#Nightmare and Killer been so busy so they just left a rose

[vikanightlightcomic]

Day 3 Rose

Original Nightmare Sans by @jokublog

Original Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

Original Ccino Sans belongs to @black-nyanko

fluffynightkiller week by @help-im-a-gay-fish

[takerfoxx]

The Sandman, Season 1, Episode 7, "The Doll's House," First Impressions!

Where one adventure ends, another begins.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed how the last episode, which capped off the storyline of Preludes and Nocturnes, began with Dream moping around that his adventure was over and he was left feeling unsatisfied, while this one is all about setting up another fetch quest for him, though one of a very different nature.

The Sandman sort of pivots back and forth in regards to Dream’s status as the POV protagonist. Sometimes it’s all about his story, sometimes he takes on more of a supporting role in another person’s story, in this case that being of Rose Walker, his sort of grandniece (which we’ll find out about later) and the new Dream Vortex, a sort of living dream anti-matter that will naturally draw all dreams to her and destroy them, and by extension the Dreaming itself.

Like before, we have a mixture of bits that feel like they fell right off the pages of the comics and others where things have been really shaken up. Perhaps the biggest change, which promises to have drastic effects on the next episode, is that of Lyta Hall taking Rose’s mother’s place (with a cheeky, fourth wall winking acknowledgement). Furthermore, Brute and Glob have been switched out for new character named Gault, who is apparently a shapeshifting female Nightmare. Now, that is interesting. So she isn’t in the Dream Dome with her dead husband, pregnant with Daniel, inside of Jed’s subconscious? Hector straight up got confirmed in her own dream, so we’re almost certainly going to get Hector next episode. But if Lyta isn’t with him, how is that whole Daniel business going to work, since she’s, you know, not pregnant with him, and thus he didn’t gestate inside a dream. And when we do get Hector, what’s he going to be like? I’m assuming he’s not going to be Silver Age Sandman, since they want to distance herself from everything DC related (though not without reference, given Rose’s toys). How is this going to work? Is there going to be a dream form of Lyta with Hector who’s going to combine with the real Lyta when Dream destroys the, er, dream?

Also, seeing how Lyta’s no longer Wonder Woman’s daughter, will they include her relationship to the Fates, come Kindly Ones?

Speaking of changing things, it was a little off-putting to see Despair wearing clothes, as weird as that sounds. But as soon as she used her ring to carve her own cheek, I was like, ah, there she is!

But while speculating about changes is fun, it’s also really nice when things just stick to what we know. The scene where Rose enters the boarding house and meets all the residents had me smiling like a loon. There’s Hal! There’s Barbie and Ken! Gee, I wonder if any of them will be important later, lol. There’s the Spider Women! And a picture perfect Gilbert, to boot! And Mervyn, my man! Oh, please give us the scenes where he’s bitching about Dream and Dream just shows up right behind him! I need to see that Pumpkinhead get that “Oh shit!” look.

And thank you so much for including Hal’s entire drag performance! Everything’s coming up roses, indeed! Though it only just occurred to me that his drag name, Ms. Dolly, is a straight up reference to the volume’s title. Maybe song from Guys and Dolls would’ve also been appropriate.

In the meantime, the climax at the Cereal Convention starts to get set up, with none other than Nimrod, Funland (oh boy), and a female version of the Good Doctor starts making plans. The Collectors was always one of my favorite storylines, so this is getting me really excited. I really hope they have that one serial killer fanboy posing as that dude that got killed off in Swamp Thing show up. Given that he was a white supremacist and an incel, it would only be, you know, topical. Also, while it’s not necessary, I also hope we get Funland’s iconic wolf ear hat.

But yeah, the Corinthian continues to weave his webs. I like him agreeing to be the convention’s guest of honor is now part of his greater plan to get at Dream instead of it just being someone he did for funsies only to get caught with his pants down. Speaking of which, all I can say to Rose’s housesitter is, dude, trust me when I say you do not want that guy calling you back! I know the hot dude with sunglasses is sexiness personified, but my guy, consider yourself lucky he left it at a one night’s stand!

And...okay, yeah, Rose is in the Dreaming! That's interesting. Like, there was one scene where she just popped into Dream's castle and he was amused by her, but now they're actually going to have a conversation? Huh.

All right, next episode promises to be a big deviation from the original comic. I am very curious to see what they have up their sleeves.

[nightmare-foundation]

okay so i'm rarely in the undertale fandom anymore but i still love goth and palette so here's headcanons for em

-Goth only stopped *physically* aging when he was a preteen, so given that he's actually in his early 20s, he is, in fact, mentally 20+ -He *hates* not being taken seriously, but has long since given up on actually trying to make anyone take him seriously -Although his parents tried their best to raise him, given the fact that they were both either busy or just gone due to health reasons, Goth was often neglected, even if he was left in the care of his uncle Papyrus or Toriel. He just wishes his parents were around more -Because of Geno and Reaper not being around too often, Goth is hyper-independent, to the point that he refuses to ask for help and always wants to do everything himself (it's v unhealthy) -He's v tired and depressed bc of this, but doesn't open up about it -Never really had real friends until he met Palette, who has an abundance of his own issues -Palette was also neglected due to how busy his parents were, and also because of Ink's forgetfulness, so he's messed up from it -He has soul issues since Ink doesn't have one, and dream has an 'artificial' soul, so he struggles with empathy, social rules, basic compassion, etc. He definitely has autism, adhd, and some kind of cluster b personality disorder -Despite this tho, Palette definitely tries to be a good person, even if he slips up a lot. He's not a great friend, but he's trying to help Goth out cause he knows he's struggling -Palette inherited his want to help and optimism from Dream, and his chaotic tendencies and energy from Ink. Structure-wise, he appears more like Ink, but likes Dream's outfit a bit more -He tends to drag Goth into a lot of chaotic situations, mostly involving pranks and elaborately set-up traps, mostly in the Omega Timeline, which is where the Underverse Studios resides -Both Goth and Palette are extremely talented at fighting. Goth is because he's been training for most of his life, and taught what he knew to Palette, who has a natural talent for fighting -Goth's fighting style is similar to Ruby Rose's style from RWBY, given the fact that he wields a scythe like her -Goth actually looks up to the other sanses a lot, particularly Cross due to his outfit, but has conflicting feelings about him since Cross likes to terrorize him occasionally -Goth enjoys talking to Gaster variants (or at least the nice ones), cause most of them understand what it's like to be permanently stuck having an appearance you hate, so they usually take him seriously, or at least more seriously than others -Palette normally tries to defend Goth whenever he can, but isn't always around to help out, and lends a listening ear when Goth wants to vent to him -Appearance-wise, Goth appears more similarly to Geno, but also has a lot of features from Reaper. Personality-wise, he takes surprisingly a lot after Gaster, but inherited Geno's quietness and exhaustion and Reaper's sarcasm and jokes -He also inherited their tendency to joke to cope, so it's not uncommon for Goth to crack jokes when he's stressed or having a bad day. He generally uses humor as a defense mechanism -Palette has his own good days and bad days. Some days he'll struggle less with empathy, compassion, etc. On bad days, when he doesn't have a lot of energy, he's more outwardly uncaring, asshole-ish and insensitive. He always apologizes for it, but understands if someone won't accept it -Palette hates being compared to his parents, particularly Ink, cause he's afraid he'll turn out like Ink -Palette and Goth are practically glued to each others sides due to shared experiences -Palette uses he/they pronouns, and is aroace -Goth uses any pronouns with a preference for he/him, and is pansexual and aegosexual -They're both dumbasses, but Palette is far more obvious about it -They're also both little shits and won't hesitate to roast the fuck out of sanses like Nightmare, Killer, etc. No they don't have a sense of self-preservation -Palette will carry Goth on his back since Goth doesn't like rushing due to his chronic fatigue from his depression, and since Palette doesn't like slowing down, he'll

just. Carry Goth everywhere

[luvutomoonandtosaturn]

Child of Blood and Salt - Chapter 5

Anya quickly turned to board the Staroverova with the other crows, but stopped short when she saw that Inej was still on the docks. As her warm eyes met the cold ones of Anya she suddenly realized the Wraith had witnessed the whole scene. Anya’s breath hitched and panic set in, a type of panic that only occurs when one's past is revealed, however slightly, to an unknown outsider. An unspoken glace was shared between the two women, they had to get moving anyways until someone else came after them. Dimiti lay on the docs, breathing hard and hardly moving but alive nonetheless. The weight of the Lanzov Emerald was heavier than ever as Anya boarded the ship and gave a look to Kaz that it was time to take sale. The rest of the crows seemed to be busy in their duties of preparing the ship for sale, and Anya prayed to the saints she didn’t believe that none of them beside Inej had witnessed her battle on the docks. All her thoughts after the panicked ones, of course, were occupied by Nikolai’s name. How much she loved him, how much he meant to her and the Ravka, how much she needed to find him. She tightened her pirate hat on her head at these thoughts and set to work securing ropes and sales. Anya learned quickly that her true home was the sea. It wasn’t the farm where she and Kaz had spent the early years of their life, Gryphon Castle where she had been trained, raised, and turned into a ruthless assassin and soldier, not even at the Little Palace where no matter how many friends she made she still felt like an outsider. She was skeptical at first to join Sturmholds crew; she had no experience on ships or being part of a crew. She was adamant not to go, though Tamar convinced her to. She would forever be grateful to her friend for that because it was on the Volkany where she finally felt at home. She learned quickly aboard the ship and quickly rose in rank, becoming a valuable asset to the Stormhold’s crew. Of course, she figured out his secret two days into her first journey on board. While she had not met Nikolai yet, she had her rumors about him as well as Sturmhold and by eavesdropping on a conversation between himself and Toyla, told her that her suspicions had been correct. She almost let her lips form a smile as she remembered when Nikolai had found out she had known all about his supposed well guarded secret. It was late at night at the Little Palace and she, other grisha, as well as Nikolai who had supposedly returned home from Ketterdam, had just finished dinner. Nikolai had offered to walk her to her rooms and they were walking in the dim lighting on the quarters at night. “My rooms are right around the connor.” Anya said look up at Nikolai with a curious look. Nikolai nodded his head. “I hope you sleep well, Lisichka.” And with those words Anya left Nikolai, eyes wide open, in the dark hallway. He was a fool, he realized then, that he thought the cold-eyed, observant, grisha, woun’dt figure his secret out. Their dynamic aboard the Volkany wouldn't be described by Nikolai as necessarily friendly. She constantly fought him on certain moves. She had found his cocky and flirtatious attitude to be an annoyance, which is where she came up with the nickname Lisichka, or little fox. His lips formed a smile as he stood still in shock looking at Anya’s closed door. “Well played Rietveld!” He shouted through the door and finally turned, shaking his head and laughing under his breath. Standing at the opposite side of her door, listening to Nikolai’s footsteps become more distant, Anastasia could never have predicted the things that would happen in her future.

She thought back at the girl she was then, a year ago at the Little Place. Would that girl believe that in just a year she would be wearing what she is now, on a stolen ship sailing to free Nikolai from his power hungry brother? Anya finally pushed her nostalgic thoughts away as she stared out at the disappearing harbor. The winds were strong tonight, she thought, but if it ever slowed down she knew she may have to give it a little push even though she didn’t want to reveal too much about her unnatural power that she had gotten as a result of the experimentation she had endured at Gryphon. She also took this time to survey her ship, she had taken many item’s front of the captain's quarters like a sextant, map, ect. This ship was considerably smaller than her beloved Volkany, but it would just be fine for her purposes. Now all she and the crows could do was wait. They wouldn't be reaching Novia Zem in a few days time and Anya was already starting to get anxious. Usually being at sea would have a calming effect on her, but with Nikolai in harm's way she could hardly relax and enjoy the cold ocean breeze on her face. “There are rooms on the starboard side of the ship,” She explained, turning to Kaz and the others. “And dried food and water below deck. We’ll come up with a plan of attack tomorrow.” “Someone will have to keep watch though.” Inej reasoned. “I can take first watch.” Kaz said with a worried look at the bags under his sisters eyes, when was that last time she slept? He’d thought to himself. “Works for us.” Wylan said, stifling a yawn. “If there's any supplies for explosives, I can whip something up in the morning.” Anya nodded her head at this as Jesper and Wylan took their leave hand in hand. “I can take second watch then,” Inej said “Oh, no that's not necessary,” Anya said “You look exhausted,” Inej said, looking at Anya and remembering the scene she had witnessed at the docks. It was one of the reasons Anya hated using her enhanced powers, along with the memories it brought back up, it echaused her completely. “Get some rest Anya,” she said, laying a loving hand on her shoulder, “You got to be well rested don’t you?” Inej smiled at her, then she walked to her quarters as well. For a while after the three of them left Kaz and Anya stared out at the ocean for a few seconds listening to the small waves crashing up against the boat and they exited the harbor and into the True Sea. “She's right , you know.” Kaz said, cane in front of him. “I know.” Anya replied. So many unspoken things lingering in the silence, so many things she wanted to say. Did he want to say the same things? Had he heard what had transpired on the docks. Had he seen the hump of dead and bloodied bodies, her eyes glowing. And above all these thoughts there was Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai. She had to get to Nikoali, and she was so exhausted, and had a pounding headache. The Lantsov Emerald had never felt so hot and heavy agait her chest as she finally lay her down to sleep.

Anya could feel her hair plastered to her skin as she sat stark naked on an abandoned little row boat in the middle of the ocean. It was dark as she frantically looked around at her surroundings but there was no land in sight. She searched for oars, driftwood, anything to get the broken row boat moving. She closed her eyes and frantically searched for a sign of a heartbeat until she caught a slight one close to her. Squinting her eyes she saw the cause of the heart beat drifting in the icy ocean. There was no mistaking those blue eyes, and striking blonde hair. Anya frantically pulled Nikolai on to the row boat, hopelessly holding on to the umstead beat of his head. “Anastasia,” He whispered from his blue lips. His skin was ice cold. “Anya,” he repeated again, raising a cold hand to her cheek. “Anastasia, you have to help me. Help save me. Don’t let me die.” He croaked, tears spilling from his ocean blue eyes that were now a dark, cold, gray. “Please” he pleaded with Anya. “plese zolotse please don’t let me die.” “You won’t!” Anya yelled out, placing two hands over his chest. “You won’t die because I won’t let you.” Tears were now spilling down her face but she felt his heartbeat die down, like it was falling down a rabbit hole, like she was falling, and she couldn't get back to the surface. Lost forever. And just as he was about to be lost from her forever. His featured subtlety and disterbantly changed to ones of an old, sickly, balding man with bad teeth and a big moustache. “No,” She whispered. She was the one who was pleading now. “No, please, leave me alone,” She sobbed out. “You can never hide from me malen’kiy.” Markin Yaroslavovich whispered back. “You can never escape me because I created you, I made you who you are, Anastaisa.” “No!” Anya screamed out covering her head now rocking back and forth , but Yaroslavovich’s words were just as clear and crisp as he was physically inside her head. “You were nothing! Abandoned, a child, alone, helpless, burdened with a great power. I made you who you are, and you can never escape that truth. And who are you now, girl. A runaway, a mistress, a murderer?” “No, no, no” Anya repeated now, noticing how water was flooding into the little boat soaking her feet and legs. “A killer, an unnatural being in the world, and helpless all the same. And now you’ll die like the killer you are, alone, cold, afraid, and with blood on your hands.” That's when Anya finally looked up to find herself just that dreadfully alone, hopelessly afraid, and in an ocean of red blood. There was nothing left to do, but scream.

Anya awoke in a cold sweat and sat straight up with a gasp, hitting her head on the beam of the low ceiling in the captain’s quarters. “Shit.” She whispered to herself. Her heart was beating at a rapid pace and her clothes were soaked in sweat to her skin. She frantically discarded the covers off the bed and rested her head on the headboard, trying to steady herself. Her nightmare had seemed so real, so horrifying and she still remembered every detail. In her half-awake and frantic state she quickly looked at her hands and body making sure they weren't covered in blood, but then in a sense she thought to look at the palms of her hands, weren’t they? She pulled her knees to her chest and let her head rest there for a while. The movement seemed so innocent and so childlike and a single tear dripped from her eye as she hugged her knees closer to her body. Where was Nikolai now, in a cell in the same position as herself? Was he in pain, being tortured for information, or was he already dead? She shuddered at the thought of the bastard king laying dead in a cold dark cell. Against her better judgment she took the Lantov Emerald out from under her shirt. She gave a small laugh, it was the first time she had truly looked at the gigantic thing. It was beautiful tho, she couldn't deny that. After a few seconds she quickly stuff the chain back into her shirt, before she did something foolish like try the damn thing on. Finally coming to the realization that she won't be getting any more sleep tonight, she put on her boots and coat and decided to go see if she could relieve her brother from watch duty. If she was up, she might as well be doing something useful. When Anya finally emerged from the captain's chambers, hands in her pockets, she wasn’t greeted by Kaz, but Inej. She stopped short when she saw the Suli girl, but she had already spotted her locking her gaze with her beautiful and kind eyes. “Couldn't sleep?” She asked gensering to a seat beside her look out into the black ocean, Anya had to blink to make sure it wasn’t crimson. She took her seat beside Inej, who was looking out into the sea, a braid of dark brown hair on her right shoulder. “I guess you could say that.” Anya replied. “I get them too, you know.” Inej said still with a steady gaze towards the ocean. Anya tilted her head in confusion. “The nightmares.” Inej clarified, “I get them too. I guess most of us do on this ship.” She gave a small laugh at this. Anya could feel tears building up in her eyes as she was determined to keep looking at the ocean. “If you couldn't mention to Kaz, the, uh, events at the dock, he just doesn’t need anything more on his plate right now.” “I know what it’s like to be taken from your homeland, stripped of your innocence and childhood. And I know you do too. Your secrets are safe with me, no matter how many you end up having.” The two girls finally made eye contact at this and Inej shocked her head slightly. “You two look so alike, it’s amazing. And a little creepy to be honest.” Anya laughed. “My mother always said that we might as well be twins, we looked so alike as children. I remember she gave us both the same outrageously horrible haircut, we were indistinguishable.” “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to meet him. After all those years. ” Inej said her curiosity got the better of her. “I didn’t want to know him.” Anya confessed, swirling her thumbs. “I didn’t want to know him and I didn't want a relationship with him, he swore he wanted the same thing. We were going to go our separate ways. I was in a bad situation with some pirates from the north, a miscommunication, I’ll call it,” Anya winked at Inej. “He came back for me; saved my life really. He was the first person who, just, I don’t know, really cared. Of course he cared in an over protective, angry, self centered way, but, he cared.” Anya finished turning to Inej looking into her eyes. “Kaz Brekker doesn't really care for people that often. He cares for you Inej, more than anything in the world by the looks of it.” “We're going to find him, Anya.” Inej said,

noticing her frantic hand twirling. “We're going to break him out and bring him home.” “He’s never gotten himself into a situation like this. Been kidnaped many times of course, but nothing like this.” Anya said feeling Inej’s worried eyes on her. “I told him not to go, I told him it would be out of the way, but it was such a small mission none of us expected-” Inej reached out and clasped her hand in Anya’s squeezing tight. Anya took a deep breath and lit the ocean air into her lungs. “I’ve already been told he was dead once,” She said, “I can’t hear those words a second time.” “Kaz doesn’t know about you and-” Anya shook her head quickly. “It’s a complicated situation, no one at the palace really does, he’s the king of Ravka, and-” “Secret is safe.” Inej said, giving a slight smile. “Kaz would go ballistic anyways.” Anya smiled as she thought about how her over protective brother would react to her being involved with the King of Ravka. “Saints,” Anya said with a sigh, “I don’t even want to imagine. You should go to sleep Inej, saints know I won’t.” Inej started to protest but Anya raised her eyebrows in defiance. If she wasn’t going to sleep she may as well be useful. Inej finally gave up and took leave from her position to go back to her quarters, but before she left she gave Anya another look of worry and said “I would talk to your brother Anya, broken families don’t often get the gift of being reunited. You and Kaz have been given a gift, I would use it.” Anya laughed again. “Yes Kaz did warn me about your Suli proverbs.” “Your brother is wary of them,” Inej said “ but Saints do not discriminate against those who will not let them in.” “Let's hope they don’t then.” Anya replied as Inej took her leave.

Inej’s advice to talk to Kaz stayed glued in Anya’s head for the rest of the uneasy days of the journey. Anya and Kaz had been adamant, to Jesper’s dismay, to begin the process of planning to break Nikolai out of whatever fortrus or ship Vasily had him stored in. Unfortunately, without the help of Anya’s contacts in Novia Zem, the group of thieves had very little to go on, which did not falter Kaz and Anya’s insistence on creating some sort of plan. On one such afternoon, Inej sat straight up in chair cleaning and sharpening her precious knives as Wylan sat beside her on the deck working on his sketchbook with cautious eyes towards the proximity of him and Inej’s knives. Jesper sat opposite of them tapping with his foot insistently and running an anxious hand on the back of his head. Kaz was sitting at a round table, the whole group gathered around, rolling out maps of the True Sea and Novia Zem. Anya was the only one standing, seeing as she was more anxious than Jesper to sit. For the last two days she was trying to display a calm demeanor especially in front of her brother, whose lingering eyes did no comfort to her nerves. She was staring out a porthole chewing the tip of a quill she was using to pinpoint possible Nikolai locations on Kaz’s maps. “Anya. Anya!” Kaz was attempting to get his sister's attention. “Sorry,” Anya said, coming out of her worrisome thoughts which included a dead Nikolai and a burning Rakva, “what were you saying.” She caught another one of Kaz’s curious looks toward her as he studied her. “We were saying,” he said now annoyed, “could Vasily of stashed Nikolai in the Southern Colonies?” “If it would be a good hiding spot, an unexpected choice.” Wylan added. “No,” Anya said, now turning and setting the quill down, “David was adamant about him being kept on a ship. And it makes the most sense.” “Yes but the True Sea is thousands of miles,” Jesper added from his spot “How in saints are we supposed to find a single ship when we don’t have a location.” “That's where my contact comes in.” Anya said . “She lives in Novia Zem and knows which ships come or go and where. She ought to know something, from there we can search from a more precise location. “And dare I ask who this secret contact you have is?” Kaz said, turning his head to Anya. “She’ll give us the information we need, is that enough?” Anya retorted. Jesper was now casting worrisome eyes between the two siblings who both looked out for blood. He would still never understand how Anya is able to look right into Kaz’s murderous eyes and not flitch. “Well I hope for his majesty's sake that's true.” Kaz said, sitting up from the table. “This is the best plan we’ve got until we get more information,” he said while looking over his plans. “We’ll reach Novia Zem in about twenty four hours, until then review that plan and rest up, this journey won’t be easy.”

[wickedmilo]

THREE, MIRROR | MILO & BEA

PLACE: A coffee shop near the university campus TIMING: 10:37 PM SUMMARY: Bea notices Milo being the worst vampire in the world, and makes a begrudging effort to help him.   WRITING PARTNER: @beatrice-blaze CONTENT WARNINGS: Very brief mentions of substance abuse, mentions of emotional abuse

Milo’s mind was still reeling. From finally running into his killer, from being forced to accept the fact that he had allowed the man to escape Dani’s stake, from being given the chance to explore the space where he had lost his life, and really see it for the first time since waking up as a vampire. It was an awful lot to process, which was why he was feeling slightly idiotic, and simultaneously slightly desperate, as he waited in line to order a coffee. Of all the places he could be drowning his sorrows, searching for an answer at the bottom of the bottle, a coffee shop was probably the last place anybody would expect him to be. Maybe that was a part of why it felt so comforting; the unpredictability, the spontaneity of the decision. Also, he supposed, the mundanity. He was waiting in line alongside late night students, people working on screenplays, or trying to complete assignments that were dangerously overdue. He could hear scribbling notes, hear the tapping of keys, even the subtle whir of laptop machinery if he allowed himself to focus. But he wasn’t here for other people, he was here for himself. For the familiar scent of coffee. For the feeling of wrapping his hands around a hot paper cup. He could only assume that was what everybody sought when they visited a café after dark. 

He couldn’t count the amount of times he had stumbled into this particular shop with a bad hangover, or even still drunk. It had been a saving grace first thing in the morning. And it was proving to be a saving grace now. At least here he felt vaguely human, at least here he could pretend everything that had happened to him over the course of the past few months had been some awful fever dream he had finally woken up from. Something he could move past, and forget. Something he could wash away with the right combination of syrup, coffee, and oat milk. When he reached the front of the line, he placed his order, asking for far more syrup than he usually would in the hope of granting the beverage a stronger taste. A few more minutes of waiting, of forcing any unwanted thoughts to the very back of his mind, and he picked up his cup, making his way over to the wall lined with mirrors.  

It was a staple of any coffee shop trying to appear sophisticated. And he was so used to the décor that he didn’t stop to consider whether his favourite spot could still safely be his favourite spot. Pulling out the chair closest to the wall, he dropped down onto it, leaning back against the cool surface of the glass as he began to tap his fingers against the drink in his hands. It was a nervous habit, one he never could seem to shake. Taking a careful sip of his coffee, a quiet sigh managed to escape him at the dull, one-note taste. If only it would taste as strongly as it smelled. It didn’t seem fair that one sense had been heightened while he had essentially lost another entirely. Maybe if he mixed it with some blood? Could he do that? Would that work? So lost in his own thoughts, it took him far too long to realise he was being watched. Catching the eye of a stranger, when they didn’t look away he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Apparently he wasn’t even allowed to wallow without being interrupted. 

Bea had gotten used to sleeping when it was light out in New York. The habit had still lingered after her return, her night owl tendencies too much of a hassle to break at this point. It helped to sleep in the light, to wake up gasping and be able to see everything in her room. There was no fear that the Hunter stood in the corner of her room in the light. The ocean could not flood her room. She could see that Adam’s dead eyes weren’t staring at her, crawling to her and telling her he needed to come back. The day rid her of her nightmares far faster than the night did. There were no corners to hide in. She was safe awake at night and safe asleep in the light.  

Usually after a show, Bea would find herself at the Stacked Deck, martini in hand as she gambled. She was trying not to drink on bad days, on the days where memories tore at her. Partaking in another vice, that seemed safe. Her mouth was dry as she stared into the steaming coffee in front of her. This wasn’t usually her first pick of a café, but it was the closest she had been to when her walk started to turn into wandering, aimless. These moods, they hit like waves, battering her over and over again, small moments of reprieve falsely claiming the storm was finally over. It exhausted her, cement added to her bones, trapping in the cold, dragging her down further into the sea. Water slipped into her lungs, coughing it up, inviting more in, but there was no release of consciousness, no, she was forced to live it all, feeling herself drown, over and over again.  

A hand gripped the back of her seat and Bea jolted with the motion, magic rushing to her fingertips as she looked for an enemy. It was some college kid, punchdrunk from hours spent in front of a laptop. Her heart hammered in her chest, her pulse screaming that she was alive, they were safe. Find five things you can identify in the room. That’s what her therapist had said, right? She couldn’t remember, but she began to count. “One, coffee,” She forced her eyes around the room. “Two, table. Three, mirror.” Mirror… She could see the mirror clearly, could see herself from across the room, all too sophisticated looking for the wild look in her eyes to fit, but not the man in front of it. He was a vampire, he had to be. She had stood in front of a mirror enough with Kian to know. His eyebrows went up and now she was too. A tide pulled her to him, pushed her to do what always made her feel safe and take care of someone else. “You’re in front of a mirror,” She said, her voice stronger than she expected.  

Milo hadn’t been expecting the woman to approach him, and he stared at her as she closed the distance between them both. It took far too long for her words to fully register, but when they did he felt an irrational surge of annoyance. “What?” He snapped. Why should she care where he was? What business did she have trying to tell him something he already knew? The mirror had always been there, it didn’t exactly feel like an important piece of information. But as quickly as his irritability had risen to the surface, it was replaced by a sudden realisation. Oh shit, he was sitting in front of a mirror. A jolt of panic shot through him without warning, uncomfortable, and disorienting. Had he really just announced to the entire coffee shop that he wasn’t human? As if hoping to prove he hadn’t been quite so moronic, he glanced behind himself to be met with the reflection of the woman, the shop, and absolutely nothing else. “Fuck- shit-” He muttered, scrambling to his feet, backing away until he was standing beside a window. No longer within reach of the mirrored wall, he still felt nervous, and unsteady. Only when he took a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure did he fully understand what this stranger had done for him. But why? What had compelled her to care? 

Offering her a hesitant smile, still battling the anxiety clawing at his chest, he did what he could to calm down. Part of him understood there was a possibility this wasn’t the end. The person standing by his abandoned table could be a slayer who had decided to toy with him, or somebody who loathed vampires and was hoping to laugh at his lack of intelligence. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He would deal with that later, for now he needed to focus on the present. “I-uh… thanks.” He muttered, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. It was important to look unassuming, he knew that. Lest he be seen as a threat. But the sheepish demeanour came naturally to him, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “It’s easy to forget sometimes… I just…” Glancing back down at his coffee, still sitting on the table where he had left it, he let out a quiet huff of frustration. “Hey- I don’t suppose you could pass that to me?” He asked. She was only going to say yes or no, he didn’t see the harm in pushing his luck. “That drink is… it’s me trying to stay sane. Apparently it isn’t working…” He added, gesturing vaguely to the mirror.  

Irritation rose swiftly in her chest as the man snapped at her. For a moment, Bea considered turning around and letting him suffer the consequences of his actions. The memory of her sister cradling Adam’s body swam to meet her anger, tempering her. This vampire was not Adam, but just like with Eddie, she had the urge to force him to take care of himself. Death had been a friend when she was the one reaching out to it. She understood who truly held the power now. No matter what she could do, there would be people who she lost. Death might be something she could circumvent herself, but that did not mean she would not witness the ramifications of it. She could still try to make others safer from it, even if after it took them, they refused to come back to her.  

Dull brown eyes watched as the vampire scrambled back from the mirror. “It shouldn’t be,” Bea said with reproach. She didn’t want this man to hurt, but she did not like him. She still remembered the taste of Kian’s disappearance in her mouth. She still felt the sting of rejection. The understanding of his goals with her, had come later in life. She had even truly realized that he had been using her until she spoke to her friends about their relationship. Abuse seemed like a terribly harsh word for it, but she could not think of something softer that described it correctly. Her lips pressed and for a moment she thought of saying no. She passed it to him wordlessly, eyeing him with suspicion. “Are you always so careless?” 

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t forget to eat sometimes, or put on lotion before you go out into the sun.” Milo countered. Self care, and self preservation consisted of so many little things, things that were difficult to remember when you were busy, or tired, or your life was getting complicated. Surely anybody could understand that. Pointedly ignoring the tone the woman had chosen to take, he was surprised when she handed him his coffee. It wouldn’t take a genius to see she was annoyed, maybe she too had come to the coffee shop for some kind of escape, and he was ruining it for her by being an all too present reminder of the supernatural. Focusing on her scent, on the sound of her heartbeat, she clearly wasn’t a werewolf, vampire, or zombie. So what was she? A spellcaster? A human who knew too much? “Thanks…” He said quietly, his demeanour softening. She didn’t owe him anything, and she had given him his coffee in spite of that fact.  

Hugging the cup to his chest, he watched her, unsure how they were supposed to move forward in such an unusual circumstance. But then she spoke again, and a laugh managed to escape him. He pushed his hair back away from his face, relief at only being caught out by one person was beginning to wash over him. Lowering his inhibitions, and making him all the more grateful for the stranger’s begrudging intervention. “Not always.” He insisted, feeling the need to defend his intelligence. “Sometimes…” Mirrors weren’t always an issue, and when they were he had proven relatively competent when it came to avoiding them. But he had an awful lot on his mind. He didn’t want to dwell on his many mistakes. He wanted to pretend, to enjoy the little bubble of safety the coffee shop felt like it was providing. “Look, it’s been a really fucked up week, okay? I just… I needed a break.”

Bea’s expression soured even further at the man’s reply, “Those things aren’t the same and you know it. I’m not going to have someone attempt to kill me if they notice I didn’t eat.” She didn’t know why she cared, maybe she didn’t actually but wanted the distraction, but whatever caused her to come over here kept her here, even with her mounting irritation. Hadn’t her therapist said something about this? She couldn’t remember it, not with her pulse roaring in her ears, but she knew that Miranda wasn’t going to be happy with her for butting into something again. She’d probably say that taking care of other people to ignore her own self care was a form of escapism or some shit. Bea wasn’t really all that willing to work on breaking out of that habit just yet, it’s what made her useful to the people around her.  

It was always a fucked up week in White Crest. There was always another building disaster. There was always something that ruined someone’s life. It was just how the town was. She bit her tongue and said nothing. Taking a moment, she looked away from the man, back to the mirror. She stared back at herself and her eyes lingered on the scar circling her neck. Wicked’s Rest always took something from the people who lived here, it was just how it went. She looked back to the man, “Find a place that doesn’t have mirrors to take a break then. Or one day a hunter will find you sitting in front of a mirror and they will try to kill you. They’ll make sure you stay dead too.” She certainly didn’t hate hunters, especially knowing the ones she did and how they were driven to make the world a better place, but she didn’t want to be a bystander to someone’s death.  

Milo was half expecting to win over the woman’s sympathy, convince her in some way to feel for him rather than see him as an idiot. The fact that his words only managed to irritate her further only managed to irritate him further too. Maybe she had a point, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “Whatever, I’m only saying it’s easy to forget the important shit. Especially when your life is a mess. So, bite me.” Taking a sip of his coffee, out of habit more so than in an attempt to calm down, he found the hot drink did manage to soothe him a little. It reminded him of why he was here. The desperation, and longing for an escape. He wouldn’t be able to find one while he was being yelled at by a stranger, that much was undeniable. Though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to escape this interaction. This woman had genuinely helped him, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. No matter how determined she seemed to ruin his night. 

Watching as she turned away from him, he saw her stare at her own reflection, but couldn’t follow her gaze without stepping closer, something he absolutely wasn’t willing to do. She would only berate him again, and he didn’t want to encourage her. “I used to come here a lot while I was studying.” He countered, glaring at her even as she ignored him. “Forgive me for wanting something familiar.” If he had chosen almost anywhere else in the cafe he might have been able to avoid the mirrors, but he hadn’t been thinking, too lost in his own pain. As far as he was concerned that was understandable, more than valid given the circumstance. Though his company would probably argue otherwise. “No shit,” he shot back. “I’ve met one or two, I-” He broke off before he could insist he knew what he was doing. How could he say that after such a ridiculous mistake? “I’m fine.” He answered instead. “Okay? I don’t need your help, or- whatever it is you’re trying to do here.” 

“You’ll have to excuse me if I decline that offer,” Bea sneered back. Maybe on another night she would have been kinder, gentle in her correction. The combination of bad night and an unshaken dislike for vampires was a potent one. She wouldn’t apologize for it, not when she felt she was justly annoyed. She took a deep breath in, Miranda’s voice ringing in her head. She had to keep her cool, they were still in public and she had a reputation to uphold. She kept her eyes off the mirror now, unwilling to see how her face had shifted as anger took over. She was better than this. She knew she was better than this. It was just that this vampire was in front of her and she could barely stand the proximity. The grief of her past had never truly been dealt with, pushed aside instead in favor of continuing on. That was the way of the Vurals, wasn’t it? 

Familiarity. Bea could understand that. She found that in the Stacked Deck and Coffee Plus after her death. A place to feel normal just for a moment. It was the most human thing a person could want. “Be more mindful about where you sit here then,” She conceded, her throat tight at the grim reminder that he was struggling with his own demons. A sharp smile took over her face, “You don’t need my help now, after I helped you.” That was the way of it though, wasn’t it? She never wanted help after she proved she needed it. She could, in a way, sympathize with that. “Look, I don’t like vampires, but I wasn’t going to let you get caught like that. I’m not in the business of watching someone make a fatal mistake, even if I don’t like them. That’s all I’m doing.”  

“You’re excused.” Milo countered, unable to think of a witty comeback. He was torn between gratitude and frustration. The fact that this woman had done something genuinely good for him, and then turned on him almost the moment he was safe, was pathetically causing his head to spin. Was it really too much to ask for a quiet night? He didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with such inconsistency. He had been polite, he had thanked her, and he had been met with a less than positive attitude. It didn’t feel fair. Raising his eyebrows as a few beats of silence passed between them, he watched the stranger as she turned away from her reflection. She was a difficult person to read, which only served to make the interaction feel more irritating, and unnecessary. “I don’t know whether it counts if you stick around to insult the person you helped.” He pointed out, although he knew she could argue against his statement. Regardless of whether she was being kind to him, she had stopped him from potentially becoming a target. Nothing she said now was going to change that. He and Deirdre hadn’t exactly parted as friends, but that didn’t erase the medical attention he had offered her.  

Letting out a huff of breath, unsurprised to hear she didn’t like vampires, he appreciated the reason for her behaviour. Even if said reason was bullshit. “I’m sorry, it’s not my fault you’re Team Jacob. I’m not about to fucking fall at your feet because you did me a solid in spite of what I am.” He awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest, careful not to drop his coffee cup. His confidence was rapidly fading as he realised he didn’t always like vampires either. When he met them for the first time, he felt nervous, and scared. It was a product of his history with them. It was only after getting to know them that he became comfortable in their company, maybe this was something they both had in common. “Okay, shit. I get it…” He muttered begrudgingly. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he chewed on his bottom lip, steeling himself to be honest with her. “You think I like vampires?” He asked. “I was fucking killed by one… but that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like you already know who I am. We’re still people. There’s still good and bad.” 

“Asking someone if they’re always careless isn’t an insult. My attitude towards you isn’t an insult just because it’s not immediately positive.” Bea could feel the heat in her blood, felt herself simmering under the surface. The world was unfair, so why did she have to be fair to everyone she met? She was kind when she didn’t have to, better than other people had been to her. It shouldn’t fall on her shoulders to carry on with optimism and generosity at all times. Shouldn’t she get to be as bad sometimes? You’re spiralling, she thought grimly. Miranda had told her she did that, where all of her thoughts started to go too fast to logically go through them. She wanted to go home, but what waited for her there. Felix was in New York, Nell at their parents’ house, Luce at the cabin. The house was empty and it was too late to call anyone over to fill in the gaps that ghosts had left. 

Bea’s eyes narrowed, “When you spend three years of your life getting used as a convenient blood bag, I’ll listen to your opinion on how I should feel around vampires.” The relationship she had held with Kian was complicated, but she had grown to realize that their love had been toxic. She had begun to understand that they had only lasted so long because he hadn’t felt motivated to find someone else only a year or so ago. Her throat tightened, she had assumed that he was like Kian, someone who had chosen this life. She had never forgotten with zombies that many of them didn’t pick this. It was harder with vampires. It was hard to look at him now, the stripped truth of what was in front of them almost too much to bear. She nodded, such a small movement that it could have been lost with a blink. An apology stuck on her tongue, thick, hard to move. She could type apologies, but speaking them, that was a very different story. “You’re right,” She conceded. “I let my bias get the better of me.”  

“It wasn’t what you said, it was the way that you said it.” Milo pointed out, although he strongly suspected the woman might already know. He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering to continue with this argument, but walking away felt too much like admitting defeat, like agreeing with her. “It is when you’re generalising.” He added, figuring it definitely counted as an insult if her mood was in relation to his vampirism. It wasn’t the first time what he was had managed to make somebody uncomfortable, and it didn’t seem to get any easier. But at least she was making it easy to be annoyed, at least she was making it easy to not feel guilty. Bex had been different, she had been soft, and regretful in a way that made him self-conscious, that made him want to apologise for being himself. His current company had an edge, one that as far as he was concerned, gave him permission to be less than content. 

Fully prepared to defend himself, he found his expression shifting once again when he registered what he was being told. There were so many details to her story that would change the context of it. Had she given blood willingly? Was it being taken by someone she knew? Was she being held captive? Or manipulated into sharing? But as quickly as his mind began to run through the possibilities, he was reminded of her obvious trauma. How it had happened wasn’t relevant. It didn’t matter. What mattered was how upset she clearly was, how deeply affected by the past. She had damage, same as him. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said quietly, a frown creasing his brow. He had been used as a blood bag once, and it had cost him his life. He tried and failed to imagine how he might feel if he had been used for three years, if he was still alive, and vulnerable to another attack. He still felt vulnerable, though he knew nobody was going to drink his blood now. She couldn’t say the same. “Yeah, you kind of did… but it’s whatever.” He unfolded his arms, trying to assure her without letting her think she might have won. “That shit stays with you, I know it does…” 

Irritation continued to mount, but now it was focused inward. Bea did not lose control. She presented herself as a measured person, her actions had meaning. There was hard to find meaning with the pressure building between her ears. She had fallen from her path without realizing it, twigs broken from her blind tumble. Left behind her an ugly, broken mistake. Her jaw locked, unwilling to deny the truth of his words, unwilling to apologize or put herself in a worse position. She felt young again. At least there was no threat that she would break all the windows in the café, even as far she had fallen, she had more control than she did at nineteen.  

“It’s not,” She finally said. She had let him speak, let him apologize for what happened to her. She knew he deserved to be heard after she spoke to him as she had. “It’s not appropriate or kind of me to treat you the way I did.” The way, she knew, certain witches had in the past. The way her zombie friends had. “It’s not alright or whatever. I was wrong,” The words throttled her, the alarms in her brain begging her to shut up. She never enjoyed admitting she was wrong, it made her feel dizzy, out of control. But she was already there tonight, she was already spiralling, might as well dive in to fix something she had made. “I’m sorry too, for the little that it’s worth, that it happened to you. That you were killed.” She knew the feeling, the wrongness that came after that. She didn’t know how being changed into something else felt however. “White Crest isn’t kind. Just try to be careful and maybe it’ll avoid pressing its misery on you again,” She finished softly, weakly.  

Milo listened to the apology, taking a moment to really register the woman’s choice of words. He recognised the fact that she was trying, in the same way he understood how difficult it was to take responsibility for a mistake. He appreciated it more than he could say, so he offered her a hesitant smile, hoping to show her he was no longer offended, or upset. He was too tired to cling to so many negative emotions, too desperate to forget, if only for a little while. “You, uh… you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.” He teased, careful to gauge her reaction. He was attempting to lighten the mood but he knew there was a possibility of pushing her further away. He wanted to move forward, he just didn’t know how to. “Look,” he said, becoming serious again. “I know how it feels, I really do. Or part of it, at least. I also know that’s weird because I guess I’m like, one of them now. But I didn’t ask for any of this… You were used by a vampire, and I was used by a vampire. Different outcomes but it still fucking sucks...” Catching the ironic phrase the moment it left his lips he laughed quietly, unable to help himself. “I mean, figuratively but…”  

Falling silent when his company warned him White Crest wasn’t kind, it made him wonder what else she had been through, how else she might have suffered at the hands of his hometown. His memory flashed suddenly back to Dani, and his killer, to the moment he had allowed the person responsible for his death to touch him. He couldn’t do anything to suppress a shudder. As it always did when he truly considered what had taken place, anxiety began to claw at his chest, and he swallowed, staring down at his coffee so that he could collect himself before looking back up again. It was a strange conversation to have, and maybe not one he was ready for given recent events. But he pressed on. “I’m Milo. I probably should have said that earlier.” A soft sigh escaping him, he pointedly ignored the pain still weighing him down, remembering distinctly why he had come to the coffee shop in the first place. “Hey, I don’t suppose you want to, uh… start over? Maybe get another coffee and find a table that isn’t in front of a mirror?” He asked. He didn’t have anything to lose, but maybe, just maybe, he could gain a friend. A friend who partially understood the way the aftermath of his attack was still affecting him. 

A snort left Bea, an amused smile lighting her face, “Trust me, this is me not being dramatic. I’m usually far more over the top.” She knew how to make a show, knew the words to say to get crowd reaction, knew how to dress and act to get the attention in a room. Her calm was often everyone’s dramatic. She watched his face closely, knowing that these conversations were never easy to have. Personally, most people didn’t know the details of her relationship with Kian. They didn’t know her history or how she felt dirty after it was all said and done. She had never gotten close enough to another person with ties to vampires to compare notes, see how trauma was different on other faces. “I find a lot of people turn into the thing that destroyed them, your’s just couldn’t be stopped.” She had become a killer after the Hunter, had walked this world with the goal of making sure others knew she could end them if she so wished. She had picked that, this man hadn’t. “It does fucking suck, pun intended, considering what happened,” She repeated back, that small smile still on her face. 

Bea considered her options. She could just walk away, this had ended amicably enough, or she could give him a shot, accept company and let herself get pulled from the hole she had placed herself in. “I’m Bea or Beatrice, either work.” She always introduced herself that way, even though she rarely went by Beatrice anymore. Her mother had loved her full name though and so Bea had never stopped. Maybe it was time to. “I know a spot here where there are no mirrors, should be pretty safe.” She had never really stopped looking for those safe spots, not after three years of it. “I’ll get us more coffee and meet you over there?” She offered, guard still up, but willing to take some time to pull it down. 

Milo watched the woman, pleased to see a genuine smile light up her face as she spoke. He smiled too, unable to help himself, but it didn’t take long for the expression to fade. He tried to imagine a world where he killed people so callously, where he was willing to take a life because it was convenient, and made him feel good. He refused to let himself become that, he was never going to forget the trauma, the unrest his experience had caused him. It might actually haunt him forever. He knew he could be selfish, knew on the odd occasion he put his own wants and needs before the wants and needs of others, but never to such a scale. That wasn’t him, and it was never going to be him. “I really hope that isn’t true…” He murmured. Maybe his company was right, and becoming a vampire was enough. Maybe she wasn’t talking about the murderous tendencies that apparently came as part of the package. Humming quietly in response to the pun, he glanced back up at her and was surprised to find she was still smiling. It made him feel better somehow, the knowledge that she might actually be enjoying the conversation.  

“Bea...” He echoed, committing her name to his memory. He didn’t enjoy being given a choice, not when names could carry so much weight, and be so personal. It only made sense to use the first option he had been given. A laugh escaping him at the mention of mirrors, drawing him out of his thoughts, he was struck by how ridiculous it was relying on a human to show him where he would safely be able to sit. He felt like a child, although he knew he was in no place to complain about that fact. She was helping him, and considering how their interaction had begun, that alone seemed like an outright miracle. Following her gaze to a handful of tables, he nodded before catching her eye. “Coffee sounds good.” He agreed. “With oat milk, and as much syrup as they can legally give me.”

“Sometimes hope can be enough, if you follow it with determination.” There were moments where Bea looked toward Luce and saw hope in a manner she didn’t with many other people. It was a Vural trait to never go down easily, but Luce always felt like the most hopeful somehow. She was by far the least optimistic, yet somehow when hope was introduced to a situation, the eldest sister thought of the lightning caster. She couldn’t completely explain it, but it felt right in her chest. Luce didn’t let go of hope once she found it, she held fast, a dragon with her horde.  “Oat milk,” Bea nodded, heading over to the front. “I’ll convince them to give you some illegal syrup too, don’t worry.”  

Milo grinned at the mention of illegal syrup before turning away from Bea, making his way over to their new table. He felt okay, he realised. Not good, and definitely not whole, but okay, and that was undeniably the best possible outcome of the evening. He had been expecting the drink to help him. Had been expecting the solitude, and the quiet sense of normalcy to ground his overwhelming emotion. When in actuality it was the company helping him settle. Bea may have been cold, and short to begin with, but he was really beginning to like her. Maybe there was something in that. He had called Evelyn, hadn’t he? To help him when he was catatonic. Didn’t he usually call Orion when he was feeling particularly miserable, or confused? Even Macleod and James on the odd occasion had helped him to organise his thoughts. It struck him suddenly that he didn’t need coffee, he didn’t need to cling to his old life, or wallow in it entirely alone. He needed to find somebody to be with, somebody who could distract him from his thoughts, and allow him a sense of freedom. He knew the clubs now, he knew the substances. But did he know anybody willing to get on his level? If he looked in the right places, he strongly suspected White Crest might finally deliver. 

[440mxs-wife]

Lost and Found

"You want me to work this case with who?" Arthur Ketch asked.

"Relax, Ketch, she's had field experience before, she just hasn't been in the field much lately. Trust me, she'll be perfect for this," Dean assured him.

"This is not a training op, a learn-as-you-go thing, this is a serious case, Dean. I need an experienced hunter to carry off the cover story and perform her duty. I don't think she fits the part, and she's not my type anyway," Ketch complained.

As if on cue, you walked through the War Room on your way to the main living area. You had a book in one hand, which you were reading as you walked. A cup of cocoa occupied your other hand. You reached the living room and settled into a corner of the couch with your favorite quilt.

Dean cleared his throat behind you. Without looking up from your book, you asked, "What do you need, Dean?"

"So, we have a case right now that requires your unique....talents," he started.

You closed your book in annoyance and narrowly gazed at Dean. "To what 'unique talents' are you referring? What exactly do you want me to do?" you asked.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, something he tended to do when he was nervous or about to do something he didn't want to do. "This is Arthur Ketch, former British Man of Letters. There's a case involving a vampire, named Simon Foster. He's hosting a formal party by invitation only. Your cover would involve you posing as a couple with Ketch," he explained.

You knew this wasn't the whole story, so you waited for Dean to finish. "And....you have to dress up, like evening-gown type dressing up," he added.

You took a few moments to assess your potential hunting partner's attributes. You knew that in the past, he had been a ruthless killer for the British Men of Letters. However, you also remembered how he rescued Gabriel from Asmodeus, at great risk to his own safety. He was working with the Winchesters from time to time as a free-lance operative.

Aside from the professional evaluation, you had to admire his broad chest and tall, confident stature. He had sparkling blue-green eyes that you knew had to hold a certain amount of mischief every now and then. He had just enough of a beard to be considered ruggedly handsome and sexy. And that accent made you a little weak in the knees, if you were being truly honest with yourself.

Ketch interpreted your silence to mean that you were refusing to work with him on the case. "As I told you, Dean, she's not right for this mission," he retorted.

"Mr. Ketch, you don't know me very well. And I only know of you what I've heard in the tales of your exploits from Sam and Dean. Maybe it's time we got our assumptions about each other out of the way, and work this case? Hmm?" you replied as you rose from the couch.

Ketch walked over to where you were standing and said, "Well, my dear, since you have dropped the gauntlet, I accept your challenge. Oh, by the way, I do hope you have something appropriate to wear. Flannel and jeans won't fly in this instance, darling," he smirked.

You took one step towards Ketch, close enough so that you could detect the scent of his aftershave. With more calm in your voice than you currently felt, you looked deep into his eyes. "There's more to me than flannel and jeans. Buckle up, Mr. Ketch. It's going to be a fun ride," you replied, making a show of adjusting his tie before walking out of the room.

Ketch looked over at Dean, who was alternating between shock at your actions and outright laughter at Ketch's expense. He turned on his heel and went to his room, which was fortunately in the opposite direction of yours.

You spent the next week and a half preparing for the upcoming hunt with Ketch. Most of the time was occupied doing research, looking through books and poking around on the internet. Otherwise, you could easily be found at the firing range. You felt you were a little rusty, and the extra range time would help increase your accuracy. You also didn't want to give Ketch one single reason to regret partnering with you.

"Research days" were long ones. You made sure to take plenty of breaks to stretch your legs. If you made yourself a snack, you brought one back for Ketch also. Where you had hot cocoa or coffee, you made tea for Ketch. He never asked you for anything, but for you, it was almost automatic to share in your hospitality. It was in these little ways that you were trying to show Mr. Ketch that his assumptions about you may not be accurate.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ketch stared at the glass of milk you brought to him, along with three chocolate chip cookies you had baked the day before. Today, it was muffins at breakfast, cookies in the afternoon and pie with dinner. The woman certainly has her talents, he thought. Maybe she can pull this off after all.

As you nibbled on your cookie, Ketch took a moment to study you. You had greenish-hazel eyes, one of which had a small dark mark in the iris. Your medium length chestnut locks couldn't keep themselves from falling in your face. On more than one occasion, Ketch found himself wanting to reach over and tuck the wayward curls behind your ear. As you searched through the reference books, he could see the look of deep concentration on your face. He had to admit, you may just have the determination to get the job done.

He had followed you one day to the shooting range to see how you handled a firearm. He watched as you carefully loaded the rounds into the clip for your .380 pistol, and inserted the clip. When the weapon was ready, you raised it into position, took aim and systematically emptied the clip. You left the target hanging on the range, so as soon as you left, Ketch went over to check your results. He was amazed to find that all rounds except one hit center mass, just like they were supposed to do. The only one that didn't hit center mass was a head shot.

From what he'd seen, you were more than capable of performing your part in this case. You had already demonstrated to him that you could handle a firearm. This skill likely translated to other weapons as well, so Ketch wasn't worried about that.

You'd also shown him your sensitive side. It was in the way you took care of everyone in the bunker, including him, despite his initial dismissive attitude towards you. It occurred to him that it was partially because of you that the Winchesters' hunting operation was so successful. You made sure everyone was fed well, had clean clothes and injuries were patched. Not just the physical injuries either, but the emotional ones as well that can take their toll on a hunter.

One night, he had a nightmare that left him calling out in his sleep. In his nightmare, he was put on trial by the British Men of Letters. All of the people he had killed were brought in as witnesses against him, and of course, he was found guilty. His punishment was that each victim got a chance to kill him, causing him to experience his own death several times over.

He jerked awake to find you had crept into his room and were sitting on the edge of his bed. You gently laid a hand on his arm to assure him that he was safe and that it was only a nightmare, not real. He tried to be the tough guy, rather than let you see how upset the nightmare had made him. He didn't want you to think he was soft or didn't have the guts to carry out the mission.

You never asked what his nightmare was about, probably figuring that he wouldn't want to tell you. You simply stated that all hunters had nightmares from what they've seen and done, so he was no different, that even you had them. In fact, you'd had one that night as well, and were having trouble getting back to sleep from it.

Ketch couldn't believe that someone so kind and compassionate as you would have anything to fear or regret about what you'd done in the course of hunting. You told him that some of your nightmares were about loved ones being tortured or killed while you were forced to watch. Most of them, though, were about the people you couldn't save, in addition to all of the guilt and helplessness you felt about the outcomes.

When it appeared to you that Ketch was uninterested in the comfort you came to offer, you awkwardly stood up from the bed. You mumbled that if he needed anything, you were down at the end of the hall, then you made your way to the door. As your hand was on the doorknob, ready to leave, he asked you to stay so that he could comfort you. He assured you he meant no funny business, that he was only offering a way for you both to get back to sleep. You looked at him, a little skeptical at first, then relented with a shy smile.

Ketch held up the blanket for you to slip into bed beside him. You started out at the far edge of the bed, your back to him as you laid your head on the pillow. He reached over to drape an arm around your midsection and pulled you closer to him. He accidentally nuzzled your neck with his stubbly chin and breathed in the scent of strawberries from your shampoo. When he exhaled, his breath was warm against your skin, but you seemed to shiver a bit in response. In a shaky voice, you whispered, "Goodnight, Arthur," took his hand in yours and closed your eyes. He whispered "goodnight" and also closed his eyes, a smile etched on his face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ketch was putting the last minute touches on his tux while he waited for you to get ready. He made sure he had the invitation listing both of your names. He also made sure he had his sharpest machete ready, along with some dead man's blood. He was about ready to call out to you to see how much longer you'd be, when he heard the unmistakable sound of high-heeled shoes on the tile floor.

You were dressed in a midnight blue, floor-length gown, with a slit halfway up your left thigh. The A-line gown had a criss-cross bodice that hugged your curves, and featured wide straps that crossed in the back. Embedded in the fabric were tiny crystals that sparkled as they hit the light, reminding Ketch of the stars in the night sky. You wore your silver sparkly pumps to finish your wardrobe.

You chose to sweep your hair up in a French twist. You kept your makeup simple, mostly earth tones, with pink lipstick. You chose white crystal stud earrings and a velvet cameo choker to complete your jewelry selection.

When he saw you, his mouth ran dry, and for a moment, he had lost the ability to form a coherent thought. You noticed that his bow tie needed a little work, so you set your small handbag on the table and proceeded to fix his tie. "There," you said. "Now it's perfect. You look very dashing this evening, Mr. Ketch," you remarked.

"I must say, you look absolutely stunning, my dear," Ketch finally said. "This dress certainly suits you and definitely brings out your eyes," he murmured, so softly that only you could hear him.

"Thank you," you said quietly, a blush rising on your cheeks. At that moment, Dean walked in on the two of you and whistled. "Whoa! Lookin' good, you two!" he declared. "'Specially you in the dress," he said as he winked at you. You looked at Ketch, rolled your eyes and jerked your head in Dean's direction. He chuckled softly at your dismissal of Dean's compliment.

You looked at the delicate watch on your wrist and noticed the time. "We should get to the party, so that we don't miss our chance to take out the host," you remarked.

"Agreed. Shall we, my dear?" Ketch asked as he held out his arm to you. You slipped your hand through his arm, and he tucked it close to his side as you ascended the spiral staircase together. As you left, Dean sent up a silent plea for a successful hunt, with everything going according to plan.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You and Ketch walked into the party, hand in hand. Ketch let go of your hand long enough to retrieve your invitation and hand it to the bouncer at the door. You felt Ketch's hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the room. When you reached the dance floor, Ketch skillfully turned you around so that you were in his arms, ready to dance.

"We don't have time for this," you hissed.

"We have to blend in, Love. If we don't, we'll be in some deep trouble before we've had a chance to ID our objective," Ketch firmly but softly stated. "Now, let's dance," he commanded.

You settled into the waltz, allowing Ketch to lead you all around the dance floor. He was an amazing dancer, probably part of his training with the British Men of Letters. Fortunately for him, you had also taken dancing lessons, so you weren't completely clumsy. As you moved across the floor, you kept trying to find your host, the vampire.

"Relax, darling, I've already spotted him," Ketch assured you. "When this song is over, you are going to slap me as if we've just had an argument. After that, go to the bar for a drink. Don't worry, our host the vampire will seek you out. He'll see a beautiful but heartbroken woman. Let him convince you to go somewhere private where he can 'console' you. I'll keep my eye on you both and wait for the opportunity to take him out."

"You want me to slap you, then walk away as if we've had a fight about something? Okay," you shrugged, doing as you were ordered. "JERK!!" you spat out as you turned on your heel and went towards the bar. Ketch stood there, staring after you and holding his cheek. He was left wondering if maybe you enjoyed your part a little too much.

You perched yourself on a barstool and ordered a drink. As you sipped it, you felt a powerful presence approach you on your left side. It's him, you thought. Where the hell is Ketch? you wondered as a slight panic set in. You didn't dare turn around, though, as that may blow your cover story.

"A little trouble in love, hmm?" a deep voice rumbled.

You turned towards the source. "Pardon me?" you asked.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Simon Foster, and I'm the host of this soirée. But I'm sure you already knew that, didn't you?" he purred, his hand lightly brushing your arm.

You fought the instinct to pull your arm away in disgust. "Of course I know you. Simon Foster: CEO of Foster Industries, head of the second largest shipping company in the world. Desperately clawing his way to being the first largest shipping company in the world. Offices spread out all over the globe, such as in New York, Liverpool, Rio de Janeiro, Sydney, Marseille," you finished.

"Well, I'm impressed. You've certainly done your homework, my dear. But enough business talk. Let's get a little more personal," he suggested.

"I really should be getting back to---" Simon put a finger to your lips. "Let him suffer a bit first. Besides, my sister Cynthia seems to be occupying him," he snickered.

You turned your attention towards where you'd left Ketch. You were shocked to see him with his arms around a gorgeous, leggy blonde woman in a red sequined dress. Simon turned your face back to him, so that you were looking into his eyes. "Come, my darling, let's go somewhere a little more private, and get to know each other better," he coaxed.

You gave him a quick smile and slid down from the barstool. You had only had the one drink and sipped it at that. However, you felt a bit unsteady on your feet, as if you'd had more like four drinks. Simon offered you his arm to support you as he led you away from the bar area to one of the private rooms. Ketch, you silently pleaded. Don't leave me, please.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

No sooner had you left to go to the bar, that a blonde-haired woman in a red sequined dress came up to Ketch and asked him to dance. Ever the gentleman, he obliged, but did not lose sight of you. The blonde woman introduced herself as Cynthia Foster, sister of your host, Simon Foster. He engaged Cynthia in conversation, maintaining his cover, while trying to learn anything he could about her brother. The next time he turned his attention towards the bar, you were gone and so was Simon.

You and Simon stumbled into his private study area, where he closed the door and locked it behind him. In one swift move, he backed you up against his desk and started kissing you. As you stuck out your hand behind you to keep from falling over, you cut your finger on a letter opener.

When you examined the cut and the blood dripping from it, you could see the pupils in Simon's eyes grow wide. He took your finger in his mouth and tasted the blood. "Oh, darling. You taste so sweet, just like I knew you would," he growled as his fangs came into view. He pushed your head to the side and sank his fangs into your neck.

You knew you had to do something before you fell unconscious from losing too much blood. You carefully slid your hand down your thigh under your dress to release one of the syringes of dead man's blood you had hidden. Unfortunately, Simon caught on to what you were doing and wrenched it from your hand. "YOU!! You're a hunter!!" he screeched, throwing you to the floor and causing you to hit your head on a table in the process.

From the blood loss and possible concussion, you were finding it hard to remain conscious, let alone fight back. Fortunately, Ketch had burst through the door, wielding his machete. He took two long strides towards the vampire and skillfully sliced off Simon's head. With the mission objective met, Ketch turned his attention towards you. He noticed the bite marks on your neck and placed his handkerchief over it. He told you to hold it there to try and stop the blood loss.

"Ketch....Ketch....Arthur...." you whispered. He turned to look into your eyes. "I'm sorry. I should've....should....should've paid better attention," you remarked softly.

"Shh, try not to talk now, Love. Let's get you back to the bunker and patched up, good as new. I just hope to bloody hell Dean doesn't kill me for this," Ketch muttered. He placed you in the front seat of the car, buckled you in and then he ran around to the driver's side. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Ketch threw the car into gear and sped off into the night, headed back to the bunker.

"I'm so tired, Arthur," you replied as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Hold on, Love, hold on. We'll be there soon, just stay with me. Keep holding that kerchief up to your neck, darling," he soothed. When he didn't hear you respond, he looked over to see that you had fallen unconscious. He mashed down the accelerator in response, and soon the bunker was in his sights.

Once in the garage, he parked the car and ran around to the passenger side to get you. He scooped you up into his arms and pounded on the bunker door. Sam answered and quickly ushered you both in, then called out for Dean to help.

"What the hell happened, Ketch?!? You were supposed to look out for her. Is that what this looks like??" Dean thundered.

Ketch didn't say anything as he carried you to the infirmary to care for your wounds. You had bite marks on your neck from Simon, and a gash on your forehead where you'd hit the table. He placed you gently on the bed and went to the cabinet for what he would need to clean you up. Dean snatched the suture kit out of Ketch's hands and pushed him aside.

"Now see here, mate--" Ketch started angrily. "No, you see here. I'll take care of her. Been patching her up long before you came along, and I'll be doing it long after you leave," Dean retorted.

"Dean," you mumbled, opening your eyes. "Knock it off. It wasn't his fault," you muttered, sitting up a little. "He took out the vamp and his sister, mission accomplished," you said as you fell back onto the bed. "Arthur?" you called softly.

"Right here, Love," he said as he sat beside the bed and took your hand in his.

"Can you please stitch this up?" you asked, pointing at your neck and forehead.

Dean reluctantly handed him the suture kit and then stepped aside. "As you wish, darling," said Ketch. "Can someone please bring me a basin of warm water and a washcloth? I'll need to clean up some of this blood to see where I need to stitch," he explained. Sam left to go get the basin and washcloth.

Ketch looked at you with guilt in his eyes. You could tell that he felt responsible for what happened to you after having lost sight of you at the party. "Arthur, stop it. This wasn't your fault. I know how to take care of myself. It's just that this damn dress is so confining, which is why I'm a jeans-and-flannel kind of girl," you joked. He chuckled and you could see the relief in his eyes to know you would be all right.

"Well then, once we clean you up, we'll let you slip into something, shall we say, less confining and more comfortable?" he teased. By this time, Sam had returned with the basin and washcloth, as requested.

Ketch gently cleaned and dried your wounds. Turns out, the one on your forehead just needed those sterile tape strips to hold it closed, no stitches needed. Your neck was another story, though. Ketch took great care in making the stitches small to minimize the scar you were inevitably going to have. Dean brought back your pajamas so you would have something comfortable to change into. The guys then left the infirmary to give you some privacy as you changed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Weeks went by with no new cases or missions, which gave you time for your wounds to heal. You also felt yourself getting a little closer to Ketch, but you weren't sure if he felt the same way. He would always call you "Love" or "Darling". While not necessarily meant in a romantic way, it made you feel special each time he said it.

One afternoon, you were reading your book when you heard an argument in the hallway between Dean and Ketch. You heard sharp tones in the voices of both men, so you went to investigate.

"So you're just going to leave? Without even saying 'goodbye' to anyone, especially her?" Dean snapped. "After everything that's happened?"

"Dean, you know as well as I do, relationships and hunting don't pair well together. As far as any relationship I may have with her, it would be foolish to entertain such an idea. So you see--" he stopped.

"What's going on here? Arthur, what are you talking about?" you asked.

"He says he's found a case and after he's finished, he won't be coming back to live here," Dean retorted.

You felt the blood drain from your face. "Arthur, is this true? I thought....never mind what I thought," you muttered.

"Oh, let me guess. You thought that there were 'special feelings' between us? Darling, trust me, you don't want to get mixed up with someone like me. Not after the things that I've done," he finished.

"You still don't get it, do you?" you snapped in a rare flash of anger. "I don't care what you've done in the past! That isn't the man you are today, and he's the man that I....I love. There, I've said it. I love you, Arthur Ketch. And if you can't see that love is a gift and that it's worth fighting for....then maybe you should go," you choked out.

Ketch picked up his bag. "Well, I guess that's it then. Nothing more to say, I suppose, except goodbye," he said.

Tears in your eyes, you watched him walk up the spiral staircase and out to the garage. You jumped when the bunker door slammed shut, then you ran to your room and closed the door.

"Damn you, Ketch," Dean muttered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Soon after Ketch left, Sam and Dean started finding some new cases to work. You mostly stayed behind to do much-needed research for them. You were still heartbroken that Ketch decided to leave even after you declared your love for him. However, you tried to keep up a brave face for Sam and Dean. You smiled even when you didn't feel like it, just to keep them from asking if you were okay.

One night after a particularly dicey werewolf hunt, you were relieved when the boys finally came through the bunker door. Only this time, they weren't alone, they had someone with them. The man was injured and seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. You told them to bring him to the infirmary while you went to get the water basin and a washcloth.

"Okay, fellas, tell me what happened," you said. As you started to assess your patient, you gasped to see that it was none other than Arthur Ketch. The man to whom you had given your heart, but who didn't seem to want it.

"We found him locked in battle with that werewolf. He was holding his own until the werewolf slashed him across his stomach with its claws," Sam explained.

"A-all right. Let's get him cleaned up then I can see where he needs stitches. Dean, hand me a few suture kits, Sam help me get his jacket and shirt off," you ordered.

"Are you going to be okay with this? I mean, after what happened the last time he was here?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'll be fine. Strictly professional, just the way he likes things. The sooner he gets well, the sooner he'll be free to leave me again," you said, your vision a little blurry from unshed tears. Dean squeezed your shoulder in support, and you gave him a small smile. Then you dipped the washcloth in warm water and started to clean Ketch's wounds.

After you had stitched him up, you dressed him in a clean T-shirt you had found in his bag. You left briefly to get your book so that you had something to do while you kept an eye on him.

Little did you know, Ketch was aware of what was going on the entire time. He heard the pain in your voice when you mentioned how he'd be free to leave you again once he was healed. Right then, he made up his mind that he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He just had to figure out how to show you that.

As you kept watch over your patient, you noticed that he had started mumbling in his sleep again. You drew your chair next to his bed and took his hand in yours. "I must be out of my damn mind, going down this path again," you muttered to yourself.

All of a sudden, you heard him say your name, and how he was sorry he'd hurt you. Then he said the words you longed to hear, "I love you, and I'm not leaving you again". He's asleep, he doesn't know what he's saying, you told yourself. You looked down and saw that he had opened his blue-green eyes and was searching your face for some sign of your feelings for him.

"Arthur? How are you feeling?" you asked gently.

He reached up with his free hand and cupped your cheek. "I've been better. The werewolf tore up my stomach, but I'm also hurting in my heart. You see, there was this wonderful woman I got to work with a while back.

“She's kind, considerate of others and is the most beautiful creature I've ever met. She sort of wiggled her way into my heart, and well, she never really left. But I left. Like a coward, I left her, which I never should've done," he confessed.

"What are you saying, Arthur?" you whispered.

"I'm saying that I was a fool to ever have left you, my love. I'm hoping that someday you can forgive me. You've helped me to see that love is a gift and it's definitely worth fighting for. I love you," he replied, pulling your face down to mesh his lips with yours. They were as soft as you'd imagined they would be, but firm, as he took charge of the kiss like he did with everything else in his life.

"I'm so glad you came back. I love you, Arthur Ketch," you said softly.

[whywasdumbbitchjuicealreadytaken]

The Ballad Of [Y/N] Berry

(Bad guy sanses x female!reader)

Ooooohhh~

Down on your knees before the queen~

You walk down the halls, clinging onto your boyfriend's- G sans's- arm as your "friends" followed not to far from you

Ooooohhh~

Down on your knees before the queen~

The bad guys had gone to [Universe] to check out a shape-able glitch. Since she hadn't been in any other universes, all she needed was a little shove to set her on the right path...

"[Y/N] Berry was a popular bitch. Hot bod, hot boy, cheer captain, plus she was rich~" Nightmare was reading what he knew about the glitch off to the bad sanses

That girl had everything, till hiccup and hitched; Julie Jenkins lost a leg in a crash (Am-pu-ta-ted)

Horror, raspberry, and dust were the first to observe you. Killer was supposed to be here but he was was still healing up after the initial crash that he had caused. Raspberry's eyes examined your body, he elbowed dust and pointed you out to him. He didn't bother with horror, seeing as he was already staring..

The nominations for prom royalty came,

You smirked to yourself, you knew you were going to win just like every other year

Our [Y/N]'s senior year, and queen was her claim...

You felt someone tap your shoulders. You spun around to see, it was fell and cross from your biology class. "don't worry sweetheart we'll vote for ya." Fell wink, cross energetically nadded as an agreement and the two walked away. "Uh.. thanks i guess?" You muttered.

Till gossip stirred, the student body would name Julie Jenkins, queen of prom. (Pi-ty-Vote)

You blinked in shock as you saw the votes and what people were saying. An arm around your waist pulled you into a taller figure

"[Y/N]," G sans said "Life is like a prom, i know you wont disappoint me and mom..?".

With that, he walked away. Your mother died in an accident when you were 6 and whenever you fail, you always felt as if you were disappointing her..

"You taste the silver [Y/N]? You taste the crown?" Your desk neighbor, Bill, asked you. You simply ignored him. You heard someone tap you desk and you look up to see Alisans(alistor sans..?)

"You thirst for blood from the roses in hand." He told you. You stood up. "May i be excused??". The teacher nodded and you left the class.

You spoil for stash and scepter, music to dance, as they crown you queen of highschool land~

CHECK [Y/N]

CHOOSE [Y/N]

VOTE, FOR [Y/N] BERRY

Your eyes widened to see red X's on your vote for [Y/N] posters

CHECK [Y/N]

CHOOSE [Y/N]

VOTE FOR [Y/N] BERRY

You reported it to the principal then went about your day. Everything was normal until..

So obsessed our [Y/N] near lost her mind. To life Un-prom related, [Y/N] was blind.

Prom was getting to you. The pressure you were getting from G sans, your friends, and the constant feeling of someone watching you was driving you insane. Was worse, is it seems G was paying more attention to Julie then you..

She shoved her squad, her clique and boyfriend behind, Still one-leg Julie held to the lead. (Poor, poor Julie)

You sighed and ran your hand through your hair.

Soon [Y/N]'s sanity was hung by a thread, Her B.F.F.'s proclaimed her socially dead.

Your eyes narrowed 'fine. I don't need them!' You huffed and sat in your seat next to cross in chemistry. Atleast you still had G. You saw your boyfriend looking at you. You smile at G, but it quickly faltered when he turned away and began talking to Julie. You felt your phone buzz

Till then, at last, her boyfriend texted and said: "I'm taking Julie to the senior Prom." (Love, love Julie)

Your heart dropped and you decided to confront him after class. "G," you said calmly "what the hell? Why are you taking julie??".

"[Y/N]" G said "why be so calm, theres just no future for a Princess of prom."

You sat at home, on the evening of prom, shakily putting on your eyeliner and black lipstick/ lip gloss. You tried to hold your smiled but you couldn't keep a smiled and hold back tears at the same time..

You taste the Silver [Y/N]! You taste the crown.

You watch as your tears, accompanied by long black tears slowly fell down your face

You thirst for blood from the roses in handYou spoil for sash and scepter, music to dance, As they crown you Queen of High School Land.

You're smile faltered and you realize what must be done in order to be queen. You put on your blue flowy dress, it was off shoulder and had a slit in the left side.

Ooooh~

You walked downstairs and opened the front door to see Alisans, he handed you a hammer and kissed your hand then caressed your cheek. He handed you a rose and took you to G'S house.

Down on your knees before the queen~

You arrived at G's house found him walking towards his car, her ran up behind him and smashed a hole in the back if his skull.

Ooooooh~

You mercilessly stomped his head in and watched him turn to dust. But you weren't done.

Get on your knees before the queen~

You walked in front of the school and felt a hand grab your own. You looked up to see Bill, he winked and you smiled. He handed you a white rose and led you inside.

"$0m£ g!r|$ @r€ r@t!0^@| bUt [Y/N] ₩@$ ^0t"[translation: some gurks are rational, but [Y/N] was not]

Error told Nightmare with a smirk as the two watched. You had gone inside the bathroom.

She stared in mirrors thinking one single thought: There's seven reasons this crown's not good as got. And so the night of Prom, mercy! Thus went her plot;

Bill had gave you rat poisoning, you dumped it in one of your "friend's" punch, her blood had gotten on your rose.

"P" is for Patricia, drinking poisoned punch

Fell had came up next to you and snaked an arm around your waist. He took you outside and gave you a rock, while you were scanning the area you spotted Raquel.

"R" is for Raquel, dashed on a rock (crunch)

Fell handed you a blood cover rose. Cross grabbed your hand and brought you out back. Anne was busy getting high. You picked up a nearby brick and bashed her brains in.

"O" is what Anne said when Sara bludgeoned her brains

Cross kissed your cheek and handed you a blood rose like fell did. You went back inside where horror greeted you. You both went to a classroom, where you found Marianna. Horror showed you how to chop her up just right

And "M" is Marianna's marinated remains.

Horror pulled you into himself. He wrapped one arm around your waist and the other rested on your lower back. He swayed side to side in a sort of dancing motion. You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder with your hands on his chest.

But!But!

Dust cleared his throat. Horror scoffed and stopped swaying, he handed you a blood covered rose and winked at you. You went over to dust and held his arm. He led you to the school pool you spotted another friend and you made you work quick.

"Q" is for Quiara, quiet, drowned in the pool.

Dust gave you a bloody rose and took you to the kitched. In there, you helped raspberry chop up the body of Eunice.

"U" is for Eunice's pieces spread round the school

Raspberry gave you a rose and you left to find Julie..

But "E's" are for the easy way in five minutes tops. A one-legg'd girl can bring an "N" for end by calling the cops.(what a bitch)

You got your silver [Y/N], you got your crown

Nightmare placed a crown on your head

You got their blood on your roses in hand

Error gave you the roses using his strings

You donned the sash and scepter, doing a dance,

The bad sanses all took turns dancing with you on stage

As you crowned you Queen of High School Land!

You watched them leave with a smile on your face, this is all you've ever wanted. This is all you could of ever hoped.

Woah-oh-oh-oh, Oh, Oh!

God save the Queen...

Down on your knees before the Queen.

God save the Queen.

After about 30 minutes, you see flashing blue and red lights outside. You walk out, ready to accept your fate.

Woah-oh-oh-oh, Oh, Oh!

The Queen of High School Land.

Down on your knees before the Queen.

The Queen of High School Land.

They wrapped your wrists in silver, they took your crown

Your eyes widened as you watched them put the crown into an evidence bag "WAIT NO! STOP!" You cried as your dreams began to be taken away from you.

As they washed your bloody fingers and hands.

You weren't ready to go, you bit and scratched to the people who tried to wash you. They ended sedating you.

Into a tight straitjacket, small padded cell, As you screamed, 

"I'm the queen of highschool land!!" You screeched and ran into the door repeatedly. The doctors came back in and sedated you again. The next thing you knew, you were in the arms of nightmare

At least in your head, you're Queen of High School Land.....

It had been several years, but you found julie. The boys[and Sunny] have been very affectionate and protective of you, Even error! Yeah I'll let that soak in.

Pity the dead! You're Queen of High School Land.

You began walking through the halls every sans you'd pass would sinister-ly grin.

CHECK [Y/N]

CHOOSE [Y/N]

VOTE FOR [Y/N] BERRY

Everyone gathered in the throne room as you approached it, you were dragging a crying,screaming,pleading, and begging Julie behind you by her hair.

CHECK [Y/N]

CHOOSE [Y/N]

VOTE FOR [Y/N] BERRY

You walked in and error shut the doors. A series of screams,applause,and laughter were heard from the throne room not long after.

[cinnatales]

Exposure Ch. 1

Summary: Beaten down detective Sebastian Castellanos is at the end of his rope. The ruins of his family have left him in shambles, and only the comfort of a glass of whiskey can make the days more bearable. Though, a deadly encounter in the middle of the night marks new beginnings, dragging him further down into the case on Krimson City’s serial killer.  

With headless victims turning up frequently, and dead ends that mark a mastermind of a murderer, Sebastian is challenged left and right with this case. As he’s thrown into obsession, and the killer’s interest in him grows sicker and sicker, one man seems to tie it all together: an infamous artist known as Stefano Valentini.  

He just might be the key to solving this case. 

______________________________________________________________

It’s a lonely night in Krimson City, a sliver of the moon the only beacon of light piercing through the inky depths of the sky. Sebastian’s boots clack softly against concrete, his hands stuffed within the depths of his worn trench coat as he wanders the streets. He travels the roads currently untouched by crowds and traffic, devoid of the usual bustling of life within the hours of daylight. It leaves the detective alone with his thoughts, with memories and reminiscing.

Of better times, of Myra’s goodbye letter, of Lily’s screams in his nightmares.

He’s disappointed in himself, disappointed that he only finds sleep at the bottom of an empty bottle nowadays, but he cannot handle being left alone with memories of them. Without it, without a distraction, he’d lie awake in bed for hours, sometimes staring up at the ceiling or the far wall, sometimes with his eyes squeezed shut as he tosses and turns. He’s haunted by her face every night, of flesh melting away, of eyes burning red, of charcoal stained hands gripping at his shoulders.  

Always too late.

He huffs out a shaky breath, steps nearly faltering. God, he needs a drink, just a little farther and he’ll be at the downtown-

Click.

Brown hues lift at the soft shutter through the air, head raising as he inspects his surroundings. He’s almost believing it’s his imagination, a figment of his sleep deprived mind when-

Click.

He hears it again. A flash of white light accompanies it, spilling out from a shrouded alleyway. Sebastian’s feet move on their own accord, dragging him towards the source like a moth drawn to a flame. Who the hell is taking pictures at this hour? And within an alleyway no less?  

That’s when a tang of copper hits his nose, intertwined with the underlying sweet, familiar scent of rot. On instinct, his hand is hovering over his revolver, nerves bristling at attention.

He’s pausing right at the mouth of the alleyway, brows furrowing as he takes a shaky breath through his nose. In one swift motion he’s turning down the corner. What greets him is the carnage of a young woman. A headless corpse lied out across pavement, rivets of red spilling from the juncture of her severed neck, staining her yellow dress. Rose petals decorate her, pale hands clutching at a bouquet, pressing it to her chest. Standing before the flowery slaughter is a man dressed in black, a gloved hand framing his camera as it obscures his face.

The man jerks at the sight of Sebastian, and then there’s a glint of silver, a flick of his wrist. Sebastian is ripping out his revolver, when his left shoulder is suddenly giving out, igniting with a searing pain. His gun clatters to the ground, teeth gritting together as he bites back a cry.

Click.

He’s blinded by the flash of light, forcing his eyes shut as he jerks his arm up in defense. A sadistic chuckle taints the air, before there’s the retreating clacks of dress shoes. He’s blinking several times in desperation, his vision coming back to him right as the maniac’s back disappears behind a corner.

“Stop!” He yells, chasing after him despite the agony coursing through his shoulder, at how it nearly makes his boots drag. When he rounds the corner with shaky breaths, the man is gone.

…

The soft beeps of a heart monitor fill Sebastian’s ears, distracting him from the nurse’s gloved fingers as she checks over the stitches in his shoulder. After a brief moment of poking and prodding, she’s dressing the sutured wound with a soft hum.

“Alright Mr. Castellanos, you should be good to go. Make sure to keep your stitches dry for at least 48 hours, and keep them clean. We wouldn’t want you to end up back in here because of an infection! And please, don’t put any strain on your shoulder.”

The detective simply grunts in acknowledgement, eager to get back on his feet and leave this sterile cage as soon as possible. He never was fond of hospitals and two days was certainly long enough for him.

“Your friend also brought in a change of clothes for you. He’s waiting for you out in the lobby.”

Sebastian waves her off with a tired, “Thanks.” before taking the bundle of folded clothes that is presented to him.  

He’s shuffling off into the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click, ensuring him with a bit of privacy for the time being. His gaze rests upon his reflection, black ringed eyes staring wearily back at him from the mirror. He sheds the hospital gown with careful fingers, revealing the square of white protecting his newly acquired stitches.

The man’s taunting laughter echoes in his ears, the headless body of that poor woman stained behind his eyelids. It was him; he’d recognize that work anywhere, his crimes pasted front right and center upon every newspaper and tabloid. The serial killer plaguing Krimson City.

He had him, he was so close to putting an end to his reign of bloodshed, and yet he failed. If only he had been faster, more prepared, then perhaps that blade wouldn’t have punctured his shoulder and that bastard wouldn’t have gotten away. How the hell did he even do that? Who the hell throws knives with such unnatural precision? The whole thing is downright insane.

And... Why was he taking pictures of the victim?

With a sigh, he’s tugging on his new shirt, wincing ever so slightly when he jostles his shoulder. He better not keep Joseph waiting.

…

Rain drops pelt against the standard issued police car, windshield wipers rapidly whisking droplets away, keeping a clear view of the road as thunder booms overhead. The bitter aroma of coffee wafts through the interior, settling over Sebastian and his partner Joseph. Sebastian’s hands are warmed by the paper cup clasped within them, that heavy fog of weariness beginning to part as caffeine courses through his veins.

He really needed that.

“Hey... Are you doing alright?” Joseph’s voice is... Careful, as if Sebastian is a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at the slightest movement.

He doesn’t blame Joseph for his wary approach, he hasn’t spoken to him properly in weeks aside from work, and frankly, he’s grown used to tight smiles and pitying eyes.

“Besides having to spend two days in a hospital and being knifed by a psychopath? I’m fine. It’s a little difficult to move my shoulder, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” He assures, before taking a long sip from his coffee.

Joseph nods, a small sigh escaping his lips, “I’m glad to hear it.”

They lapse into silence, having Sebastian fidget in his seat, fingers drumming against the paper cup. It’s uncomfortable, the quietness between him and Joseph. It was never like this before.

“Thanks...” Sebastian breaks through suddenly, eyes kept pointedly to the towering buildings drifting by, “I mean it, you didn’t have to do all of this. You really are a life saver.”

There’s no response, and for a moment, Sebastian believes that he won’t be answered at all. That is, until he’s glancing over, catching sight of the small smile brightening his partner’s face. It’s definitely a welcomed sight.

“Yeah... It’s no problem,” Joseph states, pleased and reclining back against the car seat, almost like old times, “I just figured you’d need a little pick me up before you see the chief.”

And as quickly as it comes, the warmth within Sebastian’s chest dispels, his mood souring. He almost scoffs at the mention of the chief, and the fact that he is being called in again. It doesn’t help that Joseph is the one to deliver the news.

“The chief wants to see me? I wonder what I did this time,” He remarks dryly, almost accusingly.

Joseph goes rigid, quickly realizing his mistake, his lips pursing into a thin line, “Sebastian... I-”

“I know, you don’t have to tell me again. It was for my ‘own good’, even if my work remained unaffected.”

Joseph’s hands tighten against the steering wheel, eyes going dark as he grits out, “Has it ever occurred to you that I wasn’t worried about your work? That I was worried about you?”

Sebastian pauses at that, taken aback.

“I still am, you know. I only reported you because... You were falling apart. You quietly sink into a bottle and-”

“Joseph-” He bites out.

“And pretend everything is fine when it isn’t! You were out late that night, you called for help at nearly 3 o’clock in the morning. Don’t tell me you were just going out on a ‘nightly stroll’. Can’t you just think about your life for a second?”

“That’s enough!” Sebastian snaps, his hand squeezing around the coffee cup, threatening to crush it into a scalding mess, “I’m not in the mood for a fucking interrogation! It hardly matters. Not when another girl is dead.”

Joseph goes quiet, leaving Sebastian to stew in an uncomfortable silence once more. He’s left glancing over at his partner, and when he does, a lump gathers in his throat. Joseph’s expression is grave, brow creased in defeat.

“Joseph I-”

“Listen. I know it’s none of my business, but... I’m just concerned about you, Seb. That’s all. I just wish you’d talk to me,” Joseph sighs out quietly.

Guilt prickles within Sebastian’s heart. He’s huffing out a shuddering sigh, almost tempted to spill his hardships, about how difficult it is to just… Keep going. But... Joseph doesn’t deserve that, he deserves a solid partner, and Sebastian is only going to weigh him down.  

And so, he’s forcing out, “I’m fine, Joseph.”

Joseph’s mouth opens as if to protest, but nothing comes out. Instead, he’s closing it, giving a curt nod and resigning to the heavy silence.

Mercifully, it doesn’t take too long after that to reach the KCPD. As Joseph pulls the car up into the parking lot, Sebastian takes note of the small gathering that has swarmed in front of the police department. Of course, the press.

“Not even the rain deters them.” Sebastian mutters under his breath.

His partner gives him a sideways glance before he’s exiting the car, Sebastian following suit almost immediately. The downpour soaks into Sebastian’s vest and dress shirt, his bangs falling in front of his eyes as it’s weighed down by water. Cameras flash as the two approach the crowd, microphones being shoved into Sebastian’s face as he’s bombarded by questions.

“Are there any new leads on Krimson City’s serial killer?”

“What can you tell us about the fourth victim?”

He squints against the harsh lights, his face twisting into a grimace as he swallows down a curse. He’s beginning to really hate having his picture taken.

“No comment,” His voice is firm as he attempts to get by them, but they’re ever persistent at blocking his path.

“What does this killer look like?” Another reporter pipes up.

“I couldn’t see his face.” He’s attempting to shove through them once more, but he’s halted by another eager journalist.

“How did you feel when you found that headless body?”

“As any other normal person would feel,” What kind of question is that? It’s getting harder and harder not to tell all of these reporters to fuck off. Why can’t they just leave him alone?

“Why did you let the killer get away?”

Sebastian stiffens as if he’s been socked right in the gut. That particular question stings, like rubbing salt into an open wound, serving as a bitter reminder of what he couldn’t do. It’s not as if he meant to let that bastard go. They hadn’t been there. They don’t know what it was like. God, he’s had enough of these people. Though, right as he’s about to give them a piece of his mind, Joseph steps in.

“That’s enough questions!” His partner intervenes, grabbing Sebastian’s wrist as he pushes through them, “Lock your doors, and don’t go out alone at night. We are going to do everything in our power to catch him.”

More questions are thrown their way, but Joesph and Sebastian manage to fight through and get into the police department at last.

The two breathe out a sigh of relief once they’ve made it in. Sebastian’s shoulders and hair are thoroughly damp. The nurse’s words ring in his head, keep those stitches dry, but he can’t really bring himself to care at the moment. He’s reaching up, fingers brushing through his brown locks in an attempt to dry it. Joseph isn’t in much better shape either, left smoothing out the front of his uniform, before wiping at his glasses. It’s almost a comical sight.

“It looks like I owe you again. I was about to make a fool out of myself.”

Joseph’s head raises at that, “You can thank me by just taking care of yourself.”

Sebastian is silent, busying himself with finishing off the last of his coffee, before tossing the paper cup into the bin. “I do take care of myself.” He mutters at last.

“And how do you define ‘taking care of yourself’?” Joseph asks with a raised brow.

“I’m really not in the mood for this.”

Joseph stares at Sebastian for a long moment, disapproval written all over his down turned lips and steely eyes. Sebastian stares right back, his glare sending a clear message, drop it.

That’s when Joseph breaks eye contact, huffing out a long sigh, “Alright… We can talk about it later. Kidman and I will be waiting in your office once you’re done speaking to the chief. We’ll catch you up on everything that’s happened over the last two days.”

We are not going to have a talk about this later, he almost bites out, but he manages to hold his tongue. Instead, his expression is kept carefully neutral as he simply gives his partner a nod, before parting from his side. Though, even with how annoyed he is, he can’t deny the shame squeezing at his chest.

The precinct is filled with the shrill rings of phone calls, along with the sharp scribbles of pencil to paper and the clacks of keyboards. Sebastian passes by several of his coworkers, either seated at the packed nooks of desks, or hovering around close to their offices. Most give him warm, sympathetic smiles, which he returns with a small nod of his head.  

Hopefully, he doesn’t get another lecture. He can only hope.

The chief's office door stands tall and foreboding, Chief of Police written in black letters against clouded glass. Sebastian sucks in a quiet breath, straightening up before stepping inside. The chief is sat behind his desk, nose buried within a stack of papers, before his gaze lifts at the detective’s entrance. He’s clearing his throat, brows furrowing as his eyes settle on Sebastian.

“Castellanos.” He greets gruffly.

“Chief Perrin.” Sebastian returns, “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, I want to know what the hell happened out there,” The chief gripes, “You couldn’t catch him? Couldn’t even see his face?”

Sebastian sighs, “Look, I’m just as disappointed as you are. It happened so fast-”

“I don’t want any excuses, Castellanos!” The chief's hands are slamming against wood, his papers fluttering against the outburst, “This maniac already has four bodies to his name, and you could’ve had him. I’m beginning to question just how incompetent you are, and whether I should’ve put you on this case to begin with.”

Sebastian remains unfazed, his voice raising, “Sir, let me assure you that I am competent. I was caught off guard, I wasn’t expecting-“

“Tell me one thing, Castellanos.” The chief cuts in without batting an eye, “Were you intoxicated that night?”

A cold ball sinks to the bottom of Sebastian’s stomach. “No. I was sober.”

The chief doesn’t appear convinced, much to Sebastian’s distain, “What were you doing parading around the city in the middle of the night?”

“I...” Sebastian hesitates for a brief moment, before his brows are furrowing, “I couldn’t sleep, so I took a walk.”

“Were you going to the bar?”

“What the hell is your point?” Sebastian nearly snaps, hands balling into fists.

“My point is, Castellanos, if you cannot get your god damn act together, you’re going to have more to worry about than just getting taken off of this case.”

Sebastian’s teeth grit together, managing to at least suppress his anger.

“Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, I read you loud and clear,” Sebastian answers begrudgingly.

The chief waves him off with disinterest, his eyes already landing back upon his documents, “Alright. Now get out of my sight. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.”

Sebastian doesn’t need to be told twice, more than eager to leave. He’s turning on his heel without another word. Once the door is shut behind him, he’s huffing out a heavy breath.  

God damn it.

His hands are lifting to his face, suppressing the urge to kick out the waste bin next to him. He’s so sick of this shit. The chief- No, they all needed to mind their own fucking business. They don’t understand what the hell he’s going through. He just wants to do his job, to be left alone. Is that so much to ask?

He’s cursing as he gets himself together, before he’s managing to straighten up. His eyes settle upon the police department as he reminds himself to keep calm, to breathe. The memory of that night flickers through his mind’s eye once more, keeping him grounded, focused on his goal.

Taunting laughter, a headless woman with roses. The knife, the camera.

With one final calming breath, he’s striding through the station with new found vigor.  

It doesn’t matter. He has a killer to catch.

[writerforfun]

Underwing Challenge Day 6 + Day 7

6. What does your portfolio look like? Talk about as many other WIPs as you’d like here.

I have to be honest here, I never understood portfolio. I mean u understand what it is and its purpose but I never understood how to make it for myself.

But either way I guess I do have certain things I worked on.

Starting of with Collection.

1. Collection: Story 1: Mirror Defect: (DONE) (Sorry no cover)

Not all is as it seems.

Not all can be explained and even when the truth is out not everything will make sense.

"I just lost my brother, I can't lose her."

What can you do when you lose trust in those around you? When grief holds you too close?

When lies are hidden all around you?

When nothing is real?

Can you trust your own eyes? When all goes wrong who can you trust?

"Experitment 1034, you are next"

Is anything real? Are you real?

**Warning: character death, graphic description of the deceased character.**

I SUCK AT SUMMARIES.

The story was originally done to scare my uncle. I was going to send him this other story, which R.L. Stine wibe to it but sadly I lost it.

So here we are. Now this story features Mark, who despite all that has occurred, is trying to fix his broken family, even if it means destrying himself but is this family real?

You can check it out here

2. So, A Deal?: (DONE)

Met with death she has no choice but to let death consume her.

"No, I can't leave like this! Not like this."

There is no other way, or is there? But is she ready?

"What do you want? Does your soul not fill with rage, anger and despair? Pushing you to the core of vengeance? Don't you feel like a ghost? Dreading you will disappear? You know you are nothing but a ghost, and eventually, you will have to fade."

"I have seen the face of affliction brought by my reality, I'm tortured by the future of things that cannot be, haunted by visions of yesterday."

Her sin is great, but her desire greater. Will she survive the burn?

This was something I did for my school wrok once. Although it is quite different than the original work. I'm quite happy with the last chapter. I honestly just posted it out as a test to see if others would like it.

It took quite an effort and I enjoyed doing the last bit of it. I really want to make a sequal to it, get it going, but not really sure if this is going to go well.

You can check it out here.

3. Solar Elements: (DONE)

Avatar: The last Airbender inspired.

A lot can happen during a lifetime, faultless rotating to flaws, heroes into villains, a lifetime of destruction smiling in your wakes.

A lot can be lost in a lifetime.

"Wolf is going overboard,"

"We do not have time to wait."

"Surrender now and we shall show you all mercy."

"No, we will never yield to you"

"Then so be it."

"You are not prohibited to address better yet conduct such disgrace." "We are still alive!"

"Love you, Son"

A lot can happen during a lifetime, faultless rotating to flaws, heroes into villains, a lifetime of destruction smiling in your wakes.

"And so she has finally awoken."

I had done this for a story contest once, sadly I was unable to win. But I have to behonest, if I had I would have been so annoyed, it was awful, so awful. I won't talk much on it, as I still don't like this too much.

This feature elemtnal magic and time twist you can say, where a character, reborn must choose to either repeat history or change it completely.

4. Pirates tale: (WIPs)

Had this in for a while, been working on it but didn't have a plot till now.

The ship has no name, no crew, nothing. But if you see it, it's already too late.

Legend says they're ghost, some say they are cursed, others....... others don't live to tell the tale.

It was inspired by a prompt I saw once. Hoping to make these pirates cured to be vampires, hidden from all and only visible at night. They are insearch of their first crew captain, the one who must break the cures. Problem is, Captian dies 30 years ago.

Guess, his hidden daughter must be placed instead.

This is dumb, so dumb, but hey, I'll work on it.

5. The Basement: (WIPs)

Another school work.

This one feartures students sneaking into their school's basement. Each with their own story on why the basement is forbbiden.

If only they had listened and not followed through, then maybe they would not have encountered, the hidden dark past of the school.

This has a gay couple, lol I actaully send it to my teacher but I don't think she noticed :(. It needs alot of work though, so this may take a while.

6. To find the Truth: (WIPs)

This one seems to be liked a lot by you guys. Many seem intrigued.

In the dystopian future, when the world government collapsed, when humans fell and the virus took hold, out rose a series of mutants. Their genes mutated by the virus released when a power plant went nuclear.

These mutants, blessed with powers beyond their control, have taken leadership. Smart, strong, powerful and undefeatable. They hold power over the weak like you and me. But I won't let them stop me. I won't let them come in the way.

They are sloppy, weak and useless. The world is filled with criminals, danger and people in need. This world needs justice, it needs help and they won't help, so I will.

"They'll take you away. They take people like them away"

"I won't let them"

I worked up a lot on this in the past few day and have actually most of the plot down. Well the main chracter's backstory at least, even how the virus started and why these mutants have taken over.

I just need to start it out and get it going. I have done that and I was thinking of adding bits and pieces on how the world is after every sub-story, like telling the tale as the story progress.

Was also hoping to give this story, a big reveal as to who these mutants are and how they came to be, why they take other's like them and how they find other's like them.

7. To Sacrifice or To Live? (WIPs)

Still working up on the name here, but the story goes like this.

Two wedding decades a part, each holding nothing but tale forgotten.

An evil entity hanting them both. A power over both familes, readdy to demolish them whole this time.

Will the scarifice work?

Ok, before you turn away, here me out here.

Two weddings, one in the 1900s and the other in 2000s. Both familes trapped in a curse long active, each must work to find a way to break the curse. One failed, made it worse, will the new bride make it? Or will she suffer worse?

8. Collection: Haunting Memories (WIPs)

Jenny doesn't know how she did it but she did. She didn't mean to. She really didn't. But Nina is dead now and it's her fault. She did it.

It's her fault.

Then why do they blame Jake? Jake is sweet, kind and caring. Sure he was the one with the blade, covered in blood and coming to kill Jenny next but it wasn't Jake. Because she saw.

Saw him kill her. Push the blade through Nina, watching as the girl fell. Her blood turning the ground crimson. She saw as the life left Nina's eyes. As the killer slumped to the ground, the control over him wearing off.

Jenny knows because she killed Nina. Then why does no one believe her? And why do her memories differ from Jake's?

“I am telling you what happened.”

“All you are doing is wasting our time.”

“Then be patient, this is all I have. Please just hear me out.”

“We are busy people here. We don’t have time for stupid tales, girl”

“This is not a stupid tale. If you could just listen.”

“We are listening. Listening to you for the past 10 minutes, all you have done so far is tell us useless things. We have things to do.”

“Everything I mention is important. One thing missed and you won’t understand. Please. I need your help.”

“You have 10-”

“15”

“Fine 15 minutes.”

This I hope to work and get done by at least in the next month. It need a lot of work and must be quite slow yet fast paced. I need to make the plot a bit more than just what I have written.

8. Trick? No, I'll take the Treat (WIPs)

Halloween themed. Done quite long ago.

What will you do when your Halloween turns into a nightmare?

I have nothing much on it at the moment, but will update this soon.

7. What kind of partnership are you looking for in this event? Friendship? Somebody to bounce ideas off of? Something else? What sorts of people are you hoping to meet and adopt?

Honeslty, I did a lot of research in the past few days and boy do I ned a lot of work done.

For starters, I need someone who can actually tell me how my work is going, just how kuch of an effort I have out in and how it seems to others.

I need harsh, quite harsh feed back so I know what I am doing wrong, what I should improve with and what interests the reader about the book.

I also say wish to meet and know other writers here. Would love to meet them and get to know them.

[homogrimoire-archive]

Kingfield's Fourth Anniversary - Day 5

Dream, Memory, Reality.

David and Dwight each dream a wonderful dream. Later, they find themselves in a trial against a new killer, one who proves to be more cruel than anticipated. They don't survive her wretched performance.

[And hey, read the tags for warnings.]

AO3 Link

David lay curled up against Dwight. He was so warm and soft. The bed was comfortable, but perhaps only because Dwight was there to embrace him. Dwight placed a soft kiss in the crook of David's neck, a hum of approval following. He shifted under the blankets to be closer. This was nice. There was a feeling so unfamiliar, yet so lovely, that David hoped he would never forget it.

-

Dwight was walking next to David taking in the new sights and sounds. It was a beautiful day as they walked down the street. It was alive with hustle and bustle, but not crowded. Then, Dwight noticed that David grazed his hand against his. He apologized, blushing, but Dwight took the opportunity to seize his partner's hand. He gently raised it and placed a kiss on it. Looking straight into the other man's eyes, he confidently reassured David that had nothing to fear. They continued their walk, feeling much more content than before. This feeling was something to live for.

-

Then, David woke up. This dream another reason to pine for him in waking hours. He knew he wouldn't be forgetting it anytime soon now. He turned to face the other way, to face the still sleeping Dwight. He was cute, lightly snoring as drool dripped from the side of his mouth. He turned once more. It was only safe to indulge in his dreams. He didn't need any more reason to want to ruin their friendship. There was only one Dwight to be friends with, and David wasn't good at making friends.

-

Dwight awoke later, remembering that small part of a larger dream a moment later. He let out a suppressed sigh in dismay. In front of him lay David sprawled out on his back, chest rising and falling softly. His rose tattoo was clearly visible. Dwight felt the urge to want to kiss that tantalizing spot once more. It was so inviting, begging to be kissed and intimately adored. So close, yet so far away. No matter. It wasn’t the first time he fell for someone he had no chance with. Dwight stood awake, daydreaming something that would remain his dream.

-

Another. This dream, one of a familiar feeling. No, this was a distant memory. One caressed the other’s cheek, gazing into the other’s eyes with such adoration. They closed their eyes, and slowly leaned in, closing the distance between their faces until their lips met. It was a wonderful feeling.

And then, the memory dissolved.

Dwight was immediately hit with a blade to his shoulder. He screamed out in pain as he fell, the killer proceeding to carry him bridal style. That’s right, this was a trial, one with a new killer and survivor to learn about. This killer a beautiful songstress with an affinity for roses and toying with people with their memories.

A hook was nearby, so he didn’t bother to try and escape. He just mentally prepared himself for the pain that was to come. Of course, that didn’t do much good. She gave him a smile a kind of sadistic, mad smile wouldn't expect from a woman such as herself. But, looks can be deceiving. She turned from him and resumed her beauteous song.

On the bright side, the new astronaut among them seemed to be faring well, and Quinten’s experience against The Nightmare proved to translate well against The Songstress. Dwight just hoped David would fare well. As much as Dwight didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t think David had the kind of strength needed to face a killer like this. But he evidently didn't either.

It was then he noticed The Entity’s claws beginning to form. That wasn’t right. She didn’t show up so soon. Dwight began to panic. He could still hear her song well, so she was still nearby a rescue would be dangerous, especially given that the full extent of her powers were unknown. He tried to unhook himself, but failed, inciting more pain and spurning The Entity faster. He began to hyperventilate. He didn’t want to die again. He had heard of how hard David would take it, seen the aftermath of his demise. He didn’t want to feel that nothingness in him that stole away even sadness. And what if The Entity finally tired of him. He had been there so long. Surely he would be one of the first she would discard. And then he would never-

“Hey, I’ve got you luv.” David comforted as he began to unhook Dwight. Then, they heard a deafening crescendo that traveled throughout the entire mansion, stopping David in his tracks so he could cover his ears. Dwight covered his ears as well, the pain from the hook persisting.

Even more rushed, David hurried and unhooked Dwight. They traversed the maze of a mansion to put some distance between them and The Songstress. Panting, they came to rest in a finely furnished room, the song a now distant echo. She was a powerful foe indeed, but she certainly wasn’t gonna be sneaking up on anyone without memories to incapacitate them.

“Here, let me take care a you.” David offered, and began to patch Dwight’s shoulders with his med kit.

“Thanks David.” Dwight said, wincing at the ebbing pain.

"Welcome, mate. … Aaaaand there. All patched up, mate." David told him with a friendly slap to the back one they got up. Dwight smiled at him, and David smiled back, each wishing for something more.

"Right." Dwight said, clearing his throat after. They left the room in search of a generator. Only two remained.

"So, we know she uses our memories to slow us down, a knife, and The Entity generates a lot faster on hooks, but it resets each time. I think that's because of her song." Dwight theorized. "And then there was when she stunned us with her voice…"

"Well, I'd say we've faced worse." David said, and spotted a generator.

Dwight gave a short laugh. "Yeah, I'd say so too." A feral woman who seemed to have the blessings of Artemis, a nurse who showed up without warning like an apparition, a whole alien filled with determined bloodlust, a demon who used their blood against them. She was just another singing small fry.

They worked on the generator together in quiet focus. As her song grew closer, the duo hurried, and their hearts began to hasten. Then, another crescendo that forced them to cover their ears.

“Shite.”

“Fuck, come on hurry up…”

Almost complete! They were intent on finishing it, lest she reverse some of their progress. The generator hummed to autonomous life, and the two made a run for it. One gen left. They exited the room and saw her down the hall. They ran in the other direction, dropping a pallet along the way. They then split up when the hallways diverged. The song began to decrease in volume, and David assumed she decided to hunt Dwight. Yet, just down the hall, a minute or so later, he caught a glimpse of someone who was unmistakably Dwight limping round a corner.

“Dwight! Hold up mate, ’m coming’ to ya!” he shouted. If Dwight got hooked one more time, that was it for him. David couldn’t have that. He rounded the corner, but there was no Dwight in sight. No blood on the floor either.

“Right. Memories. Bloody memories…” That would take some getting used to. The memories of their life before seemed to be easier to break out of. But these memories from within the realm were much more devious and difficult to discern from reality. Made her more worthy of the title of Trickster than that Korean songster. David just hoped Dwight was alright.

Just as the last generator sounded, David heard a scream he wished he wasn’t familiar with. Defeated, he ran for the exit gate. He waited to hear the entity take him away, but the despicable sound did not come. When he noticed that, he felt a spark of hope. David ran into Quinten and had him open the exit gate while he went for Dwight and kept the killer busy. Time was of the essence. Third hook was a death sentence, but this killer seemed to have a way with hooks and The Entity.

He ran in the direction he saw Dwight’s aura. It was at a lower level, so he had to descend a set of stairs into the basement. It looked like a common basement, unbefitting of the sprawling, exorbitant mansion. But that didn't matter. All that mattered to David was getting Dwight and getting the hell out. He saw Dwight Entity's claws surrounding him, heard him shout his name, but it was too late. A thick claw pierced him, draining the life from his body before his eyes.

David screamed his name. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach, a sinking despair. Would this be the last time he ever saw Dwight? He then realized that pain just wasn't from what he saw or his emotions.

The Songstress had got him. He crumpled to the floor, and reality was revealed. The basement now looked like a decrepit version of the rest of the place. It was an open area unlike the typical basement, but had the four hooks and wardrobes in place of lockers, and a matching chest. But this place was dark, darker than he could recall basements being.

He wasn't sure what was real anymore. All he knew was that he was the last one. She picked him up and gazed at him lovingly.

"Oh, my love, you shouldn't have." she praised as she stroked the tattoo on his neck. David growled in response.

"Now, let us be together. Forever." she decreed, and kissed him. The Songstress showed him the form of a woman he dated, and caressed his face as she once did. She sensed no love as he fought back with every ounce of strength he had. Another woman, another response she didn't like. There was a desperate fear in his eyes. She quickly searched through his memories a little more deeply, and found what she was looking for.

She showed the image of a man from the memory of a dream, the same man she just so happened to sacrifice not too long ago. The sight made him gasp. She saw how vulnerable he became. First, he placed a kiss on his neck where the agreeable tattoo lay. That seemed to do the trick. He stopped resisting entirely, though for just a moment.

"Don't! Don't you focking do this to me!" he demanded. He didn’t want this.

"I love you though…" he pouted. Hearing that in his voice, David grew weak.

He pulled the dagger out from a pocket, and slowly moved from his lips from the tattoo unto David's lips. The dream memory began to make out with the struggling and conflicted man as he kept his eyes closed. The knife pierced through his clothes, and began to break through his skin When he finally opened them, he saw The Songstress, and she began to push the knife into his chest, into his heart. He struggled and screamed and cried in agony as she loved him with tender gestures, as she plunged the knife deeper into his heat ever so slowly. He was lying when he begged for her to stop. She knew he was. He always wanted her love.

The Songstress finally broke away from him, and gently laid him to rest on the floor once his flame of life was extinguished, and set a beautiful red rose on his bloodied chest. Such a beautiful memory. Such a beautiful dreamreality.

-

Dwight awoke in front of the campfire. Just him for now. He took a seat on a log, and did nothing. He heard someone else approach. They sat down next to him.

"Hey."

"Hey."

It was David. Dwight surmised he too didn't make it out alive. Either Quinten and the new guy Heintz would show up soon, or they were already out on another trial.

Dwight noticed that David rested his head on his shoulder, and let out a sigh. Neither man felt anything about the situation. They only stared at the fire. Just them two, for a long time before David spoke up.

"I think I saw The Entity take you." David stated. "Did I?"

"No. The third hook didn't take me right away, but it did eventually. You weren't there when it happened." Dwight blankly clarified.

"Hmph. Guess she did fool me then."

Dwight immediately picked up on the implication. He offered no comfort. He didn't feel any sorrow for the man after all.

Slowly, over the next few hours, Dwight began to feel himself return to normal. That often came with the feeling of the weight of the trial hitting him. He knew David was going through the same. He had since taken his head off the smaller man's shoulder.

"I take back what I said earlier. She's the worst." David declared with a seething hatred.

"She made me see my family. We had some happy memories together, and she used them against me." Dwight said, the hurt now catching up to him. "She used memories from here too. I hate her." he growled.

"She did the same with me. Makin' me see things from 'ere, that is. Saw some stuff from back home I missed. Also saw some junk from when I still played, and…" David stopped himself from saying what he just remembered.

"And what?" Dwight asked, concerned for his friend.

"Nothing."

"David…" Dwight pleaded, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He quickly smacked it off, a look on his face that Dwight could tell was hate and desperation.

"Just focking drop it!" he yelled.

"Well fine!" Dwight snapped, and got up to sit elsewhere, and grumbled "God, I don't know why I even try sometimes…"

That anger I'm David disappeared, replaced by a familiar, sinking despair. Death need not do them apart, just himself. David wallowed in guilt, unsure of what to say. He didn't want them to be like this, but he couldn't say what he wanted to. He was scared, more than any trial had ever made him. Well, there was one thing he knew to say.

"I'm sorry." he apologized. "I shouldn't 'ave done that."

Dwight sighed. "It's alright." He didn't want to be angry at David, but he was tired of the man pushing him away, tired of wanting someone who did that to him, tired of being a weak fool who could love.

"I don't think it is."

"… Yeah. It isn't." Dwight admitted bitterly.

"She used memories of you 'gainst me. Left a bad taste in my mouth. It's not your fault."

"She used you against me too." Dwight revealed. "A memory of you hurt, a happy memory of us celebrating a victory, a memory of you from a dream… What did she do to you?

He wondered what she could have done to make him react so. David was admittedly sensitive, his denial of it is what made it so difficult to deal with, but still.

"She- … I need you to promise me something." David requested.

"What?" Dwight asked. He scooted to the edge of his log, closer to David.

"Just promise me you aren't gonna hate me after this."

"I won't hate you. I promise."

"I- I think-" he began, choking up immediately. Then, an angry growl. "Why can't I say it!?" he cried out.

Words strung together make a sentence, a gestalt. A sentence of words is that from which meaning is derived. Yet, there wasn't any  amount of words, nor no sentence, from which the entirety of what David felt could be derived. It is a familiar sentiment.

The words got stuck in his throat. A deadly gestalt that cannot convey all that is felt, and never will, threatens to choke the life out of him. He wants to live, breathe. But to free those words is to face reality. Cruel, unkind, and wretched reality. Defend the self and seal the words. The sentence a fortress that festers in bliss, safe and sound from all but itself. Or leave thy gates open and draw the bridge. Welcome the truth of reality. It isn't always cruel, unkind, and wretched. But even if it is, it's better than any lie, any dream, for it is real. There, you matter. There, you exist.

Thus, David knows he must say something. It is not like there will ever be something that conveys it all. He decides that Dwight deserves to know how he feels about him. At least that way, he can maybe stop feeling what he feels for their leader. Let reality burn the bridge as it enters. Who knows, maybe that little bit of reality is all he needs to start betterment. Maybe. He hopes for a dream to become reality all the same.

"I love you." With fear plastered on his face, he admitted this unto Dwight. Then he turned to face the dark city behind them outside the fire, and began to break down. "There I said it! He's the only one 've ever felt any love for! Are ya happy!? I said it! I'm gay! A poof! A homo! I love a man! I hope y'are god damn fockin' 'appy you bastard!" David sunk to the floor, tears flowing.

Dwight could only watch as this happened, a menagerie of his own emotions threatening to spill out as well. He thought he had come to terms with himself. Guess not. Then, an anger welled within him, a familiar one. A need to act overtook him. Once the other man seemed to be finished, he walked up beside him, and spoke.

Let reality be an unlonely place now.

"I love a man too, asshole! I- I don't give a shit if you want me to just stick with women! I fucking want to love this man! I'm bisexual! Queer! Fag! Call me whatever the fuck you want, I'm me! And don't you fucking forget it!"

David looked up to Dwight in awe as he too revealed himself. He was inspired, filled with what he could be partially describe as a revitalizing sense of comradery and elation. There was more of course, but words would never convey it all. But, these strung together sentences would have to do. For now, they were enough.

David wiped his tears, and got up. He threw an arm around Dwight who turned to see him grinning proudly.

"You hear that!? Don't you fockin' forget who he is, arsehole!"

Dwight wiped his own tears, and threw an arm around David as well. "Yeah! Don't fuckin' forget who we are!"

They shouted at that dark mirror which cast no real reflection for a long time. Laughing, crying, revelry. That and more.

-

"So, we a thing now?" David wondered, almost abashedly, as he and Dwight sat side by side on a log.

"Depends. I want us to be boyfriends. Do you?"

"Boyfriends… my boyfriend, Dwight." David said, testing the waters, inching his hand closer to Dwight's. "I do like the sound a that."

"I guess it's settled then." Dwight made the move and took David's hand in his. He brought it up, and placed a kiss on it. "We're boyfriends, and you're my boyfriend."

David blushed at the innocent act. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end of such gestures. But, he could very easily see himself getting used to it.

"Can we kiss? I want to kiss you." David said. He hoped he wasn't going too fast. He wanted to actually put some effort into this relationship. “I’ve wanted that for a long time now.”

"I did too. Close your eyes." Dwight requested, and David obliged.

The wait for their lips to touch seemed to be an eternity. But, the wait was worth it. It was gentle, and felt right, more right than anything had ever felt to David. He felt no dissonance in this act, only happiness. To Dwight it was all he ever wanted. Here was someone who knew who he truly was in his entirety, and still accepted him. More than accepted him. Loved him.

They kissed for a few more seconds, Dwight caressing David, savoring these feelings before parting. They looked into each other's eyes, and grinned such joyous smiles.

"I think I wanna do that again." David said, followed by a little laugh that made light burst in Dwight's chest.

"I think that could be arranged." Dwight affirmed. And arranged it was.

-

Later, the couple was sound asleep by the fire, Dwight curled around David, arms wrapped around him in embrace. For some reason, Dwight found himself awoken. Half asleep, he couldn't help but notice how enticing David's tattoo was, a prime spot to kissing.

"David?" Dwight called, hoping to not startle him.

"Mnnn… hmm? Wot is it luv?"

"Can I kiss your tattoo?" he asked.

"… You can." David agreed. He waited in anticipation. It was a soft kiss, one of true adore. David hummed approvingly. In each other's arms, they drifted back to sleep, a dreamless sleep.

[kace-the-writer]

Fires of Fear- Chapter 1

Trigger Warning- starvation, theft, and mentions of murder, swearing

A criminal, that was all I am to the world. A dirty thief and killer. They say it like I actually have killed anyone but the cops and members of the twin’s search party, those damn fools. They say it like I don’t do what I do to survive as a low class citizen. But it doesn’t matter, what matters is that Patton and I are alive. Poor Patton, he would never be able to survive on his own. I have nothing against him, he’s my older brother and I love him, but he can be weak.

“Hey Pat, I got our food for today,” I said, giving him a slice of bread and a tiny bit of chicken I managed to steal.

“Thanks Virge,” He said, smiling. He always smiled, like the world hadn’t gone to hell under the twin’s rule. Like I didn’t have to steal so that we could survive. Like we were high class, like we sometimes didn’t spend days without eating. He’s not actually happy, it’s a weak mask that anyone could see through.

“Of course,” I said, taking out my own slice of bread. Wow, this is so great. I thought sarcastically, my brain seems to always be in sarcasm mode. I hummed a tune I heard while stealing from the middle class, unlike us they actually were allowed their own music.

“Virge, have you been stealing again?” Patton asked. This is what I mean when I say he would be unable to live on his own. He’s too afraid to do what he needs to survive. He sees stealing as “wrong”. I don’t, I see it as necessary.

“Yeah… how else would I have got this?” As much as I love him, he’s not exactly smart.

Patton pushed up his glasses. He had light blue eyes, which were actually common among the high class, but his dirty clothes and messy brown, undyed hair would give himself away. “Virgil, they need food as well.”

“They’re middle class! They have all the food they need!” I took another bite. Why did Patton think they are struggling like us? At least they are assured to get food daily, we have to either steal or endlessly labor to get some. We never got that privilege!

“Virgil, you should just get a job like I did. Sure, it sucks to be a janitor for a rich business, but at least I don’t steal!” He says it like the job makes him more than 5 nickels a day.

“Patton, you’re severely underpaid. I am not wasting my life working for some rich guy only to get way too little money! And working helps the twins! Do you really want to help them!” I balled up my fist, then realized what I was doing. “I-I’m Sorry.”

I walked out of the small tent we called a home and into the “neighborhood” which was more like 50 tents next to a lake which probably wasn’t that safe to drink from. The sun was setting into the ground, creating a beautiful painting of bright colors, but also brought on darkness. Our area was fenced and guarded, though there were areas for us to get out where the guards didn’t notice us. The only time they’d let us out is for those who have jobs.

I picked up a bucket from next to the river and filled it with water. There were a couple of other people out, but I don’t like to talk with anyone except Patton. When I was done I placed the bucket next to me and sat down, looking into the small lake. I’m not religious, but I pray that any diety possibly listening would just save me. I know that won’t happen, but my mind can hope.

After a couple of moments just staring out into the distance, I grabbed the water and went back to Patton, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Patton looked at me and smiled, “I wasn’t mad at you kiddo! Just concerned! I’m sorry if it sounded like I was trying to force you to get a job.”

I sighed, “It’s alright, Pat. I brought some water back in case you wanted any.” I layed down on the blanket I called a bed. Patton and I both had one, but since our tent was so small we’d sometimes roll next to each other.

“Oh thank you Virge!” Patton picked up the bucket and took a sip of the water. It didn’t exactly taste good, but we had both learned how to deal with it. “Did you hear about the twins’ new law?”

I sat up, “no, does it affect us?” I did not want my life to change, I was fine with just staying the same.

“I’m not sure, it just says the business owners now have more freedom into how they treat their employees. So maybe me but not you.” Patton ran a hand through his light brown hair and sighed.

“If they hurt you I’ll kill them,” I said, taking off my hoodie. I actually stole it, it was hard for low class citizens to get any good clothing.

“Please don’t Virge, they’re just trying to live their lives and make money!” What was it with Patton and forgiving people who don’t deserve to be forgiven?

“Patton, I was just exaggerating!” I never told Patton about the times I actually have killed people, but that was just self defense! “I’d probably be killed if I did that.”

“Virgil the twins already want you dead,” Patton wasn’t wrong, I had stolen from a couple of high class citizens and that got me on the twins’ personal kill list. The only reason I’m not already dead is because I was wearing a mask and gloves when I did it.

“Those monsters,” hate on the twins was common in the lower class, but if someone from the higher classes did it they’d probably be imprisoned and killed. The twins didn’t really care about the lower class, we were just trash.

“Can I hug you, Virgil?” Patton loved hugs, but he always asked before giving any. I nodded, actually kinda wanting one. Patton smiled and hugged me. His hugs were always warm and safe, don’t tell him I said this, but I actually love his hugs.

“Pat, this is getting too long,” Patton apologized and pulled back, “thanks.”

“You should get some sleep Virge,” Patton smiled. I didn’t really want to sleep, I had nightmares, but he was right.

I jolted awake from my sleep, panting and sweating even though it was the start of fall. I layed back down and sighed, another nightmare about our parents dying, great.

I looked around and saw that Patton had already left for work. I rubbed my head and sat up, I should head out soon. I usually woke up before Patton, but I guess today is different.

I stretched as I got up, my back and body sore because of how I slept. That was usual for me but it still sucked. I opened the tent and winced as sunlight struck me in the eyes. It took me a couple seconds to adjust to the light l, but after I did I started walking. Not a lot of people were out right now, as most of them had work.

A guard in his red gear spotted me and strotted up towards me, what now? It wasn’t abnormal for them to randomly approach us, but I do hate when they do that. “Hello citizen,” said the guard, his back straight and his mouth lowered into a frown.

“Hello sir, what is it that you need?” I said, bowing my head when he was stood in front of me.

Of course I already knew what he was about to say, “Show me your card,” every citizen has a card that they were given at birth and got updated every 5 years. It has our full name, class, age, date of birth, and criminal record. Luckily I got away with all the crimes I’ve done. I quickly took my card out of my pocket and handed it to the guard.

“Alright, Virgil, looks good,” he handed the card back to me, “just make sure you don’t cause a ruckus, you unemployed tend to do that. Oh, and uh,” he grabbed my hair and pushed me to the ground before walking away. That wasn’t that bad.

I stayed on the ground for a couple of moments, (they love it when we do that) but I eventually got back up. I brushed myself off, caring more about cleanliness than some of the other lower class citizens, I try to keep myself as clean as possible. Of course that was hard when you were only allowed one cold shower a week.

When I realized the guard was still watching me, I went back to my tent. I sat down and waited. It didn’t take guards long to forget about us, but I didn’t want to take the risk of sneaking out while a guard may still have awareness of me.

I played with my hands as I waited. 6, 7, 8… I counted in my head, waiting for 400 to leave. There was nothing really to look at in the tent, but I focused my vision onto the lamp in the corner of the tent.

399… 400! Finally I got to leave. I looked around the area, only to see the guard changing his shift, perfect! I pretended to go get some more water, but when no one was looking I made a turn for the exit. I tapped my finger on my leg out of habit. My heart raced in my chest as I quickly slid under the fence, and into the middle class area.

Unlike the lower class area, the middle class area had actual developed houses and roads. Each person was free to do mostly whatever they wanted. Of course there was a structure to it. Each house had to be two stories, and each straight couple had to have two children, no more no less.

Rose thorns cut into my skin as I entered into the backyard of, what I like to call, the house. It was the easiest to steal from, as the owner never remembered to lock their door. It’s like they forgot that the lower class was right behind them.

It still jarred me to open the sliding glass door. Something about it just felt so… foreign and off. So did most everything else about middle class homes.

The house was, as to be expected, empty. This was the time the owner of this house went to work. As I scanned my eyes I saw something rather surprising, a 200 dollar bill just sitting there. This is a trap. I knew they had to notice me eventually!

In order to not fall for the trap, I avoided the money and took the long way to get to the stairs. They led to the owner’s bedroom, bathroom, and an office where they had a weird black box and a cage that housed a large albino snake.

As always, I fought the urge to go and hold the snake, and went into the bedroom. Under the owner’s bed was a box that held their money. I never took too much, as I didn’t want to actually harm them, for today just 5 dollars. I also went into their… collection? They had a large amount of snake merchandise, such as a giant snake plushie that I would never dare touch. The only thing I was interested in was the small golden snake pendant. I quickly snatched it and shoved it into my pocket.

Then I went back down the stairs, still ignoring the money, and entered his kitchen. The middle class got enough food to be considered a luxury. I snacked on some of the small crackers that they had and put some in my pocket for Patton. I also drank some of the clean water from their faucet. Unlike the lake water, I loved to drink this. The cold and crisp water gently ran down my throat.

The door is opening! Fuck fuck fuck! I made the last minute decision to run out as fast as I could, and hopes that they didn’t see me.

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 11

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

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This story is also on AO3

THAT NIGHT

SOUTH OF RIGGS STATION

Sitting underneath the cool night sky, Arthur and Isaac huddled together around a warm campfire that they built mere minutes ago, cooking a rabbit over its crackling flames.

At the moment, Isaac was wrapped up in a blanket and resting against a boulder, lazily watching the rabbit cook as he slowly rotated the spit. Meanwhile, Arthur leaned back against a tree and gazed upwards, taking in the millions of stars dusting the sky as they flickered sporadically.

It was close to midnight now, as far as Arthur could tell. The two of them traveled for several hours after leaving Blackwater, and decided to take a break once they crossed the Upper Montana River.

Fortunately, Arthur hadn’t seen any other signs of the Pinkertons following his encounter with Agent Ross, and the Van der Lindes appeared to be nowhere either.

Right now, it was just the two of them at this camp. The wilderness around them was quiet with emptiness, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the chirping of crickets, and the distant howling of coyotes.

Everything was peaceful.

Despite their calm state however, Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about the deal Agent Ross proposed to him earlier. For some reason, that man’s words embedded themselves in Arthur’s brain like a nail in wood, and the outlaw found himself preoccupied with about a thousand different questions. None of which he had the answers to.

Every fiber in his being doubted that Ross was being sincere with his offer, and Arthur knew better than to blindly throw his trust around, but as a father who cared about nothing more than the safety of his own child, he couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, there was some truth to Edgar’s deal.

Surely, Agent Fordham would protest if Ross went back on his word. That young man made his moral standing rather clear during the bank robbery in Blackwater, and a small part of Arthur hoped he’d be able to sway his superior’s mind the same way he did when Dutch took that woman hostage.

Maybe then, Isaac would have a chance at starting a normal life. This world of outlaws was the last thing Arthur wanted for his son, and if there was any chance he could prevent Isaac from going down the same road he did as a boy, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

He just hoped Isaac wouldn’t fight against it.

“...Dad?” The boy said softly, bringing Arthur back to reality. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” He replied, picking up on the young man’s serious tone. Isaac seemed to be in a much more solemn state than before, and just by listening to the kid’s voice, Arthur could tell something was wrong. 

He guessed he wasn’t the only one with a lot on his mind.

“...I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Isaac finally answered.

Arthur gave him a puzzled look. “Sorry? For what?”

“For everything I’ve done.” He explained. “I’ve... been thinkin’ about it for a while, and I’m just now realizing how much damage I’ve caused over these past couple o’ weeks. Especially to you and your gang. I wanted to kill Shay so badly that I was willing to risk those who did nothing wrong to me. I put you in danger. I killed Cleet. I took you away from Dutch. And now, because of everything I did, it’s possible he’ll want to take revenge on us. I’ve caused so many issue due to my own greed, and... I didn’t even take a moment to think about it. I didn’t care.”

Isaac lowered his head in shame, unable to look Arthur in the eye. “I shoulda listened to you back there. I’m sorry, Dad.”

Arthur had to admit, he was a tad surprised at the sudden confession. He knew Isaac was no killer deep inside, but he didn’t realize how much these past few days had actually affected him. 

It was rather clear Isaac had been thinking about this for quite some time. His eyes carried a heavy sense of melancholy within them, and the longer Arthur examined the disheartened expression on his face, the more he could see the kid’s mind tearing itself apart.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for, Isaac.” Arthur replied sincerely. “I know the road’s been pretty bumpy lately, but it ain’t your fault. The truth is--” a short cough interrupted him, “--you... you actually helped me. Before we met, I used to spend my days thinkin’ about nothing except how all this was gonna end. Our gang was fallin’ apart, Dutch was dyin’ of his illness, and... well, there weren’t much I really cared for anymore.”

Isaac threw a confused look at him. “But... what about Dutch? I thought he was like a father to you.”

“He is,” Arthur corrected, “but no matter how close we was in the past, that man’s too dangerous to be around now. He’s like a stick of dynamite waitin’ to go off. That ain’t someone I want in my life. Or in yours. The reality is, you saved me from a heap of trouble I was always too stupid to put behind me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Isaac fell silent at the response, evidently surprised by Arthur’s sentiment. He expected the man to be a little more reserved about everything that was happening, but contrary to his belief, the outlaw actually seemed to be content with this new path they were taking, regardless of how chaotic it may’ve been. 

“That’s good to hear.” Isaac replied, sounding genuinely relieved. “I just keep wondering if I did the right thing, y’know. Killin’ Shay.”

Arthur let out a sigh, struggling to get his thoughts in order. “Revenge is always a messy business, I’m afraid. There’s never an easy answer. I suppose... it really comes down to whether you think the sacrifice is worth it or not.” He paused, glancing at Isaac. “...Do you?”

The young man shrugged, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. “Well... I met you in the process. So I’d say so.”

Arthur chuckled warmly at that. “So it would seem.” He leaned forward, putting a reassuring hand on Isaac’s knee. “Try not to think too much about it, kiddo. We can’t change what’s done. We can only move on.” He gestured to the campfire. “Oh, also, you’re burnin’ the rabbit.”

Isaac cursed in realization and rushed to remove the charred animal from the spit, earning a laugh from the other man. “Shit...!”

Arthur rose to his feet and stretched his arms out, letting out a yawn. “Welp, I’m gon’ get some shut-eye. I’m thinking we can start heading for Wallace Station tomorrow. Make our way up north. Possibly even try to reach Canada.”

“You wanna go that far?” Isaac asked.

“Maybe. It’s the only way we’ll ever get them Pinkertons off our tail for good. We’d be outta their reach if we crossed the border. But I ain’t never actually been there... so we’ll see.”

Arthur took a seat in his tent. “Anyway, we can talk more about it tomorrow. For now, just focus on gettin’ some rest. These next few days are gonna be tough.”

Lying down on the ground, Arthur left Isaac to his own devices as the boy got in a last-minute meal, putting out the campfire now that he was done with it. The both of them were exhausted from traveling all day and constantly looking over their shoulders for Pinkertons, that the older man began to wonder if he should’ve asked John for help.

He didn’t know if Marston was still alive, or if he was even still in the country, but Arthur couldn’t deny that he missed that grumpy old bastard. He hadn’t seen him ever since the man fled Dutch’s gang eight years ago, and part of him wished that they could meet up again.

But... no. He couldn’t do that to John. That man had a possible wife and son to look out for now. The last thing he needed was Arthur bringing the law’s attention onto his doorstep, if it wasn’t already there. He got out of the Van der Lindes for a reason, and Arthur didn’t want to put his family at risk.

Arthur decided he would stay away from John for now. He and Isaac had been surviving well enough so far, and unless something disastrous were to occur, he thought it best if he left the man alone.

There was nothing more to be said between them, after all, and just like he told Isaac mere moments ago, there was no way he could change what happened in the past.

He could only move on from it.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY

AN HOUR AFTER DAWN

Waking up to the smell of wet grass and freshly-poured rain, Arthur found himself lying in the middle of a crisp, chilly morning as a thick layer of fog spread across the land, obscuring everything in a fuzzy, white haze. 

He felt well rested -- or at least more rested than before -- and he couldn’t help but notice that this was the first night in a while where he didn’t suffer from some incessant nightmare. In fact, he couldn’t recall having any dreams at all.

Maybe that was a sign things were getting better.

Typically, Arthur would dream of those he had lost in the past. He’d see faces like Hosea, or Mary, or even Eliza, sometimes. They’d always talk to him as if they were still around, and Arthur would believe it. He’d have meaningful conversations with them in his head and laugh along with their jokes... only to wake up a few hours later and feel the cold sensation of reality sinking in once again.

He always wished he could go back to his dreams. They were far more comforting than the brutality of the real world, and usually, Arthur had nothing to look forward to upon waking up.

Now though, Arthur finally had something to care about outside of his dreams. He had the child he always wanted as a young man, and the chance to raise him right, despite their unusual situation.

He was going to do his best to be the father that Hosea was to him, and God willing, never become anything like Dutch. 

Lord knew Isaac deserved better than that.

Bringing himself to a sitting position, Arthur rolled his shoulders and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still feeling a bit groggy. Things were quiet this morning, apart from the neighing of the horses, and it looked like their camp had been left undisturbed by any unwanted company.

When Arthur got a better look at the tent across from him however, he suddenly realized that the sleeping bag was empty, and Isaac was nowhere to be seen.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to bolt out of his tent.

“Isaac?” He called out, searching the small camp. It looked like Aldo was still hitched to his post in the same spot Isaac left him, so Arthur assumed the man didn’t leave.

At least, not voluntarily.

“Isaac!” Arthur exclaimed again, starting to grow worried. He suddenly noticed a note lying on a stump next to his tent. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes, hurriedly reading the scribbled text.

“We’re out of water. Went to the river to get some. Will be back soon.”

For a moment, the man was relieved at the news and let out a brief sigh, but instantly felt his fear spike once again when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot thundered somewhere in the distance.

Isaac was in trouble.

“Goddammit...!” Arthur cursed in panic, grabbing his guns before sprinting to his mount.

Throwing himself onto the Andalusian, the outlaw kicked his spurs into the horse’s sides and galloped in the direction of the gunshot, keeping his eyes peeled as he scanned the region for his son.

He didn’t hear anything else echoing through the fog at the moment, aside from a few muffled voices, but the weather made it so damned difficult to navigate through these fields, that Arthur almost had to rely on his hearing entirely.

Thankfully, he was somewhat familiar with the area and knew where the river was, leading him to make a direct beeline for the south. He only prayed Isaac was still there.

“Isaac!” Arthur shouted. “Goddammit, boy, where the hell are you...?!”

Whipping the reins even harder, Arthur practically soared across the land as he flicked his eyes around in trepidation, desperately searching for any sign of the young man.

He didn’t know where on Earth he was right now, and the only thing he could see was fog, but judging by the fact that he could make out the voices more clearly now, Arthur assumed he was getting closer. 

The outlaw hopped off his mount and decided to proceed on foot from there, not wanting to draw the attention of any enemies that could’ve been nearby.

“...Just tell me what I wanna know,” someone said from deep within the haze, “and this’ll all be over for you soon, princess. I promise.”

Arthur immediately recognized the conniving voice, causing his heart to pound in his chest. It was Micah. That meant Dutch had to be somewhere nearby.

“Lemme go, you sons-of-bitches...!” Isaac barked in a strained tone, clearly struggling against something.

Micah chuckled mockingly. “Afraid I can’t do that, cowboy. Not until you tell me where your pa is. I’m sure he and his sour face are sulkin’ around here somewhere.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” The young man reiterated. “I said I don’t know!”

“Oh, I heard you, alright, but I don’t believe you. There ain’t no way you coulda made it this far on your own. Not without a little help to push you along. You’s a clever little lad, I’ll give you that. But even you couldn’t survive out here. I know you’re travelin’ with the old man, so tell me where he is...” Arthur heard the click of a pistol’s hammer, “...or I’ll find him myself.”

Still, Isaac didn’t budge.

“...My father was right about you.” He said plainly. “You ain’t nothin’ but a snake, Micah. A boot-lickin’ coward who could never look a real man in the eye. You betrayed Dutch, and we both know it. He’ll have your head if he ever--”

Micah slammed his gun into Isaac’s temple.

“You watch your goddamn mouth, boy! You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.” The man scoffed in amusement. “Seems to me like you’s just as delusional as your daddy. What a surprise.”

Micah glanced at Joe who was currently restraining Isaac with a gun to the head and signaled him to bring the kid back to camp, gesturing to their horses.

“Go on and bring Morgan junior here back to Dutch. I’m sure the boss is eager to have a word with him.”

“But what about Arthur?” Joe asked.

Micah waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll find the cranky old bastard some other time. Hell, if we’re lucky, he might even come to us. For now, let’s just see what we can get outta the boy.”

The other man sighed. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna--”

Startling all three of them, a bullet suddenly blasted its way into Joe’s skull and sent him collapsing into the river with a large splash, giving Isaac the opening he needed.

Unwrapping Joe’s arms from his neck, Isaac instantly broke free from his grasp and yanked out his hunting knife, cutting a deep gash into Micah’s left eye before tackling the man to the ground.

“You goddamned miserable wretch!” Micah hissed, blocking Isaac’s attacks. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Shoving the young man’s meager weight off of him, Micah headbutted Isaac and turned the tide of the fight, rolling around so that the other man was underneath him.

Before the boy even had a chance to react, Micah pressed his hands around Isaac’s throat and strangled him as best he could, shaking his grip with the amount of strength he was putting into it.

“You dunno how long I’ve been wantin’ to do this, cowpoke...!” Micah growled. “I shoulda killed you the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Pointlessly gasping for air, Isaac writhed in Micah’s iron hold and desperately tried to pry his arms off with a few punches to the face, but to no avail. The man only continued to squeeze Isaac’s neck and chuckled sadistically, reveling in the morbid sight beneath him.

Just as he was about to finish the boy off however, a third party suddenly barged into the scene, forcing Micah to bring his attention elsewhere.

“Get the hell off of him, you son-of-a-bitch!” Arthur roared, grabbing Micah by the shoulders before hurling him to the ground.

Isaac let out a deep gasp upon being released and hungrily drank the air around him, coughing violently as he tried to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Arthur pinned Micah to the dirt and slammed his knuckles into the man’s nose, practically burying his fist in his face.

“And there he is...!” Micah said with a bloody smile. “I knew you’d come crawlin’ outta your hole sooner or later.”

“You shut your mouth, Micah!” Arthur threatened through clenched teeth. “I’m sick of listenin’ to all your bluster!”

The other man laughed. “You don’t like what I have to say ‘cause you know it’s the truth...! You’re old news, Morgan. The gang’s got a new order. Dutch is finished with you, and he’s gonna nail you to a cross when he finds you.”

“Well, he ain’t gonna be any kinder to you,” Arthur countered. “You know what loyalty means to that man. If Dutch is gonna damn me for what I’ve done, then so be it. But you best believe you’re goin’ straight to Hell with me.”

Micah chuckled. “Then I hope the trip is worth it.”

Throwing a series of punches, Arthur continued to beat Micah to a pulp and stained the river’s water red with his blood, fully intending on killing the man until the ominous sound of someone cocking their gun reached his ears.

Arthur came to a halt and looked over his shoulder, spotting none other than Bill Williamson himself standing in the distance.

He paused, waiting for the man to say something.

“Williamson...” he warned, his voice dangerously rough, “if you’re gonna use that gun, you better make sure I’m goddamn dead.”

The other outlaw hesitated, loosely aiming his rifle at Arthur’s head.

“Arthur, I--”

 Just as he lifted his weapon however, Isaac whipped out his own, causing the four of them to come to a stalemate.

“Christ, Arthur...” Bill muttered in frustration. “You always was a pain to deal with.”

Isaac pulled the hammer down. “Yeah, well you better get the hell outta here now, or I’ll blow Micah’s brains out myself.”

“I... I can’t just return to Dutch empty-handed!” Bill exclaimed, glancing back and forth between Arthur and Isaac. “You know that man. How d’you think he’s gonna react when I come back with nothin’ but Joe’s corpse and a beaten-to-hell Micah?”

Arthur kept his grip on Micah’s collar, glaring Bill directly in the eye.

“...I don’t care.” He said slowly. 

The other man glowered at that. “No. I guess you never did.”

Not wanting to escalate things any further, Arthur finally decided enough was enough and threw Micah’s unconscious body to the ground, admittedly somewhat ashamed of losing himself like that in front of Isaac.

The last thing he wanted was for Isaac to see the side of him that Dutch created all those years ago, but the boy was safe for the moment, and that was all he cared about.

He just hoped the kid wouldn’t be afraid of him after this.

“Bill,” Arthur said as the outlaw began dragging Micah away, “when you get back to camp, you tell Dutch to leave us the hell alone. Otherwise, none of you will be walkin’ away next time.”

“Sure, Arthur.” Bill replied flatly, sounding a little hurt. “Whatever you say.”

Watching the two of them disappear into the fog, Arthur and Isaac stayed back as Joe’s body began floating downstream with the river’s current, bumping into the numerous rocks protruding from the water along the way.

It didn’t look like Dutch was with them at the time being, so Arthur figured it would be safe for now, but that didn’t mean he was letting his guard down anytime soon. 

Within just a couple of days, they had already run into both the Pinkertons and the Van der Lindes, exactly like Arthur feared.

They’d have to be even more discreet from here on out, and that was what brought Arthur to his next move.

He turned to Isaac, shaking his head at the young man.

“What the hell was you thinking?” Arthur scolded fiercely. “Runnin’ off on your own like that, not even botherin’ to wake me up.”

Isaac rubbed his neck in pain, still recovering from Micah’s attack.

“We were outta water, like I said. I just came to collect more.”

“Yeah, and you nearly got yourself killed in the process! You shoulda told me where you was going, or brought me along with you! What if--” Arthur was interrupted by a series of coughs, forcing him to calm down.

“...What if,” he continued, his tone much softer now, “I didn’t find you in time? How d’you think that would’ve gone?”

The young man sighed, drained of all his energy. “I... I know. I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

Arthur let out a deep exhale, deciding to let it go for now.

“Well... just stay close to me from here on out. We got Pinkertons and Dutch’s gang hunting us down. I can’t afford to lose sight of you. Understand?”

Isaac nodded. “I understand.”

“Good. Then let’s get the hell outta here. Before anyone else shows up.”

Placing a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, Arthur quickly guided the boy back to his horse and away from the brutal scene, not wanting to stick around for a minute longer. A part of him felt somewhat bad for shouting at Isaac like that, especially after the kid just survived an ambush, but he couldn’t deny that he had been terrified for a minute there.

What if Isaac had been dead when he found him? What if he was too late? This encounter with Dutch’s men only made Arthur realize just how much danger they were truly in.

They had to get up north to the mountains in Ambarino, and fast. No one would dare follow them into those snowstorms -- well, no one except for Dutch -- and Arthur was willing to bet they’d be safer away from civilization.

He only wondered how much time they had before someone else cornered them.

“Dad?” Isaac said, looking at Arthur with concern. “Are you... doin’ okay? You’ve been coughin’ quite a bit lately.”

Arthur paused at the realization, suddenly aware of his newfound symptoms. With everything that was going on recently, he hadn’t even noticed how much more he had been coughing in the past few days, and he dreaded to think about what it could’ve meant.

After all, he had seen how Dutch was doing with his own illness, and it wasn’t as if Arthur had exactly been keeping his distance from the man. If he was starting to develop the same thing...

...well, that wasn’t something he even wanted to think about right now.

“I’m... fine, Isaac.” He brushed off, albeit not confidently. “Ain’t nothin’ to raise a fuss over.”

The boy wasn’t entirely reassured. “If you say so. Just... keep an eye on it, alright?”

Arthur climbed onto his horse and got comfortable in the saddle, waiting for Isaac to join him as the fog finally started to clear up.

“Don’t you worry. I will.”

[sportacringe]

Give and Take (ch 2 Up and Away)

crossposted to AO3

The boys make a decision, and get moving. Íþróttaálfurinn is a menace, Glanni cares 

*

Glanni woke much earlier than he’d have liked, and to a much emptier bed. Morning light filtered in through the room’s half-broken blinds casting the mess he’d made in twisted shadows. Across the room he heard the shower running, and light spilled out from under the bathroom door. Despite his exhaustion he smiled slightly, privately, before pressing his face into the pillow that Íþróttaálfurinn had used. If he’d been able he would have fallen back asleep right there, but the light and the sounds were too much. Instead, he stretched languidly and closed his eyes, content to relax for a few more minutes. He was sure that Íþróttaálfurinn would bother him the minute that he finished with his shower anyway. 

The hero in question exited the shower whistling and opened the door to let out a cascade of steam as he towel dried his hair. Glanni opened one eye to peer at the elf, his gaze tracing the edges of the towel slung around the other man’s waist. The view was almost worth the noises that accompanied it. Almost. It seemed like Íþróttaálfurinn liked pop music if his continued whistling was any indication. 

Rolling over, Glanni threw the pillow at the elf’s dripping back and groaned dramatically when Íþróttaálfurinn whipped around to catch the projectile. The sun danced across his face as he smiled at Glanni, and Glanni promptly decided to pull the covers up over himself and give sleep another shot.

“Ah! You’re awake!” Íþróttaálfurinn grinned, still drying himself off as he spoke. Glanni groaned again and buried himself further under the covers. 

“No I’m not. I’m asleep and this is a nightmare.”

“Fine words from the man who invited me in.” The hero flopped down onto the bed, shaking the mattress on its rickety frame and startling Glanni into sitting up. “You knew that this would happen.” 

“Maybe I didn’t mean for you to stay.” The conman’s words were as empty as his stomach. He wondered if he still had a bag of chips in his duffel bag. "You're dripping on me, you menace."

 *

They went for breakfast at an awful seedy diner less than a mile from Glanni's motel. The floors were gritty beneath their feet and the conman flirted shamelessly with their waitress over a pile of syrup soaked pancakes. Íþróttaálfurinn spent a decent portion of their meal drinking weak tea and glaring at Glanni who had somehow charmed his way into a free side of bacon. Still, it was clear who commanded most of his attention. Glanni glanced repeatedly at the hero through their meal, alternately teasing him and pulling faces at Íþróttaálfurinn's wilted fruit salad. Eventually the conversation ceased its playful ebb and flow and Íþróttaálfurinn turned the conversation once again to business.

"So will you help me catch this killer?" Íþróttaálfurinn asked, fiddling with the handle of his mug. Glanni watched his strong fingers caress the ceramic, allowing his eyes to linger on the small scars that dotted the hero's knuckles.

He knew better than to say yes. His little burglaries were dangerous, but not overly so. He knew what he was doing. It certainly wasn’t as dangerous as seeking out a confrontation with a trained sniper, someone who had already killed a number of people. But every time Íþróttaálfurinn asked him to do something it became harder to say no. The further their friendship pushed, the more willing he was to put up with the elf’s dangerous schemes. Glanni knew that, in his own awkward backwards way, Íþróttaálfurinn thought that he was helping him. But even the money—and the relative legality—that the bounty provided could not adequately compensate for the fact that the job was dangerous. Too dangerous for Glanni to risk without further incentive. 

Unfortunately, if Glanni refused, Íþróttaálfurinn would likely try to catch the killer on his own. Without Glanni’s connections it would be virtually impossible for the hero to seek out information from the criminal underground of Busy City, and more than likely Íþróttaálfurinn would end up giving himself away before ultimately getting killed. 

“I’ll do it.” Glanni tried to look sly but was anxious enough that it came out looking more awkward than mischievous. He comforted himself with the fact that the cash reward would at least mean that he’d be able to slow down for a while. The rate at which he had been taking jobs was wearing him thin, and he’d relish a few weeks to simply take off somewhere and be lazy. 

“But,” he continued, leaning across the table to be closer to Íþróttaálfurinn as he spoke, “If we’re going to do this, you need to let me work without interference. No lurking behind me and glaring at people, no trying to arrest my contacts.” That could only end badly. “Honestly it would probably be best if you let me do my part of the legwork alone while you deal with law enforcement so that I won’t have to.” Glanni felt himself frown. The less often he spoke to the cops in Busy City the better. He’d had enough run-ins with that department to fill an entire file and any interaction between him and the force was usually fraught.

“Done.” Íþróttaálfurinn smiled, and the room seemed suddenly brighter. Glanni felt himself relax slightly despite himself. If the elf was confident in their plan, then maybe he could be at least a little less paranoid. Maybe if they played their cards right they wouldn't both die horribly.

Breakfast goes quickly from that point on, their conversation vacillating between planning and cheerful banter. At one point Glanni breaks a piece of his bacon into pieces and makes a game of tossing it across the table for Íþróttaálfurinn to catch in his mouth. Eventually the hero began to egg Glanni on, until the conman rose to the challenge and threw the final piece high into the air, which in turn had prompted Íþróttaálfurinn to leap after it. The backflip had probably been unnecessary but Glanni had been the cause of worse scenes in nicer restaurants, and Íþróttaálfurinn had left the waitress a good tip on their way out. 

 *

They left Lake Avarice City at noon. Glanni had whined about taking the balloon, but when the hero unceremoniously chucked his duffle bag into the basket, the conman begrudgingly hauled himself up after his possessions and into the aircraft. Íþróttaálfurinn followed, vaulting into the basket with practiced ease and swinging his body over Glanni’s head, causing him to curse viciously. Once inside, Glanni tucked his long legs up to his chest and curled into himself like a frightened spider, glaring at Íþróttaálfurinn across the cramped rattan basket. 

“I hate you.” Glanni didn’t hate him, but he did hate heights, being trapped in small uncomfortable spaces, and methods of travel that relied almost entirely on intangible means—like wind, or magic—all of which traveling by Íþróttaálfurinn’s balloon just so happened to entail.

“Just don’t fall out again.” Íþróttaálfurinn shrugged, seemingly unbothered by his friend’s grumbling. 

“That was one time!” It had also been an unfortunate side-effect of Glanni attempting to steal the balloon during one of his many daring escapes, but neither the hero nor Glanni brought that up. The conman was sure that if he’d had a few more minutes to figure out how the aircraft’s propulsion worked, he wouldn’t have upended the basket and he’d have made a clean escape. Íþróttaálfurinn was equally sure that if Glanni hadn’t tumbled from the basket he’d have crash landed in short order. 

Taking a deep breath, Glanni felt himself relax. Talking to Íþróttaálfurinn had taken the edge off of his nerves. The two of them lapsed into silence as the wind swept up and carried them east towards Busy City. Glanni looked at his friend contemplatively, he wondered how a person who so rarely stood still on the ground could travel so frequently in such a tiny craft. The elf was seated across from him in the basket with his legs crossed in full lotus and his back facing the rattan wall breathing slowly and evenly. It was almost as though he was meditating. 

After a moment’s thought, Glanni lowered his legs from his chest and tried to mimic Íþróttaálfurinn’s position. He pulled his left foot on top of his right leg, but when he tried to force the other foot into place, fire erupted in his hip. He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, biting back a pained cry before giving up, falling instead into a more relaxed cross legged position. It was far from the sort of stretching that he was used to. Despite himself, Glanni couldn’t help but be impressed by the flexibility of Íþróttaálfurinn’s hips, and wondered if there were any creative ways that the two of them would be able to make use of that.

Discarding that thought before he got too carried away, Glanni carefully opened up his senses, matching his breathing to the hero’s. The wind whipped around them, cutting through the loose weave of the basket and blowing his hair around. Glanni kept breathing, kept looking. 

Every fiber of the basket was laced with magic, every thread of the balloon, every strand that made up the ropes. It was breathtaking and subtle, ancient and remarkably elvish. It was also not what Glanni was looking for. He concentrated on the elf sitting in front of him and found what he sought; Íþróttaálfurinn’s magic was a heavy gold, and as old fashioned as the balloon. Rather than whirlpooling inward in meditation his magic was stretching out into the balloon, intertwining with the structure of the aircraft itself like an enormous marionette and steering it as surely as a hand upon a rudder. It was no wonder that Glanni hadn't been able to take control, he’d been focusing entirely upon the mechanical components of the craft. He still didn’t quite understand how to control a normal balloon, let alone this elvish monstrosity. Maybe someday he could trick Íþróttaálfurinn into teaching him.

Íþróttaálfurinn could be teaching him now, they had talked while traveling via balloon before. The elf must have been capable of multitasking, at least on short jaunts. Glanni had never accompanied him on a long trip like this. Previously, he'd only ever been brought aboard to either escape imminent peril, or in handcuffs on his way to police custody. This was just boring. He didn't even have any cuffs to try to pick his way out of. 

Instead he simply looked at Íþróttaálfurinn. Last night, in the light of the streetlamps, the elf had seemed powerful and solid, like a hero cut from stone in some ancient temple. Throughout their conversation Glanni’s eyes had lingered upon him, drawn in by Íþróttaálfurinn’s presence. He was as impressive as any myth come to life. 

Now, as he sat cross legged and still, he should have seemed even more like a statue, but the light of the sun softened his features. The hero was wearing his hat but his wavy blond hair still spilled from underneath it, brushing the skin of his muscular neck. Even his stupid mustache moved slightly in the breeze. Thin white scars criss-crossed their way along the bare skin of his arms. Some were faded until they were nearly invisible and overlaid with newer shallow marks. Íþróttaálfurinn’s armor would conjure the image of a statue no matter what kind of light shone upon it, but Glanni assumed that that was intentional. The hero’s entire costume was evocative of some kind of ancient warrior. He didn’t know enough about history to be able to tell what culture the hero had pulled the imagery from but it was classic enough to get the point across to even the lowest of laymen. 

The best feature of Íþróttaálfurinn’s appearance—in Glanni's humble opinion—was his nose. At one point it had been wide and straight, but after an encounter with Glanni, a few totally unaffiliated bank robbers, and a very clever trip wire, it had acquired a nice little bump on the bridge just beneath the hero's eyes. Glanni supposed that he ought to feel guilty about that now that the two of them were supposedly friends, but he was far too pleased with himself to regret the injury. Who else could have been genius enough to string a tripwire up at eye level, predicting that a certain hero wouldn't be able to resist leaping around like a madman? Really, the reminder of Íþróttaálfurinn’s broken nose was better than any trophy. It also made his face more distinctive.

A strong gust tipped the balloon's basket, causing it to weave back and forth slightly in the open air. Glanni's breath caught in this throat. Across from him, Íþróttaálfurinn opened one eye as if to check on him. The conman merely gulped, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall behind Íþróttaálfurinn’s head. As the hero closed his eye again, Glanni fished his pack of smokes from his pocket and somehow withdrew a pristine tobacco cigarette from the crushed box. He stuffed the box back into his jacket and pulled out his lighter with shaking hands. He lit the cigarette quickly and drew in a breath before exhaling a plume of smoke straight into Íþróttaálfurinn’s face. Rather than responding verbally, the elf merely frowned and scooted to the side, moving so that he was no longer downwind. From his expression it was clear that the hero thought Glanni’s smoking was foul. Glanni rolled his eyes and copied the hero, sliding over into a corner. Smoke still filled the basket, but it was less heavy and Íþróttaálfurinn gave him this single comfort without objection.

Foul or not the habit was calming, and Glanni figured that in a situation like this he’d take what he could get. 

[marvel-lucy]

The Ultimate Weapon, chapter 18

Physically, I wasn’t in too bad shape. I’d lost too much weight and needed some good food; some good sleep in a warm bed; a shower; clean clothes. All of that was easily solved. Mentally though, I was exhausted. I was drained, by the constant up and down of the last few months. In some ways it would have been easier to have stayed with Hydra until I was used up. Trying to take back control of my life was hard, re-learning to live, make my own decisions; having to learn to trust. And now I was scared to trust even my own thoughts, having realised how easily I’d been manipulated.

Bucky had carried me back to the jet, and we’d taken off to fly back to the Tower. I woke up as we took off and tried to focus through the shooting pains in my head. Steve saw me stir, and came over, crouching beside me. I knew, I really did, that they hadn’t taken me back just to hurt me. That wasn’t Steve’s style. But the worry after our mission, mixed with the voices in my head, meant that I was convinced that I was a burden, a danger, unwanted.

“It won’t be long, and we’ll be back at the Tower. Get you checked over by the doc, get you rested, and then we’ll talk, we’ll explain.” He stood up, then turned, came back, and pulled me in for a tight hug. “Just don’t leave again, ok. Whatever your head tries to tell you, don’t run. Come and talk to one of us, just, please, don’t run again.” Then he was gone, back to the front of the jet.

My brain felt raw and exposed. I couldn’t seem to shut out sensations at the moment, the flood of emotions coming at me was like a tide rubbing against my skin. I couldn’t even identify whose thought was whose, and I had no idea whether these were even real thoughts or if they’d been implanted in my mind. I shut my eyes again and leant my head back and let the tide wash over me, thoughts overlapping and overwhelming.

‘Wonder if she’s going to be ok?... Lost a lot of weight… Someone else has to tell her about Loki… We have to keep her safe… Still just a kid… Got to show her she’s wanted… I love her’. My eyes snapped open as that last thought scraped across my mind. Most of the team were on board, they’d all come out to find me. They were sitting, talking or checking equipment, busy, I had no way of knowing who was thinking what. I put that thought aside and slept.

I woke up again when we landed, and Bucky was by my side ready to help me down the ramp and back into the Tower. After my time outside, I seemed to have lost my agoraphobia. Not a recommended cure but at least it was something. Bruce tried to point me in the direction of the medlab but I shook my head and started back to my room. ‘My’ room. Did I have the right to call it that? I paused, turned towards Tony.

“Is it OK if I go and use a room, just to shower and sleep for a bit?” I asked, “I… don’t want to presume”. A second later, Tony too had pulled me into a hug. We were similar heights, and his mouth was by my ear. “This is your home. Don’t ask permission. Go shower, sleep, then we’ll talk”. He squeezed me again, then stepped back, holding onto my upper arms for a second and nodding. He ruffled my hair and then turned away.

I was grateful that everybody hadn’t stood around waiting and watching me. I guessed they knew I felt too exhausted to deal with anything now, so they’d melted away to various places in the Tower. Now there was just Bucky and I left on the roof by the elevator. The doors opened, and we both stepped in. I knew I needed a shower but had a feeling that I was going to crash out soon. Too many nights with too little sleep, and living with something in my head, had exhausted me. I reached my room, barely awake, and realised Bucky was just behind me still as I opened the door. I looked at him, puzzled as he spoke.

“I can’t let you out of my sight right now. I just can’t, I’m sorry”. He stepped in with me, shut the door, and pointed to the bed. “Go, sleep. I just need to be here”. He sat down in a chair near the bed, then jumped up again as he saw that I was swaying on my feet and ready to fall. “Come on, I’ve gotcha” he said quietly, then “Jarvis, lights down?” and the room darkened. I’d been wearing the same clothes for the best part of two weeks but I didn’t care and one more night wouldn’t hurt. Bucky lifted me onto the bed and took off my shoes, pulling a blanket over me. My eyes closed and I was gone.

For a few hours, I slept like the dead. I barely moved and I didn’t dream. Then as the deep exhaustion wore off, I began to stir as dreams and memories flashed across my mind. I was too tired to barricade myself from the flood, something I’d had to teach myself to do long ago, and so memories of my time with Hydra, with our recent mission, and of the whispering voice tangled with each other into a nightmare whirl. I started to whimper in my sleep, tossing and turning. Bucky, awake in the chair, saw me start to struggle, and was at my side in an instant, stroking the hair away from my face and whispering in my ear, ‘it’s OK, I’m here, you’re safe now’. His voice made its way through the fog in my brain and gave me some peace, and he started to step away but I held onto his arm as it reached across me, pulling his arm into my chest and interlocking our fingers.

“Don’t go” I murmured, “Feel safe with you, s’better”. There was a short pause and then I felt the bed move as Bucky lay down beside me, his body curling around my back as I held onto his arm.

“I’m not leaving doll” he whispered in my ear, and I fell back into a dreamless sleep.

Twelve hours later, I finally woke. We’d both shifted in the night and now Bucky was lying flat on his back with my head on his chest and our legs tangled. He was awake, and I could feel him gently stroking my hair. I kept my eyes shut and enjoyed the gentle feel; I was so unused to any touch that wasn’t either painful or functional. Eventually my awareness of my hunger, thirst and filth meant I stirred, looking up at Bucky before I got up.

“Thank you. For staying here last night. For finding me.” I was still so afraid, but had to speak. “Why did you come for me? You saw what I did on the mission. You know what I am. You should have let me stay lost.” He pulled me back down towards him, wrapping his arms around me with a desperate tightness.

“Sweetheart, this is where you belong. You’re no more a monster than any of us, we’re all damaged here. You were tricked into believing that, and now you’ve got to let it go. We want you. We need you. I need you.”

I could have stayed there for hours. It would have been much simpler to just lie there, head on Bucky’s chest, and not face anything else, but life isn’t that simple. A few minutes later, I forced myself to get up. Finding some clean clothes still in the closet, I showered, throwing away the clothes I’d been wearing for too long. It felt good to be clean, and once that was sorted, I realised just how hungry I was. Food was going to involve going out into the Tower though, and that would involve facing up to the people I’d let down. I left the bathroom and saw that Bucky was still in my room, sitting and looking out of the window.

“I need a quick shower too” he said, adding “I’ll come back and get you, give me ten minutes ok? Then we’ll go get food together.” He waited for my nod of consent before leaving. God I was nervous. These were good people but I was afraid and my head still hurt with exhaustion and emotion.

Bucky was back well within ten minutes, and cocked his head at me from the doorway.

“Come on, you look half-starved doll” he smiled. “People are glad you’re back. Come eat, and we can tell you what we know. No one’s going to bite you.” He smiled again and I managed a half smile back, then followed him out.

He must have alerted everyone that we’d be coming upstairs, because when we reached the living area, it seemed the whole team was there. Emotions and thoughts were still leaking into my head which I was too tired to barricade, so it got pretty overwhelming. Steve pressed a cup of coffee into my hand as I sat at the table, bone tired still, and used the warmth of the cup to focus and centre myself. Someone put a plate of toast in front of me and I started to eat, then looking up, realised I’d become the centre of attention. Swallowing, mouth suddenly dry, I knew I needed to speak.

“Everyone, I…” a deep breath, try again. “I’m so sorry. I’ve caused you all so much trouble over these months. You rescued me and since then I’ve been nothing but difficulty for you.” I could see that Tony and Bucky were about to speak, and waved my hand to quiet them. “Please, let me get this out. You’ve given up your time, and your energy, to someone you don’t know. You’ve been kind and generous and helped me so much, and this is how I’ve repaid you.” My voice cracked and I closed your eyes briefly, trying to get hold of myself. Everyone waited for me to speak again. I looked down at the table, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to see what kind of monster you’d freed. I know what I am now, I’m not human. I’m a killer, I’m a danger to everyone. I’ve caused so much trouble; I don’t belong here. I’m just… I’m so sorry. I’ll go today”. I hadn’t realised until I saw the drops fall onto the table that I was crying. I watched them pooling together, unwilling to lift my head.

A second later, arms were around me and at the same time there was a clamour of voices. The cool of one arm against my back, and the warmth against my front told me it was Bucky holding me, his face pressed into my hair so I couldn’t turn to see. Oh I’d miss this. Miss him, I allowed myself to admit.

“Guys, guys, one at a time” Tony’s voice rose over the babble. I hadn’t been paying attention, my mind too frayed to separate out the voices and thoughts and pick them apart. “Mole, kid, Ruby, look at me. C’mon”. I looked up. Tony was standing, arms crossed, on the opposite side of the table. “OK, we listened to you, you need to listen to us now. Deal?” I nodded.

“Firstly, here’s what happened. After the mission, when, let’s not forget, you actually saved all our lives, for which thank you, you were in the medlab, yes?” I nodded, I knew that. “You were lying there, thinking we hated you or you didn’t deserve to be here, or some such nonsense. Loki came and saw you. Remember that?” I nodded, slower this time. I did remember seeing Loki, but the fog that had descended on my mind had blotted that out.

“Wait, did he.. what did he do? I don’t remember” I blurted out.

“Turns out, and we only found this out later than we should have done, he sold you out to Hydra.” I started at that, and Bucky began stroking my hair as he might a frightened animal. Tony continued. “Hydra wanted you back, because you’re powerful. Loki bargained with them that if he manipulated you to run, pushed you towards them, he’d get some powerful weapon they had. Powerful in terms of ‘oh hell no, we don’t want that crazy god to have it’” he added.

“He lied to you. That’s what he does. He got inside your head and twisted your thoughts, made you think you had to leave. You don’t. EVER.” Tony rested his fists against the table top, leaning forwards and forcing me to meet his eyes. “You belong here. Nobody around this table thinks anything different. We don’t care about what was done to you, or what you did. You. Belong. Here.” There were nods from around the table, then Natasha spoke.

“You know I don’t go in for pretty words and sweet talk. I’m blunt. I’ll tell you now, you try a trick like that again and I’ll kick your ass, ultimate weapon or no.” That lightened the mood and I smiled at her. “It’s only because that shit of a god got inside your head that I’m forgiving you. You’re my friend. You start to worry about things, you talk to us, you don’t run. Your brain starts telling you you’re not wanted, or you’re a monster, you talk to us. You’re frightened or angry or hell, happy, you TALK TO US. Got it?”

I nodded. It was easier than arguing with someone like Nat.

“Yeah, unconvincing” she smiled. “We’re going to work on you. You think Steve’s compulsory happy day was hard, wait until you’ve felt the ‘Avengers make you feel loved’ experience. You’ll be begging for mercy.” She walked around the table towards me, saying “hey, Barnes, someone else’s turn” and then sat down and put her arms around me when Bucky let go. “You did something that no one else has done for a long time. When you went missing, I cried. I don’t cry. So you owe me, you stay here and you let us look after you.” She sniffed and sat up, eyes looking damp. “I can’t have someone out there knowing Black Widow has feelings, so you stay here, ok…?” I smiled at her. The sense of relief at the way I was being treated was enormous although the guilt was just as large. I couldn’t believe I deserved this at all, still.

“You need to eat, and rest” Steve said. “We’re not going to stand here and watch, don’t worry. But when you need to talk things through, you find one of us, ok?” The group got up to go, smiling as they went, each resting a hand on my shoulder or kissing the top of my head in passing.

“And Loki?” I suddenly asked, before they all left. “What’s happened to him?”

“I punched him. Hard. Knocked him out.” Bucky admitted. “Thor’s taken him back to Asgard and he’s locked up there. You won’t be seeing him again.” He met my eye and added, grinning “Best punch I’ve ever thrown, I enjoyed that once I’d heard what he’d done” and I smiled again, a little bigger. Gradually people left until it was just me, Steve and Bucky left. Steve brought out some fresh coffee as mine had gone cold, and made pancakes, then the three of us sat eating together. Steve had said little so far and I was concerned that he was doing what he felt was the honourable thing, rather than what he really believed, so it was a surprise when he spoke.

“Don’t ever do that again”. He almost growled and I looked up startled, to see his face was wet with tears although his eyes looked angry. “Don’t ever believe you shouldn’t be here. You should. Not just because you saved us on that mission but because you’re our friend. We like you, we care about you, we want you here” He ran his hands over his face, scrubbing at his skin. “Please. Don’t ever, ever, fucking think we don’t want you”. I’d never heard him swear before and understood from that that he was very serious. He stood up and came over, pulling me upright and wrapping his arms around me. I barely came up past his chest and yet as I felt tears soak into my shoulder, somehow it felt as if I was the one comforting him. After a moment, he stood back, kissed my cheek, gave us an ironic salute, and left.

I was ready to sleep again. For the next few days I didn’t do much more than sleep and eat, then on the third day, as I woke with a little more energy, I asked Jarvis where I could find Sam. Heading down to the gym, I waited until he’d finished his workout and then stepped into view.

“Hey, how you doing?” he asked, as I passed him some water which he gulped down.

“I’m ok, I guess. When I can stay awake. My brain feels like it’s been peeled, but I’m learning to shut out everyone’s thoughts again. Or most of the time anyway. I probably know more about some people than they might be happy with” I grinned, thinking of the thoughts I’d heard from Clint the night before. “I was wondering if I could talk to you some time. Everything’s a mess, really, in my head. You helped me a lot before.”

“That is my job, so I’m glad to hear it” he grinned. “Let me shower, then come down to the office, say half an hour?”

We talked a lot, not just that day but over the next few weeks. Sometimes I’d go and seek him out, other times if he saw me starting to withdraw, or he hadn’t caught up with me for a few days, he’d come and find me, insist that I talk to him. It was damn hard at times but he drew thoughts out of me that I hadn’t even understood, helped me find new ways of thinking. At the same time, I was trying to fit back in again. Despite what Sam told me, I didn’t feel right yet. I went out of my way to be helpful, hoping I could deserve friendship that way; I slipped out of rooms when people came in, thinking they wouldn’t want me there. One evening, Clint stopped me as I was about to leave again.

“Hey. Ruby. Remember when we went out on that mission? I said you had to let us help you find yourself again, afterwards?” I nodded, although it seemed a lifetime ago now. “So let us. Stop excusing yourself whenever you’re around us. Stop being polite, it really doesn’t fit in here. Just be here, with us. We’ll tease Steve about how old he is, he’ll be shocked at Tony’s drinking and Nat’s language. Sam and Bucky will pretend to hate each other. You and me will play pool and I’ll let you win.” He winked, “How about it? And if I can get you to say something sassy to Stark, I will, I don’t know, I’ll think of something…”

“Admit to Nat how you feel about her?” I smiled at him and he stared up at me. “Remember how I said that I was finding it hard to shut out all the thoughts I can hear at the moment, since Loki was in my head? Yeah, I know everything”. I grinned. It felt good to tease Clint, I felt accepted for a moment and let him draw me back into the room.

Thor had joined us that afternoon, and had sought me out, pulling me to one side to tell me that Loki was locked up, after causing trouble in most of the Nine Realms it seemed. He said that he’d never be allowed back on Midgard, and that I had nothing to fear. Then he took my hand and spoke quietly,

“I am truly, deeply sorry for the trouble my brother has caused. Until now I had not realised fully quite how much he lives up to his name as God of Mischief and Lord of Lies. It is to my eternal shame that he has dishonoured our family so and I vow that I will repay this debt between us.” He raised my hand and kissed the back of it. I started to thank him as solemnly as I could but gave up and punched him lightly on his ridiculously large shoulder.

“Families are weird Thor. I don’t hold you in any way responsible for your brother’s behaviour. I’m just glad to have your friendship, if I have it. And a good drinking partner”. He grinned at me and I felt another weight lift from me.

Later that night, Clint had to stand on the table and tell Natasha how he felt, after I’d shut Tony down with, as Clint put it, ‘ultimate sass’, helped out by quite a few beers which had helped me relax. Earlier that day, Sam had told me that maybe I’d never be fully OK, but that nobody said you couldn’t be broken and happy, and I’d been rolling that around in my head for a while. I might always feel unworthy, but maybe that was me and maybe I could live here, with these people I liked, all the same.

I looked around me at the team, who were currently making all kinds of suggestive remarks at Clint, then howling with laughter as Nat joined him on the table and pulled him down for a very sensuous kiss. Suddenly I started to giggle. I tried to suppress it but it came out as a snort which made me laugh even more. Faces started to turn towards me, all slightly drunk themselves and happy, if confused, to see me laughing.

My snorts turned into laughter as I tried to explain what was causing this but each sentence just made me laugh more. The laughter seemed to be contagious as the rest of the team cracked up watching me laugh and try to speak, then developing hiccups, making them laugh even more.

“I’m… I’m… I’m living in a billionaire’s tower” I forced out, bent over and clutching my stomach. It wasn’t actually funny but the thoughts in my head were ludicrous. “My best friend is a 90-year-old man with a metal arm. His best friend is a 90-year-old who gained 120 pounds in an afternoon.” I tried to wipe my eyes with my hand but hiccupped and set myself off again. “I’ve had my mind broken by one God Prince from another world, and my hand kissed by another one”. I’d slipped over now with my head in Bucky’s lap and the laughter and relief were spreading around the room. “Oh god, it’s all so ridiculous. We’ve got the world’s best archer, a Russian assassin, a man who turns green, a man who flies. None of this makes sense!” I paused, desperately trying to breathe, as I watched my friends also laughing at the stupidity of the situation, and the relief at the breaking of the tension that had held for weeks now.

“You’re all crazy and broken!” I said, pointing vaguely at them while I clutched my stomach and howled with laugher. “Oh god, maybe this is where the crazy broken people come when they don’t fit in out there. Maybe I really do belong here”. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of beer, laughter, and genuine happiness as I started to finally believe I could be OK.