#catch me telling laz shes cool

[scover-va]

Hex polycule (Bryce, Rust, Lazarus, Chandrelle) thoughts?????

*cracks knuckles* hcs time babey! All under the cut bc it's a long post

Lazarus and Chandrelle were obviously the first ones in the polycule to catch feelings since they've been friends the longest, liking each other during SoL but neither actually properly doing anything about it

Since Chandrelle and Bryce were at the inn the longest though, they had plenty of time to bond. Nothing romantic, but boredom led to them opening up to each other about a lot, both of them disguising it as just casual chatter when it's like "Yeah aha I punched my grandma while trying to punch Irving and now she's permanently injured" "Oh cool Irving tried to fucking murder me"

Rust is the third one to come to the inn, and Bryce is making plenty of attempts to talk to the poor guy, despite Rust being a huge weirdo. Chandrelle wanted to stay out of it, but Bryce kept insisting the three of them sit together to chat

Then when Lazarus finally comes along, things are. A little awkward between him and Chandrelle for a bit. Understandable, given what happened the last time they saw each other

Bryce has heard plenty about Lazarus though, and welcomes him with open arms, happily introducing himself. And once again, as the extrovert, Bryce has Lazarus sit with the trio

Though with things still weird with Laz and Chan, Bryce decides that it'd be best if Laz sits with Rust to keep him company, since neither Laz nor Rust have a super high social battery. So basically Bryce accidentally got all the seating arrangements set up bc adding on, FPP and SWK had no tables to sit at, only left with the bar

So Laz and Rust chat a bit when they're both feeling up for it. Rust can't remember much thanks to the mind control serum, and Lazarus has a lot of repressed memories thanks to trauma, so most chats are about simpler things. Favourite foods, fighting techniques, stuff like that. Rust ends up learning a lot about sword terminology

Post game, Laz and Chandrelle finally properly talk about everything that happened, since everyone can now go anywhere they please again. Small argument, but it's more of just Lazarus having no one else to get angry at now that Irving's dead

They kinda sorta awkwardly hug it out, but none of their prior hugs have been super duper comfortable anyways thanks to Chandrelle's people issues anyways, so it feels more like home than Lazarus would care to admit

Meanwhile, with the MC serum wearing off, Bryce is helping Rust with his Rocky issues. The bonding leads to Rust developing feelings, not that he's emotionally stable enough to acknowledge that nor act out on it

Bryce also does his best to bond more with Laz, having been curious about him for quite some time now. Laz is a bit confused by all the questions, but answers them the best to his ability.

Bryce pretty much starts setting up proper time for him to hang out with the three of them. He drags Chandrelle into cooking/baking with him ("Maybe it could help with your anger issues?" "I don't fucking have anger issues!"), he and Lazarus work out together (nothing intense or anything, just simple stuff), and basically just having a book club type thing with Rust (Which also leads to them figuring out that Rust very badly needs fuckin glasses)

Sometimes the hangouts overlap. Rust will help Bryce and Chandrelle cook, Lazarus will invite Chandrelle to work out with him and Bryce, and Lazarus will go sit with Bryce and Rust so he can read with them.

Lazarus accidentally tells Bryce and Rust during reading time that he's had a long-time crush on his best friend, which even an idiot could figure out is Chandrelle, and Bryce encourages him to go for it. Well then lazarus starts talking abt how he'd feel bad, because he doesnt wanna leave Bryce and Rust for Chandrelle

Which also serves as an accidental confession to the both of them

It takes a lot of talking about it, especially since Rust's still a bit emotionally stunted and Lazarus is very, very new to romance despite the long time crush, but it basically becomes a case of "Let's go kidnap Chandrelle into the newly formed polycule"

Chandrelle's a lil hesitant at first, being even more emotionally stunted than Rust, so they all agree to take it slowly. Small dates, like going out for walks or Bryce cooking everyone dinner, stuff like that. They slowly ease into more romantic stuff

It takes Rust and Chandrelle the longest out of everyone to start doing anything romantic, both from a lack of a close bond and also emotional constipation.

Bryce convinces them to hang out more, so they do. Rust gets to learn more about Chandrelle's magic, though he doesn't really understand it at all, no matter how many times Chandrelle explains it to him

Luckily, she's moronsexual. Exhibit A: Lazarus

They basically only end up properly getting together because they both start accidentally talking about emotional stuff without realizing. And it was like "...Ah okay guess we can kiss or whatever :/"

They take turns with who's on the outside and who's on the inside of cuddle piles. Though the most frequent order is Rust > Bryce > Lazarus > Chandrelle

Lazarus also isn't invited to help out in the kitchen. Hes mistaken salt for sugar and vice versa at least ten times each. He burnt an oven mitt by placing it directly on top of a hot stove ring. He accidentally knocked over a beer bottle right into a hot, greasy pan. He didn't take offence to being kicked out.

Chandrelle has made it her life mission to get Rust to shave. She's failing.

And finally, they all use a weighted blanket when they're cuddling. Rust likes the extra pressure because he got used to sleeping in heavy armour, Bryce just likes being warm, Lazarus has the neurodivergent crave to get his bones crushed, and Chandrelle needs to be kept down so she doesnt have a complex kick in and try to run off

[q-gorgeous]

my facebook bio as started in 2011 or later

i almost posted this without a read more but like this doesnt need to just be sitting in the open does it

a cheese covered popsicle bird,sittin in a tree, fartin for its life. hairy cheese snorin for some crab feelin lik it's green.(u kno wat dat means.) dont choke urself.......u may be full of candy. I will be watching the sky's movement........ do not freak me out sky. O_O if only the britsh irishman could confuse the lolipop out of ur daisies so that they could red ur blue cheese I love to sing, read, draw, and be with my friends. I dont like people butting in my business, MANY popular people, bullies,mor anyone who thinks they can do whatever they want. I seem to be bad at keeping friends looking at the point that i have lost quite a few :P well my bio from like two years ago sucks lets update it shall we? wull im [QUISHAWEASLEY] as facebook tells you and i like to sing read and draw and stuff i draw pictures/paint stuff for friends or contests on instagram i read for twelve hours straight once xD and i wanna be on the voice or something but i still needa get better and dat and ye [NOT FRIEND] is mah bae bbf bby fer lyfe [DINGUS] is mah ultra bae cuz ye and murt is panda idk lol wull bye then lol xP Well look were back here again So i am usually called [NAME]/[NAME]/quisha. Whatever one you prefer I am still doin choir and music and stuff and i am also still doin art. I got accepted into miad so im excited about that My favorite medium to use is crayon because not many people use crayon and i appreciate the way it looks I also rlly enjoy ed edd n eddy because i am a child stuck in the 2000s I am a supporter of all rights and people and i will slice anyone who dares deny someone that and ye Well howdy ho neighbor back to updating this gosh darned thing. Im also known as quishaweasley Right now i am in my first year at miad almost done with my first semester. I declared my major and plan on going into illustration. Ive met some kool people there that i enjoy alot so shoutout to paige, gavin, cameron, tala, kylie and anyone else i chat with alot. I still like singing and everything but i no longer have to opportunity to perform with a choir since im not in high school anymore. Crayola and crayons are still the best thing ever and its my go to medium. Ive also been getting into 4d things at school. I still also rlly enjoy ed edd n eddy and i want to animate in that style The past couple of months have been rough because [DINGUS] stepped out of the picture but who needs the lard anyways. Im looking forward to the things i get to do in the future with the people who care about me so x1x1x-x1x4x-x1x7x x:x]x well if im not back for this dumb ritual then i wont say hidey ho yo i go by either [NAME] or quisha, depending on how you met me. im a week from being done with my third semester of college, and its goin gud. along with majoring in illustration im thinking of minoring in digital media production or whatever its called. i still use crayons every once in awhile when i can and my program of choice is illustrator. my shows that are like best are ed, edd, n eddy, danny phantom, and gravity falls. funfact, when i finished watching gravity falls i was like "nah it had a satisfactory ending to it and it was good. i dont need to read fanfiction or watch it millions of times or anything" and guess what happened i got sucked deep into the depths of that fandom and who knows when ill escape also minecraft is gr8. shoutout to gerby who im pretty sure is my best friend. u da bomb hidey hey im back again idk why im doing this its only been a semester since the last one alots changed since then i guess? idk. i still go by either [NAME] or quisha but ive picked up a new nickname "gorgi" because of this whole thing that was the best ever i dont use crayons as much anymore but ive finally figured out how to paint in photoshop and thats become my go to instead of illustrator i still like ed edd n eddy and gravity falls but danny phantom hooked me up, reeled me in, and tied me up and im stuck in the phandom now shout out to laz my bestie lexxie the most coolest been feeling better than i have in a long time after the whole phandom event thing that happened in february so thats cool shoutout to them ok im done this is blp

[vimeddiart]

Strangers

Patron-voted fic of my D&D beeflings! Read the previous comic and the first comic for this series for context!

On AO3

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

The zinging cadence of his hammer hitting a new blade usually tempers his fraught emotions and lessens their intensity. The rhythm and beat usually calms him, the heat of the furnace and the steady drip of sweat as well. Except his heart thunders on and his breathing remains irregular and his eyes sting—not from stray embers or errant drops of perspiration—and his agitation grows.

It grows so powerfully that he miscalculates and swings his hammer much too harshly, breaking the blade he was trying to fashion which frustrates him further and he throws down his tools with a clatter, pressing the gloved heels of his hands to his brow.

Lazlo.

Tuhka releases a trembling breath.

Barely a day had passed since he had regurgitated all of the regret and agony of his childhood friend’s death right into said friend’s face before gracelessly fleeing, the bitter taste of tears still on his tongue and Lazlo’s look of resounding disbelief haunting him even here in the safety of his forge.

It wasn’t fair.

Why must he have been forced to carry the burden of grief and guilt for so many years? All those moments of remembrance, thinking of a friend—the only one he ever had— ripped away from the world much too soon, endless nights of pain and suffering, wishing he’d been taken instead...and for what? Lazlo was alive. Had been for perhaps as long as Tuhka had grieved his loss.

How much hatred—or worse, indifference—must Lazlo have harboured to fail in seeking Tuhka out...to reassure him, to reunite with him, to talk with him. They had been family.

Tuhka wrenches off his gloves and tosses them to the side, stalking towards the entrance of his smithy for some air, unable to concentrate anymore on his craft. His hands shake when he grasps the wrought iron gate.

A sound distracts him for a moment, one that carries over on the salty evening breeze that cools the sweat of his brow. Gravel crushed underfoot. It’s gone in an instant and even with his sharp hearing, Tuhka strains to listen for something further, ears swivelling in the hopes to catch it.

It doesn’t take too much investigation to track down the source of the sound once he decides to; a dark figure perched somewhat dejectedly on a boulder that offsets a scenic cliffside path Tuhka often takes to clear his head.

“You didn’t waste your grief, if that’s what you’re bothered about,” the figure says.

Tuhka’s breath leaves him in a rush as he’s met with a familiar blue gaze. He feels pulled forward by some invisible thread and settles himself on the far edge of the same boulder, leaving a bit of distance between them.

Lazlo sighs, drops his head into his hands. “When you left that day and never came back, I...believed you’d abandoned me, that you’d made good on your promise—”

“That was a child’s threat, I never meant to—” Tuhka began, needing to explain despite the betrayal he felt, still very fresh, that had upended years of mourning.

The other tiefling shook his head, dropping his hands away from his face and letting them fall to his lap. “I made a terrible decision, I paid for it,” the spectral left hand twitches and Tuhka notices it properly for the first time, heart squeezing despite everything and mind filling with more questions, “and I...went away for a long time. I didn’t think to look for you...I thought you despised me.”

He releases a mirthless laugh. “I don’t think I would’ve found you anyway. I’d have been looking for someone...quite different.”

Tuhka swallows hard. “I’ve...probably grown a bit since you last saw me.”

This startles a small, but real, laugh out of Lazlo, even if it does sound a little wet.

After a pause, Tuhka gathers strength from the stars and attempts to keep his voice steady. “That day...I went back for you. I did. I wasn’t going to, I was about to start a new life away from those bloody mines and I was so angry with you that I hoped you would stew in them forever...but then I remembered you wanted to get out just as desperately as I did and we swore to do it together so I went back to fetch you.”

Tuhka didn’t dare raise his eyes to Lazlo’s face, staring intently at his own hands grasping his knees even though the image was beginning to waver and blur.

“It was snowing and freezing and I walked through it without stopping, thinking that I would see you soon and whisk us away to a better place, until I saw the smoke from over the hill and I knew you’d gone ahead with our plan without me,” Tuhka let out a shuddering breath, “they said you got crushed in the tunnel along with that bastard foreman. Don’t remember much of what happened after that...just that I’d gone to fetch you and came back empty-handed.”

Tears flowed freely, despite previously believing he had run out of tears to shed. From the corner of his eye he noticed Lazlo wipe his face with a pure, white square of cloth.

“Told you the truth though…” Tuhka continued, after a none-too-discreet sniff, “mourned you like a piece of me had died. Couldn’t think of much else for a good few years,” He runs a forearm over his face roughly and finally turns to Lazlo, raw and exposed, “I would’ve looked for you in a heartbeat if I’d known you were alive. I would’ve.”

Lazlo lets out a sound like an animal in pain, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks that he no longer tries to wipe away. “I didn’t know...I didn’t know— I mucked up my plan and ending up losing everything, I— I was trapped for years without knowing how much time passed, I was...I was isolated from the outside in a way you won’t be able to understand but you must believe me, I never wanted to lose you—”

That final crack in Lazlo’s voice is what forces Tuhka to move closer and wrap an arm around his shoulders, mumbling soothing words until the sobs that wrack Lazlo’s frame subside. It reminds him of when he was younger—and much smaller—when Lazlo would do the same for him after a tumble, a run in with the awful foreman, or when overcome with a sadness he couldn’t understand, much less explain. Lazlo would have been there to comfort him, always.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lazlo lets out a tremulous sigh. “...Tables have turned, hm?”

Tuhka makes a tentatively amused sound in response. There is a whirlwind of emotion to wade through, but he can take this moment just to experience how real and solid Lazlo is. That he’s back.

“A right pair of bellends we turned out to be,” he ends up saying.

“Quite.” Lazlo sniffs, but there’s a small, albeit watery, smile on his lips as he straightens out of Tuhka’s one-armed embrace, and Tuhka tries not to let the empty feeling that remains affect him too much.

Something that has been niggling in the back of Tuhka’s mind takes on more force and the reason finally dawns on him.

“You sound different.”

Lazlo finishes wiping his face with a fresh, white handkerchief and makes a noise, muffled by the fabric.

“Yes, ah...I trained out the accent I used to have and replaced it with a new one.”

Tuhka blinks. “What’s wrong with your old accent? That’s the accent I have! I got it from you!”

“I needed to, ah...move in higher circles of society and I couldn’t very well sound like a common miner, could I?”

Tuhka opens his mouth to argue, a nostalgia for their juvenile arguments filling him in a split second, but Lazlo interrupts, “You know, we don’t have to speak Common if you’d prefer.”

They fall back on Infernal so naturally that Tuhka has to swallow a lump in his throat and keep the waver out of his voice. He never thought he would have this again. He’s a little rusty and out of practice but that doesn’t seem to matter in the moment—it’s like they’re back in the mines, speaking their language out of earshot of the foreman, making plans for the future in a world that was all dreams.

Tuhka tells Lazlo how he adopted Ooria (and not the other way round as she claimed to recall) and how she had helped him find his true self. He tells him about his work, his smithy and how he made a home on this cliff by the ocean. He doesn’t talk about the painful things, like crying himself to sleep every night for years from missing him, or the search for his adoptive mother who was now lost.

Lazlo talks about— what Tuhka suspects is— superficial milestones, his expertise in identifying gemstones, the places he’s visited and the night skies he has lain under and commemorated on his skin. Tuhka notices the glittering constellations peeking out of Lazlo’s clothes and his heart thumps, wanting to ask what made them special enough to wear permanently but he stops himself...still feeling like a stranger. There’s an undercurrent of darkness in Lazlo’s vague statements, of secrets untold, and Tuhka is slightly surprised by a keen disappointment that bubbles within him at not being trusted with them.

There’s a lull in conversation, an impending finality that Tuhka does not appreciate. He refuses to remain a stranger as well, which prompts him to realise that he hasn’t even properly introduced himself yet.

Feeling bold, he holds a hand out in the human way. “Tuhka Turunen.”

Lazlo’s gaze lands on the proffered hand and then flickers up to Tuhka’s face, seeming to weigh his options. He breathes out a laugh and leans forward, ignoring the hand to press his forehead slowly but firmly against Tuhka’s in customary tiefling fashion. An echo of the greeting they shared when they first met as children.

“Lazarus Astrophel,” whispers the tiefling formerly known as Lazlo.

Tuhka smiles. “Nice to meet you, Lazarus.”

They part and Lazlo—Lazarus—clears his throat, “My close acquaintances sometimes call me Laz. You may do so, after all we’re—” a beat of hesitation, “—old friends.”

His vibrant blue eyes are on Tuhka, almost as if expecting him to disagree. Tuhka doesn’t.

“Laz,” he says, smiling, “lot less likely to get mixed up with that.”

The sea breeze sighs around them, ruffling hair and clothing. Tuhka watches as Lazarus gets to his feet.

“It’s late. I should be going.”

Panic flickers through Tuhka. “You’re leaving?”

“I have business in town for a day or two, I’m staying at an inn there...The King’s Cushion?”

Tuhka nods, recognising the name. He gets to his feet as well, unintentionally towering over Lazarus.

“Stars...I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.” Lazarus grimaces.

“You’re welcome to visit,” Tuhka blurts out, trying to keep any semblance of desperation out of his voice and getting the impression that he failed, “you wanted to commission something, we can talk about that whenever you like.”

After a moment of confusion, Lazarus’ expression clears. “Ah, right, yes, that was what got us into this mess in the first place, wasn’t it? Yes,” he smiles, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

This time when he leaves, it’s with a lot less anger than moments after their first confrontation only days ago, and with a promise to come back. They had once shared everything, even their deepest desires. Now, after fifteen years apart, they’ve become completely different people—the fact that Lazarus came here, willing to talk, making promises to return even if there’s a chance he may not keep them...it’s a start. And that will have to be enough for now.

Tuhka sits back down once Lazarus has vanished from sight down the path and gazes up at the same stars he had begged night after night to return his best friend to him.

He thanks them for listening.

[ottos-funny-bunny]

Infect me with your loving.

Chapter 2

Warnings: Eventual smut, violence, depression mentions

Summary: Ongoing fic with an OC and Otto Octavius

Fandom: Spider-Man/Marvel

Authors Note: Thank you all for all the love and support! I’m surprised with how much love chapter one is getting and appreciate you all so so much 💗

Once you realize there is life after mistakes, you gain a self-confidence that never goes away. — Bob Schieffer

Shit had hit the fan. Not literally, but figuratively. Dylesia didn’t stop running until she reached her front door of her studio apartment, her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, the small of her back pressing against the olive green door. She didn’t want to run, that was the very last thing that she wanted to do. She wanted to properly thank him, maybe a gift card, or a coffee something other than running in the opposite direction with her tail tucked between her legs. Coffee… this had all started because she wanted coffee. And a break. “I guess there’s no rest for the wicked, huh..” Dys mumbled to no one in particular. Her nimble fingers reached into her coat pocket plucking out the tangle of keys, flipping through them until she found the key with the fox on it, carefully sliding it into the lock.

With a satisfying click she walked through her door, and quickly turned around switching the deadbolt and the lock back into their original position. With a final huff of relief, her brown coat, heels and other belongings besides her phone made their way on a small bench by her door in a heap. Another task that she would finish later, Dylesia thought to herself. Lazarus, her black feline companion, chirped at his mother, earning a rewarding scratch under his chin.

Before long her phone had erupted in spontaneous song, startling Dys and causing her to drop her phone, flat on the dark wood floors below. Causing Lazarus to run, in the opposite direction. “I’m sorry Laz.” She mumbled before quickly returning the phone to her hand and bringing it up to her ear.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Dylesia LaFosse what did I tell you about being careful!” Came the screeching accusatory voice of Nelly. “What are you even talking about?” Dys shot back. As much as she knew Nelly cared, at this particular point in time she didn’t feel like listening too a lecture. “You’re ON T.V. and the news! You and about every bad guy in New York!” Nelly hissed, demanding an answer from her counterpart. Dys huffed and quickly switched her phone onto speaker and flipped through the news. ‘Local Girl kidnapped by Doctor Octopus.’ ‘Rogue attack by Doc Ock, one girl captured.’ Dylesia’s face flushed red with anger. “It’s not like I intended on getting ‘kidnapped’, Nelly. And they blew it COMPLETELY out of proportion. He SAVED me, he didn’t hurt me.” Dylesia felt ridiculous, defending a man she had never even met before today, and had no knowledge of other than the news story’s. “Oh my god you have Stockholm syndrome.” “Nelly with all all due respect, I’m tired from being KIDNAPPED and need to rest.” With a defiant huff, her thumbs quickly tapped on the end call, tossing her cellphone into the plush chair adjacent from the couch.

How could people be so cruel? He had absolutely not kidnapped her. He was her rescuer, her hero even. Good god… maybe she does have Stockholm syndrome. No. She didn’t. She knew what she saw, she knew what she felt. She wasn’t crazy. She felt the cool metal through the polyester of her shirt, the way those chocolate brown eyes stared at her with such intensity, the way that the copper hair messy with battle shown with hints of graying around the edges and— Stop. Focus. She knew nothing about him. She could NOT be trying to rationalize and surely not trying to allow her heart to flutter over a simple act, he would’ve done the same for any other girl. She wasn’t special. The voice in her head chimed, with such matter of fact-ness on the ‘wasn’t special’ part it was almost ringing in her ears.

The hours passed like minutes while Dylesia sat frozen in front of her TV, Lazarus contentedly purring next to her while she listened to the dull voices in the background. Before she knew it, it was 10 o’clock. Darkness surrounded her in the quiet of her apartment and out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw a flash of red. Her head shook clear before she lifted herself up from the couch, making her way to the waters of clarity from her shower. The hot water encompassed her, like a warm hug, washing away the problems and worries of the day. Out of the shower she came, dressed in dark green satin shorts and matching tank top, her hair still dripping drops on the hardwood floors and bare feet leaving wet impressions behind her, Lazarus weaving in between her legs like knitting needles.

Dys returned back to her living room, making herself a small cup of coffee to make up for the lack of caffeine; a dangerous thing for an artist, and opening a can of cat food for her desperate companion. Then set herself down cross legged on the floor in front of her coffee table her laptop opening. She had accomplished absolutely nothing. All she could think about was that stupid doctor and his stupid face and his stupid good looking body. Stop it. Maybe if she dove herself into her work, then she would stop thinking about him. Boy was she wrong.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Lazlo, I have absolutely no time to be playing your games…” Her green eyes shifted from the screen, adjusting to the new light from her blue light glasses, where Lazarus was seated in the indent of the couch from where Dylesia would have usually sat.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

More rapid this time. Dys fixed her ears on the sound, hoping that it wasn’t for her. It didn’t sound like wood, it wasn’t hollow, it wasn’t empty and echoing like the neighbor.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Glass. It’s glass. Dylesia turned her head to her balcony doors, eyes widening in shock as the man of the hour stood, expectantly waiting to be let in. This had to be a joke. Someone had to be playing some kind of game on her. Why on gods green earth would be show up. On her balcony. At a half past eleven at night. A gloved hand motioned towards her lock on her door, pointing and mouthing “May I?” No. No you may not. Thought Dylesia, before lifting herself up from her position, her legs feeling fuzzy from the lack of movement, before padding towards the door. Thin fingers clicked open the lock, before a metal tentacle opened it, allowing its master entrance to her abode.

Otto took in his surroundings behind the shadow of black frames. Cute. He thought to himself, eyeing up the artwork on the walls, and the color coordinated books on the shelving by the TV. “Can I help you?” Dylesia stated, eyeing him carefully from the safety of the coffee table. “Just wanted to make sure you were safe.” The smooth, low voice commented back. “And you found my home how?” Otto stopped his observations and promptly turned his attention to the girl. She was more beautiful in person. With the matching pajama set, and blonde hair waving as the dampness dried. The green of her pajamas offset the green of her eyes, staring at him, which caused a small chuckle to bubble from his broad chest. “You don’t typically give people your full name if you don’t expect them to see who you are.” Her face blanched. Of course. Idiot. In her niceness she blasted her name for god and everyone to hear. She wasn’t necessarily popular, but she was known. Her art had been on exhibit in multiple galleries locally before, she was a board member for the Manhattan Arts Council. She was known.

Otto’s digits reached up and carefully removed his sunglasses, depositing them in the coat pocket, while an actuator slid the door closed behind him. The other three chirped and observed the area surrounding them, whispering to their father. Pretty. Delicate. Want her. “Shut up.” He grumbled under his breath, Dylesia’s perked, wondering who in the actual HELL he was talking to. She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He sighed, watching her small frame move under his gaze. “I’m aware of that…” she finally mustered, turning and grabbing her sweat shirt to cover up at least the upper part of her body. “Coffee.” He hummed, taking in the floral scent of her environment, and the strong smell of freshly brewed coffee. “A little late for that, hm?” Seriously. He barged into her home. In the middle of the night, after stalking her and had the audacity to question HER on HER habits. “I needed to get some work done, my work day was cut short by unforeseen circumstances.” She huffed, watching him move around her living area, examining the trinkets that surrounded her home. “What do you do?” He asked, curious about the woman. “For someone who had time to go out of his way to find my address, you would think he would take time to read maybe a page or two about me.” She mumbled under her breath, before straightening herself. What was she doing. Why was she letting this charade to carry on? Was she that desperate for company she had to seek it out with a corrupt man?

“I’m an artist.” She finally stated, figuring if he was going to be drastic, he would have done it already. Moving to close her laptop, Otto came by and seated himself on the opposite end of her couch, watching the woman walk throughout her home, her long pale legs catching the light as she moved. Want it. Want it. Want it. “Enough.” He sneered to the voices in his brain. He’s crazy. Completely and utterly mad. Dylesia thought. It wasn’t a figment this time, he was actually talking to himself. “Why did you care to come see me.” She asked, carefully placing herself on her spot in the couch. Otto’s gaze softened, she acted so genuinely surprised to hear that someone wanted to make sure she was safe, secure and taken care of. The actuators moved like snakes, chirping and whirring at Dylesia, opening and closing like little claws at her, speaking their own language. Lazarus sniffed carefully at Otto, before deciding that he would be the perfect place to settle down on. Which Dylesia had to say, she was envious of. “Do they like… speak to you?”

Otto smirked, looking down at the small void in his lap, affectionately pawing at the actuators coming to investigate the small animal. “Yes.. in a way. They communicate with me, we have a mutual understanding.” Otto paused, mulling over the rest of what he was going to say, or more or less, what he wanted to say. “I wanted to see if you listened.. and you did.” Otto wasn’t going to admit to her he wanted to see her again. Which is why he spent the past hours in the aftermath of chaos, looking through every resource available to him to find her. When he did it took all that he could to not break down her door and make sure she was safe. “Who is this?” He asked, running a large gloved hand down the sleek fur of the purring animal. “Lazarus.” Dys scoffed and eyed him carefully, before thin fingers ran through her blonde locks, holding them in place on her forehead. “Well… at least I get to thank you properly now.” She spoke so quiet, so meek and gentle. An untrained ear would miss it, if Otto wasn’t hanging onto it like a breath of air. “Do you want a coffee, some food? I have some Greek food in the fridge if you’re hungry or..” Otto held up a hand, stopping her short. “That’s not necessary little bird, Lazarus… Like the biblical figure?”

“No. Lazarus like Sylvia Plath.” Dylesia spoke surely. Little bird? That was a new one, she thought. No one had given her a nickname, not any boyfriend or anyone else in her lifetime. Besides Dys, which was real original. His warm gaze carefully traced over her body, dark circles previously covered with makeup could be made out very clear in contrast to her fair skin, she looked tired, and not in the woman without makeup tired, the tired to her core. Like she had given everyone every last ounce of her until there was nothing but a drop left. Otto could sympathize with that. “Sylvia Plath… my so the books aren’t just for show.” He chuckled, turning his attention to her extensive collection. “You get some rest, little one.” Otto spoke softly, his hand reaching out to push back the loose strands of hair lingering over her face.

Dys froze at the sudden contact, shocked that he would touch her or even come near her. He was just being nice… He didn’t care… he wanted to see if you listened. Her green gaze turned to him as he stood up, earning a chirp of disapproval from Lazarus, making his way back towards her balcony door. “No, they aren’t just for show…Otto?” She whispered, watching him leave as suddenly as he had came. “Hm?” He hummed, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re a bad person… I didn’t think you kidnapped me. You-you saved me. When no one else would. You’re a kind, gentle man. Thank you.” Otto could have melted in the spot he was standing. The tentacles happily whipping like the felines tail that accompanied her.

“When will I see you again?” She asked, watching as a booted foot carefully stepped on the rod iron of the balcony, actuators clinging on to the sides. “Soon, little bird… Soon. I’ll want to see your artwork eventually.” Followed by a wink, the lower actuator carefully closed her door, before mouthing the words ‘Lock it.’ And he was gone, like smoke in the wind. Dys quickly rushed to the door, locking it before calling Lazarus over to her and retreating to her bedroom. Good god. She was in deep, deeper than I think she understood. Face down in the pillows, she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that sleep would come to her, wash over her like waves. But to her dismay the only thing that would wash over her was the thought of Otto, and the metal arms slowly wrapping their way around her heart and soul.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

MC comforting Vinca while she is crying

Pairing with: Can we write mc getting terribly injured and almost dying for vinca? and then emotional vinca❤️

Warning: Mentions of blood.

...

Part 1

Written by @cute-ogre

A warm hand squeezes hers and let it go.

Nico breathes in heavily, inhaling the cold air, the familiar smell of antiseptic, bleach and pine telling her immediately exactly where she was.

The bleary vision soon became more focused and she was able to see the nurse standing by her bedside, checking her vitals and taking fast notes. He smiled when he noticed his patient was awake, making a nervous one-sided chat while waiting for the doctor responsible for her, a cautious looking woman that calmly explained her general state and left her alone after a long check up, noticing her tired state.

She closes her eyes, sighing, exhausted. Her body was weirdly numb and she couldn't quite move yet. Her thoughts  were difficult to grasp, like they were floating in a tick fog, bouncing slowly back into her mind one by one.

Her house was broken in, she was alone. There were shouts, hers, and growls from the way-smarter-than-it- should-be demon.

(Because, yeah, those exist.)

Cold hands trying to get the locket out of hers. The small locket with, apparently, Vinca's soul in it. Vinca couldn't read her mind and apparently that means creepy, stabby demon time.

Light catching in the metal as a pocket knife was pulled, made a shallow, bloody cut in the left side of her head and then sunk into her abdomen.

A piercing scream as she killed it, a mysterious light shooting from her wound like lightning, disintegrating the demon on the spot. The demon needed her blood for something, she thinks, but couldn't remember why or what.

Bloodied hands trying to make a call with no success.

Bandaging the wound with shaky hands, trying to keep the knife firmly in place.

A seven-minutes-long, careful, anxious walk until Vinca's house. Her hands pressing the wound, trying to keep the knife there without damaging her body even more.

Constantly analyzing her own state while looking for new attackers in the dark streets.

(The injury... below the belly button, lateral, probably non-lethal if treated soon by the looks of it. Elevated breath and heart rate with dizziness, so moderate blood loss, maybe?)

Knocking on the taller woman's door frantically, a door opening, wide blue eyes staring at her in shock.

And then everything was blurry.

The sound of the door opening brought Nico's attention back to the present.

"I can't believe she was stabbed! She will have such a cool scar!"

Trudy's voice rings loud and excited, and Vinca's answer is barely a hiss.

"If you don't shut up and back off, I will make sure you'll get one too."

"Really? That would be so badass!"

There's some commotion, a yelp accompanied by hushed whispered yell and then silence.

Someone clears their throat.

"We will go get some clean clothes for her, Laz is already there taking care of her mom. We'll be back soon." Yvette's voice sounds gentle and low, and was received with a low grunt of agreement and a closed door.

Nico's eyes open again, vision bleary for a second before being filled with the familiar big, crazed,blue eyes and messy blonde hair. The Pride assassin's face close enough that she was able to see the small freckles that adorned her -weirdly- make-up free face.

"H-Hi?"

Vinca just stares intensely at her in silence for a awkwardly long time before smirking, poking the small women's cheek.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to wake up! Feeling better, Julius Caesar?"

The dark haired girl blinks, nodding distractedly, her eyes scanning the white hospital room. When she speaks, her voice sounds hoarse and weak.

"Thank you for bringing me here, and I'm sorry, I probably spilled blood all over your nice car."

Vinca's smile appears to waver for a second before she let out a snort, straightening up. "Yeah, your stabbed ass made quite a mess, had to drag you out of the car like a dead corpse. Hope you know that you will be the one cleaning it."

"Hey! It's not my fault I was stabbed!"

"Yes it is, you are the easiest target I have ever seen, you look like the type of person that tries to hold on to the water when you slip on the shower." The blonde shots her a teasing look, seeing the small woman roll her eyes in annoyance, a weak smile on her lips.

"Oh, you can kiss my ass!"

"What ass? You have none, you are flat like the surface of the earth."

She is using humor to cope, like she always does when she feels strong emotions.

Brown eyes stare at Vinca, seeing the model stands up with a tense posture and walk to a table with a jar of water nearby.

"Please tell me you are joking and don't, in fact, believe that the earth is flat."

Like the unbearable brat she is, the blonde woman just shrugs, smirking a little bit before resuming her task, and Nico notices the slight shake of her hands as she pours the water in a plastic cup.

"It may be."

"The- the earth isn't flat."

Nodding slowly, she sits on the bed again, blue eyes twinkling and a soft smile on her lips.

"I know, and neither are you, hotshot." She winks, offering the cup of water, earning a laugh from the bike mechanic. "You should drink it, you lost a disgusting amount of blood."

Nico sighs, before slowly trying to seat up with the taller woman's help.

"Did I pass out? I don't remember anything after knocking on your door."

Smile gone, the tallest Wren sister shakes her head seriously.

"You didn't, but you were definitely confused."

"Oh."

There is a heavy pause with Vinca opening and closing her mouth before clenching her jaw and letting out a  annoyed huff.

"I was really... " She waves her hand in the air and grimaces, like the next words are causing her physical pain "...worried about you, I think."

"Aww, you think?"

It takes all of her strength of will, but Nico manages to hold back a smug smirk, looking up to see the blonde scratch uncomfortably one of  her slightly reddened cheeks.

"I thought you hated me when we first met. Look at us now, progress!"

She bites her lip, holding back a smile, gives the Chinese woman a side-eyed look and sniffs.

"I did. But eh, you grew on me, like a fungus."

I care a lot about you too

Humming, the bike mechanic takes a sip of water, furrowing her brow when she notice the way the mind-reader keeps looking fixedly at her own hands, opening and closing them repeatedly.

"...Vinca? Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

The huge bags under her eyes doesn't exactly scream "fine" to Nico, but she decides to finish her water before asking again.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm peachy, why wouldn't I be?" She snatches the empty cup of water, throwing it into the garbage can without even looking at it.

"It's... It's about the locket? Something happened to it?"

"The locket it's fine." The answer is suddenly tense and Nico looks at her dubiously.

"Are you sure? It seemed impor-"

"Yes, I'm sure. I don't care about the fucking locket."

She grits, crossing her arms in annoyance, voice sounding snappy, but she doesn't meet her eyes when she keeps talking.

"And you are a moron. I can't believe you got yourself stabbed for that stupid thing."

The Chinese woman lets out a incredulous laugh, ignoring the way her head hurt a little when she did.

"A locked with you soul in it,detail you forgot to mention by the way! And you told me to take care of it!"

"I said 'Take care of it', not 'get killed protecting it' you dumbass!"

"Yeah, but I didn't die."

"You almost did!" There's a second of silence after the explosion, and when Vinca lifts her eyes they are shining with unshed tears and more vulnerable than Nico has ever seen them.

"It- it was so much blood and I thought that- I thought that you... and for a stupid locket!" Her breath is uneven, her hands moving in the air, wildly, and her eyes start darting to everything in the room besides the injured woman. "I don't care about my fucking soul! I could kick some old demon ass until they turned ash and get the locket back if it was stolen, but what would I do if I lost you?"

"Vinca..."

The dark haired woman stares at her in stunned silence, her body moving forward instinctively to touch her arm when she is hit by a sharp stab of pain, wincing.

The blonde rushes forward grabbing her shoulders and looking at her with wild eyes. A gentle pressure forcing the small woman to sit back.

"Don't worry, I'm fine."

"No. You are hurt."

It's a statement, a statement said with so much anguish that Nico doesn't even know what to do with it.

Long fingers touch delicately the bandage in her head and the sad blue eyes meet hers before learning in to press a soft kiss to her covered forehead earning a perplexed wide eyed stare.

"I'm sorry, you got hurt and I wasn't there to protect your nerd ass."

"Hey..."

The smaller woman mutters, hands cupping Vinca's face, wiping a tear and starting a gentle caress, drawing a shiver out of the woman.

"I'm fine, you are here right now to deck any demon for me, aren't you?"

Vinca smiles weakly and sniffs. "Bitch, you can bet I'm."

"Good. Now come here."

She moves carefully to the side, making a bigger space in the bed. To her surprise the taller woman immediately moves to sit by her side, hiding her face in her neck, inhaling the smell of strawberry shampoo coming from the soft  dark hair and muttering:

"....about the locket."

"What?"

Nico feels a warm tear hit her skin.

"I said I'm-"

She huffs annoyed, grabbing a fistful of the brunette hospital gown.

"I'm sorry about the locket. I gave it to you because I thought that you deserved some part of me that wasn't tainted."

Nico forces herself to be silent, unsure of how to answer and her hands lift to caress soft wild hair earning a sigh from the blonde.

I will talk to her about it later

"I shouldn't have- I put you in danger and I'm sorry."

"It's fine, I'm fine. Let's just... forget about it for a while hm?  But be aware that you will explain how did your soul ended up in a locked in details after I'm out of this hospital."

Nico jabs a accusatory finger, poking at the pride assassin's ribs.

"Whatever you say, girl boss."

Vinca chuckles, nodding and slowly raising her head and looking at the smaller woman with something in her eyes that the bike mechanic couldn't quite place.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

She hesitates for a moment, calculating, before speaking quietly.

"I... I'm just so glad that you are okay."

And something about the way blue eyes never leave brown tells Nico that that's not really what she was going to say at all.

"Me too."

Nico nods, smiling softly at her and seeing the Pride assassin blush and narrow her eyes.

"But if you tell anyone that I cried I'm gonna kick your tiny ass so hard that  you're gonna fly off the planet earth and become a satellite, are we clear?"

"Would you really hurt an injured woman?"

The brown haired girl clutches her chest dramatically, earning a cheeky grin from the blond.

"Have you met me?"

"... Fair point."

[ecotone99]

[HR] You Gotta Drown

Laying flat on his stomach underneath a raised,1980's Chris Craft Scorpion, the boat's scent of mildewed lake water strong in his nostrils, Justin couldn't stop seeing Laz die.

The memory played on repeat in his mind. The dark house that was supposed to be empty this summer. The wall safe. The sound of a creaking floorboard. The explosion of a shotgun. White hot incandescent light flashbanging him, sawing through his eyes. Meat and blood and bone exploding from Laz's back like a grotesque confetti popper, spraying viscera down Justin's front before he turned and ran out of there like the Devil was after him.

Sticky bits of Laz still covered Justin's neck and face, itchy where it had begun to dry like glue. His clothes were ruined now and before he could even think about making it out of this he'd have to find something clean to change into. Currently he resembled a walking talking Manson Family crime scene. One look at him and anyone with a cell phone would have the cops on him in minutes. Less.

Blood, bone, and guts. He cursed himself for not taking the keys to the truck off Laz before he ran out of there. Whoever had shot Laz had done it with no problem, though, not even a word of warning. As far as Justin's logic went, it stood to reason that the shooter had no issue with adding him to the body count as well.

Goddamnit, why wasn't the house empty? Laz had been certain it would be. Those were his exact words. "Hey, man, chill. Allie does the cleaning there on the weekends and she says these people are out in North Carolina for the summer, doing some sort of fuckin' timeshare shit. I'm certain, alright?"

And like a fool, Justin had believed him. Driving to the job at 2am, he actively ignored the nervous feeling churning in his stomach, the cold sweat making him shiver as they listened to the police scanner for patrols in the area. When they pulled up to the house there hadn't been any lights on in any of the windows and the driveway was devoid of cars. It was one of those big lake houses in a community of copycats, each with their own two acres leading down to a dock and the better side of Lake White Bear. Manicured lawns. Meticulously trimmed hedges. Even the trees looked rich. Justin had forced himself to block out the little pissant voice telling him that this seemed too good to be true.

In the distance he heard the faint whine of a police siren, maybe an ambulance too. Probably a couple of squad cars at least. Justin had been in this business long enough to know that cops didn't show up to shootings without a team. A whole swarm of bees with badges would arrive and get down to the brass tax of finding him. First, they'd find Laz dead, so certain about his misinformation. They'd see he still had the keys to the truck and that's when the shooter would explain, if he hadn't already, that there had been two burglars and that the one still breathing was on foot. Justin wasn't sure if Harrison County had a K-9 Unit or not, but he was betting they did. In less than a half-hour they'd have a dragnet set up to catch him. In a small upper class town like White Bear? They'd hunt him past the state line. He had to get out of there immediately.

As quietly as he could, Justin rolled out from underneath the Chris Craft and surveyed his surroundings. About fifty yards from where he had been hiding, an embankment sloped gradually downward toward crowded dock space. Beyond that the shimmering surface of Lake White Bear ebbed gently against the mooring with soft splashes and the occasional ghalump of water suction. Higher up on the hill was a large grey house, windows black and eerily still.

Justin scratched at his neck. He really needed to wash Laz's blood off of him and breaking into another occupied home to do it was miles away from smart right now. But the lake was right there.

With hyper-focused caution, Justin padded across the grass to the dock and sat down, exhaustion washing over him as he took off his shoes and socks. The sound of police sirens was much louder now. He did not know how far he had run from the crime scene, and although it felt like he'd been running for an hour, he knew he probably hadn't put enough distance between himself and Laz's body. If he didn't hurry he would soon be in handcuffs in the caged backseat of a cruiser wondering how it had all gone so wrongly.

The dock's damp wooden boards were chilly on the soles of his feet but when he eased himself into the water he found the lake to be surprisingly warm, even this late at night. Treading water as best he could, Justin dunked his head underneath and scrubbed the blood and brain off of his face. Lake went up his nostrils like fire ants making him cough and splutter, spitting into the water and splashing instinctively, much more than he figured was quiet and safe enough to do. After that he'd had it with the lake. The blood was washed off his face now, fine. It was never going to come out of his shirt. At least he'd had the sense to wear dark clothes, plus it was still pitch black out. If anyone did happen to spot him, they wouldn't be able to tell he had blood all down his front. These were small mental concessions but they helped improve Justin's optimism that maybe he might make it out of this after all.

Pulling himself out of the water and onto the dock as quietly as possible was no easy feat, but with some exertion he managed it. He lay on the cool wooden planks for a second, catching his breath, listening to the splash of water off boat hulls and the whisper of wind through grass and trees. A night bird called above in a branch behind him. All of Justin's senses seemed heightened, and yet, dulled. For a moment the trouble he was facing felt distant and unimportant. Chilliness brought him back to the panic, however, and with resigned reluctance he forced himself back onto his feet, his mind racing to plot his next move.

And in the darkness that swelled over the water rose a newer sound. A soft tinkling of what Justin placed to be sleigh bells. His ears pricked and his attention darted to the noise like a small animal catching the scent of an unseen predator. Over the lake he could partially make out a shadow gliding across the water, but only just. His heart thumping like a battle drum, he scrambled to grab his shoes and made a beeline across the wharf to where a small catamaran was moored, leaping onto the deck and once again diving onto his stomach near starboard, hoping he hadn't been seen by whatever it was that approached.

A wan, greyish blue light bloomed to life in the darkness, and though it was rather dim, to Justin it seemed as bright as a lighthouse lamp. He flattened himself even more against the boat's deck, squinting across the black lake.

A small rowboat came into view, coasting slowly toward the dock. A lantern hung from the bow, a thick candle burning dully, it's flame wavering silently as the boat came to a stop just at the end of the moor. A man was at the oars. Even in the dark Justin could see he was old. The shaggy silver beard knotted around the man's chin glittered in the moonlight and the way he rowed revealed the sort of back problems usually reserved for the elderly. When the boat came to a halt, bumping and scraping against the dock, the man pulled his oars in and tied it off to an unused cleat.

"Ya can quit hiding now, Justin." The man's voice was deep and raspy, almost like a cough stretched thin as a whisper. Justin felt The Fear return to the foreground of his mind. "I ain't here with them cops round yonder. I swear it. I'm here to take ya where'n ya need takin' to. Now come out here so we can be off."

Justin stayed flat. He had no idea what was going on or who this man was. For all he knew this guy was with the Coast Guard or something and this was all a trick. Sound travels a long way over water. Could be some boat cop heard him splashing and sputtering around in the lake and cooked up this old man's story upon investigation. He wasn't about to let them lure him out with tricks.

The old man reached into his long coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out of the pack, put the filter between his teeth and bit it off, spitting it into the lake. He leaned over his boat and lit the cigarette off the weak flame of the lantern's candle. The smell of the cigarette triggered Justin's nicotine addiction, but he stayed put.

The man ashed into the lake. "These I rolled myself. Got a box'a tubes and tobacco, one'a them hand rollers. Cheaper than buyin' them Winston's. But they taste a hell of a lot worse. Ya come on out, ya can have as many as ya need. Be quick about it though, boy. The law gon' be here before ya know it, and then it'll be a long while before you taste a Winston again. Ain't no smokes in county. Took 'em all out years back on account of lung cancer. But you know that. Ya been to county plenty. You'll be there before sunup if you don't get in this boat."

The old man was right about most of that. There weren't any cigarettes in county anymore. Hadn't been for nearly ten years now. And he had been there his fair share of times. And the way it was looking, he'd probably be there again before morning. This time though they'd have him segregated on the Felony Wing and he'd be going up State.

Justin slowly stood up. He couldn't have told you why he did it, not really. A part of him wanted to believe that the old man was here to help him. On the other side of things, if the old man was setting a trap, Justin just wanted to spring it and have this nightmare end. So he stood up from his hiding place and faced him.

"How do you know who I am, and who sent you here?"

The old man flicked his cigarette into the lake and motioned for Justin to get in the boat. "All these questions ya got be better answered once we out on the water. Trust me on this one, boy."

All Justin could think of was the feeling of cold handcuffs being latched to his wrists, too tightly, digging into his skin as he tried to find a comfortable sitting position in the back of a cop car. He'd take the rowboat over that every time. He padded quickly across the dock and stepped into the boat. The old man got in and sat across from him, taking up the oars once more.

They pushed off from the dock and with two strong beats of the oars they glided out into the clear distance of the lake. Soon the rhythmic splash of water on oars and oars on water began to make Justin drowsy. That, combined with the night's exhaustive series of events made it difficult to stay awake. Only the fear and uncertainty kept his eyes open.

For twenty minutes the stranger rowed and rowed. He was strong for an old man, Justin had to admit. He wasn't sure if he could have kept it up for even half that distance, even though he was decades more youthful.

The man stopped rowing. Darkness flooded every direction. The moon had been obscured by clouds and the candle had burnt out. The man pulled the oars in.

"You got questions." He rasped. "Here is the place to ask them."

"Okay," Justin started. "Who are you and what is this? How did you know where to find me and why are you helping me? Did Laz hire you or something?"

The old man pulled out the cigarettes and offered one to Justin who took it eagerly. Like the old man had done, Justin bit off the filter and spat it into the water. The old man did the same, only this time he lit Justin's cigarette with a match and then his own. Before the match burnt too far down he relit the candle inside of the lantern. The glow of it cast ghostly shadows across the man's face, a face that seemed oddly familiar to Justin.

The man exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. "The answers I'm gonna give ya," he said, "ain't gonna be easy to accept. Matter fact, I promise ya they're gonna come out like insanity."

Justin nodded. The way the night was going, insanity seemed like the new normal. "Well go on then," he encouraged the man. "Explain it so it sounds sane."

The old man nodded back. "Well here it is and I swear it's the truth, so help me God." He hit the cigarette again and talked through the smoke. "Everybody who ever lived eventually dies. Just like Laz did tonight. You seen that much is true. The thing about dying' though, is not a whole lot of folks know what happens after that. But I do know what happens. I sure do."

Justin was already confused. "What does this have to do with anyth-"

"Just hold up and let me tell it. I said it wasn't gonna be pretty." The old man killed his cigarette and tossed it. "Like I was saying," he continued, " I happen to know what happens when the reaper comes knocking. I know you always wondered about God and heaven and hell. Well, all of that shit is real. When you die, you go to one of two places. Up, or down. And you don't wanna go down, trust me. But when you're going up, there are some bad folks who wanna stop that from happening. I guess they get brownie points or something for every soul they stop from gettin' into heaven. So when you're on your way in, they try to strike up a deal with you. I'm here tonight because I took the deal."

Nothing the man said made any logical sense. "What the hell are you talking about? Seriously, man. Who the hell are you?"

The old man laughed a small hoarse chuckle. "Boy, ain't it obvious? I'm you."

The old man was right. His story was completely insane. Justin laughed along with him.

"I told you it was crazy, right?"

Justin nodded laughing and then he reached across the boat and grabbed the man by the front of his jacket. "Who the fuck are you!" He growled.

The old man pulled Justin's hands from his coat with more of that surprising strength. The muscles in his hands felt like corded steel. He pushed Justin back to the other end of the rowboat, the force of it rocking the boat slightly and making the lantern swing on its perch.

"Like it or not, I'm you." The man said again.

"No. No you aren't."

"Justin Lee Washburn. Born December 22nd, 1987 in Duluth, Minnesota. When you were a kid you were in and out of juvie for running away from home because your daddy beat you up. They put you in that foster home and everybody started calling you Jail instead of J.L. like you wanted 'em to. You broke Casey Fitch's nose because of it out back of that little community park and he never ratted you out. Told Ms. Christine that he face planted falling off a jungle gym. Don't nobody know about that but us and Casey."

Justin's mind raced wildly trying to remember if he had told anyone else about that. It was an incredibly obscure piece of personal information for this man to have, regardless. He himself hadn't thought about it for two decades, let alone mentioned it to anyone.

"If you're me, then you know the first person I ever masturbated to."

"Sure do. Except it wasn't a person. It was Rosie the Robot from The Jetsons."

Holy fucking shit.

"Jesus Christ." Justin couldn't believe it, but he did.

"Nah, he's not real. Christ, I mean. There's a God, but Jesus ain't him. Same devil though."

"Okay, but why are you here then? Or fuck, why am I here? Am I dead too?"

The old man shook his head. "No you ain't dead. You don't die for another fifty seven years. After Laz got killed, we ran down to this dock and hid out for a while, but you fell asleep. When you wake up you got a cop's flashlight in your eyes and you're in prison not more than three months later doing 60. They gave you your's and Laz's time. A real piece of work, the Judge is."

"So, like what," Justin asked. "You're here to make sure I get away?"

"Sort of, but not exactly."

"Well then make it make sense, man."

"Well, when I was in prison I spent a lot of time working on building up my body and a whole lot more time than that getting religious. I guess I got so religious that when I was running on the exercise yard and had my heart attack, whoever keeps score decided I made it into heaven. But it's just like I told you. There's a lot of folks waiting just outside the gates and they all wanna make a deal with you. They'll do anything to stop you from choosing heaven, even if it's only for a little while."

Justin leaned in. "What do you mean, a little while?"

"What I mean is, they made me a deal. I could go back and try to change your mind about things and they'd get to stop me from entering Heaven. But that doesn't mean I can't still get into the pearly gates though. We, I mean. Because there's still yourself. You have time to change and put yourself on the correct path like I did when I was locked up. So they only delayed us. But after this, it's all on you. If you fuck it all up you could get on the wrong end of that scoreboard and lose your ticket for good. I got until sunrise to make up your mind. After that I go to Hell. But if you take the deal too, I just stop existing."

Justin held out his hands gesturing for a cigarette and his older doppelganger immediately translated it and obliged. He took a long drag of cheap tobacco and then asked, "What do you mean if I take the deal too? What's my part in all of this?"

The old man hesitated. "You ain't gonna like this."

"Just tell me."

"Alright," he went on. "For the deal to go through, you gotta drown."

"Wait, what? Why do I have to drown?"

"Look," defended the old man, "I don't know why you gotta do it, I just know that you gotta do it. These guys, the ones who make the deals, they aren't good guys, Justin. Matter fact, they're probably the worst guys there is. They make these deals and hedge their bets. Think about it. If you don't fulfill the deal on your end, I go to hell anyway. And since we're still the same person on the same timeline, you're gonna die in prison and go to hell too, because I already traded our sold for this opportunity. But, now hear me out. If you do take the deal, you get put into a new timeline, one where you listened to that gut feeling telling you not to go with Laz and you don't go to prison and you got a chance, Justin, a chance to turn it all around again because your soul ain't sold anymore. But, you have to drown first. That's the only way."

Justin sat quiet for a while, shivering in the cool air gusting off of the lake. The way he saw it, he was fucked no matter which direction he turned. On shore, the cops were waiting. He knew he couldn't run forever and they'd catch him eventually. He had spent enough time in the system to know that he didn't want to die in prison. So, he had a choice to either die like that, a long slow death with no reward to look forward to in the end, or he could take the bigger risk and die now. At least the bigger risk had a possible payoff.

"Okay," he said finally. "How we doing this?"

The old man pointed to the floor of the boat. "Rope and a cinder block. You'll go down fast. I'll tie your hands up so you won't be able to get loose. Take a lungful of water and it's over."

"Fuck me, man."

"I know how you feel." Said the old man. "Took me three minutes to die from my heart attack. Longest three minutes of my life."

"Well then we better get this over with," said Justin. "Before I change our mind."

The moon had shifted its position in the sky when it finally came out from behind it's cloud cover. The old man checked the knots on Justin's wrists and ankles and seemed satisfied by his work. He lit up another cigarette, took a few hits to get it going and put the butt in Justin's mouth. Then he picked up the cinder block and handed it to Justin who was able to clutch it to his chest even with his hands bound.

"I hope you live a better life than I did," the old man said. "And while you're at it, do us a favor and quit smoking these things. They'll kill ya."

Justin spat out the cigarette. "I can do that."

The old man chuckled again. "You ready?"

Justin was not. His belly was full of snakes and tar. He nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Yeah, me neither," said the old man and pushed Justin overboard.

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