoots back at the same time that Jaemin says “You should go lay down.”

He rolls his eyes, casting one long look at each of you before scoffing. “Fine, whatever. But she’s gonna lead us straight into hell, and you two are going to follow her blindly.” Donghyuck spins on his heel, not feeling better in the slightest as he leaves the room.

They don’t respond

[sweatersexual]

In Gravity Falls, You Abduct the Aliens

Read on AO3

Read the previous work in this series

“This,” proclaimed Stan, “is not a house.” He waded through the piles of books, papers, and weird gadgets. “Seriously, who keeps a chalkboard in their living room? This is more like some kind of nerd lair.”

“I prefer to think of it as my own research lab that I have all-hours access to, but the term lair does lend a certain ambience,” said Ford.

Stan picked up a deformed skull that looked like it belonged to some kind of rodent. “This feels like the intro to a horror movie. With a plucky pair of teen heroes to terrorize and giant switches to a zappy doomsday device, you’d be all set.” He started playing with the skull’s jaw hinge.

Ford reclaimed the skull from him. “Well, it’s no doomsday device, but once I get the portal in the basement working, it’ll be plenty ‘zappy,’ as you say.”

Right, the portal. Ford had talked about it a lot on their drive up from Vegas, where the two of them had happened to run into each other and ended up reconciling. Ford seemed preoccupied by how he’d build the thing without his old flame, Fiddleford McGucket. Ford had invited him to join them in Gravity Falls as well, but when the two nerds realized they still had the hots for each other, Fiddleford had decided to do right by his wife and kid and stay in Palo Alto.

Stan, on the other hand, might be no mechanical engineer, but he was smart enough to realize there was more to this portal business than Ford was telling him.

“Man, you really have a one track mind when it comes to that portal, huh? You were even talking about it in your sleep while we were driving up here. ‘So sorry, shouldn’t’ve let my personal feelings get in the way. . . . ‘S only a temporary setback . . . won’t let all our hard work go to waste . . .’ Has somebody else been helping with the portal?”

Ford nervously spun the skull around in his hand. “Really, Stanley, it’s silly to read too much into sleep talk. I could’ve been talking about anything.”

“Come on, Sixer. If you’re gonna lie to me, you gotta try harder than that.”

“Don’t you trust me, Stanley?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I do, but . . . I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

Stan put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Listen, bro. I’ve been all over the world. Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

Ford sighed. “All right, I’ll try to explain. But first, let me go get something. A visual aid, if you will.”

A few minutes later, he returned, having replaced the deformed skull with a ceramic jar in his now gloved hands. “I was lucky to get my hands on this,” Ford told him. “The Northwests hoard just about all the artifacts they can find. Please avoid touching it, I don’t have any disposable five-fingered gloves to protect it from the oils on your hands.”

He presented the design on the jar to Stan, who was doing his best to show Ford he didn’t think he was crazy. The picture was of a man with an animal pelt on his head talking to a triangle with one eye. “Don’t tell me you got recruited by the Illuminati or something,” said Stan.

“No, I haven’t joined any secret societies,” Ford assured him. “This depicts a man named Modoc from three thousand years ago, seeking wisdom from an ancient being. From time to time, this being presents himself to truly singular minds, giving them divine insight and knowledge. And now this Muse has chosen me.”

“Okay,” said Stan. “So you’ve gotten into some kind of niche religion. It’s not that weird. Just don’t drink the Kool-Aid, all right?”

Ford set the jar down on what little empty space his dining room table had left. “I haven’t joined a cult, Stan. I mean, it is a kind of spiritual experience, talking to my Muse, but there’s no organized religion involved. Ever since I summoned him, he manifests himself in my dreams. I never could’ve gotten this far in my investigations of Gravity Falls without him. And he’s helped me come up with the plans for this portal. I know it sounds strange, but there really is something otherworldly about him. And even if he is somehow all in my imagination, the inspiration has never steered me wrong.”

Stan’s bullshit-o-meter was going off, but not because he thought Ford was lying to him. Stan knew his twin’s tells, and Ford was definitely sincere about this muse thing. He couldn’t take Ford’s words at face value, but he could tell that Ford was really going out on a limb here, being honest about something that could get him called a quack at best or institutionalized at worst. So what if the guy was in his thirties and had an imaginary friend? Let him have his weird triangle dreams if it made him happy.

So Stan simply said, “Hey, whatever floats your boat, poindexter. But now that I’m here, you’re not just some weird hermit living in the woods. We’re a family. And families live in homes, not nerd lairs.”

Ford blinked, seeming surprised that Stan had changed the subject. But he went along with it anyway. “Right. Well, I have been meaning to organize everything for awhile now. My research keeps getting ahead of me. But I’ll probably be able to think better without so much clutter around.”

It didn’t take long for the twins to settle into a routine. Mornings were for cleaning and organization. After lunch, Stan would run errands while Ford struggled building his machine in the basement. Stan never imagined he’d get so excited about yard sale curtains and other furnishings, but after so many years never having a permanent place of his own, he relished the chance to decorate his own living space. Afternoons and evenings were dedicated to finding and studying anomalies, then Stan tried to persuade Ford to go to bed rather than get back to work on the portal again. He was rarely successful.

“I owe it to myself to at least stumble along with the limited mechanical knowledge I have,” said Ford. “And maybe I’ll find someone or something else that can help.”

Stan did try to help, but it took so long for Ford to even explain what he was trying to do, and it was so boring listening to him speak nothing but jargon, and Ford just didn’t think the way Stanley did. Stan would probably have better luck just taking Ford’s plans and trying to decode them himself, either way it would take ages. Instead he simply figured out how to use a welding torch and applied it where Ford told him to.

But Stan’s favorite hours were spent running through the woods with his brother. He had never expected to see a gnome for himself, or play with magic size-altering crystals. About one week into his stay, Ford was over the moon to find a sleeping gremloblin. “I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to study one up close like this!”

Stan helped take samples and measurements (it really was remarkable how heavy a sleeper this gremloblin was), then helped himself to his favorite toffee peanuts while Ford finished scribbling in his journal. Rustling in the bushes behind him turned his head, and before he knew it a red and black creature was running away from him, and the toffee peanuts that had fallen on the ground were gone.

Ford snapped to attention, too. “Did you see what that was?” he asked Stan.

“Something with a duck bill.” Stan held up his snack. “It was trying to get these.”

Ford grimaced. “I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Stan rolled his eyes. Ford was so dramatic about his distaste for Stan’s favorite snack.

“Can I try to lure it back out?” asked Ford, reaching for the toffee peanuts.

“Fine.”

Once they had gotten the creature to reemerge, Ford was back to scribbling in his journal. “So the plaidypus legends are real! Fascinating, fascinating. Is it just me, or do you think it smells like maple syrup and bacon?”

They were able to track the plaidypus back to its burrow on the marshy banks by the creek, where they found a clutch of flannel-patterned eggs. To improve upon their fantastic luck, they had arrived in time to watch the eggs hatch.

“Look at that! They only have the horizontal stripes now, the vertical stripes must come in as they grow - did you get the measurements on that last one, Stanley?”

“Yeah, but what do you think the deal is with that one?” Stan pointed to a blue egg that hadn’t yet hatched.

“I have no idea. I’m not even sure that’s a plaidypus egg.”

Ford turned out to be extremely correct when the blue egg did hatch and a slimy white monster popped out.

“What the hell is that thing?” asked Stan.

Ford replied, “I’ve never seen anything like it,” then gasped when the monster mutated into another baby plaidypus. “It’s a mimic!”

“Wait - which one is it?” asked Stan.

Ford cursed. “I should’ve been paying closer attention.”

The shapeshifter soon revealed itself when instead of latching on to the mother plaidypus’s lactating glands, it sank its teeth into another baby plaidypus. “No!” cried Stan as he picked up the imposter and pried its jaw open. “Bad shapeshifter thing!”

Ford tended the baby plaidypus’s wounds while Stan wrestled the shapeshifter into a containment jar, where it resumed its original pale, slimy form.

The study of this creature quickly set Ford into what Stan liked to call Full Nerd Mode. They hardly seemed to get through a conversation without Ford bringing up how “Shifty”, as he’d nicknamed the thing, changed his DNA when he changed forms, and how the implications from that would revolutionize the field of genetics, or asking for suggestions for safe forms to add to Shifty’s repertoire. Stan had to admit it was nice to see his brother obsess over something other than that portal for once, though if he had his way he could think of several ways for Shifty to aid with some under-the-table schemes.

“Stanley!” Ford had chided him when Stan had joked about the idea. “You have a job with me now. You don’t need to get into more trouble with the law.”

Yeah, that had been weird, getting an actual, legitimate paycheck for once, and with his brother’s signature no less. And it really was quite a lot considering that Stan didn’t need to pay rent or anything. But Stan couldn’t help that niggling doubt in the back of his mind questioning whether he had enough, whether Stan’s luck might still run dry and he’d better get as much as he could while the getting was good -

Stan had simply shrugged at his brother. “A side hustle never hurt anything,” he said. “And with Shifty’s help, we wouldn’t get caught.”

“I’m afraid it’s out of the question,” Ford had insisted. “We wear masks around Shifty for a reason, you know. It’s too dangerous to have him impersonate humans.”

And Stan could see the wisdom in that, but even so, he thought he did a good enough impression of his brother to recognize the second-rate performance Shifty would put on. The little monster couldn’t even talk!

That last assumption was proven wrong one afternoon while they were working on the portal and a high-pitched voice called out, “Beans!”

Ford’s head perked up from his schematics. “Did you say something?” he asked Stan, who shook his head.

Stan pointed to the dog kennel where they kept Shifty. “I think it was -”

“Beans!” the voice repeated, and it was definitely coming from the kennel.

“Remarkable,” said Ford, replacing his mask as he walked over to kneel in front of the kennel, where Shifty could see him. “Are you hungry, Shifty?”

“Beans,” he repeated, “for me.”

“I’ll go get him some,” said Stan. As he climbed the stairs up to the house, he heard Ford ask, “What else can you say, Shifty?”

When Stan returned with the beans Shifty liked so much, the little monster was repeating the brothers’ names. “Stan,” said the little voice. “Ford. Sixer poindexter knucklehead.”

Ford laughed. “Very good, Shifty. Those are some other names we call each other.”

“Who am I?” asked the shapeshifter. Stan felt his mouth drop open. That wasn’t the sort of question a parrot asked . . .

“Why, you’re Shifty,” said Ford without a trace of the trepidation Stan was feeling just then. “Stan has brought you those beans you wanted, Shifty.”

“Beans!”

When he was done eating, Shifty went back to asking questions. “Who am I? Who is Shifty?”

“Speaking in full sentences already,” said Ford. “This is really quite incredible.”

“He’s asking if he’s a person, Ford.”

“Stan, don’t anthropomorphize him. Even parrots can repeat phrases -”

“Parrots don’t ask existential questions like that! And besides, when have we ever said anything like that around him?”

Ford frowned. “I’ll need to collect more data -”

“This isn’t about data, Ford!” Stan gestured to the kennel. “That’s a kid! A weird monster kid, but still a kid. And we’re keeping him in a cage. Take it from someone who’s been to prison.” At that, Ford glanced up at him in surprise, and Stan looked away. “It does things to you.”

Ford stammered, “Stan, I - I didn’t know - you never said -”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” said Stan. “And anyway, this isn’t about me. This is about him.”

Ford nodded. It was a moment before he answered, “Well, I will need to do more tests, and we do need to keep his abilities under control, but -” Stan opened his mouth to argue, but Ford placed his hand on Stan’s shoulder in a calming motion - “but . . . your concerns have merit. Even a parrot would need a more stimulating environment than this. Will you help me whip something up for Shifty?”

Stan grinned. “Of course.”

With Stan’s help, Ford was able to construct a walled-off enclosure in the basement, which Shifty took to happily. When Ford was able to determine that the burrow Shifty made in the corner was a bed and not an escape route, he found he could breathe much easier.

Ford spent an increasing amount of time in the enclosure, testing Shifty’s language and cognitive skills. Soon he had an impressive amount of data confirming the shapeshifter’s intelligence. Shifty was always eager to participate in the “games,” as he referred to them, and responded very well to Ford’s praise. Ford had to admit he also enjoyed designing activities to keep Shifty occupied while Ford was working on other projects. These activities usually took the form of a puzzle or scavenger hunt, with chicken nuggets as prizes.

Shifty was also making great strides in learning to read. Ford had picked up a number of secondhand children’s books, but only ones that contained no illustrations of humans or dangerous animals for Shifty to take the forms of. This still left him with a wide variety of benign anthropomorphic animal characters like Frog and Toad, Frances, and Little Critter, many of whom became common forms for Shifty to take.

Eventually Ford felt comfortable enough for Shifty to have supervised playtime in the house and walks around the yard, but he and Stan always stayed masked and kept Shifty from seeing any people or dangerous animals.

On one such occasion, Stan was keeping an eye on Shifty upstairs while Ford was getting in some work on the portal. A loud thump from the floor above broke Ford’s focus, and a second had him scrambling up the steps, adjusting his mask as he went. The last thing he expected to find in the living room was two elephant seals.

“You didn’t tell me humans can shapeshift too!” said one of the elephant seals.

“What? Shifty? Are you saying Stan turned into this elephant seal right here?”

The other elephant seal groaned, a grumbling, braying sound.

“Elephant seal,” Shifty repeated. His high voice sounded comical coming from such a blubbery monster. “I like being an elephant seal. I’ve never been this big before.”

This was a disaster. Ford had never intended to have Shifty turn into such a volatile creature. “I’m afraid elephant seals are too big to be in the house, Shifty. Would you please turn into something smaller?”

“But how come Stan gets to be an elephant seal?” Shifty complained as he morphed into Arthur Read, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I don’t want him to be an elephant seal either,” said Ford. “Stan? Can you try to turn back? What were you messing with, you know a lot of the artifacts I keep are cursed.”

Stan made a series of grunting seal noises, none of which were in the least helpful.

Ford sighed aggravatedly. “What happened before he turned into an elephant seal, Shifty?”

“Well, we were gonna build a blanket fort, so we got some blankets out of a trunk, then I put one of the blankets on my head and pretended I was a ghost, and Stan did too, only he used the -”

“The sealskin?” asked Ford. “The heavy one with the decorative beading?”

“I think so. He turned into an elephant seal after he put it on.”

“But that one’s cursed!” said Ford. “This is not good. We need to turn him back soon, or he’ll stay an elephant seal forever.”

Stan let out a series of angry honks and grumbles which, if translated to English, would probably be the kind of language Ford would not want Shifty repeating.

As it was, Shifty shrank into a field mouse, his ears meekly tucked behind his head. “What can we do?” he asked. “How do we change him back?”

“I’ll need to consult my journal,” said Ford. “I think I found a curse breaking spell somewhere . . .”

Ford tried to flip through journal 2 quickly, but had to pause every time Shifty climbed up to his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the pages.

“Cut it out, Shifty,” he said, setting Shifty back on the ground for the third time. “You’re slowing me down, and time is of the essence.”

“Why don’t you trust me?” asked Shifty.

“Come now, you know my journals are off limits,” said Ford. “Why don’t you make sure Stan doesn’t wreck the coffee table, hmm?”

A few minutes later, Ford found the page he was looking for. “Vis maleficiis expello. Fundere atque fugare in pacem. Purgare. Purgare. Purgare,” he chanted over Stan’s blubbery form.

Nothing happened.

Ford rechecked the journal entry. “Did I miss something? Let me try that again.”

The second attempt was no better than the first.

“This curse is clearly more malignant than I thought,” said Ford. “A simple spell is simply not up to the task. We’ll need to try something with a little more oomph to it.”

“Can I help?” asked Shifty.

“You can,” said Ford, “by waiting very patiently in your room while I take Stan to meet an acquaintance of mine.”

“But I can do more!” Shifty protested. “I’m sure I can.”

“I’m sorry, Shifty, but I’m afraid the risk is too great.”

“But what if he gets stuck as an elephant seal forever and it’s all my fault?”

“Shifty . . .” Ford was surprised Shifty had developed such an attachment to Stan, and a sense of responsibility. Though as far as Ford was concerned, it was entirely unwarranted. “I don’t blame you for any of this. If Stan had been more careful -” Stan snorted at that - “or if I had clearly labeled which items were cursed,” Ford conceded, “that is to say, this was just an accident. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

Shifty seemed to accept that, “But I still want to help. If you let me go with you, I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do what you tell me, I promise.”

Ford shook his head. “Shifty, it really will be more of a help if I’m not having to watch out for you while we’re undoing the curse. Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with phenomena far more malignant than this. Why don’t I refill your octahedron puzzle, hmm?” It was one of Shifty’s favorites. “By the time you’re done with it, we’ll be back, and Stan will be in his right shape again.”

Once Ford had started a reluctant Shifty on his puzzle, and gathered a few materials he thought might be helpful for curse breaking, Ford and Stan started hiking over to the lake. Well, Ford was hiking. Stan was doing more of a hobble. Ideally they would drive over, but the El Diablo wasn’t built to cart around elephant seals, and Stan wasn’t too keen to try.

“We’re going to summon a siren I’ve had some dealings with,” Ford explained to Stan. At his questioning look, Ford added, “She’s safe, don’t worry. We may have had . . . some miscommunications, at first, but we’re on good terms. Doripea’s been an excellent source of information. I just hope she’s not too busy.”

To their good fortune, she wasn’t. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite gentleman caller,” Doripea greeted Ford. Her angular face and pointed ears add to the mischievousness of her grin, aided in its brightness by the afternoon sun reflecting off her turquoise scales. “Here for another interview date?”

“Ah, sort of?” said Ford.

Stan’s snorts sounded an awful lot like laughter.

“Oh, I figured out Ford was gay pretty quickly,” she told Stan, apparently in response to a comment Ford hadn’t been able to understand. “What I couldn’t figure out was why he kept trying to summon me with a suitor’s call.”

Ford groaned. “The summoning instructions in Eatherena Aquatica didn’t specify -” He was cut off by Stan’s repeated laughter. “Anyway, I was hoping I could get your input, Doripea. You see, we’re in a bit of a pickle.”

“Aside from the shapeshifter stalking you?”

“What?” Ford whirled around, zeroing in on a deer which had frozen in place with a wide-eyed, panicked expression. “Shifty, I told you to stay in your room!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” cried the deer. “I just wanted to make sure Stan was okay! Please don’t hate me.”

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Ford realized he wasn’t wearing a mask, meaning Shifty could now take his form if he wanted. Who knew how many people or dangerous animals Shifty had come across while tailing them to the lake? How could Ford possibly do damage control on this?

“You don’t have to panic,” said Shifty. “I said I’d be good if you let me come. I’ll do what you tell me, just please, I couldn’t just wait around doing nothing.”

“Amazing,” said Doripea. “You tamed it. I didn’t even know their kind could talk.”

Ford turned to her, curiosity suddenly overcoming his concern. “You’ve seen other shapeshifters before?”

She shrugged. “Not in a long time. It’s been, what, a century and a half? I saw it come out of its burrow to feed every now and then, but for the most part it kept to itself, I think.”

“Strange,” said Ford. “Shifty has tested well when it comes to social behaviors. It’s hard to determine such things with only one extant specimen, but I would’ve guessed his kind to be pack hunters.”

“As far as I know, only one of them has existed at a time. Can’t pack hunt without a pack,” said Doripea.

“Hmm.” Ford would have to examine the implications of this later, but for now, “Shifty, you can stay, as long as you keep close to me and stay in deer form unless I tell you otherwise, got it?”

“Okay.”

“Now, Dora, the reason I came to call on you. My brother here mishandled the selkie’s revenge and I was hoping you could help me change him back to human form.”

“How long has he been in seal form?”

“No more than two hours.”

“Oh good, you caught it early. Stan, you don’t feel any strong urges to swim in this lake, do you?”

To Stan’s grunts she replied, “Well, if you get any, resist them. This curse is designed to turn you into an elephant seal in mind as well as body. Swimming in the water will kick start that process. You’ll be drawn to the other elephant seals, and before you know it you’ll be on the wrong side of a territorial beachmaster. You’re lucky we’re so far inland, and that it isn’t mating season.”

“I tried a simple curse breaking spell, and when that didn’t work I thought we would need something more specialized.”

“You got that right, Stanford. Did you bring any material we could use as a taglock?”

Ford nodded and produced some hair he’d removed from Stan’s hairbrush. Doripea listed a few other ingredients, some of which Stanford had on him, and another she could harvest from the bottom of the lake. She sent them off to gather cedar leaves while she retrieved it.

“See, Shifty, you had nothing to worry about,” Ford reassured him as the three of them set off on their short trek through the forest. “With Doripea’s help, Stan will be back to normal in no time. You didn’t need to break out of your room.”

“I guess,” said Shifty. “It’s just that you and Stan never let me go anywhere. And maybe I didn’t have to come, but now that I’m here, it’s not so bad. Why do you think I’m so dangerous?”

Ford hesitated. How wise was it, to let Shifty know how powerful his shapeshifting abilities were? How easily they could be misused? How much of Shifty’s good behavior was due to his innocence?

Before he could start parsing out his answer, something caught his eye. “Look, there! A cedar grove. Shifty, why don’t you change into bird form and help me gather the leaves?”

Shifty was sufficiently distracted by leaf collecting for the time being. But as they made their way back to the lake with their spoils, something seemed off about Stan. He would stop moving periodically, his head cocked to the east. Then he would shake his head and catch up with Ford and Shifty.

The third time Stan stopped, Ford asked, “What is it, Stanley?” but Stan didn’t seem to hear him. Instead he took off in the eastern direction.

“What are you doing?” asked Ford, running alongside him. “That’s not the way back to the lake!”

“He can’t help it!” said Shifty as he glided through the air above them, still in bird form. “Something is drawing him that way!”

“The river,” Ford realized. “It must be closer to this spot than the lake is! We can’t let him get in the water!”

“Can I turn into an elephant seal now?” asked Shifty, and he whooped gleefully when Ford gave his assent. With an extra burst of speed, Shifty flew several feet ahead of them, then dropped to the ground in elephant seal form. The two bull seals collided, and Stan looked even more frenzied as he tried to evade this new obstacle.

“Stan, don’t hurt him!” cried Ford. “You know Shifty, he doesn’t want to hurt you! Stan, look at me, you know you can’t get in the water! Snap out of it!”

Stan paid no attention to this. Clearly the call of the water was too strong. Was Stan hearing the water? Were there lower vibrations from the gallons of rushing water that elephant seals could pick up, but humans couldn’t? Ford could only think of one way to find out.

Grateful he’d thought to bring an infrasonic transducer, Ford quickly set it to the needed specifications. “Shifty, cover your ears!” cried Ford, demonstrating with his hands.

Shifty found a hole in the ground to duck his head into, just in time for Ford to press the button. Ford couldn’t tell by the sound if it worked or not, because it was far too low for human ears to detect. But Stan let out a cry and dropped to the ground, rubbing his head in the dirt.

“I’m sorry, Stan,” Ford said to the writhing elephant seal. “It was the only thing I could think of.”

“He’s mad at you,” said Shifty, pulling his head out of the ground. “But at least he’s not crazy anymore.”

“And what about you? Are you hurt?” Ford asked Shifty.

“I’m okay. It was kind of fun, wrestling like elephant seals.”

Ford sighed, relieved that Stan had snapped out of his frenzy, and that Shifty was unharmed. “You did very well, Shifty, thank you. I suppose it was good you came after all.”

Shifty turned into a dog, the way he always did when he was happy, and moved as if to lick Ford’s hand, but he paused. “Sorry, I didn’t ask if I could change -”

“It’s all right, Shifty,” Ford assured him. “You got excited. It happens.”

For the rest of their hike, Ford kept his infrasonic transducer handy, just in case the sound of the water got to Stan again. Luckily he didn’t need it. Doripea helped him grind all their gathered ingredients into a thick paste, which they applied to Stan’s body. Then, and only then, was Stan allowed to get in the lake. Ford couldn’t think of a time he’d been happier to see Stan’s face as he watched his brother resurface from the lake. He helped Stan wring his wet clothes out and put them on, then hugged him, unconcerned about getting soaked himself.

That evening, the three of them all ate dinner together, something they’d never done before, since Stan and Ford had always worn masks around Shifty. Eating at the dinner table was new for Shifty, but he took to table manners well enough. Ford could tell it would take some doing to cure him of talking with his mouth full, though.

“Why didn’t you want me to see your mouths and your noses?” Shifty asked around a mouthful of beef.

“We were trying to protect our identities,” said Ford.

“What’s an identity?”

“Your identity is, well it’s who you are? How do I explain this . . .”

“Let me show you something,” said Stan. He ducked into his room briefly and came out with a shoebox. He pulled a few driver’s licenses out of it. “These are fake IDs. Basically they tell everyone that I’m someone I’m not. They’re lies. And they’re illegal.”

“What’s ‘illegal?’” asked Shifty.

“Only the fun stuff, kid.” With a look from Ford, Stan added, “Kidding, I’m kidding! Lots of illegal things can hurt people. Like killing, that’s bad. So the government will punish you for doing those things. If I stole someone else’s ID, I could steal their money, or do bad things under their name, so they would get in trouble and not me. It’s called identity fraud, and humans take it very seriously.”

“So that’s why we didn’t want you to see any human faces,” said Ford. “Because stealing someone’s identity like that is wrong. Do you understand?”

Shifty nodded. “You don’t want me to lie and pretend like I’m a human.”

“Exactly,” said Ford. “You’ve seen our faces now, so it can’t be helped. But if you want to meet other humans, we need you to promise you won’t take their forms, all right?”

“Okay, I promise,” said Shifty. “I won’t turn into you, or Stan, or any other humans. I won’t lie.”

Ford realized he had every confidence Shifty would keep his word.

The following week went much more smoothly, now that Stan and Ford didn’t have to wear masks so much and could take Shifty with them on field expeditions and into town. It started to feel like Shifty was a third, junior member of their team.

Shifty made it clear he thought of it differently, when one night he asked Ford, “Are you my dad?”

Surprised, Ford put down the Little Critter book he’d been reading to Shifty. He shifted uncomfortably at the beseeching look from the red eyes of Shifty’s true form, which he always reverted to when tired or sleeping. “Ah, not biologically, no. I assume you’re referring to my social role as your caregiver?”

“Yeah. You tuck me in at night, like Little Critter’s dad. And we play during the day, and you take care of me. We love each other.”

Ford was surprised at Shifty’s word choice. He’d always found Shifty interesting, at least, and Ford couldn’t deny he’d become quite invested in Shifty’s welfare, but love? How did you quantify such a thing? How did Shifty even know what that meant?

“Isn’t that how human families work?” asked Shifty.

“I - yes, I suppose. I’m afraid it’s not my area of expertise. I never expected to make a human family of my own. I’m still just trying to be a better brother to Stanley.” Ford adjusted the cushion he sat on, next to the opening of the den Shifty preferred to sleep in, rather than a more traditional bed. “But you, Shifty, you’re not human. Why would you want a human family?”

“I dunno. I thought it would make me happy. We don’t have to be family if you don’t want to.”

Shifty curled around himself, rolling deeper into his den, and Ford felt his heart sink. “I do want you to be happy,” he told Shifty. And that was when he knew Shifty had become more than an experiment to him. He had more than a scientific interest in helping this creature learn and grow. He had felt that way for a long time. “You can call me Dad if you want.”

“Really?” Shifty scrambled out of his den, morphing into a dog as he went. His paws rested on Ford’s shoulders, and he nuzzled his soft, furry head into Ford’s neck. Ford reflexively hugged him back, stroking his pelt. “Thanks, Dad.”

The enormity of it hit him then. He was a father now. Another being depended on him, loved him. He was Shifty’s whole world. And Shifty was his.

Ford hugged him tighter. “I love you, Son,” he said.

“I love you, too. Dad.” said Shifty.

When Shifty called him Dad the next morning at breakfast, Stan raised his eyebrows. “Shifty’s your kid, now?” he asked Ford.

“Last night, I asked if I could call him Dad, and he said yes,” Shifty informed him.

“Really?”

Ford tugged at his collar. “Well, he is a sapient child whom I have grown to care and take responsibility for, so. It is appropriate.”

“Huh. Well, Shifty, if Ford’s your dad, that makes me your fun uncle!” He clapped Shifty on the back. “It’s Uncle Stan from now on, all right, kid?”

Shifty smiled back with Little Critter’s buck-toothed grin. “Okay, Uncle Stan.”

“Mazeltov, Sixer!” said Bill. He summoned some lavender balloons that read, ‘It’s a shapeshifter!’

“Thank you, Bill.”

“Hey, I’m just grateful you’re able to make time for me now you’re a working parent and all.”

“I’m sorry, Bill. I know between Shifty and not having the mechanical help I need -”

Bill waved off his excuses. “I told you, a solution for that is in the works. I just don’t want you getting lost in the weeds with individual specimens while your Grand Unified Theory goes unpublished!”

“Yes, of course. I’ll try harder.”

“And anyway, once you get the portal up and running, you’ll be able to find the dimension Shifty comes from. Think of how much you could learn about his species then! Things you should probably know if you’re trying to raise one of them.”

Ford hung his head. “You’re right. When it comes to figuring out Shifty, and what he needs . . . I’m stumbling around in the dark. He’d probably be happier if we made contact with some of his own kind . . .”

“Yeah, well, for now he’s stuck with you, isn’t he? With any luck, he won’t end up resenting you the way you do your dad, right?”

“Of course not! I would never treat him the way our dad treated us.” Despite his indignation, Ford was forcefully reminded of the inhumane way he’d treated Shifty all of a few weeks before, and was ashamed.

Bill clapped a reassuring hand on his back. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do your best, Sixer.”

The deep midnight blue of the mindscape abruptly faded away, and another voice called out to Ford.

“Get out of his head!”

“Shhh, Shifty, let him sleep, he never takes a minute to rest like this . . .”

Ford opened his eyes and found Shifty in the form of a badger, scrambling to get out of Stan’s grasp. “Dad!” he said. “Did you tell the monster to go away?”

“He thinks something was attacking your brain while you were asleep,” Stan explained.

Ford shook himself awake, annoyed at himself for messing up his schedule like this. He’d only meant to sit on the couch for a minute or two . . . “Come here, Shifty,” he said, and extended his arms to Stan, who handed Shifty over.

Ford stroked his pelt and assured him, “I’m fine. Nobody was trying to hurt me. I was simply speaking with my Muse.” Really, it was quite extraordinary that Shifty seemed able to sense Bill’s presence. “Sometimes he enters my dreams and helps with my research. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Shifty looked unconvinced. “He made you feel bad. Bad shame wrong. He’s yucky.”

Ford gave an explanation that was close enough to the truth. “We were just talking about some of the obstacles setting back my project. It’s not his fault. How could you tell what I was feeling when I was asleep, anyway?”

Shifty looked confused. “You . . . smelled? No, not a smell. I just felt the, you know, the little waves, they tell you what the feelings are. I can’t feel them when I’m asleep, but I was awake. You were asleep.”

“You have a psychic sense for other people’s emotions?” asked Ford. Of course he did. Looking back, it was so obvious. Shifty had always been so confident when talking about how people felt. Ford really should have noticed sooner. “And that’s how you could sense my Muse’s presence?”

“Yes? Is that not something humans can do?”

Ford shook his head. “We can read facial expressions and body language, but otherwise, the only way we can tell how someone is feeling is if they tell us.”

“Is that why you didn’t trust me at first? Because you couldn’t tell I didn’t want to hurt you?”

“Well, yes,” Ford admitted. “I didn’t realize you were a sapient being and I didn’t know what your abilities were, or how you wanted to use them. So I kept you locked up. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. I thought I had done something wrong. I tried to be good.”

“Oh, Shifty . . .” Ford hugged him closer. “You are good. You’re a wonderful kid. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

Shifty must have sensed how guilty Ford felt, because he said, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. I know you love me now.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t deserve to be mistreated,” Stan cut in. “You don’t have to take care of Ford’s feelings. He’s a grown up. We should take care of yours.”

“You’re right, Stan,” Ford agreed. “I know we’re at a disadvantage, Shifty, when it comes to supporting you emotionally. I’m bad at dealing with feelings, even by human standards. But I’ll do my best for you. Will you tell me your feelings so I can help you?”

“Okay,” said Shifty. “I wish you had always been my dad. I wish you had never been mean.”

“Me too,” said Ford.

“I’m glad you said sorry, though. I still love you, anyway.”

“I love you, too,” Ford assured him.

“And I still don’t like your muse. He’s mean, and he’s sneaky.”

“I’m not sure I like him either,” Stan concurred. “When you first told me about him, I didn’t really take it seriously. I’m sorry, it was just really weird. But if Shifty can sense him, and he’s actually real, well, all that stuff you said, about how he only picks one brilliant mind a century and all that? If I were trying to con you, that’s exactly the angle I’d go for.”

“But he’s not a con,” Ford said reflexively. “I don’t think I did a good job of explaining him. If you met him in person, you’d see, Bill is amazing.”

“No no no no no,” said Shifty. “I don’t want him in my head! Promise me you won’t let him in my head.”

“Okay, I promise,” said Ford, alarmed by how much this agitated Shifty. “He won’t hurt you, he won’t hurt any of us. Ever.”

Shifty was still wary, but he accepted Ford’s comfort. Ford could tell Stan had more to say on the subject, though, and he did, after Ford had put Shifty to bed.

“Ford, I’m just saying, your mind is a powerful thing. Letting some supernatural creature inside it is no small potatoes. Whatever you’re getting out of this arrangement you got, make sure he’s not short changing you.”

“Of course he’s not! Look, Stan, if you want to see the truth for yourself, there’s a simple spell you can use to follow him into my mind, next time he’s there. You’ll see, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“All right,” Stan said tentatively. “I might do that. But just ask yourself this, Ford, what is this Bill guy getting out of this? Why does he want you to build the portal so badly?”

“Well that’s simple, he . . .” Ford realized he’d never asked Bill that question before, and he’d never volunteered the information himself. But clearly that just meant his motives were pure, right? “He’s a being of the mind, Stan. Scientific discovery is its own reward.”

“Are you serious?” asked Stan. “You’ve never questioned anything he’s said, have you? I thought you were smarter than that.”

Anger flared in Ford, quick and intense. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about! This is just like you, to barge into things you don’t understand -”

“Hey, don’t try to turn this around on me. I’m just looking out for you, like I’ve been doing since day one.”

“I can think of at least one glaring exception.”

“Seriously, Stanford? Are you going to hold that one mistake over me for the rest of my life?”

“It just shows you have a history of ruining my work right when it’s about to pay off. You never cared about the things that are important to me, you’re only interested in chasing your cheap thrills.”

“I never cared about what was important to you? I thought I was important to you! You think I went to prison in three different countries just for the fun of it? I did what I had to, just to survive. Which I’ve had to do for over ten years, while you never bothered to stick your nose out of a book long enough to check on your brother.”

Ford’s seething response melted away at the thought of Stanley shivering, Stanley hungry, Stanley alone. “Stanley, I - I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t care about you. These past weeks with you have meant the world to me. You’re right. I should’ve tried to reconnect with you sooner, and - and I shouldn’t still be blaming you for something you did in high school.”

Stan’s gaze shifted down to his feet. “It wasn’t that I didn’t care about your perpetual motion machine. I really didn’t mean to break it, and I should’ve owned up to what I did and told you instead of trying to fix it myself. I may not understand everything about this portal, but I really do want to help you. It’s just that this Bill guy seems fishy to me.”

“And I told you, you have a chance to talk to him yourself. Will you at least try to keep an open mind about him until then?”

“I will, if you try to keep your mind open to the idea that he may not be what he seems.”

“I . . . suppose that’s fair.”

“Now will you please get some sleep? Between the kid and the portal you’ve been running yourself ragged.”

“It’s not so bad as all that.” Ford tried to shrug it off. “I think if I change the alignment on the oscillator I might get a better charge on the clux fapacitor -”

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

“It won’t take that long to test out. Anyway, I got a nap in earlier, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, a ‘nap.’ Looked more like you passed out from sheer exhaustion. You definitely need more sleep.”

“I can sleep when I’ve published my Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness.” And with that, Ford escaped to the basement before Stan could respond.

Ford didn’t want to admit it, but this whole business unsettled him. Stan was the one person he trusted best in all the world, but Bill was his Muse, the one who not only saw what Ford could be, but gave him the tools to achieve it. Now the two seemed to be setting themselves against each other. Ford didn’t want to think of what the outcome would be, should he be forced to choose between them. He could only hope it wouldn’t come to that.

Read the next work in this series

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A Year to Eternity - Chapter 3

Elena’s eyes darted from Caroline to Klaus curiously before settling on Elijah’s confused expression; he had no idea what his brother was doing at her house either.

“What’s going to be amusing?” She pressed a hand to her back, applying a light pressure to the ache near the base of her spine and mentally scolding herself for leaping to her feet so quickly.

She focused her gaze on Klaus, turning to face him fully. “What are you doing here?”

She thought she did an astounding job of keeping any and all accusations from her tone.

“Perhaps you could invite me in, love,” he pushed a hand against the barrier, “so I’m not speaking across the length of your house.”

“Are you going to threaten to burn my house to the ground if I don’t?” She arched an eyebrow, hearing the snide inflection in her voice.

The baby tapped out a staccato rhythm on her ribs.

As much as she wanted to deny him entry and step outside for whatever conversation he had in mind she decided against it, knowing she would live to regret her impulsive decision made by tired limbs.

“Come on in.”

He stepped inside and moved to the living room without pausing to look around.

“What do you want Klaus?” She crossed her arms over her stomach, feeling suddenly like a beached whale.

“What I want is your blood.”

Elena clicked her tongue. “Saw that one coming from a mile away.”

“I need it for a spell,” his jaw clicked. “Bonnie Bennett will only do it if you give your blood willingly.”

“You expect me to give you my blood for another spell?” Heat rose in her cheeks, but with it came a powerful sense of control. “You murdered my mother and my aunt, you indirectly killed my father, terrorized my town, used me as a human blood bag and you were going to kill me again. Do you really think I’m going to give you anything you want?”

“I’m sorry...”

She cut him off with a wry laugh. Her words came out sharp, ringing with a truth they all knew. “Oh please, we both know you’d do it again in a heartbeat without batting an eye.”

“You’re right,” he nodded solemnly, “I would, and I regret nothing with the exception of your aunt. That was an unfortunate necessity to draw you out after Damon’s interference.”

“That interference saved Tyler and Caroline.” His eyes widened. She wondered if he had ever known the first vampire Katherine provided him was Caroline. Would he have been able to kill her, or would he have been as captivated that first night as he was when he couldn’t let her die from Tyler’s bite?

From the corner of her eye she watched Caroline perch on the arm of the sofa and motion with her hand. A sharp backwards jab that Elijah steadfastly ignored. She felt his presence at her elbow.

Klaus shifted closer, staring into her hard eyes.

She knew he didn’t regret it. He would never regret it. For a thousand years he had been cut off from a part of who he was, denied his heritage. A piece of him had been missing and in a weird way she got it. Maybe if he had gone about things differently, asked for her help and provided Elijah’s elixir, she might have participated willingly - so long as nobody innocent filled the other roles: Kai Parker would have made an excellent candidate; she couldn’t say the world would have been worse off without him.

Of course nobody could ever hope to know.

The past was past.

“Elena, please?”

Her name sounded as foreign on his tongue as the show of manners. ‘Love’, ‘my lovely’, ‘doppelgänger’ and ‘my girl’ were his preferred monikers for her, but ‘Elena’ had only crossed his lips once. She remembered it clearly, the cold night, the lick of fire, and the numbing emptiness as Jenna’s death sank in; the sincerity with which he had thanked her remained nothing short of shocking. It was one of the few moments she had ever seen him vulnerable with his emotions laid bare.

She tried not to show how much her name affected her.

“She and Kol have found a way to save my daughter, and it requires your blood, willingly given,” he took a deep breath to help force out his words. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

She gripped her upper arms and narrowed her eyes at the man who had blown into her life and laid it in ruins at her feet. Every death caused by his siblings and even Katherine could be linked back to him and his curse breaking crusade. The sorrow he had caused still hit her from time to time at  the oddest moments.

And now she had the opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine. The life of someone he loved rested in her hands.

She imagined saying no and the rush of power that would give her. None of her friends would blame her for the decision; Elijah wouldn’t begrudge her for the choice, despite what it would mean for his family.

“I need your help, Elena, please?” She could have sworn she saw moisture in his eyes.

She was well within her rights to say no.

She had earned that no.

And then there was the flip side. Klaus might be a dick, and the evil hybrid who destroyed her sleepy little town, but his daughter was innocent. Hope Mikaelson was a fifteen year old with her life ahead of her and a father who loved her more than anything; the man had been willing to sacrifice his life so she could live.

And she’d already lost her mother.

Not that Elijah had any intention of letting her lose her father too.

“I’m begging you.”

She knew she couldn’t say no.

++++

Elena shivered in the blast of cold air and leaned forward to close the vents. The swell of her belly made the motion awkward and knocked her purse to the floor. She blinked down, between what she could see of her feet, considered bending to retrieve it and came to the decision neither she nor the baby would enjoy the experience.

“You know,” she walked her fingers across her stomach, earning a kick with every touch, “my car has the ventilation perfectly set, and my stomach doesn’t get in the way of driving.”

“Yes, but if you were in your car, driving by yourself, I would be returning to the school with Klaus and be unable to grill you with questions.” Caroline signalled to turn. Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror for a glimpse of the Bentley’s headlights where two Originals followed them close enough to hear; she flipped on the radio. Jazz filled the car. “You really disappointed me back there.”

Elena adjusted the seatbelt, stopping it from digging into her windpipe.

“You thought I’d refuse to help Hope?” Her brows rose into her hairline, nearly disappearing behind her side swept bangs.

“Of course not,” she scoffed, rolling her neck around for Elena to see her expression.

“I knew that you’d help. She’s just a kid, so you were obviously going to help her. I just figured you’d make Klaus work for it a little more. Is it wrong that I was looking forward to watching him beg, and seeing you deny him? I thought for sure we’d have to utilize Elijah’s persuasive skills at some point.”

Caroline slowed for a stop sign and checked both directions before rolling into the intersection.

“I thought you’d be tickled pink by the thought of Klaus incased in concrete somewhere at the bottom of the ocean.” Her jaw clicked.

“You really think Elijah would have let him go through with it?” She braced her forehead on the window and caught a glimpse of his dark outline in the mirror.

Her breath fogged up the glass: “stupid, freaking, martyr.”

“I’m gonna let that one go,” Caroline glanced over.

Elena flushed and blamed the pregnancy hormones for her next words because she refused to be the only one blushing in the car.

“If you’re so eager to hear Klaus beg for anything, I’m sure you could think of something else that will have him pleading harder with each subsequent denial.”

Caroline’s alabaster cheeks burned red.

Elena smirked. “You’ve thought about it,” she tittered, “minus utilizing Elijah’s persuasive talents.”

“You’ve thought about Elijah’s persuasive talents,” Caroline shot back.

It made little sense in terms of what they alluded to, but Elena understood the middle school comeback, so rather than burst into giggles her flush deepened; she cursed the day she told Caroline about her recurring dream that had only gotten steamier with the addition of hormones.

“You’re cruel,” she ducked, hiding her embarrassed grin.

“You started it,” she tossed her hands up from the wheel for a second in a shrug. “What was Elijah doing at your place?”

“Catching up.”

“Not turning your fantasy into a reality?”

“Of course not!” Her heart thundered loudly in her ears. He had of course fulfilled one of her dreams, but since the domestic fantasies had never been shared with Caroline her words remained true.

“So, Elijah decides he’s gonna play self-sacrificing big brother and instead of spending his last hours on earth with his family he goes to visit you?” Caroline leaned against the headrest.

“What’s your point?” Her nails scratched the seatbelt, catching in the tiny grooves.

“You haven’t psychoanalyzed that yet?” She fluttered her lashes.

“I only found out a few minutes before you arrived, and I was too busy yelling at him because there was no way in hell I was letting him go through with it.” Pressure built in her chest. “And now all I can think about is the spell Kol helped Bonnie make, and how I’m a central part of it.”

“I guess that means you also haven’t considered why ‘there was no way in hell’ you weren’t letting him do it either?” She tapped the wheel.

“Have you thought about why you wouldn’t let Klaus do it?” She countered.

“I know exactly why and if he were actually going through with plan A then I might even tell him, but we’re not going through with that so I don’t feel the pressing need to reveal the inner workings of my mind.”

Elena twisted to look over her shoulder and through the window.

“He knows,” she sighed, “even if you can’t say it. Deep down, he knows.”

She found Caroline’s soft eyes on her, all teasing gone from her face. “He knows, too.”

Before she got a chance to dispute that, the entertainment system dimmed for an incoming call. Caroline used the controls on the wheel to answer.

“Hey, Bonnie.”

“Hey, are you on your way?”

“Yeah, I’ve got Elena with me,” she flipped her turn signal, skirting the town square.

“Hey, Bonnie,” she raised her voice to reach the speaker.

“Hey. I have a confession to make.”

“You’re having a steamy affair with a Mikaelson,” Elena breathed.

“Wow, you really need to get laid.”

“Elijah would probably oblige,” Caroline smirked.

“Whats the confession Bon?” She glared at her friend.

“It’s about the spell. Right now your blood is tainted by the cure which makes it less… reliable.”

“I think I know where this is going,” she sighed, turning her attention to Caroline. “You want it?”

“Not even a little bit,” her nose wrinkled.

“Didn’t think so. Pull in here,” she nodded to a charcoal awning. “I’ll take care of it Bonnie.”

Caroline ended the call and put the car in park. She eyed the darkened window, momentarily illuminated by Elijah’s headlights.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Potentially put myself into early labour.” She pushed open her door and stood, feeling her back pop.

“At thirty-seven weeks you’re gonna induce,” Caroline shook her head. “Technically you’re at term.”

She dug through her purse for her keys and sorted out the ring until she had the right one. “Do I need to tell you who to call?”

“I think I got it,” she nodded, already flicking through her contacts.

Elena left her to her devices and moved to the building. A fine layer of dust clung to the office, mocking her neglect of hard to reach corners on the desk. She made a note to ask the cleaner to come in twice a week instead of one.

That was if she didn’t ultimately decide to shut down and sell the practice.

Dr. Elena Gilbert once held a nice ring to it, but long ago it began to feel like someone else’s vision of her life. She wasn’t sure she wanted to make a career out of another person’s dream. Maybe she would write or teach, or do any number of things that wouldn’t turn her into her dad.

She loved him, and she missed him everyday, but there was no denying that Grayson Gilbert missed a lot of his children’s lives.

She didn’t want her daughter growing up to wonder when Mommy would be home from work, especially without a daddy to fill in the gaps.

But she shook off those thoughts. The clock ticked; she would have time to think later. Fetching a couple of syringes, she walked back onto the street before Klaus could race in and demand to know what the hold-up was.

++++

Rebekah met them at the front door, bouncing from one stiletto to the other. Kol stood at her side, dark brows drawn over darker eyes.

Her stomach twisted. The last time she had seen that type of intensity on his face he had been driving a railing through her body. Her baby kicked the throbbing spot, somehow managing to touch every place the wood scraped.

The set of his mouth appeared more urgent than murderous, so she took a deep breath to relax as she opened the door.

Elijah’s hand appeared before she could command her legs to move, and she took it, enjoying the brief contact. It lasted only as long as it took to stand and refocus her balance.

Then she had the privilege of watching Kol’s eyes grow wide and his mouth pop open. She let herself enjoy the moment for a second and then focused.

“Does Bonnie have the spell ready?” She hooked her purse over her shoulder.

“She and Freya are putting the finishing touches on it,” Rebekah nodded, “they just need your blood.”

“Where are they?” Caroline moved towards the school.

“In your office,” Kol moved with her, eyes darting back to Elena.

She hoped he felt little to no residual, well deserved, rage because she suspected Elijah would place himself between her and potential danger to her child, and she had no desire to kick off another feud between brothers.

She glanced at the spell, arranged in an ash circle before the sister she had never met. The complexity laid beyond her level of magical comprehension, and she lacked the time to ask. At least she assumed she lacked the time based on the patient.

Hope reclined in a red leather armchair, eyes closed and extraordinarily pale.

She took the desk chair and rolled up her sleeve.

“Does anyone else know how to draw blood?” She brought out the neatly packed syringes and a tourniquet, finishing off her supplies with an alcohol swab.

“After a thousand years we are rather proficient,” Klaus murmured, laying the back of his hand on Hope’s brow; she shifted, but didn’t open her eyes.

“I meant with a syringe,” she rolled her eyes. “I was a vampire for a few years and once the cure is gone those years will catch up. I don’t know how fast it will happen, but there is a decent chance that I’ll be inducing labour and I’d rather not give birth with a stinging vampire bite or a large cut on my arm.”

“I can do it,” Rebekah picked up the tourniquet. She tied off Elena’s arm, and swabbed the vein; she had the syringe in place before addressing the surprised looks. “I did spend a year as a nurse; I had to do this a few times.”

Elena watched the clear tube fill and stopped Rebekah before she could clip the second in place.

“I think that has to be taken first,” she frowned, directing her gaze to Bonnie.

“Better safe than sorry,” she nodded, raising an eyebrow at Freya.

“I’m of the same mind,” she poured black sand around the knife.

Elena turned her attention back to Rebekah, expecting her to inject the cure without a second thought. It was the only thing she had wanted her entire life from the moment she learned what her mother had truly done to them. Yet hesitation turned her pretty features as she glanced from the blood to the left, half-turning to look towards her brothers.

“Rebekah!” Klaus snapped, but she wasn’t looking at him.

Her eyes were focused on Kol between glances towards the syringe.

“Did I miss something?” Elena whispered, finding Elijah’s gaze; he shook his head and shrugged.

Kol swore under his breath, almost too quiet for her human ears, before plucking the syringe from his sister.

She turned back towards Elena.

She watched the soft play of emotions as Rebekah’s stiff shoulders quaked. The dejected sigh went straight to her heart. The sound cut off in a strangled gasp; her eyes darted to the syringe in the blonde’s neck as Rebekah’s lashes fluttered when she fell.

Cold rushed through Elena’s body, pouring over her head and racing up from her toes. It poured from the pinprick in her forearm and she swore she saw a wave leave her body, crashing onto Rebekah’s falling form.

Kol carried her to a short sofa and stretched his sister out.

Elena squeezed her eyes against nausea and exhaustion. She peeked out through her lashes when large hands covered her thighs; a little more energy and she might have flushed at finding Elijah on his knees in front of her.

“Elena?” His thumbs drew circles atop her leggings.

“I’m good,” she swallowed, “pass me the other syringe?” Her fingers shook.

Elijah took over, taking the needle and slipping it into her vein. He filled it with blood, tossed the second syringe to Freya and untied the tourniquet.

He attempted to place a cotton swab on the dot of blood.

Elena’s fingers twisted, digging into his hard biceps. She breathed fast through her nose and clenched her jaw tight against the contraction.

There was a specific way to breathe. How was she supposed to breathe?

Blood stained his shirt sleeves when she let go.

“Is that enough for the spell?” She blew out a fast stream of air.

The pads of her fingers replaced her sharp nails, but if she left bruises instead of cuts she would never know because Elijah voiced no complaints. She wasn’t sure she would have heard it anyway, too busy clenching her teeth against the pain.

Shouldn’t the contraction end at some point?

Precipitous labour, her brain supplied. Should have seen that one coming.

“We’re about to find out,” Bonnie muttered.

Elena blinked, catching movement as the witches joined hands. She felt the static charge of magic in the air, pulling towards the knife as they chanted.

“Are you going to release Elijah, darling?” Kol drawled, carefully pulling blonde hair from Rebekah’s mouth.

“Nope,” she went for a head shake, but the motion made the pain worse. She couldn’t see what Kol did, nor hear what he muttered. Whatever it was proved enough to earn a sharp reprimand from Elijah.

She felt her hands tugged away and squeezed hard enough to break Elijah’s fingers.

“Is that enough blood?” Elijah reclaimed one hand and shifted, carefully maneuvering to rub the small of her back.

“Yes,” Bonnie looked up from the knife.

“You don’t need anymore?” Urgency laced his tone. “You’re certain?”

The conversation flew back and forth. She needed a hospital. Bonnie needed to put the final seals on the spell with Freya. Caroline needed to bring the girls. Alaric needed to hover and make sure the twins remained safe, not the he could have done anything if they weren’t.

And then she knew what it was to be weightless in Elijah’s arms as he carried her to the car and placed her in the passenger seat.

“I’ll ruin the fabric if my water breaks,” she flushed.

“You have more important things to think about right now,” he fastened her seatbelt.

++++

The full moon’s light filtered through the blinds in the large window, making it a few inches into the sterile space; florescent lights drowned out the celestial event.

She couldn’t see where it was, but she suspected it had risen beyond its apex.

Her fingers curled around the bed rail.

Tired eyes flickered from the cupboard holding her clothes to the well worn visitor’s chair and her concerned visitor. He appeared at once comfortable and out of place.

“How do you feel?” Elijah tilted his head.

“I just had a giant needle jabbed in my spine,” she hummed, “I feel numb.”

She allowed herself a moment to close her eyes as the drug worked its magic. It had the added benefit of cutting off their eye contact. He grew up in a time long before the existence of the epidural when women felt every contraction. His mother did it seven times. Tatia and Katherine both did it without aid.

She lasted an hour, less when she took begging for the drugs the moment they were inside, into account.

“Do you think I’m weak?” She directed the question to the IV.

“Why would I ever think that?” His brows drew together.

“Giant needle…” her lip curled.

“I think,” he began, unbuttoning his jacket, “that you were in tremendous pain and that if you gave me a month I could provide you a list a mile long of women who would have jumped for an epidural; including your own ancestor.”

“Tatia?” Her eyes narrowed. She pushed her head into the pillow. “Seriously.”

“You could hear her screams from the falls, and I am not speaking figuratively. I had taken Rebekah and Henrik swimming, ten and six at the time, when Niklaus heard the first scream. I had to strain to catch the sound. We thought the village was under attack.” Nostalgia graced his smile, tinted with sadness. “Mother gave us an earful for leaving a thirteen year old Kol in charge of our younger siblings.”

“Irresponsible?” She guessed, glancing to the machine keeping track of her contractions.

“Poor swimmer,” he chuckled. “Rebekah had a habit of swimming under the falls.”

“I used to do that,” she sighed, tightening her arm over her stomach, “there’s a little cave back there.” She blinked back tears as a contraction tore through the pain meds.

“Little more than a ledge, I’d say.”

“You’ve been?” She drew in a sharp breath.

“I did grow up here,” his smirk turned serious, “you’re not weak, Elena.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, fiddling with the hospital bracelet. “You don’t have to stay, you know? I’m okay, and I’m sure you’re dying to check on Hope.”

“Hope is surrounded by family who will immediately let me know if something goes wrong,” he reasoned. “And I do have to stay. I won’t leave you here alone.”

“I should probably get used to being alone,” she chewed her bottom lip, chomping down hard enough to bruise. Her hand curled over her belly as she sighed. “Sort of alone.”

He reached out and placed his hand near hers on the rail, not quite touching her fingers; the heart monitor jumped.

“You should never get used to being alone in any capacity.”

“I don’t see another option right now.” She tried for a wry smile.

“Aren’t you the one who was screaming there’s always another option?” He teased.

“That was different,” she shook her head. Her eyes widened when he covered her fingers.

“You gave me an option Elena, and now I’m giving you one. Now that I have the time, since I won’t be sinking to the bottom of the deepest ocean, I would offer you my support.” He gently squeezed her fingers. “You have it Elena, whatever that may entail; be it help in the dead of night when she won’t sleep, or finding out what the hell happened to you.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Or overhauling that nursery so you don’t have to be confused every time you put her to bed.” His thumb rubbed her wrist. “Whatever you need Elena. I give you my word.”

“Elijah,” she choked on his name and blinked back tears that she blamed on her hormones. Her sparkling eyes flicked, searching his gaze for honesty just for something to do; she knew he was honest, and that he would keep his word. “You knew it was me in Willoughby?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Why?” Her chest rose and fell with shaky breaths.

His eyes fell to her hospital bracelet and back to her face.

“Because I’m a very selfish man,” he sighed, “and if I thought for a second that I could get away with it I’d do it again, but that’s not likely to happen.”

Her mind flashed back to the gazebo. She felt his strong hand on her jaw and the slant of his hungry mouth; soft, exploratory and oddly gentle with a tongue that whispered sinful promises.

The question travelled up her throat and sat heavily on the tip of her tongue: ‘what if that’s what I need?’.

The door burst open before she could ask and she was forced to break their heavy stare to watch Caroline and Bonnie skid across the linoleum.

“We’ve got it from here,” Bonnie reached for her hand as Elijah let go.

“How’s Hope?” Elena blinked, swallowing her question; the moment had passed.

“She’s fine,” Caroline directed the response between them.

Elena wondered if she had been listening.

“The vessel held?” Elijah’s fingers brushed her arm.

“Yeah,” Bonnie nodded, “Kol’s keeping it safe for the time being.”

“Klaus is seeing Hope through the transformation,” Caroline explained, “and Rebekah is getting a full physical from a compelled doctor in 402.”

“I suppose I’ll go check on her.” He locked eyes with Elena on his way out, and she understood that he wouldn’t go far.

@elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @naughtynecromancer @ethanjwillis @cry-btch@geekofmanyfandoms @morsmornte @xanderling @bellemorte180 @iw1shiknew@blndbandt@petrova-banz @bulldozed88 @njeancastro316

[sevman49]

I promised myself to write about my pilgrimage south to meet the woman I believe I now belong to. The Woman I Believe I Belong To. Sounds like the title of a country song. I'll write it later. I'm inspired. I went to meet her and planned on spending the weekend if we hit it off. That was my hope. I ended up staying two and a half weeks.

I'd like to tell you more about her, how beautiful she is, how well off she is, how she became so well off, describe her elegance and the environment she inhabits. But I'm not allowed to. I can't tell you her name, not that you would recognize it if you aren't a local. She knows I will write about her, and will allow it only if my discretion is absolute. I understand why it's necessary, I just can't tell anyone else why. I'll just refer to her as She and Her. I can't even describe her house or it's location, that would give her identity away. She is known and she is important. And powerful. And secretive.

As I wrote earlier, she wanted a wife, she's not gay, she wanted a male wife. A companion who would handle all the so called wifely duties in the household. Keeping it clean, doing the laundry, do the cooking and serving, be her confidant and company, amuse and entertain her, obey her, be her sexual toy and tool, keep my mouth shut and my opinions to myself, and most importantly, be prepared to be fucked, battered, trampled and physically and mentally womanhandled when she returned home every evening. I had no problem with that. And one last thing, be invisible to the outside world. I would never accompany her in public and when she had visitors, I would be locked away in a very private room built just for that purpose.

So, what's in it for me? In no particular order, these are my benefits. I would be fucked, battered, trampled and physically and mentally womanhandled by this exotically beautiful, lithe, flowery but firm gynarchistic minded female every day and night. I would be her very secret, forcefully confined, oft beaten, heavily disciplined wife who sucked her dick ( or the female version of that) any time she snapped her fingers. I would live well and be well taken care of by her and be monetarily rewarded on a monthly basis. All I had to do was whatever she said and keep it all to myself and her.

I would maintain my own residence back home and live my normal life there whenever she traveled for business purposes, which would intermittently add up to about to about 6 months out of the year. When she departed I would slip out in my new sports car in the morning darkness to drive home and slip back in the same way upon her return. We have it all worked out. It's doable and I'm excited about it. I'm to give her my final assent when she returns home in 3 weeks. I already know yes is my answer. But there are things I need to think about before I sign the contract regarding our nondisclosure agreement and the financial terms I would agree to.

Har! I would do it for nothing! But I won't tell her that. I DO need income of some sort after all! Might as well consider this my dream job. I should ask about insurance benefits also. I could get hurt doing some of the things she has in mind for me. Again, I'm ok with that!

What things, I imagine anyone asking? I shouldn't say, but, fuck it. Let's talk about the last two and a half weeks. During this part, I'm going to reveal how I came to be as submissive as I am. Why it's a part of me I couldn't change if I wanted to. And I don't want to. It's who I am, as long as I remember, and I'm most at home and comfortable in this state.

No one who knows me now knew me when I was growing up. My life before my college years was a thousand miles away from here. My father, before he passed away when I was 7 years old can best be described as a reclusive yet hugely successful financial genius. He saw trends others didn't and invested in what are now universal corporations with well known brands and worldwide recognition. With his blossoming fortune and his disdain for populated areas, he bought the land others considered wilderness and built an estate for his family where our nearest neighbors were 60 miles away. The everyday items people shop including food and substance were delivered to us on a weekly basis. There were people employed to take care of things so we had contact with these people but otherwise we lived by ourselves, like rich pioneers in uninhabited areas. There was him, my mother, then in a 6 year period 3 children. My older sister two years my senior, then me, and two years later my younger sister. We were all born into isolation and it's all we knew. We had all the amenities other kids grew up with except television, we just didn't know the other kids. We were diligently home schooled 3 days a week by Miss Kerr, a young teaching assistant who had a room of her own in our home who stayed with us Monday through Wednesday teaching us about scholarship and society in a variety of subjects.

Now for the facts of life about what made me who I am today. My mother was a beautiful woman even by today's standards, and she was an early day Female Supremist. My earliest memories are of her as the boss of our household, the absolute ruler of my father, who did whatever she told him to do and if he didn't, she was quick to punish him physically and mentally. Not behind closed doors but in the presence of my sisters and I. Father never complained, he just took his punishments and apologized for angering her. Mother was a slapper and a spanker. She never forgave a misstep by him and took no pushback nor excuses. Just instant correction we witnessed a thousand times. Mighty slaps that sent him staggering backwards apologizing while she advanced on him landing WHAP after WHAP like a well trained prize fighter. This was everyday life for us. My sister's and I couldn't even imagine a world where a male was even equal to his partner. We all knew my future role in this family. My sister's sure did and they would strive to be the woman my mother was. They just needed the go ahead from Mom. They got it when Father had a heart attack and was gone in the blink of an eye. After a week of mourning and services Mom called us into the parlor for a family meeting. I knew my life had changed by the seating arrangement she dictated to us. Her and my sisters on the couch on each side of her, and me on the floor sitting at their feet facing them. I wasn't shocked, what else did I expect? My life as a male was about to take shape. But there was, indeed, a surprise I never saw coming. And she led off with that. My sister's were equally caught flatfooted. But, it meant something different to them, and it made them smile when it was spelled out to them.

"Stephen", she began, " You are now the man of the house. You've always been like a son to me (well, of course, thought I) but the time has come to tell you this. You are my adopted son. We love you as if you were born to me but we adopted you at birth and raised you for this very situation, in case your father , your adopted father, passed on. When Kate was born, we decided to adopt a male to serve her and for her to train as she matured. We were certainly glad we did when Cindy was born two years later. She also needs a male to train. You are sitting at our feet for a reason, Stephen, do I have to spell it out any further?"

There I was, a seven year old boy, receiving the news of the world, that my whole existence was a lie, that I was brought into this family to become a servant for my sister's when the time came, and that they really weren't my sister's. Imagine the shock and trauma I should have felt. Here's what I felt instead. I'm sitting on the floor with 3 females sitting over me, each now putting their feet on me and none of them are related to me. I remember that as my first intentional sexual hard on in my life.

"No, maam, I get it" Ex-mom smiled and told me she was proud of me, that she always knew I was a good boy. My older now stepsister had her foot resting on my shoulder and I asked her if I could lick her feet. She nodded, pleased as punch, and covered my face with both feet. I did that to mess with my 5 year old stepsis. She was actually gonna be tougher than her elder sister. In time.

There's a lot to tell about the path my life took for the next 10 years.but, I digress. That's another story and I'm anxious to relive it as I look back on how it shaped me. And led me into the life of servitude with a remarkable very respected socialite that no one, not even you know about yet.

I could keep on and tell you what I expect, but I'm heading back to her tomorrow, so I'll just let the realty dictate from here. I hope I have a good story for you.

.

[catb-fics]

It’s Like I’m On The Outside

This is a preview for the sequel I’ll be writing for All The Mixed Feelings in the new year...

So when we left Abby and Van at the end of ATMF they’d FINALLY got together and admitted their love for each other, The Balcony was almost written (just missing a certain acoustic track) and Van was just about to go off on tour...

Abby

I opened my eyes, squinting against the glare that was intruding through the gap in the curtains. The first thing I saw was him. Van. Hair strewn across the pillow, long lashes fanned out on his cheeks, mouth slightly agape. A little snoring noise emanated from him each time he took a breath. I smiled to myself. Seeing Van so serene and peaceful was a rare treat.

I rolled over carefully and reached for my phone from the bedside cabinet to check the time. It was early still, but my heart sank as I realised that today couldn't be like every other day in the last two weeks. Today was different. The band were flying off to Japan that evening to play a string of shows, then they'd be moving on to Australia. Three weeks they'd be gone. My mind was full of worries, imagining constantly checking my phone and missing calls due to time differences.

For saying we'd only been together for a few weeks I'd gotten used to our little routine. Waking up next to him and lazy mornings spent tangled up in each other's arms. Tea and pastries at my favourite cafe in town or lunches we'd make together in Van's kitchen. Cuddles on the sofa watching films and trash TV. Baths together. Showers together. Everything... together.

Of course I knew it couldn't last. This blissful little cocoon we'd shut ourselves away in wasn't real life. Even without the Japan/Australia tour looming I knew that the real test of our relationship would come in the weeks and months to follow, with Van's hectic schedule of gigs and appearances following the recording and release of their debut album.

I felt movement beside me and rolled on to my side, watched Van's eyes flutter open and a smile emerge as the sleep fell away from him and he saw me lying there.

"Hmmm... morning love..." His voice was slightly croaky, thick with sleep.

"I woke up before you for once. That never happens."

I propped myself up on an elbow and reached over with my free hand, placing it on his bare chest, fingers gently toying with his chest hair.

"I prefer to wake up first," he said. "I love to watch you sleep."

I giggled. "Okay... that doesn't sound creepy AT ALL!"

A lazy smile spread over his face. "It's not creepy!" He protested. "I just like to watch you sleep 'cause you're so beautiful and you don't even know it."

Now I was grinning too. It was impossible to be anything other than happy when I was around Van. I felt like I'd been walking around in some kind of dream for the past two weeks. I was just frightened that at some point I'd have to wake up and the reality might not live up to the dream. But right now I didn't want to think about that.

His hands slipped around my hips, pulling me closer to him, his head burrowing into my neck. "God I'm gonna miss this so bad," he murmured against my skin, making me giggle.

"That tickles!"

"You're ticklish everywhere!" He laughed, hands moving up to lightly brush my sides under the t-shirt of his that I was wearing to demonstrate exactly how ticklish I was, and I wriggled to the side out of his grasp.

"Van! Stop it! I know your game! We can't spend all day in bed today. You've got loads to do. You've not even started packing yet. And you said you couldn't find your passport the other day. You need to look for it. What happens if you can't find it?"

I was straight-faced now, trying to sit up in bed whilst Van tried to pull me back down under the covers. "C'mon Abby... this is the last time we're gonna get for weeks..."

"No!" I said, trying to maintain a serious face whilst I was dying to laugh underneath.

Just seeing Van's daft expression, his over-dramatic pouty face and wide-eyes was almost enough to make me give up and flop back down into the bed, but I knew that would mean another hour could easily slip away. Time seemed to have a habit of doing that with Van.

"You need to shower... go!" I commanded, and he reluctantly sat up in bed, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I know, I know!" He grumbled, and then he looked at me, his voice raising up hopefully. "You gonna join me?"

I pretended to consider his request long and hard, scrunching up my face, but I'd already made up my mind. Showering with Van was one of those intimate moments I thought I'd never be able to get enough of.

"Come on then..." I was already pulling the duvet to one side and getting to my feet, Van grinning widely as we made for the bathroom.

We both undressed and Van started the shower, letting it run until the room was filled with steam. I stepped into the bath and under the jet of water, tipping my head back and letting it cascade over me, soaking my hair. When I looked back Van was just standing there, not making any effort to join me, just watching.

"Are you coming in then or what?"

"Yeah... I just wanna remember you... just like this. For when I'm away. You're fucking breathtaking you know."

He let his eyes trail over my body. I was still a little self-conscious around him but I was getting better. And I still had to make an effort to bite my tongue when I automatically went to rebuff a compliment he'd given me. He complimented me a lot and I found it uncomfortable at first, still struggling with my confidence, but as I was starting to learn, that was just his way.

He stepped into the shower and he slipped behind me, wrapping his hands around my waist, his body flush against mine. I leant my head back, resting it on his shoulder and we stood for a while, just enjoying the feeling of being so close, chatting about everything we needed to do before his flight that evening.

Eventually I grabbed the shampoo and Van lathered up my hair. I complained he was too lanky to reach so he did his own, then I squirted some shower gel on to a sponge and started to rub the suds over his chest.

He chuckled. "Why have you always gotta wash me, huh?"

"You love it," I smiled up at him. "And I just love taking care of you, that's all."

I followed the contours of his bare chest, down across his stomach, the jut of his hips. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "Mmm... maybe you should move in with me. It could be like this all the time..."

I stopped still, stunned, watched his face for a little grin to appear to tell me he was joking but none appeared. Was he serious? His eyes flicked open and he looked at me, taking in my surprised expression.

"Too soon?"

I screwed up my face a little. "Van, it's been like two weeks."

He took the sponge out of my hands, started rubbing it gently along my shoulders. "Sorry... you know what I'm like. I just get ahead of myself. It's like with the band. I'm always planning about three years in front. I can see it in my head, all laid out."

I smiled, turned around when he indicated so he could scrub my back. Now I was facing away from him I was brave enough to ask. "So... you got our plans all laid out too then?"

"Maybe...."

I rolled my shoulders as I felt the sponge fall away and his hands replace it, the soothing feeling of his fingers kneading my skin. "Mmm, that's nice... well, go on then..."

"I'll just scare you off," he chuckled, making me even more intrigued.

"Promise you won't, I'm not going anywhere," I assured him.

"Maybe we'll get a nice house in the country or something, or on the coast." His voice was soft, kind of faraway like he was dreaming. I just stood still, trying hard not to react even though my inner self was practically doing backflips with a disbelieving kind of happiness. I didn't say anything, waiting for him to carry on, and he did.

"Maybe a couple of little McCanns running around, eh? Can just see it. A boy and a girl."

Now I was really having a hard time not reacting, feeling a little overwhelmed, sure he was just joking. I decided to make light of it. "No way, definitely two girls. I couldn't cope with another one of you!"

I could hear the grin in his voice without looking at him. "You can't get enough of me babe!"

His hands slipped lower now, running gently down my spine, sending a little shiver through me. "So... seeing as you've thought this through in so much detail, what are we gonna call the kids then?"

"That's easy. Bernie for a boy, Mary for a girl... hold up... what was your mum's name? Theresa wasn't it? Maybe Mary Theresa?"

I giggled. "That's sweet but it's a bit... old-fashioned. And I like Sam for a boy..."

"No fucking way!" He cut me off, fingers curling around my hips.

I laughed again. "I can't believe we're discussing this!"

I felt his lips connect with my shoulder and plant a soft kiss there, and then he moved along in the direction of my neck, leaving a trail. "Well... I'm sure we'll think of something... we can give 'em some wacky celebrity names or something... some stupid shit..."

Now I was really laughing, but my laughter got cut short when his mouth moved up to my neck, and his sweet kisses became more passionate, his lips smacking against my damp skin. His fingers slipped forward from my hips, down between my thighs. "Mmm... Van..." I sighed, my hands shooting forward to brace myself against the tiles as he caressed me.

Minutes later we were lost in each other, bodies slick under the spray, hands and lips everywhere, memorising every dip, every curve, every blemish, hoping we could re-live these moments when we were thousands of miles apart in the weeks ahead.

"I love you so fucking much," Van murmured into my neck when we were finally sated, still panting a little, coming down from our highs. "I swear these next few weeks are gonna be the longest of my life."

I felt tears spring to my eyes, blinked a few times to clear them, wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him tight. "I'm not gonna lie Van. I'm a little scared. Last time..."

"Hey..." he said, interrupting me, pulling back so he could look me straight in the eye. "This is nothing like last time okay? We've talked about this haven't we? Like you said if we're feeling worried about something or pissed off or anything, we just pick up the phone, yeah?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, feeling the emotion already thick at the back of my throat.

"Come on... let's get out," he said, reaching forward to switch off the spray.

* * * * *

The rest of the day was hectic, Van practically tore the whole house apart trying to find his passport which he eventually discovered in Larry's hand luggage.

"Well... I know what you're like Van! I have to think of everything don't I? You'd forget your bloody head if it wasn't screwed on!"

"Fucks sake Larry, you could have told me you had it. I've been proper shitting myself not being able to find it!"

Van was glaring at Larry, itching for a fight, so I stepped forward. "Oi you two. Don't start now. You're gonna be stuck sitting together on a fourteen hour flight later."

Larry scowled at Van and I laughed inside. They really were like brothers. They bickered over everything but then they had an inseparable bond which was heart-warming.

Van was very last-minute getting packed, and I found myself getting exasperated at his haphazard approach to choosing suitable clothing.

"Van... you're going to Australia, not the Antarctic, why are you packing so many jumpers?" I cried in frustration as I watched him slinging clothing into his case without folding anything.

"Ah... it'll be fine, don't worry..."

"Van! Mini bus is here!" Larry suddenly bellowed upstairs, causing Van to curse under his breath and start tossing toiletries randomly into the case without really paying much attention.

I could feel my anxiety rising just watching him taking such a lackadaisical approach to such an important trip, and started fussing around.

"Stop flapping love, I can always buy stuff there. C'mon, you ready?"

I took a deep breath, nodded, again feeling my throat tightening at the thought of saying goodbye at the airport. "Let's go..."

To be continued in the new year...

[kpopwrites]

Drowning in A Dream Chapter 6

A/N: It’s here! LMK what you guys think of this one. It’s a little more angsty, but it had to happen at some point!

TW: Possible smut in upcoming chapters, angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, slight gore

   You couldn’t believe this. How could you? You just happened to be saved by the ghosts of the same 7 men who haunted young children's nightmares? The most infamous town legends? You looked down at the paper article again, hands shaking as your eyes scanned over the only known picture of the men. It was them alright. They looked the same, for the most part, just… Happier, filled with life. “Richard, are you sure this is the correct picture?” You ask shakily, looking up at your boss as he carefully framed the documents. “Of course, look at the date, the headline. It’s them alright, why do you ask?” He didn’t even look up from his work. “I… Nothing. I was just making sure.” You whisper, clasping a hand over your mouth. What was going on? Had you finally lost it? Did you die when you jumped? Was this hell? “Jesus kid, you look sick.” Richard walked over to you, concerned for your well being.

   “Do you need to go home? I’ll have Sean take over for you.” You shook your head quickly. “What do you need, kid? You know I’ll do anything.” Richard had always been a family friend, someone your grandmother kept close her whole life. He was like a father or uncle to you, offering you a job and money when you needed it most. “Would it be possible to borrow your four wheeler tomorrow after work?” You ask, looking up at him. You had to see for yourself, had to see if you were losing it. As if reading your mind, Richard looked over at the newspaper clipping. “You saw something, didn’t you?” He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder slowly. 

   “N-no… I just left something in the woods the other day, I want to go get it without having to do that hellish walk again.” You joke weakly, gulping. Richard clearly didn’t believe you, but he nodded anyway. “You can take it tonight, in case it rains and whatever you left gets ruined. Finish up this project and then head off. Take the walkie with, in case you need help.” With that, Richard walked away, pulling his cell phone out and making a call. You quickly finished framing your section before snapping a picture of the clipping, wanting to make sure. You snatched the walkie and keys from Richard’s desk and took off, climbing onto the four wheeler and placing the helmet on your head. 

   The journey back to the cabin was long, even on a four wheeler. The cabin was pitch black inside, much more rustic and dingy looking than you remembered. The rocking chair on the front porch held Namjoon, sitting calmly as he read from his book. “(Y/N), back so soon?” He asked, not looking up. “You’re real? But, you can’t be.” Your voice was shaky and panicked as you looked at him. This caused Namjoon to look up, smirking. “I assure you dear, I am very real. I’m assuming you found out?” Lightning flashed ahead, and for that split second, you could see a pale, bloodied Namjoon before he returned to normal. You let out a scream, backing up quickly. 

   “You’re dead! You’re dead, I’ve lost it. Oh god, oh god I’ve lost it.” Tears of fear fell from your eyes as you paced around the yard nervously. You looked up at Namjoon again, growing frustrated when you saw how calm he was. “How are you here?!” You scream, thunder booming behind you. Namjoon’s calm facade broke as he looked up at the sky. “You need to calm down. I can explain everything, but you need to calm down before you tear down the city.” Anger flushed through your body as the storm got worse and worse. “Do not tell me to calm down!” You snarl dangerously, storming up to the tall man. “I just found out I’ve gone insane and started imagining the ghosts of seven dead guys.” Namjoon laughed as your smacked his chest over and over. He grabbed your hands, ignoring the rain falling heavily from the sky as he looked you in the eyes.

   “If I wasn’t real, would I be able to hold you like this?” He whispered, face mere inches from yours. “If you’d stop with your temper tantrum and come inside, I could explain to you everything.” He let your hands go roughly before turning around and walking inside. You whimpered, following slowly behind. It felt like a bunny walking into a wolves den. The other six men were all sat in the main room, staring at you with blank faces. Even Jimin and Jin, who you were so used to see smiling, stared at you with little emotion on their faces. “Take a seat.” Namjoon instructed, pushing you down into an armchair by the fireplace. “So obedient.” Jimin hummed, a flash of lust in his eyes before Yoongi slapped his head. 

   “You’re all dead…” You whisper, feeling any and all fight drain from your being. “Yes. We are.” Namjoon hummed. “Sort of. Yes, we did die so many years ago, just as your little story said, but there was more to it than what people say.” Yoongi added. “When this town was first settled, it was founded by a man and a woman, husband and wife. The man was a strong Christian, loved God and placed it upon himself to say what was wrong and right in the village. His wife, however, was a witch, the head witch of a coven, in fact. That woman’s name was Emily (Y/L/N).” Namjoon handed you a book, opening it to the first page. There was a small painting of a family, a mother, a father, and three children. He pointed at the woman. “Her husband, Clyde, found out she was a witch, he freaked out, banishing her from the village as well as all of the other women, just in case. Even the young children.”

   Sympathy flooded your being for the poor woman. “Was she practicing the dark stuff?” You asked, looking up at Namjoon. He shook his head. “No. Not at first. When her husband kicked her from the village, she wanted revenge. It was their magic that was helping crops grow. And it wasn’t only women who practiced magic. There were men in the coven who would sneak food out to the banished group, keep them healthy.” You sniffled. “What does this have to do with you?” You ask, looking at the group. Jungkook rolled his eyes. “So impatient.” He grumbled. “Emily wanted revenge, so she signed her soul away to the devil in exchange for his seven nastiest demons. She released the sins onto the village, letting each demon take the lives of any adult male who wasn’t in the coven. After that, she released the sins, letting them roam the forest.”

   You began to realize what he was going to say next. “The sins plagued the forest, so when you guys came, they…. Took over you, didn’t they?” You asked, meeting Namjoon’s eyes. He smiled and nodded, adding another log to the fire. “Yes. We were once seven innocent immigrants. However, the forest changed us. Wrath chose Jungkook, causing him to kill all of us. The other sins saved us, each inhabiting our bodies.” You tensed in fear. “You’re demons, holding the bodies of seven dead men.”

   You could hear one of the men snicker in amusement. “No. Think of it as what your people call a superhero. We gained eternal life and powers and traits in exchange for our humanity.” Namjoon explained. “So… All the missing hikers, all the bodies found, you were responsible.” You whispered in horror. Namjoon shrugged. “Yes. We are. Some of us kill for fun, others only when necessary.” Thinking quickly, you grabbed the iron fire poker, holding it against Namjoons throat. “I don’t plan on dying today.” The iron seered into his flesh, causing Namjoon to hiss in pain, his eyes turning black. The others stood up quickly, ready to defend their brother. “Iron. Smart. Someone knows how to defend themselves.” Namjoon growled out. “We aren’t going to hurt you (Y/N).” Taehyung said, his hands up as he tried to calm you down. 

    “If we were to kill you, I would have done so when you let me do your makeup.” Jin said. Your eyes widen with horror. “You are the one who cuts up peoples face, leaves them horribly disfigured…” You whisper, whimpering as fear fills your body. Jin smirked proudly. “I couldn’t let them remain as attractive as they were. I am the most handsome, simple as that. I couldn’t bear even the thought of doing it to you. I had full intentions, but something stopped me.” Taehyung piped up. “V would have eaten you in a moment if you weren’t special. We all want to protect you.” You scoffed, pressing the iron deeper into Namjoon’s neck. 

   “Why should I believe you, hm?” You glare weakly, trying to make sure your courage was intact. “What makes me so different from any of the others you murdered?” Namjoon struggled against the iron, trying to get away. “Because you’re her reincarnation. You may not look like her, but (Y/N), each human is reborn. Sometimes as human, or animal, male, female, or anything in between. Each person has been thousands of beings, and you are Emily. You hold her powers. When she summoned our sins, part of each of them attached to her. When she died, she wasn’t reborn as a human for a long time, until you.” Yoongi explained, causing you to slowly release pressure on Namjoon. 

   “Your grandmother knew. She took you in, you and your brothers, saved you from people who would harm you and kept you safe.” Namjoon added. “How do you know all this, hm?” You asked, letting Namjoon go, but keeping the iron poker in front of you. “It’s been a legend for a long time. The mortal who would have Hell’s strongest demon’s under their command, willing to die for them.” Jimin piped up, wincing at the sight of Namjoon’s burned neck. “What do you mean? Why would you guys be so attached to me, huh?” You ask, the poker lowering as you grew more confused. 

   “To put it simply (Y/N), you are ours, and we are yours. I believe people call them soulmates nowadays.” Namjoon spoke, holding his neck as he looked into your eyes. “We will do whatever you ask, and if anyone hurts you, they have the wrath of seven of Hell’s princes to deal with.”

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[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Nothing Will Ever Come Between Us - Harry Styles One Shot

Request:

I have an idea that I don't know if you are interested harry and reader being school sweethearts with people trying to separate them with telling to Harry to cheat on her or trying to tempt him but he always remain loyal to Reader.

**

You’ve seen in it a ton of movies or read it in a few books about how certain people find their person as soon as they were born or at least when they were younger. You are one of those people. It happened the day you were born actually, when your mother met another mother who had given birth to a son at the same hospital. They hit it off quite well and been friends ever sense. Since both you and the son were the same age, they loved setting up playdates and even having a few joint birthdays. 

When you were ten, you actually lived in the same neighborhood, which brought you and Harry even closer. Going to the same school and spending time with one another as soon as you were home, everything was perfect. As the two of you got older, it was obvious that your friendship was moving into crush territory. It officially hit the mark one summer evening when you planted a kiss right on Harry’s lips at the age of twelve. His cheeks quickly turned red causing you to giggle. 

“Uh, well, not that we've got that over with,” you said. “That means you’re my boyfriend now.” 

“I-Okay,” he blushed though a smile. 

Ever since then, the two of you were a bit inseparable. Nothing really changed other than you two would hold hands and give a bit of a peck on the lips ever now and again. However, when you both were teenagers, is when the relationship changed. You were falling in love and you were happy. 

But then, something happened. Harry went to the X Factor and became the Harry Styles he was today. While, you were proud of him and excited for the future that lied ahead for him, you were also afraid of losing your best friend and your first love. He reassured you that everything would be okay and he promised to call you as much as he could. 

Of course, that wasn’t very often given his schedule, but the two of you made it work. Many of your friends thought it was so cool that you are dating him, but some of them also made sure and tell you that he was most likely not being faithful. You knew he wasn’t capable of hurting you like that, but you also knew he was a typical teenage boy living in the limelight with hundreds to thousands to millions of fans, who were mostly girls you’re own age. 

But you trusted Harry and he never gave you any reason to believe he had been unfaithful. Unfortunately, though distance was proven to be hard and you found both of you arguing about missed calls or visits, etc. But you did whatever you could to make it work. 

As the years went on and both of you got older, more and more people couldn’t believe that either of you were still together. You had your own life at University, with friends and the chance to date other people. For as many people who were telling you Harry was most likely cheated on you, there were just as many telling Harry you were probably doing the same. 

“She has her own life, a new life,” they would say. “Just like you. The two of you are young with your own life ahead of you, do you really think you should still be with someone you’ve with since you were twelve?” 

“Yeah, I do,” he would respond. “Because I love her. She’s my best friend and I can’t imagine my life without her.” 

“And do you think she feels the same with you?” they would ask. 

“Yeah, I do. I know she does,” he said. 

“How?” they asked. 

“Because when you know, you know,” he said. 

Now, you would be lying if you said there weren’t times where you two thought about breaking up, usually when it’s when you two were fighting, but as soon as the other said it, it never lasted long. You would visit on tour as much as you could or Harry would spend time with you on his off weeks, which helped a lot.

It was hard being out with friends or seeing other couples out having a good time knowing your boyfriend was thousands of miles away, but you knew he was living his dream, this once in a lifetime opportunity. You had him to yourself for sixteen years, you could share him with the world for a few years. 

When it came time for the band to take a break and him to venture into solo projects, the two of you moved in together since he was home more and that was really when your relationship was put to the test. Since neither of you had been together for than a few weeks or months at a time, it was a bit of struggle getting used to be around one another most of the time. 

There were a lot of annoying moments, but they were all worth it. Even after all the years you’ve together, a few people still tried to question if you two really should be together and if you were just settling. Especially, since neither of you had dated other people. 

You would always say, “Why would I waist my time with someone else, when I know Harry is the one I’m supposed to be with. I know it’s cheesy and maybe a little weird, but we were born on the same day, only a few hours apart, at the same hospital, and our Mum’s met and the rest is history. If that doesn’t say meant to be, then I don’t know what it is.” 

Which brings you to this moment, the one where you’re walking down an aisle to meet him, so that you two could officially be together for the rest of your lives. And after this, you two would then talk about starting a family. Harry wanted at least two or four kids, while you were okay with two or three. He always said if you have three, you have to have another one because then it’s even. Everyone will have their person and won’t be left out. 

You couldn’t wait until the two of you were parents, and then grandparents. Techincally, you could wait for the latter, and wanted that moment to happen in like 20 or 30 years from then. But you imagined yourself sitting with him out in the backyard or around the fireplace and telling your children and grandchildren the love story of you and Harry. 

From the first moment the two of you met in the nursery, to falling in love and saying I do. How the two of you made it work through everything even when others doubted you and someone would ask, how did you make it work? 

“It’s simple, really,” Harry smiled looking down at you. “When you love someone so much that you can’t imagine your life without them, you don’t let anything or anyone come in between you.”

“Simple as that,” you nodded before pressing your lips against his, just like you did all those years ago. 

**

Thank you for the request! :) 

[isayamasideblog]

Come Back

I search for him everywhere. Although I seem calm, there is an underlying panic underneath. The unthinkable passes through my head. What if someone took him away from me again? Please, not again. I am tired of losing him. I am tired of people taking him away from me. This war has been long and to be honest, I don’t care too much about it. All I want is to be by his side, away from everything. 

I see a camp straight ahead, and I see him standing before it. “Eren?” I say as I stand behind him. He brings his sleeve to wipe his face. Is he crying? I’ve noticed that he’s changed, but I can’t bring myself to ask. What am I so afraid of? I thought that once we made it past the walls, things would be different. That is what he wanted, to explore the outside world. Wasn’t it? 

He turns around to see me. The look in his eyes is what gets to me, there is something beneath them, something different, like he’s being haunted by someone, by something. “What is this place?” I ask, hoping that I can distract him. I notice that the pit pocket lives here. 

Suddenly, Eren stands before me. When did he get so close to me? His eyes, his eyes, what is hurting you Eren? Please, talk to me. “Mikasa, why do you concern so much with me? Is it because I’m family?” he asks with pain mingled in his voice. 

What? The question is sprung on me, I don’t know what to answer. I can feel the wave of blood rushing to my face. I struggle to form a single syllable. I know my relationship to Eren has been confusing to others, I wonder if it’s been the same for him too. 

I am about to say family, the answer that has served as safety when confronted by any questions by the 104 concerning my feelings for him. He is family, my only living family alongside Armin, but Eren is so much more. He’s someone I don’t want to lose, someone I want to have in my life until my last days. I just don’t know how to say those words, those words that I lie awake at night imagining myself confessing to him. Those words that have no place in our cruel world.     

He holds my chin under his palm, it’s almost as if he’s holding the world under those calloused rough hands. He looks into my eyes and then to my lips. I freeze, unmoving. I find it hard to believe that the boy I grew up with, the one who saved me from a life of unthinkable horrors is here standing before me in such a vulnerable state. “Mikasa? What am I to you?” he asks. 

All I can say is “Um…” I see his eyes dim, like he’s given up. No, I won’t let him. I shake my head and say “Eren, you are special… not because of your titan power, not because you have the founding, but because you are you. You are special to me because you are the boy who showed me kindness when I lost all hope.” 

He is quiet, but his eyes change, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, he suddenly asks “Mikasa, do you love me?” I feel the ground below me shift, my poor heart drops to the Earth’s center, my mind feels like it’s swimming, no, like it’s drowning. A thousand thoughts cross my mind, and they keep yelling at me to not say something that’ll change our relationship for the worse. 

I shut my mind off and I kiss him. I am surprised by his arm snaking its way to my back. He pulls me closer. We look into each other's eyes, and the answer is clear, it’s been there all along. He hugs me and I bury my head into his chest. I look up at him and whisper “Eren, show me you love me.” He cups my face in his hands understanding what I mean. 

He leads me into the campsite, he looks inside a tent, and leads me in when he sees its empty. I look around the empty tent, and see some candles scattered on the ground with some matches. I light them up and line them up around the tent, he helps me. We stare at the flames burning brightly inside the dim tent, as he reaches for my hand. We stand like that for a minute. 

He turns to me and pulls me closer taking the lead. I release a shaky breath before he kisses me. Our mouths mold into each other feeling like a breath of fresh air. A brand new type of hunger consumes me as his tongue slips under mine. I reach for his coat and tug at it, but he’s faster as he slips it off and throws it to the ground. 

I reach for mine and do the same. “Eren…” I whisper between each gasp, as I run my hands through his hair, then to his chest. His hands cover mine as we work together to unbutton his shirt. It falls to the ground. 

I kiss his neck, running a line of kisses down to his chest. My hands reach for his pants and I release the clasp that’s holding them together. He pulls me up to kiss me again and carefully leads me to the ground. This is going to happen with him. There’s nowhere to go back to after this. But I don’t care, right now, right here, I don’t care. I want to be with him, and by the look at the bulge in his pants so does he. 

The room feels hot, and I feel my core burning with anticipation. I reach for my shirt’s buttons, but I stop when he holds my face and gently runs his fingers from my cheek down to my neck. I feel the goosebumps on my skin rise on every inch of my body. His fingers stop at my shirt and he looks to me as if asking for permission to keep going. I nod. He slowly unbuttons my blouse and helps me remove it. 

My chest rises and falls as he reaches for my bra and unhooks it. He removes my bra and stares at my breast, but he stops. He’s scared, I can tell. I’m scared too, what will happen with us after this? I push the thoughts down. “Eren, I’m here, I’m always going to be here by your side,” I say as I gently wrap my hand around his neck and lead him towards me. 

We kiss, and he breaks apart the kiss as he trails kisses down my neck leading to my breast. His hand reaches down to grip my outer thigh and slide my skirt up. I reach down and pull his pants down, he meets my hands and finishes taking his pants off. I stare at his naked body, and meet his eyes. He doesn’t break eye contact as he gets a hold of my skirt’s waistband and slides it off. 

His eyes rake my body slowly, taking in every detail. I can’t take it any longer, my body burns and I want him to cool me down, to touch me, to hold me, to make me his, and I want to make him mine. He seems to understand what I want, as his hand slowly trace my inner thigh and reaches my core. I gasp at the sensation and his breathing hitches as he touches my wetness. 

He leans down again and we are face to face, so close that our noses touch. Our pounding hearts accompanies the silence that fills the tent. “Mikasa…” is all he’s able to say as I spread my legs and allow him to enter my core. I let a small whine escape my lips and he stops. “I’m fine, keep going” I say. 

He nods and gently and carefully gets to work. He’s slow at first as he thrust his hips against mine. He grunts and I place my hands on his hips giving him a squeeze. He smiles. I’ve forgotten the last time he smiled. I feel tears prick my eyes at the thought. “Am I hurting you?” he asks with concern. I shake my head. He holds himself with one hand and with the other he wipes my tears. 

He leans down to kiss me and I run my hands down his back pulling him closer to me. My hips buck up as he increases the speed. He hooks his arm around my thigh and I wrap my leg around him. I keep whispering his name over and over again. The name of the boy that showed me love in this cruel world. 

The thought of our journey leading us to this moment makes it all the more special. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach flutter ferociously, ready to escape its net, a signal that my body is ready to unravel. My walls tighten around him, I can feel him twitch and find his own release.         

I had this dream so many times. So many nights I imagined his arms wrapped around me. His body weight on top of me. So many cold nights separated by my fear, separated by his revenge. Finally, we let the truth come out from its cage. 

He kisses my nose, then my mouth. He’s still smiling, which makes me smile. “Our friends are probably looking for us,” I say. He lies down on his side, and I turn to my side so we can face each other. He places his hand on my hip and gently squeezes. “We have some time before they find us then,” he says. 

“I missed you,” I whisper. He frowns and says “I haven’t gone anywhere.” I shake my head and say, “You’re mind has been elsewhere.” He sighs acknowledging I’m right. “I’m right here, I’m right here,” he repeats, as he kisses my forehead and rubs the back of my head. I hug him and bury my head in his chest. 

We suddenly hear Jean’s voice, “We’ve looked everywhere for them, where could they be?”. Eren and I look at each other in panic. We let go of each other and quickly look for our scattered clothes. We then hear Armin’s voice, “They should be around here, someone said they saw them near the camp. I just hope they’re okay.” We get dressed and blow out the candles. We are about to exit the tent, when Eren pulls me in and kisses me, “We’ll figure out how to tell them when we get back home,” he says and I nod as we let go of each other and exit the tent. 

We try our best to look calm and collected as we walk. “You guys! What are you doing?” They all scream at us frantically as they run to us. Eren laughs and scratches the back of his head. “We saw the kid who stole Sasha’s money around here and I got curious.” I feel a blush spreading across my face and Armin notices. He eyes both of us curiously, a smile spreading across his face, which makes my blush more intense. 

The kid appears as if on cue, a smiling man who I believe to be his father right behind him holding a tray of drinks. I look at Eren and he smiles again. How can he look so calm and collected while I’m ready to fall apart under the pressure of what we just did? “It looks like he’s inviting us,” Eren says. Armin is the first to follow the man inside a tent, then the rest of the 104 follow. 

Eren and I stay behind, he squeezes my hand in reassurance before we head on inside He came back to me and for good this time. 

[aeneidpdf]

title: Just Begun

word count: 1.9k+

summary: "He knew he couldn’t make it. Knew he would die on this road, and at home his siblings would be crowding around the television set watching, and they would see him die. Knew he would buy a ticket, and no musketeer in the world could keep a bullet from crashing through his skull."Baker's death. Written in 2013 and posted for the first day of long walk week!

ao3 link: x

And now the blood was on his hands, his face, his neck, and had soaked through the cheap fabric of his striped shirt, the one his mother had laid out so lovingly ages ago. Or had it only been a few days? No, it couldn’t have been. Ages ago… He was an old man now, hobbling along. Zigging and zagging, like a beggar looking for change. Slanting towards the crowd- please help me I just want to sit down sit down and sleep and maybe I don’t really want to die at all- and then jerking away. 


And Baker realized he was disgusting, like the kids used to say at school. He was disgusting and stupid and pathetic and worthless. Worthless and weird and foolish and soon he would just be blood and brains splattered on the road and he might not get that lead-lined coffin after all. 
He wiped the blood from his face and tried to think back- so long ago- to when he was just Art Baker, not number 3, walking himself to death on this long, scary road. Back to watching his uncle build coffins, fit perfectly and made of smooth wood. He would peer into them and imagine what it would be like to sleep centuries away inside. But now he couldn’t look in, not even in these half asleep dreams. Because when he did, it was the face of Olson, hair graying, as if he had been walking for years, of Abraham, his blind eyes turned up in the cold rain, of Collie Parker, obscenities dying on his cold lips. And then, it was Baker’s own face, sunken and bloody and tired. And he knew he wasn’t that different from them.


He tore away from the vision, scrambling for another loose thread in the jumbled fray of his mind. 


He thought of his mother, sitting in a rocking chair, heavy with child. She had had that same peaceful smile until the baby came out dead and she had screamed and cried and everyone else had cried but Baker hadn’t cried. How could he cry when it was hard enough to get by already? When already he and his siblings fell asleep hungry? But his mother cried and his father yelled and he felt heartless and his Aunt Hattie sat in an armchair, a small, sleepy smile on her face.
 Baker went to bed that night thinking that if anyone in their family deserved to die, it was him. 
And he hadn’t been afraid. He hadn’t, because for him death was ordinary, like taxes, and potato soup, and growling stomachs in the dark of night. But now he was here, and if he hadn’t been terrified when Curley bought it- vanishing in a hammer smash of blood- he sure as hell was now. Being carried off the road in a bag. Shipped back home and buried in the backyard like the dog they had when he was nine and still not afraid to die…


Baker was ripped from his thoughts as he plunged towards the pavement. He could feel fresh blood on his face, but ignored it, as he felt himself sinking into every crack in the surprisingly soft pavement. He could see a hand reach out to him, and for a moment he thought he was dead. But then the hand retracted and the soldiers kept giving warnings and he knew his time was not yet up.


And so Baker got to his feet. Because now he was afraid to die- afraid of the gunshots, the powerlessness, the darkness- and even though he still deserved to die, that didn’t mean he wanted to. 


So he kept walking blindly on, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer. The inevitable was startlingly real now, unbelievably close. And now, more than ever, he was terrified.


Because he knew he couldn’t make it. Knew he would die on this road, and at home his siblings would be crowding around the television set watching, and they would see him die.


Knew he would buy a ticket, and no musketeer in the world could keep a bullet from crashing through his skull.


And again he wondered why he was there, wondered what he was thinking. But of course he knew. He had wanted to die. Wanted to ever since that night so long ago, with the screaming, the crying. Or maybe before?


Baker didn’t want to think about it. He just knew he wanted to die. He wanted to, but he was too scared. Too scared… he didn’t know how to die. But that was the type of fear that gnawed in his stomach in the middle of the night, not the type that shrouded around him, chilling him, ever present. Not like this.


He had wanted to die, but he didn’t know how. So he chose the Long Walk. At the time, he had had handy excuses for signing up. “We could really use the money. Anyways, if I die, one less mouth to feed.” But really, he just wanted to die, to come to an end.


Five days of torture, then a bullet through the head. So not only was he suicidal, but he was a fucking idiot.


 The blood had dried on his face and neck, and now fresh blood was falling. Painting him. An angel painted in blood…


He heard a louder cheer go through the crowd and was convinced it was for him. Convinced that the carbines were zeroing in and that his time was done.


But no… the guns didn’t go off, and through his foggy, old man’s eyes, Baker could see a sign ahead. Boston.


Here he would die.


He would give up walking just outside the walking city.


Fitting.


So through the rain, he looked for Garraty, his eyes dragging up and down the empty road.
 Well, mostly empty. There were faint walking shapes, weaving deftly among the living. What was left of them anyways.


Garraty looked at him as he neared, seeming tired and thoroughly done in. But everyone did. He could win this thing yet.


Then Baker’s mouth was open, and he couldn’t stop the desperate tone in his voice. “Garraty? Are we in?”


No sign of understanding.


 “In, are we in?” Baker himself barely knew what it meant, but somehow, he needed to know. “Garraty, please.”


 An affirmative reply. Garraty still didn’t seem to know what he meant, but his face was softening, his eyes less foggy. He knew what was coming.


“I’m going to die now, Garraty.”


 “All right.”


Now one of the ghosts looked at him, and he saw it was Abraham, smiling. Baker felt a chill. None of the others seemed to notice him, reminding him he wasn’t dead yet. But he was close.


“If you win, will you do something for me?” he asked, looking back to Garraty. “I’m scairt to ask anyone else.” He gestured to Abraham and who looked to be Olson, no longer scared, and Parker and Barkovitch and Harkness.


Garraty looked frightened, and Baker wondered how desperate he sounded and shame crawled up his back. What a funny thing to worry about when you’re dying…

“Anything,” came the other boy’s response.


Baker laid a hand on Garraty’s shoulder, and a shudder went though the other boy. Was he crying? For him?


It almost made Baker want to cry too. That’s probably what was happening at home. They were realizing he was done. They were watching him now and sobbing. Or maybe they were mad at him… Maybe he should smile, or wave. But no, that would just make it worse. 


Leaning towards Garraty’s ear, Baker said, “Lead-lined.”


He could hear Ray let out a sob, then say, “Walk a little longer.” Another shaky intake of breathe. “Walk a little longer, Art.”


“No-” his voice was weak, defeated. “I can’t.”


“All right,” Garraty answered, trying to keep his voice level and failing. Baker had asked him about the blood and his voice had done that same thing. He had been disgusted, disgusted with Baker, and Baker had been scared and ashamed, the tears mixing with the slick blood.


Now it was pity. 


Pity? 


No, not pity. Maybe sadness. 



“Maybe I’ll see you, man,” Baker voiced quietly. Too many maybes, he thought, wiping blood from his face. 


He could see Garraty fold in on himself, sobbing. He could see his mother in the back of his mind, hands flying to her face. In that moment, he wanted to comfort them both, though his mother was thousands of miles away- and if he couldn’t make it to Boston, he sure as hell couldn’t get to Louisiana- and Garraty looked beyond help. Anyways, it wasn’t like a dead man could provide much comfort. 


“Don’t watch ‘em do it,” Baker added. “Promise me that too.”


He wished he had something wise to say. Like Scramm. Scramm and wise were not often correlated, but in his last moments he was like an old, wise man, saying so long instead of goodbye and going with dignity. 


Not like an old dog, ready to roll over dead, not like Baker. 


He could see Garraty nod, struggle with words, then remain silent.


“Thanks. You’ve been my friend, Garraty,” he said. He tried to smile, but probably looked like a looming skull, teeth bared devilishly. Baker hoped not. 


He felt compelled to add, “Say goodbye to the musketeers for me,” but really, the only one left besides Garraty was McVries. He wondered if McVries would care when he bought it or if, to Pete, he was already dead.


Instead he stuck his hand out and could feel Garraty taking it in both his hands, shaking it. 
“Another time, another place.” 
He could hear the sobs ripping from Garraty as he dropped back. 


He was warned. It was his second warning.


Wiping his face one more time and looking out over the road- last look at the land of the living- he sat down cross legged on the pavement. He let his head hang back, the cold rain soaking his face. 
Third warning. It was almost over. Soon he could sleep. Rest his feet.


A soldier jumped over the side of the halftrack. Baker could hear the shoes against the wet pavement, but he didn’t look. He let out a sharp, surprised breath as the cold metal of the gun was pressed to his head. 


He wondered what it would feel like, the bullet through his head- would it hurt? - and the dying, the coming to an end. No more Art Baker.


Then there was a tremendous blast of noise and all faded to dark.

And when he reached up to wipe his face again, he knew he was dead because there was no more blood and the ache in his feet had dulled. Actually it had disappeared altogether. 


And when everything came back into focus, he was back at the starting post, and the sun felt warm against his cold skin. And he knew he was dead, but he had no time to dwell on it, because he no longer hurt, was no longer bleeding, and that fear was gone and so was the crawling sadness in his gut. 


And up ahead he could see the other Walkers, just backs now, but easy to catch up to. Easy in his newfound strength. Baker felt like he could walk to Florida. Like the first day of the walk, but here there would be no warnings, no gunshots, and no death in store for them. 


Ahead, he could see Abraham- easily recognizable from his height and red hair- turn and beckon for him to come and join them. In front of him he could see Olson, Parker, Pearson. They were carefree- no aches and pains hindered their steps. Baker smiled, stepping over the starting line, hurrying to meet them. 


Maybe Scramm was right. The real Walk had just begun.

[fivescoffee-cup]

Forgiveness | Five x Reader

requested: hey could u make a five x reader where the reader has the power to manipulate reality (go wherever u want with it) and then five disappears. when he comes back and r is mad and stuff but eventually forgives him? (she stays young by just manipulating reality so everyone sees her as a kid whenever she wants) thnxxxxx (pls lots of fluff and angst)

You relived it in your dreams every night. Every single time you closed your tired eyes, you saw it all play out on the back of your eyelids. For years, you had woken up shaking and sobbing, your skin freezing cold but boiling hot at the same time. Whatever you did, you couldn’t get the memory out of your head. Nothing worked.

As usual, Five was testing his boundaries with Father. You knew he was going to cause trouble before you were even called to dinner; you could see it in the way he fiddled with his fingers and impatiently tapped his feet on the floor. Cautiously, you had attempted to persuade him to leave whatever it was alone, but of course, he didn’t listen. He was always convinced he knew best.

You knew Five had gone too far with Father when his voice raised to a decibel that reverberated around the room, bouncing off of the walls and carefully selected paintings. You flinched as his knife and fork clattered loudly against his plate as Five turned to leave the room. He ran, and you hesitated for just a second before following him out of the Academy. Your chair scraping against the polished wooden floor was the only sound in that room as you raced out of the front doors, your head turning left and right as you tried to find Five. Further up the street, you saw a sudden flash of blue, and then nothing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.

Continuing to run further down the street, your feet kissing the pavement as your muscles tensed. Your eyes scanned the entire street, but Five wasn’t there. He was gone. He had attempted time travel despite the warnings against it, and he hadn’t come back. Your breath caught in your throat as thoughts raced through your brain, and you stumbled along the pavement. Gasping, you managed to weakly call out, “Five?” There was no answer. Nor was there an answer the hundreds of times you asked after that, not even as Ben and Klaus came to drag you back to the Academy, a consuming fear cutting deep into your heart.

The panic and hurt racing through your veins had lasted weeks after his disappearance, and as much as you hoped and prayed to whatever Gods existed, Five didn’t come back. Every night, you stayed up with a lit candle by the window of your room, just in case he did. You planned what you would tell him, reciting it over and over in your mind; ‘I didn’t forget you at all, and I missed you so much that it hurt to think about - promise me you’ll never leave again.’ You never got to tell him those things, though, as a decade passed and he still had not returned.

As a child, you had used your power to manipulate reality to conjure an image of Five who sat in your room and talked to you for hours on end, reassuring you that he was trying his best to return home. You never told anyone about those private conversations - not even Klaus, who was your closest friend at the Academy besides Five.

Without Five, you didn’t want to grow up. You didn’t recognise the person that stared back whenever you looked in the mirror, so you resorted to appearing like your 13-year-old self to everyone you met. You knew who that girl was, and you didn’t have to imagine a terrifying future without Five.

As days passed, you grew used to his absence, sharp jolts of pain no longer stabbing you whenever anyone mentioned his name.

One day, you stood in your room, allowing yourself to see what you looked like now after years had passed. As you released your tight grip on your power, the face reflected in the mirror became one you didn’t know. A frown grew on her face as she glared back at you, grief and sadness the only thing glimmering in her eyes. You hated her. It was her fault Five wasn’t here; if she had just told him not to do it then -

A blue light flashed through the windows of your room, illuminating everything as if deep underwater. Wind rattled the glass window panes, and - gripping your hold on reality again - you ran out of the room to find your siblings racing downstairs. You followed them outside to confront whatever the disturbance was, slightly behind due to the difference in your strides.

Staring at the blue light, you noticed a distinguishable face beginning to form within it, making your heart stop beating for a singular moment. You’d recognise that face anywhere, regardless of age or distance. Stepping forward towards the light, your hands began to tremble slightly as Klaus moved to pull you back.

A body fell to the floor, clad in an oversized suit, landing with a thud on the courtyard floor. As he stood, hot, stinging tears welled in your eyes as you scanned his features - nothing had changed. He looked exactly the same as the day he disappeared. His eyes locked on to yours, and a cry of despair sounded from deep within your chest. You turned on your heel, marching away from all of your siblings so they couldn’t see the tears that began to fall down your face.

It was him. He was home. But all you felt was pain and anger. Anger that he left you alone for all those years. And despite everything, he could stand in front of you with the same smile that had crossed his lips whenever you made a joke. Slamming your door, you sank to the floor, your knees making contact with the carpet as you buried your face in your hands. Your body doubled over as agony blossomed in your stomach, the image of his face staining your thoughts.

A while after - you couldn’t tell if it was minutes or hours - there was a soft knock at your door. “Y/n?” a voice called from the other side, caring and concerned. The tone elicited another stab of sharp pain in your side, a groan sounding from your lips. You stood, moving as far away from the door as physically possible, offering no reply to the boy who was only separated from you by a panel of wood. The urge to run to him was excruciatingly difficult to resist, but the anger remained in your veins.

“It’s... it’s me. Five,” the voice continued as he hesitantly lent his forehead on the door. After so many years without you, he yearned to touch you, to hold you, to apologise a million times over. He closed his eyes against the returning silence, startled by your sudden reply.

“What do you want from me?” Were the only words you managed to find, your voice cracking with emotion. The door opened timidly, creaking on its hinges as it revealed Five’s apologetic face. Refusing to look up, you twisted your hands together angrily.

Slowly taking steps into your room, Five’s brows creased together. “Why are you so angry at me?”

That question set off an explosion of emotions inside of you, volatile anger coursing through your veins. “Angry? Why am I angry, Five? I’m pissed at you because you left me for years, with no explanation or goodbye. Do you know what it was like to lose you?” Raising your eyes to his, you were unable to stop the salty tears that spilt. Breathless, you continued, “But I’ve lived without you for quite a while, so if you want to leave again - go ahead. I think I can survive a couple more years without you.”

Five now stood in the middle of your room, tension evident in the way his fists clenched. “I never left you, y/n, I got stuck in the future. Do you think I wanted to leave? Do you honestly think I didn’t try everything to get back to my family - to you? I loved y- You know what? Forget it.” Turning to leave your room, he muttered, “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

His words caused guilt to course through you, remorse growing at the way you had shouted at him. Clearly, Five’s time travelling experiences were rather scarring, or at least, you guessed they were from the way his eyes flashed with pain when he spoke about it. Swallowing your pride, you reached out towards him.

“No, Five, wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blamed you, but I...” You sighed as you struggled to find the right words. “Do you wanna tell me what happened? And...why you’re still in a thirteen-year-old body?”

Gently grasping his arm, you pulled him back to face you. You lifted his chin with your fingertips until his gaze met yours. “I’m glad you’re home,” you whispered. Suddenly, Five grabbed you, pulling you into a tight hug. You honestly thought your ribs might crack at the force he held you with, but it felt right to be in his arms again. Safe.

Hours passed, and Five explained everything. The apocalypse, his time with the Commission, how long it had truly been. You winced whenever his voice broke with tears, reaching out to hold his hand in comfort. His fingers tightened around yours as he finished, raising his gaze to yours.

“You know what the hardest part was?” He smiled sadly, continuing bashfully, “Living every day without you.” As you smiled back at him, leaning closer, he added, “And coffee.”

Playfully, you shoved him, exclaiming, “You ass! Way to ruin a moment.”

Your laughing was cut off by Five’s lips crashing against yours. The kiss only lasted for a single moment, but it said a thousand words at once. “I’m kidding,” he mumbled. “I missed you much more than the coffee.”

a/n: uwu i’m soft this is such a sweet one :’)

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