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The Arcturus Missions

Part Fourteen - Nightmares

Part Thirteen

———

Human mass is made up primarily of six elements; oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. That makes up around 99% of the human body, 0.85% is made up of another five, being potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, and magnesium. Together the eleven elements are necessary for human life, the trace elements of the other 0.15% included, probably. 

There is no discernable thing that keeps them specifically alive, such as a Spark, but most organics experience similar characteristics. 

To most mechanicals, just understanding what they're made out of, they think if they harm an organic too much they will simply pop. It grossed most of them out and a decent number preferred to stay away. Those who didn’t find them gross, just don’t understand how they could live without a spark or something resembling a spark.

Mechanicals and organics, they typically didn’t get along whether for prejudice or misunderstanding.  

—

Once the cybertronians cleared out, they could disable the mobility assist and eat. Talking over private comms and eating, wearing their visors if they could, otherwise maintaining the wider visual feeds. The mix of alien food and perishable earth food was becoming less and less frequent as little of the stuff from Earth that would go bad remained. Almost seven months since they left home and they’d managed to make it last this long was nothing short of great planning and a miracle in the name of Prowl’s processor.

Hound was chuckling, eating the last of his almonds and something that had been deemed ‘Carrot Potatoes’, which was only called that because its growth process was similar. It did not look like a potato or carrot, or taste like either, it was more meat-like than anything but they couldn’t exactly say that out loud. Jazz learned that the hard way when mention to Prowl over three years ago that it tasted like beef, only the exact translation was that it tasted like organic animal muscle and Prowl found that endlessly disturbing. It generally was cut up and dried or superheated, similar to roasting. For the moment, Hound was enjoying the fired version as it was most similar to beef jerky. Along with the food, they had a nutrients drink of Prowl’s design, which was foul, but provided them with what they couldn’t get from any of the food they had access to. It was easier to wash down with water, which thankfully they did have regular access to.

Sideswipe was laughing, gesturing, “I can’t believe that, I mean, come on. Primus selected him specifically to be the leader of a whole planet?” Breakdown groaned, “Not this conversation, again.” Sunstreaker laughed and took a drink from the thing Prowl designed, not even gagging or choking on it like the rest of them. Supposedly he was used to the taste of vitamins and dirt. “I’m just saying, the mech is just like the rest of us. A somewhat normal life before the damn war and now he was selected by their creator to lead the planet, that would be like if god came down to Hound and made him the leader of the free world and the pope at the same time.” With a shake of his head, Jazz groans, “I hate that you’ve all held onto the pope analogy, it was a bad one and I regret it.” They all laughed at that, it didn’t translate well and to be honest, it’s what they all called him over private comms. 

It took them a while to calm down from their laughing fits, Hound finishing off his food first and disengaging his camera, “Alright everyone should get their heads down.” Breakdown chuckled lightly, “You say that like we’ll all be awake in an hour.” disabling his own camera for the night, “Yeah, I know. You all kicked ass today, just, get some rest.” Hound chuckled light as he took off his helmet and visor, shaking his head a bit, “Night guys.” With a chorus of nights and good nights, they all turned off their camera and microphones, turning off the comm line for the night. Each adjusting their settings as needed, setting up alerts and things for the night. It was difficult, having to sleep in your mech but they all made it work. Cots and sleeping bags, makeshift wash stations, pillows and blankets, or even just a bit of storage were all stuff they took cues from Jazz about. It made their life just that little bit more normal that they needed. 

—

It was the middle of the dark cycle when Sunstreaker shot up from his makeshift cot in his mech suit, they had all agreed it would be easier to remain in their cockpits as much as possible when in the field but when back in Iacon they would run any updates or cleaning protocols that were necessary. He was breathing heavily, sweating and unable to truly pull himself from the dream, “I can’t breathe.” Sunstreaker’s voice was faint, strangled from crying, practically falling off the cot he goes to the command chair and starts to run the toxicity test on the air outside his mech. The longer he was in the suit the worse he was getting, starting to hyperventilate, the claustrophobia was kicking in. Grabbing hold of part of his helmet, practically yanking the visor from it he holds it up to read the current reading before unsealing his suit.

The outside air was cool with a light breeze, the heater was several feet away but keeping the metal of their mech suits warm. Sunstreaker pulled himself from where his suit laid and fell to the ground painfully, gasping desperately as the panic attack set in. 

Nightmares were common for pilots, anything from the life before the suit, the comparability testing, being physically made compatible, or just the life as a pilot weighed heavily.  They all had nightmares. Nights where you’d wake up in a cold sweat or nights where you couldn’t breathe, it’s just usually you weren’t in the thing that brought about the nightmare.

Sunstreaker stayed where he fell for a while, both from the pain and the panic. The visor was still covering his face and his hands were over his ears, taking deep breaths when he could and when he couldn’t he was choking on the air. Nightmares and panic attacks were too common among pilots, but it was part of the way of life. What started to bring Sunstreaker out of his was a gentle tremor in the ground, much like how Megatron would shake the ground but significantly softer. Taking a breath, he slowly pushes himself up from the floor, holding his arm that he landed on painfully and tries to look around. Only now becoming away from where he was and what he was doing. Suddenly aware when bright blue eyes locked on his small form and stared, saying something in Cybertronian that he could only partially understand without the translator, “Shit.” In that moment, even in all his years of training and fighting, even back when he street raced he never froze like he did now.

Bluestreak wasn’t entirely sure what he was staring at, it was dark certainly but this small thing was sitting near one of the strange human mechanicals, one of his friends if he was being honest with himself. The twins, the split sparked idiots had grown on him, and had found his work impressive. It meant a lot. Taking a moment, he looks closer with a frown, “Are you lost, little thing?” The planet they were on had everything from organics to some cybertronian’s living on it. It was meant to be a peaceful place but their energy farms had been clocked by the Quintessons in the last quartex and now the fields outside the energy farms were battlefields. This was happening across the universe, especially in cybertronian space and apparently as distant of a quadrant as where the strange mecha were from. 

They both stared at each other for a long time, the visor on Sunstreaker trying to help out with translations rolling across the screen and what little else it could do separated from the mech suit, and Bluestreak was trying his hardest to seem non-threatening. One step from Blue though shook the ground and Sunny was quick to grab part of his suit to stabilize himself. That was a bad idea. 

Bluestreak was quick to grab the organic away from Sunstreaker, knowing the mech needed his recharge and brought the thing close to his face. Sunstreaker stumbled and nearly fell, clutching desperately at Bluestreak’s hand, swearing, “Fuck! Put me down!” Bluestreak’s scowl was rather menacing when it was this large and close, Sunstreaker nearly fell again as Blue started to back away from the group and the warmth of the heater, causing Sunstreaker to shiver from the cool night air. After all, a pilot didn’t sleep in his assistant suit if he could help it. 

With all the connectors embedded in his body, those being connected to the assistant suit made it hard to move and the wires both in the suit and down his back pinched painfully when leaning wrong, let alone trying to sleep in it. NASA had been kind enough to send them up with astronaut pajamas, but Sunstreaker kept those in Iacon where it was just about always cold. Now, he really wished he was wearing more than his boxers. Blue kept glowering at him and he was catching just about every other word, desperately holding onto his palm, he raises a hand and struggles with their very strange language, “Negative-motion!” Bluestreak stopped, his eyes widening slightly and Sunstreaker sighed, practically melting, “Thank god that worked. Uh.” He stares at Bluestreak before bringing himself back to standing, still shaking lightly. 

“Name, me. Star-Orbit-Postive, Positve-Speed-Positive-Movement-Someone.” Sunstreaker winced, it was a rough translation at best but, Bluestreak’s eyes flicked over to his suit before looking back and shaking his head a bit, “Negative. Name, Star-Orbit-Positve, positive-direction.” And he pointed. Sunny groaned and rubbed his face, taking the visor off briefly with a frown, trying to think. He continued to shiver, glancing over to his suit, and looked back, “Me, Negative-size. Motion-speed-negative. Movement-pain-positive, in—“ He stops and points, “Star-orbit-positive, positive-direction.” Holding up the visor briefly, before putting it back on and acting like he was holding a set of controls, “Movement-pain-positive, in Positive-size, positive-plating.” He hoped it would come across, if he was just in his suit he could explain. Then again, if he was in his suit he wouldn’t need to explain. Bluestreak continued to stare, frowning before shaking his head a bit, “Negative, Star-Orbit-Positive, recharge.” Sunstreaker almost growled, throwing his hands up and dragging his hands down his visor.

Bluestreak had started to walk away again by the time Sideswipe was back in his assistant suit and up, moving over quickly and just grabbing Sunny, “Blue, what the hell.” Sunstreaker grabbed desperately at his brother’s hands, eyes wide still and clutching desperately, “This organic is clearly lost Sides.” Bluestreak smiled a bit, “Plus, you should be in recharge.” “Yeah, well, so should Sunny.” Walking back over, his steps significantly lighter than Bluestreak’s as to make sure the others remained asleep, he lowered Sunstreaker back to his suit, “He’s freezing, why’d you take him away from the heater?” Sideswipe was practically growling, turning and glaring at Bluestreak, visor darkening, “Organics on this planet usually wear more of those organic coverings.” Sideswipe rolled his eyes, watching as Sunstreaker closed up his suit, Bluestreak’s eyes widening, “What the?” Sideswipe turned around and shoved Bluestreak hard, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the heater and away from his sleeping friends. 

Sideswipe’s fist collided with Bluestreak’s face, “You could have killed him! It’s freezing out here!” Blue caught his first the second time, “Sides, calm down!” “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” And he tackled Blue to the ground.

The inside of Sunstreaker’s suit was now just as cold as it was outside, the heater only helping so much as he pulled on his assistant suit and activated his direct comm to Hound, sending out his distress alert as he shivered. Trying to get in the pilot's seat and his suit up while Bluestreak and Sideswipe fought a dozen meters away. 

It took only a few seconds for Hound to wake up, frowning at Sunstreaker’s distress alert before getting up. Pulling on part of his assistant suit he activated his visual feeds, then quickly climbed into his piloting chair while swearing. They would draw the attention of the other awake cybertronian’s and wake up everyone else if they kept fighting. His suit was the easiest to get up and moving, though he wasn’t in his entire mobility assistant suit he was quick to override the controls and move over towards them as fast as he could. Just managing to grab Sideswipe and haul him off Bluestreak, “Enough! Go back to bed, now!” “But Sunny,” “Is fine. Go to him, now. I will handle this with Bluestreak.” Sideswipe yanked himself from Hound’s hold, glare evident even with the visor before storming back towards the heater and wrapping his arms around Sunstreaker when he was finally able to sit up.

”I swear, I didn’t do anything.” Bluestreak was bloodied, wiping at his mouth at energon leaked from the gashes there. Hound offered a hand to him, frowning, “I know, but we clearly need to talk.” With hesitation, Blue took Hound’s hand carefully. Sighing slowly, Hound helps Blue up then gestures, “We need to talk away from the others and we need to get Prowl on comms.” Bluestreak almost stopped dead in his tracks, “Prowl? But I just said,” “I know what you said. It has nothing to do with that. Come on.” He gestured towards where there was a turned off heater, away from the few cybertronian’s milling around outside.

—

Sunstreaker was still shivering, his mech shaking lightly, “I’m fine Sides, really.” he leaned his head against his brother’s shoulder, “I just had a nightmare and needed some air, I didn’t think anyone would be around.” Sideswipe was fuming, holding Sunstreaker close, “He could have killed you and not even realized it.” Sighing, “Yes, but I’m okay. Least till Hound has to explain the big secret.” He bangs his head lightly against Sideswipe’s shoulder, “I can’t believe I was so stupid and reckless.” Sideswipe quick led shook his head and held Sunstreaker closer, reading the message Hound sent, “You couldn’t breath, were not supposed to be spending every waking and sleeping moment in these suits.” He sighs slowly and shifts, “Come on, we need to get some more sleep for tomorrow. Hound is handling Bluestreak, as much as I want to kill him.” Sunstreaker nodded a bit and started to deactivate the connections, “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be, just go back to sleep Sunny. Hound’s got it.” Sunstreaker gently pulled off his helmet and visor, disabling the external feeds. Seeming to everyone who didn’t know their secret like he’d already fallen back to sleep. Sideswipe watched and waited for a few minutes before removing his own helmet, wincing as he unplugged part of the assistant suit from the piloting apparatus. He was bleeding a bit, from where wires had torn into his skin. 

A pilot is supposed to wear the entire mobility assistance suit when piloting a mech, but sometimes you had to save your brother from dying before you could get every piece on. Padding over to his makeshift bed, Sideswipe pulled out a medical kit to cover the gashes he’d gotten from the raw connections to himself instead of the suit. Him, Sunstreaker, Breakdown, Jazz and Hound had scars from doing this in the past that reopened far too easily. 

—

The comm only had to ping twice before Prowl was on the line, “Hound, it’s the middle of the night cycle.” Though he didn’t sound tired, it was more the concern, “This line secure? No one is listening in?” There were two quick clicks of mechs abandoning the line, “Now there is not. Why?” Hound sighed and sat down, turning the heater on high, “Sunstreaker climbed from his suit when Bluestreak was around, there was some sort of altercation and I need you to connect Bluestreak to the comm line.” Prowl was eerily quiet on the other side, after a moment Hound could tell the poor guy was hitting his head on his desk before there was another click, “Alright, what is happening? Why did an organic of all primes forsaken things climb into Sunny’s chest?” He sounded horrified and Hound bit his lip, trying to not yell and took a breath, “Bluestreak, that organic is Sunstreaker.” Shifting a bit, he claps his hands awkwardly, “And you came way too close to killing him for his brother’s liking or mine.” Taking a breath, Prowl clears his throat, “I will handle this Hound, you should return to the others and get more sleep.” Nodding a bit, it took Hound a second to speak, “Thank you Prowl.” He stood and hands shaking lightly, chose to walk away. Disconnecting himself from the comm line as Bluestreak started to yell.

When Hound got back to the makeshift campsite, all the others were either still asleep or back to sleep. He took a moment, standing away from the others and dragged his hands over his head. They were on yet another alien planet, around people they were just beginning to trust and now someone Sunstreaker had genuinely trusted just attempted to kill him. Maybe not purposefully, maybe even not-knowingly, but these other mecha were dangerous. Hound had to remind himself how dangerous they were. Moving back over and lowering himself to the ground, he stares up at the stars, tomorrow would be a day where none of them trusted Bluestreak again. Trust earned is just as easily lost. Looking over to Sunstreaker, he reaches out and turns the heater up, sighing a bit as it warms the metal around him comfortably. 

How could he protect them when everyone knew what they were.

—

Prowl was shouting, Bluestreak had his head down and was trying not to cry. The prime had clear orders whenever it came to organics and nine times out of ten it was to leave them alone. But Blue knew Sunny, knew he hated when he was splattered with energon or anything remotely gross. The guy liked to keep his paint clean, he didn’t think an organic with its slime would be appreciated. Now, he just felt stupid. He’d never seen them eat, they slept more than any other mechanicals he knew, and they preferred to handle their repairs themselves instead of going to Knockout; though who could really blame them for that. Everyone just thought they were weird, like their fascination with death, their avid prayer, and lots of talk about things that couldn’t translate.

“This is a secret that you must keep Bluestreak, you know the prejudices of our people and you know how they’ll be treated. Everyone will think they are piloting around corpses.” Bluestreak shuddered and gagged lightly, “They practically are!” “No, no they are not. Their suits were designed specifically for them, in most cases, Their people needed a way to fight the Quintessons and this was their solution.” Bluestreak leaned back against the seat, staring at the sky, “They look so much like us.” Prowl sighed deeply, “Blame Swerve, regardless, not only am I asking you to keep this secret Blue, but they are as well. Hence why Hound was the one to start this conversation, he only left because of his anger.” Bluestreak paused and looked over to the humans, their solitary huddle, optics leaking, “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” There was a moment of silence before Prowl spoke up, softly now, “I know and they will come to understand that, but remember that Jazz has been organic all these stellar cycles, everything he’s heard,” Blue gasped lightly, “He told them.” Prowl hummed sympathetically. Even Bluestreak found some of the things others said offensive, some of their people couldn’t comprehend how they were living beings or intelligent ones. Sure, some weren’t so bad but even then. 

Hiccuping lightly, Bluestreak takes a deep invent, “Primus Prowl, how did you keep this slag a secret for so long? Does the Prime even know?” There was another delay on the line, “I kept it a secret, cause I knew if I said anything it would put Jazz in jeopardy. And I didn’t tell the Prime because we needed him, we need them or we won’t survive these invasions.” They fell silent, both staring off into space, even on separate planets, “I’ll keep their secret Prowl, but how will I get back their trust?” Prowl opened and closed his mouth, “Blue, I wish I knew. Humans are fickle and unpredictable at best.” Bluestreak groaned and slid to the ground, covering his face, “To say as the humans do then, I fucked up.” Prowl chuckled a bit sadly, “Yes, unfortunately you have.” Bluestreak stayed there on the ground, by himself and the overly warm heater.

Prowl disconnected the line and stared at the display of maps and battle plans, the bots who were there to the left side and the humans to the right, taking a slow invest, he adjusted Sunstreakers, Sideswipes, and Hound’s statuses and marked them to not be disturbed until they reached out to the other mecha. It was the only thing he could do from so far away. Glancing over to the icon for Optimus, he thought about it, like he always did in a moment like this before returning to adjusting the plan for tomorrow. They’d just have to survive till they returned to Iacon then they’d be able to discuss this at his— Jazz’s apartment. 

———

A/N

So, this was not the initial direction that I planned to take this part but I love it so much. I knew that the twins were going to spill the secret in some way, I originally wanted it to be in a stupid way but I prefer to write angsty stuff.

Let me know if you guys want to know what his nightmare was about? I haven’t written anything down but I know what it is.

Thank you all for all the love I’ve been getting on these fics and I am thinking of setting up a release schedule? I know it will probably be between 4:30 and 6 EST. But I don’t know how many days a week cause at the moment I’m flying by the seat of my pants.

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU!

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Shadow | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, unwanted sexual contact (not on reader)

Word Count: 5069

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Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

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Sam made himself and Dean don goofy outfits to go investigate the death of some poor girl who died the previous week. You were dressed as their supervisor, so you didn’t have to dress like the third Imagination Mover.

“You know, I’ve gotta say Dad and me did just fine without these stupid costumes,” Dean complained. “I feel like a high school drama dork. What was that play that you did? What was it— Our Town. Yeah, you were good, it was cute.”

“You did theater?” you asked Sam.

“Look, you wanna pull this off or not?” The brunet changed the subject.

“I’m just sayin’, these outfits cost hard-earned money, okay?”

“Whose?” You gave Dean a look.

“Ours. You think credit card fraud is easy?”

***

The landlady of the young woman’s apartment building let you into the deceased’s room. She called the alarm company as useful as “boobs on a man.” She explained how Meredith had been found in pieces scattered around the apartment. The landlady said there had been no signs of break in, and allowed you and the Winchesters to check the apartment out for a bit.

“So, a killer walks in and out of the apartment—no weapons, no prints, nothin’,” Dean said.

“I’m tellin’ ya, the minute I found that article, I knew this was our kind of gig,” Sam replied.

The EMF meter Dean was holding beeped rapidly.

“I definitely agree with you,” you chimed in.

“So, you talked to the cops?” Sam asked his brother.

Dean smirked. “I spoke to Amy, a, uh, charming, perky officer of the law.”

You ignored the way your heart squeezed in your chest. “Yeah? What’d you find out?” You did your best not to let on the emotional storm he was sending you into.

“Well, she’s a Sagittarius,” he said dreamily. “She loves tequila, I mean— wow. Oh, and she’s got this little tattoo—”

“Dean!” Sam cut his brother off.

“What? Yeah. Uh, nothin’ we don’t already know. Except for one thing they’re keepin’ out of the papers. Meredith’s heart was missing.”

“Her heart?” the younger brother sounded stunned. “So, what do you think did it to her?”

“Well, the landlady said it looked like an animal attack. Maybe it was— werewolf?”

You shook your head. “No, the lunar cycle’s not right. Plus, if it was a creature or somethin’, it would’ve left some kind of trace. It’s gotta be a spirit.”

Dean looked down at the blood stains on the white carpet and seemed to notice something. “Sam, see if you can find any masking tape.” His idea of taping the space between the splotches of blood like a twisted connect-the-dots revealed a strange symbol on the ground that looked like an “S” with a small circle cutting through the middle of it.

***

You were gulping down beers like there was no tomorrow and trying to peel your eyes away from Dean flirting with the gorgeous bartender. You and Sam were sitting at an empty table and leafing through his father’s journal.

“(Y/N), if you stare any harder at him, you’re gonna burst a blood vessel.”

You looked over at Sam. “Shut up.”

“You like him, huh?”

“What am I, five? No, I don’t like him,” you responded. 

He gave you a knowing look. “C’mon, (Y/N/N), don’t lie to me.”

You sighed, taking a big gulp of your drink first. “I don’t know, man. I’m not good with feelings.”

Before Sam could respond, Dean was back over at your table. “I talked to the bartender,” he grinned. 

“Did you get anything? Besides her number?” Sam asked.

Dean scrunched his face up. “Dude, I’m a professional. I’m offended that you would think that.” Sam gave him a look, and Dean bashfully held up a napkin with the bartender’s number on it in response.

“You mind doin’ a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?” you asked.

“Huh? Look, there’s nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everybody said she was normal. She didn’t do or say anything weird before she died, so— what about that symbol, you find anything?”

The younger brother shook his head. “Nope, nothing. It wasn’t in Dad’s journal or in any of the usual books. I just have to dig a little deeper, I guess.”

“Well, there was a first victim, right? Before Meredith?” you brought up.

“His name was, uh, his name was Ben Swardstrom.” He pulled a newspaper clipping out of the journal and handed it to Dean, “Last month he was found mutilated in his town house. Same deal; the door was locked, the alarm was on.”

“Is there any connection between the two of them?”

“Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet, at least. Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common—they were practically from different worlds.”

“So, to recap, the only successful intel we’ve scored so far is the bartender’s phone number," the younger brother deadpanned.

Dean smirked at you and Sam, and you tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. Sam seemed to notice something on the other side of the room.

“What?” you asked.

Without answering you, Sam got up from the table and headed past his brother. You followed him to a table where a blonde woman with short hair sat.

“Meg?” he asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows as the woman turned around and exclaimed, “Sam! Is that you? Oh, my god! What are you doing here?” She gave him a hug, and you could see on Sam’s face that he was confused.

“I’m just in town, visiting friends,” he lied.

The young woman looked around. “Where are they?”

You stepped up from his side. “Me!” you lied. “Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

She gave you a smile, “Yeah, I remember, Sam told me about you.”

You turned to the younger Winchester. “He did?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam answered. “Meg, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to California.”

Dean came up between you and Sam; eyes raking over Meg’s body.

“Oh, I did. I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what’s-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar,” she explained.

Sam looked confused. “Who?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I’m living here for a while,” she shrugged.

Dean cleared his throat loudly, but was ignored.

“You’re from Chicago?” Sam questioned.

“No, Massachusetts. Andover. Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we’d run into each other?” The grin she gave unsettled you. 

“Yeah, I know, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Dean cleared his throat again, earning a “Dude, cover your mouth,” from Meg.

Sam chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Meg. This is, uh— this is my brother, Dean.”

She looked surprised. “This is Dean?”

“So, you’ve heard of me?” Dean gave her a salacious grin.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of you. Nice; the way you treat your brother like luggage,” she said harshly.

“Sorry?” Dean was stunned and so were you.

The woman didn't let up, and if it weren't for your horrible gut feeling, the two of you would likely be good friends. “Why don’t you let him do what he wants to do? Stop dragging him over god’s green earth.”

“Meg, it’s alright,” Sam said.

Dean whistled lowly. “Okay, awkward. I’m gonna get a drink now. C’mon, (Y/N).”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” And with that, you bounded off to the bar with him. “What’s with that chick?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Weird, right?”

“Yeah, completely,” you responded.

The older Winchester motioned at the pretty bartender he’d spoken to earlier for two beers. 

“Sam ever mention her?” you asked him. “They seemed pretty chummy.”

“Why, you jealous?”

You scoffed. “No way. He reminds me too much of my brother. Freud would be rolling in his grave if I was. She’s just… bizarre.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he grumbled, sipping his beer.

Sam came over to you and told you it was time to go.

“What, why?” you asked.

“Just… come on, (Y/N/N),” Sam responded. He dragged the two of you out of the bar after you and Dean chugged your beers quickly.

“Who the hell was she?” Dean questioned as you crossed the street outside of the bar.

“I don’t really know. I only met her once. Meeting up with her again? I don’t know, man, it’s weird.”

“Yeah, she seemed to really know you,” you said. “You said you only met her once?”

He nodded.

“And what was she saying? I treat you like luggage? What, were you bitchin’ about me to some chick?” Dean’s tone was on-guard immediately.

“Look, I’m sorry, Dean. It was when we had that huge fight when I was in that bus stop in Indiana. But that’s not important, just listen—”

“Well, is there any truth to what she’s saying? I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?”

Sam stopped his brother. “No, of course not. Now, would you listen? I think there’s somethin’ strange going on here, guys.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean muttered. “She wasn’t even that into me.”

You elbowed him sharply. “Upstairs brain, please.”

“I mean like, our kind of strange.” Sam ignored his brother’s comment. “Like, maybe even a lead.”

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

“I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don’t think that’s a little weird?”

“Well, yeah,” you said. “But I think I would’ve noticed if she was following us.”

“Yeah, okay, Nancy Drew,” Dean chided.

“Listen, dickhead, I’m very observant,” you responded playfully.

“Guys, can we focus, please? Look, I could be wrong, I’m just sayin’ that there’s something about this girl that I can’t quite put my finger on,” Sam continued.

“Well, I bet you’d like to. I mean, maybe she’s not a suspect, maybe you’ve got a thing for her, huh?” Dean’s grin was widening by the second.

Sam rolled his eyes and you laughed.

“Maybe you’re thinkin’ a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?” Dean pointed to his head and then down to his groin.

Sam gave the two of you a bitchface. “Do me a favor. Check and see if there’s really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, and see if you can’t dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith’s floor.”

“What are you gonna do?” Dean asked him.

“I’m gonna watch Meg.”

The older brother laughed. “Yeah, you are.”

“I just wanna see what’s what. Better safe than sorry.”

“Alright, you little pervert.” Dean continued walking.

“Dude!”

“We’re goin’, we’re goin’.” 

“Bye, Sam!” you called over your shoulder. You and Dean walked a few blocks down to Sam and Dean’s motel room and set to work searching for Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts.

***

About thirty minutes later, Sam called you. “Hey.” You continued clicking through pages on your computer.

“Finding anything?” he asked.

“Yeah, she checks out. High school yearbook picture and everything.”

Dean took your phone from you. “Let me guess. You’re lurkin’ outside that poor girl’s apartment, aren’t you?... You’ve got a funny way of showin’ your affection. Now, look, why don’t you go knock on her door and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?... Yeah, that (Y/N) did have some luck with. It’s, uh, turns out it’s very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It’s a sigil for a Daeva.”

Dean handed the phone back to you. “He’s lookin’ for a nerd definition. You’re better with that than I am.”

You rolled your eyes. “ 'Daeva' translates to ‘demon of darkness’. They’re Zoroastrian demons, and they’re freakin’ animals, dude. Dean said they’re demonic pitbulls.”

“How’d you figure that out?”

“Google, man. It’s a magical place.”

He laughed. 

“Oh, one more thing!” you gasped. “These Daevas, they have to be summoned; conjured.”

Sam sounded surprised. “So, someone’s controlling it?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’. And, from what I gather, it’s pretty risky business, too. These bitches tend to bite the hand that feeds them.”

“And, uh, the arms, and torsos,” Dean quipped loud enough for his brother to hear. 

“So, what do they look like?” Sam asked you.

“Nobody knows. I mean, summoning a demon that ancient? We’ve definitely got a major player in town.”

Dean took the phone back from you. “Now, why don’t you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?... No, bite her. Don’t leave teeth marks, though— Sam? Are you—?” He took your phone away from his ear. “He hung up.”

“Yeah, you fucking perv. You know he’s a total prude,” you snickered. “I’m kind of exhausted, if I’m being honest. Do you mind if I sleep here for a bit?” you asked him, referring to his bed that you were lounging on.

He shrugged. “Go right ahead. I’ll wake you up when Sam’s back.”

“Thanks. Night, Dee.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

You rolled away from him, sighing contentedly. You brought the covers up around your neck, and Dean's scent engulfed you as you did so.

You often found yourself unable to rest when you were alone in your room. Some part of you was still afraid of your father bursting into your room at four in the morning to go run drills if he was disappointed in your performance from the day before. And if sleep did grace you, it was normally hours of tossing and turning before you could finally turn your brain off. But somehow, this man you were just beginning to know made you feel safe enough to drift off in minutes.

***

You awoke to Dean lightly shaking you awake. You snapped into fight or flight and gripped his wrist, shooting up from the bed.

“Whoa, whoa, relax. It’s just me,” he told you.

“Sorry,” you said, cheeks burning. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam proceeded to explain what he’d seen after following Meg into a warehouse. 

“So, hot little Meg is summoning the Daeva?” Dean quipped.

“Looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing,” Sam responded.

“So, Sammy’s got a thing for the bad girl,” he chuckled. “And what’s the deal with that bowl again?”

“She was talking into it. The way witches used to scry into crystal balls or animal entrails. She was communicating with someone.”

“With who? With the Daeva?”

The younger man shook his head. “No, (Y/N) said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who’s giving her orders. Someone who’s comin’ to that warehouse.”

Dean thought for a moment and then looked over some of the papers the two of you had spread out on the table. “Holy crap.”

“What?” You jumped out of bed and walked over to him.

“What I was gonna tell Sam earlier—I pulled a favor with my—” he cleared his throat— “friend, Amy, over at the police department. The complete records of the two victims— we missed something the first time.”

“What?”

“The first victim, the old man— he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn’t born here. Look where he was born.” He pointed to a spot on the page.

“Lawrence,” you breathed. 

Dean continued to shuffle through files. “Meredith, second victim? Turns out she was adopted. And guess where she’s from.”

“Holy crap,” Sam muttered. “I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That’s where everything started. So, you think Meg’s tied up with the demon?”

“I think it’s a definite possibility,” the older brother answered.

“But I don’t understand. What’s the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daeva things fit in?” Sam questioned.

“Beats me. But I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation.” 

“No, we can’t. We shouldn’t tip her off. We’ve gotta stake out that warehouse. We’ve gotta see who, or what, is showin’ up to meet her.” Sam pulled a hand through his hair and began to pace.

“I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t think we should do this alone,” Dean said.

“Dean, do you even think your dad will answer?” you asked him, knowing what he meant.

He didn’t answer but told you, “You and Sam go stake out the trunk. Get me somethin’ good.”

You nodded. “C’mon, Sam.”

You grabbed anything and everything out of the trunk that could’ve been remotely useful. Holy water, numerous weapons, and different books containing dozens of different exorcism rituals. 

When you returned to the room, Dean was talking to who you deduced was his father on the phone. “We think we’ve got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh, this warehouse—it’s 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can.” 

“Voicemail?” you questioned.

He nodded. He gestured to the stuffed duffel bags you and Sam were holding. “Jesus, what’d you get?”

“We ransacked the trunk,” Sam explained and listed off all the things you had grabbed.

Dean nodded and breathed deeply. “Big night.”

“Yeah. You nervous?” the younger brother asked.

“No. Why, are you?”

“No. No way.” He was silent for a moment. “God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright?” 

“I know. I’m just sayin’, what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I’d sleep for a month. Go back to school— be a person again.”

“You wanna go back to school?” you asked Sam.

“Yeah, once we’re done huntin’ the thing,” he answered.

You felt slightly saddened. “Oh.”

“Why, is there somethin’ wrong with that?”

“No, no! It’s, uh, great. I’m proud of you,” you told him.

“I mean, what are you two gonna do when it’s all over?” Sam asked.

“It’s never gonna be over,” Dean answered. “There’s gonna be others. There’s always gonna be somethin’ to hunt.” He looked to you. “And I’m gonna need a new hunting partner if Sam’s not gonna be around… so…”

You gave him a lopsided smile. 

Sam continued prodding. “But there’s got to be somethin’ that you want for yourself—”

Dean cut his brother off. “Yeah, I don’t want you to leave the second this thing’s over, Sam.” He turned away.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

“Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh?” Dean asked his brother rhetorically. “I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?”

“ ‘Cause Dad was in trouble. ‘Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom.” Sam looked confused. 

“Yes, that, but it’s more than that, man. You and me and Dad— I mean, I want us… I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.”

Sam’s tone softened. “Dean, we are a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before.”

Dean looked heartbroken, and yours ached for him, too. “Could be.”

“I don’t want them to be. I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you’re gonna have to let me go my own way.”

You watched Sam with sad eyes, but you and Dean said nothing as you left the room to head to the warehouse.

***

You carefully climbed your way up the elevator shaft hearing Meg’s melodic voice talking in a language you couldn’t recognize getting louder and louder as you ascended. You tried your best not to make much noise while you climbed; a feat the brothers seemed to have trouble with.

You peeked over the cement slab that made up the seventh floor of the warehouse. Meg’s back was turned to you and she continued speaking into the goblet she was holding. Sam quietly pulled the gate open just wide enough for you and the brothers to slip through. The three of you headed behind two of the support posts of the warehouse. You drew your guns from your jeans and steadied your breath to attack her.

“Guys,” Meg spoke; never turning around.

You looked at the brothers in shock.

“Hiding’s a little bit childish, don’t you think?” her smooth voice continued. 

“Well, that didn’t work out like I planned,” Dean muttered to you. You would have laughed had it not been for your situation.

Meg turned and her boots clacked on the floor as she approached you. “Why don’t you come out?”

You slowly moved from behind the crates.

“Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship,” she snarled.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“So, where’s your little Daeva friend?” you asked her.

“Around,” she sing-songed. “You know, that shotgun’s not gonna do much good.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. The shotgun’s not for the demon,” Dean responded. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“So, who is it, Meg? Who’s coming? Who are you waiting for?” Sam jumped in.

“You,” she smiled. Just behind her on her left, you saw shadows beginning to form in the shape of demons in flowing, tattered robes on the wall.

Before you knew it, you were knocked to the ground, screaming in pain as something slashed your right cheek and left shoulder. It was proving difficult to fight something you couldn’t see. You screamed in pain again as you felt a slash across your thigh, and whited out from the pain.

When you came to, your hands were bound behind your back. You struggled against your restraints as Dean spoke. “Hey, Sam? Don’t take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend… is a bitch.”

Dean had been tied on your right side; backs against the sides of the cement post.

“This, the whole thing, was a trap,” Sam figured out. “Running into you at the bar, following you here, hearin’ what you had to say. It was all a set-up, wasn’t it?”

Meg laughed.

“And that the victims were from Lawrence?” Sam continued.

“It doesn’t mean anything. It was just to draw you in, that’s all,” the blonde smiled.

“You killed those two people for nothin’.”

“Baby, I’ve killed a lot more for a lot less,” she replied smugly.

“You trapped us. Good for you. It’s Miller time.” You could hear the smile in the older brother’s voice. “But why don’t you kill us already?”

You thought for a second. “Because it’s not a trap for us. It’s a trap for John.”

Meg tsked at the brothers. “I like her. She’s a lot quicker on the uptake.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dumber than you look,” Dean told her. “ 'Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn’t walk into something like this. He’s too good.”

Meg approached Dean and straddled his legs. “He is pretty good. I’ll give you that. But you see, he has one weakness.”

“What’s that?” the older brother winced uncomfortably. You strained against your restraints even more, trying to be able to get to Dean.

You could see Meg leaning closer to Dean, her voice somehow becoming even more sultry. “You. He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town. And he’ll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody— nice and slow and messy.”

Dean’s voice strained in discomfort. “Well, I’ve got news for ya. It’s gonna take a lot more than some… shadow to kill him.”

“Oh, the Daevas are in the room here—they’re invisible. Their shadows are just the only part you can see,” she explained. 

“Why you doin’ this, Meg? What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?” Sam asked her.

“I’m doing this for the same reasons you do what you do: loyalty. Love. Like the love you had for Mommy and Jess.”

“Go to hell,” he responded.

“Baby, I’m already there.” She slid over to Sam and straddled him. “C’mon, Sam, there’s no need to be nasty.” 

You didn’t like the full show you were being given of Meg leaning into his ear and ghosting her lips over his neck. “I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you watching me— changing in my apartment. Turned you on, didn’t it?”

“Ew, Sam!” you scolded him.

“Get a room, you two,” Dean grumbled simultaneously.

“I didn’t mind. I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun.” Meg kissed up his neck.

“You wanna have fun? Go ahead then. I’m a little tied up right now,” Sam responded.

She smiled and continued to kiss him. She stopped when she heard something from your side of the room. She stalked over to yours and Dean’s post and took the knife from his hand, tossing it into a corner. Meg walked back over to Sam. “Now, were you just trying to distract me while your brother cuts free?”

“No, no,” he told her. “That’s because I have a knife of my own.” She seemed confused until he broke free and knocked his head against hers; sending her to the floor.

“Sam! Get the altar!” you instructed.

He ran over to it and aggressively turned it over. Before you knew it, Meg was sent flying out of the warehouse’s window and to the ground below. Sam came back over to you two and cut you free. You headed over to the window to see Meg’s dead body sprawled over the ground. “So, I guess the Daevas didn’t like being bossed around,” Sam remarked.

“Yeah, I guess not. Hey, Sam?” Dean said. “Next time you wanna get laid, find a girl that’s not so buckets-o’-crazy, huh?”

***

You and the boys returned to their motel room so you could patch each other up and recover. You weren’t so convinced that your run-in with the Daevas was over and brought the duffel bag inside with you.

“Why didn’t you just leave that stuff in the car?” Dean asked you.

“Better safe than sorry,” you shrugged.

The older Winchester unlocked the door before you and you entered the room. You noticed the silhouette of a burly man standing by the window. You flipped on the light while Dean exclaimed, “Hey!”

The man turned around, and your jaw nearly fell to the floor at the sight of the scruffy, tanned man before you.

“Dad?” Dean breathed out.

John smiled. “Hey, boys.” He and his oldest son walked toward each other and shared a long hug. You smiled at them sadly. When they pulled away, John turned to his youngest. “Hi, Sam.” They shared a long look before John turned to you. “Didn’t think I’d see you again after Jericho,” he told you.

You responded, “I didn’t think I’d see your boys again after Jericho, either.” 

John gave you a half-smile. “Thank you. For looking after them.”

You nodded in acknowledgement.

“Dad, it was a trap. I didn’t know; I’m sorry,” Dean began.

“It’s alright. I thought it might’ve been.”

“Were you there?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive. She was the bad guy, right?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys answered their father. 

“Good. Well, it doesn’t surprise me. It’s tried to stop me before,” John sighed. “It knows I’m close. It knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell. Actually kill it.”

“How?” you asked.

“I’m workin’ on that,” the older man responded.

“Let us come with you. We’ll help,” Sam urged. 

John’s tone hardened. “No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don’t want you caught in a crossfire. I don’t want you hurt.”

Sam shook his head. “Dad, you don’t have to worry about us.”

“Of course I do. I’m your father.” He paused. “Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam nodded.

“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.” Tears formed in Sam’s eyes as he finally hugged his father.

Suddenly, you were thrown across the room by an invisible force, something clawing at your back. 

“No!” Dean yelled before he was thrown down next to you. 

Deep claw marks formed on a number of parts of your body— your legs, arms, face, stomach— everywhere. 

“Shut your eyes!” Sam yelled over the chaos. “These things are shadow demons, so let’s light ‘em up!” Suddenly, a bright light began to fill the room.

You and the three men fumbled your way around trying to feel your way out of the room. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean called to you while Sam called to his father.

“I’m here!” you told him. You felt his arms around you pulling you out of the room. Your leg protested and made you yelp in pain. You knew Dean was hurting, too, and you tried your best to continue moving forward.

“(Y/N), let me help you!” Dean urged you as you continued to stumble out of the room.

“No!” you said, but Dean swept you up anyway. “Dean!” He carried you out of the room and toward the car. You finally gave in and wound your arms around his neck. When he put you down in the backseat, you held your leg and groaned in pain. 

“Alright, come on,” Sam said. “We don’t have much time. As soon as the flare’s out, they’ll be back.” Sam moved to get in the car, too.

“Wait, wait, wait! Sam, wait. Dad, you can’t come with us.”

Sam huffed. “What? What are you talkin’ about?”

“You boys— you’re beat to hell,” John protested.

“We’ll be alright,” Dean answered.

“Dean, we should stick together. We’ll go after those demons—”

Dean turned to his brother. “Sam! Listen to me! We almost got Dad killed in there. Don’t you understand? They’re not gonna stop. They’re gonna try again. They’re gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad’s vulnerable when he’s with us. He— he’s stronger without us around.”

“Dad, no—” Sam put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “After everything— after all the time we spent lookin’ for you, please. I gotta be a part of this fight.”

“Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you’ve got to trust me, son—”

Sam shook his head as his father continued to speak.

“—Okay, you’ve gotta let me go,” John told him. Finally, Sam patted his father’s shoulder and allowed him to move away.

The three of you watched as got in his truck and drove off. You knew Dean was right, but it was so bizarre to let this man you spent so much time looking for leave just like that.

“Come on,” Dean told his brother. And with that, the three of you were off to god-knows-where to lick your wounds and get a hopefully decent amount of sleep. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm

[nishloves]

blue eyes; gojo satoru

synopsis : you were someone who always admired his beautiful crystal eyes, but now that they don't shine as much as before, now that they don't hurt and have been discarded, satoru wonders if his eyes are still your favorite.

potential manga spoilers // a tad bit insecure gojo // wc: 700 // fluff // unedited.

as he carded his fingers through the stray strands of your hair, he couldn't help but twirl the fibre around his fingers, his heart melting as he peered at you— at you playing with your mobile.

it has been weeks since the events, weeks since satoru fell into your arms, your relatively small hands almost cradling him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, hell, he would never admit it but the strongest— no, satoru gojo felt safe in your arms, safer than anytime in his nearly thirty year old life.

it has been weeks since he almost kidnapped you from your duties and ran away to malaysia for a month long vacation, a special urn in his luggage with a different—bluer set of goggles adorning him.

as he smiled at you texting to others about how you both have been well these past few days, his gaze couldn't help but admire you; your soft smile, the curve of your cheeks, the way your lashes fluttered at an interval of approximately four seconds and the way your eyes— eyes...

eyes.

he pursed his lips almost involuntarily, his hand which was tracing circles over the small of your back stopping momentarily, his thoughts speeding a hundred miles per second. you loved his eyes, never let him feel as if they were a curse, he remembered the way you would gaze at those crystalline blue miracles which refracted faintest of light— a shimmer which isn't present now, a shine whine is duller now, a look of youth— a twinkle that is lost— would you look at his eyes the same? now that they aren't as special as before? would you—

"satoru?"

honey. like mellowed honey, he decided that, that was the best representation of the way his name rolled off your tongue.

"yes darling?" he asked, tilting his head to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him— more specifically at his eyes, observing you syncing your own blinks with his.

"baby?" he asked again.

you could only smile sheepishly as you buried your face in his chest, your cheeks burning pink.

"sorry, it's just that— you're so pretty, your eyes are so beautiful, i'd stare at them for ages if I could."

he almost gasped, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped, looking down at you; his brows furrowed and an almost— almost pleading look in his eyes.

"still?" he asked.

"what do you mean still?"

"you love my eyes that bad?"

you giggled, as if it was the funniest question your fiancée had ever sked you.

"obviously! they are your eyes! my favorite shade of blue, with perfect lashes— on my favorite person, I'd love them for eternity."

he smiled, so bright that his eyes twinkled— not in the way they used to but somehow prettier.

he had a thousand words to say— no, maybe a million, a billion or even more than that. his thumb traced your cheekbone as he looked at your fondly, his lips morphed into a cheeky smile, his vessels almost tugging at his heart as he took in all of you.

but despite the infinite number of words he wanted to say—

"i know. i'm gorgeous." was all he said.

you laughed, looking back at your phone as you leaned your head against his chest, turning to look at your mobile again as satoru resumed his ministerings.

'you know,' he realised as he looked at your giddy smile.

'she always knows,' he realised as he kissed the top of your head.

[charliegyrth]

Fat Camp Reunion - Part 2

Jacob's Incredible Story

Read Part 1 here. (So far, Phillip the narrator has gone back to his childhood drama camp to discover that everyone there is now obese. He has no idea why, but he's about to find out thanks to Jacob, his first boyfriend.)

***

I got a little lost on the way to the cabins. The trails were exactly the same, but I was too overloaded with thoughts to pay attention. Finally, I made it to the cabin with a big number 4 on its door.

It looked like all the other cabins, small and wooden with wide windows on either side of the entrance. The only difference (besides the number) was a mobility scooter sitting on the porch. That was my first hint of what I’d see inside.

The door creaked as I pushed it open. I braced myself for what I’d find.

“Phillip!” a familiar voice shouted.

“J-Jacob.” My breath caught in my throat.

I’d seen people this big before. Not in real life, but on those trashy reality shows. My 600-Pound Life or Half-Ton Fiancé or whatever. (I’d never actually watched those shows, of course, but you can’t escape their commercials.)

Jacob sat on one of the cabin’s beds, his massive body filling up most of the mattress. His arms and legs looked useless, covered in Michelin Man rolls. His belly was huge and shapeless, spreading around him in all directions, and his chest (once sporting muscular pecs much nicer than mine) had sprouted drooping sacks of fat with fist-sized nipples that were more-than-visible under the thin fabric of his food-stained shirt.

I thought the other guys were huge, but Jacob outweighed all of them by at least a hundred pounds. Could he even walk anymore? He must be able to, since his mobility scooter was parked outside. He must’ve been able to make the ten trudging steps from the door to the bed.

I was horrified. And sad. I felt so, so sad for him. I might’ve elevated my memories of him in my brain, but he used to be the most handsome, the most naturally athletic man I’d ever known. Now, he was buried.

And the saddest part was that, despite how soft and weak his body was, his face was still recognizably Jacob. He had a new slab of flesh under his jaw, but overall, his head didn’t look nearly as fat as the rest of him. (And he still had the same adorable blond curls.)

I think that made everything worse. If his face had been as unrecognizable as his body, then maybe I could handle what he’d become. Instead, all I saw was my first love, my beautiful Jacob, trapped in fat.

“Sit with me,” he said in his familiar voice. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

I didn’t want to sit with him. I didn’t want to touch him, because that would only make all of this real. And even if I wanted to, there wasn’t any space left on the mattress.

I remained standing in the middle of the cabin. “Jacob, what happened to you?”

“I grew.”

That answer made me gulp.

“Please sit,” he tried again. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Slowly, I approached him. I looked into his eyes, seeing the same wide-open, trusting expression that I’d falling in love with all those years ago, and I sat next to him. I couldn’t avoid feeling his side-fat. He felt so warm.

Neither of us said anything for a long time. It was awkward.

Finally, Jacob spoke. “You look great. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone your size.”

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer. “Can I… feel you?”

“Okay?”

He raised his hand to my chest and slid his sausage fingers across my pec. “Wow. That’s hard.” His voice sounded intrigued, as if he couldn’t even remember when he had muscles just like these.

“Thank you.”

He felt my stomach next, tracing his fingers between my (very slight) abs. “Huh,” he said, like he was studying me.

“Please tell me what’s going on,” I said.

Jacob took a deep breath and then (finally!) he gave me some answers. “The year after we went to Sunrise Pines, a new company moved to our town. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Moulton proper before…”

“I haven’t,” I interrupted him. I’d only been to the camp itself, not the town nearby. When my mom dropped me off here, we didn’t even drive through Moulton. We just took the freeway.

“Well, back then, Moulton was really struggling. It was a mining town, but the mines closed in the 90s and our population started shrinking. And then we got a new factory. Sweet Cheeks Confections. Ever heard of them? They make donuts, snack cakes, a whole bunch of packaged stuff.”

I shook my head.

“Well, they’re great. You’re really missing out.” He placed his hand on my thigh, still curiously feeling my hard muscle as if he’d forgotten what it felt like. “So once the factory opened, a lot of the locals started working there. And our shops were filled with their products. Everyone loved ’em.”

“And that’s why your whole town got fat?” I asked. It seemed crazy that extra snacks on store shelves would lead to such extreme obesity.

“Nope. We got fat because of their advertising campaign.”

“Huh?”

He paused his story. “Um, can you hand me some of those?” He nodded toward a pile of brownie boxes on the dresser next to me. Each one had the bright pink Sweet Cheeks label. I guess I had seen those at 7-Eleven before.

I grabbed a box and handed it to him. More accurately, I placed it on his belly.

He bit his lip, a bit embarrassed. “Um, all of them, please. I haven’t eaten in an hour.”

There were four more boxes on the dresser. I piled them up on his belly while his tore open the first box. I watched as he shoved the first brownie into his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed. Then he shoved in a second and a third.

“Okay,” he said, the burst of sugar giving him the energy to continue. “So the advertising campaign. Sweet Cheeks wanted to increase its local sales, so they started giving out free samples and hosting eating competitions every weekend. When I first heard about the competitions, I thought they were stupid. But then I learned that Sweet Cheeks would be filming the contestants and using the winners for nationwide commercials. As an actor looking for my big break, I couldn’t pass that up.”

He ate a couple more brownies stacked on top of each other.

“When I signed up for the first one, I was about your size. How much do you weigh? Like 250?”

That number made me choke. “250? I’m… Dude, I’m 170.”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s been so long. I guess I can’t really think in such low numbers anymore.” He glanced down at my torso. “170. Dang. Yeah, I weighed about that much. But I really wanted to win. To get famous or whatever. So I just went for it. Stuffed myself senseless. Beat four other contestants, all much bigger and older than me. It was at our town park. Cameras everywhere. Best feeling of my life.”

“So they put you in their commercials?” I asked. I didn’t remember this at all.

“Sadly, no. They had competitions every weekend. I kept going back. I kept winning. Every time, the Sweet Cheeks reps gave me trophies and made me pose for a bunch of photos. They had me sign contracts so they could use my eating footage for their ads, but those never happened. They went in another direction.” He held up one of the brownie boxes (empty now), tapping his thumb against the smiling cupcake mascot. “They thought that this cartoon guy would sell more.”

“Okay?” I said. I still didn’t understand where this story was going.

“I didn’t get famous,” he said as he opened up the second box, “but I didn’t care anymore. I had attention. You remember what it was like on the stage, watching an audience laugh at your jokes and hang on every word. Well, the crowds at these competitions were like that times 100. Every bite I took was riveting to them. The cheers. The chanting. The fucking signs that they held up. I know it was just in Moulton, but people loved me.”

“For eating brownies?” I asked. I was watching him eat brownies right now. He seemed to shove them in between sentences, so fast that he barely had to stop talking. I didn’t feel like cheering at all. I just felt sad for him.

“For eating everything,” he said. “Every weekend was different. And I don’t know if you knew this about me, but people sort of follow my lead.”

I did know that. Back in camp, everyone wanted to be like Jacob, myself included. He was magnetic.

“So one-by-one, all my friends who were suspicious of Sweet Cheeks eventually gave in. That first eating competition had four people. A month later, we were up to twenty. After that, hundreds. All the guys at Sunrise Pines signed up. People in town made bets. Everyone had their favorite eaters. But I’m proud to say, no one was as skilled as me.”

He placed his second brownie box to the side. He’d eaten that entire thing without me realizing. Now he was onto the third.

“I started gaining weight pretty quickly,” he said. “Muffin top first. Then moobs. I was deeply conflicted about that. I had this really messed up image of what an ideal body type was. No offense.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I’m pretty sure he was telling me that I had an “ideal body type,” which was a compliment. But he said it in such a negative way.

“Had some doubts for a while, but when I walked around Moulton with my new belly on full display, literally everyone who saw me gave me these congratulatory belly pats and gushed about what big fans they were. They saw my gain as this badge of honor, and I started to see it that way, too. So I kept eating and growing. And the rest is history.”

Damn. This entire story was ridiculous. And the casual tone of his voice made everything seem so much more ridiculous.

“Is everyone in Moulton fat?”

He thought for a second. “Yeah. We are. Eating competitions are part of our culture now. Not just the officially sponsored ones—Sweet Cheeks stopped hosting events years ago—but, well, every meal is sort of a competition. You probably noticed that in the canteen.”

I thought back to all my old friends sitting on their fat asses with massive piles of food in front of them. I thought about all the empty plates, too. They weren’t just eating lunch. They were out-eating each other.

It’s crazy that one company’s gimmick had transformed an entire town. And honestly, I know that the effects wouldn’t have been so drastic if Jacob hadn’t been involved. He got sucked into competitive eating, and everyone automatically followed him like they always did.

He threw the third empty box to the side. He had crumbs all down his stained, white shirt, most of them collected in the depression between his overflowing moobs.

“Are you happy?” The words surprised me as they came out of my mouth.

He looked me right in the eyes. “Phillip. I’ve never been happier. Everyone I meet is in awe of me. I’m a star in my own town, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“But… I mean, can you even do things anymore?” I knew that was an awkward way of phrasing my question, but I had to ask. Aside from shoving things into his mouth, it seemed like all this weight would make most movements difficult.

He half-smiled in a very flirty way. It was the look he used to give me when he took me behind the amphitheater to make out. “I can do plenty of stuff.” Then he chuckled. “Yeah, there are limitations. You’ll probably need to help me get off this bed, for example. But I have my scooter. And I have plenty of fans who’ll do anything for me.”

That last comment filled me with a surprising amount of jealousy, and I didn’t know why.

As he demolished the fourth box, shoving in brownie after brownie in conveyor-belt speed, his eyes remained locked on me. He was studying me, gauging my reactions. If I weren’t here, he’d probably still be eating, but with me sitting next to him, he was using these brownies as some sort of test.

That left me with one question left, probably the most important one. Why had he invited me here? I mean, he’d sent me a personalized invitation. He’d planned this whole reunion, yet he wasn’t even hanging out with our other friends. He was in the cabin. With me. Eating for me. Telling me his story.

Did he expect me to like what he’d become?

What was I supposed to say right now?

The last of the brownies slid down his throat and he let out a deep, contented burp. Didn’t cover his mouth. Still watching me, waiting for a reaction.

My brain was short-circuiting. All I could do was look into his beautiful blue eyes.

His familiar eyes.

His expectant eyes.

His face was still so handsome. And his overflowing body, angled toward me as much as it would allow him… I don’t know, I felt like he was presenting himself to me, showing me the hundreds and hundreds of pounds that he’d built on himself.

What did he want me to do?!

When it was clear that I wasn’t going to say anything (that I literally couldn’t), he finally cut to the chase: “Everyone loves me in Moulton. An entire town either wants me or wants to be like me. It’s amazing. But for a while now, I’ve been thinking about you, about what we used to have. I should be in the canteen right now, showing everyone who’s still the champion. But I choose to be here with you. This is the first meal I’ve skipped in years.”

He didn’t count all those brownies. They were just a snack to him.

“I don’t know what to say.” (That was the understatement of the year.)

He took a deep breath, though it got interrupted by another slight burp. “It’s been a long time since anyone looked at me the way you’re looking at me now. I can tell you’re confused, scared. Maybe disgusted. And that’s okay. But you’ll be here for the weekend, and I just want you to keep an open mind. Can you do that?”

“Okay,” I said, though I still wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking.

“No pressure,” he added, sensing the uncertainty in my voice. “But it would be nice to try a few things. Feedings or whatever. I have a feeling you’ll like ’em.”

Before I said anything else, he slid his massive body toward me and kissed me. His belly flab covered my lap. His thick hands held my face.

I was butter. I melted into him, all the memories from what we once had came rushing back. And somehow, I enjoyed the sensation of his new body squish against me. I was his.

He ended the kiss much too soon, leaving me breathless.

“Knock knock,” someone shouted outside our door.

I instinctively pulled away from Jacob, though I didn’t have a lot of room. The edges of his belly were still resting on my thigh.

“Come in!” he shouted, though he was smiling at me as he said it.

The door creaked open and Eugene walked in first, carrying a tray of lasagna. Then a few more guys came in with equally large trays. Then a few more.

“Room service,” Jacob explained to me. “Told ya I had help.”

Bobby, the last one to enter, brought in a fold-up table that he assembled in front of us. Then everyone set the food on top, like ancient islanders making offerings to their chief.

Jacob was beaming from ear to ear. Despite all the sugar that he’d wolfed down, the sight of this spread caused his stomach to rumble. “Well,” Jacob said to me. “Open mind, right? Wanna help me finish my lunch?”

On one level, I did. For curiosity alone, I wanted to see him in action. But on another level, I really needed to clear my head. “Actually, I’m gonna go for a walk. I’ll, um, be back.”

He didn’t seem disappointed. I appreciated that. “Suit yourself. But if I’m not finished when you get back, you’ll help me, right?”

“Okay.” I hurried out of there. None of the other guys left. They had already finished their lunch, and now they were ready to just sit back and watch.

As I closed the door behind me, I heard slurps and chews. And one guy (Frankie, I think) muttered, “Damn.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes wandering around the camp by myself, recognizing all the old places and enjoying the fresh air. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jacob, though. About our kiss, and the way his belly felt, and the way he made my heart race.

And now I’m back in my car, writing this all down for everyone to read.

I’m so freaking conflicted. For the next two and a half days, I’ll be here. I’ve already decided that I’ll be true to my word. I’ll keep an open mind. And yeah, I’ll partake in the feedings.

What I haven’t decided (and why I’m asking for your help) is whether I’m going to just feed Jacob or whether I’m going to let him feed me too.

I can see myself learning to appreciate his body and maybe help him continue to grow it. I’m definitely open to that. But if he wants to turn the tables and feed me, if he expects me to start catching up to everyone else here, would that be a step too far?

Please. Tell me what to do. Your advice will definitely affect how I spend the rest of the weekend (and maybe the rest of my life, too.)

This weekend, should I feed Jacob or should I allow him to feed me?

To Be Continued...

Hi, everybody! Charlie Gyrth here. I hope you liked the story, but I'm serious about that final question. I'm ready to write a continuation, but I have three possible paths to take and I wanted to see which one would be most interesting:

Phillip becomes a gainer.

Phillip becomes an encourager (and stays slim).

Phillip becomes an encourager (and unintentionally gains weight).

You can vote for your answer here. I set up a poll.

[wewerebornsextuplets]

idk how but you draw in the Oso-san style so good i need to know your secret please

HAHA thank you very much!! im glad you think so :D unfortunately im not very good at explaining how i work, but ill try my best to show what i mean!!

once again this is long as hell. you know the drill at this point

to be honest, half the battle i fight with drawing in the osmt style is just. Looking at it. the ososan art style actually fluctuates pretty wildly depending on what you're looking for, whether that be the mobile games (for instance, tabimatsu and hesowars look nothing alike in terms of style despite both being the same source material), official art and merch, or even the seasons of the show itself!

using ichi as my example here since i draw him the most, but its pretty easy to play spot the difference with the varying styles. even within a specific season you can do this across episodes, especially with season 1!

when i draw, i tend to be a bit sacrilege and use references across different media; usually ill use the show [especially season 2, if only because its a bit more "uniform"] as reference for the actual features and colors/poses/etc, but i like to use hesowars to reference proportions, since they seem to be most consistent there.

SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO NOTE: theres a WEALTH of fanartists that have styles that are INCREDIBLY similar to the show, so be careful to check your sources! these artists deserve credit for their hard work, which they often don't get since their work is reposted under the guise of being official art.

once you've pinned down the exact style you'd like to emulate, and the character you're looking to draw, its really just a matter of finding references, which is pretty easy! you can scrub through different episodes for good angles/shots, or if you're going for one of the game styles the AU wiki has most of the games catalogued to my knowledge. if you're looking to draw an oc, use characters you think they would look similar to in the show. if you really wanna waste your time, though, you can always scrub through crowd scenes in the show to see if any background characters might look like what you're going for; the season 3 episode Mt. Takao comes to mind, there were a lot of cute mob characters there.

using keiko as my example here, you can see that i pulled her features from multiple different characters to get her to look right in the style. with ocs, its important to reference a number of different characters, since the likelihood of a background character being a 1:1 for your little guy is unfortunately pretty low. there WILL, however, be a lot of characters that look KIND of like them. the key is to figure out what parts go where!

to this point, most prominent ososan women have very similar stock anime girl faces with very minor differences, so if youre looking to make a cute girl oc, most of the womens' faces can be used somewhat interchangeably. if you want your cute girl oc to have a more unique face, though, the movie gave us some women with more unique faces in the form of the NEETs' old classmates! theres also no harm in referencing male characters faces in this regard. #butchswag #kiruminikuya

BUT. going back to the assumption that you're drawing a canon character, today I'll be drawing oso for my example

when you're first getting a feel for the style, tracing some of your references can actually be a really great way to acclimate yourself to the characters proportions and features. think of like when you were a kid, and would trace over pictures of pokemon or cartoon characters so you could draw them better. its basically the same principle! this was especially helpful for me when it came to eyes; they vary the most wildly of any other trait that characters have in ososan, so going over the different shapes to get a feel for each of them was very important.

when you trace, though, I recommend doing so a bit more loosely, sort of like if you're doing a photo study for anatomy; block out the basic shapes and do small markers for different features (i.e small lines to denote where the eyes start and and, distance from nose to mouth, things like that), and from there draw the rest on your own.

after long enough you'll get a feel for the basic placement of where everything should go! the eyes and nose are undoubtedly the hardest when it comes to the sextuplets, since they shift around a LOT between games/seasons/etc. so don't feel bad if you have a hard time with that, since there isnt really a "right" answer with how frequently it changes. i still fuck it up all the time myself!

as for some basic tips, heres some stuff i try to keep in mind when drawing them that just helps the finished product look a bit nicer!

when drawing the hair + fringe line, its important to swoop it downwards a little bit; the flat across look Can work, but if you're not careful you risk showing the tops of their eyes, which is um. ew! ick! nast!

when a matsu is facing forward, their hair will usually tend towards one direction to keep the silhouette. in most screenshots i saw, the bowl cut points left! that said, dont be afraid to point rightwards if its better for your specific drawing!

and lastly: USE THE LIQUIFY TOOL. LIBERALLY. i am not joking when i say this has saved my ass so many times, its hard to get the placement right on the facial features and even harder to get everything to LOOK good, so if its available to you i HIGHLY suggest just squishing everything around with a liquify tool until it looks right. you can always go back and correct the blurry lines. its really a life saver

BUT YEAH! i dont know if this was very helpful but i hope you're at least able to gain something from it :-))

[solitaire-sol]

Daily Prongsfoot Thought 14

I firmly believe in Artist!James, based entirely on his little doodles in SWM and an obscure item from the Hogwarts Mystery mobile game. I see James hauling around a camera since at least halfway through their years at Hogwarts, determined to capture as much time with his best friends as possible, with an increasing number of them being just James and Sirius, or candid photos of Sirius, as time goes by.

I see him drawing on his friends, on Sirius most of all, because that pale, smooth skin is the best canvas (no other reason, obviously). Consider Sirius, just returned from another wonderful holiday with his family, or having received another Howler from his darling mother, or fresh from a bitter confrontation with Regulus in the halls, finding solace and soothing in the unbearable intimacy of lying shirtless in James' bed as James traces smooth lines of black ink over his shoulder-blades in the form of feathered wings. Sirius' first tattoos are inspired by this, based on art drawn by James, because he wants to keep some permanent fragment of that intimacy.

I see James not exactly advertising this aspect of himself to the general public, not sure if it meshes with his "James Potter, Quidditch Star" persona and wanting to keep his art as something for himself and the few he doesn't have to keep up appearances with. It's only natural that James' art is something he shares with Sirius as entirely as they share everything else, and Sirius loves that there's one more facet to James which no-one else has access to.

[cantwritethetword]

Biceps? Really?

Fic Descript: Superman finds out Batman has a very odd ticklish spot, and of course has to tease Bruce half to death over it.

~A/N  - HELLO ONCE AGAIN

Look at me being somewhat consistent with uploads SDJFHKALSDFJHKH amazing what meds can do

I've had these requests in my inbox for aaaaaages (im so sorry) and I feel like I can finally write something for them.

Prompts were:

Please excuse the typos and the "it's ok that this will be s(H)ort" cause that was back when I was like super burnt out AND unmedicated lmao so I was like OH JUST A LIL FIC YOU CAN DO IT but this will be a proper one lmao

Also lmao forgive me for the super boring title I couldn't think of another one.

EDIT: ALSO AGSKAGSKAGD ILL HAVE IT BE KNOWN I USE DARK MODE ON MOBILE THIS WAS ON MY LAPTOP AND IDK HOW TO GET TUMBLR TO BE DARK MODE ON LAPTOP HENCE THE WHITE SCREENSHOTS THANK YOU THAT IS ALL

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @constanteyeburn

Masterpost Link 

"I still..." Bruce huffed as he lay on the floor, glaring at his partner. "Don't get... why you're still so surprised... every time we do this."

Clark, the absolute puppy dog, was still beaming after launching yet another random tickle attack on Bruce. Since first discovering the Batman's hilarious (and quite frankly adorable) little weakness, it was like crack for Clark. Any time he had the opportunity, he launched himself at Bruce and just started squeezing. And, because Bruce was just that damn ticklish, the poor superhero couldn't last ten seconds before crumbling into a flood of chuckles.

"I don't know." Clark grinned. "You don't seem like the ticklish type, is all. Never have."

Bruce rolled his eyes, before starting to stand up. "I am not the ticklish type."

"Uh, oh yes you are!" Clark laughed, reaching to grab Bruce's arm. "And where do you think you're going?"

Normally, Bruce's response to this would be a swift bat (hehe) at Clark's hand to push it away from him as he stood, and an even swifter escape before Clark decided to go for round 2 (it had happened before, and Bruce swore he would've passed out if Clark hadn't taken pity on him).

But this time, whatever way Clark grabbed Bruce's arm, sent electric shivers coursing down Bruce's side. Bruce let out a yelp, and half-collapsed onto one knee.

Clark gasped, his face like a kid on Christmas morning. "No way."

"Clark." Bruce's eye's widened as he pieced together what had just happened. "That wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Clark interjected, pulling Bruce closer to him using the aforementioned grabbed bicep.

The tugging motion pressed Clark's fingers right into Bruce's muscle again, forcing a symphony of strange noises, squeaks, and choked laughs out of the absolutely screwed superhero. As Bruce fell, Clark expertly manoeuvered him onto his back (for the second time that day) so that Clark could kneel on his forearms.

"What the hell Kent?" Bruce grunted, pulling his tough-guy facade over his currently anxious and flustered self. "Let me go."

Clark chuckled. "Oh no, we're investigating this."

Bruce cursed under his breath. He remembered Clark's methodical tickle monster days all too well. When Superman himself had him pinned to the floor with no hope of escape, and took his sweet ass time tracing and prodding with various numbers of fingers on any tickle spot that came to mind.

This time would be no different. Clark began with his thumbs, massaging small circles into the very center of Bruce's muscle.

And holy fuck did it tickle.

Bruce's entire torso tried to lift itself off the floor for a moment, his eyes wide in shock at just how bad it was, before his body slammed back onto the floor and flailed. His legs kicked a ticklish drum beat as the highest pitched giggle either man had ever heard escaped his lips.

"Wow you're ticklish here!" Clark laughed over the noise. "I can't believe this is even possible!"

"SHUTUP!" Bruce shouted between bouts of hysterics, twisting his hips from side to side to alleviate the torturous sensations.

"Seriously though," Clark continued as if nothing was even happening. "Ticklish biceps? You've got to be kidding me."

"CLARK!"

Superman nodded to himself, resting his hands on his thighs. "You're right, you're right, it's time to move on to something else."

Bruce gulped in mouthfuls of air before registering what Clark was implying. "No-... wait-..."

Ten feather-light fingernails touched down right above Bruce's armpit and paused for a moment, soaking in the anticipation. Clark didn't have a chance to start moving before Bruce broke into deep streams of laughter.

"Really, Batman?" Clark taunted. "Breaking that easily?"

"Fuhuhuck ohoff."

Superman rolled his eyes, before trailing down Bruce's biceps from elbow to underarm. That singular smooth movement upped Bruce's laughter by a few pitches, a good sign for what was to come.

Clark lifted his hands and reset them back to their starting position on Bruce's arm, before letting his fingers begin their descent once more.

Except this time, each finger took its turn to softly trace up a few inches before lifting and straightening again while his wrist moved further to Bruce's elbow. Like two gliding spiders, Clark's hands pulled downright squeals from Bruce.

"NOHO!" The Batman pleaded. "I CAHAN'T- CAHAN'T TAKE IHIT!"

Smirking, Clark tutted. "Oh come on, you're usually so tough!"

But, now that he thought about it, Bruce was rather red by this point (and not just from sheer embarrassment). And while it certainly was fun tormenting the usually far too stoic superhero, the fun could wait for another day.

Clark wasn't forgetting about this any time soon.

[applcrumbl]

Moonlit Man.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron X F!Reader Warnings: Sex allusions, Strong Language, Suggestive content, Word Count: 2.5K Author's Note: This took on an entirely different direction than it was supposed to, but that's life. Went very poetic with this one, take it or leave it.

Summary: A hookup-only relationship that becomes more.

The golden shine of his back in the soft glow of the balcony lighting outside. He came late and left early - though she never minded. They simply enjoyed their time together, every few nights, sometimes a week, never more than a month.

His breathing was shallow, his back defined. Comforter hanging low on his hips, it was a surprise he wasn’t freezing. The large bay window had all 3 glass panes wide open, the sound of the beach whistling through the breeze that blew gently into the room. The wind carried away the smell of sex from mere hours before.

She never slept afterwards, she couldn’t. Not when she knew he’d expect her gone in the morning. So she would wait until he snored soundly, before slipping into her shoes and sliding out the back door. Sleek. Silent.

He only slept when she was there. He couldn’t otherwise. Not when her soft heartbeat didn’t provide rhythm for him to focus on. So he would shut his eyes tight and knock himself out before she had the chance to be gone.

She never really wanted to leave. And he never really wanted her to go. How they’d found themselves in this familiar routine, neither knew. Like clockwork, and neither questioned. A fear of it ceasing altogether if it were mentioned.

There was no talking, other than the small introductory necessity beforehand, or the sexy profession of need during. Just sex. They knew each other’s names and mobile numbers. She knew he lived at Tannyhill, and he knew that she was a local. They were just sex, some light banter, and a guaranteed ride home at the end of a drunken night.

That was all.

Until it wasn’t. He’d looked her up. Breaking their unspoken arrangement. He searched instagram, he asked his friends, he’d almost near hired a private investigator when his seach turn up nothing. Her name like a needle in a haystack. Like an earring back in a freshly dug bed of soil. As if she never existed.

She did of course. It was so easy to block someone on social media. So easy to stay on a certain side of the island where one is reluctant to step foot. So easy to know where best to go on the odd occasion that one does. So easy to stay an elusive part of Rafe Cameron’s life, and carry no consequence for his action. How she liked it. No strings attached.

But despite a lack of strings, people can find other ways to be entwined. Feelings can be caught, and laughs shared. Snippets of memories, and drunken honesty. Over their short period of time together, they’d grown to enjoy the company. In ways that werent just late nights. Him sleeping first, and her slipping out.

This night were no different, and as his breath gently tickled her neck, she crept from his king sized bed as she’d done countless times before. Her underwear slid over her legs, dress over her head. She carried her shoes and jacket down the stairs of the large home. Quiet so as not to wake any of it’s other inhabitants.

The rest of her clothes were briskly added once she reached the front landing. The same path each time. Left step, right step, dodge the creaky floorboard, and out the old servants' quarter's door. It was in the house's original design to be the quietest area, so that the Plantation’s staff could once enter and exit without disruption to their masters. Perfect for her need.

She opens it, careful to dodge the miscellaneous boxes strewn about. Evidently where the family’s random items were collected. She knew that the baseball bat must’ve been Rafe's and that the dolls would have belonged to a pair of sisters she’d only heard traces of. But, as much as she’d happily let Rafe tell her all, she knew it was best to keep their paths clear and uncrossing.

“The front door is closer, you know.”

She jumps at the surprising voice, turning quickly to be met by her moonlit man. Hand clutching pearls, she steadys herself.

“Thought you were sleeping.” She states.

“I was” Rafe replies, rubbing the back of his neck, still shining with the lightest layer of sweat.

She pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Oh, then I’m sorry to wake you.”

They look at eachother. Him directly at her eyes. Her at his shoulder, avoiding his direct gaze. They spoke sometimes, but not often, and never afterwards.

“You forgot your earrings.”

“Oh,” She breathes, “Thanks.”

She hold her hands out, expectant for the boy to place the studded pearls in her grasp. He doesn’t. “I left them upstairs.” He apologises, opening his fingers to show her his empty palms.

She just nods, “I’ll get them next time.”

There would be a next time, after all, there always was.

He clears his throat, “Sorry.”

A smile without teeth, and a curt nod. These were the most words they’d uttered to one another at a single time. At least not for those moaned, or whispered under bedsheets.

She turns to leave through the open doorway. Eager to be home before the cold took over too much. Laden in nothing but the thin jacket, shoe and satin dress she wore out the night before. 

“You never answered my question.”

He catches her on the doorstep.

“Servants' quarter's door is the quietest place in the house.” She explains, “Slave owners liked not to be disturbed early in the morning.”

“Are you calling me a slave owner?”

“No!” she apologised, “I just meant it’s the quietest way out of the house.”

Typically, an air of confidence surrounded her. Conviction in uncertainty. She could pretend to be someone she was not, especially to those who knew no different. Her insecurity slips out. The strong bravado once built, comes tumbling down. 

He enjoyed this side of her. Sweet, clumsy. He seldom saw it.

“Is that why I never hear you leave?”

“I wait until you’re sleeping.”

“Why don’t you just stay?”

The question throws her for a loop. Caught off guard, she can only stutter and answer. 

“I have things to do?”

It comes out as more of a question than an answer.

“At 3am?”

She just nods, jacket pulled even tighter around her shivering body. She wants nothing more than to leave as usual.

“Why don’t you exist outside of my bedroom?”

It’s bold. It’s new. It’s nothing she ever expected to hear him say. It’s unlike anything Rafe Cameron has ever asked. It scared her. Shocked her into silence.

Any normal person would find words at that moment. Even something as simple as ‘I don’t know’. Yet, she stood, mouth agape, no sound coming out.

“I’d like it if you did.” He follows.

An admittance. A moment of pluckiness. An opportunity to spark a new light in their relationship. Testing the waters of whether or not they could be more. Whether he could have her full address. Whether she could stay over for the night.

But, her confidence is out of the window, and he needs his ego bruised a bit.

She just turns and walks away instead. Silent, except for her feet crunching the gravel path. Leaving Rafe alone at the servant's quarter’s door, which he never even knew existed. She runs from Tannyhill Plantation, and away from the man who she simply saw for sex.

Regret fills them both but for different reasons. She wishes she spoke to him. She wishes she stayed, she wished her confidence did too. She wishes that he kept sleeping and that she hadn’t forgotten her earrings. He wishes he’d offered to take her home. He wishes he’d just let her leave so that he’d know she’d come back. He wishes he’d never asked her for more than that. 

He goes back to his bedroom, and she to hers. Pulling covers up tight around her shoulders, she nods off securely in her own bed. Rafe tossed and turns as the warmth leaves the spot next to him. His bed grew colder as hers grew warmer.

-

The next time they spoke was a mere week later. Both tired of their hand, and longing for the other. Rafe was the first to fold.

Wednesday, March 11th at 09:58pm.

RAFE Can we ignore what I said? I think I was still a bit high.

Wednesday, March 11th at 10:04pm.

Y/N That makes sense. Okay. RAFE I need you. Y/N Me too. RAFE I’ll pick you up? Y/N I’ll meet you at yours. RAFE Okay.

Message read at 10:12pm.

A round trip of Kildare Island will take you an hour and a half at most, and although he didn’t know much about her, he knew she drove. No matter where she stayed on this small island, she would have been with him after 45 minutes. And he’d known from past times that she always pulled into the driveway after 22. So when the clock struck 11pm, that is when Rafe began to worry.

He worried that she’d chosen to walk. He worried that she’d gotten into a car crash and died. But, most of all, he worried that she’d changed her mind. That she wasn’t coming. He text her again.

Wednesday, March 11th at 11:16pm.

RAFE You on your way?

The speech bubble that popped up soothed him. She was alive. The fact that it came and went a few times put him on edge. What was she going to say?

Y/N No. RAFE What do u mean?

He tries to call her. The number rings once before sounding the dial tone. She clicks the decline button, hands running over her thighs.

RAFE Answer your phone. RAFE Please RAFE Have I done something? Are you in trouble? Y/N I’m fine. Why would I be in trouble? RAFE Why aren’t you coming?

Wednesday, March 11th at 11:22pm.

Y/N We’re getting too attached. RAFE We’re not. RAFE I promise.

Wednesday, March 11th at 11:29pm.

Y/N We are. And that’s okay, It’s just not what I want. Y/N It’s not what either of us want, really RAFE We’re literally not geytung attached RAFE getting*

Wednesday, March 11th at 11:38pm.

Y/N Rafe, u searched me up. You asked around for me.

He draws his cigarette. A sharp breath in and a gentle one out. Contemplating his next message. Unable to deny his actions, but embarrassed by the reason behind them.

Y/N You’re literally still wake at 1AM waiting for me to come around.

Y/N

Waiting on your fucking porch for me Y/N And I know for fact that you have other numbers in your phone that you can call instead.

His eyes snap up. Scanning the darkness for a set of headlights. How else would she know he was here?

RAFE Where are you parked? Y/N Wdym? RAFE You know i’m on my porch, which means you’re here. Where are you? Y/N Lucky guess. RAFE Don’t believe you. Y/N You should. Y/N I’m at home.  Y/N I just know what you’re doing right now because we’re getting too close. RAFE Is it really such a bad thing RAFE That i want to see you RAFE That i like you?

Wednesday, March 11th at 11:45pm.

Y/N You like my pussy RAFE Well yes RAFE But I want to know you Y/N

The speech bubble appears again before it leaves. It doesn’t show up for the rest of the evening. Or the following day. Or the next week. Month. Three Months.

-

Her life goes back to normal. His does too, only emptier. Her friends see her more, his see him less. She tries to forget about Rafe Cameron, and what it felt like to be beneath his sheets. He is plagued with thoughts of the girl who didn’t want him back. The first of her kind.

Kildare’s annual bonfire was the one chance he had of seeing her again. It was how they’d met the year previous. The first night of many stolen kisses and rumpled bedsheets. 

Rafe had considered that the fact he’d never seen her, or that none of his friends had heard of her, might be because she was a pogue. He’d never thought to ask, and ultimately he’d started not to care. But it was underlying in his mind as he sipped a beer next to the bonfire. Using its flame to illuminate the face of every girl gone past. None of which her's.

He’d tried texting her. Called once or twice whilst drunk. But never got an answer. And he’d never admit it, but he missed her. Missed her almost as much as he did his own mother. A casual hook-up held the same weight in his heart as an absent parent. The one who got away.

Except, she never really got away. Because, she was never his in the first place. He can’t lose something he never had. He can’t have something that never wanted to be his. Rafe bullied himself into the ground for screwing up the opportunity. 

She did the same for a while. Thinking, and thinking about what might have been. She’d dream of white dresses, and bearing children. She’d wonder what he was doing, who he was seeing. If he’d gotten over her. She’d convinced herself he had. She’d convinced herself he didn’t care for her anymore. She’d convinced herself that he wouldn’t even be at this stupid bonfire this year, and that the fact that she was going was stupid in itself.

But she’d do anything to at least see him again. Even if it were just the back of his shoulders, glistening in the low light of outside his bedroom window.

Maybe if she got the chance again, she’d stay. Maybe if he got the chance again, he’d keep her with him.

She sat at the bonfire. Eyes hurting from the smoke that blew her way. Unbeknownst that the very man she’d come for was exactly adjacent. Hidden by the burning embers, and floating orange ribbons. The fire died slowly as she pulled her phone out. Biting the bullet and sending the text.

Thursday, June 25th at 11:57pm.

Y/N Are you here?

An answer comes quickly.

RAFE Yes. Are you? Y/N I wouldnt have said ‘here’ if I wasn’t 

He missed her quick wit. She missed his dumb questions.

RAFE Where? Y/N Meet me by the big rock? Y/N They’re away to put the fire out.

He rises quickly, avoidant of the poured water buckets that smother the once-roaring flames. It sizzles and hisses with the drastic change in temperature, but he can barely hear it over the thundering of his own heart. Rafe practically sprints to the rock, the phone still in hand.

She follows, catching a glimpse of him for the first time in so long. He has his back turned, it feels strangely poetic. The light of flame is replaced by that of the moon, and she watches Rafe in a familiar state. Broad shoulders outlined by blue shimmer.

The open horizon of the beach feels like Rafe’s bedroom window. He takes a seat, back still turned to her. His phone in hand as he begins to draft a text. No doubt asking where she is. She fights every urge to make as she normally would, and slip away. But, they both fight their vices.

Rafe's eyes stay firmly open, as he turns to the sound of her footsteps. Hers close tight as she sits next to him, head resting on his shoulder.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"YOU'RE A SURVIVOR"

I wrote another story with Will 🖤☝😌

I hope you like it!

Jack Crawford had traced the call he'd received directly to his cell phone, which had led them to mobilize three patrol cars and a dozen officers to see what was going on there, including Will Graham.

Will wasn't really a full-fledged officer; Jack kept him there because of his ability to put himself in the killer's shoes and reconstruct his actions.

That's why many of those present disagreed with him accompanying them, but Crawford ignored them all and told Graham he had to be there, not because he asked him to, but because he felt he had to be there for some reason.

Jack had a hunch.

And when that happened, it was rarely in vain.

So Will entered the house, his gun drawn, followed by three other officers, who all gestured with their hands to indicate that the way was clear.

They heard sobbing coming from the kitchen, and without a second thought, Will headed there.

When he entered the room, the scene was bleak. The bloodied bodies of a woman and a man in their forties and fifties lay with their guts wrapped around their throats. The marks on their necks indicated they had most likely been strangled with them.

Then Will focused on the door behind which the sobbing could be heard. He walked slowly toward it and turned the handle, revealing a girl with blood on her hair and face.

Her pants were in tatters around her legs, making her look worse than she already did.

She looked up at Graham. Seeing the gun, her eyes widened, and she began to scream as if she were being killed.

"Shhh, I'm not going to hurt you," she said, raising her hands at her sides as she tucked the gun into the back of her jeans. "It's over, it's over, everything's going to be okay," she whispered. "No one will ever hurt you again."

"How can you say something like that?" "She shrieked, pointing a bloody finger toward the kitchen. "He came in here, and he… killed them, and he… made me watch while he did it," she growled, a sob rippling through her body. "I want to kill him. I want to end his life with my own hands and watch the light in his eyes fade when I kill him just like he did to them."

Will stared at her intently for a moment before nodding, as if he understood.

"You don't seem surprised," she commented. He shook his head.

"This isn't my first crime scene," he replied. "Just like it's not the first time I've spoken to a victim."

"Is that what I am, a victim?" you questioned.

"You're a survivor," he decreed. "Victim is what the officers who come to talk to you will write when they write the police report," he said. "Come on, let me get you out of here." He reached for her. "Will you stand up?" "I think so," he mumbled with great effort.

Her legs were numb from being in such a small space for so many hours without moving, but fortunately he didn't have any external injuries.

Will knew that his injuries couldn't be seen with the naked eye, since, like his own, they were inside his head, and only a small number of people were able to see and treat them properly.

When the medical staff examined him and saw that everything was in order, they accompanied the officers to the scene, in case anyone felt unwell.

Everyone present was trained to endure such gruesome images, but not everyone felt the same every day, so the presence of the doctors was a symbol of relaxation for everyone.

The girl's gaze rested on him for a moment, while Will, in turn, watched as several officers, including the forensic doctors, entered the house to search it and analyze every sample of tissue, blood, and other bodily elements they could find.

"It doesn't have to be now," Graham said, "but when you're ready, I'd like you to explain to me what happened in there."

"I don't think I'll ever be in a position to talk about it," she confessed, turning to him. "So I'll tell you exactly what happened," she murmured. "A man came into our house while we were eating. A man I didn't recognize, and he…" You swallowed. "He told me to keep quiet, that he wouldn't kill me because I reminded him too much of his daughter, and that would be like killing her twice," he whispered. "So instead, he made me watch while he killed them," you finished. "I guess he thought it was some kind of redemption."

"He was looking for forgiveness for something that doesn't have it," Will added. She nodded. "You say you couldn't recognize that man." He frowned. "Why?"

-He threatened me that either I closed my eyes and didn't open them while he was there or he would kill me the same way they did - you clicked your tongue - I feel like I'm a coward - you muttered - as if I had failed them in some way - you mumbled - if I had opened my eyes… maybe…

"He would have killed you," Graham decreed firmly. "If you had, this conversation wouldn't be taking place, and I'd be staring at your corpse trying to figure out how you died, who killed you, and why," he recited quickly. "You're not a coward. You did what you had to do to survive. We would all have done the same in your place," he declared. "In cases like this, most people would tell you they would have opened their eyes without even thinking about it. But seeing photographs of a lion attacking its prey from the comfort of your living room isn't the same as being in the jungle in the company of the animal, being in its territory like you were."

"Why do you think he killed them?" "—she asked curiously—"My parents were normal people, they never bothered anyone and they had honest jobs in companies where they were very well-liked." He gave a sad smile. "The meal was a celebration," she confessed. "They'd both just gotten a raise and we were talking about where we'd go on vacation with some of that money," you murmured. "My father wanted to go to Italy." You pressed your lips into a thin line. "He loved art."

"As much as I wanted to, I can't make them come back," Will chimed in gently. "But what I can do is find the killer," he decreed. "And when I do, I'll let you kill him."

"Really?" you asked, your eyes wide. "But that breaks about twenty federal laws. I could even get life in prison."

"Really," he nodded. "And don't worry about the body," he murmured.

"I have a friend who's an expert at making corpses disappear."

[satoshi-mochida]

SHINONOME ABYSS: The Maiden Exorcist delayed to 2025 - Gematsu

Publishers Kadokawa Corporation, Kadokawa Game Linkage, and ABC ANIMATION, and developer WODAN have delayed roguelike horror action game SHINONOME ABYSS: The Maiden Exorcist from its previously planned fall 2024 release window to 2025. It will be available for Switch and PC via Steam.

Here is an overview of the game, via its Steam page:

About

The main character is a shrine maiden named Yono, who has to survive in a haunted houses where Mononoke (yokai and vengeful spirits) lurk, using a limited number of items and traps in this strategy roguelike horror action game!

Shrine Maiden Yono Takes on the Challenge of Escaping From Numerous Haunted Houses in This Roguelike!

Following in the footsteps of her missing Onmyouji brother, shrine maiden Yono arrives at a terrifying place where Mononoke (yokai and other vengeful spirits) live. The very structure of the mansion changes every time you enter. There are three game modes: “Harai,” “Misogi,” and “Gyou,” with “Gyou” being the highest difficulty mode, in which players compete to see how long they can survive in an endless dungeon

The Goal is to Escape From the Haunted House and Defeat the Mononoke by Making Full Use of the Traps and Devices Hidden in the House!

First, confirm the type and number of Mononoke by listening to noises coming from the next room, finding traces of the Mononoke, etc. Try to surmise the fighting style of the Mononoke and defeat them by setting up traps and then calling them over to you by making noises so they fall in the traps you made. You can also try to understand the structure of the mansion and defeat the Mononoke by luring them into open fireplaces and pits. Defeating them in this way allows you to gain and save items as well. Survival here requires knowledge, experience, and courage. When Yono is in grave danger, another side of her personality appears, and she is greatly strengthened. Predicting and controlling this change is also a key to success.

Various Elements Have Been Greatly Improved from the Previous Game!

The game has been significantly improved from the previous Shinonome, with more Mononoke appearing, more traps and items, more dungeons and a big boss. The addition of Yono’s other personality is also a new element. Based on the player’s feedback from the previous game, the game content itself has also undergone tuning in order to make it easier to play.

Production Staff

Director / Game Designer: Kenichi Iwao

Major Works: Resident Evil, Einhander, Parasite Eve 2, Final Fantasy XI

Character Design: Tatsuya Yoshikawa

Major Works: Breath of Fire series, Devil May Cry 4 and 5, Last Ranker

Programming: Hiroshi Ogino

Major Works: Shiren the Wanderer: Mystery Dungeon, Fate/Grand Order, Culdcept Mobile

[notalittleatall]

Goatfucker Steve always introduces himself as Sir Steven, although it isn’t his true name. He most commonly appears frequenting nightclubs and bars in cities, and always after dark. He is always dressed smartly, in a nice fitted suit, carrying a cane, and would sometimes be seen wearing a top hat, although he has begun to forgo that more and more in modern times. The first time he’s seen, he’s unfailingly polite. He’ll introduce himself to any group that catches his eye or is close enough to him. Often he will be rejected or occasionally mocked, as he is a middle aged man attempting to strike up a conversation with much younger people. It doesn’t particularly matter if they’re polite or rude.

Later that night, when most of the drinking is done and the streets are emptier, once of the groups who encountered him before will likely find him again. By investigating strange noises, or by spotting something he left behind, they will find him doing something terrible. He might be masturbating into a bowl of soup in the kitchen, or tying a gag around a waitresses mouth in the bathroom with his pants around his ankles, or sometimes fucking the odd goat. Whatever it is, it’s immoral and highly embarrassing. He doesn’t want word to get out. He can’t let word get out. So he gives chase.

If you want to imagine Goatfucker Steve, the best thing you could do is picture a man, impeccably dressed in black tie from the waist up, and fully nude from the waist down. He is holding a cane in one hand and an unusually wicked and sharp knife in the other. This is how he looks as he chases the witnesses, which is perhaps the time his true self is showing the most. He will chase them through the building and through the streets of the city doggedly. He doesn’t show any pleasure while chasing, rather appearing panicked and on the verge of sobbing even as he hunts them down. If he catches one, he will slice their neck with shocking speed and competency while gagging them in some way so as to not make too much noise. He will then cast around looking wildly for a place to stash the body. He will drag it over and heave it into a hiding spot, like a dumpster or a closet, and then go on with the chase. This pause gives the other witnesses time to run, but not quite enough time to get away. He’s cleverer than he lets on. The witnesses will find it unusually difficult to find other people while Goatfucker Steve is in pursuit, and mobile phones will fail to make contact with anyone else.

The number one mistake made by his victims is seeking sanctuary. Even though most of them are caught and killed by Steve, a couple almost always manage to get away by making it to a police station or any other place that has plenty of people around. Once they are safe, Goatfucker will stop chasing and disappear into the night. When the police go to investigate, they will find no trace of any wrongdoing that night. The trails of blood where their friends were killed are cleaned away, spotless. The dumpster that the bodies were unceremoniously dumped into are emptied. The waitress at the original establishment has no recollection of anything strange happening. The case goes cold. Rarely, if this is the outcome, the surviving witnesses will see Sir Steven again if they are out at an establishment he frequents. He will make eye contact, smile, and wave with an unbearably smug look. This is the last they see of him. He has gotten what he wanted.

The way to actually beat him is to target his most obvious weak point, which of course is his secret. If one can reveal his secret before being silenced and killed, he can be defeated in a much more lasting manner. This is why he must introduce himself to the witnesses, always. If someone can find a newspaper office that still has people in it in the night, and they can burst in and yell out loud for all to hear “Sir Steven fucked a goat!” (Or something along those lines, as naturally it should be adapted to the situation) then the pursuit will end. Goatfucker Steve will retreat off into the night, running scared. He will drop back into the Abyss shortly after being beaten in this way, and will find it harder to leave the next time. Nothing else will hurt him nearly as much. Physical attacks will only delay him for as long as it takes you to look away. He is driven by the mad fervor of a gentleman with something to hide, and in certain cases thats enough to walk off being impaled with a knife through one eye. It isn’t possible to kill him before his hunt has ended, or at least not without extraordinary resources.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Twenty-Seven - Prompt: Anticipation @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 531 words

TW: Reference to suicide

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Evan awoke to two terrible truths and one lucky break. One, he had a massive hangover. Two, he’d unblocked Barty’s number on his phone and his profile on social media. Three, Barty didn’t answer the thirty or so attempts Evan made at contacting him last night.

He groaned miserably and tossed his mobile across the bed. Evan didn’t feel all that lucky at the moment. Instead of waking up to a cool glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol on his nightstand, he found one of his sister’s bazillion hair clips that he must have stolen at some point in the evening.

Clean slate indeed. How is this better? Now I have nothing.

His thoughts swirled through his mind randomly as if they were racing toward an arbitrary finish line. He waited for them to settle while he traced the hexagon patterns on his quilt. Over and over, side, angle, side, angle, until he died.

That’s where this is headed. Well done.

“Oh lovely, my brain is mean today too,” he grumbled.

His phone lit up and vibrated wildly well out of reach. Annoyed, Evan clawed the quilt toward him until the mobile was close enough, then snatched it up. He squinted at the screen.

Notification, not a call. Damn it.

“Find My IPhone activated?” he read aloud. “What the fuck? It’s in my hand. What are you on about, phone?”

He tapped the notification and stared at the screen in confused anticipation as it loaded a map. It took far too long to realise that by unblocking Barty’s number, he’d reactivated their linked settings. The settings that Barty used to find Evan’s phone every time he lost it, which was often.

“Barty’s phone is in the River Severn? That doesn’t make any—” Evan cut himself off and blinked at the screen. “No. He wouldn’t do that. I just saw him yesterday. There’s no way that he would…”

An image of Barty’s panicked face flicked through his head. The sudden urgency of his desire to fill in all of his tattoos and the piercing he never had the guts to get done, as if he was finishing a list. As in, a bucket list.

“Shite!” Evan rolled off of his bed and grabbed his shoes. He was never more thankful for falling asleep fully dressed. “You better not, you twat!”

He tapped wildly at his screen, trying to find Frank’s number. If anyone would know where Barty is, it’s Frank.

Flatmates kept track of each other, right?

His text was answered almost instantly. Frank hadn’t seen Barty since yesterday. That was not good.

Who else? Barty’s friends are all…my friends.

That’s when it registered for the very first time. Barty didn’t have friends. He had exes, a snarky flatmate, and an abusive father, but his friends were rather sparse. Or, potentially nonexistent.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said, hands trembling as he fumbled his phone. “I was all he had and I didn’t even realise. I didn’t know.”

Evan swiped angrily at the tears streaming down his cheeks. He wasn’t giving up until he knew for sure. His Barty wouldn’t leave him. Not like that.

Not now, not ever.

Next Part>>>

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 30

Words: 2.9k

Van reveals some devastating news to Lyla 💙

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

Anyone would think that I was crazy sitting out on the balcony in just my underwear and a thin shirt in the middle of December, but it was safe out there. I couldn't see what Van was doing, I couldn't hear what he was doing and if I screwed my eyes shut tight I could almost transport myself somewhere else. Almost. The cold winter wind and icy drizzle nipped at my flesh mercilessly and was a constant reminder of where I was and the fact that the man I'd let so easily into my life was capable of unspeakable things and I'd just left him to it. Stepped aside and let things happen.

After around twenty minutes I was shivering violently, soaked to the skin and I'd lost all feeling in my extremities, so I reluctantly made my way to the balcony door, my fingers closing around the door handle, pausing to take a deep inhale. Maybe I shouldn't be hiding out here like a coward. Maybe I needed to face up to things and see for myself the darker side of the man who'd stolen both my heart and my mind.

The door slid open with no resistance and I slipped back into the room, surprised to see it empty with nothing to indicate that it had been occupied by the two men apart from the obvious signs of my earlier fight. Then I heard a dull thud followed by a ghastly groan and my head snapped up to note the closed bathroom door. I certainly wasn't going to open it.

I left the balcony door open and crossed to the chair where Van had placed his coat, delving into the pockets. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, driven by a desperation to find out something about the man who was still largely a mystery to me. There was a folded switchblade, a packet of cigarettes, a lighter, and a mobile phone. I deftly jabbed at the phone, bringing the screen to life, furtively glancing in the direction of the bathroom to check I was undisturbed. The phone was practically blank, no apps and no text messages, not even a list of contacts, just a few sent and received calls to numbers that meant nothing to me. I was just about to replace it when I had a sudden flash of inspiration, keying in my number and placing a call to my own phone which I quickly ended as soon as it connected. Of course I knew how things worked. Criminals like Van would never keep one phone for long, they would use a succession of unregistered 'burner' phones that couldn't be traced, replacing them regularly to carry out their illegal activities. Even so, just the thought that I might be able to contact him rather than waiting for his call gave me a sense of comfort.

The sound of running water from the bathroom saw me hastily plunge the phone back into Van's coat pocket and step away until I was standing with my back pressed against the opposite wall. I was still standing there when Van emerged only seconds later, stepping into the room and leaning back against the door, eyes fixed on me with a hint of wariness which I wasn't expecting. He moved a hand up to push it through his still damp hair and I found myself inspecting both of his hands, looking for traces of blood, evidence of his crimes. There was none. I supposed he'd washed it away. He was meticulous after all.

"Is he... dead?" I asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it, wanting to see if snuffing a life out in such a brutal manner really did have any visible effect on him.

"Yes he is," he said plainly, and I was surprised to see something behind the steeliness. I waited, sensing he had more to say, and I was stunned when he did.

"I don't like you to see that side of me. I wish you didn't have to."

"Maybe... I want to see... all sides of you," I answered hesitantly. "The good and the bad. That's the only way you really get to know a person isn't it?"

"And what happens when you uncover something you wish you hadn't? What then, huh? There's no going back."

Frustration wracked me, but I knew I couldn't push him. Whatever dark secrets dwelled in him were buried deep, eating away at him, tormenting his soul and leading him on the path that he'd taken. But that same path had also led him to me. There had to be something in that.

"Maybe I don't want to go back..." I said quietly. "Ever... This is it now..."

He stood still for a moment like I'd astounded him with my words, then he dropped his head, stepping across the room where he dug in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. I watched as he drew out the chair, moving it over to the open balcony door. He sat down, facing me, slipping a cigarette between his lips and lighting up.

"I think it's about time I told you a few things." His eyes held a swirl of emotions as they came to rest on my face, a depth that I was starting to see more of.

I was still, waiting, full of intrigue but frightened as well. My life wasn't something I seemed to have control of anymore, and it was careering faster and faster towards some conclusion I couldn't even begin to imagine. The thought of finding out that destination terrified me.

Van took a deep inhale, tipping his head towards the open doorway and blowing out the smoke into the night. "What if I told you that evil had a name? And I knew that name?"

"You've got to stop talking in riddles... you've got to..."

"I know who ordered the hit on your dad."

It felt like all the air had been instantly sucked out of the room. I gasped for breath, a hand shooting up to my mouth, my body folding like crumpled paper. I hit the floor on my knees, hot tears stinging my eyes.

Van remained where he was, still but not impassive. He looked like he wanted to reach out to me but he didn't know how. "Van..." I breathed, feeling a rush of nausea hit the back of my throat. I swallowed deeply, tried to still the hurricane of thoughts that raged through my head, but I couldn't.

He sighed then, a weary sound full of regret. I watched him take a drag from the cigarette, then another. I fixed my stare on the glowing embers, tears clouding my vision, waiting to hear more.

Eventually he flicked the butt out the balcony door and turned to me, leaning forward in the seat, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely in front of him.

"I wanted to kill him... before I told you, I wanted to obliterate him from the face of the earth. Things haven't gone to plan though. He's like a shadow, a ghost... well I suppose he's a dead man so that's fitting..."

"A dead man? What do you mean? Are you going to tell me who it is?" My voice was a cracked whisper, the tears flowing freely now.

A look of intense distaste crossed Van's face, like even having the name on his tongue was toxic. When he spoke the words dripped with so much hatred it made me shudder.

"It was Tommy Chappell..."

My mind scrambled, trying to make sense of it. It couldn't be. He was a dead man. I'd heard the stories countless times from my dad, the hero who finally brought Tommy down. He'd drowned in The Thames, condemned to a watery grave for all the pain and suffering that he'd caused.

"I... I don't understand," I stuttered. "There was a car chase. It was my dad... he actually saw his car go into the river. He died. I mean, they never found a body, but he couldn't have survived. The flood waters were up that winter. Everyone knows the story."

"He got out, don't ask me how, but he did. He must have gone into hiding. God knows he had enough friends in high places who would have helped him."

Van reached for his cigarette packet again, shifting in his seat, agitated, anger bubbling up inside of him. That's when the realisation hit me. Tommy was also responsible for killing Van's whole family too. The picture of Van as a traumatised child flashed through my mind, and I wondered how long he'd known, how long he'd harboured this painful secret, this desire for revenge. He lit up again, pulling hard on his cigarette, lips pulled into a snarl as he spoke again.

"That's just the thing with Tommy, he's got people everywhere... the police... the fucking government... even the agency that you work for..."

"What?"

"He did back then, and he still does now," Van confirmed. "Of course there might be more than one. Whoever was working for Tommy back then might not be the same person who's working for him now, but there's definitely someone bent in the agency right now. I didn't get a name, but that's who sent that prick in the bathroom to kill you. You can't trust anyone... not any more."

The revelation hit me like a tonne of bricks, my mind whirring manically, in danger of spinning completely out of control. There were so many good agents who I worked alongside, most of them who I would trust unequivocally with my life. Jen and Raj and many more. Paul...

Fuck... the thought of Paul's possible duplicity felt like a knife through my heart. The idea that he could have betrayed my father was unthinkable, but now it had formed in my mind I couldn't shake it. It crept in like a putrid, festering rot, taking root, tainting the idealistic image of the man who'd often been like a father to me and a brother to my dad. I tasted bile in my mouth, my stomach clenching with the sickening thought.

You can't trust anyone...

I placed my hands on the carpeted floor, as if to steadily myself whilst my world collapsed around me. Van sat there motionless but his expression was agonised.

"I'm going to find out who it is," he said, his voice gruff with anger. "I'm going to find out and then I'm going to kill them. I'll kill all of them... anyone who's involved with Tommy. Every last fucking one of them."

I looked up at him, deep into those blue eyes that I used to fear, saw the conviction in them, the vow that he was making. I knew then that he would stop at nothing, even sacrificing himself to see his deadly pledge to its final conclusion.

The realisation shocked me through to my core, overwhelming me. Even with the knowledge that I was now privy to, I knew there was more. I'd only just scratched the surface of this complex puzzle that I was a part of. I'd still not plumbed the depths that would reveal the true nature of Van's feelings and his harrowing past.

Questions and possibilities flitted through my mind with a jumble of emotions as I tried to piece together how Tommy could have faked his own death and stayed hidden for so long whilst heading up the largest criminal network the country had ever seen.

"I just can't believe it. Tommy Chappell... I mean he was bad back in the day... really bad. But compared to what we're dealing with now he was small time. We're not just talking protection rackets and vice and selling drugs to the Northern cities."

Van nodded, his expression grim. "He's moved on. He's selling arms and people trafficking now, international drugs trading and worse... much, much worse..."

He screwed his eyes shut momentarily, trying to compose himself. "The company he keeps, the vile pieces of shit that he protects, that's why he's where he is today. It's not just gangsters and criminals... it's politicians and government officials, high ranking police officers. They carry on doing their sick fucking shit and he enables it. I just sit and wait until one of them steps out of line... and then I get the nod to step in.... and that suits me just fine..."

He smiled then but it was full of malice and it slipped away as soon as he started speaking again. "Tommy never got his hands dirty. He left all of that to me. He just sits there in his ivory tower, giving out the orders, raking in the cash."

He paused, reaching for his cigarettes yet again, inhaling the smoke into his lungs deeply as soon as one was lit. I took the chance to speak. "How long have you known... that it was Tommy?"

"Not long. I suspected, but it's taken me years to find out for sure... I was even trying before I got the job. And when I did my orders to kill came through a handler. No one gets to see Tommy or hear from him directly you see. He's clever. There's layer upon layer in this organisation, all there to protect him and his inner fucking circle." He spat out the last line in disgust, his temper mounting again. "And now I found out the truth just like your dad did so he wants me dead. They all do. But they don't know what they're dealing with. They want a battle? I'll bring them a fucking war."

Unfettered rage was seething inside Van, a boiling hot lava that was contained for now but only just. It simmered in his eyes and the tension in his muscles, taut and coiled, driven by his anguish and desire for revenge, a need which consumed him.

It sparked something inside me too. The brutal injustice of it all, my dad's death... countless other innocent lives shattered and torn apart mindlessly, and for what? One man's thirst for power and wealth that overshadowed all sense of morality. He needed to be stopped.

"I want to be there when you kill Tommy," I suddenly blurted, the determination in my voice ringing out.

Van's jaw tightened, his fists clenched, the knuckles white. I knew what he was thinking. This was his fight. Even though he was partly avenging me he would never willingly lead me into anything that might lead to my demise. But he didn't have a choice this time. I wanted this. I needed this.

"I want to see it," I carried on. "I want to see the look in his eyes... I want him to know how it feels to lose everything... And I want to ask him how it feels when he does."

My world had stopped spinning now and the fog was clearing, slowly but certainly. As it did it occurred to me that back when all this started Van had told me that he and I weren't so different and despite my protestations at the time he hadn't been wrong. Not at all.

He was watching me with a certain curiosity now, his rage retreating, his focus fully on me. "Just when I thought I had you all figured out you go and do something to surprise me yet again..."

I shifted on the floor under his penetrating glare. It was the simmering kind of hungry gaze a predator might use to look upon his prey, but not to determine when to pounce. He knew he didn't have to do that. I was there for the taking. He just had to decide when to take a bite.

"I saw you tonight... in the club... outside the hotel..." A shadow of a smirk graced his lips. "Tell me Lyla... what is it that you really want?"

He leant back in the chair, head tipped slightly back, watching me with hooded eyes. I felt my heartbeat increase, my mouth go dry. Even after all this time he still had that same effect on me. The ability to make me feel simultaneously weak and powerful. Vulnerable yet desired.

I rose up slightly from my sitting position on to my knees, maintaining his gaze as I gripped the edges of my rain-soaked shirt, peeling it back slowly over my shoulders until it fell on to the floor behind me. I shivered as the air hit my damp skin.

"I want you Van... only you."

He was quiet for a moment as if considering my reply, and as the silence stretched on the tension grew. The air was thick with it, making my pulse race even more.

"You sure about that?"

I nodded, swallowing deeply. The chill on my skin a stark contrast to the fire that smouldered down low in my body.

"You don't have to be gentle," I whispered, a flush staining my cheeks as my words reached him and I saw his expression change, his lips curling into a wolfish smile.

He shook his head slowly. "Oh... I won't be."

A little gasp escaped me unbidden, and his smile widened even further. "Why don't you come over here Lyla?"

I shifted on my knees, went to rise up, but froze on the spot when Van's voice came sharp and commanding.

"No... don't get up. Hands and knees. I want you to crawl..."

[blue-mint-winter]

ANH novellization-Andor/Rogue One connections

ANH novellization contains some context for the events that happened before the capture of Leia's ship by Darth Vader. How well Andor and Rogue One fit into this?

Firstly, in the beginning of the novel, there's a general explanation of how Republic became the Empire and what led to the Rebellion:

Aided and abetted by restless, power-hungry individuals within the government, and the massive organs of commerce, the ambitious Senator Palpatine caused himself to be elected President of the Republic. He promised to reunite the disaffected among the people and to restore the remembered glory of the Republic. Once secure in office he declared himself Emperor, shutting himself away from the populace. Soon he was controlled by the very assistants and boot-lickers he had appointed to high office, and the cries of the people for justice did not reach his ears. Having exterminated through treachery and deception the Jedi Knights, guardians of justice in the galaxy, the Imperial governors and bureaucrats prepared to institute a reign of terror among the disheartened worlds of the galaxy. Many used the Imperial forces and the name of the increasingly isolated Emperor to further their own personal ambitions. But a small number of systems rebelled at these new outrages. Declaring themselves opposed to the New Order they began the great battle to restore the Old Republic.

The role of Emperor Palpatine is presented as entirely passive. He declares himself the Emperor and then vanishes from the public eye. He's thought of as a distant figurehead, isolated from his subjects. They believe he has good intentions, but he's controlled by his evil advisors. Other people rule in his stead, caring only for their own self-interest and terrorizing the citizens. If only the Emperor knew what was really going on, he would do something about it.

I like how ESB and ROTJ expose that this belief of powerless, blameless Emperor is a total fiction. It allows Palpatine to retain his good reputation. All the evil that Empire does is by his design, but the blame goes solely to the executors of his will - the Imperial officials. It sounds very convenient for him. The role of Vader in this system is clear - he's the bogeyman, intimidating and punishing people at his Master's command. The Sith are pulling off here the good cop, bad cop tactic and Palpatine is the good one.

I'd say Andor and Rogue One are faithful to this portrayal of the Emperor as they don't feature him at all. He is an absent and distant figure, but he's still influencing events. In Andor, Krennic says that he met the Emperor and the Ghorman massacre is on his orders. Mon Mothma's speech in the Senate also correctly identifies Palpatine as the true source of the Empire's evil. In Rogue One Krennic is desperate to talk to the Emperor about staying in command of the Death Star, but he only gets to meet Vader who chokes him. And of course in ANH it's Tarkin who is at the helm of Imperial forces, though we hear that the Emperor dissolved the Imperial Senate. Palpatine operates within shadows, in the background, but his moves strongly impact the overall situation.

I find the mention that Rebellion is made of systems most curious. It sounds similar to Separatist movement. The situation isn't presented like that in Andor - we see Ferrix and Ghorman rebel, but they get destroyed, people are scattered and/or become Rebels. Mon Mothma runs away after her speech, but her system, Chandrila, didn't openly join the Rebellion. I guess the later portrayal of the Rebellion changed from planetary official support to rebel cells made of volunteers. It was easier for Rebels not to fight a war for territory or defend Rebel systems, but to be mobile and strike at the Empire wherever it was needed.

“I know that several transmissions were beamed to this vessel by spies within that system. When we traced those transmissions back to the individuals with whom they originated, they had the poor grace to kill themselves before they could be questioned. I want to know what happened to the data they sent you.”

This quote didn't age well. Vader's words are only technically correct. In Rogue One the data was transmitted, but then the tapes were brought to Leia's ship. She didn't receive the transmission directly. And of course it was only one transmission from Scarif, not several. No Rebel spy in Rogue One committed suicide, they were all killed by the Empire.

Andor kind of fits the "tracing the spies who killed themselves" part with Dedra finding Luthen and Luthen's suicide. Maybe even Lonni's death could be somehow included here. But they didn't send any transmissions to Leia's ship specifically.

[dzthenerd490]

File: Amanda the Adventurer

SCP#: AKN

Code Name: Amanda, The Cartoon Puzzle Demon

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Mobile Task Force Hermes-11 “Home Movies” is responsible for finding SCP-AKN instances in the wild and containing them. Every instance that is captured must be sent to Site-AQ to be processed into Site-GRID. Due to the terrifying, lethal, and often unpredictable properties of SCP-AKN it must only be tested in simulations. Site Director SCP-AVC and his personal staff of SCP-ACH-3.2 individuals are the only ones who can create the most accurate simulations of what each SCP-AKN copy will do. 

Description: SCP-AKN is a collection of VHS tapes of the classic cartoon Amanda the Adventurer that played in the early 2000’s. The show has two characters Amanda, a young girl with dark brown skin and afro puff style black hair and her companion Wooly who is an anthropomorphic sheep. The plot revolves around the two going to random areas and learning new lessons in life while they do so. The show was incredibly popular when released but quickly fell into controversy of supposedly hypnotizing children and making them disappear. Because the number of disappearing children kept rising as well as rumors of paranormal experiments involved in its creation it was quickly canceled and abandoned. The few remaining VHS tapes are now scattered in libraries, daycares, and other places making the situation much worse due to how hazardous SCP-AKN is. 

SCP-AKN when watched by a child makes them unable to perceive anything around them anymore as if locked into a trance. After a certain period of time whether it be a few minutes or over the course of several days the child will eventually be consumed entirely by SCP-AKN. There will be no trace left of the child and once it's done there is no way to reverse the result. It is assumed that this is done as a sort of nourishment for SCP-AKN, possibly due to its supposed paranormal nature. 

However when an adult watches SCP-AKN the show will not progress normally, instead displaying odd behavior of the characters Amanda and Wooly. There will also be visible clues and easter eggs that will appear in the show meant to symbolize something or anything around the viewer. Most peculiarly, on occasions toys will manifest and move in places they weren’t before to accommodate with these clues shown on the screen. There will even be times where the viewer must solve a puzzle in order to get the proper reaction form the characters in the show. Doing so can also miraculously cause another VHS tape to manifest leading to another episode with more clues and puzzles to solve. However, if the viewer ever answers a question or puzzle wrong, they will be attacked by SCP-AKN-Demon.

SCP-AKN-Demon is a strange monster that resembles the character of Amanda in that it has her black hair and in the same Afro Puff hair style. However, SCP-AKN-Demon has an elongated and skeletal human body that is purplish gray in texture almost making it seem like a disfigured corpse. It also possesses elongated toes and fingers that all have sharp talonlike nails. The face is heavily disfigured possessing hundreds of white eyes, and an elongated mouth filled with hooked teeth. Oddly this entity is entirely physical and is not tethered to the tapes in any way the Foundation can identify, but it is very reactive to what happened.

Should the viewer ever fail to solve a puzzle or does something that deeply upsets the character Amanda, SCP-AKN-Demon will show up and kill them without mercy. Another way to invoke the wrath of SCP-AKN-Demon is to destroy the tapes. There currently is no way to capture, stop, or even bring physical harm to SCP-AKN-Demon.

SCP-AKN was discovered in 2023 when Foundation agent Riley Park inherited her Aunt Kate's house after her passing. She discovered SCP-AKN entirely by accident and immediately reported the discovery to the Foundation. Mobile Task Force Hermes-11 “Home Movies” was immediately deployed in all regions of the US where the show “Amanda the Adventurer” was popular to have all copies retrieved immediately. This was done simultaneously across the US to keep SCP-AKN-Demon from stopping the MTF units or at least form stopping all of them. 

However, Agent Riley Park ended up meeting a form user of Parawatch who worked with her aunt and tried to expose the vile truth of SCP-AKN. The two are now being escorted by a team of small agents to find all main VHS tapes that might show clues as to the true origin of SCP-AKN. Though after it's over this Parawatch user will have to be amnestied and their profile on all Parawatch sites be hacked to help find more users and better manipulate the website for the Foundation’s favor.

.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

[chronoslogbestiary]

Log 4: Scroll Hags

Document Serial Number: M78O12 Document Classification: Humanoid Creature Anomaly Species Name: Scroll Hags

Scroll Hags are known to reside mainly within Dimension MO-7, a dimension seemingly devoid of any animals or human life aside from the Scroll Hags themselves. It also seems to lack the Technology that more advanced dimensions seem to hold, though traces of technology can be found, leading to presumptions of a world ending scenario within the Dimension, among other theories.

Scroll Hags are visibly described as tall lanky pale individuals, with elongated limbs that allow for increased reach and mobility for their forms. They also seem to lack all sorts of body hair that one would expect from a human or humanoid figure. They also seem to lack clothing, and prefer to stay without such things for the majority of their lifetime.

Their name is derived from their type of sustinance and method of feeding. Scroll Hags are notably Informavores, though unlike the human interpretation coined by George Miller in 1983 in dimension ER-1, Scroll Hags are a more literal interpretation. Scroll Hags feed on new information, such as a Scroll Hag in its infant stage being able to feed itself via learning the color Red.

It is to be noted however that Scroll Hags do not destroy information they sustain off of, so providing information to one will not compromise any information gathered. Due to this, Scroll Hags are notably intent on writing down all information gathered and kept in a library of information within their colonies, to act as a sort of food storage.

As Scroll Hags grow, more information is to be gathered for sustinance, and due to such, Scroll Hags are on a constant pursuit of more knowledge to feed others of their groups. This can also be used to introduce and sustain Scroll Hags off of new languages, having been the reason Scroll Hags can be found speaking and writing in several different languages from various dimensions.

Of note, Scroll Hags have also developed to having been granted a naming Structure for their lives. For purposes of clarity, an example will be given for documentation purposes.

A Scroll Hag is born. It's parents only remain for a week before leaving the child to fend for itself until adulthood, where it will return to its parents to share what it has learned. In this moment, the child will be given a name of a God, or important mythological or religious figures. Due to expansive naming conventions, as well as dimensional information cataloged, we shall call this child Adam.

Adam will then be named after the first color they witness, which can be seen by the color their eyes will glow for 10 seconds after first exposure to light. Adam, in this example, will be in the forest, and will have seen the leaves within the trees of his home. They are now named Adam of the Green. It is also noted that their hands will then be dipped into tubs of that color, making their hands permanently a green hue for the rest of their lives.

Once the Scroll Hags that were Adam's parents depart, Adam will go into the world and look around endlessly for a particular interest. While it is different for many Scroll Hags, it can be the same from instance to instance, such as two having interests in the Sea, or some having interests in the Stars. Adam scouts around and finds a Volcano. Within the brain of Adam, something draws him closer to the Volcano, where they then find themselves staring, entranced by a flame. In their mind, they have now found their particular interest. Now heading back to their colony, they will then get their back painted with a symbol representing their particular interest. Now with their full name, they are Adam of the Green Flame. It is to be noted that particular interests can have many types of final parts to the name, as long as they are tied in some manner to the interest, such as cooking being named with Herb or Ginger.

Warning: It is noted that AEON should not have contact with Scroll Hags due to the possibility of invasion and scavenging for resources. Any Scroll Hags found copying sensitive and confidential AEON information are to be executed at nearest convenience, as well as any copied documents destroyed. Scroll Hags are to not know of the existence of AEON.