#but going to the asylum is the choice and everything after that is laid out by greater forces

[walriding]

"miles is stupid for going to the asylum" "miles should've tried to leave instead of exploring / recording everything" "miles is a dumbass for--"

what if what happened was inescapable. inevitable. what if waylon emailed him and only him for a reason. what if his pre existing obsession with murkoff meant it was an opportunity he couldn't pass up, and even if it looked dangerous what if he couldn't just turn his back on people suffering because of the company. what if once he entered the building the rest of it was completely out of his hands. what if his entire journey through the asylum as orchestrated by father martin really was at the behest of what whispered in the static.

what if there was no other way it all could have happened because Something Else needed him exactly where he ended up.

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober Day 24: Monster (The Asylum)

Day 24: Monster Title: The Asylum Pairing: Mothman Shigaraki x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Noncon, monster mind control stuff, oviposition, cumflation, belly bulges, breeding, forced orgasms, some slight descriptions of gore and blood, yandere Note: The Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum is a real place, although parts of what I wrote is fake, mostly the part where they close down a second time in the fic. IRL, they’re still open and doing tours. Tagging @ichor-and-symbiosis​ and @kazooli​ as two of the OG Mothura writers 👀

Sequel: The Brood

Kinktober Masterlist

You’ve always loved urban exploring, going to old mental asylums and hospitals to look around and see the decay of places that used to be so bustling with people. You especially liked the places that had tragic pasts, the ones where horrific things occurred. It sounds morbid to anyone you talk to about your interests, but it was the truth. You’ve always believed in monsters and ghosts just out of sight of humanity, lurking in the dark corners of abandoned places.

That’s why you instantly planned a trip to the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum the second you heard about it. It had been abandoned years ago due to extreme abuse of patients. A historical society had moved in later, renovating the place and making a history tour of it that also did ghost tours at night.

But even they ended up abandoning the place due to the fake ghost tours apparently starting to become real ghost tours. People began to see creatures out of the corner of their eyes, something they said was much larger than a human, with wings on its back and piercing red eyes.

It was initially dismissed as overactive imaginations, people who wanted to see ghosts so badly that they were seeing things that weren’t there. Or people who just wanted to start tall tales  for attention and were flat out making things up in order to scare the rest of the group.

But then the disappearances started to happen. It was almost always young women who got separated from the tour group, although a few times it was a boyfriend and girlfriend who got lost together. The tour guides scoured every inch of the asylum looking for the missing people, but they found no trace of them. At first it was dismissed as the people getting scared and running off without telling anybody.

Until one day, a regularly scheduled tour group stumbled across the bodies. Not the bodies of the missing girls, but their partners. They were viciously torn apart, with limbs scattered all over the room. Their blood covered the walls, the floor, even the ceiling of the room. The women were alive but traumatized, rocking back and forth in a corner of the room absolutely covered in blood, none of which was their own.

They told the same tales that the rest of the people did. They were captured by a monster, around 8-9 feet tall, with large moth-like wings and red eyes. The creature was surprisingly gentle to them, they said, at least until they saw that they were with someone. The creature had become enraged, tearing their partner to pieces as they watched. They knew for certain that they would be next, their eyes squeezed tight as they waited for their death.

But the creature did nothing, simply turning away and leaving the room like they were not what the creature wanted.

Although everyone agreed that something horrible had happened to the young women, none of them believed their story. They had stayed in that room for several days, covered in the blood of their loved ones, not knowing if they were ever going to make it out. Of course they were traumatized, thinking they saw monsters. But monsters aren’t believed to exist, and so everyone began to look for a human murderer that was never found.

The asylum tried to recover from the tragedy, but it was never able to. The amount of bad press they got for having lax safety standards and not taking care of their tour groups caused everybody to stay away. Finally, having no other choice in the matter, the asylum had closed.

When you heard this story, you were over the moon excited. Not just a historical landmark, but also a place with a possible real life monster sighting. Nothing was going to stop you from going there and seeing the place for yourself.

And now here you stand, in front of the building with a backpack full of supplies slung over your shoulder. You had your phone, flashlights with spare batteries, a spare change of clothes, matches and lighters, even a rope and various other tools should something happen inside of the building.

And so, with a deep excitement bubbling up in your stomach, you find your way through a hole in the fence and walk through the front door. The first thing you see is the reception desk with various odds and ends left over from the closure. There are even still brochures describing the various types of tours and listing prices.

You walk down the first corridor you see, going past various closed off rooms that look to be basic examination rooms. There is surprisingly little decay, mostly everything still looking rather clean and intact besides a thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering everything. You’re a bit discouraged but decide to continue on to see if things get more interesting.

After all, the murders occured in the basement, and you’re not anywhere close to that yet.

Soon you find yourself in the medical ward where the patients were kept, and you instantly realize one of the reasons this hospital was so nightmarish. The rooms are even smaller than jail cells, leaving barely enough space for patients to lay down in. There are so many rooms of that exact size that you wonder how the staff could accurately take care of the amount of patients there had to be. But you remember your research, remember the fact that they couldn’t.

That was why so many brutal procedures were performed such as lobotomies, in order to keep the peace at the asylum and make things easier for the doctors and nurses. You give a quick shudder and begin to move on, feeling a strange sensation that you desperately want to get away from.

The decay gets worse and worse the closer you get to the basement, rust and decay beginning to cover every surface you see. You walk past some of the surgery rooms and feel horror at the utensils and instruments you see in them. The historical society tried to keep things as accurate as possible, and as such, they had kept most of the equipment that you would see back in those days.

You’re beginning to wonder if this is a good idea, as that strange sensation continues to worsen and worsen. You realize with a start what this feeling actually is.

It feels like someone is watching your every movement. You whirl around, shining your flashlight in every direction as you try to see what’s watching you. But there’s nothing but darkness and the decaying walls of the hospital. You shake your head, laughing quietly at the fact that you’re spooked out by a few weird shadows and an odd feeling.

You’re not going to let it stop you from your goal, however, and you continue forwards until you get to the doors of the basement. The feeling here is overwhelming, simultaneously telling you to run and move forward all at the same time. The conflicting emotions leave you off balance and light headed, and you reach your hand out instinctively when you sway on your feet. You touch a section of the wall and instantly pull your hand back.

The wall is warm, not cold like it should be. A sense of unease crawls up your spine, and you decide then and there that it’s time to go. Making it to the basement is not worth this, whatever it is you’re feeling. But then you hear a soft humming and the flapping of wings, coming from deep within the basement of the hospital.

Instead of being terrified, however, you feel entranced. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard, and it’s calling you. You open the basement door without even thinking about it, walking down the stairs in a dreamy haze. You don’t even pay attention to how heavy the rot here is, how the walls are entirely blackened by decay that spreads out like veins on a body.

You don’t pay attention when the door slams closed behind you, locking you in with whatever is calling you closer. All you can think about is getting to that beautiful sound, that lonely haunting call that seems to burrow deep into your brain. You walk as if you’re in a trance, turning corridors that you’ve never seen before but somehow know where they’re going.

Finally, you get to a door that is deep within the bowels of the basement, a bright red door that seems to beckon you inside. You push open the door with no hesitation, walking through and letting it close behind you.

And you finally come face to face with the creature. He is about 9 feet tall, towering over your small form. He’s not overly muscular, but he has a thin wiry look to him that says he is deceptively strong. His red eyes bore into you like they’re staring directly into your soul. On his back are two massive wings, spread to their full wing span and utterly gorgeous.

The creature makes a small chittering noise as he motions you towards him, and you follow like he’s a puppeteer holding your strings. He pulls you tightly into his body, burying his nose into your neck and taking a deep whiff of your skin. His hot breath on your sensitive skin pulls a shudder from you. and he tightens his grip as if he’s worried you’ll get away.

A long tongue pokes out of his mouth, licking at the pulse point that is frantically beating. “Mine,” he groans into your skin, sharp teeth grazing you. “Mate.” You’re lifted up off your feet before being laid down on the ground, hips in the air and face down on the floor. He rips your pants off easily, leaving your panties on as he lowers his head down. You feel a flash of embarrassment as he sniffs them like he sniffed your neck, groaning again as his tongue drags across the wet abric. “Fertile,” he whispers as he pulls your panties aside, “fertile mate.”

The haze parts from your mind long enough for you to feel a sharp flash of fear, and then his tongue is lapping at your folds and the fear is quickly chased away again. You dig your nails into the floor as you feel him work his tongue inside of you, using it to fuck you like a cock would. You gasp when he hits your cervix with his tongue and keeps going, wiggling against the barrier like he’s trying to break through it.

Something in his saliva causes your body to heat up and your muscles to loosen enough for him to batter his tongue harder against you and push through. Your scream echoes through the walls of the room, but not of pain. Instead, a fierce pleasure overtakes you as your cervix gives way to the creature’s tongue, allowing him to enter into your womb.

The feeling of this tongue wiggling around in your empty womb causes you to tip over the edge and cum around the creature’s tongue as he eagerly laps at your juices. He withdraws his tongue, causing you to let out a whine of disappointment, only to be surprised when you feel something prodding at your entrance. It doesn’t feel like a human cock at all, with ridges and bumps along the length and much thicker than a human cock would be.

You have a single moment to wonder how it will fit inside of you before it’s pushing in, stretching out your tight outer ring of muscles and causing a sharp burning in your lower stomach. You whine and try to pull away, only for the creature to let out a snarl as claws dig into your hips, causing your blood to drip down onto the pavement.

Even though there is no pain, only more pleasure, you learn your lesson and don’t try to move away as the thick cock slides even further into you. It’s so much thicker than anything you’ve ever taken before, and you’re shaking like a leaf when he finally bottoms out inside. You think he’ll start thrusting like a human male would, except that he doesn’t.

He keeps pushing, humping into you with sharp movements designed to force your cervix open even further. You squeal as the cock makes it past the barrier, burying deep inside of your womb. You glance down and let out a choked sob at the bulge in your stomach where the tip of the creature’s cock is.

“Pretty - pretty mate,” the creature says hesitantly, rolling his hips experimentally into you and drawing a groan from your throat. “Tomura,” he adds, and it takes you a second to realize that’s the creature’s name.

“Tomura,” you murmur, and the creature chitters happily at the sound of your voice saying the name. You try to think of something else to ask, maybe even to beg to be released as the haze seems to clear a bit, but Tomura begins to hum again, and you instantly smile in bliss as all of your concern fades away.

You feel something else pushing into your entrance, and it takes a long moment to realize what it is as you feel it slip up your stretched out tunnel.

Eggs. The creature is filling you with eggs. Instead of being horrified, however, you moan as they continue to move inside of you. There are multiple eggs at once, small and gooey, and they coat your insides with wetness as they make their way to your still stretched out cervix.

You feel them pass through the opening to plop down into your womb, and you cry out and cum hard, pussy wildly fluttering around Tomura’s cock. He lets out a deep grunt of pleasure as he rocks his hips against you, and you feel more eggs pushing into you. This time, a few of them get stuck against a spongy spot inside of you, and you scream out your orgasm, legs shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck, oh god, shit, Tomura - “ you babble mindlessly as more eggs push into you, “it feels so good, why does it - “

Before those eggs can push fully in, there are already more entering you, and you feel so incredibly full. They drop down into your no longer empty womb, wringing another orgasm from your tired body. The skin of your stomach is stretching, making you look bloated, and Tomura still isn’t done.

You lose track of time completely, only aware of your body twitching and convulsing as more and more eggs push up into you, settling into your womb with the rest of them. Your stomach already looks 9 months pregnant, and you can barely hold yourself up.

Tomura sees this, and he gently picks you up and lays you down on your back. “Pretty mate,” he leans and kisses your forehead, “look so good with my children. Our children.”

“Oh god, no more, please no more, I’m so full Tomura,” you whimper as more eggs push into you. “Please, so full - “

Tomura hums softly at you, and you smile with bliss as the final eggs plop down into your womb.  His movements become more savage, thrusting hard into you as he grunts and groans. The force of his thrusts has you sliding up, breasts bouncing and your belly jiggling. The feeling of the eggs moving around inside of you has you howling out your orgasm, blackness dotting the edge of your vision as you almost lose consciousness.

Finally, Tomura is finished, and his cock begins to twitch inside of you as hot ropes of cum fill you up, shooting directly into your womb where the eggs reside. You sob as you watch your stomach bulge out even more as the creature’s cum fertilizes the eggs inside. You can no longer see the dents and valleys of the eggs along your stomach, and you reach down to gently run your hand over your bloated stomach.

You can feel the eggs through the barrier of skin, and it causes your eyes to roll back at the pleasure. Tomura gives a soft, happy chirp as he places his hand over yours on your belly, rubbing it gently. He pulls out slowly, causing a mixture of your cum and his to gush out of your now gaping pussy.

He reaches down to pick you up as he walks towards a door in the back of the room that you hadn’t noticed before. You’re shocked by what you see when you walk through. It’s an utterly untouched room, still looking brand new and with none of the decay that covers the rest of the basement. There is no bed, but there is a pile of clean blankets and pillows in the corner, piled up high and in a circle.

A nest, you realize. It’s a nest. For you. He tucks you in gently, chirping again as his clawed hand runs over your pregnant belly. “Mate,” he says happily, “my pretty little mate.” He stands up and walks towards the door, turning to you one last time as his gaze narrows and darkens just a bit.

“No running. Don’t want to have to tie mate down.” He continues to gaze at you, as if waiting for something.

“I won’t run,” you say quietly, and the dark look on his face is gone instantly as he beams at you.

“Good mate, good.” And with that, he’s gone.

With his absence, some of the haze lifts and you’re able to realize the horror of the situation you’re in. Nobody knows where you are, and you’re trapped. Even if you wanted to run, you don’t think you could with how large your belly is. No escape and no help coming for you, and the creature already seems so possessive of you that he’s not going to let you easily escape.

If only you had listened to your instincts earlier, if only you hadn’t been so fascinated with the grotesque, if only you had simply chosen to stay home.

You’ve always believed in monsters. You just never thought you would find one.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern​, @vixen-scribbles​, @katsukisprincess​, @hisoknen​, @trafalgar-temptress​, @leeswritingworld, @burnedbyshoto​, @bakugotrashpanda​, @dee-madwriter​, @kittycatkrissa​, @reinawritesbnha​, @yanderart​, @dabilove27​, @anxietyplusultra​, @flutterfalla​, @angmarwitch​, @nereida19​, @babayaga67​, @fromsunnywithlove​, @dabis-kitten​, @bakugos-cumsock​, @yumeneji​, @the-grimm-writer​, @iwaizumi-chan​, @slashersheart​, @bunnyywritings​, @bakarinnie​, @angie-1306​, @lalalemon101​​, @videogameboiwhowins​​, @f4nficbaby​​, @tenkoshimmy​, @baroque-baby​​, @bbyspiiice​​, @thirstyforthem2dmen​​, @blissfulignorance2000​, @bluecookies02-main​

[bansheeoftheforest]

Imagine if Mr.O'Leary could just tell Thomas was going to do something stupid so only pretend to go to sleep. Thomas halfway to the front door. "And just where do you think you're going?"

...

Thomas couldn't say he was sure why he was doing this.

Maybe it was the guilt, or maybe it was fear. Whatever it was, the voice continued to echo in his head, the monsters continued to dwell and loom and cling to the walls, parasites waiting to devour him. They were not real, he knew that. The voice that continuously mocked him, the voice that threatened to hurt him, the voice that had somehow managed to grip his body and throw such horrid insults onto Mr. O'Leary...

Thomas did not want to leave, but he had no choice.

Mr. O'Leary was far too kind to deserve such treatment. Thomas was nothing but a danger to himself and others, he could not stand to think about the way that Mr. O'Leary had looked at him, once Thomas had gotten back into his head. If this is why he... Supposedly escaped an asylum, he could understand why his family abandoned him. He could understand why he was mistreated by staff. He could understand, he was not going to let Mr. O'Leary suffer because of his golden heart.

It was midnight, Mr. O'Leary had gone to bed a long time ago. Thomas had waited an hour in bed, staring at the monsters in the shadows before getting up again. He moved swiftly through the rooms, doing his best to finish all the chores he could get his hands on. Dishes, laundry, cleaning... He wanted to repay Mr. O'Leary, he did not want him to be left with a mess when Thomas would be gone in the morning. He didn't take anything; neither money nor food, but he kept the essential clothes that Mr. O'Leary had given him. The waistcoat, the jacket, and the ragged ascot laid neatly folded upon Thomas' equally neatly made guest bed.

He tuned out the voice in his head, the monsters began to blend in with the consuming darkness of the quiet London night. He snuck into Mr. O'Leary's study and grabbed a single piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something down, he was not sure what he wrote, but he kept himself from proofreading it before he placed everything back and moved back to the guestroom he had occupied. He did not want to change his mind. He could not change his mind.

He placed the note on his bed, he swallowed down the tears of frustration. He did not want to leave, he loved Mr. O'Leary and he appreciated everything he had done for him, but he could not risk Mr. O'Leary getting hurt. If that voice took over him again, if he got physical...

He took a last look around the house, he savored the homely smell and the decorated wallpapers. He savored the carved wooden furniture and he savored the golden knickknacks you could find a bit of everywhere. He savored it, soon all he would know would be dirty streets and deafening loudness, no quietness, no peace. He took a deep breath, he could not stop the soft tears that began to fall down his cheeks like fresh snow shingling down the skies during winter, and then he moved towards the hallway. He understood why no one wanted him now, and he understood why his only place was an asylum. He did not feel insane, but he was, and he could not run the risk of hurting the one person who had taken him in and taken care of him for so long. He could not run that risk. He would never forgive himself if he did that. His hand reached for the door handle, the hesitation gripped him, a sob escaped his lips... But he grasped it, he took a deep breath, and--

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Thomas' head whipped around. Within the darkness, illuminated by a single candle upon a candleholder, stood Mr. O'Leary.

Thomas should have opened the door and he should have run. He should have escaped when he had the chance, yet he stood frozen, feet glued against the hardwood floor, as Mr. O'Leary and his light came closer.

Mr. O'Leary stopped, only a few centimetres away from the younger man. His previously stern expression fell, soon it was replaced with a soft look of sympathy, perhaps even pain.

"Oh, Thomas."

He brought his empty hand up to Thomas' cheek, his thumb wiped some of the tears, yet they continued to fall. Thomas choked down a sob, yet they continued to bubble up. He couldn't have moved away even if he would have wanted to. Mr. O'Leary's hand moved from his cheek and placed itself upon the back of his head, gently guiding the younger man forward into a warm embrace.

Thomas should have pushed him away, he should have put his foot down, and he should have told him he was doing this for his safety, yet Thomas' feet remained glued to the ground. He melted into the embrace, soon his sobs turned to anguished crying. Mr. O'Leary placed the candle on a cabinet, soon both his arms wrapped around the younger, thinner man. Thomas couldn't have stopped himself from wrapping his own arms around Mr. O'Leary's torso, even if he would have wanted to. He couldn't have stopped himself from burying his face in the crook of Mr. O'Leary's shoulder, even if he would have wanted to.

"I-- I can't stay." Thomas choked out, silenced by more tears, more sobs, "I can't, I'm sorry, I can't."

"Ssshhh, it's okay, it's okay, breathe."

"I can't. I can't stay. I can't hurt you again."

"Thomas, you aren't going to hurt me."

"You saw me! You heard me!"

Whatever Thomas would have used as leverage, as justification for trying to sneak out in the middle of the night completely disappeared as more sobs kept him hyperventilating. Mr. O'Leary placed his cheek against Thomas' brown hair, an arm kept the younger man secured in his grasp while his free hand ran over his back. Thomas did not want to admit that it helped. He did not want to admit that Mr. O'Leary was helping him. He did not want to admit that it just made him cry more.

"Thomas, you have gone through a lot lately." Mr. O'Leary murmured, "Neither of us knows what you went through, neither of us knows where you came from, what your name is, what your actual condition is, but I know that you did not mean to have that outburst, and even if you were the one to actively yell at me, you snapped out of it and realized what you did. You did not mean to, Thomas. I forgive you, please, please don't blame yourself."

"The voice--"

"Whatever the voice is saying, it's lying to you. You did not mean to do anything, you reached a breaking point, you got overwhelmed. What we can do is to make sure it won't reach that point again."

Mr. O'Leary quieted. For a brief moment, he paused. Thomas could feel how his grip got a bit tighter, he could hear the older man's heartbeat drumming within his chest.

"I can't lose you, son."

It was barely above a whisper, yet Thomas felt how Mr. O'Leary pressed his face into his hair, keeping him so tightly against his chest, so protectively, so lovingly.

Thomas could only cry more. And more. He could not get a word out. He did not need to get a word out. Mr. O'Leary lulled him to tranquility. He guided him back into the house-- Thomas was not sure where exactly, he did not focus on where they went, but soon he felt himself getting laid down. He never let go of Mr. O'Leary for a second, neither did Mr. O'Leary him. He continued to hold his arms wrapped around Thomas, as the younger one continued to weep, and weep, and weep, until he eventually fell asleep with exhaustion.

Mr. O'Leary kept him in his arms until the morning, and he would not let go of him anytime after that.

He did not know what kind of demons plagued poor Thomas, but he would make sure to keep him safe, safe from whatever wished to harm him, imaginary or otherwise. He would always keep him safe.

He always would.

[themculibrary]

Clint Barton x Female Masterlist

part two

catching bullets in our teeth (ao3) - anothercover clint/natasha M, 77k

Summary: Retirement, it turns out, is not a thing that Clint is adjusting to very well. Or, you know, at all. It didn't occur to him that when he dropped the team, it would mean he'd lose Natasha, too.

[Begins pre-CACW, through the events of it, and into the aftermath. Otherwise known as: the slow-burn divorce fic we didn't know we needed.]

Chosen (ao3) - sofreakinmanyfandoms clint/pepper T, 7k

Summary: After Tony Stark breaks up with her, Pepper finds an unexpected friend in Hawkeye. Clint, on his part, is doing his best to hide the crush he's had on Pepper for a very long while and be there for her while she's going through a rough time. Tony feels guilty, Loki is sympathetic, and Natasha is so fed up with Clint's BS.

come on sweet catastrophe (ao3) - twistedingenue clint/darcy T, 10k

Summary: Darcy Lewis is whisked away from her dorm at Culver in the middle of the night, and really, the secret agent shit is already getting old.

Done With the Games (ao3) - insxouts clint/maria E, 3k

Summary: Clint is tired of Maria riding around on that high horse of hers. He figures it's about time someone knocked her off of it. Can he truly get under her skin, though?

Don't Tease A Hawk (ao3) - WordsmithDee clint/darcy E, 6k

Summary: Darcy is bored but Clint is busy with paperwork. She learns there are repercussions for teasing the Hawk.

five times Laura Barton opened her door (and one time a door was opened for her) (ao3) - twistedingenue clint/laura G, 7k

Summary: She’s been making her life here, where things are quiet and uncomplicated, and uprooting herself would — well, there are things she’d rather not do and risks she’d rather not take anymore.

Gift of Asylum (ao3) - carleton97, sister_wolf clint/darcy E, 47k

Summary: The story of how Darcy Lewis accidentally helps found the Avengers while having an epic, failboaty romance with that dude she nailed in a bar two years ago. Tasers, jackbooted thugs, Tony Stark, and life-altering job offers are par for the course when you help discover an alien/god dude with amazing pecs.

Handle It Together (ao3) - Westgate (Harkpad) clint/laura G, 4k

Summary: When Laura leaves town for a conference, it's the perfect time for a stomach virus to attack the Barton farm. It starts with Lila, but it travels fast. Clint can handle it, though. Mostly.

if you wanna fill your bottle up with lightning (ao3) - twistedingenue clint/darcy T, 14k

Summary: In the wake of poor life choices involving redheads and red cars, Clint's responsible decision making skills take another header after learning that Dr Foster and Darcy have missed their last few check-ins and winds up driving out to New Mexico with Kate.

I'm Game (ao3) - DresupiF clint/darcy E, 13k

Summary: Darcy needs a date for her family Thanksgiving dinner to settle a bet, and Clint's personal ad was the one she answered.

Laid Bare (ao3) - chezamanda, eiluned clint/natasha E, 19k

Summary: Starting a relationship with your partner is against S.H.I.E.L.D. policy, but it's not like Clint Barton cares about the rules too much. An undercover mission dredges up feelings that can't be buried.

Laura (fanfiction.net) - Danzinora Switch clint/laura T, 8k

Summary: Snapshots and scenes through the years of Laura’s life; mainly focusing on her relationship with Clint.

Some Strings Attached (ao3) - t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz) clint/natasha E, 9k

Summary: "You," Natasha says slowly, "thought we should do something for Valentine's Day?"

"Yeah," Clint says, simple and direct, and Natasha is beginning to think she might never truly understand him or his motivations. "I made reservations and everything."

This is Not a Gothic Romance (and Clint is Not Heathcliff) (ao3) - shinykari (meinterrupted) clint/darcy E, 4k

Summary: Clint Barton is an idiot. This isn’t news to Darcy. What is new is waking up in his bed and hearing him talking to another woman in the other room.

Wanda and the Bartons (ao3) - marvelaosdc1620 clint/laura T, 47k

Summary: After endgame is over, Wanda has absolutely no one left, so she goes to live with the Bartons on their farm in the middle of nowhere while she tries to recover from everything the world had thrown at her.

we were emergencies (ao3) - gyzym clint/natasha E, 37k

Summary: It's not about being unmade; it's about remaking, one aching step at a time.

[armandyke]

Could we start again, please?

Summary: After the most hectic three months of his life, Diego finally gets a chance to speak to Eudora again, even if it wasn't the way he wanted.

Word Count: 2176

Square Filled: Funeral

Characters: Diego Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of alcohol, season 2 spoilers

A/N: The ninth and final entry for @tuacreatorsbingo!!

You can read it here, or on my AO3

It had been eight days now since Diego had found the envelope addressed to him sitting on the mat by the front door. It was unusual for three reasons. One: He hadn’t received any mail in over twelve years. Two: He hadn’t been registered at his childhood home in over twelve years. And three: He didn’t recognise the handwriting on the envelope. Every day since then, he’d woken up, read over the card inside, and put off his decision for another day. Today, though, he couldn’t do that, because now he’d run out of days. 

He read over the gold, embossed words for the hundredth time.

Detective Eudora Patch

Dec 1983 - Mar 2019

Funeral Service

Apr 15 - 10AM

He wasn’t going to the funeral service. That at least he was sure about. For starters, people would want to know how his hair had grown five inches in two weeks, and even with the charges dropped, he was pretty sure there was a good number of people who still thought he was the one who killed her. No, the real question was whether he would go to the burial. 

Two days ago he’d decided he absolutely, categorically, wasn’t going. Yesterday he decided he definitely was. Today… he wasn’t sure anymore. Part of him felt like he was probably the last person she’d want to be there, another part felt like he owed it to her. He wasn’t there for her when she needed him, so the least he could do was be there now. Still, there were so many other complications if he did go. What would he do when he got there? Should he bring flowers, or was that tacky? What flowers would he even bring? She always had sunflowers in her kitchen… but she also liked bluebells… and daffodils… Okay now he was definitely overthinking the flower thing. 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he tossed the card aside and got to his feet. 

He wasn’t going. 

He rifled through his closet for a shirt. 

Maybe just for five minutes. Just to pay his respects. 

He’d slept in his jeans last night. Christ, he needed to get his life together. 

No. Nope. Not going. 

He tugged his boots on, threw open the door, and headed down the stairs. 

Just a quick walk-by, no big deal. 

About ten paces down the street he started having second? Third? Twenty eighth thoughts? But he pushed them out of his mind, trying to find something else to focus on instead. It was cold out despite the sunshine, and he was starting to regret not throwing a jacket on before he left. This was always Eudora’s favourite time of year. When the sun was out and the flowers were growing, but it was still cool enough to wear a sweater. Actually, she seemed to love every time of year. She had a way of romanticising everything; of finding beauty in the mundane. She made him appreciate things he’d never thought worthy of appreciating before. That, at least, would stay with him, even now that the rest of her was gone. He could still notice the way the frost on the grass caught the sunlight and sparkled like diamonds, and smile at a squirrel bouncing across the road and into the bushes. Just little things that he’d never thought he was capable of before he met her. 

He reached the cemetery a lot sooner than he’d hoped, and he lingered by the gates for a few minutes psyching himself up before finally heading inside. It was a huge place, with trodden pathways weaving in and out of the headstones. He wandered aimlessly until he spotted a small huddle of people gathering further down the path. His latest plan had been a quick walk-by, but he found himself getting closer, leaning against a nearby tree that was close enough for him to see what was going on, but far enough away to avoid being spotted. 

It looked like he’d already missed the coffin being lowered, which he was silently relieved about. Seeing her coffin would have made it too real. He could pick out Chuck, and a few other guys from the station in the crowd, Eudora’s mom, who he’d met once and made just about the worst impression possible on, and her sister, who looked like a ghost of Eudora, only with glasses and shorter hair. There was an older man who must have been her grandfather, and a couple standing with her mom who he assumed were the aunt and uncle she’d told him about once. She talked a lot about her family and how close knit they all were, pretty much the polar opposite of his own family at the time, and a few times he’d found himself wondering what it would be like to be part of that. But that possibility was buried in the ground with her, and he was pretty sure the rest of her family would have some choice words for him if they saw him here. 

He had no idea how much time had passed when the crowd finally started to disperse, but his fingers were starting to go numb from the cold and his arm was aching from leaning against the tree. One by one the group made their way back down the pathway, filing into waiting cars at the gates, leaving him alone with thousands of headstones and one mound of earth. He should be leaving too, but her headstone looked so lonely without her family there, and now that he was here it seemed rude to leave without at least walking past. So, after checking, and then double checking, that there was nobody else around, he headed over. 

“Hey, Dor,” He said quietly as he approached, sitting on the damp grass by the stone and taking a deep breath. 

The headstone looked expensive, made of jet black polished granite. He wasn’t sure it’s what she would have picked out for herself, given the choice, but then there were still a lot of things he didn’t know about her. 

“I don’t know if you’ve uh… been hanging around these last few weeks, but it’s been pretty crazy.” 

Suddenly he wished he’d taken a little more interest in Klaus’ powers when they were younger. He knew ghosts existed, but he didn’t know much about how they actually worked. Were there rules? Could they only stay in certain places? Even if she was a ghost and she could go where she wanted, why would she give a shit about what he’d been doing anyway? 

“I grew my hair out.” That was a stupid thing to say. “Saved the world a couple of times.” He sighed, slumping against the stone and hanging his head. “Things have gotten so messed up since you left. You’d think I was making it up if I told you.” 

She wouldn’t. He knew she wouldn’t. Somehow, no matter how insane his situation was, she always believed him. Maybe that was why he often found himself telling her things he never thought he’d ever tell anyone. 

“Okay, so, those freaks in the masks? Turns out they work for some super-secret time travelling organisation that monitors everything to try and preserve the timeline. And Five worked for them too. And Vanya? My sister with no powers? She does have powers, and she accidentally blew up the moon, so we had to time travel to fix everything but instead we got stuck in the sixties, and I got stuck in an asylum and uh… met this girl, Lila. We had a sort of… thing going on, but then it turned out she was working for The Commission too… and also had powers like us. And uh… so basically Vanya almost started a nuclear war, and we stopped it, and now we’re back here.” He paused, chewing on his lip for a moment. “Oh, and we accidentally screwed up the timeline so bad we created an alternate universe. But we fixed that too so… everything’s fine now, I guess.” 

Maybe it was just his imagination, but it didn’t feel as cold sitting with her. The logical part of his brain knew it was probably just the headstones blocking some of the wind, but it was nice to imagine that maybe she was listening, probably rolling her eyes at how ridiculous his life was and lecturing him about what she would have done differently. She’d always had a hidden competitive streak. If he stopped two apocalypses, she’d have to stop three. And she could. She would have stopped ten doomsdays by now if he’d been the one to die instead of her, and then maybe everyone would have been better off. 

He should have brought some flowers.

“I really miss you,” He admitted, lowering his voice even though there was nobody else around. “I forgot, for a little while. The last three months have been so crazy I barely had time to think about it. But now I’m back here and… and I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought about going back to the whole vigilante thing, but I don’t think the other guys will be as forgiving about me messing up their crime scenes. And bugging you at work was always half the fun anyway.” 

There was a lot more he could say, but he could feel the emotions starting to bubble up so he kept quiet. He ran his fingers over the grass and took in the flowers people had laid over her grave. There were roses, carnations, and a bouquet of bright pink lilies. She once told him she could never have lilies in the house because of her allergies, and his fingers itched to move them away from her, despite knowing how stupid that would be. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching in the grass, and he quickly started looking for the quickest exit route. The panic faded again as the footsteps grew closer. He recognised the clumsy pattern of steps, so light that it was as though the feet were barely making contact with the ground, and the faint smell of cigarettes. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked before Klaus had a chance to announce himself. 

“Speed dating,” Klaus sat flatly, dropping unceremoniously to the ground with a heavy thud as he sat next to him. “I found the invite in your room. Thought you might need some company.”

“I don’t,” He mumbled. 

“I thought you might say that too.” Klaus leant back on his hands and looked over at him. “But I’m here anyway, so suck it up, tough guy.” 

Diego let out a frustrated huff, though secretly he was thankful for the distraction. 

“What were you doing in my room?”

“I wanted to borrow a couple of your shirts.” 

“You mean steal them?” 

“Tomato tomato.” Klaus shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess. And anyway, if you don’t want people to steal your shirts, maybe you should stop buying nice shirts.” 

He grinned at him and Diego tried to force a smile back, but it can’t have been too successful because Klaus’ face immediately softened again. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” 

Diego looked up at him. “I never said it was.”

“No, but I know how your brain works,” Klaus said, waving his hand as he spoke. “You hero types think every tragedy is your personal responsibility, but sometimes bad things just happen. And I didn’t know your friend very well but, speaking from a wealth of experience, I know most dead people don’t want their loved ones to wallow in regret for the rest of their lives.” 

Somehow, that made him feel a little better, or maybe it was just the sheer ridiculousness of what Klaus was saying that made him smile. Either way, it eased some of the guilt, and he found himself trying to talk himself out of the question he desperately wanted to ask. 

“Have you…” He paused, chewing on his lip. “I mean, I don’t know, can you…”

“I haven’t seen her,” Klaus said, putting him out of his misery. 

He felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief at that, nodding slowly. “That’s good, right? That means she’s not stuck down here?” 

“Either that or she’s avoiding me.” 

“That’d be understandable.” 

Klaus grinned. “There! You sound like you again,” He said, punching his shoulder lightly. “Wanna go get dangerously drunk?”

“It’s noon.”

“And?”

Shaking his head, Diego got to his feet. “I need to get some flowers,” He said, rolling his eyes at Klaus’ desperate, puppy dog expression. “And I’m gonna need your help, because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Eudora with Klaus enthusiastically tugging on his arm, but he didn’t think she’d mind. She always used to tell him he should try to reconnect with his family, and this was probably the first time he’d ever actually listened to her advice.

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Nothing to Fear

Summary:

Lake County, Colorado

2011

JJ's been located in the asylum. Dr. Crane steps deeper into the monster's den.

(Warnings: Gore, implied torture, referenced self harm)

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

CHAPTER 6

She wanted to cry. She saw him, sitting alone in a cell and she was sure he was unaware of their watching eyes. Trager stood next to her, his hand on her hip to keep her close. This whole situation, she had determined, was a way to show his power over her. She wouldn’t let him do this to her, though, nor would she allow him to do this to the people she loved. By the end of tomorrow night, he’ll be the one sitting in that cell.

J.J. was staring at the wall blankly, facing them, and she could see the horrible, bloody wounds around his mouth. She was reminded of what Trager said to her when they made that deal, how J.J. was admitted due to a “meltdown,” and she assumed he ended up hurting himself. She glanced at Trager from the corner of her eye. She didn’t trust him one bit, and for some strange reason she had no doubt that he had something to do with this. She had never seen J.J. so lifeless, even when he was in Arkham he was lively and trying his best. Here he looked like he was comatose. His vivid green eyes that were usually bright and full of life were dull and stared blankly at the wall, and she knew someone had hurt him.

“I want him transferred to Arkham back in Gotham.” She stated, loud enough and forcefully enough for Trager to understand that she was going to get what she wanted, whether he did it or she did.

“His doctor’s there and she can help. We can’t treat him here and you know it.” She continued. His grip on her tightened and he seemed to bring her closer to him. He was silent, thinking probably. She could see his face in the reflection and he seemed less than pleased. She knew he could see her too, but that didn’t stop her. Suddenly, a smirk broke out on his face.

“Come to my place after dinner tomorrow and you got yourself a deal.” He offered, and Dr. Crane felt her heart speed up. She knew she was in dangerous territory, and now she had to negotiate her way out of it. After Michelle’s story, there was no way she’d go back to his house.

“Make it my apartment.” She stated, and she watched his eyes widen. He arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her boldness.

“Oh? What’s wrong with my place?” He asked, though she was sure he’d be fine with going to her apartment instead. Either way, he thought he was getting laid, it didn’t matter the setting.

“It’s up to you, really. I’d just rather we go to my apartment.” She explained. She made sure she kept her face blank, or even made it seem like she was mildly interested in the conversation.

“Alright, fine. Your place it is.” He finally agreed. Mentally, she felt herself decompress. If he continued to be so stubborn she had no choice but to reveal what she knew, yet, she didn’t want to do that. The information revealed to her was integral and she knew she couldn’t show all of her cards at once. If she was going to show that she was truly in control, then she would have to wait. She would have to wait until he was at her mercy, begging to be released from whatever bind he was in. Hell, maybe she’d make him fall in love with her - if that was even possible - and then she’d reveal the truth. The whole truth. That she could never love a man like him, and (hopefully) he’d be locked away for what he did.

“I’ll tell Blaire about the transfer request, I’ll say it came from that new girl… your assistant, what was her name again? It’s something that starts with a D, right?” Trager asked, though she felt like he was stalling. Other than how that was obviously a bad idea, she disagreed because she feared him targeting Dr. Dawes after her. She wouldn’t be shocked, after all, she was younger than her, and shorter, and she had blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was stunning, and the creep that currently held Cat like a lover would have to have noticed her. There was no doubt he would go after her. Not only that, but she was young and impressionable, she was new too, which would give him even more power over her than he ever held with Michelle and Cat.

“Dr. Dawes? No, she’s too close to me. They’d suspect I put in the request the moment they confront her. Just skip the middleman and say I did it, after all, I knew his doctor, I know who can treat him.” She stated calmly, and she could have sworn she saw him thinking, saw him putting the pieces together, and it made her sick.

“Alright, whatever you say Cat.” She remained calm, her face stoic.

2

He pushed a few molars around in the palm of his hand, completely fascinated by how the light reflected off of the bright, white teeth. He had cleaned them off to the best of his abilities, though he was sure his buyers wouldn’t mind. They were more than capable of removing any evidence that someone could trace back to him and Mount Massive, though maybe that’s what they’d want. In order for that to happen though, they had to be caught, and they wouldn’t want that.

He was getting a pretty penny for ol’ Jack Jr.’s teeth, and the less Cat Crane knew about that, the better. As it turned out, J.J. showing up that day was a godsend. He had a history of mental illness, though his files said nothing about self harm he knew from his experience working in the asylum that a mental breakdown could trigger an extreme reaction like that. J.J. was the perfect person to do that to, and he served a few other purposes. He needed teeth for his buyers, and he needed Cat’s attention, something he could hold over her for a little bit until she was desperate. He succeeded in that.

For some strange reason, he felt like she was someone who could understand him. He thought this the moment he laid eyes on her, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He enjoyed the little game they played, where she acted like she despised him when he knew that deep down, she was as fascinated by him as he was with her. Yes, he did hope things would go his way tomorrow night, and he would absolutely love to just do his thing and leave her behind, but he was coming to the realization that he just couldn’t. If he were to have her, there would be no going back, he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her if he tried, even if she wanted nothing to do with him in the end.

They were people of science, after all, and while he was a doctor in everything but name, he felt she could complete him in that sense. Under all that cold, bitter attitude, he knew she was just as unhinged and violent as he was. He was the antithesis of everything she was, and that’s what he liked about her. She wasn’t like him, but he could tell that at their very cores, they were the same. He wanted to show her that.

Deep down, he wanted to believe she’d be lost without him.

Blaire strolled into his office, making Trager curl his hand into a fist, hiding the teeth from his friend. While he was sure he knew about his little “business,” Trager didn’t want to risk anything. To be honest, he wasn’t in much of a talking mood at the moment. He wanted to clear his mind and get ready to bring the teeth to his customers, and he wanted to think about his next move. That was the thing with Cat Crane, when he thought he was ahead, she was only a step ahead of him. It didn’t take much to change that little pattern, but he hadn’t gotten as far as he wanted to. She was still able to take control of her situation - and he knew it was a situation she wasn’t fond of - and turn the tables on him. Now he was stuck having to improvise.

On one hand, he’d now know where she lived, but on the other… there was no way in hell Cat was gonna let him anywhere near her willingly.

“You’re coming tomorrow, right?” Blaire asked after what felt like forever. In reality, it had only been a moment. Trager was stuck in his own head that day, but it was something that couldn’t be helped.

“Yeah, totally, bud. Don’t worry. You won’t believe who I got to go out with me.” He told him, leaning forward with a wide smile on his face. Blaire scoffed.

“Ugh, don’t tell me it’s that weird broad you’ve been bothering for the past few weeks.” Blaire rolled his eyes at the thought of it. There was no doubt Trager blackmailed the new doctor into going, and he was sure the fallout of his terrible decisions would end up hurting the company. He warned him when they first hired Dr. Crane, but he knew Trager wouldn’t listen.

“Oh yeah, it’s her alright. That guy I had you admit was the bait.” Blaire glared at his friend.

“Ricky,” he began sternly, moving closer to the nonchalant man’s desk. “Don’t tell me that’s why you had me do that.” When Trager didn’t answer, Blaire knew he was right.

“Oh god this is gonna be terrible for the company.” Blaire muttered, running his fingers through his thin, greasy hair.

“Come on, Jer. I made sure he didn’t know it was me. If he does know, he won’t figure it out for a while. Cat wants him transferred back to Arkham, but if you really don’t trust it we can just send someone with him.” He practically watched the small man’s face grow red.

“Oh? And who the hell would that be.” Trager stopped to think about this, before the image of the small, blonde doctor came to mind.

“Dr. Dawes.”

“She’s new, but she’s been around Dr. Crane’s experiments. Too risky.” Trager shook his head.

“If you think Arkham isn’t crawling with corruption too, buddy, then you have another thing coming.” Trager answered, his tone bordering on threatening.

“I assume you’ve done your research?” Blaire asked, and Trager nodded. With a sigh, Blaire finally agreed, leaving Trager’s office shortly after, leaving the man alone with his thoughts and teeth again.

[stevesnailbat]

50. “How drunk was I?” from the prompt list !!! :-)

warnings: underage drinking, the slightest angst

word count: 1.7K

The pounding headache that Steve endured as soon as he woke up on Sunday morning was well-deserved, considering the amount of alcohol he remembered drinking. He knew he’d continued to pound back shots after the last one he remembered, but he couldn’t remember how many. The bed next to him was empty, but it was warm, like someone had just gotten up. There wasn’t really much to panic about, though.

Steve and Y/N had been best friends for years, so sharing a bed on a drunken night was never out of the ordinary for them. The sound of dishes clanking together from downstairs was a telltale sign that she was in the kitchen, maybe searching desperately for something to cure her own hangover.

“Good to see you survived the night and it only took you twelve hours of sleep this time!” she said as she heard Steve trudging down the stairs; she wasn’t looking in his direction, but she knew he was rolling his eyes at the back of her head. “The water and the ibuprofen on the counter are for you.”

“How is it that I’m always the one who gets shitfaced and you never do?” Steve questioned, watching as she poured two cups of coffee from the pot she’d just brewed.

“I can handle my alcohol, unlike you.” she teased, finally whipping around to see the hangover apparent in his eyes.

“How drunk was I?” he asked, catching the coffee mug as she slid it across the counter to him.

Her heart sunk at his words. He had been so drunk that he couldn’t even remember the words he whispered to her as they laid in his bed the night before. It kinda stung, honestly. The thought of Steve having to get absolutely plastered to spill his guts to her about everything was painful, but she’d keep it to herself. Their friendship was more valuable to her than something that Steve whispered to her in the dead of night while drunk off 10 shots of vodka. So, she let it go and decided lying was the best option.

“You really don’t remember anything from last night?” she chuckled, playing off the burning sensation she felt creeping up on her cheeks while he shook his head at her. “I don’t know if you wanna know what you did if you really can’t remember anything.”

“It was that bad?” he asked, watching her nod and roll her eyes at the thought of the night before. “What the hell did I do?”

“That’s a secret for me to know and for you to never find out.” she giggled, Steve groaning in frustration as his reply.

“That’s not fair!” he protested.

“Oh but it is fair!” she argued, choking back a struggled look with a fake smile. “Drunk Steve made me promise I wouldn’t tell a soul, even yourself. So, sober Steve can’t know.”

“So you’re saying you’ll tell me if I get drunk again?” he implored, she shook her head rapidly. “Hair of the dog, right? The perfect way to cure my massive hangover, just get drunk again!”

“Steve, you’re ridiculous. And you’re crazy if you think you could stomach any alcohol right now.” she said, narrowing her eyes as she cringed at his desperation.

Maybe he knew? Maybe he knew that he’d admit something like that to her when he was drunk eventually. Maybe he didn’t want her to know how he felt, because he didn’t want to act on it.

Steve persisted in his arguments for a while, putting her even more on edge. She was being pushed deeper into her thoughts of doubt with every protest he flung in her direction, each only only telling her that he was embarrassed of what he might’ve confessed to her. Eventually their conversation travelled to another topic, but her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was on Steve’s lips, how they felt against hers last night, how he tasted of vodka and coke, how surprisingly soft his lips were. She couldn’t take her mind off of them, and she was staring now.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N!” he called out, waving his hand in front of her face after she had failed to answer his question about some project for English. “What’s with you today?”

“Nothing, just hungover.” she lied, rolling her eyes at him once more while trying to look at anything but him.

To avoid his gaze and him in general, she started to make her way back to his room. She knew he’d follow her, but she’d try to make some bullshit excuse about helping her mom with something at home to get out of hanging out with him anymore. She didn’t know how she’d handle things if she stayed any longer, she felt like she might snap. To day the least, Steve was utterly confused about her sudden change of attitude.

“Seriously, what’s your deal?” Steve asked as he followed her to his bedroom, watching as she gathered her clothes from the floor to shove them into a backpack. “Did taking care of drunk me really piss you off that much?”

“Maybe so.” she mumbled in annoyance.

“Oh really?” he scoffed. “Like I haven’t dealt with your drunk ass too many times now—“

“Steve, please. Just—Just stop. Please.” she snapped, something in her eyes had changed and tears were pricking the corners of them. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Why are you crying? Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to make you upset. I thought you were joking—“ he started while stepping closer to her, his expression softening as he saw her dewy eyes.

“You’re fine, Steve.” she mumbled, rolling her eyes to blink her tears away. “I have to go, I have to help my mom make dinner.”

“I’ll call you later?” Steve called as she started towards the door, but only got a mumble in response.

—

Reese’s cups were her favorite candy, Steve knew that. White wine was her drink of choice, Steve knew that. Grease was the movie she loved to watch any time she could, Steve knew that.

He came to her window that night fully equipped with her favorite things, prepared to cheer her up from whatever was making her so upset. It seemed she had already beat him to the punch, though. Before he knocked on the window, he looked inside to see her in the middle of her bed with her own bottle of white wine, tears staining her rosy, flushed cheeks. He contemplated leaving for a moment, but knew he needed to at least try to console her.

The knock on the window made her nearly choke on a swig of wine. She knew who it was as soon as he knocked, nobody else would be sneaking—like a ninja, as he said—into her bedroom at 1 in the morning. She contemplated ignoring the knock for a moment, but knew he would be persistent.

She swung the window open like she’d done a thousand times before, but didn’t glance in his direction as he climbed in. Steve watched as she wiped any remnants of tears away, trying to act like nothing happened. He could tell something was really hurting her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I brought Grease and Reese’s. Thought you might need some cheering up.” Steve said to break the silence, giving her a small smile. “And I brought some wine, but it seems like you’ve beat me to the getting drunk part of feeling better.”

“Thank you, Steve.” she said quietly, only looking at him for a split second before staring at the rim of the practically empty wine bottle in front of her.

“Listen, Y/N.” Steve started, sitting next to her on the bed. “I’m sorry for earlier, I wasn’t trying to be mean or press you or anything. I was just curious about what I told you last night.”

Her heart sunk once more when he mentioned the night before, dreading it already. She knew the conversation was inevitable, but she didn’t want to face it yet. As much as she didn’t want to, she was being forced into it, partially by Steve and partially by the bottle of wine she finished off as he was talking.

“Do you really wanna know that bad?” she slurred, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me, I just wanna help fix whatever I did or apologize for what’s bothering you—“

Steve’s rambling was one thing she always loved about him, but she couldn’t handle it in the moment. He looked so upset about hurting her feelings and it hurt her to see him like that. Her feelings were conflicted and she was lost on how to even tell him about the night before.She needed to know if what he told her the night before was true, and there was only one real way to test her theory. Before Steve finished his sentence, she cut him off with a kiss. It was quick and sloppy, but it was enough to stop his rambling.

“Drunk Steve told me not to tell anyone that we kissed last night and that he likes me, but it looks like I’m not very good at keeping promises.” she said slowly, gauging his reaction to see how he truly felt. “But I think I might be okay with telling you the truth.”

It was Steve’s turn to be distracted by her lips now. His mind was on her lips, how they felt against his mere moments ago, how she tasted of cheap white wine, how surprisingly soft her lips were. Her lips curled up into a small smirk as he stared at them, she was well aware of what he was doing. Before she could open her mouth to make any remarks, his mouth was back on hers. This kiss was more heated, filled with more passion.

“How drunk am I right now?” she murmured in disbelief after pulling away for a breath between kisses, pressing her forehead against hers.

“Drunk enough to finally confess your feelings for me.” he chuckled against her lips, pulling her back in for another kiss.

“You can’t mention this to sober me.” she teased, giggling into the kiss.

“I don’t think that’s a promise I’m willing to keep, I’m gonna tell sober you all about this in the morning.” he joked.

tags: @sourapplebaby @jxnehxpper @harringtown @charmed-asylum @a-magey @queenofthehairharrington @heart-eye-harrington @lemonypink @daddystevee @igotmadskills

[ouijaasylum]

Never Play Alone, Halloween Collab Special Pt. 1

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The time has come everyone it is now time for the spooky. >:3

DISCLAIMER: This is not connected to the cannon of "Never Play Alone", it is merely a fun little collab idea I had with a friend. I guess you could technically say it takes place in an alternate timeline.

Alright, so in honor of spooky month I though it would be fun to make a crossover collab with @heck-damn-so-i-draw , mixing her bbs Ghost Adventures AU with the Ouija Board AU/Asylum AU. So throughout the month of October, starting today, Dawn and I will be rotating perspectives of this crossover(Dawn doing a take of her AU, while I do my take on this one). The first few posts will be sort of setting up for the big meet up, then the fun will begin.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this. We spent a lot of time working on this and have been preparing for a few months now. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as we did making it. ^^ This is the first bit of the collab, the next part will be posted on Dawn's account soon enough.

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Ohm sat on the couch of his home reading, sitting in front of him on the coffee were several other books on the paranormal and a few on demonology as well. Ever since he had accepted the fact that Luke wasn't going to just leave him alone he started to learn how to deal with the demon and his antics every day. Overall he had successfully gotten back to a normal life and had begun using his spare time to learn more about the more spiritual side of the world. While he was intrigued by mythology, he was particularly interested in paranormal hauntings. He used the fact that he had a demon as a roommate to his advantage while he was studying, being able to determine what was true, what was mere speculation, and what was nothing more than false teachings. He would spend hours reading and researching, having Luke help him correct false information in his books, and even talking with other demonologists who had spent years on their research. His studies and knowledge about the paranormal lead him to apply for a degree in demonology, that was the easy part. Once he got the degree that was when the real work started, he searched for genuine books online, would drive to different states to talk to wiccans, psychics, and empaths as a way to learn all he could about his new feild. He spent well over a year travelling around and learning all he could about the spiritual part of the world; the good side, the bad side, and everything that laid between. After getting his degree he would occasionally help local paranormal groups on their investigations in the areas that he visited, slowly building a name for himself in the paranormal community as well. He sighed softly as he marked his page on the book he was reading, and closed it gently before laying it on the table in front of him.

He had been spending so much time on his research lately, that he had both mentally and psychically drained himself. He spent weeks running to libraries all over the state trying to get all of the resources he needed, convincing most libraries to let him buy the books he needed so he wouldn't have to return them later on. On top of all of his trips to libraries, Ohm would also turn to the internet visiting wikipedia's sites, Yahoo, Google, and even Bing. He would visit any platform he believed could help him learn more. His favorite way of getting information was by reaching out to people claiming to be professionals, he would contact them and get their opinions on things he had gone through in the past with Luke, then base how much he trusted their answer by how accurate the reply was. He didn't think much about the groups he would join and enjoyed talking with people who were open to his opinions as well. He loved learning more and more about his new field of study and he wasn't planning on slowing down at any point. However, his head was spinning from all of the information he had been forcing into it and at the moment he wanted to do nothing more than get a little relaxing in.

He leaned back into the couch and picked up the remote, turning in the tv in front of him. "Calling it quits a little early today, aren't you Bunny?" Luke asked playfully as he manifested next to Ohm on the couch, getting a groan from the man at the nickname. "Why do you always insist on calling me that?" He asked quietly, not really paying the demon much more attention as he flipped through the channels before landing on a ghost hunting show he had watched for a while. "Because it's fun to aggravate you, why else?" The demon said back with a chuckle, before looking at the tv to see what Ohm had chosen to watch. He would never understand what Ohm found so entertaining about a group of guys running around in search for spirits, especially since most of the interesting facts the show spewed out Ohm had already learned from his studies, but it wasn't Luke's choice it was Ohm's. Suddenly a small idea popped into the demon's head, and he looked over at the dull eyed male with a mischievous smile. "You know what would be fun..." He asked, gaining the human's attention almost immediately, as Ohm looked over at him questioningly. "If we fucked around with these guys." He said playfully, making Ohm scoff and roll his eyes playfully back at the demon. "We are NOT going to do that Luke. The last thing I need right now is to have my reputation ruined because you're bored." Ohm said, before bringing his attention back to the screen. He could hear the demon huff next to him, making Ohm smile slightly in victory, not thinking there would be any way that Luke would be able to mess with the investigators on the television. Oh how wrong he was...

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Now for the month of October there won't be any additions for the actual story, but it will pick back up again once this collab ends. ^^

Also since these are all just little drabbles they won't be as long as "Never Play Alone" chapters. So they will be shorter posts but my drabbles will play off of Dawn's and vice versa.

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[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 4 Hobbit Plot Bunnies

Title: Just to See You Happy

Summary:  Time Travel AU. Frodo has carried the Ring and deserves as much rest as any mortal can bear. He refuses to see his mission as complete until Bilbo finds his happiness. And if that happiness is found in a group of dwarves from long ago, Frodo will fight the Valar above to see it done. Along the way though, he may learn it’s not the ‘dwarves’ but perhaps one dwarf in particular.

POV: Frodo

Bilbo Baggins was many things in the eyes of his nephew both before and after the incident with the ring. He was courageous. He was kind. He was encouraging. He was everything Frodo needed him to be when suffering the tragedy of losing his parents. He could so clearly recall the memory of running out as a tween without a waistcoat in his eagerness to get to the market to get the first pick of raspberries for Bilbo’s tarts. 

Of course, he had managed to run into Lobelia Sackville-Baggins who gave him such a scolding on the shame he brought his family name to be underdressed, running wild, with uncombed feet hair to top. Frodo could barely stomach the lashing, and ran back to Bag End, tears in his eyes, ready to never leave the hole again. Well, that certainly wouldn’t do for ‘Mad’ Baggins as he promptly stepped out in his bathrobe of all things! Returned Lobelia’s barb words tenfold making sure she knew just who the shame upon the family name of Baggins was, and then sent Frodo out into the woods where the ‘best wild berries’ lay hid. 

It really was no wonder Frodo offered to walk upon the slopes of Mount Doom itself just to protect his uncle. He would do anything for his uncle’s piece of mind. And while the Big Folk may sit around and argue as to whether or not Bilbo could be faulted for picking up what he deemed a harmless trinket that turned out to be the singularly most evil item in all of Middle Earth, Frodo decided he could carry those invisible sins. All for Bilbo’s happiness.

Happiness. A curious word in retrospect. If one had asked Frodo prior to the whole mess with the ring if his uncle was happy, he would have said yes easily. After all, he had shared laughs and smiles with Bilbo. He had been subjected to tender hugs and kisses as a faunt. He knew the stories that could tickle him pink. What else could happiness entail?

However, in the weeks leading up to their departure to the Undying Lands, Frodo looked introspectively, and realized Bilbo had been happy in the Shire in the same way Frodo was happy now. A mask of contentedness that hid the drowsy emptiness inside. A phantom pain that couldn’t be explained, and that couldn’t be chased away. A sad thing that clings to the back of the mind once they were alone. Perhaps it was the way one felt after having witnessed true tragedy, and there was no cure. Or perhaps it was the lingering effects of the ring that refused to give up even after its destruction. Either way, Frodo hoped with his entire being that the Undying Lands were the answer. That sailing west with the elves would heal this hurt upon his and Bilbo’s minds to show them true happiness once more.

Frodo watched his uncle’s face light up in pure delight when he deemed himself ready for ‘one last adventure’. It was so nice to see Bilbo coherent once more. That was the one thing he feared the most as he grew older, the loss of his wits. Seeing that he found them once more gave Frodo hope as he climbed into the boat with him. That hope was dashed within the first hour of their voyage.

“As soon as we land in Valinor, we must stop at the Gardens of Yavanna and maybe the Lands of Lorien before we head to the Halls of Aule.” Bilbo began to murmur excitedly.

“The Halls of Aule?” Frodo questioned with a laugh. “What business do you have in the Valar’s Smithy?”

“The Valar’s Smithy indeed.” Bilbo huffed. “I’ll have you know that is where my dwarves are, and I intend to see them.”

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, you and Frodo are the first mortals to get to visit Valinor.” Gandalf pointed out delicately.

“Meaning what exactly?” Bilbo asked with a raised brow.

“Meaning you won’t exactly have free reign to wander into anyone’s afterlife. You will be treated as a mortal in an immortal’s land.” Elrond answered gently.

The joy that had been shining in his eyes swiftly left making the already old hobbit seem nearly decrepit. After that, it was hard to get Bilbo to engage with them again. He just sat there looking out across the ocean with that pained look Frodo knew only too well. However, now he was wondering if the reason behind that look had nothing to do with the Ring. What if it had to do with something that happened during Bilbo’s adventure?

Frodo went to sleep that night wishing for more than anything to just be able to erase that look from Bilbo’s eyes forever. After closing his eyes, Frodo actually began to dream for the first time in a long time. He was standing amongst the stars where several tall figures began to appear.

The first was a blind man with hair fairer than Lady Galadriel. He looked over at Frodo and winked before turning to the rest of the gathering. With a jolt, Frodo realized what he was witnessing. He was in a meeting of the Valar, and that man was Lorien, Master of Dreams and Desires. As he spun around, more names became associated with the faces above him.

Lady Yavanna, earthy and proud, next to her husband in the dwarven armor and long red beard, Aule the Smith. Manwe’s electric blue eyes practically radiated the power as King stood next to his wife and queen, Varda, shining stronger than the stars around them. Mandos, Nienna, Este, Tulkas, every lord and lady Frodo had ever grown up learning about was present, and not a single one of them was aware of his meager presence. Well, until Lady Yavanna had the gull to wink at him.

“Why have you summoned us, Lorien?” The impressive voice of Manwe bellowed.

“To answer the call of your Chosen.” The blind Vala answered.

“Yavanna and Aule’s children?” The shadowed persona of Mandos questioned. “Have we not already granted them asylum?”

Yavanna shared a look with her husband, giving his hand a squeeze of support.

“After the service they have done us, is it too much to give them an audience?” Aule gruffed.

“Oh yes! Please, let us hear Frodo Baggins out.” Nienna pleaded her Mercy with tears streaming down her face.

Frodo suddenly found himself the intense victim of the immortals’ weighted gaze. The fact that his legs hadn’t given out on him yet was a strong reminder that this was only a dream.

“Well, let’s have it.” Este’s sweet voice, as the Lady of Healing would have, carried down to Frodo making him feel almost giddy. “What would you desire of us, Young One?”

Frodo gulped struggling for a moment to find an answer for the Vala.

“You see, it’s my uncle, Bilbo Baggins. I just want him to be happy. He doesn’t deserve to be so burdened. The choice to Bear the Ring was mine and mine alone, but Uncle...he just thought he was helping thirteen dwarves get home.”

Eyes shifted to Vaire, the Weaver, as she pondered Frodo’s request.

“It’s true there were many paths laid out before Bilbo Baggins, but...it was the fall of the Line of Durin that sealed his pain. I cannot free him without going back nearly eighty years in the mortal’s lifetime.”

Yavanna gripped Aule’s hand in support as his face twisted into a pained grimace.

“The three deaths in question were young and unnecessary, but unavoidable when considering the proximity of the One Ring that Bilbo Baggins carried at the time.” Aule pointed out.

“And we cannot surrender that front.” Manwe interjected. “This mortal’s pain is unavoidable.”

“Not necessarily.” Lorien gave a tight grin. “I have called us all here because I have heard the calls from both Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, and I believe there is a way to fulfill their desires. Vaire, could there be a path to peace created from the presence of Frodo Baggins after what the mortals referred to as the Fell Winter?”

Gasps were heard around the room.

“That far back?”

“Can it be done?”

Vaire seemed to give this a considerable amount of thought, and as she thought her fingers glided through the starry landscape as if she were sewing a pattern in the vastness of the sky. Her eyes widened at whatever it was she saw, and she turned towards the rest intrigued.

“There is a pattern I see. It’s very risky, but it can be done.”

“You’re asking us to risk the fate of the world on the happiness of a single mortal?” Manwe scoffed. “Why would we ever consider such a thing?”

“Because if anyone deserves happiness, it’s the ones we burdened with our shame and inaction.” Nienna cried out. “We must give Frodo Baggins a chance.”

Varda took that moment to address Frodo causing silence amongst the rest of the Valar.

“Frodo Baggins, do you understand what is being asked of you?”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but I’m afraid I do not.” He admitted.

She nodded gently but her voice still rang firm. “If we grant this wish for you. To see your uncle’s happiness, you will have to carry the One Ring once more. Could you bear such a burden again?”

Frodo hesitated and the pain in his shoulder from the Nazgul’s blade throbbed as if in denial of the deed that lay before him. He was broken from the quest the first time. Would there be anything left if he had to carry such evil once more? He came to the Undying Lands in search of peace. Peace for himself and for Bilbo. This entire conversation seemed to counter that point. His anxiety must have shown on his face, because Este’s calm broke through his dark thoughts. 

“I cannot see the future, Frodo Baggins. But I can feel out this timeline, and if you succeed, you and Bilbo will finally be free of the pain you carry.”

Frodo heaved a heavy sigh. There was really no question then, was there?

“I don’t know if I am truly the right person for such a monumental task as this. But for Bilbo...for myself, I would be willing to try.”

Tulkas laughed hard enough to shake the foundation upon which they stood.

“What did you do to these ones to make them so courageous, Aule?” He questioned.

Frodo stared at the smith in confusion as he just smiled fondly.

“I let my wife have some input in the design. She wanted them born with a healthy dose of hope.”

“Then let us carry that hope forward. Manwe, with your permission, I wish to send Frodo back in the timeline where he can make a real difference. He will remember much of his previous life, and he will know of the task that lies before him.”

Manwe sighed a gust that threatened to blow Frodo over. “So mote it be.”

“So mote it be.” Everyone else repeated.

Frodo looked expectantly up at Lorien who was gazing down at him softly. “Go Little One. May you fulfill all your wishes, and if you need guidance, may you always know where to find me.”

Slowly, the world faded around him until he was once again enclosed in darkness. Waking up instantly, Frodo found himself in a world much unlike the one he just left. And the first thing he noticed was how it was unbearably cold.

[impalementation]

“Now I’m bathed in light / Something just isn’t right ... But your power shone / Brighter than any I’ve known” -Tara, 6.07 Once More With Feeling

“Everything here is hard, and bright, and violent.” -Buffy, 6.03 After Life

“Closin' my eyes, you chase my thoughts away / 
To a place where I am blinded by the light” - Lyrics from “Goodbye To You”, 6.08 Tabula Rasa

“Give a bloke a chance for his eyes to adjust. Damn fluorescent lights. Makes me look dead.” -Spike, 6.12 Doublemeat Palace

“They were supposed to be my light at the end of the tunnel. I guess they were a train.” -Buffy, 6.16 Hell’s Bells

“One tiny piece of metal destroys everything. It ripped her insides out...took her light away. From me. From the world.” -Willow, 6.20 Villains

“Where there is despair, hope / Where there is darkness, light” -Lyrics from “The Prayer of St. Francis”, 6.22 Grave

buffy season six imagery: light

[commentary below the cut]

Before you say I’m cheating for including an image from The Gift, I’ll note that that screenshot is actually from a flashback at the end of Bargaining, Part 2. And I think the show’s use of it is very deliberate. Light represents a lot of things over the course of the season, but one of the most important things I think it’s associated with, is heaven. That flashback scene contrasts the bright heavenly light from The Gift with the dark, hellish night in Bargaining. Buffy no longer has a warm and clear ideal to sacrifice herself for, but instead must muddle through the obscure travails of life. Back on Earth, Buffy’s experience of light is harsh. All through After Life, she winces away from light like it’s a hot stove. She cringes every time that Dawn turns the house lights on, she seeks out the darkness of Spike’s crypt, and at the end of the episode, she steps out into the sun almost like it’s something painful to her. I’d argue that her arc over the course of the season is about re-finding the warmth and beauty that she associated with light in The Gift in her everyday life. So As You Were marks a turning point, in that she walks away from the darkness of Spike’s crypt and into the light of day. She isn’t joyful about it, but she’s determined and no longer in the same pain she was in at the end of After Life. Then finally in Grave she emerges fully into the sunlight, fully able to take pleasure in it. (I laid out this progression a bit more clearly in this photoset.)

I said once that I see Willow’s desire for a perfect, controlled state as similar to Buffy’s yearning for heaven, and one of the reasons I think that is because of the light imagery. When Willow goes to Rack, he lights her up with magic, and she at times appears ecstatically bathed in light--much the way Buffy looked when she fell through the portal in The Gift. Similarly in “Under Your Spell” in Once More, With Feeling, when Willow has briefly manipulated her relationship with Tara back into a “perfect” state, the visuals are bright and sunny. Like Willow when she’s tripping, Tara also appears “bathed in light.” Which the lyrics themselves make note of. Much like Buffy must choose between the unachievable light of heaven and the imperfect but beautiful light of day, Willow must choose between the crackling, dangerous lightning of dark magic and the kind of “light” that Tara’s love brings her. I think it’s significant that in Bargaining, Part 2, Tara appears as a light to guide Willow through the forest, and in Villains Willow coldly despairs that Warren “took [Tara’s] light away.” Some of the magic effects in season six may look a bit lame, but you’ll notice that the vast majority of them involve light in some way--glowy effects, bolts of energy, lightning--and that magic only really looks like that in season six. And I think that’s for a reason. Magic in season six is the kind of light that is an easy way out. You can’t magic your way into having the light of love and direction that Tara represents. Not really. In the Dark Willow arc, it’s only when Willow gives up on her controlling lightning magic that the color returns to her hair, that she loses her darkness, and is able to be wrapped in her friend’s love. Even if she can’t have Tara’s love back.

Spike too has something of an arc involving light. In that final scene of After Life, the visuals make a point of showing that Spike is trapped in his shadowy area. He inhabits dark places like crypts, and tries to convince Buffy that she is a “creature of the darkness” like him. In Doublemeat Palace he notes that the light “makes him look dead.” The fact that he needs to wait “for his eyes to adjust” seemingly calls back to Buffy’s wincing and squinting in After Life. It’s one of many parallels that the season makes between Buffy and Spike that emphasizes how dead Buffy feels, or fears she is. While Seeing Red and Doublemeat Palace have vastly different moods, I would argue that the harsh indoor lighting in the bathroom scene serves much the same purpose as the fluorescent lighting in Doublemeat Palace. They both highlight Spike’s vampiric nature. The unnaturalness of his presence in a human place, no matter how he tries to fake that he belongs. But where Spike is able to play it off as a joke in Doublemeat Palace, that unnaturalness comes back to haunt him in Seeing Red. It’s not until the end of the season, when he wins back his soul, that Spike finally finds a version of light that isn’t dangerous or sickly. His soul is represented as an infusion of light, suggesting that he, like Buffy and Willow, has made a choice to truly belong to lightness and humanity instead of darkness and death.

In general, light in season six is associated with things like hope, joy, comfort and life. Light as something easy and avoidant and ecstatic versus light as something vital and earned. I think it’s interesting that Tabula Rasa puts the lines about “chas[ing] thoughts away / to a place where I am blinded by the light” (“but it’s not right”) over Giles’ image. Because Giles, like Willow with magic, is someone that Buffy has turned to for heaven-like comfort and ease, even though--in the view of show--it’s actually avoidant behavior. Or Buffy describes Xander and Anya as a “light at the end of the tunnel” because she’s looking for hope. Except her friends are just as confused as she is, and can’t be that light. Or I think it’s notable that in Normal Again the doctor shines a light on Buffy’s eyes at the end of the episode, once she’s gone catatonic. You could interpret that as Buffy having grown and turning away from a false light, or you could go the disturbing route and interpret it as Buffy avoiding light in a bad way. I don’t actually think that the episode believes in the asylum ending, I think it’s just fucking with the audience for postmodern reasons, but I like that the season’s established light imagery works with the ambiguity that that ending is going for.

[stanbillyhargrove]

Ghosts chp 19

Billy x Katrina

A/N: this is a multi chapter series that will contain smut, angst, fluff, substance abuse

Billy's POV

Sirens blared as we sped down the road away from the cabin. I was tucked the side of the ambulance, out of the way of the EMTs who were trying to stop Katrina's bleeding.

She had passed out for a few minutes but her eyes were fluttering open again, just a little before squeezing shut as tears started pouring down her cheeks.

Her chest shuddered as she sobbed, "Billy?"

I leaned forward so she could see me and laced our fingers together, squeezing tight, "I'm here, Katrina, it's gunna be okay."

"I'm scared," she choked, meeting my eyes.

"Hey," I murmured, "it's okay, I'm right here, babe."

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment before she whispered, "Baskin Robbins.."

"What?"

"Did you know...they have thirty one flavours?"

I stared at her, confused, and she choked on a wet laugh.

"I'm gunna die and I don't even know...which one's my favorite."

I smirked, shaking my head before tipping it into her hand, "no you won't. You're gunna be fine and I'll buy you more ice cream than you could ever eat, you hear me?"

I looked back up at her and noticed her eyes had closed again.

Katrina's POV

It hurts. My muscles feel like I just finished a marathon, my head is pounding. The light filtering through my eyelids is too bright, every noise too loud. Most of all, my heart hurts.

My heart aches for Olivia, losing the man she loved to gain a reaper in his place. Having her dreams of a happy life crushed in his bloody hands. She had her life poisoned and taken away by the person she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with.

My heart hurts for Neil. For having been tortured, broken and molded into a shell of himself. He had been twisted so much that he no longer had the capacity to love. The things he wanted, a loving wife and kids, instead became heavy burdens.

And most of all, my heart burns for Billy. The boy who lost every parent he's known because of Neil's trauma. The boy who blamed himself for years, who's biggest fear in life is taking up that torch from his father instead of extinguishing the flames.

It hurts and I'm so exhausted.

I could hear Billy and Steve talking, could feel my head throbbed painfully to the sound.

"Too loud," I croaked.

"Katrina?" Billy asked, "are you awake?"

I could feel his hand slide around mine, squeezing gently.

"You're so loud," I mumbled.

Steve snorted, "good morning to you too. Is it actually you now?"

I opened my eyes a little, squinting at him and held up my middle finger, making them both bark out a laugh.

"Where are we?"

"In the hospital, you were pretty hurt," Steve answered, "do you remember what happened?"

I shook my head a little, "only pieces. I remember seeing him and then being in the house, bleeding and now I'm here."

"Neil," Billy grumbled, "do you still feel him with you?"

"I don't know...I'm just tired, everything hurts."

He leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead, "okay, it's okay. I'll go find a doctor, see if they'll let you out of here, alright?"

"Thanks," I murmured.

He walked out, leaving me with Steve, who was eyeing me carefully.

"Why didn't you tell us something was wrong? We could have brought you to the girls."

I sighed, "I didn't realize, didn't know he would do that...that he could take over like that. I didn't think he'd hurt me..."

Steve's shoulders tightened a bit, "we had to tell the doctors you were attacked. They would have put you in psyche if we didn't and we need to watch you, make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else...we're taking you to Audrey, you'll be staying there for a while."

I swallowed thickly, nodding, "okay."

--

"You're kidding," Billy growled.

Audrey crossed her arms in front of her chest, "not even a little."

"Audrey, you can't just lock her in here," he argued, gesturing at the room behind him.

The room I'd been locked in before, in the basement of their house. The sparse, cold room that I'd woken up alone in after everything went wrong.

She scoffed, "so you'd rather her wander around not in control of her own body?"

"I'm right here," I mumbled.

Audrey looked towards me, "I'm sorry, Katrina, but we don't really have a choice. We don't want you or anyone else getting hurt."

I gave her a weak smile, "it's okay."

Billy clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth together, but helped me shuffle to the bed. Helped me ease down, holding my arms tight so I didn't move too quickly and pull my stitches. He cupped my face after I was settled and placed a gentle kiss to my forehead, nose and finally my lips.

"Get some rest and heal up, okay? We still need to figure out which flavour at Baskin Robbins is your favorite," he smiled.

"What?"

He chuckled, "you don't remember? You were crying about ice cream in the ambulance."

I groaned, tipping my head backwards as my cheeks heated. He just laughed harder and kissed me again, mumbling about me being adorable.

--

I looked around, noticing little changes to the room since the last time I'd been locked in here. There were now plush fur and knitted blankets folded across the bed, a stack of books on the bedside table, even a little TV and a selection of movies. The girls had tried to make the room more comfortable, though no matter how many creature comforts you add, it still felt like being locked in a box.

The door opened and I looked over to see Riley with a tray of food in her hands.

"Dinner," she smiled, coming over to set the tray on the table beside my bed.

She held my hand and helped me slide up the bed, placing pillows behind me so I could sit up a little. The tray she placed in my lap was covered in food. Bowls of soup with steaming biscuits and glasses of iced tea, there was even a little plate of chocolate chip cookies.

"I know there's another person in my head but he doesn't need food, we share the same stomach," I joked.

She snorted, "I wanted to join you. If you want my company that is."

I smiled at her, "thanks."

We dug into our food, dunking buttery biscuits into hearty chicken soup and sipping sugary sweet iced tea until we were full.

"Did you make all that?"

Riley nodded, "I like to cook, takes my mind off things."

"If you teach me how to make those biscuits, I'll teach you how to make iced tea."

She laughed, "you didn't like it? I put a lot of effort stirring the powder into water."

I smirked, "that stuff is too sweet for me. I...my ex was from the south, she converted me."

Riley nodded, a small smile on her lips, "Steve told me about that, I'm sorry about what happened."

I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back tears, "thanks...at least I can still see her though."

"Do you still?"

I puffed out a breath, "I hope so...I haven't seen or felt anyone else since the spell, it's just been Neil."

"Right...is he, do you still...feel him?"

I shook my head, "no, maybe he's gone, maybe he's weakened...I don't know."

She laid a gentle hand over my leg, "we'll figure it out, don't worry. Everything will be fine."

--

It took two weeks for my stitches to be removed, for me to be able to move around by myself. I got to see Ally, Olivia and Elle again during those two weeks which was a blessing. But I still felt like something was off, like things were too quiet.

It took three weeks for the silence in my head to be broken by Neil's deep and buttery smooth voice.

"Hello, pet."

I jumped, looking around my room to the small mirror on the dresser where I saw his face looking back at me.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, come now, pet," he chided, "are you mad at me?"

I clenched my jaw, turning away to mumble, "you said you wouldn't hurt me."

I swore I could feel the warmth of a hand on my face, "I didn't mean to, I lost control. Being dead has...changed me."

I chewed my lip but felt a soft tug pulling it from my teeth and looked back at him, confused.

"Was that...are you able to touch me?"

His reflection faded, showing me that I was holding my own face.

"We are connected," he explained, his reflection coming back, "I want to show you something. Close your eyes."

He waited for me to obey before continuing, "good. Now, relax. Imagine yourself stepping back, letting go of your body."

I let my body relax completely, felt myself detach from my body and found myself in a different room. A dimly lit room with two dark, plush chairs sat in front of a fireplace.

"What is this?" I asked.

Our voices had a wispy echo to them. Ethereal, like we were in a different world here.

"This is my space," he explained, coming into the flickering light, "our space now. We can see each other here."

He stepped close to me, the smell of him washing over me, intoxicating. Reached a hand out to run his fingers through my hair.

"We can feel each other here," he murmured.

I gasped, flinching away from his touch and he dropped his hand with a tight smile.

"Trust me."

"I thought you were gone," I murmured, "it's been weeks."

I realized there was a part of me that wanted him to stay, that had been upset thinking he had left me. That didn't want the quiet that came without him.

He sighed, "I used too much energy when I took control of you. I needed you to heal so I could get my strength back."

"So your strength comes from me?"

"I told you, we're connected."

@alias-b @charmed-asylum @champagnesugamama

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Mount Everest Ain’t Got Shit On Us (Fezco x fem!reader, Part 16.) - The Final Problem, Part 2.

Description: You were always told that your life will be as you wish it to be if you’ll study enough. That it will pay off if you work hard. And some people were given you like a scary example of what will happen when you don’t obey. But sometimes it feels good to disobey.

A/N: Inspired by Formula and Nate Growing Up by Labrinth, composed for Euphoria's original soundtrack.

Warnings: PCP usage, sexual harassment, murder, non-depicted death, violence, gun usage

Word count: 2 K

Read the rest here, babe:  PART 1  PART 2  PART 3  PART 4  PART 5  PART 6  PART 7  PART 8  PART 9  PART 10  PART 11  PART 12  PART 13  PART 14  PART 15

Masterlist and declaration: H E R E

Tagging: @charmed-asylum, @jeyramarie, @pantherxrogers, @analia-analia-analia​

Before you do anything bad for the first time, there's that... Feeling. That sick feeling in your stomach which you can feel, but you can't name.

You know. That feeling before you push your cat with its tail. When you puke in your toilette the first time because you drank for the first time. Before you lit up your first cigarette. Before you take the first pill.

It's anticipation mixed with pure fear of the unknown. That's what it is.

And you never had that feeling before going to Fezco's. You never did - it was always the same neighborhood, same people around and your smiley face who opened up the door. But that night was not only freezing your ass.

That night was different. You could feel it in your bones. It was the car you didn't know in front of his door. You watched it with a frown. You didn't know that car.

Could it be another lady who was visiting your boyfriend? That's why he told you that he can't meet you that night under your window? Bullshit. Fezco wasn't capable of having such a big secret hidden away from you. His soul was too pure for that. But... Who was it then?

You didn't know what to do, so you only sat on your bike, watching his door with an open mouth. You felt like you should turn around on your bike, ride to Rue's and please Leslie if you can have a sleepover. No, you couldn't do that either. Your temple was bleeding and Leslie would ask.

You couldn't tell on Fran to Leslie; she would tell your ma and the hell would start again for Fran.

Jules's house. Yeah. That was probably the right choice. Sneak through the back door to her room. She wouldn't be mad at all, you knew that.

But before you could make a move, you felt as your feet froze as the door to Fezco's apartment slowly opened up. It felt like knocking on hell’s door.

At the moment when your eyes made contact, yours and Fezco's, you could see immediate pain and fear. And you started to freeze down even more. He was shaking his head and mouthed breathless and voiceless 'no'. You didn't have any idea what should you do.

It was two men coming out of his apartment. One with tattoos all over his ugly face, the second one was young with something that could be barely called a beard. Your mind connected two dots immediately - it was the seller. Mouse, as Fez and Ash called him. And then Mouse's eyes fell directly on you, sitting on the bike in the middle of the fucking street without having anything to say or do.

Fez could see your temple bleeding, the blood slowly dropping on your cheeks and then the grey sweatshirt and he knew something must've happened to you - because otherwise, you would respect his wish to be alone. But that situation happening around was just fucked up. Ultimately.

"Oh, bro who dat?" - Mouse asked you with a smile. Jesus, that man was just disgusting when he threw a smile at you. You were not far away from puking at any given moment. But you didn't puke - your body was just still frozen down. - "Sweetcheeks. Girl, ya know 'em?" - He asked. Fez was just shaking his head harder at that moment.

But your body almost automatically nodded.

"Looks like I have to be 'ere longer for sweetcheeks, Fezzy." - He laughed and pointed at you. - "Came 'ere. We'll give yo somethin' warm to drink, right, boyos?" - Mouse laughed in a devilish matter. 

“Nah. I'm... I'm good. Thank you, kind mister. I will just go home, I just needed to ask something. It can wait.” - You took a firm hold on your bike. Fezco knew that since Mouse has seen you, he won't let you go so easily. Mouse was a psycho when it came to young girls.

Fez still remembered how did Mouse act around with Rue, but he was seriously worried about this time. Because that was a seriously fucked up situation.

“Oh, sweetcheeks. Happiness can’t fuckin’ wait. Come ’ere, we will give yo some.” - He waved his hand at you, so you slowly walked to the door, locking your bike on the terrace. 

Mouse had heard about you - he knew you were Fezco’s girlfriend and he even knew heard that sometimes, you help your boyfriend with delivery service. Nobody knew who told on you - but everybody seemed to be aware. Which was terrifying the fuck out of you.

When you entered the door, Mouse put his hand over you and the only thing you did against it was locking your gaze with Fezco. Your eyes were almost empty, terrified and dead.

“Can you... Um... Lend me something? I'm pretty cold.” - You asked Fezco and he looked at Mouse. It was an unsaid question. You needed that you need to ask as calmly as you could until you could cry in Fezco’s arms. Just as you did at your parent’s house when you find out about his source of money. Mouse agreed with a nod, smacking your ass and laughing out loud.

You froze for a second, but then you ran after Fezco into his room, behind some closed door.

“Yo need to be calm and do as I tell ya, ok?” - Fezco whispered and slowly put his rainbow sweatshirt onto your chest. - “I don't ask ya to. Ya need to listen to me. Or we’re all dead.” 

“I didn't mean to...” - You took his cheek to your palm, but Fezco was too nervous to even look at you straight. He didn't want to kiss you when his stomach was about to puke. - “I didn't mean to fuck this up, but Fran pushed me on a fucking cabinet and I didn't know where else I should go. I fucking freaked out.” 

“We’ll talk when da fucker is gone.” - Fezco answered and left you all alone. So you put his sweatshirt over your head. He was seriously mad at you - and you could tell that he’s scared. For you or of Mouse? You couldn't tell. But one thing was for sure.

His, Ashe’s and your lives fere threatened by that man in his living room. 

When you slowly entered the room, they were in the living room - Fezco and Ash sat on the old sofa where you had first slept and Mouse and his friend were on the opposite one. They weren't talking - they were just watching each other and there was a strong tension in the air.

“I think yo can go now, Custer. Make some space for da youn’ sweetcheeks.” - Mouse smiled at his friend. The only thing you could contrate on was your raising heartbeat and dizziness spinning your head. You looked at Fezco, but he was too occupied watching Custer. - “I think that da little one should go too, Fez. Let adults have some fun, am I right?” - He sat up and lit up a cigarette, offering you one as well. You carefully took one and let him lit up it as well since Fez didn't even look at you.

He was all sweaty as his blue eyes watched Custer standing up. Ash looked at Fez with a frown, but Fez nodded and Ash left - he knew where should he hide and wait if the shit goes down. But Custer had left the flat completely and only three of you were sitting in the living room.

Fezco was sweating the living hell out of him at that point, looking at you. Mouse basically let you sit halfway on the couch and halfway on his lap. You were ready to throw up any minute. As you smoked slowly, you closed your eyes and wished for it to end.

Your boyfriend’s eyes didn't leave Mouse’s hand smoothing your upper thigh up and down, teasing him to snap. But you two knew really well how to act cool when the shit around you was going down. 

“How do ya do dat, hm?” - Mouse asked Fez and smelled the right side of your neck.

“Do what?” - Fezco answered back, playing with his knuckles nervously.

“Ya have such nice chicks around. Youn’, beautiful play toys. First dat girl with messy hair, now sweetcheeks... How?” - Mouse laid back, leaving his palm on your upper thigh, marking you as his property. That was riding Fezco wild. 

 “They are a family. Not toys.” - Fezco mumbled. The blood was boiling inside of him, but your eye contact was telling him that he has to stay calm. That you love him and that you trust him with everything you have. 

“Tell whatever ya want.” - Mouse chuckled wickedly and searched his pockets. - “I promised you happiness, didn't I?” - He told when you looked at the small plastic bag in his hand. Oh, you did know what it was - the drugs Fezco sometimes bought when you were over at his place. Those hallucinogens.

“I think I'm good. Thank you.” - You smiled politely and tapped the cigarette out. But no wasn't an answer for Mouse. He caught your upper arms tightly, his grip was hurting you so much that you almost started to cry.

“I think yo want to enjoy a bit, sweetcheeks. Yo boyfriend won't let ya?” - Mouse looked at Fezco and slowly leaned to your ear. You closed your eyes firmly and prayed for him letting you go. You didn't want any of it. Then you slowly opened up your eyes and Fezco wasn't even breathing at the moment. You haven't any idea of what you should do next. 

So you took it. 

And it was the biggest mistake you have ever done in your life. 

It was extremely fast as you slipped down to the world of fuckery, that shit was too strong for a non-addict. And both Mouse and Fezco knew it. But at that moment, Fez failed with protecting you. Your mood wasn't good - so the trip could be barely good either.

You saw some scary bullshit just after a few minutes, you got up, held your head, cried and tried to run away. Huge spiders were coming after you, the floor was slippery under your feet and it was cracking, falling apart. You cried and begged Fezco to help, not having a single idea of what is happening.

A sharp sound muttered your cries as you watched a dead body falling next to you. You saw as the blood was slowly dripping onto the carpet below it and screamed because you felt as your body is slowly being covered in that hot, weird something. 

Somebody tried to catch you, to stop you, but you cried out loudly and gripped the door, running away into the freezing night. Somebody was calling out your name, but you heard as if you were under the surface of the water. And you didn't stop until you knew that Mouse is not going to follow you there and until you couldn't hear it anymore. 

Your drugged body slowly connected the two dots after a long night - somebody was shot at Fezco’s apartment. There was a fucking dead body. And you felt as your heart dropped, as you fell on your knees and cried even louder than before.

It was Fezco. Fezco was shot down. So you ran further and further away, at least you thought you that you are running even if you were crawling in the mud, slamming and slashing into the buildings, falling down on your knees. 

You were running away from all of it - those crazy fucking spiders who after you, from the blood covering your hands, arms and legs, slowly drowning you down, you just ran.

But you were afraid that you won't be able to make it at all.

[rsadelle]

WIP Amnesty: Nick&Harry or Gryles kidfic (4500 words, General audiences)

At one time, I wrote the beginning of a story about Nick and Harry having a baby together. I hadn’t decided if it was going to be an endgame Gryles story or a story that ends up with Nick and Harry and their shared children and individual partners living in a house together. I also started writing this before I read up on surrogacy in the UK (which is very different from surrogacy in the US), so I left in the note I sent to the friend I was emailing bits of this story to about that element where it originally was.

They're drinking when they first come up with the idea. Nick is well and properly pissed, and Harry's had a few but is probably more drunk with exhaustion than alcohol since he just came off of tour and looks like he could crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

"I just really, really want to have kids," Nick is saying. "I think I'm really ready to be a good dad."

"I want kids," Harry says. "I spent a lot of time thinking about it on tour."

"On your world tour," Nick puts in.

Harry gives him the ghost of a smile. "On my world tour, yeah. I want kids. I would have kids now, yeah? But no one wants to be with me, so I don't."

"Millions of women," Nick says. "Millions of women want to have your baby, Harold."

"Yeah, but not really. They just think they do. They don't know me. And the ones who do don't want to stay with me."

"That's quite self-pitying," Nick says, "when you're a popstar and I'm a washed up old man of a DJ who isn't even wanted by other washed up gay men who want to have kids."

Harry rolls his head against the back of Nick's sofa to look at him. His hair is doing something ridiculous that still looks amazing. "We should have a kid."

"Think you're forgetting the part where neither of us has a uterus," Nick points out.

Harry waves a hand. "There are other ways. We could adopt."

"Harold, no one is going to let two blokes who aren't even a couple adopt a baby even if one of them is international popstar Harry Styles."

"Surrogate, then," Harry says. "That's a thing people do."

"And then what?" Nick asks. "We all move into your unfurnished mansion? I'm not doing that. I love this house. I'm not moving out of this house."

Harry shrugs. "Then I'll move in here. Plenty of space for you and me and a kid." He blinks slowly. "Maybe not a live-in nanny. Probably need a nanny of some sort, for when you're at work and I'm away."

"You're mad, Harold," Nick says. "You're going mad and one day when I go to work, I'm going to go to Tina with the news and it's all going to be about how international popstar Harry Styles used to be famous and brilliant and now he's gone mad and is being committed to an insane asylum. Do they still have those?"

"Dunno," Harry says. "Reckon I'll find out, yeah?"

It's just one of those conversations they have when they're pissed and exhausted, all punchy and ridiculous. Or at least that's what Nick thinks when he remembers it the next morning.

*

"Remember that thing we talked about the other day?" Harry asks.

They've talked about many things in the last few days, the last two weeks, really, since Harry's been back from tour. Not to mention all the things they'd texted about while Harry was on tour. Also, Nick is rather more concerned with picking the best of the pictures they took with Pixie and Aimee before they went out to post to Instagram to pay a lot of attention.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

Harry leans over his shoulder to peer at Nick's phone. "That one." It's one where they're all making silly faces in the mirror, and it's slightly off-center because Aimee had made Nick laugh too hard to hold his phone steady.

"I'm not posting that one," Nick says. "It makes me look totally incompetent as a selfie-taker." He picks one of the other ones, where they all look hot, uploads it and tags it. Then he goes back to the one Harry liked and texts it to him.

"About having a kid," Harry says.

"Yes," Nick says. "I remember you're going mad."

Harry leans into Nick's shoulder and laughs. "I'm not going mad. My biological clock is ticking."

Nick tucks his phone into his pocket and turns his attention to Harry. "Your biological clock? You're twenty-four."

"And you're-" Harry cuts himself off with a laugh when Nick glares at him. "Don't tell me yours isn't. I know better."

Nick turns to fully face him. "Yes, Harold, we have established that I'm going to grow old childless and alone."

"No," Harry says vehemently. "No, that's what I'm saying. We should."

Nick blinks at him; he's had at least one too many drinks for this conversation. "We should what?"

"Have a kid." Harry shifts closer. "Look, we could do this. We wouldn't be alone and we'd get to be parents."

Nick could see raising a kid with Harry. They have a similar outlook on life. They probably have similar ideas about raising kids. And if they weren't who they are, if Harry weren't who he is, Nick would say yes in a heartbeat. But part of what makes him think he's ready to be a dad is that he's working to be responsible these days.

"We can't do that," Nick says, like a responsible adult. "Harry, you know what it was like before, with the papers and everything. If we had a kid, every paper in the world would be talking about us dating, even the really serious ones."

Harry makes a frustrated noise.

"Come on, popstar, do you really want to go through that again?"

Emily all but crashes into them. "What are you two doing over here whispering in the corner? This is a party. Come dance." She hauls them out onto the dance floor, and that's the end of that, Nick thinks.

*

Nick's just settling into bed when his phone rings with Harry's name on the screen. Harry, who is in LA for meetings.

"Popstar, you're terrible at time zones. I'm just going to bed."

"I know," Harry says. "I wanted to talk to you."

"And you've interrupted my sleep schedule to do it? Go on then."

"No," Harry says, which is a weird thing to say when he called specifically to talk, but then he goes on. "I don't really want to go through all that again, all the media and everything. But it's going to be like that with anyone I have kids with."

"Not everyone you might have kids with is an older gay man who many people think corrupted your youth." Nick tries to say it lightly, but he knows there's a sting that goes with it.

"You didn't," Harry says, "and everyone important knows that. I want to have a kid, and I don't want to do it alone. I think we could be good parents."

Nick rubs his forehead. "Harry, it's not that I doubt that. It's just all the things that come with it."

Harry hmms a little. "I know it's a lot, and it would be hard. I think we could handle it, for us and for the kid. Promise me you'll think about it. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Just think about it for real."

"Okay," Nick says. "I promise. I'll think about it sometime when I'm not about to go to sleep."

Harry chuckles. "Sleep well."

"You're not going to sing me a lullaby?"

"Mmm, all right, it'll be good practice for the kid."

Nick closes his eyes while Harry sings, and is just awake enough to mumble a goodnight when he's finished.

*

Nick thinks about it, on his way to work, when he does a big shop, when he's making a Sunday roast. Part of him wants to say yes and damn the consequences. He could be a dad, with one of his best mates, which he's pretty sure is the only way he's ever going to get to be a dad at this rate. He thinks about buying tiny baby clothes and telling kid stories on the radio and having a co-parent who he knows how to talk to and argue with. And then he thinks about paparazzi and mobs of fans and tabloid insinuations, and about their kid growing up with that. He thinks about trying to date and explain that he's not cheating on anyone by doing it. He thinks about being home alone with a kid while Harry's on tour for months at a time.

"Do you think I should have a kid with one of my friends?" he asks Aimee.

She looks up from where she's been petting Pig and Stinky. "Are you thinking about asking one? Oh God, you're not asking me are you?"

She sounds so horrified that Nick laughs. "No, I'm not asking you."

"Thank God. I love you, but I'm not doing that again unless I get to keep the kid. So who are you going to ask?"

"It's more like they asked me." Nick downs half his glass of wine. "Harry wants to have a kid."

Aimee stares at him, downs the rest of her glass of wine, and refills both of their glasses. "Did he fall in love with you after all these years? Oh, God, you didn't fall in love with him, did you?"

"No, and ta very much for thinking I'm that stupid."

Aimee shrugs at him.

"I'm not," Nick says with a laugh. He sips his wine and sighs. "Harry wants a kid, I want a kid, he made me promise to think about doing it."

Aimee hmms.

"It's stupid, right? Harry and me having a kid. It'd be like, paparazzi everywhere and never getting laid again and doing it alone while he's on tour for months."

"You could get laid," Aimee says. "It's dating that would be harder."

"Yes, thank you, very supportive."

Aimee laughs and leans over to pat his shoulder. "I can't make the choice for you, babe."

*

Conversations with any of Nick's other friends would only end up the same way the one with Aimee did, so he doesn't bother. He does invite Harry to come over after he gets back from LA, and they settle onto the sofa with cups of tea and biscuits.

Harry transitions with an easy smile from a story about an amazing taco place he found in LA to asking, "Have you thought about it?"

"Yeah," Nick says. "Thought about it a lot." He cups both hands around his cup. "How would you see it working, exactly?"

"We have a baby," Harry says. "Surrogate probably, easier to get a kid we can raise right from the beginning. We'll do up one of your spare rooms for the nursery and everyone we know will buy us outrageous baby gifts. I'll move into the other one. I'm supposed to do writing for the next album, but I can do it here. Do all the recording and production here, can probably time it so I'm here most days for at least most of the first year. We'll hire a nanny, someone really good and trustworthy so we can go to work when we have to and not worry about our kid. Sometimes the lads or our mums or our friends will babysit instead. And then I'll go on tour, and that part's going to be hard, really hard. Dunno if I'll be able to schedule in some breaks so I can come home for a few days here and there. Maybe later, when the kid's older, you can take some holiday and you can both come with me."

It's a life. He's painted the picture of a life Nick can see himself leading. Nick rubs his thumb against his cup. "What about if you meet someone? Someone you want to have a real relationship with or marry, or whatever?"

Harry reaches out and covers Nick's hand with his, stopping his fidgeting. "Then I make it clear to them how much my kid means to me, and how much being dads with you means to me. And then I move out, or we all move into someplace bigger."

Nick has to laugh at that. "A Harry Styles commune?"

Harry grins at him. "Well, why not? And maybe you'll have a boyfriend or husband to bring along too."

Nick looks down at Harry's hand still over his, and asks the hard question, the really shitty question. "Do you think it's fair for us to bring a kid into the world when we know the papers are going to be so awful about it?"

Harry draws in a breath and takes his hand back. "I think we can protect them from the worst of it for a long time and tell them we love them over and over. Lou's doing it and managing."

"This is entirely mad, isn't it?" Nick says, and he knows it's a surrender.

Harry nods brightly. "Yep! We doing it anyway?"

Nick can't help smiling back at him. "Yeah. Yeah, reckon we are."

*

[Kid fic: For the parental order thing in the UK, the parents have to be partners living as a family (some verbiage like that), so something that will have to change is that they're going to have to decide that they just won't comment and let people think they're together-together.]

Harry moves in. They don't make too much of a fuss about it, but they don't try to be quiet about the fact that they've moved everything from one of Nick's guest rooms to Harry's place and replaced them with Harry's things. They don't bother trying to hide from the paps when they go to dinner or do a big shop together. They take pictures with fans who stop them while they're walking the dogs. Neither of them particularly like to be alone, which means they're out and about together a lot.

One of those trips is to see Harry's lawyers, who are far more impressive than Nick's. There's one Harry knows, who introduces them to another one of the lawyers he describes as "our family proceedings expert." There's a dizzying amount of information that they take in and decide not to talk about later that day in favor of their tea and crap telly.

They have a few conversations about how to go about finding a surrogate, and Nick, curled up around his laptop where Harry can't see just what he's doing, googles it and reads up on how other people go about it. It's one of those things, he thinks, that would be easier if they weren't who they are.

In the end, it's Gemma who finds them someone, an old friend of hers who got pregnant as a teenager and gave the baby up for adoption. She's called Chloe, and she has dark hair, a wide smile, and friendly eyes.

"It sounds mad, I know," she says over a cup of tea when they invite her round so they can meet, after they've gotten to know each other a bit. "I loved being pregnant, but I don't want to be a mum. I've thought about doing this before, but never really looked into it much. I've split up with my boyfriend now and I've been thinking about leaving my job, so this seems like a good time for it." She smiles at them. "Plus Gemma said you're lovely and you really want to have a baby."

"We really, really do," Nick says. He's been trying not to feel it too deeply, in case it all goes wrong, but having this girl in his house talking about carrying their child is making it hard not to want it so much.

"Yeah," Harry says, hushed and sincere.

Nick grasps for the thread of the conversation; interviewing people is his actual job. "What did you love about being pregnant?" A bit personal, perhaps, but they are talking about her carrying a child for them.

"I could feel it, you know," Chloe says. "The baby growing and how my body was changing for it. Bit miraculous, that. And then I met the adoptive parents, and it was like I could do this really amazing thing for these people who wanted the baby, and I knew the baby would be happy."

Harry reaches over and grips Nick's arm. Nick has a very hard time not reaching back to do the same.

"And the baby was, um, healthy?" Harry asks. He looks sorry to be asking it, and anxious to know all at the same time. About how Nick feels then.

"Completely," Chloe says. "I'm not, like, involved in her life, but her parents send me pictures at Christmas. She's doing really good." Chloe has a folder with her, and she pulls out a stack of Christmas cards with photos of a smiling little girl who gets older with each one.

Harry's eyes are a bit damp when they're done flipping through them. "She's beautiful."

Nick stacks the pictures together and hands them back to Chloe. He looks at Harry, meets his eyes for a long moment, and he can see it, that they both want Chloe to be their surrogate. Nick's the one who talks for a living, so he bites the bullet and asks the hard question.

"We'll pay for all of your expenses of course, if you agree to do it, that is. There are other things that might make being a surrogate for us a bit," he pauses to try to find the right word, "difficult. We're a bit well-known. There are paparazzi taking our picture when we do a big shop, for God's sake. You'll get caught up in it, if you do this. People taking your picture and assuming things about you." Nick tries not to sound too bitter about it. "And after, too. Seeing the baby in the papers. You should," he swallows, because he'll be so disappointed, they'll both be so disappointed if she doesn't want to do this for them, "think about it. If you can handle that." Now it's his turn to reach out and grip Harry's arm too tight. "We'll understand if you decide you can't."

"Gemma talked to me about that a bit," Chloe says.

"It's a bit mad," Harry says, "all of it. But we manage, and we'd do everything we possibly could to make it easier for our kid."

Chloe nods. "I can promise I'll consider it seriously."

They make sure she has both their numbers before she goes, and she hugs them both at the door.

"We really want this," Harry says, earnest and sincere in a way Nick can never quite manage even when he means it. "We want you to be our surrogate." That's where he falters and says, a bit less intensely, "If you want to do it."

"I'll let you know soon," Chloe promises.

When she's gone, Harry turns into Nick for a hug that's almost too tight and goes on and on. Nick doesn't mock him for it, holds on just as tight.

"I want her to say yes," Harry says.

Nick squeezes him just a bit tighter. "Me too."

*

They try not to worry at it while they're waiting to hear back from Chloe. Nick goes to work and tells stories on the radio about his dogs. Harry does whatever it is he has to do. Some of it is songwriting, Nick knows, because some days he'll come home to Harry sat on the sofa with a notebook and a guitar. They go out or stay in for their tea, depending on how they feel. They text each other and their friends and their families, and Harry hands Nick his phone to say hi to Anne when she calls.

They have people over, Aimee and Ian, Henry, Gillian, Pixie and George, for a Sunday roast. They're a congenial group, laughing and chattering over their food and wine. They move to the sofas and armchairs in the sitting room after, still laughing and talking in smaller groups that overlap and reform as people join in and out of conversations.

Nick's phone buzzes, but he's listening to Pixie's story about a mishap involving a dress, some too-high heels, and a bottle of champagne, so he ignores it for the moment.

Something, some reaction ripples from the other side of the room, enough that Pixie pauses and she and Nick look up at everyone else. Harry's got tears in his eyes, and he stumbles his way across the room, nearly tripping over the rug and people's feet and the dogs.

"Nick," he says, and he has his phone held out. His hands are shaking, and Nick's do too when he tries to steady it so he can read it.

It's a text from Chloe, probably the same thing that made his phone buzz.

You're both lovely. I thought about it, and I can handle all the madness that goes with your lives. I'd like to be your surrogate if you still want me to be. Text me and we can schedule signing papers and things.

The sound Nick makes is completely involuntary, and then his eyes are tearing up and he flings his arms around Harry, who hugs him back, and then they're both laughing and crying and they must seem completely mad to everyone else.

Over Harry's shoulder, Nick tells everyone else, "We've got a surrogate."

A general cheer goes up, Aimee opens another bottle of wine, and it becomes even more of a party. Everyone stays too late, celebrating even though Nick says, "We don't have a baby yet."

"We're going to," Harry says, grinning wide enough to split his face.

After everyone is gone, when Nick is lying in bed failing to fall asleep because now that they have a surrogate he's starting to worry about all the ways it could go wrong, Harry knocks lightly on Nick's door and then lets himself in.

"Can't sleep?" Nick asks, quiet in the dark.

"No." Harry climbs into bed with Nick. "We're really going to do this."

"Yeah, popstar, we are." Nick nudges Harry with his elbow. "It was your idea."

"I know," Harry says. "It's different when it's real." He's quiet for a moment, and then he says, in a slow, dreamy voice, "Tiny baby toes, you know?"

"Oh my God," Nick says. "Yes." Then it strikes him all as hilarious - he may be a bit drunk - and he starts to laugh.

Harry says, "Hey," the sound drawn out, but then he laughs too, and they giggle together for a bit. When their laughter dies down, Harry says, "It's not all tiny baby toes. Going to be a lot of work too."

"Before we have the baby too," Nick says. "Going to have to do up the nursery. Could paint it pink, the only punk color and all that."

Harry laughs. "No, don't want to force that on the kid if it's a girl."

"Could paint it all white, put up art all over. Bright florals like your suits to remind the kid about you when you're on the road."

"No, no, no," Harry says. "That's good for on stage, but the nursery should be calming."

"But not," Nick says, "like those sickly calming colors you see in hospital."

"Got to be nice ones," Harry says. "Could do a yellow, a nice pale one, or green."

"It'd have to be a nice green," Nick says, "not one that looks like sick."

"Only nice things for our kid," Harry says.

"Only the best things for our kid," Nick corrects.

Harry hits his arm, although it's more like he lets his arm flop over onto Nick. "We are not going to be awful celebrity parents who spoil their kids."

"'Course not," Nick agrees. "Solid Northerners, we are. We know how to raise kids right."

"Kids," Harry says dreamily. "We're going to be parents."

Nick rubs Harry's arm where it's still half flopped over him. "Got a surrogate," he says. "Still a ways to go before we're dads."

"It'll happen," Harry says. He sounds absolutely certain, and Nick lets himself borrow some of that confidence and believe it'll work out.

*

They meet with Chloe and the lawyers, theirs as well as one she brings along, on Wednesday,

"Technically," the lawyers explain, "surrogacy contracts are unenforceable in the UK. However, you want to have everything in writing so you do know what you agreed to."

The lawyers take them through all the little bits and pieces of the contract, and all the details about what has to happen after the baby is born before the baby legally belongs to both of them. It's a lot to take in. They all sign the papers, and then it's really official, pending medical tests and actual pregnancy, of course.

On Thursday, Nick goes straight from the radio to a meeting with his agent, part of which is a phone conference with Harry, his agent, and his PR people where they work out the basics of a plan for making statements and protecting Chloe and their eventual child as much as they can.

On Friday, Nick goes home and flops onto the sofa next to Harry, who has a guitar on his lap. Nick listens to him play for a few minutes, then tips his head to look at him. "Lullabies?"

"Practicing," Harry says with a shrug. He strums for another minute, then lets the music fade out. "We should figure out who's going to, uh, be the biological father."

"You," Nick says promptly.

Harry frowns. "You don't want to talk about it?"

Nick shrugs. "All the things about surrogacy say if one father is going to stay home with the kid, the other one should be the biological father so they still have a connection. I'm going to be here, you're going to be touring."

"I'll be here for the first year, probably," Harry says. "I'll be here with the baby while you're at work, and by the time I go on tour, I'll have a connection."

Nick rests a hand on Harry's knee. "You don't want a kid with your smile? You and Chloe will make beautiful children."

"So will you and Chloe." Harry meets Nick's eyes. "Don't you want that?"

Nick has had a lot of time to think about this. "I never really thought I would have biological kids. And it's not like the Grimshaw genes are going to die out. Jane and Andy have kids." Nick looks down at his hand on Harry's knee. "I'd like to raise a kid with your smile." He looks up at Harry. "After all, I practically raised you."

The sound Harry makes is half laugh and half squawk. "You did not! I was an adult when I met you."

"You were seventeen. People thought I was your dad. I taught you about fashion and navigating the best clubs in London. I introduced you to people."

Harry laughs with his whole body. "You hated that people thought you were my dad! I was already basically grown up!"

"I was a mentor to you!"

"I can't believe you," Harry says, shaking his head. "You were my friend. I didn't need mentoring."

"Ah, you were a right mess," Nick says with a grin.

"I was not!" Harry protests through his laughter.

Nick can't help laughing with him. It's nice.

When their laughter fades out, Harry puts the guitar down and leans his elbows on his knees. "If I do this, you're fathering the next one."

"The next one? God, we haven't even had one kid, and you're already planning for more?"

Harry shrugs and holds out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Nick shakes his hand. "Deal."

[devilrising]

Fallen Draco Pt. 1

This follows a prompt written by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry.

Word Count: 3018

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic)

***

2nd March, 1998

It’s hard. It’s really, really hard, to know what I know and do nothing. Every day I wake up screaming, nightmares plaguing me in my sleep. Each morning I look in the mirror, and watch as my wings start to fade. Going from purest white, to a darker shade of grey. I’m losing feathers too. There’s a jar by my bed, and a couple others in a drawer, filled with them.

The day they started drooping, I became terrified. I knew what had caused it, but I didn’t want to think about. Angels are rarely men. And when they are, they don’t usually survive for very long. My life up until now was, rather dangerous. I always thought that if the war hadn’t killed me, I would’ve eventually died from being an angel. I guess it’s both.

Voldemort is in the living room of Malfoy Manor, discussing what the next move will be. Father is listening intently, and I’ve been banished to my room, so it must be vital. Maybe there’s new information. Maybe they are planning another battle. I hope I’m not asked to participate. I never asked to be a part of this. I wish I wasn’t. Mother has grown increasingly concerned recently. She is the only confidant I have. The only person I can talk to. Her once beautiful hair has rapidly been turning grey and warn. The wrinkles riddling her skin are more pronounced than last year, and she is

growing frail. I’m terrified of losing her, because that’s where I feel we’re heading.

A knock draws me across the room and towards my door. The wood is dark and thick, keeping up the illusion of no light in the Manor. When I twist the handle and pull the door towards me, I jump. It’s Voldemort. What’s he doing here? He takes in the surprise on my face, and a beam shows itself. On anyone else, I would say that it ‘lit up their face’. With the Dark Lord, however, it’s much more of a wicked, cruel, and insane look. Like he wants to saw my head off in a public courtyard. I cringe at the thought.

“I’ve been wondering, Draco.” I shudder and pray that it isn’t visible. “How would you feel about being a crucial part of the next battle?” Like I have any choice. Like he wouldn’t kill me on the spot if he questioned my loyalty.

“Of course, my lord,” I say as I drop into a bow.

“Wonderful! Would you like to join the meeting in the drawing room, then?”

“That would be much gracious of you, my lord.”

I receive no reply, just a hand on my shoulder as I walk down the corridor and into the room my father is in.

“You’re here, Draco. Glad. Take a seat over there.” Father gestures to a black leather armchair, and I sit on the very edge of the cushion. Voldemort strides in after me, and takes a seat opposite my father. He begins informing me about the recent decision to crash the Ministry. But not just any part of the Ministry. No, no, we need to be more ambitious than that. That’s predictable even. No. We are crashing the Unspeakables’ department.

Horror drips down my spine, but I smile and nod at the half-man in front of me. I tell him that I think it’s a marvellous idea, and will really persuade people to join the correct side of this war. In my head, I’m screaming. It’s the worst idea imaginable. Who knows what’s in that department? If someone was to so much as knock something, we could all be dead. What if someone was to wear a certain metal that reacted with an object? I can’t see this going at all well, but I sit in silence, a fake smile on my face.

***

9th March, 1998

I’m in over my head. I’ve known the next ploy for a week exactly, and have come up with every possible way this mission could fail. We could burn alive. Explode. Drown. Rapidly age. Turn into objects. Have the air sucked out of our bodies. The list is so long I forget the first few I wrote down. I have no idea why Voldemort decided the Unspeakable department was a good plan. But then again, when has he ever had a good plan?

The wind roars around my ears, and I can’t hear anything other than my pulse and hammering heart. Mountains are beautiful to look at, but to hike them? That’s another story entirely. But I needed to get away. I couldn’t bear to be in the same house as my father and Voldemort. The two men are positively insane. They both need a mental asylum.

I sweep my eyes over the ground below, and marvel at the scene stretched before me. The view from Skiddaw mountain is astonishing. I feel tiny in comparison to everything else I can see. I feel like I’m insignificant. A welcome emotion for me recently. The sky above me is dull and cloudy, but there is no rain falling today. It’s Monday, and I should be at Hogwarts, but I’ve been pulled out for the remainder of Seventh Year. Potter isn’t there anyway, so I wouldn’t be doing much. Studies became quite boring Sixth Year, if I’m being honest.

Potter. Apparently he is off in the world somewhere, trying to locate and destroy Horcruxes. I applaud him for trying, but there is no way he’ll survive that. Voldemort told me himself how difficult they are to find, and that to actually get a hold of them is practically impossible. I’ve tried to imagine where they would be, what they would be, but have always come up dry. I don’t know of a single place so dangerous. Potter must be out of his mind. Potter, Granger, Weasley, and his precious Order.

Suddenly no longer interested in the scenery below me, I turn around and walk over to the tree where I’ve laid all my things out. I sit on the emerald picnic rug, and bite into one of the apples I brought. The pink skin matches what colour I know my cheeks must be, and I hum with the sweet taste filling my mouth. The branches above me sway in the gentle breeze, and I’m reminded of autumn days in Third Year. Before everything started going south rapidly.

That was the year with Black escaping from Azkaban. The year with the stupid hypogriff breaking my arm. The year Granger punched me, and Potter laughed at me. Thankfully, that didn’t happen very often. My thoughts start straying back to life at Hogwarts, before the world turned a head. Before my family started to repeatedly fulfill “tasks” and “assignments”. Before I had to seclude myself from my friends, the rest of Slytherin, and before I had to push myself to the extremes of my magical capabilities.

The Vanishing Cupboard, the Unbreakable Vow, Dumbleodre’s death, and the Sectumsempra incident. Last year was a bitch. I can’t see this year being any improvement however. The plans that I’ve overheard (due to unfold in May) haunt me in my sleep. I don’t know what to do about it. I have no one to talk to. To tell how scared I am.

The wind starts picking up, and the emerald rug beneath me lifts up in the breeze. Although it’s no longer a breeze. It’s more like a blustery wind than anything else. Regardless, I decide that it’s probably for the better to leave Skiddaw mountain and return to the Manor. I use my wand and a complex charm my father taught me in order to pack up all my things. I watch as everything floats above the rug, which starts folding itself into a square. The food I didn’t eat flies into the basket I brought, neatly organised and sorted. Then the rug shrinks, and enters into the basket. The basket then shrinks itself, so now I can fit it in the pocket of my black skinny jeans. Happy with the charm, I nod to myself and pick up my Nimbus 2001 from where it was resting against the tree.

Even though the wind is brutal, I would rather fly the 475-ish kilometres back to Wiltshire, than accidentally apparate into a meeting again. That didn’t work out so well for me last time.

***

11th March, 1998

Life is getting worse. It’s harder and harder each day to tell myself that it will be okay. Two days ago, I was beaten into unconsciousness for arriving after my curfew. The wind had made it nearly impossible to fly, and I struggled the whole way to the Manor. Being the stubborn prat that I am, I was confident that I would make it back before 11pm. I shouldn’t have taken the risk.

As an added punishment, I am grounded to my room. But my father and Voldemort don’t do things by half. No. They have come up with specially designed wards to let them in, but to keep everyone else out. Not to mention, I physically can’t leave. If I try, I’m electrocuted until I pass out. If that happens four times, I’m instantly killed. I am forced to stay in my tiny, dark, uncomforting room for a week. The only thing I’m allowed to do is write letters. But I have no way of sending them out to anyone or anywhere. With no owl to carry them, I’m doomed. They deliberately let me write for help, knowing that I’m not stupid enough to actually do it.

Instead, I write stories, I draw woodland animals (and other more, uh, explicit ones, but those are burned immediately after completion). It’s relaxing. With nothing but ink and parchment, I waste away the hours in front of the fire. The warmth very welcome in the cold month March is shaping up to be. Eventually tired with ink, I grab down a book on puzzles from my shelves. The cover is faded, deep purple, the title written in silver thread. I’ve read this so many times, solved each riddle, word puzzle, and math problem, but I open it anyway.

The first one is easy. “.--. ..- --.. --.. .-.. . ... - .... .-. --- ..- --. .... --. . -. . .-. .- - .. --- -. ...” The problem is written in Morse code, and it takes less than a minute to have it decoded. “Puzzles Through Generations” is the title of the book, and I find it rather humorous that it’s also the first problem. I smile to myself, before diving headfirst into the book.

***

Later that same evening, I start to grow restless. With nothing else in my room, I’ve resorted to lying on my bed, face buried in a pillow. I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. Why I allowed myself to get into this mess. Why I even bothered coming back to the Manor. I wonder, not for the first time, why I’m given so much freedom. Well, except for right now, of course. I’m generally permitted all through the Manor and it’s grounds. I’m given unlimited access to anywhere on the continent, so long as I can be traced.

I always come to the same conclusion though. The two terrible excuses for men know I won’t leave. They know that I know that if I was to desert them, they would track me. Voldemort would employ thousands of Death Eaters to find me, and to bring me back to him to die at his hands. Hours of torture would occur, worsened because of my father. I would be considered a ‘traitor’. I have nothing wrong with that last bit, of course. But I wouldn’t want to leave my mother. She would surely be punished for my actions, and I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t ever forgive myself.

I stand up from the bed, pace over to the small bathroom joined to my bedroom, and stare at my reflection. I look ill. My hair is in shambles, strewn all over my face. It almost looks like Potter’s, except for the colours, which are starkly opposite. My eyes have sunken into my skin, dark rings under them. My complexion has become sickly pale, and I wonder when this happened. I’ve probably looked terrible for months, but been too busy with everything else (like surviving) to notice.

Trying desperately to salvage my appearance I cast a few simple charms. I straighten out my hair, making it fall neatly to my scalp. After struggling with my complexion for a while, I give up and move to my eyes. The bags are covered with a glamour that takes all of my energy. I’m so tired from the spells that I pad back to my bed and gladly fall asleep. In my dreams, I question why I was worn out so quickly, but pass it off as being trapped in a room with no sun, limited food and water, and lack of new oxygen.

***

15th March, 1998

I’m becoming desperate. I was let out of my room for an hour earlier this morning, and dragged outside into the sun and air. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, but it was better than nothing but artificial lights. Food was handed to me, and I greedily ate it, the first proper meal I’d had in six days. I didn’t think the occasional plate of unappetising gloop counted. After fifteen minutes, I was dragged back inside once again, and led into the drawing room where I first accepted the Dark Mark. I was then tortured for the remainder of the hour.

Legilimency was first. Voldemort did it himself. Digging through my memories to find any weakness he could find. He had eventually decided on one of Potter lunging at me, fury in his eyes. I was taunted with it for ages, before being placed under the Cruciatus Curse. It had been extreme pain, and I’m thankful it’s over now. Still, the sensation is fresh in my mind, and I’m being plagued by paranoia.

Desperation fills me just from the memory, and I silently panic at my desk. I need to get out of here. My wings are losing colour every day. Feathers have filled the jar next to my bed, and I’ve started a fourth. I need to get help immediately. I’m seriously starting to wonder how long I have left. As a male angel, I never should’ve lived this long. I should’ve died years ago. I stretch my fading wings out, and try to gently flutter them. No use. Instead, I watch as a single feather floats to the carpet beneath my feet.

Uncontrollable tears stream down my face, and it’s desperation that finally drives me to pick up a quill. It’s intense, urgent need that makes me pull a sheet of parchment from my stack. It’s in despair that I actually touch the inked quill to the parchment. I quickly pen a letter to the first person I can think of to save me. Shuddering, I use my wand to summon a muggle postage stamp from the hallway outside, slip it under the door, and stick it to the envelope I pulled from a drawer.

A shiver goes through me as I seal the letter in the envelope. I don’t know how to send it to him, until I remember about the bathroom. I cross the bedroom and turn the water on in the shower in order to cover any noise I might make. Then I drag a chair in from the bedroom, and place it directly beneath the air vent. Standing in the chair precariously, I unattach the grille from the ceiling and place it gently onto the white tiles. The gap is too small for anything but my hand to get through, and grin. There’s no way anyone will think I’ve used this air vent for anything. What’s the point after all?

Carefully, I place the letter into the vent opening and pull my wand from my pocket. Knowing I’ll be drained after this no matter what I do, I decide to use everything left in me to lurch the letter up. A shock of green particles shoot from my wand tip, and they push the letter up the vent. I watch as it disappears from view and into the kitchen vent. I start to track the letter with my mind. Following it as it flies through the deserted kitchen, and out of the window in the dining room. I know it’s made it out of the wards when the green barges into my wand again, knocking me of the chair I’m still standing on.

Now I can only hope that Potter replies. Or rather, that he doesn’t.

***

22nd March, 1998

It’s been a week now, and I’ve heard nothing from him. I have been let out of my room though. My wings have lost all of the pure white, and are now as dark as a raven. It’s quite striking, the dark colour of the few feathers I have left, against my sickly pale skin and platinum hair. I always thought that if I lost my wings, there would be a skeleton left to haunt me of the sins I had committed. Instead, there is nothing. The feathers aren’t attached to anything but air. Maybe it’s because of the extremity of the darkness encompassing me.

I no longer feel much at all, just longing to be saved. Even if it’s by my previous enemy.

***

24th March, 1998

My wings are totally gone. Vanished from existence. I feel awful. The steady stream of food, sun, water, and air being spoon-fed to me isn’t enough. My mother is blaming herself, and I can’t stand seeing her beyond herself. I start praying to a god I don’t believe in for Potter to arrive.

***

26th March, 1998

I threw up today. It’s been 24 days since this whole thing started. Scars have made themselves a home between my shoulder blades, permanently tormenting me. I wish not for the first time that I’d done something sooner. Before I was in over my head. Potter had better get here soon.

***

A/N: Next part will be out same time next week! If you want to be tagged in the next uploads, please tell me so you don’t miss out! 🥰

Masterlist — Next Part

[buffyversefanfiction]

Twisted Tristan (Buffy Fanfiction)

Chapter 10 - #TeamTwisted #Death2Drusilla #Volume2

Warnings: I do not own or claim to own the original content to “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, “Angel”, the comics or any of the original characters from the “Buffyverse” all rights belong to Joss Whedon.

15 plus, displays of Violence, Gore, Torture, M/M, F/M, F/F.

Tristan Summers had lived an extraordinary life over his few short years on this earth getting to experience love not once but twice: his first love being his high school sweetheart Lucas Brown and his second being the love of his life vampire Dante.

He once had the perfect family life with his parents Mr and Mrs Black until they were cruelly taken away from him and that’s when everything started to go downhill from there. He never did recover from losing his adoptive parents who he loved just as much as if they were his biological parents.

He was doomed from birth wanted by so many evils upon conception as manipulated by Drusilla since birth as she placed him time and time exactly where she needed him to be to make her dreams a reality as she twisted his grief into vengeance using that to calculate his every move.

Despite his dark and twisted life Tristan was loved deeply: Dante never experienced nor felt love until he fell in love with Tristan, despite how much Mandi hated him she loved him even more having loved him all her life and there was nothing he could ever do that would make his biological parents Buffy and Angel stop loving him even if would be easier for them all not to love him they kept doing so.

Tristan Summers’ lifeless body just lay there in the middle of the woods late at night with a clear wound on his throat that could only have been caused by his throat being slit by a knife while his own dry blood stain his clothes.

Tristan’s plan, Faith’s plan, Spike’s plan, Mandi’s plan was to finally kill Drusilla a vampire who had escaped death one too many times a vampire who most of them felt deserved to be killed and even though Drusilla would always hold a special place in Spike’s heart he would’ve rather have had her die than Tristan but due a series of cruel twists and turns it was Tristan who’s death was delivered not Drusilla.

“So, I guess this is what death must feel like to be honest with you it feels weirder than I though it’s weirdly numbing. Death is everything and yet nothing like I expected it to be and I never expected death to come for me tonight although I knew my days were always number I just never expected to be murdered by a woman I was claimed was my savior a woman I was loved like a mother.” Tristan said from beyond the grave as his spirit appeared standing above his corpse. “I’ve cheated death so many times I knew one day it would finally come for me, but never did I expect it to be by her. A part of me died the moment I found my parents lifeless and bloodied bodies in our family home and I became a dead man walking, talking only for revenge hoping once I got my revenge, I would finally find peace. I was a fool for believing that someone like me ever deserved to find peace.”

Earlier That Night

Faith, Spike and Mandi found themselves hiding behind trees with the sight of the abandoned hospital asylum in front of them just a few yards away as they waited for Tristan to signal them to make their move all three of them fearing that the signal may never come knowing how much Drusilla once meant to Tristan.

“So, at which stage do we call it quits and head home before or after we’re killed?” Spike asked Faith and Mandi while remained hiding behind the trees watching the building closely.

“We’re not heading home without him!” Mandi snapped. “He may not give a damn about any of us but the one thing he’s loved ever since Drusilla came into his life is revenge and right now all that rage is aimed in her direction.”

“You mean until she feeds him some lie and suddenly, we’re the sitting targets.” Faith replied to her. “You of all people should know how convincing she can be.”

“I believe in him.” She said with uncertainty until she noticed a vampire being thrown through a window smashing the glass into pieces while he fell to the ground causing Mandi to sigh with relief. “Okay that wasn’t quite the signal we talked about, but it certainly got our attention.”

“Here goes nothing Spike.” Faith said to the blonde-haired vampire before turning to face the brown-haired witch. “Start chanting and hope we don’t all wind up dead.”

Tristan found himself fighting for his life after pulling out a wooden stake and launching himself towards the vampire army circling him staking vampire after vampire causing them to turn to dust each time as he continued to fight his way a seemingly never ending army of vampires but to Drusilla’s dismay who stood at the end of the hallway within the abandoned hospital asylum confused and horrified by Tristan’s actions.

“Stop being a bad boy!” She began screaming frantically and repeatedly before seeing Faith and Spike burst into the hallway with wooden stakes in hands wasting no time in joining Tristan fight against the vampires making Drusilla even more worried than before.

“I must admit I thought you were going to kill us all.” Faith shouted in Tristan’s direction while dusting a vampire.

“The night is still young yet.” Tristan replied as he dodged a punch from a vampire before punching the same vampire and dusting it.

“Which one of us gets to stake Drusilla?” Spike asked while eyeing up his former ex while fighting with her vampire army before noticing her beginning to run away out of the hallway. “I guess she escapes again.”

“To hell with that!” Tristan snapped as he dusted another vampire. “You guys can finish up here, but this doesn’t end until I’ve plunged a stake in that bitch once and for all.”

Mandi stood right in front of the abandoned hospital asylum chanting away to herself while the rest of team twisted fought of the vampires inside.

The wind began to pick up as Mandi’s hair began to change from brown to black as the wind grew stronger and strong until it was circling her blowing her black hair back and forth as her veins grew darker and more vibrantly showing on her skin as she continued to chant louder and louder not noticing Drusilla coming out of the building via jumping out of an opened window.

Drusilla eyed Mandi up from a distance and in that moment felt nothing but rage blaming the witch for taking away here last child and deciding to teach the girl a lesson right there and then as she began lurking towards her prey making sure the witch was too busy chanting whatever spell she was casting to notice her.

“You’ve been a really bad witch!” Drusilla snapped at her before punching Mandi across the face causing her to hit the ground instantly, knocking her out in the process and causing Mandi’s hair to turn back brown.

Drusilla pulled a blade from out of the chest of her dress before picking up Mandi’s unconscious body and holding the knife to her throat ready to slay the witch she blamed for Tristan’s sudden turnaround.

“No!” Tristan screamed after jumping out of the same window as Drusilla and ran over to stop Drusilla.

“You’ve been a bad boy Tristan and you need to be punished.” She replied as she continued to hold the knife towards the throat of an unconscious Mandi. “Besides she’s annoyed me for far too long.”

“If you let her live, I’ll come with you without any tricks.” Tristan pleaded with her. “You can turn me into a vampire, and I won’t fight you anymore. We can be a family again!”

“Fool me once shame on you.” Drusilla uttered before throwing Mandi’s unconscious body at Tristan who quickly caught his childhood friend stumbling a bit by doing so.

Drusilla quickly launched at Tristan using her blade to slit his throat instantly before putting on her vamp face and launching her fangs into her slit neck draining him off his blood while grabbing a hold of him as he began to fall as an unconscious Mandi’s body once again fell to the ground.

Drusilla continued to drain Tristan of his blood until she started to hear his beat become slower and slower at which point, she dropped him to his knees before using her nail to slit her throat slightly just enough to make her bleed.

“Now be a good boy and feed it’s either feed or die my darling boy I know you’ll make the right choice.” Drusilla told him as she lifted him back up and placed his head on her neck ready for him to feed from her before he died.

Tristan looked resistant for a moment as he felt his life drawing nearer to it’s end before he bit down on Drusilla’s neck refusing to stay dead in that moment and began drinking from Drusilla’s blood making her his sire making Drusilla finally his vampire mother much to her own wicked delight.

Spike and Faith walked out of the front door of the abandoned hospital asylum having just dusted the remaining vampires only to be left shocked to see Mandi laid on the field looking lifeless.

“I swear to god if he’s back-stabbed us…” Spike snapped fearing for his friend as he and Faith rushed over to her.

Spike lifting her up in his arms shaking Mandi’s body furiously in hopes of waking her up and after a few moments her eyes opened much to Faith and Spike’s relief as Spike instantly hugged his friend thankful for her still being alive.

“Thank god he didn’t kill you.” Spike said while continuing to hug Mandi tighter and tighter.

“Okay let her go before you wind up finishing the job.” Faith told him as she broke off the friend’s hug.

“Where’s Tristan?” Mandi asked frantically worrying about her childhood friend.

“He’s either hunting Drusilla or on the run with her who knocked you out cold anyway?” Faith asked her.

“Drusilla I’m surprised I’m alive to snitch on her.” Mandi replied clearly in shock while looking around for any sign of Tristan. “He would never have run away from her.”

“I don’t think he did,” Spike revealed as he knelled putting his finger into a large amount of blood spilled on the ground before licking the blood off his finger. “This is Tristan’s blood.”

“Oh god no!” Mandi squealed in shock, truly devastated by the thoughts beginning to surface in her mind about what had happened to Tristan. “He must’ve fought her off as she tried to kill me.”

“Tristan didn’t strike me as the saving type he’s probably just wounded a little if he did try and save you and we’ll find him.” Faith guessed while beginning to look around the woods.

“He had several chances to kill me time and time again and he never did.” Mandi cried. “Despite everything he never turned twisted enough to kill me.”

“There’s a lot of Tristan’s blood here but there’s also some of Drusilla.” Spike said as he stood back up. “There’s no dust anywhere so I’m guessing Tristan’s either dead or undead judging by how much she loves her children I’d guess the latter.”

“Oh god this is all my fault,” Mandi began sobbing. “I should’ve seen her coming I should’ve been able to cast them damn sunlight spell quicker!”

“None of this is on you Mandi.” Spike reassured her as he rushed over to hug his heartbroken friend. “We all knew the risk going into this Tristan especially.”

“Do you really believe she would turn him?” Faith asked Spike while he continued to hug his grieving friend.

“I know for certain that’s exactly what she would do if she had a chance especially knowing his emotions was getting the better of him as she would say.” Spike admitted to Faith. “We need to inform Buffy and Angel and we need to let them decide.”

“Decide what?” Mandi asked as she broke off the hug and began drying her tears.

“If we find him now and kill him before he becomes a vampire, or we wait till he’s a vampire before we kill him.” Faith revealed, clearly not happy with the only choices they now had left.

Buffy sat on the couch in her living room sitting next to Willow the two all curled up on the sofa covered in blankets and eating popcorn while watching old movies on the television as they had a movie night within their apartment in San Francisco which was Willow’s idea to try and calm Buffy’s nerves about Tristan not realizing that this was the day Buffy would lose her son once again.

Their movie time was quickly interrupted by the loud ringing of their house phone as Buffy pinched the popcorn bowl and looked at Willow with a knowing smile that said Willow was the one who was going to have to answer that call.

“Fine but if I miss anything good, I’ll put a hex on you.” Willow joked as she rushed into the kitchen of their apartment and picked up the phone which was hanging on the wall next to the fridge. “Hello oh hey Spike yes it’s Willow you’d think you’d know my voice by now.”

Willow suddenly went painfully silent as she found herself completely shocked by the news that Spike was telling her while tears began forming in her eyes.

“No, it’s okay I’ll tell her I don’t know how I’m going to tell her, but I will.” Willow told Spike as her voice began to break and tears began falling down her cheeks. “I know use done the best you could, we all did.”

Willow put the phone back on the wall before allowing herself to break down for a moment covering her mouth as she wept so Buffy wouldn’t hear her cries knowing she was going to have to stay strong for her friend knowing this news was going to break her and fearing she may never come back from losing her son again.

“Willow what’s wrong?” Buffy asked her as Willow walked back into the living room.

Buffy’s face began to drop as Willow told her of Tristan’s death at the hands of Drusilla causing her to scream and cry while sobbing as she struggled to contain her grief over her son’s death wishing nothing more for it all to be a terrible dream as she couldn’t help but blame herself for her son’s fate.

“We’ll get through this somehow I don’t know how but we will.” Willow cried as she rushed over to Buffy and hugged her tightly allowing Buffy to completely break down in her hands. “I’m so sorry Buffy I’m so sorry.”

Tristan’s lifeless corpse just lay there in the middle of the woods his throat slit from Drusilla’s knife as his spirit continued to linger while watching Drusilla dig him a grave out in the wild knowing night was going to turn to day soon so she had little time to bury her son before hiding from the sunlight as she planned to return for him at night forced into hoping no-one would find him before then.

“The last thing I ever expected to get me killed was my humanity the irony is if I was as truly twisted as I and everyone else believed I’d probably still be alive right now or maybe I was always destined to die this day maybe this was always her plan after all she wanted nothing more than Buffy to die more so than I ever did so I guess there’s a chance she saw all this coming that she saw Dante die and then me.” Tristan said as his spirit continued to watch Drusilla dig a grave for his body. “I guess I can’t complain with the amount of lives I’ve snuffed out over my life this is clearly what is deserving for me however I can’t help but wish that this death was finale that my body could finally rest from all this madness. God knows how much evil that body will commit now it’s a soulless monster even more wicked than I once was, but I guess that’s exactly what she wanted.”

Drusilla walked over to Tristan’s body picking it up and throwing it into the grave before beginning to shovel the dirt back on top of him burying him as quickly as possible so she could run off and find somewhere to hide out until the impending day turned back to night.

“I’m sorry mummy had to kill you I really am my darling boy, but I had to kill you, so I didn’t lose you.” Drusilla said while continuing to shovel more dirt onto Tristan’s corpse as she shed a single tear. “I know you won’t be the same when you return but I’ll love you all the same and if they thought you were twisted before just wait until you rise again my sweet boy.”

Faith got herself to New York before getting on the first plane she could early hours that morning as she jetted off to Los Angeles to inform Angel what had happened to his son fearing how he would react especially knowing Mandi and Spike were still out in those woods searching for Tristan’s corpse as Spike used a blanket he found within the hospital to cover his body as much as possible taking breaks in shade to heal from his burns as the two of them hoping to end Tristan once and for all before the monster inside of him rose again.

“Angel there’s something I need to tell you.” Faith said with tears in her eyes after finally arriving at the Hyperion Hotel in Los Angeles now standing in front of Angel who was sat behind his desk in his off. “It’s about Tristan.”

[smallvince]

Train ride, mid July. Anja was resting her head on my shoulder, the rhythm of her silent breathing tamed the summertime entropy. I raised my eyes and looked over her hair as it was being painted by the sunset light. The hills of inland Slovakia were not too dissimilar from those one can see in Molise, the Italian region where I am from. I wonder if, when two beings are nurtured by the same scenery, they move past each other more easily when the time comes to do so. The old couple sitting across from us had familiar features too. They were not speaking, not using phones, not reading or entertain each other in any other way. They just happened to be there, their mind seemed to be empty as they kept their eyes low - like one does when one doesn’t want to be noticed. Did their quiet sceneries find a way of conversing without speaking? Or were they pondering on bad news they had just received in the city, on their way back home? Difficult to tell, as only too often pain and happiness graze in the same meadow. The only thing I could tell for sure is that I felt like I knew they’re stories, intertwined as they were with the change of seasons. Anja used to speak about seasons all the time. ‘You are a new and beautiful season in my life’, she used to tell me, but her tender expression turning into an open smile always distracted me from the simple truth - seasons change.

We were not travelling heavy - certain kinds of travelling require to invest in nimbleness in order to be really prepared for what’s to come. Our bags were stashed rather unsafely in the upper compartment of the cabin, with the exception of the ‘snack-bag’ which laid half empty just next to us. ‘They are fine like that, don’t you worry’, Anja said, pointing with her eyes to the bags swinging wildly above our heads. Then she finished the cheese sandwich I had prepared for her and she found my shoulder again. I believed her because I had been on these kind of trains before - their wooden bulkhead and green leather seat with lacquered brass edges. This train spoke a different and ancient language altogether, one that I used to know. Anja didn’t know that I had seen men stuffed with Buprenorphine climbing the walls of those cabins as if they were asylum seekers desperate to break in a church in the Middle Age: for them, the upper compartment served both  as bunk and a practical hideout from the ticket inspector.  As I was thinking of them, a ticket inspector came to check our tickets. I went to rouse Anja and as if the present moment was nothing but the smallest doll to be found inside of a Matryoshka set, I snap out of my daydream as a ticket inspector walks down the aisle of the carriage I am otherwise alone in. I had never seen a ticket inspector on a Eurostar train, let alone a night train like that one. He doesn't even bother and after throwing a look of disappointment at me, he leaves. This whole train must be completely empty. I guess people are following governments’ advice for once and avoiding travelling. I press my face onto the cold window, searching in shapeless blackness for the same thing I was searching for during that mid July train ride. Every journey is a journey to the edge of happiness.

What only happened this morning feels as if it happened years ago. As I walked up the road to meet Lisa near the train station, it was as if I had all of a sudden found a different kind of energy. After two weeks of being quarantined in my house (just like the rest of the country), I discovered myself nimble again, my strides were quick and effortless. The feelings of exhaustion and anxiety that had so far ruled my days were gone, everything was calm. This sense of focus, a protection from the harshness of daylight, suddenly melted away as I raised my eyes from the greyness of the sidewalk and noticed Lisa waiting for me at the other side of the crossing. She was laughing. ‘Oh don’t you worry, I brought some for you also’, I said, ‘you gotta wear them too’. I handed her a pair of surgical gloves and a face mask. With my great surprise, she happily accepted my ‘isolation-gifts’ and we walked together to the supermarket - objective: buy as much as we could and get back home still in one piece, which is not to be taken for granted given the current situation the world is experiencing.

‘How was your morning? How’re you feeling today?’, Lisa asked while we were queuing for our turn to enter the supermarket. She asked it in such a way that her question already contained my answer in it. Nonetheless, I felt compelled in giving a non-verbal reply - which must have been quite difficult to read (as most of my face was hidden buy the green mask) cause I actually had to start dancing around like Mr. Bean in order to make her grasp what kind of insanity I was in the grip of. 

‘Ahahah what is this supposed to mean?’ ‘That I’ve got an idea’ ‘…right. What idea? What do you mean?’ ‘It’s a bit of a crazy idea…’ ‘Wait, does it involve…who I think it involves?’ ‘Yee’, I replied. My dancing skills started to earn me some fans in the queue. ‘Oh my God, what is it?’ ‘Well, I am thinking of going there. I have worked out the itinerary, I could go by train as far as Prague and then I’ll wing it from there’ ‘Are you fucking serious?’ ‘What do you mean? What makes you think I am not serious right now?’, I said, as the dance intensified. ‘Do you understand that this is insane? She will probably think you’re crazy and will get you locked up!’

I am now thinking back to what Lisa said, sitting on an Eurostar night train to Bruxelles. I left the house just after her and her boyfriend went to bed. The three of us joked about this foolish journey I wanted to undertake for the whole evening. ‘Ahahah so we are going to find a letter explaining the reasons why you left?’, Lisa’s boyfriend joked. At the end of the day, this whole idea came about as just a joke. However, things have a way of falling into place when there’s nothing left to fall back on, when you surrender to the simplicity of your emotions and act accordingly. That it’s exactly how I was feeling as I walked up the road towards the station, for the second time today, invested with purpose and focus. I felt the same way when I left for London, almost 6 years ago - like I didn’t have a choice, because what I was doing was simply the right thing to do. Every journey is a journey to the edge of happiness - we just never fully know which way we are coming from. While sitting on this train, sinking deeper in the Earth under the Channel’s billions cubic meters of water, I realise that only from here it would be possible to stare directly at the sun without burning one’s eyes. Is it possible that all I have been doing in the past year and a half is searching for what I already had - but was not able to see? If that is true, then there is not much difference between this train ride and the one in mid July. Just that I am on my own this time.