#ii. THERE IS A MONSTER IN MY ROOM » … visage.

[littlemarie]

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[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

Part I

A lamb in a den of lions, he thought, watching the newcomer as she settled in, ordering whiskey neat. A fool, for sure.

A fool she may be, perhaps, but even fools could be dangerous. Eren had known that the young woman was a Hunter from the moment she entered the bar (everyone else had, too) but something told Eren that she was hardly cut from the same cloth as the average Bane of Creatures. There was something in her movements— a predatory grace in her stride, perhaps, or a stiff, straight posture, with muscles tensed and ready for action— that betrayed her power to him; but for all that, she really was lovely, and the image of a rabbit caught in a patch of bramble came to mind whenever he looked at her.

Sitting in a corner, drinking his B-neg, he watched the woman as she sipped her drink, checking over her shoulder now and then. She was wary— as anyone with good sense would be— but she didn't appear frightened, and Eren's curiosity was piqued. It wasn't every day that someone so bold happened across his path, and it became harder and harder for him to resist the urge to approach her.

Eventually, Eren gave in to his curiosity— he never had been very good at or even particularly fond of restraining himself— and when he came silently up behind her, the newcomer didn't even notice his presence until he murmured a greeting close to her ear.

"Hello, little love," he said, and she startled in her seat. "Are you lost?"

She turned around then, her eyes big and bright in the dim lighting of the bar, but by the time she managed to look at the spot where Eren would have been, he was already seated on the barstool beside her. Eventually, though, her eyes found his, and when their gazes met, Eren was amused to find no fear in her visage.

"Far from it," she told him, turning her body towards him. "I am precisely where I mean to be."

Eren blinked, nonplussed.

"Curious," he said, leaning forward so that she could see the sharpness of his teeth as he spoke. "Do you fancy yourself a wolf among sheep, little Hunter? Did you really not think we would know you for what you are the moment you crossed the threshold of this place?"

Any normal, human ear would have missed the way her heart leapt in her chest, but Eren missed nothing. The fear he had hoped to inspire in her was present after all, but her face never moved from its impenetrable mask— an affectation that was somehow both soft and steely at once.

"That's not what I'm here for," she told him, widening the distance between her knees as she readjusted on the stool. "I'm here to discover the truth."

The truth— what an odd notion!— and yet Eren sensed no lie in her.

"You're a strange one," he told her, but forced himself to relax his posture to appear lazy, almost drunk. "Most Hunters— even ones so pretty as yourself— shoot first and worry about the truth later. What's your name?"

Her nose crinkled. "It's polite to give your own first."

Sharp, he thought, watching her closely. Names have power.

"Eren Jaeger."

"Eren Jaeger," she echoed, then extended her hand. "My name is (Y/N)."

That name sounded familiar to Eren— and though most names did after living a few centuries, this one seemed to hit closer to home. He knew that name, and knew it well…

"What's your surname?"

(Y/N)'s eyes flashed with an emotion that Eren didn't catch.

"Kirschtein," she replied, averting her eyes. "I'm Jean Kirschtein's great-great-great granddaughter."

And damn if Eren didn't want to laugh. Perhaps his nosiness into the posterity of his old acquaintances really was as bad of an idea as Armin always seemed to imply.

"I see," he said, and he truly, truly did. "Then you know who I am— what I am— and what I've done."

More than that, if she truly did know who he was, it was unlikely that she had come without a specific purpose in mind.

(Y/N) nodded, confirming his suspicions. "I was digging around in my family history and— well— I read what my grandfather wrote, and I just— I wanted the truth."

So wide-eyed, so innocent— so alive. Eren could see now her resemblance to Jean; if they were not similar in looks, she had his sharpness, his humanness… and, as he always had Jean, Eren envied her for it.

"If that's the case, then I'm sure you know that you don't get something for nothing," he told her, sipping his drink just to watch the expression on her face as he let the warm blood slide down his throat. "And that dealings with me can be dangerous."

"Jean Kirschtein loved you, Eren Jaeger," she told him fiercely and with such conviction that Eren nearly choked on his drink. "To take such a tone with me, to threaten me, the last living remnant of him, is the most disrespectful thing I've ever heard."

Eren was about to say that he didn't owe her, Jean Kirschtein, or anyone else any sort of respect, but she plowed on, unwilling to let him say his piece.

"You broke his heart a million ways by doing what you did, but— but he was your friend through all of it, no matter what side each of you were on," (Y/N) continued, passion aflame in her eyes. "I can't even imagine what inspired such a love, such a loyalty from him that he would forgive you for the horrors you caused. That's what I'm here to find out— what you have that a man such as him would find you redeemable."

The reproof in her words stung, but Eren was too old to argue. She could never understand what it was like back then.

"I understand more than you think," she snapped, and Eren actually flinched. "I understand that you hurt the woman my grandfather loved immeasurably, and that he forgave you for that even though he never even particularly liked you. I understand that you were ready to sacrifice the world for that selfsame woman, for Jean, and for all the others. I understand that you're a monster who loved and was loved back, but I want to know why."

How? Eren thought, shaken.

How had she known his thoughts? It was as though she had seen straight through to his innermost being.

Without speaking, she answered his question. (Y/N) took a hand and rolled up her left sleeve, presenting to him a scarred marking in the shape of a pentagram.

"My grandfather didn't settle down with just anyone," she told him, holding his gaze. "I come from a line of powerful witches, all of whom possessed strong claircognizance. Paired with my nature as an empath, you can assume I know what you're going to say before you say it."

Eren hummed, trying to appear less perturbed than he was.

"And yet you hunt Creatures for a living; strange, since you're practically one of us yourself."

(Y/N) glowered. "I hunt monsters that prey on my people, not Creatures. No innocent has died by my hand."

The unlike you went unsaid, but that didn't mean that Eren didn't hear it anyway.

"Don't get high-and-mighty with me, girl," he told her roughly. "Knowing is one thing, but experiencing what we experienced is another."

"I'm not here to judge you," she replied. "I told you, I'm here for truth, nothing more."

"And I told you that the truth doesn't come for free," he told her darkly. "You must give me something in return."

(Y/N) set her jaw.

"What would you have of me?"

It was a mean, base request. Eren was wicked for even thinking it, and vile for wanting it— but looking at the great-to-however-many-degrees granddaughter of a good man that he had once known, seeing the vitality that brought a flush to her cheeks and thumping to her heart, he knew he couldn't pass up this golden opportunity.

It had been so long since he'd had a Companion.

"Become my cupbearer for six moons," he told her, crossing his arms. "Starting with tonight, the moon becomes new; let me drink from you until six of these have passed, and along the way, you will learn what you want to know."

(Y/N) eyed him warily.

"Can you assure my physical safety?"

Eren grunted, almost amused. It was a bit late to be worrying about that.

"I think you know that I can."

"And will you let me continue in my duties as a Hunter?" she asked, her eyes searching his own as if she would find the answer to her question there inside the same eyes he'd had since he was nineteen. "Completely uninhibited?"

"That depends. Will you kill Creatures in the discharge of your duties?"

(Y/N) made a face. Eren had forgotten how expressive mortals could be, but he found that being reminded was not altogether unpleasant.

"You know I will," she replied, "But you have my word that any killing won't be unprovoked."

Eren supposed it was as close to a compromise as he could expect.

"As you wish it, so shall it be."

He turned away, signaling to the bartender for another drink, but a lightning-fast hand shot out to grab his wrist.

"Swear it," she demanded. "I need us to be Bound by it."

The meanness in Eren finally won over. He reached forward, grabbing (Y/N) by the neck, and the silver rings on her fingers burned him as she pulled at his hand to try and restore her breath. Eyes from all around the room were on the two of them— had been, since the very beginning— but it was only once the Hunter before him began to look appropriately humbled that he withdrew.

"Do not touch me without my permission," he said, "And I will return the favor."

(Y/N) looked at him then, but there was still no fear in her eyes. Anger, yes, but no fear.

She must be mad, or foolish one, he thought, considering her for a moment. I always have been partial to mad fools in general, but…

Something about her seemed different, and Eren didn't know what to do other than accept what she had to offer. Heavens knew he was getting the better end of the deal anyway.

"Swear it," she repeated, this time more quietly. "Give your word, and I will be your cupbearer."

Eren brought his hand up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. At his will, the nail tip of his forefinger sharpened, hardening into a point; he used it to draw an 'X' onto the skin just over where his heart rested inside his chest, cold and dead. Blood welled into the cut— precious little, compared to that of a human, but still enough to run down his chest in smudges— and it was by that blood that he swore. He spoke the terms of their agreement, then took the blood from his wound with the pad of his finger and marked the same spot over (Y/N)'s own heart.

"Satisfied?" he asked, their faces almost touching, and (Y/N) shivered.

"Yes."

Her warm, living breath fanned over his face with her reply, and Eren took the moment to close his eyes and appreciate the scent and sensation of it.

"You may think you're satisfied," he told her, pulling away, "But you don't know the meaning of the word."

She eyed him warily, but before she could speak, he added, "In six months' time, I'll ask you the same question, and it is then that you will truly know what it is to feel satisfied— satiated in every way."

"As you say."

It was a throwaway comment, nothing more than a dismissal, really; but Eren felt like it was the start of something truly remarkable.

[indiavolowetrust]

unexpected presents are best unwrapped.

part 1

2

Beel noisily pops open a bag of hellfire vinegar chips, tossing the contents haphazardly in his mouth as we begin the walk back to class. Mammon’s hellfire vinegar chips. Mammon does his best to stop him from spilling everywhere, chiding him in the process, but Beel seems more content with eating as much as he can before we can step back into one of RAD’s many buildings. I do my best not to smile too much at the sight. Much to Mammon’s annoyance, Beel only shifts himself out of the way each time the shorter demon makes a grab for the bag, forcing Mammon to regain his balance. Another attempt, and Beel holds it far above his head. Yet another attempt, and then Beel simply holds Mammon’s head an arm’s length away from him, munching away. A frustrated grimace grows on Mammon’s face. As docile as the gluttonous demon usually is -- prone to toddling around like a large, lazy dog -- it is clear that he is enjoying himself. The corner of his mouth upturns just slightly at Mammon’s frustration, subduing yet another attempt to take back the bag.

At times like this, it’s all too easy to forget about the human world. I stifle a laugh as Beel shoves the rest of the chips into his mouth, a look of despair overtaking Mammon’s features. 

“Oi, one of the witches gave me that today!” Mammon protests, shaking the now-empty bag of chips. “I was gonna save that for later!”

Beel smiles in satisfaction, wiping off the last of the crumbs from his cheek.  “You said I could have it.”

“I said you could have some, not all of it!” 

I shift the books under my arm, biting down yet another laugh. Or sigh, possibly. Still, it is a welcome distraction. Mammon’s frustration warps his features, much like --

Much like Levi’s.

I want to stop myself. I should, honestly. But my thoughts wrench myself back to the memory of last night, forcing me away from the present. Drowning and  out the noise of Mammon’s yells and Beel’s footsteps. Dulling the space around me, as if the bustle of the crowd were no more than a distant image. My fingers grip the hardcover of my textbook as I force myself to walk, each step becoming more difficult than the last. And then there is the fear.

Because I -- I was afraid last night, wasn’t I? I was afraid. For the first time, the sight of the Avatar of Envy had spurred a sense of primal panic in me, as if my body refused to recognize him. For the first time, Levi -- gentle, awkward, dorky Levi -- had seemed to be nothing more than a frightening monster. Golden eyes darkened just enough to be dangerous, his usual frown warped into something I couldn’t recognize. Or perhaps something I had simply refused to recognize. There was something off. Then he had reached for me, the shadows playing strange tricks across his features, and I had -- 

Mammon crashes into me, his efforts wholly thwarted by an unseen indent in the pathway. I let out a groan of effort as I do my best to stop both of us from slamming into the street, wrapping my arms around Mammon in the process, and Beel manages to catch Mammon’s arm just in time. I stagger slightly, school shoes sliding, but I eventually find purchase in the stones beneath my feet. Mammon releases a hiss of pain when we both finally manage to regain our balance, Mammon still wrinkling the front of my uniform. Beel, ever the practical one, keeps a tighter hold on the empty bag of chips than Mammon’s arm. I realize after a moment that Mammon has his head pressing painfully at my breast; Mammon’s cheeks flush into a deep scarlet, his realization hitting him milliseconds after mine. Before we can react to the awkwardness of the position, Beel turns and offers a nonchalant wave to what must be a person in front of us, his attention preoccupied once more.

“You’re late, Levi,” Beel says. “Did you sleep in?”

I slap myself back to reality, tearing myself from my thoughts. Mammon takes the opportunity to shove himself away from me, his face hot with embarrassment. Beel lets go of Mammon’s hand. I simply stare forward, my words caught in my throat.

“The TSL series just released a new game,” he explains, his gaze hovering over me for a moment. Studying me. There are the unmistakable signs of sleep deprivation -- shadows under his eyes, messy hair, and that vague sense of irritability -- but there is an odd tone to his words, as if he doesn't quite believe them. As if he doesn’t expect me to believe them, either. His eyes rest on me for only a moment before a fluttered, more typical expression returns to his visage. “I did most of my lectures and assignments online today, but I left something at the school.”

“Like what?” Mammon asks, still entangled with me.

Stop being ridiculous, I tell myself. You’re acting like he’s about to eat you.

I swallow my trepidation. “Yeah, we can --”

“It’s okay,” Levi cuts me off, turning in the other direction. “I can pick it up myself.”

I watch the back of his uniform as Levi disappears into the crowd, his dark locks blending in with the darkness of the Devildom. Mammon manages to untangle himself from me in the process as I stare in Levi’s direction, rubbing his forehead. Beel tosses the empty chip bag in a nearby trash can.

I blink. “Did I do something to make him angry?”

“Nah, he probably just lost or something,” Mammon says, beginning to walk in the direction of class again. Beel nods. “Betcha he’s just in one of his moods again.”

I pick my feet up, trying to catch up with their long strides. “Yeah, but he looked pretty upset. Shouldn’t we go after him?”

“You worry too much,” Beel says, reaching out to usher me into the building. His hand gently pushes me at the small of my back, and he uses his body as a shield to prevent my smaller one from getting swept up in the crowd.

The bell rings.

* * *

I stare at my phone screen, attempting to will Levi to respond to my text. It doesn’t work. Instead, I only end up straining my eyes, the covers over my head further cutting off any external light, and my head begins to ache with the contract of the bright phone screen and the darkness of the room. I rub my socked feet together anxiously, attempting to conjure both warmth and comfort. Like my attempt with my phone, that doesn’t work either.

The anime and game-obsessed Levi I know would never turn down a chance to add a player to his dungeon raid.

I finally place my phone to the side of my pillow, sighing. So he is upset. But for what? I hadn’t even come close to beating him in our last match of Devil Kombat II: Return of the Devil Who Came From Another World and Now Must Fight for His Honor, nor had I complained about allowing him to use me as a cosplay dummy. I had run away from him last night, but -- but it  couldn’t be that, could it? I was startled, that was all. Tired from a long day of being dragged around by Mammon. And despite the hospitality of the demon brothers, I am still only a powerless, weak human in a sea of soul-hungry demons. Levi could understand that, couldn’t he?

I glance at the clock in my room. Ten minutes past midnight.

If I keep this up, I’ll be no better than Levi, I think, curling into myself for warmth. I should sleep. I need sleep. No use staying up all night worrying over nothing.

I toss and turn exactly twenty-two times over the course of the night, drifting in and out of sleep. My thoughts conjure fleeting images before my eyes, some more pleasant than others. Mama taking my cousins and I to Mass, each of us dressed in our finest clothes. Green, rolling hills bathed in sunlight, my favorite tia beckoning me to come to her. And the fresh, familiar scent of the ocean -- waves crashing onto my skin, warmth emanating from its embrace, and a strange, scaly sensation tracing my cheek. Then I am staring at the image of Levi’s demonic form, coral horns and serpentine tail bursting from his shadow, and a clawed hand clamps itself forcefully over my mouth before I have time to scream.

part 3

[daedriclorde]

Im so impressed with what you wrote for the ask i sent before, that I've come back for seconds 😅😂 take your time with this, no need to rush to write it. 8,11,20,30 sincerely, a new fangirl 😂

I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK THIS LONG

I split this into two different fics. The first is for Assassination and Meeting; the second is for Willpower and Temple. If you don’t know, Aerisif and Kjolti are the same person, just different names for different stages of my Dragonborn’s life!

Assassination; Meeting

The Bannered Mare had few patrons remaining at this hour. The large fire in the center of the hall burned perpetually, though only Rexus and a handful of others were gathered around it. Kjolti entered silently and unseen. The unrest that the appearance of a Dark Brotherhood assassin in Whiterun would cause could jeopardize her meeting. And what a meeting it shall be.

Moving within the rich shadows that flickered around the tavern, Kjolti slid next to Rexus, and almost imperceptibly, coughed. Rexus nearly jumped out of his skin and turned to look at the assassin, who gaped at her.

“Well I’ll be damned. We heard you were dead! Motierre’s in the back room, if you’ve got business.” Kjolti said nothing, but nodded and returned to the shadows. She slunk across the tavern to the room she had been in once before. The doors were easy enough to open and close in equal silence. Motierre sat in the dark, only a small candle by the bed illuminating the room. He had not even noticed Kjolti enter, such was her skill at stealth. She stood, choosing to be seen.

“Ah! You’re back!” Motierre exclaimed with equal parts joy and terror.

“Titus Mede II lies dead.” Kjolti’s voice was solemn and low.

“I know! I know! I received the news not moments ago! Ha HA! This is glorious! My friend, you may not realize it, but you have served the Empire, indeed, all of Tamriel, in ways you cannot possibly imagine.” Greed had replaced terror in Motierre’s visage. Kjolti did not like that.

“Ah, but you care little for politics, am I right? You want money! And money you shall have!” Motierre’s face was twisted with cruelty. “Your payment waits for you at a dead drop. It is inside an urn, in the very chamber where we first met, in Volunruud. Now please, go. Collect your money, and let us never look upon one another again. Our business, thank the gods, is concluded.” There was clear disgust in his tone. 

How amusing, thought Kjolti. How much he despises me, my brethren, and yet, he is indebted to us. 

“Your payment awaits. And don’t worry, I’m not stupid enough to betray you.”

Kjolti spoke up once more, her voice soft and dark. “Actually, Motierre, there is one more thing.”

He appeared disgruntled. “And what might that be?”

“Just a favor…for an honorable man.” Hidden beneath her cowl, Kjolti grinned a sinister smile. 

“You assassins and your riddles. It really does get very annoying, you know. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Kjolti politely inclined her head, already feeling the Blade of Woe itch for blood. She turned to the door and opened it, but slunk into the shadows and closed the doors again without leaving the room, but giving the impression she had. The assassin was too well suited for the shadows, too masterful a killer to be seen in the dim light of the small room. Motierre hummed happily to himself, no doubt already envisioning himself upon the Ruby Throne. 

What a fool.

Kjolti slipped unseen to Motierre’s flank. She withdrew the Blade of Woe from its sheath, poised it over Motierre’s neck, and whispered to him.

“Hail. Sithis.”

She relished the look of fear in his eyes as she opened his neck. 

Willpower; Temple; 

They had been completely blindsided by the attack. The road was dark, the moon providing little light. Foolishly, they had ignored the rumors. They knew it had been unwise to travel at night, but they had their wisdom stripped from them, drunk on mead and victory.

The heist had been a complete success; the mark had been absent from their home that evening. Brynjolf, always better with the lockpicks than Aerisif, had unlocked the door for them in a heartbeat. Aerisif had sunk into the shadows, as no one could the way she did, and slipped through the house without a sound.

The trunk did not disappoint. It was teeming with gold and precious gems, family heirlooms and rare books. It was an excellent haul.

And so they celebrated. They didn’t dare so much as look at each other until they were outside the city walls, but once they had left range of the guards, they exploded with giddy pride. 

But their celebrations were quickly dampened. A figure sprung on them from the darkness, eyes glowing red. Sinister necrotic magic emanated from their hands. The vampire rumors were indeed true.

Brynjolf unsheathed the sword he usually carried in a flash, and Aerisif’s daggers were drawn with equal speed. The vampire’s dark magic struck them both, draining them of their life force. Brynjolf charged the monster, and Aerisif’s daggers whirled. 

By bad luck, Aerisif had been closer to the vampire when it emerged from the trees. It bore down on her first, with magic and fang. It seemed not to notice the gashes Aerisif opened in its’ chest, but continued to lunge forward with disturbing speed. Aerisif lashed out with steel in her hands and her eyes, but her energy was draining. The vampire was upon her. 

Brynjolf watched with horror as it bit of her neck, its malevolent fangs breaking into her skin. He used this distraction to plunge his blade through the vampire’s chest, and watched with satisfaction as the monster crumbled. Aerisif slumped.

“Woah, woah, stay with me, lass,” he said as he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“That was…that was dumb of us,” Aerisif whispered. Her face was pale. “Do you have a cure disease potion? I think I sold my last one to Tonilia.”

“Aye, I’ve got one,” Brynjolf helped Aerisif to the ground so he could rummage through his pack. He grabbed the small glass vial and handed it to Aerisif.

She held up the bottle, squinting in the dim light. “This is just a minor healing potion, Brynjolf.”

He frowned. “No, it should be a cure disease potion. That’s what the man I stole it from was saying, at least.”

She shook her head. “It’s the wrong shade of red. Cure disease potions are darker, from the charred skeever hide.”

“Blast it,” Brynjolf cursed. He spat on the body of the vampire. “We have to get you to a temple, then.”

Aerisif was poorly hiding her fear. “But…we’re in the middle of nowhere, Brynjolf. It will be days until we get back to Riften. We don’t have…I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Then we’re going to have to be quick about it. Can you walk?”

Aerisif nodded faintly. Brynjolf extended a hand, which Aerisif took. She was grateful for the lack of moonlight, as it hid the flush that came to her cheeks from his touch.

The pair of thieves took off, much more cautiously this time. They moved at a slower pace, but hardly stopped. Long rests were out of the question; short naps were the better choice. 

The first day since her bite passed, and they hadn’t covered nearly enough ground. Mid afternoon on the second day, they came across a lone farm. The farmer was nowhere in sight. Aerisif was looking paler and frailer, though she would not admit it. 

“Stay here,” Brynjolf ordered.

“Why? Where are you going?”

“Just stay here.”

“Answer me, or I’ll follow.”

“Gods, Aerisif. I’m going to steal a horse for us to ride. We have to keep moving, and we aren’t going to make it on foot.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, lass. Normally I’d be grateful for your help, but, and no offense, right now your footfalls are as loud as a troll’s. Stay here.”

Aerisif opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it, to Brynjolf’s surprise. He had expected to have to go round and round with her.

“Fine. But don’t get caught.”

Brynjolf laughed as he walked away. “Get caught,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Like I would get caught.”

“Bastard is gonna get us both killed,” muttered Aerisif as Brynjolf walked away. But internally, against her better judgement, her heart fluttered.

With shocking ease, Brynjolf returned a few moments later with a gray mare who eyed them both with suspicion. She was munching on an apple, which Aerisif assumed Brynjolf stole to appease the mare.

“Up you go,” Brynjolf said as he lifted Aerisif into the saddle.

“What the—I can do it myself!” Aerisif argued weakly.

“No, you can’t. Let’s go.” He mounted the horse behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He was grateful she couldn’t see his cheeks turn a light rosy color. 

“What, no lewd comments? No off-color quips?”

Brynjolf grinned. “Why, if that was what you were waiting for, lass, you should have said so.” He chuckled and leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “Don’t worry lass, that’s just my sword hilt pressing into the small of your back.”

Aerisif laughed. “That’s the Brynjolf I know.” The laughter seemed to exhaust her. 

Brynjolf frowned. “Hold on tight. We’ve got to go.”

Now on horseback, the two made considerably better time. They rode nonstop through the rest of the day and night. The third day dawned, and still they were far from Riften. 

Aerisif’s condition was worsening. She wouldn’t admit to it, not even with her dying breath, which Brynjolf feared he would witness. As the sun grew hotter on the third day, Aerisif was squinting and covering her eyes. Hours later, she was leaning forward in the saddle, draped across the mare’s neck. 

“Stay with me, lass.” Brynjolf held the reins in one hand and wrapped the other around Aerisif’s waist. He was worried she would fall out of the saddle. 

Dusk fell, and Brynjolf was worried. Aerisif was barely awake, often hallucinating. 

“Maybe Mercer will be happy to have a vampire in the Guild,” she muttered sleepily. “I’ll be that much stronger at night.”

“I highly doubt that lass. Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the temple.”

Night fell. Aerisif was catatonic. Both were sore and tired from nearly a day and a half in the saddle. Brynjolf continued to push the mare, despite her indignation. Aerisif grew cold in Brynjolf’s arms. He had heard that those inflicted with the bite of a vampire died before undergoing their transformation. He urged the horse onward.

Finally, Riften came into sight. Brynjolf breathed a tense sigh of relief, but it was fragile. Without knowing exactly when she had been bitten, it was hard to tell how much time was left. The crescent moon was rising in the sky. Brynjolf dug his heels into the mare once more. The horse was foaming at the mouth from the exertion. 

Arriving at the gates, Brynjolf leaped off and gently pulled Aerisif from the saddle. She slumped into his arms, unresponsive. Swiftly, he scooped her up into his arms, relishing the feeling.

“Stay with me, lass. Don’t fade away. You’re too strong.”

Brynjolf ordered the guards to open the gates with such command they didn’t even try to shake him down. He moved as fast as he could, trying not to jostle Aerisif. The streets of Riften were empty at this hour. He knew he was almost out of time.

“Maramal!” He roared at the temple doors. “Dinya! Open up!” Not daring to release Aerisif from his arms, he used his foot to kick the door. “Let us in!”

Moments later, a sleepy eyed Dinya opened the door. “What do you want, Brynjolf? This better not be a ruse.” Suspicion filled her sleepy eyes.

“She’s been bitten by a vampire. Nearly three days past. Please, you have to help her.”

“Come in, come in,” the priestess ushered him inside. “Set her here,” Dinya instructed.

Brynjolf gently lay her down before the shrine. Aerisif’s eyes had started to gently glow. Dinya knelt before her, praying to Mara. Brynjolf heard her speak but did not listen to the words. His focus was on Aerisif. Dinya placed her hands on Aerisif brow, and prayed more. Brynjolf held his breath.

Divine magic swirled around Aerisif. The color returned to her skin, and the ominous glow vanished from her eyes. She blinked and sat up, confused.

“We made it?” she asked Brynjolf.

He grinned. “You’ve got too much willpower to fade away. You’re far too stubborn. You’re cured, lass.” He heaved a sigh of relief, ignoring the sparks shooting off in his chest. 

[necromancindancin]

A Goore-y Halloween

A short one shot I wrote for an rp. In this rp, Mary Goore is the "assistant" in the mausoleum and does autopsies and all that good stuff for the Ghost satanic church. Sister Belle is an oc/self insert. Thank you for reading!

Deep within the bowels of the satanic church was a mausoleum. Necessary with the amount of people who lived there. Housed there. Died there. Normally those who walked by the desolate underground area wouldn't hear much. Perhaps the sound of muffled metal music, grinding teeth and scratching voices. The sign of work being done by the assistant Mary Goore. Today, however, the music was lively, "Monster Mash" sort of fare.

Something you would hear at a party.

Mary Goore had gone into his office to grab a loose body tag. One of his current guests had accidentally torn one off a nearby corpse while messing around. He told them to be careful. His teeth clenched at the sounds of the cheesy music down the hall.

He snarled to himself, "Last fuckin' time I let Gladys pick the tunes."

With a sigh, he began walking back to the party. He caught a brief ghost of his reflection in the glass as he walked by. Fake blood oozed down from his forehead down his face. It was something he wore back in his band days. It suited him. He gave a wicked grin at his visage as he found the door leading him into the morgue.

They weren't a peppy bunch, his guests. Other than their taste in music. Mostly they sat around a table he set up, chatting their lives away. Jobs that needed to be done around the church. Aspects of their mundane lives such as diets, work out schedules. How cold it was in here.

As he walked in, one if the Sisters grabbed his arm, "Dear. Could you turn it up? The temp-erature? Its freezing in here, lovey." Her intonation was strange to him. He wondered if it was her age or some unique pattern she had developed.

He tried to sound nice, "Vivienne, I've already told you... it has to stay this cold for the bodies."

Across the table a brother of sin, an old man with lion's whiskers spoke up, "Surely we could turn it up for the old girl! After all, they're dead. Not like they mind!"

Goore ignored Horace. The old man came off like some retired general when he spoke. Made him feel… itchy, under his skin. Authority figures never meshed well with him. He was too loud. Too commanding. Mary was not a foot soldier.

Next to him was a mousy thing. Too quiet. Too easy to mess with. Her hair was red with greyed streaks that shined through the auburn. She looked about her, at the Halloween decorations that had been put out, and shuddered. He hadn't actually done much to decorate save for some cheap items he found at the store. Most of what he did was bring in the preserved specimens from his room. Made him feel at home.

Those were of course the things her eyes lingered on. He chuckled softly to himself. Sometimes the most fun he could have was getting under people's skin. Both literally and figuratively. The woman had barely touched her food.

"Did you not like dinner?" Gladys spoke up and asked the mousy Lauren, as if reading his mind. Lauren jumped at the woman's commanding alto tone.

Her voice was squeaky in comparison, "Its just. It's raw meat."

"Its not raw. It's rare." The woman countered, "We should be grateful that Marion has been so kind to make us a meal."

Mary felt happy about the defense until she called him Marion. Again. He wasn't going to bother correcting the old woman this time. Apparently one of her husbands had been named as such. Either way it got Lauren to stop talking. Any woman with that tone and high cheekbones like Gladys were listened to.

Probably why she got to pick the music every year. The last member at the table, John, was mute. He nodded along, just happy to be eating the rare-not-raw meat that Goore had prepared. Mary sat next to him. The one who annoyed him the least.

Horace spoke up, "Viv. Would I be so bold as to ask for a dance? Marion, help me up, would you?"

Mary rolled his eyes. This was bullshit. But he couldn't say no without causing a fucking spectacle. He walked next to the old man and held out his arm. Horace grabbed it roughly with one hand and his other grabbed at a cane. He didn't even wait for Vivienne to respond. The woman stood up.

Gladys got up and began to fiddle with the music. A slow song came on and Mary guided the pair together. It was almost sweet, watching them together. Something that the average person would see and think, "that's what I want in my old age." But Mary did not. He didn't think much about that sort of thing usually.

Watching them both made him pause. They danced until the end of the song and Horace made a motion with his arm just for Mary to get up and help him to his seat. Any soft magical moment he felt had passed.

Lauren cooed, "Oh what a lovely pair you make!" Her hands went over her heart. John rolled his eyes.

"When are you going to find someone, dear-y?" Vivienne suddenly asked Mary. He grumbled and leaned down in his seat.

He huffed, "Don't need anybody."

"Nonsense." Gladys crowed, "Everyone needs *someone.*"

Mary had to hold himself from telling the woman to fuck off. Why did he let these people in his space again? There was some reason, even if he couldn't think of why. He felt like he was being forced to be polite as they cooed over him.

Horace jumped in, "Yes… Yes! You shouldn't be alone. No one should be alone."

"Maybe that's what I want." Mary finally hissed through his teeth, "Maybe some people should be alone." People annoyed him far too much. They were only fun to fuck with, what they were suggesting-

Lauren echoed, "No one should be alone."

John piped in, "Not even you, Mary."

Goore paused. John couldn't speak. The group all went back to their conversations like nothing had been said. Another cheesy song came on. Sister Belle had stopped at the door. Mary did a double-take.

Sister Belle was standing in the doorway.

The assistant looked around at the corpses he had set up around the table. Each were in various states of decay and preservation. He wondered if he had been speaking aloud this entire time. Sure, he could ask Belle but he wasn't sure she would answer. She looked kind of stunned now that he thought of it.

"Dude." Was all she could manage, "What the fuck." It noticeably was a statement and not a question.

His smile was putrid, "We like to have a good time around here."

The sister had a stack of papers in her hands. Carefully she walked around the bodies to hand it over. Goore flipped through. Paperwork for supplies that he needed. Imperator or Papa II must have sent her after he asked them to the last time. This wasn't exactly the way he wanted to startle her, but it worked.

Belle looked at the floor, "You need fucking friends, man."

Mary rolled his eyes, "You wanna be my friend?"

"There's this Halloween party my friends and I are holding. You're coming." Her voice wavered in her attempt to sound commanding, "And- and- are you in the group chat?"

Mary Goore shrugged. He wasn't exactly invited to participate in church-related activities. Most likely why his little party came about. He groaned. This was stupid. He handed her his cellphone.

"This is a brick." Belle commented. The flip phone had to be at least ten years old. Yet it was connected in the way she needed it to be. Weird. Everything about this guy was weird.

But maybe he really just needed someone.

Mary thought on it for a moment.

"No one should be alone." He mumbled indignantly.

Belle tilted her head, "What?"

He scoffed and then smiled, "Nothing. Hey. You want to help me clean up?"

"No."

"Come oooooon." He grinned, "Friends help friends clean dead bodies."

She flipped him off before walking out. Perfect. This could be fun.

[duraxxor]

The Dreamscar Part II

Duraxxor. A name that was created from the shortened Durand and a twist of Scourge tongue. At least, that’s what they stated when you were given the rebirth through the necromantic energies the Lich King Arthas. Whether it be Deathcleave or Daevara, it as carried with you all through our Azeroth.  A blemish. No... A brand bestowed upon your ashen flesh.  Knowing this information though, have you ever considered it the name was to be worn by one that chose to fully embrace the ways of thy kin?

Anger. It’s something you’ve experienced multiple times, Duraxxor, right? One particular case was when they used a certain phrase to describe the evolution you obtained through your second damnation. Well what if I also told you that there was a path where instead of choosing to discard the terminology of San’layn, you had embraced it to the point that you created a revolution of evolutionary proportions? A rage that was forged as you watched several of those whom attempted to reconnect with their former kin, only to be cut down and executed out of fear. That rage can spark a wildfire, can it not? You became that flame, Duraxxor. You gathered the remnants of those whom understand and formulated a grand scheme that brought you to heights that you could never imagin

Silvermoon has become the Capital City of Sin’thalas. It’s people no longer the children the living, breathing radiance of the Sun. Instead, they have joined you and your’s as children of the damned. Those who would oppose you are fit only to be cattle to the slaughter so that your’s would grow powerful. And over time, Sin’thalas would span to the very edges of the Thalassian Pass and the Amani territories. Your subjects would reach a break through that would adapt the very environment to blossom forth with an abundance of lifeblood. And those that chose to invade would soon be cut down, fed off to your people like wild game. Who could oppose the? The world trembles at your might...

My King... 

My King... 

“ My King? “

“... Hmmm? “ The sound rumbled from within the breathing chamber of a mask of obsidian, matched only by a crown. A grin visage decorated such that contrasted to the pale lock that cascaded with bloodstains. Crimson jewels dilated to focus upon the one whom addressed royalty.

“ ... Is something amiss? “ The creature before him stood at least eight feet tall and appeared to be a Sin’dorei male in an undead state. However, the sheer size, crimson gaze, and  myotis-like ears stated otherwise. Gray hair was slicked back in a widow’s peak as this tall fellow peered towards the King with concern in mind.

The pale headed King rumbled once more with a depth to his voice that caused vibrations in one’s eardrums. The obsidian armor hinted further that this particular ruler was much taller in size by a stronger amount. “ Everything is as it should be. Continue... “ He stated such words while sitting atop his throne of bone and steel.

“ As you wish, your highness. “ The man bowed his head graciously with a hand folded upon his chest. “ As you know, the efforts to advance into the Plaguelands has become rather successful thanks to the convenience of the Forsaken in the far west. However, we have found an intruder amongst your lands... “

A sudden pressure was felt across the entire room with the skittering sound of light chatter from crimson beads that watched carefully. All eyes were on the man in the center.“ ... Well, what are you waiting for then, Chancellor? Bring them to me... “ The irritated growl was spoken through his words as his right hand fetched for something within his cuirass.

“ Very well, sire. “ The chancellor rose nervously and gestured with his hand, signaling twin guardsman to shamble in with a prisoner being dragged by saronite shackles and chain. She was a ashen skinned Kal’dorei woman that possessed lightly emaciated features and faded azure hair. Groans from weakness were expelled from her lips as they tossed her upon the stone flooring, revealing bite wounds from what appeared to be a fight amongst his ravenous kin.

“ A Kal’dorei woman... “ He stated rather dryly as if the race really made a difference to him. Though, he would indulge his company, nonetheless. “ Look at me... “ His tongue twisted into the dialect of her kin in hopes of garnishing her attention. To which, his efforts sparked an interest in the pathetic elf. Her gaze had been dulled by the lack of energy, only seeming to glow as she basked in terror at the behemoth before her. Sure the woman had seen his kin but never the King of the San’layn who had lead an entire army to turn his own people into the monstrosities they were on this hollow afternoon. The crimson tide within his gaze peered deeply into her very soul, seeking to find the tethers of what she was thinking, whatever she may be feeling. “ Show me... Show me why you should live... Show me why you are worthy to draw another breath! Show me that fire within your soul! “ His voice bellowed out with great volume as the entire room chittered with excitement. The scent of blood itself became thick, almost choking to the lungs of the living. The night elf’s body shivered with a sensation that had been driven into her very core that tested her resolve. 

A single minute had passed before her lips finally made an attempt to curl upward. However, before words could even be spouted, the King instantly turned his head away and made his declaration. “ Devour her, my children... She lacks the strength of will... “ The chittering in the background heightened and soon after, several large batlings trampled over slowly, salivating at the mouth as they anticipated their newest addition to the things they have feasted upon. 

The woman squeaked in protest as she was robed any chance to speak of her courage. “ N-no! You can’t! Damn you, Blood King! The Alliance are c-coming to march upon your g-gates... Elune curse you! “ Her body wriggled tiredly as she began swatting at the approaching winged beasts. The woman’s wept in fear, trickling with her final tears like some cornered deer. 

“ Let the come... I want them to come and wage war... their numbers will feed my entire kingdom and there is nothing that Elune, the Light, or any God can do to stop this glorious feast to come! Nothing! “ The King, his Chancellor and the other’s who observed, joining in maniacal laughter as the young monsters lunged onto the helpless Kal’dorei, creating a merry ballad of screams and cries that were balanced by the sound of rending flesh and blood spilling upon his majesty’s floor. 

And as the sea of blood runneth red, so too did the endless abyss return as black as night. However, even the darkest nights sometime reveal a binding light deep within it’s shroud...

To be continued... 

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

War of Attrition: Chapter 17

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. The past comes back to haunt you. Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of death, blood, violence, wounds, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, survivor’s guilt Word Count: ~4,112 A/N: Please read the warnings!!

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“Got it, pal. Let me know when we’re getting close?” he murmured.

“I will, sir. Shall I wake you if either of you exhibits the symptoms of night terrors?” Alfred asked kindly.

Bucky nodded his head. “Please, Alfred. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Master Barnes. Enjoy your nap.”

Bucky was asleep within five minutes, lulled to sleep by the dull roar of the engines and your even breathing.

You moved the thick gardening glove down your wrist and glanced at your watch, trying your best to look inconspicuous as the guards passed.

10:19 am.

One minute until you had to make your way over to the small van with a wide arrangement of gardening tools... along with reinforced armor-plated sides, a silent, electric engine, and enough room for three people.

You clipped carefully at what you’d learned was a blueberry bush, humming a German tune that you actually did enjoy, and placed the clippings into the basket beside you. The guards paid you no mind, of course. You were a woman; a gardener. They had automatic weapons and you had slightly dull shears.

At 10:20 you stood and slowly moseyed over to your van, giving the guards a polite incline of your head and tentative smile as you passed. They eyed you and you had to fight back the urge to gag. There was no way to tell exactly what expression they held behind those soulless black masks, but if their body language was anything to go by it was in the vein of interest.

The basket got thrown somewhat carelessly into the back, the doors to which you left wide open. You walked over to the driver’s side door and hopped into the driver’s seat, trying your best to not fidget nervously as you turned the silent van on and waited.

You didn’t have to wait long.

There was a commotion on the other side of the sprawling property and the guards that had been stationed nearby were gone in a flash, running towards the source of the noise.

You bit your lip and gripped tightly at the steering wheel, nearly yelping in surprise when Peggy and Erskine jumped into the back of van and slammed the doors.

“Go go go!” Peggy yelled, but you were already rocketing forward, towards the front gates of Johann Schmidt’s private estate. The bastard wasn’t home, of course. You and Peggy had made sure of that.

The man you were rescuing- Abraham Erskine- looked gaunt and pale, which was no surprise. He’d been held by Schmidt for the better part of five years, being slowly starved to death and occasionally tortured. For her part, Peggy looked unfairly good in frumpy maid’s clothing that (despite your best efforts) hadn’t been able to hide her beauty.

“Look out!” Erskine yelled in thickly accented English, but you were already barreling ever faster towards the thick metal gate at the front of the property.

The van crashed through the wrought iron as though it was made of paper and the bullets of the guards’ guns might have been missing completely for all the damage they did.

“We did it!” you whooped from the front seat as you careened dangerously down the country road.

You could hear Peggy’s sly smile when she spoke, but you were too busy trying to make sure the three of you didn’t end up in a ditch to turn and look at her. “Not yet, we haven’t. We still need to make the rendezvous.” That made you grin and push your van just that slightest bit faster, adrenaline running through your veins. “Are you hurt, Doctor Erskine?”

The answering gasp made your blood run cold.

You knew that gasp; the shaky exhale that followed.

The van’s tires dug deep furrows into the ground as you slammed on the breaks, gravel flying in every direction. You spun in your seat, horror only growing at the sight behind you.

Erskine was bleeding out in Peggy’s arms, one gunshot straight to the gut, one to the chest.

He was bleeding. There was so much blood. Too much blood. It filled the bottom of the van until it came up to your ankles.

“You didn’t save me,” he gasped, bloody bubbles running down his chin.

“Abe! No! This isn’t- I wanted to save you- I tried- Please, Abraham! No!” you cried, crawling into the back of the van and kneeling down in the pool of blood. Its warm wetness seeped through your pants immediately, but you didn’t care. Abraham was dying. 

“You are evil,” he spat, and the blood splattered against your face. “Not even human. Steve Rogers should have killed you when he had the chance.” The hatred in his eyes had you scrambling back, scared. He was wrong! You were human! You grew up in New York! You liked machines and hated Nazis and-

“Почему ты расстроена, мама?” You froze as you backed up against someone, but you knew who it would be without looking. You turned anyway, seemingly unable to control your own body. A young Natalia stared down at you with eyes that were hers, but not. They were harder and colder than you’d ever seen, filled with condescension and hatred. It was the way she looked at an obstacle or an enemy. “Почему ты грустишь? Вы выполнили свою миссию. Доктор мертв.“ She asked with a feral smile that made your skin crawl.

“Нет! Нет, я не хотел этого! Он мой друг!” you gasped, bringing your legs up to your chest, curling into yourself.

But you froze when your hands touched cold, unyielding metal.

A scream crawled its way up your throat and you tried to scramble away from the pieces of metal, but they were attached to you; no, the metal was you. Your legs. Your fingers. A hand shot out and froze you in your tracks. Where Abraham and Peggy had been Howard Stark now laid, as young as he was the day you’d met him. His hand was broken, bones at odd angles and sticking out from his skin grotesquely. Pieces of glass were embedded into his purpling skin.

You didn’t know how you could recognize him. His face was smashed in until it was a pulpy mass with two dark brown, blood-eclipsed eyes staring piercingly at you.

“You killed me,” he whispered, though it sounded so loud to you that you had to throw your hands over your ears.

“No, please! Howard! I didn’t mean to. Please, please, please, stop. I couldn’t stop myself,” you pleaded, eyes shut tight against the horrible sight of Howard’s disfigured face and broken limbs.

“You looked right at me. I said your name. And then you bludgeoned me to death,” he spat accusingly, and you mashed your hands even tighter over your ears.

“God, this isn’t real. This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real!” you grit out through gnashing teeth. “This is a nightmare and-”

“Wovon redest du, fräulein? Das ist dein Leben, (Y/N).” 

The sound of Zola’s nasally voice had you careening forward into the pool of blood, not caring that it covered half of your face. You didn’t dare open your eyes and see him.

“Ich habe dich zu einem Monster gemacht,” he said, sickly sweet. It was the same voice he used when talking about successful experiments. “Ja das ist richtig. Das ist alles was du bist. Eine Waffe. Meine Waffe.“

“Nein! Ich bin nicht das, was du mich gemacht hast!” you screamed, metal fingers digging painfully into your skin.

“Is that why you killed me?” Mary Douglas asked. Even after all this time you knew her voice. It was the voice that haunted you more often than any of the others, except, perhaps, Howard’s.

You finally lifted your gaze, eyes wide and horrified. The skin of Mary’s face was burned and bubbling, a visage that would haunt even the most stalwart souls. Did she look that horrible after you’d killed her? You couldn’t even remember sometimes. You’d only seen her for a split second before Bucky had turned you away. Perhaps your remembered version was worse than the real thing, but there’d be no real way to ever know.

“You say you’re not a monster, but that didn’t stop you from killin’ me when you weren’t under their control. You’re broken, child, an’ nothin’ can fix you. All you’re good for now is killin’,” Mary said, speaking through cracked, warped lips.

“No! No no no please god no make it stop!” you screeched, tearing at your own face. Maybe if you died the voices would stop and-

“(Y/N)!”

“No, god no. Not you too, Buck,” you whimpered, tearing at your hair. Make it stop make it stop make it stop-

“You’re the reason why he’s alive and suffering,” a terrible, vengeful image of Pierce spat, staring at you like you were less than dirt. His guts were spilling into the pool of blood.

“(Y/N)! Please, wake up!”

“Wenn nicht für dich, hätte ich ihn nicht machen können,” Zola said malevolently, with your faceless, black-masked torturer behind him. “Es ist alles deine Schuld.“

“Baby, please. You gotta wake up.” He sounded frantic now. Why was he telling you to wake up? This was reality, after all. It was condensed suffering, dozens of people closing in on you in a landscape devoid of anything else except bodies and the blood that was slowly rising higher. Up to your knees, your waist, your chest-

“You’re the reason why SHIELD fell. I wish I had never met you.” Peggy stared down her nose at you, sneering beautifully.

“Baby, please. Wake up. Wake up!”

The world shook violently and your eyes opened to a too-bright room. You were already falling forward, out of bed, away from Bucky, and onto the hard ground of the room you were renting.

You vomited onto the worn wood, not caring that it got in your hair or on your hands. Your chest heaved as you breathed in startlingly cold breaths, the stench of vomit not overpowering the relief of no longer scenting the irony tang of blood in the air.

But you couldn’t relax, not when there were so many threats out there. Hydra. The KGB. SHIELD. The Avengers. The countless ghosts that were assuredly after your soul.

Bucky was by your side in an instant, running a big hand down your back, voice low and soothing as he spoke. “It’s alright, (Y/N). You’re here, with me. We’re in Bucharest, Romania. It’s 2015. They don’t know where we are. We’ve built a safe house for ourselves. Breathe, Baby. Just breathe,” he whispered, knowing not to move closer until you made some sort of sign that you’d understood what he’d said.

“It’s 2015,” you gasped, metal nails scratching grooves into the wooden floor as you clenched your hands into a fist. “Hydra doesn’t have us. The KGB doesn’t have us. We’re hiding.” You said the words like a mantra, letting them ground you.

“That’s right, Doll,” Bucky confirmed, letting himself get a little bit closer to tug your hair from your face. If he minded the vomit, he didn’t said anything. It wasn’t like this was the first time for either of you.

You sucked in a breath, and tried to release it slowly, evenly... but it came out as a shuttering sob. Bucky echoed the wounded noise softly and pulled you to him, his warm, soft human hand guiding your face gently to his neck.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and onto his shoulder, staining his light grey shirt in little droplets. You gritted your teeth against the wracking sobs, but that didn’t stop the pathetic noises from slipping through, nor did it stop the way your entire body shook. You knew, distantly, that Bucky was picking you up and carrying you through the tiny apartment, but you were still surprised when the first jet of cool water poured over your back, soaking your hair and clothing in an instant.

It wasn’t icy, but was still cold enough to not be mistaken for the pool of blood that haunted your dreams. The bathroom came into focus around you, its off-white walls and dingy lights comforting in a way they had no right to be.

You perched your chin on his shoulder and closed your eyes, letting the water flow over you skin, the effect calming you in a way his touch alone couldn’t.

“D’ya wanna talk about it?”

A hummed, dismissive response was the only reply you had the wherewithal to give at the moment. You could feel more than see him nod in acknowledgment and a sound of protest left your lips when he moved too much, but a second later a toothbrush and toothpaste were in front of your face. It was a sign of how out of it you were that you had trouble focusing on them.

Wordlessly you took them, though you paused to nudge his shoulder gently with your forehead, a small sign of thanks and affection that you couldn’t form the words to right then.

“Do ya wanna watch Tangled after this?” he asked quietly, lips brushing against your now sopping wet hair.

You hummed a small affirmative as you began brushing your teeth dutifully (Bucky knew it was the first thing you liked to do after episodes; it was hard to get past them when there was such a horrid physical reminder of what had happened). Of all the newer Disney movies you liked that one the best so far. There were others, but between saving half the world and avoiding what felt like the other half of the world, you hadn’t yet found the time to watch them all. They were an escape, and a welcome one at that.

“Time?” you murmured after you spat out the toothpaste and rinsed your mouth out with the bottle of water Bucky handed you (you needed to fix the pipes in this damned hellhole... or maybe just set up a water filtration system).

“Just after 2 am,” he answered immediately, voice still slow and soothing. 

You frowned. Maybe you’d be able to fall back asleep during Tangled, but it was unlikely Bucky would be able to, not after your episode. You bit your tongue on the apology you wanted to give him, knowing it wasn’t fair to either of you to apologize for something you couldn’t control.

Instead, you turned the water up to a less offensive temperature (it was starting to get too cold for you at this point) and shuffled until your back was against Bucky’s. Taking the hint, he wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned back against the tub, pulling you with him. Using your foot, you hit the knob that turned the shower head off, eyes opening a little wider now that you knew you wouldn’t be constantly bombarded by tiny droplets of water. With equal ease you popped the plug into the drain, eyeing it dubiously for a moment until you were sure it was actually stopping the water from escaping into the sewer.

“Alfred, could you bring the tablet?” you asked the air, knowing that the AI would hear you even though you could barely hear yourself above the sound of the water.

“Of course, Mistress Barnes,” one of the drones said dutifully, already floating into the bathroom with the largest of the tablets trapped between the claws of its little metal arms. You had a feeling the AI had been ready and waiting for you to ask.

“Thanks Al,” Bucky said as he took the tablet from Drone Anchorage.

“It was my pleasure, Master Barnes. Please enjoy the movie.”

You eyed the tablet and, sure enough, Tangled was already queued up and ready to go. Bucky huffed a single laugh and even you felt a tiny smile tilt a corner of your lips up. You tilted your knees up and Bucky set the tablet on your lap, knowing full well you made all of your tech waterproof (well, almost all of it, but Bucky knew very, very well which inventions were water-safe and which ones weren’t).

You tapped play and, almost instantly, your heart felt a little lighter at the sound of Eugene’s voice starting the introduction.

When the tub was full enough you turned the faucet off and practically melted into Bucky’s chest, tension finally leaving you in some measurable way.

“Hey Buck?” you whispered as the scene switched to Eugene stealing the crown.

“Yeah Doll?” he murmured, arms squeezing you ever so gently.

“Love you,” you answered, eyes not leaving the screen.

Bucky merely placed a gentle kiss to the back of your head and muttered a quiet but heartfelt “Love you, too,” and you finally let yourself get lost for a while.

By the time you woke up again you were back on the small mattress you shared with Bucky, dry and in new clothes. You reached out blindly for your husband, already suspecting he wasn’t there by the lack of dipping in the old, worn out springs. Sure enough, the sheets were cold, but you kept looking anyway, right until your hand reached the edge of the mattress. With a groan you shoved your face back into the pillow, unwilling to face the day. Days after an episode were especially tough and you considered it a blessing that you managed to wake up knowing what year it was and where you were.

“Bucky? Где ты?” you mumbled, trusting in his enhanced hearing to pick up your voice even through the walls. The apartment was tiny; only two small rooms. Nearly everything was in the first room- the one you were in now- with all of your important scientific research and the workshop in the other.

“Какие? Не могли бы даже потрогать ваши глаза?” came a quiet, gentle voice directly to your right.

Tension left your muscles after a second, your body relaxing when you realized he was watching your back both metaphorically and literally.

“Я не знаю, как вы можете быть комфортно на этой кушетке. Это ужасно,” you muttered as you shuffled around, finally opening your eyes to look up at him. He was reading the paper and you could just barely see his bright blue eyes over the top of it. If you weren’t mistaken, they were distinctly amused. You realized you were likely an unsightly heap, strewn out lackadaisically on the bed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Ты тот, кто спас его от корзины,” he countered.

You frowned, features coming uncomfortably close to a pout. Genius engineers and deadly assassins didn’t pout, though. Then, it hit you. “Shit,” you hissed as you grabbed the pillow and shoved it into your face. “I’ve been talking in Russian.”

“Да,” he said dryly. You chucked the pillow blindly at him, wincing as it veered violently to the right... and straight into the sink.

Bucky lowered the paper slowly and leveled a flat, unimpressed stair at you, but you were already rolling away from his accusing stare. You could practically feel his gaze boring into your back, but you valiantly ignored him until you heard the paper rustle again.

You let yourself lay there for a while, mind wandering as you attempted to sort your jumbled thoughts. The nightmare from hours before still lingered in grisly flashes, destroying any urge you had to leave the bed and be productive. You’d manage it eventually, but you couldn’t muster up the energy to get up just yet.

“What are we doin’, Buck?” you whispered, not thinking about your question until it was already hanging in the air between you.

A pause, then the sound of the paper being folded haphazardly. “We’re hiding. Doing what we can to stay away from other people. You’re sending tips to the new SHIELD to help them clean up unsavory folks and the remnants of Hydra. We-”

You rolled over to look at him, the sad smile on your face making him freeze mid sentence. “You know what I mean, Bucky...” you whispered softly.

He looked away, blue eyes trained on a random spot on the floor. “Dunno what you mean, Doll,” he said quietly, with just a hint of obstinance. He didn’t like this conversation, mostly because you ended up talking each other in circles for hours. You both felt horribly guilty over what you’d personally done, but neither of you would let the other turn themselves in.

You tried a new path of thought today. “Stevie’s friend. Anthony Stark.”

Even though Bucky still refused to look at you, you could see the way the name affected him in how his jaw tightened and his gaze turned stormy.

“Steve will figure it out soon if he hasn’t already. And you know-”

“He won’t tell him, yeah. I know,” Bucky said bitterly.

“Tony isn’t stupid either, from what I can tell. He’ll... probably figure it out eventually, too. Natalia and Steve will probably try to keep it from him, though.”

Bucky’s frown only deepened. “That’ll only be a problem if we insert ourselves in their lives again,” he said tersely.

You sighed, heart constricting painfully. “He was my friend, Buck. Our friend. And we killed ‘im.”

Bucky’s gaze turned up sharply, though you could tell he was hurting too by the way his gaze softened ever so slightly as he looked at you. “And what? We say ‘sorry we killed your mom and dad’ and hope he doesn’t blow us to bits with his suit? Worse, we hope he does?”

You flinched at the implication.

... No, that he’d seen through your words and intentions so clearly as he always did. “We’d deserve it,” you muttered so quietly you almost thought he wouldn’t hear.

But his eyes flashed with anger and fear and he was off the couch and in front of you in a flash. You were in his arms before you could mutter even the smallest protest, your face jammed into his broad chest.

“We did a lot of messed up things, Doll. I know we did. I don’t think we’ll ever really escape that shadow... but if you think I’m ever letting you go again, you’re wrong,” he breathed, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

Your arms went around his waist, but you couldn’t help the feeling of dread swirling low in your gut. “Someone’s gotta answer for what we did, Buck...” you muttered, voice muffled by his chest.

He squeezed you gently. “They did. They are. Steve and Natalia killed most of the rats and we got rid of what they missed. Only pieces remaining are the roaches that barely have enough power to pry themselves out of their destroyed, moldering ruins of an empire.”

You frowned and bit your lip. This was how the conversation usually went, though the lines sometimes were swapped, with you talking Bucky out of anything rash. It still felt wrong, though- to not say anything.

Knowing you were at yet another impasse, you let the subject drop. “Gotta go to the club later, pawn off some of my designs. You feel like goin’ with me?” you asked, peeking hesitantly up at him.

He stared at you, gaze assessing, for what felt like a small eternity, but eventually he nodded. “What kinda guy would I be if I let my gal go to a fancy club all alone after just sayin’ I’d never let her go?” he asked. The lightness he was trying for fell just a bit flat to both of your dour moods.

You leaned up and pecked him on the cheek anyway. “Thanks, Buck. Radcliffe always pays well for my blueprints and prototypes.”

Bucky finally released you, watching you from the floor with wary eyes as you stood and headed to the bedroom. “Where’s all this money going to, anyways?” he asked with a frown.

You leaned back around the corner, surprise lining your features. “I didn’t tell you?” you asked, confused.

He shook his head, amusement returning some of the light to his eyes. “You get lost in your own head too much, y’know. Wouldn’t be surprised if you have whole one-sided conversations in there,” he teased gently. He... wasn’t wrong, and you fought the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him.

Your smile was a little sad. “Sokovian relief efforts.”

Bucky’s smile was melancholy, too, the destruction of the city a fresh horror in his mind, along with the fear of losing you. Again.

“That’s... that’s good,” he said finally, looking up at you with what could only be adoration.

Your smile turned a little lighter- a little more genuine- and you nodded. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

Next Chapter

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[bittyreaders]

Timid Reader & Underswap Bros Part II (Re-Write)

Mr. Blue was back. Again.

You glared at him from the safety of the top floor of the Yellow House, nose pressed against the windowsill, only your eyes and the top of your head visible. The skeleton was talking to Rivet, who was sitting at her desk trying to get through some paperwork. He was waving his arms around, cheeks flushed and eyes narrowed, but wasn’t yelling - you couldn’t hear what he was saying from here.

And here was where you would stay until he was gone. The skeleton had been coming in every afternoon for the past week, desperately trying to talk to you. Rivet and Sweets had distracted him, reminding him that the Pen was off-limits (last Saturday had been a one-time thing). His amazingly-tall brother had come in the first day as well, slouched in an orange hoodie and looking ready to take a nap standing up. Despite the heavy lids, his eyes had been sharp enough to pick out your nose pressed against the glass of the Yellow House window, and after registering your intense glare he’d had the good grace to look away in discomfort.

You’d found being angry was easier than being afraid. When you were afraid, your emotions were out of your control - worry and despair cutting off any chance of rational thought as adrenaline took over, demanding immediate flight from whatever the threat was. Anger let you be in control - if you were angry at the threat, then you didn’t have room to be afraid. So, from a distance, you drew up as much anger as your little body possessed, and aimed it squarely at Mr. Blue and his brother.

The brother - Sweets called him Stretch once, was that his name? It was as good as any other - didn’t come back again, and you congratulated yourself on having such a fearsome glare. Mr. Blue returned every afternoon, however, alone now and with an apologetic slump to his shoulders each time. Beneath the weak shoulders, however, was a burning determination to write his wrong. He was nearly desperate to apologize to you in person - if you hadn’t been petrified at the thought of being within five feet of him, you’d have admired his tenacity.

Today he had something clutched in his hand and was gesturing wildly with it as he spoke. Rivet and Sweets both looked interested, nodding along with what he was saying up until the thing slipped from his grip and smacked the deer in the face. Her nose wrinkled and her ears folded back against her head in displeasure, but she picked up the item and examined it, ignoring what looked like Mr. Blue’s babbled apologies. She interrupted him to ask something, and he immediately brightened up and leaned closer, talking faster and with more gesticulating than before. After a moment, Rivet nodded and gave the black square to Sweets, who gave a jaunty salute and began hauling it off the desk. The deer laughed and gave her a lift down, placing her on the floor and out of your line of sight.

You ducked away from the window as both Rivet and Mr. Blue looked over at the Pen, feeling too tired to bring up the energy to glare. Being angry took more energy than being scared - when you were scared, it happened naturally, a flood of adrenaline fueling your fight-or-flight response. But when you were angry, you had to choose to be angry, choose to expend your energy on being upset, choose to glare and huff and sneer and throw angry words around. It was exhausting.

Knowing that Sweets would be along soon with the mysterious black square, you sat on your edge of the doll bed and picked at the corner of the quilt that covered it. It was quiet and safe in your little room, and you took a few deep breaths to center yourself. Sweets had suggested using meditation when you were upset, but it didn’t do much good when you couldn’t ‘center’ yourself in the first place.

In no time Sweets was there, dragging the black thing behind her, face flushed and sweaty. “Delivery!” She called out in a cheerful voice, despite her rosy cheeks. “Straight from Mr. Blue to you!” With one last heft, she dragged it into the room and let it drop to the carpeted floor. You craned your neck and peered down at the thin, black rectangle of plastic and glass.

It was a phone - one of those smartphones that had a touch screen and no keyboard, with the power and volume buttons on the side. It was nearly as tall as Sweets, making it all the more impressive that she had managed to lug it all this way. When she dropped it the screen blinked to life, revealing a picture of a meadow with a tree, and a clock reading “6:50” over a line of text saying ‘Slide up to unlock.’

“A...phone?” You stood and bent over the device, noting that there was no battery or signal indicator. A monster phone, then - one that didn’t need to be charged and that ran on magic.

“Yep!” Sweets put her hands on her hips and blew some sweaty hair out of her face. “Blue got it for you.”

“...Why?” You tried to wrap your head around the idea. Having regained her breath, Sweets shifted the phone, carefully propping it up on the wall next to the window. She unlocked it with a sweep of her hand, revealing the home screen. There were a few small squares with different names - ‘Contacts,’ ‘Undernet,’ ‘Camera,’ ‘Face-Snap,’ and two folders. One was labeled ‘Pictures’ and the other ‘Games.’

“He said,” Sweets huffed, adjusting the screen so it was only slightly tilted, “it was to better apologize to you.” The camera, which was in the middle of the top of the phone, lit up when she pressed the little blue button with a white camera outline on it. The screen went black, but a quick press of a button that had the same camera picture with a turning arrow under it revealed the inside of the room, creating a perfect mirror of the bed, Sweets, and you. Grinning, Sweets pressed the screen again, and with a flash the picture was burned into the phones memory.

“I don’t want him to apologize,” you huffed, wrinkling your face at the bright light, “I want him to go away.”

“He’s not going to go away until he apologizes. He’s very determined.” There was weight behind that word, the way she said it, though neither of you knew why. “Just let him say sorry over the phone.” She peeked out the window and flashed someone a thumbs up. A moment later the phone let out a loud jingle, and the mirror image of the room was replaced with the symbol for the Face-Snap app (half camera-motif, half smiley-face). INCOMING FACE-SNAP FROM BLUE SERIF, the screen announced, and without waiting Sweets smashed her hand against the green ‘accept’ icon.

The screen went blue for a moment, before it was adjust to reveal Mr. Blue’s smiling visage as the phone was drawn back to a proper distance. Behind him was the inside of the shop part of the shelter - he was sitting on one of the couches by the Reader changing rooms. The shelter was a non-profit (as Rivet’s terrible ramen habit would attest), but there were several monsters in the community who made clothing and furniture that was Reader-sized and sold it through the shelter. There were shelves of clothing, tools, furniture, vitamins, and toiletries, all fit for their tiny bodies. After some Monsters complained about having to stand while their picky Readers took hours picking what they wanted, the deer had invested in a pair of comfy couches for Monsters to use. Mr. Blue was sitting cross-legged on one of these, and as you watched he turned so he was sitting sideways on the couch and perched the phone on the top of the nearest shelf, bringing him to ‘eye-level’ with you and Sweets.

“Hello!” He greeted cheerily, sitting back and dropping his hands into his lap. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his blue irises were shaped like soft, rounded stars.

“Hi Mr. Blue!” Sweets waved cheerily, dropping to sit beside you on the bed. “The phone works perfectly!”

“That’s good!” Mr. Blue bounced a bit where he sat, the stars growing even brighter. “I was worried the touch screen wouldn’t react to your fingers!”

“Well, I had to use my whole hand, but it works. That’s what’s important!” The two shared large grins, before Mr. Blue’s attention shifted to you. His expression softened to one that could only be explained as ‘hangdog.’

“Hello,” he greeted again, his voice much softer, and you realized something that nearly took your breath away. You were facing - interacting! - with a monster, a giant being of magic and unfathomable strength, and you weren’t afraid. You were nervous, sure, but you were always nervous when meeting new people. Even other Readers made you nervous when they wanted to engage in small talk! Nervous - not terrified, not panicked, not crying and blacking out and suffocating on your own innumerous fears. Butterflies in the stomach. Worry over saying something embarrassing. Normal nerves.

Without thinking you leaned to the side, trying to peek out the window and see if you could spot the monster on the couch, but Sweets wrapped an arm around your shoulder and tugged you back, forcing you to focus on the screen. Mr. Blue sat patiently, still smiling at you both, stars dancing in his eyes. Swallowing your absolutely-normal social nerves, you nodded to him and let out a quiet “Hi.”

His visage immediately brightened, skull lighting up in delight. “Hello!” He said again, with more enthusiasm, smile stretching even further across his face. “I’m Sans Serif, but everybody calls me Blue because there’s a lot of Sans up here and it would be confusing if we all went by Sans and since Sans got up here first - Alpha Sans I mean - he gets to keep his name while the rest of us have nicknames but that’s okay because I like the name Blue. Blue is one of my favorite colors, after all! But my brother likes orange. His name is Papyrus by the way, but everybody calls him Stretch because-”

Sweets cleared her throat, trying to get the rambling skeleton back on track, and had to do it a few times to get him to calm down. He trailed off, and a brilliant blue blush covered his cheeks.

“Oops, I guess I got a little carried away, huh?”

Sweets gave him a patient smile and squeezed your shoulder, her arm still around you. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to say?” She coaxed.

“Oh, right!” Mr. Blue went from beaming to ashamed in barely a second. “Um, oh shoot, I don’t know you name…”

“I don’t have one,” you answered, used to the question from other Readers. Names were given by owners, and you didn’t have an owner. Rivet sometimes named the Readers that stuck around for a long time, but you hadn’t been given one, despite living in the shelter for three months.

Mr. Blue gave you an odd look, but steamrolled ahead. “Oh-kay, well, little green Reader, I wanted to apologize.” He moved so he was sitting on his knees, looking solemnly at the camera. “I’m very, very sorry for scaring you last week! I should have known better to approach you, and I definitely should have read the sweater pamphlet more thoroughly instead of charging in like a - like a bonehead.” He grimaced at the pun and Sweets smirked (you had no doubt she had helped him script part of this apology, and had thrown that phrase in as punishment). “I’m sorry I made you feel unsafe, and I promise to never come near you if you don’t want me to again.”

Sincerity shone in every line of his face, and after a moment’s thought you found yourself nodding, accepting his soul-felt words. “Okay,” you muttered, voice quiet.

Sparkles of magic appeared around Mr. Blue’s face, and the stars in his eyes grew bigger than before. “Really?” You nodded, and he began swaying in his seat, looking like he wanted to jump up and down. “Oh wowie, I’m so glad, I was worried you would hate me forever! I’m so happy!”

You gave Sweets a questioning look, but she just shrugged and looked equally pleased. “I told you, Blue, they’re too nice to hate anybody!” She tugged on your sleeve. “After all, the root of green is kindness!”

“Mweh-heh-heh! You’re right! And now we can talk every day!”

You stiffened, and having her arm around you, Sweets notice. “Maybe not every day, Blue. But what if you called a few times a week? I’m sure they’d love to chat with you every once in a while.” The pink Reader ignored your questioning look. “After all, you must have plenty of amazing stories, being the vice captain of the Swap Royal Guard!”

“That I do! Plenty of amazing, daring, heroic stories of heroism and strength!” Blue stood on the couch, putting one fist to his chest, the other on his hip, and loudly laughed - you could hear it not just from the phone, but through the walls of the doll house. The phone’s camera was wide enough that it caught Rivet appearing behind the bouncy skeleton, grimacing at the sight of dirty boots on her upholstery and the disruptive noise he was making. Sweets made a quiet, delighted little ‘oh no!’ sound beside you - she was always one for drama.

“Mr. Blue,” Rivet crossed her arms and glared at the skeleton, “While I am very pleased you have made friends with one of my Readers, I am going to ask you to remove your boots from my couch.”

The skeleton blushed once more, in embarrassment this time, and quickly dropped to sit on the couch, boots dangling over the edge. “Sorry, Miss Rivet,” he shot a rueful look to the phone, the pliable bone above his nose-hole wrinkling when he saw Sweets giggling at him. “I just got excited.”

“Well, you need to get excited elsewhere for now. It’s six, and I need to close up and get everybody their dinner. It’s pizza night - you don’t want to see what will happen when fifty-six Reader’s are delayed getting their pizza.” The deer’s expression softened and she winked at the skeleton.

“I would not want to stand in the way of pizza, even if tacos are the superior food!” Blue beamed at her, then turned back to the phone. “I will talk to you both soon!”

“How about Thursday?” Sweets suggested, while beside her you mouthed ‘again?’ to yourself.

“Thursday it is!” Blue beamed. “I will see you both then!” He waved, and Sweets gave a little wave back. You copied her, though still confused. The skeleton reached up for his phone, filling the screen with blue once again, and cut the call. Sweets kept her arm around you until the bell above the door jingled, followed by the sound of the lock turning.

“Well, that went better than expected!” The compassionate Reader finally released you and flopped back on the bed with a huff.

“Doesn’t he need his phone back?” You asked, standing and poking at the now-black screen. The date and time popped up, ‘6:01’ beaming back at you, and a feeling of amazement took the place of confusion. You’d had a ten-minute conversation! With a monster!

“Nah, it’s one of his old phones, he said.” Sweets had sat back up and was watching you, beaming. “He brought it for you.”

“...me?”

“You!” She giggled and threw her arms around you. “I’m so proud of you for talking to him!”

Blushing, you reached up and hugged one of her arms to yourself. “I only said, like, two words.”

“Which is two more than you’ve said before!” She squeezed, then released you and jumped to her feet. “Blue is going to call every other day now, and you can talk to him as much or as little as you want. It’s called exposure therapy.”

“...he’s going to be naked?”

Sweets let out a delighted laugh, and you realized it was the first time you’d made a joke around her.

“No!” She pulled you up, off the bed, and led you from your room. “Unless you’re into that…” You blushed, going as pink as her sweater, and she laughed again and led you down the stairs. “Honey, I think we just figured out how to help you get over your fears! Now c’mon, it’s pizza night!”

She led you from the Yellow House, towards the Readers gathered and waiting for their favorite dinner of the week, and for once didn’t mind becoming part of the group. You were too busy thinking of starry eyes and patient smiles to worry.

Blue called again on Thursday, at seven o’clock exactly. You were laying on your bed, reading a book from the little library. The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin. It was a weird murder-mystery, and you couldn’t figure out if the character Turtle was a human with the nickname Turtle, or an actual turtle-type monster. She could be a Woshua, but you’d never met one with a single pigtail before…

The phone chimed, the Face-Snap app appearing on the formerly black screen, with the line ‘INCOMING FACE-SNAP FROM BLUE SERIF’ flashing beneath it. You jumped, losing your place in the book, and frantically looked around for Sweets. The pink Reader was nowhere to be seen, however - she was likely helping some other Readers with their evening chores, or reading with the book club that met every Tuesday and Thursday evening. This left you alone, with a monster calling on the phone. It was up to you to answer it.

Or I could just let it ring…

You thought of the first time he’d called, how you hadn’t been relaxed but hadn’t been terrified. You’d had social-butterflies in your stomach, but had overall enjoyed the conversation (even if it was mostly him apologizing, despite you not needing one). You thought of how novel it was, to face a monster and hold a conversation, not run away screaming or shut down completely. All you had to do was hit the ‘accept’ button, and that feeling would come back. You probably wouldn’t have to talk much - Blue could converse enough for five monsters…

With decisive movements that made you appear more confident than you felt, you folded down the corner of the page you were on and put your book aside, then stood and approached the phone. Biting down on your fear (on your timidity), you pressed the green button.

Mr. Blue’s face filled the screen, and he beamed, looking beyond pleased that you had answered. “Hello again, green-Reader!” He greeted, leaning back from the screen slightly. You didn’t know where he was, but there was a black flag with a skull-and-crossbones motif on the wall behind him. Home, maybe? Or a skeleton bar? Was that a thing?

You raised your hand and twiddled your fingers in response, the word ‘hello’ getting stuck in your throat. This was a bit more nerve-racking than you thought it would be, without Sweets there to ground you.

Mr. Blue didn’t seem bothered by your silence. He just beamed and twiddled his fingers back. “I’m so glad you picked up, I was worried I’d called at a bad time. I just got home from the Palace! Well, it’s not really a palace, but that’s what we all call it, because that’s where the Kings and Queens and Princes and Princesses all live. It’s funny, all the Asriel’s are boys, but all the Chara’s and Frisk’s are boys or girls or agender, depending on what they want to be. And all the Flowey’s want to be called boys, but technically flowers don’t have genders. I guess what they want is more important though, right?” When you nodded in agreement (you weren’t a boy or a girl, either - you were just you, a timid Reader who was maybe beginning to feel okay with being you), he beamed and kept going.

He told you all about his job as Vice Captain of the Swap Clan Royal Guard, which mostly involved patrolling the Palace and looking cool for photo ops with visitors. He also helped run an Obstacle-Course Club with two friends named Papyrus and Edge. They had commandeered a large part of a local park for their work, and had built various obstacle courses with moving parts, so they could be rearranged to give a new, different challenge each week. They even had a few mini-courses for the local children to play on. Even their lazier brothers (Sans, Stretch, and Red) had chipped in, helping with the construction some and falling asleep in various impossible ways on the multitude of ladders, ropes, ramps, tunnels, rock walls, stone walls, spinning tubes, et. all.

This turned into him telling you all about his brother Stretch. Stretch was long, lanky, and lazy to boot. He was a part-time scientist at the Royal Labs, and when he wasn’t working or goofing off with his friends (the aforementioned Sans and Red) he was at Muffets, drinking honey and flirting with anything that moved. Mr. Blue spoke of him with fondness, laced with exasperation. He moved on to talking about his father, Gaster, who was the Riverperson underground, but now ran a successful cab company with all the other riverpeople from the various Undergrounds. They all lived together in a nice cabin-like house on the edge of town, right next to the woods and near a few of their alternates.

Mr. Blue chatted for nearly an hour about his life, asking you questions and accepting all your nods and non-verbal answers as they came. He never once asked you to talk, or asked why you weren’t talking when he knew you could. He just...rolled with it, carried the entire conversation himself, and was happy to do it.

Around eight o’clock he slowed down, and you heard someone knocking on a door on his side of the phone. “Pappy, I’m talking to my new friend!” He called, turning away from the phone, and you went bright-pink. Friend? He thought of you as a friend? The only friend you had was Sweets, and sometimes you felt more like a patient than a friend with her. A deep, warm feeling grew around your SOUL, leaving you feeling pleased. Blue turned back to the screen, looking disappointed, and you realized you hadn’t heard anything he or his brother had said to each other.

“I’ve got to go, green Reader! We have company over for a movie night, and I must prepare my famous nachos.” He looked disappointed at having to say goodbye, and you mirrored his sad smile. It had been fun, listening to him enthuse over his job and family. “May I call you again, sometime? Maybe - not tomorrow, I have night patrol...Saturday? Can I call you on Saturday so we can talk more?”

You didn’t even have to think before nodding - you wanted this. Wanted to talk to him more, wanted to hear him be so completely over-the-top with his ideas and passions, wanted to learn more about this monster who didn’t make you feel scared when you talked to him over the phone. Talking to him made you feel normal. Less frightened, less wary, more like you had a place in this world. Even if you weren’t talking back yet, just watching and listening to him proved one thing: you could stop being timid. You could change your fate, even if it was only with this one monster.

“Great! I’ll call you on Saturday then!” Blue beamed, stars in his eyes once again. “Goodnight, green Reader!”

“Goodnight, Mr. Blue.”

The stars grew, and a blush colored the bone beneath his eye sockets. With a soft ‘Mweh-heh-heh!’ Mr. Blue closed the connection, leaving you alone in your room once again. You laid back on your bed and thought about everything he had told you - all about his life and family. You didn’t have anything as interesting to talk to him about. He knew all about the shelter - his brother was friends with Miss Rivet, and the deer was warming up to Mr. Blue, too. Your life before the shelter was only a few hours long, and they were not a few hours you wanted to relive. Frowning, you flipped onto your front and picked your book back up.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind that you didn’t have much of a past - after all, you were three months old. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if you talked about your books and drawings and people-watching habits. Maybe, being the Magnificent Blue, he would be magnificently patient with you as you taught yourself to talk to him. Maybe, just maybe, his patience was what you needed to emerge from your timid shell.

Speaking of shells, back to the mystery of Turtle. Human or turtle-monster? It was hard to tell...

Mr. Blue called like clockwork, every other day. On weekdays he called at seven, right after you both finished supper. On weekends it varied - sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, most often times in the evenings. You kept an ear out for the tinny ring of the phone, rushing to your room whenever you heard it. Sweets had joined in once or twice, but after seeing you lunge to answer the call after the first ring, she left you to it.

A month into your bi-daily phone calls, he asked if you wanted to have lunch together. “We could have a picnic in the backyard of the shelter,” he’d explained when you gave him a confused look. “Or even inside the shelter, if you want! It’s my Clans turn to do the city sweeps - we change it up every month, that way there’s always guards on the streets, but also in the Palace, just in case, and this way it feels fair, y’know? And I asked for the route that goes by the shelter, so we can try having lunch together!” He blushed a bit, though he looked pleased. “I thought - you’ve been doing so good talking to me over the phone, maybe it won’t be so scary? Now that we’re friends?”

You’d hesitantly accepted, and now here you were, standing on a large red and white checkered picnic blanket in the backyard of the shelter, trying to tamp down your nerves to an acceptable level. Rivet and Sweets had both agreed to the idea wholeheartedly, and the deer had even set up a nice little area for the two of you to meet, away from the large playground and the miniature Reader-sized pool. The scent of blooming spring flowers from the garden beds along the fence was almost overwhelming, but you were thankful for it. The heady sensation kept your mind off your growing not-just-social nerves.

“Hello, green Reader!”

Blue was here, standing by the back door to the shelter, on the other side of the lawn. He had a wicker basket thrown over one arm and was nervously shifting his weight, despite the million-watt smile on his face. You couldn’t help but swallow, hard - he was much, much bigger in person than on the phone. He didn’t make a move to approach, though, staying where he was, swinging the basket a bit.

“Is it alright if I approach?” He asked after a moment, watching you carefully, though for what you didn’t know. Panic attack? Fainting? Booking it out the nearest crack in the wall? You entertained all the options for a moment before forcing yourself to be rational. You had been talking to Blue for a month now, and the two of you were friends. He’d told you all about his family, and his friends, and had even cried with you for a few minutes when he’d stepped on a butterfly and killed it while going for a jog. He was a good monster, and would never, ever hurt you.

Plopping back down on the blanket (not even realizing you’d stood), you nodded. Used to your silence, he beamed and plodded over, carefully setting the basket down before sitting on the other side of the blanket. He was too far away to touch you without having to stretch all the way out, and you smiled at him to show you appreciated the space he was giving you.

“For lunch today I have made the most fabulous, the most wonderful, the most magnificent, meal of all time!” He threw open the top of the basket with a bit more zeal than required, and you knew what was coming next.

“Tacos?”

“Correct, tiny green Reader! Tacos!” With flourish befitting a magician he pulled out a tupperware container stuffed to the brim with both soft and hard-shell tacos, each carefully filled and sprinkled with MTT-Brand edible glitter in a rainbow of colors. You resigned yourself to nibbling off one of his monster-sized tacos for lunch. You didn’t mind much, really - sometimes, when Rivet was sick or something happened that called her away from the shelter, you and the other Readers ate monster-sized food. Shrinking spells were tricky and took a certain flick of the wrist to be successful. There were stories of an elephant-sized teddy bear that some of the older Reader’s whispered about, but Rivet denied.

Blue didn’t pop open the box of tacos, however - instead, he reached back into the basket and pulled out a smaller tupperware, filled with at least three dozen soft-shell tacos, each with a different color of glitter decorating it. “Here you are, tiny green Reader!” He announced, popping off the lid, which he set in front of you. Bright blue magic picked up a few of the tacos and set them on the lid, turning it into a plate. “I could not find a way to make tiny hardshell tacos, so I hope you do not mind soft shell!”

You didn’t really know the difference - most of meals at the shelter consisted of casseroles, pastas, and pizzas. Simple things that could be made in large quantities to feed all the hungry mouths. You’d never eaten tacos before (though you’d had taco casserole, and nachos). Shrugging, you gave a small ‘thank you’ and lifted up one of the yellow-sparkled tacos. On the phone you’d begun talking to him a little bit, but seeing him now, in all his 5’6 glory, made you nervous to speak once again.

It didn’t last. Flavor exploded on your tongue, spiced meat mixing with cool cheese and the sliver of lettuce and tomato that had been slid in, all wrapped within the delicious, flaky tortilla. The MTT-glitter added just the slightest hint of sweet to the otherwise spicy meal, contrasting in a surprisingly palatful way.

“Oh my stars,” you took a second bite, then a third, woofing down the first miniature taco in a minute flat. “This is amazing!” You praised Mr. Blue, who had begun on his own taco. Stars exploded on his eyes and his cheeks lit up as he chewed (did he open his mouth? How did he eat?), looking beyond pleased with your praise. You picked up a second taco (pink sparkles this time) but took your time with this one, savoring the meat and cheese. Without realizing it you began making pleased little hums and purrs as you ate.

Mr. Blue’s grin grew even wider at the happy noises, and he scooted just a bit closer to you, happily munching on his own food. He didn’t talk, just enjoyed the calm silence. Rivet had convinced the other Readers to stay inside on this lovely spring day by offering a special popcorn lunch with a movie, meaning they didn’t have to worry about anybody but themselves. So you both ate the tacos and enjoyed the sun.

By the end of your third taco you were beginning to feel full, but you didn’t want the rest to go to waste. Mr. Blue chuckled, having already polished off his fourth taco, and leaned towards you a bit. “You have something on your-” His hand reached for you, and you jerked back, dropping the last of your taco and flinching from his touch.

“Oh - oh stars, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” Mr. Blue withdrew his hand and sat back, giving you plenty of room and looking as guilty as sin. “Oh jeez, I’ve just ruined the day,” he muttered to himself, voice dropping to near silence. Even without hearing him, you could see the emotions flicking across his face. You weren’t called a Reader for nothing, after all. Guilt was there, but so was anger - anger at himself, at his actions, anger at not thinking, anger at himself for scaring you.

You paused - you weren’t scared. You’d been startled, sure, but...but you weren’t scared. Not of him. As Mr. Blue muttered something that sounded like ‘stupid’ to himself a few times, you brushed off the rest of the taco (which had fallen on your lap and stained your jeans) and stood. The monster noticed and went still, ready and waiting for you to bolt back to the shelter, away from his stupid hands and his stupid impetuousness.

Instead you approached him, carefully, slowly, across the checkered blanket. He had dropped his hands in his lap, and you wobbled across the uneven cloth to pat his knee instead. Being even closer to Mr. Blue reminded you just how tiny you were, but it didn’t bother you. Not with him.

“I’m not scared of you,” you patted his knee again. “You just startled me.”

He stared down at you with tiny, quivering pinpricks of light, stunned, and at a loss you gave his knee a third ‘pat-pat.’ The lights exploded into stars, and his magic sparked around his face, creating sparkles that wouldn’t be out of place in one of the manga’s from the library (all donated by the plethora of Alphys’ & Undyne’s on the mountain).

“Really?” He asked, breathless. “You’re not scared of me?” His hands twitched, and you moved back a bit to avoid getting taken out by any over-enthusiastic gesticulating.

“Well, I - I don’t want to be picked up, o-or anything like that,” you looked away, feeling your own face heat up, “But I’m not scared you’re gonna hurt me anymore.”

Mr. Blue let out a little high-pitched ‘squeeeeeeeee!’ noise, bringing his hands to his chest as he bounced in place. “Oh, little green Reader, I’m so happy you trust me!”

Trust him? Yes. You did trust him. Nobody who cried over stepping on a bug could be a bad guy, you had decided. And him not being a bad guy meant you could...possibly...trust him. Not to pick you up or handle you, but to be near you? Yes. You trusted him.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed at the realization that you trusted a monster, you trudged back to your tacos and sat back down, suddenly feeling hungry once more. You nibbled on your fourth, decorated with pale-green glitter, just like your sweater, and watched Mr. Blue come slowly off his ‘friendship high’ to resume eating his own lunch. By the time his watch beeped, signaling the end of his lunch break, you had both eaten far too many tacos and were basking in the sunshine and the silent glow of your newfound ‘trust-ship.’

“I must be off, little green Reader!” He announced, shutting both his and your tupperware containers. “I will give this to Miss Rivet, so that you may have tacos whenever you wish!” He shook the box a bit. “It is all monster food, so they shall never go bad!” He placed it on the blanket, then pulled out an even larger tupperware full to bursting with even more tiny tacos. “And I brought these so your Reader friends will not be jealous! They shall also have some of the Magnificent Blues Terrific Tacos!” You noticed that these tacos didn’t have any glitter on them, and felt a little ping of warmth in your SOUL. Your tacos were special, different from the rest, because Mr. Blue had made them for you, and you alone. He packed up his own lunch but, before standing, he gave you a long, hesitant look. “Reader, may I - may I give you a pat before I go?” He asked.

A pat? Had he meant a pet? You thought of Doggo, who had a seeing-eye Reader who visited the shelter every few weeks to do some chores for Miss Rivet, like patching the roof or helping build on to the crazy backyard playground. He was always going on about being pet, and in turn petting his little Reader. The pets always looked...kind of nice. Soft. Slowly, you nodded.

With a frankly ridiculous and slow movement, Blue reached out with his hand flattened, and gave you a gentle ‘pat, pat’ on the head, just like you’d done with his knee. He drew his hand back and, looking like a kid in a candy store, said ‘Goodbye!’ before getting to his feet and fleeing into the shelter, nearly vibrating with excitement. You heard him whoop loudly a few minutes later, after you assumed he’d escaped the shelter and resumed his route. Grinning like an idiot,  you reached up and ran a hand over your head, where he’d pet you.

Pat, pat.

You liked pats.

Phone calls nearly every day now, and lunch twice a week (every Tuesday and Thursday). You began talking back on the phone, telling Blue (he’s insisted you drop the ‘Mr.’ to his name, since you were friends) all about life at the Shelter, about the kitchen and the mountain and the other Readers and the library. You told him all about the books you read, and he’d even gotten a copy of The Westing Game and was reading it with you, both of you promising not to read ahead, and together you were working out who the murderer was. Blue had even looked it up and confirmed that Turtle was, in fact, a human with a weird nickname, not a turtle-monster named by Asgore.

Sweets was over the moon. As you opened up more to Blue, you began leaving your room more often, and even spent time at the art corner or at the communal library pillow, not talking much but still being there, with others, instead of closing yourself off. You no longer ran for cover the second an unfamiliar monster visited the shelter - you kept your distance, but you didn’t hide, didn’t panic. On the few occasions it rained on a Tuesday or Thursday and you had to eat your picnic lunch inside, Blue made enough for all the other Readers and Rivet and everybody ate lunch together.

But you were the only one he pet.

It had moved on from pats. Your second lunch, you moved to sit beside him, and he gave you a pat at the end of the meal. The third time you had spoken for a few minutes about a book you found that you liked, and he’d patted your head and encouraged you to tell him more. By the sixth time, if he didn’t have something in his hands, he was patting and petting you, or just resting a hand on your back, as much as you’d let him. You found it soothing and comforting, and no longer had any fear that he would hurt you on purpose. (You were a bit of a realist, and accidents did happen, all the time).

You let him pick you up, once. You’d been showing him how part of the crazy jungle gym worked (swinging from an ascending set of monkey bars to a tube that led to a twisty slide) and had fallen and hurt your ankle. He’d spent three minutes dithering before asking, point-blank, if he could pick you up to take you inside, and after an equal time of dithering on the answer, you’d said yes. He’d moved with that exaggerated slowness again, making sure you could see and knew what he was going to do. He’d scooped you up and held you close to his chest, close enough you could hear his SOUL pulsing, and taken you inside. Rivet had wrapped your ankle and warned you to be more careful, though there was no heat in the warning and she looked beyond pleased that Blue was holding you. The skeleton had kept you in his hand for the rest of lunch, and you couldn’t find any reason to object.

That hadn’t been repeated - he was respecting your boundaries as much as possible, and the second you showed discomfort he backed off and made sure to understand what he had done wrong. He understood when you had a bad day because of a nightmare and kept his hands to himself. He understood when you were in a cuddly mood and wanted to hug his hand. He understood, and you honestly couldn’t ask for anything better.

You trusted him, and you trusted he would always do what was best for you. In return, you would do your best for him.

Two months later, Blue was back on city patrol. You liked seeing him in his uniform - he looked like a police officer, but instead of a badge, he had the sigil of the Swap Clan embroidered over his chest pocket. He also had a peaked cap that made his head look rounder than before. He kept stopping by for lunch, always cheery and saying hello to all the Readers he knew, but reserving most of his attention for you.

Today he didn’t bring in his basket, or his smile. Today his arrival was preceded by a screech of metal as outside the shelter, on the slick rainy street, one car turned too fast and slid, straight into another that was waiting to turn. In the crash and the chaos the skidding jeep bounced off the waiting one and flipped, first onto its side, then its roof, trapping its passengers. The other car, a more sturdily built SUV, rocked on its heels and had a large dent but was fine. The bunny family inside - a mother and her four kits, grocery shopping for the week - got out to assess the damage, and the mother called the guard.

Blue had almost been to the shelter door when he saw the crash. Without missing a beat he threw open the door and yelled for Rivet, who was already halfway across the room with her first aid kit to see if she could help.

“I’m commandeering this space for any injured we need to get out of the rain before the ambulances arrive,” he explained, and the deer pinned her ears back in worry (and a bit of annoyance at being told her shelter was ‘commandeered,’ if she were being honest). “I need you to get all the Readers in the Pen, I don’t want any to be in the way or get hurt.” He glanced over at the Pen and gave the gathered Reader’s a forced smile. “Hear that, guys? I need you out of the way please.” White eyelights skimmed over them all, and came to rest on you.

You were sitting on the Pen wall, a new mystery book you both had been reading clutched in your hand, the list of clues and suspects escaping your mind as you met his gaze. He gave you an apologetic smile and motioned, with a jerk of his head, to get in the Pen where it was safe, before running back to the car accident outside. He spoke to the mother bunny, then went to the car and knelt beside it, talking to the monsters inside. There was no dust, so nobody was badly hurt or dead, but you could hear them screaming from all the way out here.

The mother led her bunnies into the shelter, and Rivet finished shooing all the Readers into the Pen and hurried to check them over. She gave each of the kits a lollipop and set them up on one of the couches, then began conversing quietly and urgently with the mother. Outside another guard member, this one a yellow lizard-monster, had arrived, and she and Blue were carefully cutting off the doors of the jeep, and if the shrieking coming from the driver's seat was any indication, the owner was not happy.

It wasn’t until after they’d pulled the last of the teenage monsters from the car that something akin to panic washed over Blue’s face. As the last teen was pulled free (an odd tentacle-like monster who was yelling about her skateboard breaking), one of the others began screaming about someone being missing. Blue hushed her and leaned close to the wreck, listening hard for something. Whatever it was had his skull growing pale, and he took off for the door at a sprint.

You jumped when it banged open, but before Rivet could chastise the skeleton, he’d zeroed in on you. You were still sitting on the wall, clutching the book and watching the scene outside with a growing sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. You’d always thought of Monsters as being perfect, powerful beings. Not god-like, but certainly not able to be hurt and rattled and scared like little Readers were. Now, there were frightened rabbit kits on the couch, a worried mother trying to sooth them, and four rattled teenagers freaking out over something, not to mention Blue looked like he was caught in a life or death situation. From what you’d just seen and heard, you were thinking that was the case.

Blue rushed to the wall and held out his hand in front of you, blue sweat beading along his pale skull. “I need your help,” he said, voice firm despite the anxiety on his face. “There’s a Reader trapped under the jeep, but I can’t move the jeep because I don’t know where they are. I need you to-”

You didn’t let him finish. You dropped the book and climbed onto his hand, the urgency in his voice spurring you to action. You’d spent the last three months learning to trust Blue, growing to be his friend, and when a friend was in need, you did what you could to help. Forget your sweater, and it’s stupid pale-green color. This piece of fabric didn’t define you! You weren’t timid, you were brave and strong and kind. You’d made friends with a monster, despite all your fears. You could do whatever Blue - whatever your friend - needed you to.

Said friend gave you a relieved look, pulling his hand up to his chest to hold you steady before turning and sprinting out of the shelter. The yellow lizard (you were fairly certain her name was Alphys, if she was the friend Blue often spoke of) was herding three of the teenagers into the shelter, where they would be dry and warm. The fourth teenager, a cow monster, was standing by the car, hysterically calling out a name over and over again. The jeep had been propped up with four glowing bones on each side, keeping it from rocking or sliding in the rain.

“Matty! Matty, please, say something! Maaaatttttyyyy!” She sobbed, kneeling by the back of the jeep.

“Ma’am,” Blue grabbed her shoulder with his free hand and gently pulled her back, “Ma’am, I need you to step back and be quiet for a moment. I have someone here who will help you find your Reader.” He gently shushed the monster, who wiped at her eyes and looked down at you.

“You can find Matty?” She asked, her voice drained and hoarse.

Your SOUL swelled at the tone, and you nodded. “Yes, I’ll find him,” you reassured her, reaching out and patted her hands (which she was wringing in front of her chest). You didn’t think that it was odd, to be talking to and touching a strange monster. You just thought of how upset she was, and how scared she was for her Reader, and how comforting her was the kind thing to do.

Stepping away from the teen, Blue knelt down beside the jeep and, after hesitating a moment, moved his hand through the space where the back door had once been. A bright-blue bone appeared, its magic lighting up the whole interior of the car, revealing ripped leather seats and a maelstrom of fast food wrappers mixed with broken glass. You carefully stepped off your boney magic carpet, grateful for the boots you’d taken to wearing so you could run around with the other Readers outside.

“He was riding with his owner in the backseat,” Blue explained, and the bone floated towards the back. The roof of the car had crumpled upwards, pressing against the back of the seats, leaving only small gaps where there used to be plenty of head space. “The back was full of boxes - the driver just moved to an apartment. I think he’s trapped back there.” He pointed a bit, and you followed his finger, seeing a maze of seat leather and cardboard illuminated by the bone. You hesitated to move towards it, wary of falling boxes, but Blue gave your head a little pat. “My magic is holding everything still,” he explained, “But if you don’t feel safe, that’s fine, we can figure out something else.”

You thought about your birth, about the insanity of the battlefield and the feeling of being alone, of being afraid, of being trapped behind that stupid potted plant and having no idea where you were and who to trust. You thought of being trapped in between boxes, thrown about as the car slid, having no idea where your Monster is or if anybody is going to save you in time. You thought of Matty being alone, trapped in the back seat, pinned between the roof of the jeep and a layer of cardboard boxes, not knowing whether help was coming or not.

“He needs help,” you said, moving towards the maze, “and I can help him.” Blue nodded, and the bone carefully followed you as you squeezed past the backseat and the side of the car and into the mess of the back. The blue light cast everything in an eerie, alien glow, but it gave you plenty of light to see by. There were cracks and spaces between the boxes, too big for a monsters hand to fit, but small enough for you to slip through. You moved slowly, tugging the bone after you, pressing against the boxes, all of which stayed perfectly in place, held tight by magic to prevent further injury.

At about the middle of the maze you heard it - a quiet rasping noise, the sound of labored breathing, the sound of someone holding back tears of fright. It was a sound you knew well. You froze, listening, and heard it again coming from your left. Grabbing onto the edge of the bone, you pulled it after you, into a crevasse made between a box of kitchen pans and a sleeping bag.

A male Reader in an fluffy jacket and jeans was lying on his back, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle. He was huffing, tears staining his cheeks, and judging by the trail of blood behind him, he’d used up all his energy to reach this point. As the light filled the space, his head snapped up, hope lighting them. “Bessie?”

“No, sorry,” you whispered, tugging the bone closer so you could see him clearly. His ankle was definitely broken, and there was a cut on his arm that was sluggishly dripping blood. “I’m - well, I don’t have a name yet. Blue sent me to help. Bessie is really worried about you.” You knelt beside him and helped him struggle into a sitting position.

“Is Blue your monster?”

You opened your mouth to say no, then thought about it. He came to see you all the time, the two of you talked almost every day, you shared everything, you’d solved the murder of the Westing Game together…

“Yes. Blue is my monster.” You moved his arm so it was over your shoulder and hauled him to his feet. He grunted, and you grimaced as some blood was wiped on your sweater (your stupid, wrong, pale-green sweater). A couple swears slipped out beneath his breath, and you grinned at his frustration. He was a Brave or a Determined - no other Readers swore with that much creativity.

You shuffled back through the maze, making sure to look at the labels on the boxes to make sure you were going the right way. It was slow going, and several times Matty accidentally put weight on his bad foot and had to stop and swear again. Soon, the smell of wet asphalt and worried voices met your ears. The pair of you emerged through the small crack by the back seat, to be hit with blinding light as a flashlight swept past.

“Oh thank the stars!” Blue, without waiting or asking for permission, swept the both of you up in his hands and brought you to his chest. You took one look at his worried face, furrowed brow and all, and decided you’d let it slide this once. Matty wasn’t ruffled, simply looking happy at being off his bum ankle. “You’re both freezing - lets get you inside.” As he turned, you could see a police car and an ambulance pulling up.

“MATTY!” The second you were through the door the cow monster was there, looking frantic and making grabby hands at her Reader.

“Bessie!” Matty was no less relieved, and he reached out for his owner. She scooped him up and cradled him to her cheek, cooing at him and worrying over his ankle. Rivet (who had been yelling at the other three teens, who were draped in blankets and clutching hot cocoa) came over and offered to look at Matty’s leg and arm. Bessie followed her into the back room, crying and huffing out ‘ohmygoodness’-es all the while.

A new guardsman, this one a tall, sharp-looking skeleton monster with red eyes and three scars over one socket, strode into the shelter, looking less than pleased at the situation. “Report!” He snapped at Blue, who held you a bit closer to his chest and glared at him.

“There’s no need to be rude, Edge.” He huffed, before pointing across the room at the water-logged teens. “The driver of the jeep took a corner too fast, slid into Mrs. Manicarots car, and flipped. Alphys and I got everyone out safe, other than some bumps and bruises. There was an injured Bitty Reader, but Rivet is taking care of him now.”

Edge nodded, threw the long end of his scarf over his shoulder, and marched over to glower and yell at the reckless teens for driving dangerously. Blue let out a huff of relief and moved to sit by the Pen wall, leaning against it and setting you down on top of it.

Well, trying to set you down. You wrapped your fingers firmly around the front of his shirt and pressed your face against the clean cotton. He chuckled and leaned back, letting you settle against his chest and stroking your back with his thumb. “You’re soaking wet,” he muttered, though he made no move to move you. “You need to change clothes.”

“Already on it!”

Sweets, like a particularly annoying genie, had appeared with a soft white sweater and a clean pair of sweatpants in her arms. She was beaming at the two of you, looking like a proud mama bird who’d just shoved her baby out of the nest and watched it fly away. Despite your grumbling Blue pried you away from his shirt and set you on the wall, leaving you without a skeleton to hug. Pouting, you turned away from Blue (who glanced away, blushing) and quickly changed into the new pants. Sweets stood between the pair of you while you pulled off the blood-stained, stupid-pale-green sweater and replaced it with the soft white one.

Not white for long, you thought to yourself, soon it’ll be that stupid pale-green again. Ignoring the magic that changed the sweaters colors, you sidestepped Sweets and tugged on Blue’s sleeve. He glanced back down at you and, to your surprise, went rigid, jaw dropping and stars blooming in his eyes.

“What?” You asked, turning to glance at Sweets when he didn’t answer, only to find her in the same state of silent excitement. “What’s wrong with you two?”

“You’re sweater! Look!” Sweets grabbed your arm and forced it into your field of vision. The sleeve of your sweater was green (of course), but not the pale minty color you had grown used to. Instead it was a dark, emerald green, like moss or oak leaves or emeralds. It wasn’t the green of timidity, or of shyness, or of quiet. It was the green of kindness, the shade of selflessness.

“You’re a kind Reader!” Blue announced, reaching out to scoop you up. He paused, but when you nodded he caught you in his hands and brought you to his chest.

“No,” you muttered, snuggling back into his shirt (in a spot slightly to the left, where it was dry), “I’m your Reader.”

I have no idea what you guys will think of this chapter. I had a ton of fun writing it (spent today subbing for a librarian, basically spent six hours writing!) and I like the ideas I used, but as always I want to hear from you guys! What did you think?

The Westing Game is a real book, by Ellen Ramkin, and it is fantastic! The ending will blow your mind. BOOM!

Thanks to everybody who helped out, I was able to pay my rent on time! (Though I will be eating ramen for a while; it's a good thing I like it!)

As always, you awesome, amazing Readers, let me know what you think! I love you all! Cheers!

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Fan Novel (Book 3, Chapter 4)

Malatesta swears fluently under his breath. Jake edges closer to me.

“Ol' Nessie is harder to shake than mono!” he mutters ruefully. Helpless frustration bubbles up in my gut.

“Damn you, Cetus!” I scream. “Why can't you just leave us alone?!”

Dark clouds rush in overhead, following the ocean Guardian. A peal of thunder crackles through the air, and Cetus lets out an ear-splitting roar. As if answering him, the storm erupts in earnest, bright lines of lightning arcing across the angry sky as rain batters us below.

“I don't think he came to mess around this time, yo...” Craig says nervously.

“Back to the reef!” Sean shouts over the rising storm. “He can't get to us in the shallows!”

Yvonne and Malatesta struggle to turn the boats in the choppy water, but a dark shape rises to block our path back to the atoll.

“Oh, god,” Diego whispers. “That's his tail!”

“The grinning devil has us trapped!” Yvonne growls.

“Cetus!” Varyyn roars furiously. “I swear on my mother's grave, I will cut off your head and mount your skull over my throne!”

A wave swells beneath us, sending us scrambling to keep our balance. Michelle's backpack slides across the boat, wedging beneath an oar handle. The light of the Island's Heart streams through the half-zipped flap. Cetus' terrible visage turns, drawn by the brilliant light. For a moment, there is relative calm. Quinn stands on the prow of our boat, facing Cetus boldly.

“Guardian!” she shouts. “I command you to leave this place!”

Cetus turns his attention on her, but only seems to be angered by her words. He howls furiously. Sean and Michelle rush forward to protect her.

“Stop him!” Varyyn suddenly cries. “He has the Heart!”

“What?!” I whip around to see Malatesta raising the shining half-sphere toward Cetus.

“Ye want this, do ye, monster?!” he roars. “Then take it!” Before anyone can react, he lobs the Heart at Cetus. Horror floods through me as I watch it arc through the air and disappear into the serpent's cavernous maw. Cetus closes his jaws. Then, as soon as he appeared, he is gone again, disappeared beneath the raging waves.

“Did he just...eat the Heart?” Diego asks incredulously.

“Yup,” Jake confirms numbly. “That just happened.”

“Malatesta, you bastard!” I hear myself screaming as I come out of my stupor. “Do you have any idea what you just did, you selfish, double-crossing...”

“Plague-eating gut worm!” Yvonne finishes for me from the other rowboat.

“I did what none of you wallflowers were willing to do to keep us alive!” he snarls. Deafening thunderclaps explode overhead. Forked tongues of lightning strike the waves with ear-splitting pops, and a piteous cry rises from somewhere below.

“He's leaving!” Estela shouts. “But the storm's only getting worse!”

She's right. The waves are getting higher and stronger, and our rowboats are bucking and rearing, rising and falling like roller coaster cars.

“Hang on! Everyone just hang on!” I grab the oars, trying to control the boat. I row furiously against the tide, and the boat steadies slightly as we climb and descend the waves.

“Yeah! What a ride!” Craig crows. I turn frantically to look at the other rowboat, and a flash briefly illuminates a cluster of rocks directly ahead of Yvonne's boat.

“Yvonne, left! Break left!”

Yvonne pitches her weight left, turning the boat. They narrowly miss the rocks. I turn help them, but my eye catches the sight of the sea turning and falling away.

“Guys!” Craig cries. “It's a tidal wave!”

Caught in the current, the boat is drawn higher and higher by a towering wall of water. The dark sea churns beneath us, looking at least a mile off. As the wave crests, I find myself airborne, and hear screaming all around me. Some of it is probably my own. Then the dark water breaks painfully underneath me, rushing in to close over my head. Sinking figures surround me as darkness fills my vision, and even the rush of water singing against my ears starts to fade into silence...

… Light suddenly stings my eyes. My chest feels tight. There is a salty-tasting mouth pressed against mine, surrounded by scratchy stubble. Air rushes into my chest.

“Come on, Princess,” Jake pleads desperately. “Come back to me.” His mouth presses to mine again, and another rush of air sends a wave of seawater crashing up my throat. I feel my whole body seizing violently as the water in my lungs explodes out of me in a fit of coughing.

“Oh, thank goodness!” I hear Quinn breathe. I try to focus my vision. Jake is beside me, Quinn and Diego are kneeling at my other shoulder. Jake helps me sit up. He pulls me into his arms, trembling and kissing my hair.

“You're okay...you're okay, Princess...”  

“I'm fine...” After taking a moment to catch my breath, I pull back to look at his face and gingerly lay a hand on his injured ribs. “Are you okay?”

He flinches at my touch, gasping sharply, but he forces a smile. “No worse off than before, I think.”

Diego smiles weakly at me. “How many near-drownings is this now, Allie?”

“Too many,” I admit. “Honestly, it's getting embarrassing.”

I glance around me. Besides Quinn and Diego, I see Sean, Michelle, Raj, Craig, Estela, and Varyyn are all gathered nearby, all soaking wet, but apparently unharmed. Jake kisses my forehead.

“There's no sign of the pirate duo,” he murmurs. “Maybe they washed up somewhere else.”

Abruptly, Quinn frowns, tipping her head to the side. “Hey...does anyone else hear that?” We all go quiet, listening. A faint melody is drifting through the trees, strains of an acoustic guitar.

“What the hell?” I murmur.

“Sounds like we ain't alone,” Jake remarks with a frown. He helps me to my feet. We all make our way into the rainforest, following the dulcet tones until we reach a ruined stone structure almost completely overgrown with clinging vines. At the center of what must have once been an impressive courtyard, an amphitheater descends toward a small stage.

“I think these are Mayan ruins,” Diego says. “I learned about them in Pre-Colonial Art History.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. I can't help pausing for a moment to admire them, to imagine them whole and filled with people living their daily lives. How many generations have walked this ground before me, unaware of what will come in the future, unconcerned about what came before them? Consumed with their own lives, their own problems, each making a thousand tiny decisions that shape the world into what it is now...

The mysterious guitar strains break into my thoughts again. I look toward the source of the music, which turns out to be a handsome young man sitting against a wall at one side of the stage. He's ruddy-skinned, with dark hair that brushes his shoulders, wearing a brown military-looking uniform and dogtags, like the kind Jake wears. Sensing our presence, he pauses.

“Hello? Someone else here?” We're still mostly concealed by the trees and the decaying building, but after scanning his surroundings, he seems to notice us. He starts to put his guitar away.

“...He's kinda cute,” Diego murmurs, with an unmistakeable grin curving his lips. “Don't you think so, Allie?”

“Down, boy!” I quip.

“He's more than cute,” Michelle replies. “He's downright dreamy.”

“No argument here,” Quinn agrees.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “You kiddin' me? That's a paratrooper kit he's wearing.”

“He's probably got some firearms on him,” Estela says flatly. “We'd better watch ourselves.”

“Definitely,” Sean agrees, he glares at Michelle and the others.

The man in the paratrooper kit walks over to a small pot perched atop a campfire and stirs its contents.

“Plenty of room here if you'd like to share my camp,” he calls.

“...Should we?” I ask uncertainly. “Call me paranoid, but I'm inclined to be suspicious of humans here who aren't...you know, us.”

“I'm with Alodia,” Craig agrees. “This guy is waaaaaaay suspicious.”

“Yeah. But we should find out what he's up to,” Sean murmurs.

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on! Did you guys even hear that music?”

“Yes,” Varyyn says mildly. “It was very beautiful.” I can't tell if he's agreeing with Quinn or with us.

Sean shakes his head and steps warily toward the young man. The rest of us follow.

“Hey!” Sean calls.

The young man smiles warmly. “Hey, Mac. Pleased to meet you. I'm Kele.”

“You with Arachnid?” Sean demands.

“Arach-what?”

“Don't try to play dumb, bro!” Craig growls. ���Lundgren give you all this gear?”

“Hey, look, don't snap your cap, pal. I don't know anything about any Arachnid or Lundgren. I'm on my own out here. Have been since the Shenandoah got brought down by U-boats.”

“You sayin' submarine torpedoes sunk your ship?” Jake asks, frowning.

“Germans really know what they're doing with those things,” Kele says ruefully. “We got hit in the zero dark hundred and we were taken totally unaware.”

“We're stranded on La Huerta, too,” Quinn admits.

“Now that's a sure shame.” Kele smiles disarmingly at her. “Pretty girl like you must have a lot of friends back home.”

Quinn blushes. “Oh, well, heh...Actually, all of my friends are here...”

Jake leans over to murmur in my ear, “Princess, his uniform is downright antique!”

“Kele,” I say, “don't take this the wrong way, but what year do you think it is?”

He shrugs. “Last I saw a calendar, 1941. But there's not much use in keeping track of time here.”

“So you are a World War II soldier!” Diego exclaims. “You were fighting Nazis before it was even cool!”

“Yeah, something like that.”

I feel Jake relax beside me. “Well, you got my respect.” He steps up to Kele and holds out a hand. “Jake McKenzie, former Navy pilot.”

Kele shakes the offered hand. “Oh, a flyboy. Pleasure.” He returns to the pot and starts stirring.

“How long have you been here?” Estela asks.

“Long enough to stop worrying about it,” he replies. “Can I interest you all in some chili or do you wanna keep beating your gums all day?”

Raj chuckles. “Dude's unflappable. I like him.”

“I saw him first,” Michelle retorts.

“No fair!” Quinn laughs.

“I guess he's all right,” Sean finally relents. “So, you really don't know anything about the Arachnid paramilitary outfit? Or Rourke?”

“Oh, you mean the machine men? Yeah, they've been around. I saw a bunch of them come out of the ruins. Looked like they were searching for somebody.” He frowns, looking up at us. “...Is it you they're trying to find?”

We all exchange glances. Finally, I take a deep breath. “Well, the short answer is...yes.”

“Huh.” He shrugs. “Well, you can hide here for as long as you like. There's a vista over a waterfall a few minutes away that's good for scouting.”

“Probably a good idea to send a couple people up there to keep lookout,” Jake remarks.

“Not you,” I say firmly, before he can volunteer himself. “You're still injured.”

“Alodia's right,” Michelle agrees. “We won't even know the real extent of the damage for a day or two. You need to rest as much as possible.”

“I'll go,” Sean volunteers.

“Not alone you're not,” I say. “I'll go with you.”

Kele arches an eyebrow at me. “Think I've figured out who your CO is.”

Jake chuckles. “That's Alodia. She may be tiny, but don't tangle with her. She's a firecracker.”

“Duly noted. I'll show you how to get there.” Kele puts down the ladle and wipes his hands.

“Need any help in the kitchen in the meantime?” Raj asks.

“Sure. More cooks means more food. There are some mangoes you could slice up in that rucksack.”

“Comin' right up!”

Kele directs me and Sean on the proper route up to the vista. We take the hill in silence for a few minutes, concentrating on keeping our footing on the steep, uneven terrain.

“It was good of you to volunteer,” I remark after a time. “I know you really haven't had much time to unwind since we found you. But if you hadn't, I know Jake would have, and in his current condition...”

“It's fine. Honestly, I kinda think I needed this.”

“Yeah?”

He sighs, flexing his fingers anxiously. “I dunno. So much has happened in the last few weeks, but there's so little that I was able to do about it. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to get a break, but...I just need to feel useful right now.”

“I feel like I ought to be telling you to chill out,” I reply ruefully. “But the truth is, I totally get it. It's just generally tough to enjoy yourself when you feel like you're not doing enough for those around you. And in a situation like ours...honestly, I feel like I'm forgetting how to relax.”

“I think it's like using any muscle. If you don't practice with it, it gets weak.”

“Well, for my money, staring at a waterfall together has to be a pretty good place to start.”

“Only one way to find out.”

I can hear the water rushing before it comes into view. When it does, my breath catches in my throat. I have found myself on the edge of the placid pond that spreads from the bottom of the waterfall. The water that flows over the cliffs above me is clear, crystal blue, and the whole scene is framed with mottled green and brown foliage. Beside me, I look out to see verdant greenery rolling below us.

“...There's worse places to be lookouts, that's for sure,” I murmur. I take a seat on a large boulder beside the waterfall and pat the spot next to me. “Sit down. Take a load off.”

Sean comes to sit beside me, casting his gaze over the valley. The gentle smile on his face starts to fall. He points somewhere in the distance.

“That's where Craig and I were held,” he says softly. “When we were captured.”

“So close?” I taste alarm at the back of my throat, but Sean quickly shakes his head.

“They moved camp awhile ago, so we're fine. ...It's just weird to see it again.”

It takes a moment for my heartbeat to return to normal, for my breath to descend from my chest into my abdomen. “...That must have been really hard...”

“It was,” he agrees. He is quiet for a long time, searching for the words. Finally, he shakes his head again. “It's hard to explain.”

“...What were they going to do with you?”

“I'm not sure. They clearly weren't there for us to begin with, which explains why we stayed in one place for so long. They would ask us questions sometimes. If we knew where the Heart was. Or what the Vaanti were planning. ...About halfway through, we overheard Aleister talking to someone about how we were the only survivors.”

I swallow hard. “...Shit...God, Sean...”

“...That was really hard, hearing that. After all that time, it seemed likely. And then after awhile, they wouldn't let me or Craig speak unless spoken to...”

“...Did they hurt you?”

“Some of them got a little rough, but nothing too bad. ...Aleister made sure they didn't treat us like garbage, so that was something.” He sighs. “I bet everyone thinks I was insane to ask him to come with us.”

“It's not insane, Sean. You saw something in him worth saving.” It's my turn to sigh. “The others...just aren't in a place to even ask that right now. They're still too raw.”

“That's fair,” he admits. “Regardless, I'm glad you had my back on the ship. It felt good to not be alone on this. ...It just hurts, Alodia. To see what he was doing. How he was doing it. I mean, I won't say Aleister was my favorite person to begin with...”

“You're not the first to feel that way,” I admit wryly.

“But while we were captured, I realized how similar our lives were. We both had to pretend to adore our fathers when they were horrible behind closed doors. We both felt this pressure to carry on a legacy, terrified of failure. Sometimes I would see him at the campsite, and all I could see was myself. Maybe I'm just scared that if I give up on Aleister...”

“...That you're giving up on yourself?” I finish for him. He nods, leaning a little closer to me, perhaps unconsciously. “...It's taken a lot of courage and strength for you to get where you are. But in the end, this is Aleister's journey to figure out. It won't matter how strong you are if he just won't move.”

“You're right. I know you're right. It just...sucks, you know? Seeing someone make the same mistakes you did?”

“I know. But you gave him more chances to do the right thing than anyone. It's not your fault he didn't take any of them.”

He regards me thoughtfully, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “What's it like, always knowing the right thing to say? It seems pretty great from here.”

I chuckle. “Oh, you know. I try not to let it go to my head.”

A sudden sharp breeze whips over the waterfall, sending a tepid spray over us. Sean puts himself between me and the waterfall, shielding me from the soaking blast. As the spray dies down, he smiles at me.

“Hi there.”

I grin back up at him. “Heh. Thanks.” Impulsively, I give him a light shove, enough to throw him off balance, and he topples over into the shallow pool. He lands with a splash, sputtering. Soaking wet, he emerges in the knee deep shallows.

“Oh, now you've done it.” With a wicked grin, he lunges at me, grabbing me just under my hips and throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I yelp as I find myself upside down, staring at his backside.

“Sean? Sean, w-what are you doing?!”

“If I'm getting a bath, so are you!” I shriek indignantly as he turns and marches straight for the waterfall, pounding at his back with my fists.

“You put me down, Sean Gayle! Put me down this instant!”

“No way!” Taking in a deep breath, he rushes in to stand directly under the frothy falls. “It's shower time!”

I yelp with helpless laughter as the lukewarm water crashes over me. “You are a dead man! The moment you put me down, you are so dead!”

“Well, then I guess I can't ever put you down, can I? I guess you live on my shoulders now.” With a few shifts of his weight, he shifts me from sack-of-potatoes position to drape me over both shoulders like a baby lamb. “God, you're tiny, aren't you?”

“I'm not tiny, you're just a big ol' hulk!” Still under the waterfall, he starts to spin in place, making me shriek again. And then I hear another shriek answering mine from somewhere in the hills, a shrill, inhuman cry fused with a cackle. The sound sends ice trickling down my spine. Sean stops cold, quickly setting me back on my feet.

“...What was that?”

“Nothing good,” I answer grimly.

“Hey, you two!” Quinn's voice drifts up the cliffside. “Food's ready! Come and get it!”

Sean looks down at me. “...It...might have just been the wind. We can't let this place make us jump at shadows, right?”

I smile in spite of myself. “Heh. Look at you relaxing.”

“What can I say. You're a great teacher.”

We head back down the trail toward the ruins, where everyone is gathered around a roaring campfire. Craig is clumsily picking at Kele's guitar. Michelle sighs wearily.

“Okay, Craig, whatever you're trying to play, just stop.”

“Isn't it obvious? It's that song about going over rainbows.”

“It's not obvious,” Estela deadpans. “Not at all.”

“At least you're better than Jake,” Diego says with a grin.

“Hey, my rendition of Wonderwall was beautiful!” Jake snaps back.

“I'm sorry to have missed that,” I quip, coming to sit beside him. He regards my freshly soaked clothes with a smirk.

“What happened to you, Princess? You fall in?”

“Something like that. I had help.” I shoot a mock-glare at Sean.

“Hey, she started it,” he retorts. Jake chuckles.

“Somehow, that does not surprise me,” he drawls, softening his words with a kiss on my cheek. I still stick out my tongue at him.

Kele and Raj are leaning over a bubbling pot on the fire, grinning from ear to ear.

“Smells like you've been busy,” Kele remarks.

“I'd love your feedback, dude.” Kele ladles out a bit, blows on it, and takes a sip. His eyes go wide.

“This is...amazing! How did you get so much flavor in there?”

“Coconut milk! And love. Always cook with love.”

Kele gets out a few shelled-out coconut halves from his rucksack. Sean takes the ladle and starts to fill the makeshift bowls, passing them out.

“Sit down, Raj,” he says. “You've earned it.”

When we've all been served, we raise our spoons in a toast and dig in. I sigh rapturously as the flavor collapses across my tongue, savory and hearty with just the right amount of spice.

“Oh my god,” Jake mumbles appreciatively around a mouthful.

“Best chili I have ever tasted,” Estela agrees. Craig has already wolfed down his bowl and gone back for seconds. I am not far behind him.

“Buddy's still got his skills!” Craig declares enthusiastically.

“Thanks to Grandma,” Raj says with a smile. He passes a grateful look to me as I ladle out another helping. “...and Alodia.”

Any reply I might have made is cut off when a sound floats up from out of another part of the ruins, something between rustling, chattering, and shrieking that makes every hair on my body stand to attention. Ice trickles down my spine.

“...Please tell me I'm not the only one who heard that...”

“I heard it,” Sean confirms lowly. “What was that?”

“Oh, that?” Kele shrugs nonchalantly. “That's just the ghost.”

The collective look we give him suggests he has just removed his own head and set it beside him to spoon-feed.

“Just a ghost?” Michelle repeats.

“How auspicious!” Varyyn says brightly. “Has it been here long?”

“Not sure. I've not tended to stay in one place.”

“So, is this a Casper the Friendly Ghost Situation or--” Diego is cut off as the noise surges in strength. We all drop our bowls, clapping our hands over our ears until it dies down a little. “Nope. That's definitely a Dementor.”

A loud crash comes from the trees on the other side of the clearing. My heart wedges in my throat.

“Everyone hide!” I hiss. We all scramble ot flatten ourselves to the ground and huddle against a ruined wall. I dare to peek my head out, and spot a flash of Arachnid armor. Jake grabs my hand, his breath catching, but the soldiers are too busy retreating to even notice the campsite.

“Squad Beta Commander to Control,” one of them calls frantically into his comm unit, “we need backup here! Repeat, requesting backup!”

“Wait!” the other soldier cries. “Don't leave me behind here!”

They vanish into the trees again. As their voices fade, we cautiously emerge from our hiding spots.

“That is not a friendly ghost,” Raj declares.

“Actually,” Estela murmurs, “I...think it might be...”

“Katniss, you did see the soldiers running like babies, right?” Estela pulls the photo of her family out of her pocket.

“Remember the thing that approached me on the beach? What if that spirit is this spirit?”

“I hear you,” Raj agrees. “That ghost thing pulled me out of a real tight spot.”

Sean rubs his father's watch on his wrist. “Helped me, too. Whatever this spirit is, it's definitely a friend.”

“Friend or not, if the soldiers are here, it probably means Rourke's interested in it,” Quinn points out.

“You think it has to do with the Heart?” Sean wonders.

“If Rourke wants it, it's likely,” I agree.

Diego groans a little. “Guys, this isn't fair. I left my proton pack at home.”

“How do we keep a friggin' ghost out of Rourke's hands?” Jake asks.

“Forget that, how do we get it to talk to us?”

“Maybe we should offer it tribute?” I suggest.

“We could light candles and make sugar skulls,” Diego says. “Like my abuelita on Dia de los Muertos.”

“And where would we get either candles or sugar?” Michelle asks irritably.

“We could kill a small animal,” Raj offers. Sean makes a face.

“As delightful as that sounds, Arachnid could be back any moment. We don't have time for that.”

“Why not just walk in and see what we can find?” Kele suggests with a sigh.

“Stay out of this, Jason Mraz,” Jake snaps. “We don't need your help.”

“Jake, be reasonable!” Quinn chides.

“Walking in does seem like less work than killing a squirrel,” Raj concedes.

“How do we know this won't end like a horror movie?” Diego asks nervously.

“I think there's only one way to find out,” I answer grimly.

“I'm coming,” Michelle declares. “But only so I can say 'I told you so' when we get murdered.”

We all turn toward the dark doorway at the end of the courtyard. As we approach, the noise fills our ears again. I grit my teeth, trying to block it out.

“It's not too late to turn around yet, is it?” Diego mutters.

“Come on, bro,” Craig says. “We don't have time to chicken out. Let's just do this before it gets dark.”

“You mean like you did at the haunted house sophomore year?” Michelle drawls.

“I got no idea what you're talking about,” Craig replies haughtily. “The zombies led me out the emergency exit so I could see the real hardcore part of the house.”

I sigh and gather my courage, gently shouldering by Craig to start walking up the steps. I fold my arms tightly over my chest, trying to disguise the fact that I'm shaking.

“See?” I hear Michelle say. “Alodia's going! You can't not go now!”

Craig grumbles under his breath, but he follows after me. As we all walk through the shadowy doorway, the rustling noises seem to close in around us. I shiver, feeling as if I've just stuck my finger in an electric socket.

“Is it just me, or is it really cold in here?”

“Hey, Spirit Dude,” Raj calls softly. “Buddy, ol' pal, ol' friend. We're not here to hurt you. Be nice. Pleeeeeeeease...”

“It's a ghost, Raj, not a puppy!”

I make my way down a rough, uneven staircase, stumbling slightly on one loose step. I put my hand on the wall to steady myself.

“You okay there?” Quinn asks.

“Yeah, fine. I just...” I trail off as I happen to look at my hand. It's smeared with blood. I look up at the wall and find words written in thick swaths of blood: STAY AWAY

“This is friendly-ghost-speak for 'Hi, be my friend', right?” Diego deadpans.

“There's more!” Kele remarks. “Cast an eyeball at this!”

I look where he's indicating, and see more bloody messages: YOU DON'T BELONG HERE and I CAN TASTE YOUR FEAR

“What emo punk band is this ghost listening to?” Jake mutters.

“Hopefully one that's pacifist,” Raj says.

“All right, gang, we don't know when Arachnid is coming back,” Sean points out. “Let's look around and be quick about it.”

We all fan out to poke around the ruins. Sean immediately pulls himself into the branches of an overgrown tree entwined with one ruined wall.

“Think the ghost is hiding up there?” I call up with a smirk.

“No stone unturned, right?” he calls back.

“Well, if by stone you mean branch, I guess that works.”

Quinn wanders over to a crumbling stone fountain. Picking up a stick, she gingerly stirrs the algae-thick water. She recoils slightly, putting a hand over her mouth and nose.

“This is like stirring soup,” she mutters. “And it stinks!”

“Hey, Allie. Come take a look at this.” I turn my attention to Diego, crouched with Varyyn near what appears to be a makeshift shrine. I come closer and find trinkets spread around a small wooden figurine.

“What's this?”

“Do you remember the religious war my people fought?” Varyyn asks. When we both nod, he continues. “Some sects believed that praying to individual Catalysts would bring them sooner.”

I squint at the idol, trying to make out some distinctive feature, dragon wings, a wolf's head, bear paws...

“Can you tell which one of us this is for?”

Diego lifts the idol to inspect it. As he does, something drops from a hole in the side into the dust at his feet. I bend to pick it up. It's a tarnished silver pen, with an engraving along the side: Grace Tamara Hall. My heart beats faster.

“This belongs to Grace!”

“What?” Diego snatches the pen from my hand to read the engraving. “She was here?”

“Perhaps,” Varyyn says.

Diego swallows and meets my gaze, his dark eyes troubled. “Allie, this pen looks old. I mean like old. This much tarnish on silver...”

“NO!” Craig's terrified cry makes us all jump. We all rush over to where he is stooped inside a narrow alcove, cradling something in his arms. My blood turns cold as it rushes out of my head to collect at my feet. Time seems to stop.

A body, mostly decayed, rests in Craig's arms. Still attached to a flap of rotting flesh on the scalp is an unmistakeable streak of maroon hair.

“...No...”

“...Th-that can't be Zahra...” Quinn whimpers. “...Right...?”

Trembling violently, Craig slips the bracelets off the corpse's bony wrists. They're familiar. Too familiar. Raj sucks in his breath sharply, hand flying to his mouth. Michelle backs away, her face ashen.

“No...”

“Th-there's writing over here,” Raj says weakly, pointing to the wall. “It says, 'You will be next.'”

Quinn dissolves into tears beside me. Sean curses under his breath, furiously kicking at the tree. I stare numbly at the grotesque pile of sloppy flesh and brittle bones. It...it can't be. It's not possible. ...I passed the test. They were alive...they were all alive... At least...they were alive when I reached the Threshold. But now the cycle has been broken. And this may have been my last chance. ...Have we lost her for good this time? Our Zahra? Our snarky lich queen, our brilliant hacker, our strong, fearless crow? I never saw her flinch, never saw her break. In another lifetime, I watched her singlehandedly destroy Rourke's entire empire. ...How could she be the first to go now, of all of us, when I was supposed to have finally gotten it all right?

Craig straightens slowly, clutching the bracelets, his face a twisted red mask of grief and fury.

“We had only just...I was going to...” He chokes on a sob, looking uncharacteristically small and helpless. Michelle reaches out to lay a hand on his shoulder, but he pulls sharply away, whirling to slam his fist into a wall with a furious cry.

“Hey, man, hold on--” Sean steps forward to pull him away, but Craig throws all his weight into a shove that actually sends Sean sprawling to the stones. His breath starts coming out in fast, shallow gasps.

“Craig, stop!” I cry. “Craig, you need to breathe!”

He ignores me, whipping around to face the dark recesses of the ruin. “Hey! Ghost! Come out so I can kick your ass!” He beats his fists wildly on the stone walls. A loud snap echoes across the plaza. Suddenly, the floor under my feet is trembling.

“Uh, Big Guy, I think you made it angry...” The floor drops about a foot beneath us, throwing us all off balance.

“Hang onto something!” Kele shouts. The stone under our feet starts to split apart, receding towards the walls and leaving us less room to stand on by the second.

“...I told you so,” Michelle mutters.

“Grab onto the walls!” I shout. I grasp whatever handholds I can find on the uneven stone walls, looking worriedly over my shoulder at my friends. Everyone scrambles to get onto the walls or the trees. Except for Craig. He stands still as the floor recedes. His back is to me, but I don't need to see his face to guess at his thinking.

“Craig, don't be stupid!” Michelle screams. “Grab hold of something!”

Before anyone can stop him, he jumps into the gap.

“No! Craig!” There is a distant thud as he lands. Suddenly, the gap in the floor starts to close again, edges slowly creeping together.

“Dammit!” Michelle jumps off the wall and runs toward the narrowing gap.

“What are you doing?!” Sean cries.

“I'm not letting him get stuck down there alone!” she snaps, scrambling over the edge. She lets go of the ledge and disappears.

“Hold on!” Sean yells. “I'm coming too!” One by one, the others jump down into the gap. I raise my eyes to meet Diego's beside me. He smiles weakly.

“All for one and one for all, right?”

“...Here goes nothing...” I turn myself against the wall and reach out to grasp his hand. Together, we launch ourselves into the gap. As the stones snap shut over our heads, all I see is darkness. We tumble through the air and land in a pile with the others.

“Whose elbows are in my back?” Estela groans.

“My arm is goin' numb,” Jake complains.

“This is not an ideal cuddle puddle,” Raj concedes.

As we slowly untangle ourselves, my eyes start to adjust to the darkness, broken by one small shaft of light from above. It illuminates Craig as he pounds his fists against the wall.

“Come out, asshat!” he howls. “I need to punch you out of existence!”

“Dude, the ghost might not even have a corporeal form,” Raj points out.

“I don't care!”

Sean seizes Craig's shoulders and turns him around, forcing them to lock eyes.

“I know it hurts, man,” Sean says gently. “I know. I feel it too. We all do. We all cared about Zahra. But just take a second. Breathe. Just let yourself feel whatever you're feeling.”

For a long moment, Craig just stares at his friend. Then his face crumples, his lips quivering. He pulls away sharply and collapses onto the stairs. I rush to his side to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Craig. I promise, we'll avenge her.” I grip his shoulder, speaking through clenched teeth. “I swear, whoever or whatever took Zahra from us, we will make them pay.”

“Hell yeah we will, Alodia.”

“Will both of you stop and think for two seconds?” Estela snaps impatiently. Craig scowls at her.

“Of all people, I thought you'd understand!”

“I do understand. But whatever this ghost is might have information about the island.”

Craig's shoulders sag under the weight of his grief. “I'm just...I'm so tired of never being good enough. I wasn't good enough to get drafted--”

Sean looks sharply at him. “Wait, what?!”

“I wasn't good at school,” Craig continues, ignoring Sean. “I wasn't...I couldn't get to Zahra fast enough. It's just...why couldn't it have been me?!”

“Oh, Craig...” Michelle murmurs.

“She beat me at everything!” he cries. “She was smarter, cooler, always knew what to do...Why is she gone and a dumb, worthless loser like me still here?!” He dissolves into ragged sobs, tears running down his cheeks in rivers. For a long while, no one speaks. Then Diego yelps, raising a finger toward a glowing rock wall.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“There! That's it!” Estela exclaims.

Sure enough, the glowing ghostly figure is coming through the rock wall and descending the stairs toward us. Shock and disbelief momentarily halt Craig's tears as he stares at it. Then his face twists with rage.

“You! You killed my friend!” He lunges at the figure, throwing punch after wild punch, but his fist passes through it. The figure endures Craig's furious assault placidly, not moving. “I hate you! I hate you! I...why isn't it hurting me?”

“...Because it's Zahra?” Michelle suggests.

“What?!”

“Think about it. Who else's spirit would do things to try to help us?”

“Of course,” Sean murmurs. “It does make sense...”

Craig's face twists with fresh anguish. “Z-Zahra...? I'm...I'm so sorry...” He clasps his hands in what looks almost like a prayer. “I didn't find you fast enough. I wasn't there when you needed me. I was so sure that you'd be okay, and then I...I...I failed you...”

The ghost bends toward him, holding out its hand. A small, silvery ring rests in its palm. Craig looks at me, his eyes begging for guidance. I nod.

“Take it. I think you'll want to see this.”

He stretches out a trembling hand to accept the ring. “It's my class ring,” he mumbles. “My parents picked this one out a while ago. They were gonna give it to me at graduation.” I hold out my hand, silently asking permission to touch it. He passes it toward me, and I feel the familiar weightlessness as the world around me dissolves.

A football stadium, packed with spectators. “Ultra Bowl” is emblazoned on the grass beneath the players' feet. The Eagles lead the Condors by four points, with five seconds on the clock.

“We can still pull this off, Craig,” Sean says. “Can you make a hole for me?”

“All day, every day, bro,” Craig replies.

“All right, let's do this. 64, 96, Fireball...Hut hut!”

The defensive lineman barrels down toward the quarterback, but the linebacker pushes him hard to the side. The quarterback scrambles up the middle, flying past the front line. Two defenders come from the side and begin to pull him down. He laterals the ball to the linebacker before he's taken down.

“Get it!” Sean yells.

The defense goes for the linebacker, but he rolls through them, straight into the endzone.

“I don't believe it!” the announcer shrieks. “The Condors win! The Condors win the Ultra Bowl!”

“That's what I'm talking about!” Sean crows as fireworks explode over the field.

In a comfortable, cheerful office, Sean and Craig set down their controllers and high five each other. On the computer screen in front of them, animated figures are carrying out a giant trophy. The sound of a cheering crowd floats out from the speakers. Sean, dressed in his purple and black Condors uniform, grins at his friend.

“You're as good a lineman in game as you are in real life!”

Craig, dressed in jeans and a plain T-shirt, laughs. “Maybe real-life me five years ago!” he says, ruefully poking at his belly, which has grown a little bit rounder. “Not a lot of lineman training behind this desk.”

He closes the test rig on the screen, and Sean leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “It's good.”

Craig grins. “For real, bro, thanks for coming in for our cover photoshoot. You've become Touchdown 2021's biggest selling point.”

“Hey, anything for you man. Just gotta make sure the game only has my good plays in it.”

Craig snorts. “Dude, don't worry. We literally had to nerf your stats because you were so OP.”

Sean smiles, casting his eyes over the office. His eyes fall on a photo sitting on the desk in front of him, of him and Craig in their Hartfeld uniforms, side-by-side. Craig notices where his gaze has landed and frowns a little.

“...Hey, Sean?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know when you're good enough at what you do?”

“Where's this coming from?”

“Okay, so you're literally one of the best athletes in the world, Raj basically owns the NomNom Network...Sometimes, I just...don't know if I can keep up, you know?”

“Aw, dude--”

“I know, it's dumb.”

“You're working on one of the biggest game franchises in the world. You found a life that makes you happy. Honestly, man, I'm really proud of you.”

“...Really?”

“Since getting this job, I gotta say I feel like you've come into your own. You stopped trying to pull people down, and found something you loved. I think that's awesome.”

“And I haven't even told you about CheeseFry-day.”

“Is that where you get cheese fries on Friday?”

“It's the best, dude.”

A photographer wanders in from the next room. “Mr. Gayle, we're ready for you. Follow me, please.”

“That's my cue.”

“Sure is,” Craig agrees. “And I got a meeting coming up. But hey. Thanks, man. I mean it. I don't know how I woulda gotten here without you.”

“Nah.” Sean claps him on the shoulder. “This is all you, Craig.”...

… I'm back in the cavern again, my hand and Craig's still on the ring. The others stare at us and the ghostly figure between us.

“Did...did you just see...?”

I smile. “Yeah. I did.”

The ghost is shining brighter now. Craig turns toward it. “I think...I know what she's trying to tell me.” He offers the spirit a watery smile. “Zahra, if it's you, I just wanna say something, before you go...”

The spirit looks down at him, apparently waiting for him to continue. He draws in a shuddering breath.

“I...I think I'm in love with you. And I don't know how to stop. I don't think I can. I just started to think that I could be your Player 2...” His voice cracks with anguish, and he covers his face. “I wish I could've stopped this from happening. But I know why you showed me the future. You want me to keep going. So...I'll do my best.”

The spirit starts to recede into the wall, but it keeps its hand stretched toward Craig. As it fades, Craig dissolves into fresh tears, crying brokenly into his hands. Sean and Michelle rush forward, wrapping their arms around him as he sags toward the floor.

“We're right here, Craig,” Sean murmurs, looking ready to cry himself. “Right here.”

“I'm such a wuss,” Craig says bitterly. “Why couldn't I tell her...?”

“...Tell me what?”

Everyone freezes at the unmistakeable voice behind us. We turn slowly, hardly daring to believe it. But it's true. Her dark hair is ragged and uneven, as if she's been stubbornly maintaining her undercut with sharpened rocks, and her signature maroon streak is faded and somewhat off-color. But there's no mistaking her. It's Zahra.

Quinn is the first to say it. “...Y-you're alive!”

Estela blinks, looking back towards where the ghost has faded. “Then what just...”

“Z...?” Craig's voice trembles. “Is that you?”

Zahra coughs awkwardly, shifting her weight. “Craig, did you, uh...mean all that stuff? About me dying?”

Craig is off like a gunshot, pulling Zahra into a crushing embrace. She yelps as the breath rushes out of her, grimacing. Craig lifts her bodily off the floor, bouncing with elation.

“It's you! You're not dead! You're really not dead!”

“To be not dead, I need to breathe!” she croaks, squirming. He sets her down, but he only pulls back slightly.

“Sorry about that. Actually, not sorry. You're alive!”

“If I do die, you are not allowed to speak at my funeral. That was cheesy as hel--” She's cut off by Craig's lips pressed firmly to hers. Quinn laughs.

“Aww!” she cooes.

“Should we turn around?” I quip, aware that I'm grinning like an idiot and not really caring. Zahra, kissing Craig back with passion, puts her middle finger up at us. After a moment or two, they reluctantly break apart. Zahra looks Craig over.

“I guess it's cool that you're not dead or whatever either.”

“So...Zahra, you're buddies with the ghost?” I ask. She looks reproachfully at me.

“No, you doofus. I am the ghost.”

“Then, the spooky noises? The floor opening up?”

She grins, clearly pleased with herself. “Speakers playing sounds based on a randomized time interval.”

“The blood?” Jake asks.

“Had to eat a few squirrels the last couple months. Figured the blood was a nice touch.”

“A couple months?!” Raj yelps.

“Yeah, let's skip past that part,” she mutters.

“What about the floor?” Michelle asks.

“You mean my masterpiece,” Zahra answers with a wicked grin. She digs a small flashlight out of her pocket and points it at the ceiling. A large series of wires and supports rest under each stone square. I whistle lowly.

“You have been busy. And you managed to fool those Arachnid troops.”

She laughs. “Did they piss their pants this time? I hope I got it on video.”

“Okay, I get pretending to be a ghost,” Quinn says. “But why fake your own death?”

Zahra shrugs. “Rourke can't kill me if he thinks I'm dead.”

“You almost convinced us,” Sean replies softly.

“Yeah, well...you're here. I'm here. It all worked out.”

“That still doesn't explain the glowy thing that's trying to give us stuff,” Raj points out.

“Glowy thing?” Zahra repeats, blinking. “I didn't have a glowy thing.”

“Okaaaaaay,” Jake drawls. “Then who the hell is Beetlejuice and why is he coming after us?”

Heavy, clunky footsteps on the staircase distract us from speculating further. We shrink into a protective huddle, turning towards the sound. I feel my blood run cold.

Oh, no...please, no...not here...not now...

The Endless stands in front of us, her aged face once more concealed behind her visor. The flame that once danced over her mechanical right hand is gone.

“I'm afraid there is something else you need to worry about.”

[goblincas]

Edith Bostwick, Human Woman

Okay, so there’s some ~fun~ context behind this short story, hehe: It was written as a final paper for one of my upperclassman English seminars this past semester, where everyone else in my class was writing a research paper. :’D Basically, my professor had loosely opened up the possibility that, with her approval, we could do a creative writing project for our final paper~ I later learned that I was the only one to do this lol. So yeah that’s the story of how I managed to get out of writing a research paper!

(To be fair, the version I submitted to my prof had a ton of footnotes and also a decent amount of outside sources, although none of it is really necessary to understand the story itself)

This is basically fanfic. I wrote fanfic for class. It’s based around the novel Stoner by John Williams, which was one of the works we read for class. This one footnote basically sums up my motivation:

“Ultimately, my goal is to examine and humanize Edith Bostwick’s character, more effectively than is done within John Williams’ Stoner. As her in-text perspective is nearly non-existent, all of her questionable or malicious actions go unexplained, causing her to appear purely sadistic or villainous. Whether Edith is a “good” person is an entirely different question, and not what I’d like to examine here. Rather, I’d like to present the possibility that she might not be an outright monster, whose actions are performed solely in groundless delight toward others’ suffering. It is likely that Edith has greater motivation behind her actions— which may or may not truly justify any of her behavior.”

I.

Sometimes, whenever she felt her eyes begin to glaze over at the sight of her eternally unmade bed, Edith wished that she could just knock her father’s drawl out of her ear. For a day, she could be spared the words of degradation that always seemed to be drumming on the inner walls of her skull: Edith, you can’t expect to please your husband if you keep on dressing yourself so carelessly— is it really so difficult for you to put consideration into your looks? You lazy girl. Edith, if your brain were working as it should, I assure you it wouldn’t be so difficult to keep yourself on task during simple chores. Edith, Edith, Edith—

It would have been deafening, if she weren’t already so familiar with it. There was a disturbing degree of ambience to it all. 

Stupid. Lazy. Undesirable. Talentless. Non-maternal.

Worthless woman. 

The unwanted daughter; a luckless burden of a child.

Almost immediately after entering the bedroom, Edith found herself turning on her heels. She wandered, empty-handed and foggy-minded, back toward the kitchen. Then to the living area. Then back toward the bedroom, yet again. Wandering, too absorbed in her own head to steer her body with any amount of precision or focus toward a particular task. 

Edith could practically feel contempt and shame clashing within herself, as they expanded in tandem and began to pulse throughout her bones. Not for the first time, her apparent failings as a wife were haunting her; what right did she have to deny her husband marital intimacy? Really, why did she have to be so resistant toward such an incredibly simple wifely duty? Edith knew, without a doubt, that her father’s perpetual disgust toward herself would only swell if he could see her current behaviour. Still, he may as well have emerged from the walls— a malevolent spirit magnetized by her soul, no home apart from Edith— to continue jabbering into her ear. As it had already been, his voice was a permanent narrator in the swamps of her mind. Would this have been less agonizing if he had a physical presence in her day-to-day life? 

Would she finally be able to hide?

Without too much awareness of her movement, Edith pressed her feet into the dining room floor, nearly to the point of strain. She sat at a stiff chair, forearms lazing against the tabletop, spine wilting. The previous evening had been like so many others— Lord, too many others. William had arrived home from the university, nodding toward her tight-lipped smile of greeting, before offering Edith some form of generic, half-hearted appraisal. Edith would nod back in response, leading to a silence that seemed to grow hollower by the second. William would eventually amble off. 

Then came Edith’s first wash of guilt for the evening, surging through her flesh and leaving her increasingly bitter. That night, as Edith swaddled herself in too-cold sheets, she repeatedly caught herself jerking away from William’s limp-wristed attempts at touch. She continuously pulled the sheets tighter and tighter, as if Edith would eventually collapse in on herself, crumbling into a low-density rubble. She could then be blown from the bed with a short breath, like a piece of stray lint.

So, come the following day, Edith was locked again in her molten cage— there, in her place of security, she could tend to herself while the heated steel consumed her mind. There, she could remain snugly contained within the tender chokehold of her own rage.

Her anger first focused toward the base of her awareness, where Edith truly believed that her father was steering her every action, forever spying on his circus of savage amusement. Had she been spared her father’s upbringing, would she still be so prone to distress? Possibly, there was a sick irony to her situation; maybe it was the insensitivity of her father that was leading her to behave how she was toward William. Had she not been broken down in the name of conditioning, would she have known her own strength?

William. Oh, William. Edith’s anger seemed only to inflate with age, and it could no longer gorge itself on her father’s visage, alone. This seemed to have become William’s position in Edith’s life: a fresh conduit for her ever-expanding rage. He deserved this fate, after all. Had William not approached her at that party, had they never met, then Edith may have been allowed more time to pursue her freedom— and that extra time might have provided her a chance to escape. It was all a hypothetical, of course, although Edith liked to believe that she might have been just a few steps away from finding her courage— perhaps in Europe, had William not ruthlessly tore that potentially life-altering trip from her. Of course, upon meeting William, Edith’s soles were forever cemented to the floors of Hell, where they’d always been. She knew then that she was stuck in place, without hope of freedom or mercy in her forever-darkening future.

William’s advances had only been the prologue to their shared fate of lifelong domestic doom. They would continue to suffer, while Edith continued to ensure that this suffering was rationed fairly. 

As her awareness seemed to solidify and return to the kitchen, Edith stood slowly. Her thin skirt fell limply around her equally thin legs— on the topic of insecurities. There were several dishes that still needed washing, left over from the breakfast that Edith had prepared while locked in a state of near-total dissociation— William had been surprised by the gesture, although her motivation was far less benevolent than he had assumed. Often, Edith just needed a task to anchor herself; a connection to the material world, before her consciousness loosened to a point of delirium. Similarly, hours later, she hoped that scrubbing those same dishes would stall her total dislocation from reality. As a strategy, it seemed to work fair enough; it was as if Edith were weighing her perception and mind down with an assortment of age-beaten tchotchkes. 

Around the point at which the pads of her fingertips were beginning to prune, Edith hesitated. She held the old rag, motionless, against a china serving bowl she’d recently received as a belated wedding gift. (From whom, Edith honestly couldn’t recall— it had been handed off to William, then propped in the center of the dining room table for her to discover.) 

Faintly, the too-familiar droning forced itself onto her:

Edith, truly, are you capable of anything? Even such a simple task, and you continue to dawdle, only because you’re so lost in such narcissistic musings? Useless girl. How pitiful, not even able to wash dishes, not even able to—

Enough.

Shucking the still-damp dish rag onto the counter, Edith stomped toward the nearest couch. In contrast to her previously aggressive movements, she laid herself down with care, as if to prevent her body from shattering onto the offending furniture. Then, countering the premature rigor mortis in her limbs, she curled in on herself. Edith’s fists continued to clench in a rhythm of short pulses. She surrendered and napped.

II.

At the groan of the front door, Edith shuttered and sat up.

Noticing first the now-dark room, she rose and trudged over to a nearby lamp. Edith chose to ignore her sore spine and prickling right arm. The room was soon drenched in an eerie, almost foreboding glow. As the Draconian scene continued to unfold, she could hear her husband shuffling closer, and closer, and…

“Edith? Are you in here?”

William appeared beneath the living room’s entrance. His gaze focused on Edith from across the space, while she was once more consumed by her woebegone persona. Edith stared vacantly back. 

William appeared almost bashful— as if he had any right to discomfort. He ran a palm down the front of his shirt, before stalking closer. “Well, anyway. How was your day?” he questioned, his tone light and controlled. His words were sterile, as if he’d deliberately cleansed his voice of anything that could instigate a disagreement. William also looked tired, but Edith supposed that was fair enough. No matter how badly he’d damaged her, she could at least acknowledge how much of himself he poured into his work; certainly, it was more attention than Edith would ever allow William to give to herself. 

Edith remained silent. She could see her husband beginning to assess her carefully, his gaze dragging over the vessel she felt so detached from. At that point, Edith cringed; it appeared as if she’d been suddenly wounded, unprovoked by herself as she stood bare and defenseless. 

William was… looking at her. No, he thought that he was looking at her. He was mistaken, of course; no matter how passive his stare, there was an undeniable overtone of arrogance to the act. He was so sure, clearly, that he was seeing Edith. Which, was entirely absurd— or, even worse, it was pure malice, an attempt to remind Edith that he was capable of something she would seemingly never be. Edith would never see herself; she was so dissociated from her body and mind. She had no constant sense of personhood, instead existing as a hazy, shapeless specter. She was no one. 

There was no one to see. 

As Edith’s vacant stare began to harden, introducing a vague challenge that even she didn’t understand the conditions of, William shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, well… yes. Anyway, I’ll… just leave you be, then,” he said, voice growing progressively more faint, beginning to drift outside the bubble of their conversation. As a closing acknowledgment, William flashed a stiff smile before shuffling toward the bedroom, work belongings in tow.

Again, Edith was struck by how incredibly exhausted she felt.

III.

Edith was just fourteen when she realized: she was an accessory, a good-luck charm with little value outside what she could provide to her handlers. If they could not make use of her to their own benefit, if she was not accessible and mild, then she had failed in her purpose. Edith knew that she would never understand who she truly was, separate from this fundamental, predetermined assignment. A clear sense-of-self would only add weight and distract her from her duties. 

So, one morning at the age of fourteen, Edith had sat stiff-backed at the edge of the piano bench. A lone, narrow window hung on the wall ahead of her, as the pale orange sky was gradually dusted with sunlight. Her slender fingers hovered just above the keys, drumming on air. Edith could sense an indeterminate nervousness begin to creep up on her, although its form was too hazy to wrangle and observe more closely.

It was a Saturday; a quiet morning, where Edith saw a rare opportunity to escape her father’s omnipresent eye. Her movements felt just a bit less manufactured, seeing no incentive to act gracefully.

Mr. Bostwick slept.

Edith felt more awake than ever— to her own distress. 

As a younger child, Edith had seen her father as a godlike figure, which seemed to justify the power he had over her thoughts and behaviors. Edith had known only timid respect, whenever she encountered her father; he was the rightful monarch to Edith’s childish reality, this reign hallmarked by his strict authoritarian policy. 

From birth and onward, Edith was an obedient citizen.

The young girl lowered her trembling fingers down to her sides, gripping into the bench as a means to calm them. She was yet to figure out the cause of her panic, as its onset was abrupt, while nothing in her surroundings seemed to have triggered it. Later, however, Edith would come to recognize how tantamount that quiet morning at the piano was to her life’s course; it was a moment of bitter revelation, where an understanding of the desires of her father and teachers seemed to finally penetrate her delusions of independence. Where she was mature enough for the truth of her situation to sink in, free will quietly slipping away.

She was a freshly-lacquered prop. An attractive, practical object.

Hardly any different in value from the glossy piano that sat in front of her.

Later that same morning, shortly after Edith had shifted from the piano bench to a plush chair, Mr. Bostwick’s powerful footfalls could be heard from the nearby staircase. Edith winced, dreading the prospect of company; all she wanted was time alone to flounder and inevitably drown in her own head. The waters continued to rise as her father approached, undisturbed by the invader at shore.

Mr. Bostwick cleared his throat. “Good morning,” he greeted, his gruff tone grating at Edith like sandpaper. “You’re certainly up early, aren’t you?”

Edith turned her neck, gazing absently at her father as he entered the room. “I suppose I am,” she responded, her tone remaining dry. She hesitated before continuing, the words escaping before she could corral them back: “Daddy, what would you think if I never became a wife?”

Before responding, Mr. Bostwick dropped into the seat across from Edith, eyeing his daughter intently. (On impulse, Edith straightened her spine, exiting her previously lax position.) He furrowed his brow. “Now, why are you asking this, Edith?” Although her father sounded controlled in his speech, Edith knew not to be deceived by such superficial impressions.

Once more, Edith paused, chewing on her words before retching the sour remains. “I was… thinking. About purpose, and what mine might be. Everyone has a big purpose to their life, right? Surely, that would only make sense, or else why would we even live?” She took in a sharp breath, before continuing in haste, “I mean, I was wondering if being a wife is that purpose for myself… if it's my only possible future, or if deciding upon something different would be wrong and would upset you.”

The silence that followed was short, yet crushing.

“I would certainly be… upset,” Mr. Bostwick muttered, the gravel in his voice only growing more prominent. “However, I don’t understand why you would ever consider such a prospect. Edith, you have already spent years of your young life in preparation to become a successful wife and home-maker. I don’t understand why you would ever show such disrespect toward your schooling, both formal and the time that I have sacrificed for you. Would you truly want to waste your own time— my time, the time of your instructors? It would be both foolish and pointlessly scornful.”

That too-heavy moment was Edith’s first memory of her mind seizing, before floating off to flee her situation; it was her earliest out-of-body retreat, in the name of self-preservation. It was then that Edith understood: She would never take ownership over her own fate; it simply wasn’t a reasonable expectation, nor was it within her rights. This was her sole reality, and her only means of comfort would be to contort her perspective and come to terms with her inevitable condition. 

That brief conversation with her father also seemed to ignite something within him, a cool aggression that Edith had rarely seen prior. It wasn’t immediate; however, Edith couldn’t help but draw the connection. From then, Mr. Bostwick began to offhandedly degrade Edith, chipping away at any confidence she might have had in her capabilities. He reminded her, regularly, that she was incompetent and in sure need of guidance. Mr. Bostwick reminded his daughter that she was inelegant, unintelligent, naive. Slowly, he robbed Edith of her own self-possession, claiming ownership over the malleable mind of an adolescent girl.

Edith tended to believe that that was her entrance to womanhood; that quiet Saturday morning, seemingly unlike any before, marked the scathing end of Edith’s girlhood. Her childhood was left in the seat of that deceptively plush chair, drenched in flames that were only apparent to her own senses. And oh, where they apparent. 

That was the morning that Edith, as she had known herself, was killed.

[intoxicatedeuphoria]

BURN THE HOUSE DOWN (Part 2 of 3)

ROYAI WEEK 2017

PROMPT: Day #7 (6/11) - Incendiary RATING:Teens (swearing, innuendoes) WORD COUNT: 2977 (Part II only)

Rebecca will do anything for her best friend, Riza. Tonight, she’ll do whatever it takes to give her a shot at happiness, no matter how brief it may be. If only that damn bastard Mustang would take a hint…

PART I  |  PART II  |  PART III (coming soon)

This story happens immediately after the events of Roy Mustang Observation Diary, where Falman was still a sergeant (instead of a warrant officer), and Fuery was a private, up until the end where Roy promoted him to sergeant, at least according to the English translation floating around the net.

I’ve split the fic into three parts now because I ended up adding almost 3000 words by the time I finished reading two-thirds of the original Part II. I can’t help it. I love Rebecca and Team Mustang, especially Fuery!!

HAPPY ROYAI DAY, EVERYONE~!!

PART II: CHAIN REACTION

Friday, 23:08 hours Dining Room (Turned into a Club), The Verve, East City

After all the preparations had been done, everyone finally settled around the rectangular table in their VIP booth. Rebecca unfurled the curtain divider by the entrance to give their group some privacy.

Riza took note of the seating arrangement. Across her was her best friend sitting on a plush ottoman, her back to the curtain. To Rebecca’s right were Breda and Falman, both sitting on one of the three loveseats in their booth. To her left were Fuery and Havoc, the former trying to rest his head on the taller man’s arm and failing miserably. Finally, Riza shared the last loveseat with the colonel.

The booth was rather small for seven people, and the loveseats smaller still. Riza’s right leg brushed against Roy’s left every time she moved. The contact made her hyperaware of their proximity which was already challenging the limits of propriety – at least for a commanding officer and his subordinate.

The game hadn’t even started yet…

…and knowing Rebecca, nothing less than inappropriate would happen for the rest of their night if she had a say in it.

“Young and wild and free, remember?” The blonde woman muttered to herself. She released a sigh, which did not go unnoticed.

“Is there something wrong, lieutenant?” Roy whispered in her ear, startling her.

She wordlessly shook her head, then shifted her gaze to Rebecca who let out an exaggerated cough.

“Are you done whispering sweet nothings to each other?” She raised an eyebrow at the two highest-ranked officers in the booth.

“We weren’t-“

“It’s not like-“

The dark-haired woman did not let them finish. Instead she clapped her hands as she began speaking.

“With that out of the way, shall we set the rules?" she winked at the rest of them.

Fuery nodded overenthusiastically that his eyeglasses were knocked off his face. “Oops!”

“One man down,” Breda muttered sardonically. “I repeat, we have one man down.”

Falman snickered beside him.

Mustang rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “How do you propose we play this juvenile game, 2nd Lt. Catalina?”

“Hmmm… since we’re all adults here, I propose that we up the ante right from the start!” she answered jovially. “How about instead of the typical truth or dare, we make it shot and truth or shot and dare? After all, the good colonel here already prepared a bottle of some nice vodka.”

Riza massaged her temple after hearing Rebecca’s idea. Things were definitely going to get messy.

“One more thing,” the colonel interjected. “No passing and no changing of choice, alright?”

With his right hand raised, Havoc inquired, “Any objections?”

There were none.

Breda placed the empty champagne bottle at the center of the table, then asked. “Everybody ready?”

Grunts and nods of assent were given, and the bottle finally spun to life.

“…and for the first blood we have…” Havoc commented, serving as the host for the game.

Everyone watched as the bottle slowed down to a stop and its neck pointed to…

“Falman!” the chain smoker called out loudly, using the unopened bottle of vodka as a makeshift microphone.

The man scratched his head in anticipation.

“Soooo… Sgt. Falman, shot with the truth or a dare?” Havoc asked seriously, getting into his role a little too earnestly.

The gray-haired man gulped before choosing the former.

“Does anyone have a question for our good man Falman?” Havoc looked around the table.

While waiting for a response, Roy pried the bottle of vodka from the blonde second lieutenant’s hand to pour a shot for the first ‘victim’ of the night.

Riza almost wanted to stop their commanding officer, but then she realized that the guys plus Rebecca were only trying to have some fun. Their work could be so stressful, and sometimes only alcohol could make them forget for a while.

She was well aware of this. After all, she and Rebecca used to drown their sorrows and stresses in cheap tequila during their academy days. Her best friend introduced her to the wonders – and the subsequent horrors – of hard liquor, and Riza was never the same afterwards. Rebecca once told her drunkenly that it’s what best friends were for. At least Riza knew she’s not going down as easily as Fuery already did. She’d had training with Rebecca, and she learned a few other tricks during the war so she’s pretty confident she could outdrink Falman and Havoc at best.

For some reason, Breda was not drinking as much as he usually did, only sticking to beer since they started drinking. Maybe he knew what a nightmare the hangover would be tomorrow. Wine, beer, and hard liquor made the nastiest mix – the one which always resulted to a monster headache that refused to go away for an entire day.

“Wait, I do!” Breda hollered with a diabolical grin after an awkward moment of silence.

Speaking of the devil… Riza thought wryly.

“Sgt. Falman!” The hefty lieutenant turned to him. “Who do you think is hotter, 1st. Lt. Hawkeye or 2nd Lt. Catalina, and why?”

Falman swallowed hard and then froze in place.

“You’re forgetting something!” Fuery pointed to the vodka-filled shot glass. “Shot first~!!”

The light-haired sergeant downed the liquor, then blurted out, “I think both of them are equally attractive. I mean, 1st Lt. Hawkeye has the cool, calm appeal, while 2nd Lt. Catalina has the messy, vivacious charm.” He took a breath, as if bracing himself for the worst, and then continued, “and I’m pretty sure all the men here would agree that the ladies are very, very, very sexy with their impossibly long legs and all those curves…”

Falman ceased talking when he saw Riza’s eyes narrowing. Meanwhile, Rebecca relished the compliments without hesitation, winking at the terrified man.

“Enough with the flattery, sergeant.” Riza demanded briskly.

“Aww, Riza. He was just being honest!” Rebecca whined. She turned to the blushing sergeant. “Thank you for noticing out feminine assets, and for appreciating them! It’s nice to know that someone still sees us as women even if we work for the military.”

“Thank you, Sgt. Falman.” The blonde woman’s stony visage melted into a small smile.

Roy cleared his throat and said, “Let’s move on to the next one.”

Falman spun the bottle and it pointed to Fuery. The dark-haired young man grabbed the vodka bottle, poured himself a shot, then swallowed it in a blink. Everyone was stunned into silence, until Havoc resumed his commentator-slash-host duties.

“Up next we have the newly promoted, and currently inebriated Sgt. Fuery!”

It was Falman’s turn to ask. “Truth or dare, sergeant?”

“A real man always goes for a dare!” Fuery declared proudly.

“A dare it is.” Falman placed a finger under his chin and remained silent for a minute. He suddenly slammed a hand on the table. “I dare you to ask for a girl’s number in five minutes!”

“SAY WHAT?!?!” Fuery seemed to sober up a little from the dare.

“We agreed on the rules, Fuery.” Breda said matter-of-factly, wiggling his index finger as he did so. “You can’t pass or change your choice. Be a man and ask a girl – any girl – for her number.”

Fuery left their booth to complete his mission. Havoc slid the curtains to one side so everyone had a view of his progress.

Riza felt Roy shift in his seat. She looked at him and was surprised to see that his gaze was already on her.

“Are you alright, sir?” she inquired quietly, holding his stare.

“Yes, of course,” he assured her. “I’m just starting to feel the effects of the whiskey.” He tilted the empty glass in his hand. “It’s my fifth one already.”

“Then I suggest you stop drinking, colonel,” she stated firmly. Roy simply nodded. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he only grinned adorably.

He leaned towards her, then whispered, “A few more drinks won’t kill me, lieutenant.” He moved closer still, until he was practically breathing against her ear, “but your dress tonight sure did.”

Riza rolled her eyes as she gently pushed him away. “Sir, I believe you’re being too close for comfort… closer that what is proper, in fact.”

He looked at her sadly, but said nothing in response.

All of a sudden, boisterous cheering filled the booth as Fuery returned from his task, dispelling the heavy mood that settled between Roy and her.

Riza exhaled in relief. The tension between them was quickly becoming unbearable. His gentle teasing and subtle flirtation were not helping at all. She wished he wouldn’t be so obvious with his feelings since they were currently in public.

But then again, she was at fault, too. She let her guard down because she was enjoying herself immensely. How many times did she dream of going out with him like this? Did he have any idea know how much she envied all the girls he dated since they came back from the war?

She shook her head slightly to clear her mind.

There was no point in dwelling on regrets and everything else that she could not change.

It was time to move on.

She joined in the clapping when Fuery – with a kiss mark on his left cheek – showed off the paper napkin with some girl’s number on it. Then he promptly passed out next to Havoc.

Riza could not help but chuckle at their youngest member’s antics.

It was going to be a long night so she might as well enjoy it.

After all, she was young and wild and free and only twenty-three.

At least for tonight.

Friday, 23:23 hours Dining Room (Turned into a Club), The Verve, East City

Rebecca stole a glance to her left where Fuery was passed out, his head lolling against the back of the loveseat.

Her lips formed a smirk. She hadn’t felt this giddy while playing Spin the Bottle since she was thirteen.

A chance finally appeared!

Fuery’s out of the game so anyone can ask a question or suggest a dare for the next round.

Now, if she could only find a way to make sure the bottle stops at either Riza or Mustang…

“I’ll spin for Fuery!” She announced eagerly, her hand already poised on the bottle. “Ready or not~!”

Please let it stop at Riza or the Flame Bastard. Rebecca called upon the favors of all the deity she had ever known, even if she herself was a non-believer. Please, oh god, anyone, the stars, the universe…

Somewhere, somebody heard her plea and granted her wish.

“Would you look at that?!” Havoc cried out in false bewilderment. “The next victim is the Hawk’s Eye herself: our dearest 1st Lt. Hawkeye~!!”

“I’ll ask her!” Rebecca volunteered before anyone else could interfere with her plan. “Drink up first, Riza!”

Everyone watched as the lady of the minute gracefully knocked back the vodka shot.

Trust Riza to make everything look so classy and oh so sexy. Rebecca smiled smugly. Mustang’s practically drooling like a dog from the view.  

“Truth or dare, lieutenant?” The colonel asked her promptly.

The rest of the team waited with baited breath for her answer.

Meanwhile, Rebecca was getting impatient. The suspense was killing her.

“I choose…” Riza trailed off as she surveyed their expressions.

Fuery’s loud snoring broke the silence, and then Riza finally said, “Truth.”

Sounds of disappointment filled the booth.

“So Riza…” Rebecca clapped her hands once, signifying the start of her interrogation. “Would you please tell us how many people you’ve kissed so far, and who was the best one?”

The first lieutenant’s eyes widened so much upon hearing the question, then quickly narrowed into slits and focused solely on her best friend.

“This is a complete betrayal, Rebecca.” She stated coldly. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Please answer the question, sir!” Falman insisted weakly. “Rules are rules…”

“Fine.” Riza acquiesced, the annoyance remaining in her voice. “I’ve kissed two people in my life.”

“Really?! But you’re so pretty!” Fuery interjected out of nowhere. Falman almost fell from his seat from the shock.

The blonde woman smiled kindly at the drunk sergeant. “Thank you for the compliment, Sgt. Fuery, but I’m sorry to burst your bubble. I don’t go around kissing people at random, pretty or not.”

The youngest soldier’s eyes widened, then he blushed furiously. “I’m so, so, soooo sorry, first lieutenant. I’m shutting up now.”

“Good idea.” Breda gave him a thumbs-up. The bespectacled man returned it with a droopy-eyed smile, then slumped against the sofa once more.

“And for your best kiss…?” Mustang inquired cautiously.

“Ooooh, careful there, colonel.” Havoc warned playfully, wagging his finger at him. “Your interest may be misconstrued as sexual harassment~!” He finished in a sing-song voice.

Riza brushed off the comment. “It’s fine, sir.” She then turned to her best friend. “For your information, 2nd Lt. Catalina, my best kiss was you, when we were in the academy.”

The men froze in their seats, their eyes wide as saucers.

“I mean, it was the best one because I don’t remember much, so I’m simply assuming that it’s better than the one I had with the other person.”

Rebecca burst into hysterical giggling. “Ohmigod, Riza! Did you really have to do that?! Look at them – poor men. You just gave them a heart attack and some good stuff for their fantasies.” She said in between peals of laughter.

The female second lieutenant might have been half crazy from all the laughing, but she definitely did not miss the look of mixed surprise and disappointment in Mustang’s eyes.

So Mustang’s the other person Riza had kissed before. Rebecca noted silently. Gotcha!

“But I’m being serious here.” Riza deadpanned. “Oh, and by the way, Rebecca has the softest lips, in case you’re wondering.”

An awkward silence pervaded the tiny booth.

Then it was Riza’s turn to burst into uninhibited laughter, slapping Mustang’s left thigh with her right hand every few seconds while covering her mouth with her other hand. The others simply stared at her. It was the first time they ever saw her lose all control over her emotions.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped as she recovered her breath. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Without any warning, Mustang gently cupped her face.

The room stilled once again – including Riza this time – as the colonel slowly moved his thumbs across her cheeks to carefully wipe off the tears streaming down her face.

“That’s enough, lieutenant,” he told her gently, as if she were a child. “You’re ruining your immaculate make up.”

“Pardon me, sir. I–“ She began to justify her actions, but her commanding officer beat her to it.

“It’s OK, lieutenant.” He murmured, beaming at her adoringly. “I’m glad you’re having a good time, but there’s no need to ruin your pretty face while doing so.”

“Ahem,” Rebecca interrupted their tender moment with a fake cough. “Can we move on now, please?”

Mustang immediately dropped his hands to his lap, while Riza turned in her seat so she was facing her best friend once more. Both were acting as if nothing had happened a minute earlier.

Oh wow, Mustang has lost it. Maybe the alcohol has gone into his head. Rebecca thought. And I believe Riza’s rather tipsy, too! Perfect~!!

The rest of them pretended they saw nothing as well.

Riza reached for the bottle and spun it.

“The next round is for…” Havoc paused, waiting for the bottle to stop.

“You!” Breda announced with a finger pointed towards his best friend.

The blonde man grinned widely. “It’s about damn time I got some action!”

He grabbed the shot glass that Falman refilled, then declared boldly, “Dare.”

It was Riza’s turn, and – if Rebecca knew her friend well – this meant it’s payback time.

The smirk on Riza’s lips looked eerily similar to that of her commanding officer when he was up to no good.

It was plain evil.

“2nd Lt. Havoc, I dare you to ask Rebecca for a kiss.” The blonde sniper said simply.

It wasn’t as shocking as the dark-haired woman thought it would be.

“Wait a minute!” Mustang demanded harshly. “Isn’t that against the law? You do know that fraternization is illegal, right?”

Out of the blue, Rebecca let out a shrill scream.

“That’s not true!” Fuery asserted passionately with his index finger still poised in a poking stance near Rebecca’s waist. “It’s not fraternization, colonel! It’s just a game, right?!”

He poked her once again. The dark-haired woman shoved him back to his seat.

Mustang cleared his throat to garner their attention.

“Let’s all agree that everything that we’ve seen and heard tonight will never go out of this group. Ever.” Mustang looked at each of them in the eyes as he spoke. “Do I have your word for it?”

Everyone else in the room raised his or her right hand in salute, then replied solemnly, “Yes, sir!”

The colonel smirked, then declared smugly, “What are you waiting for, Havoc? Go get her.”

Before anyone knew what was happening, Havoc was already kneeling next to Rebecca and was reaching out for her hand.

“May I kiss you, my beautiful lady?” He requested suavely, his voice dropping an octave or two.

Fuery was squealing like a schoolgirl next to them, effectively ruining the moment.

Rebecca was blushing heavily now, and her head was reeling from embarrassment, but the alcohol she had consumed seemed to have flushed out every drop of inhibition in her system a long time ago.

Her instincts were telling her to kiss him.

So she did.

And it felt amazing.

Havoc pulled away before the kiss deepened, but it was still so satisfying.

Rebecca remained in a daze minutes later, temporarily forgetting her mission for the night.

I swear, the next part will be the last one. I’ll upload it once I’m done obsessing over the details of the conclusion.

[spicynbachili1]

3D Monster Maze is 16K of pure nightmare fuel, but what creeps you out in gaming?

Nightmares in a Broken Sport

Halloween is upon us. It is that point of yr the place youngsters roam the road in search of sweet, Michael Myers stands in folks’s laundry traces, and tabloids print tales about LSD-laced sweets and razor-blade stuffed apples that in all probability by no means truly occurred.

Video video games are additionally entering into the Halloween temper, with quite a few titles working in-game occasions, or including horror-themed loot, gear, and different aesthetics to rejoice the spoopy season. Horror and video video games have all the time been a match made in hell (and, conveniently, a license to print cash). There is a purpose Capcom preserve churning out Resident Evil video games and why 5 Nights at Freddy’s quick grew to become a family title; Now we have a morbid fascination with concern.

However all horror titles, outdated and new, tip their hat to a recreation launched on the common-or-garden ZX81. That recreation is 3D Monster Maze. Developed in 1981 by the workforce of J.Okay. Greye and Malcom Evans, 3D Monster Maze has the participant information themselves silently by way of a first-person labyrinth, procedurally-generated again earlier than that was even a time period. There is just one different inhabitant, a hungry Tyrannosaurus Rex, stomping across the maze in real-time. It’s the sole aim of the participant to flee the maze earlier than they develop into carnivore chow, a job deceptively easy in its depth.

Arguably the primary ever survival horror title, 3DMM is overwhelmingly creepy, and in ’81, it was virtually coronary-inducing. The stark, blocky, black-and-white visuals someway make the sport extra horrifying, like a “cursed-game creepypasta” that truly existed. The entire idea of first-person video games have been at such an infancy, that slowly and tentatively turning a nook, simply to see the T-Rex barrelling towards you was genuinely terrifying.

The sport itself builds stress will easy on-screen statements like “Footsteps approaching” and the dreaded “RUN! He’s behind you”. 3D Monster Maze even opens with ominous warnings that the sport isn’t for these of a nervous disposition, earlier than giving the participant one final likelihood to again out slightly than face the fearful maze. That is showmanship that may make P.T. Barnum proud.

Ought to the participant evade Rex and make it to the exit, they’re handled with a kaleidoscope of letters and warned that “Rex may be very indignant”, earlier than being transported to a brand new maze with a quicker monster. All of this terror and know-how was someway crammed into 16Okay of reminiscence. 16Okay! The header picture of this text is 3 times that.

The horror video games of as we speak – notably the glut of PC first-person bounce scare titles –  owe a debt of gratitude to J.Okay Greye, Malcolm Evans and 3D Monster Maze. This easy little recreation was approach forward of its time and, no matter its rudimentary design, nonetheless someway manages to keep up a creepy air of unease, due to, not despite, its rudimentary visuals.

Chris Hovermale

Flashback to your first Kirby recreation. You’re making your approach throughout Dreamland, preventing a couple of colourful foes who’re attempting to cease you from rescuing the world’s meals provide, or restoring the fountain of goals, or regardless of the plot is. Your enemies may look cute, however they are going to nonetheless damage Kirby after they aren’t provoked and even while you simply contact them, so that you don’t query the truth that they’re your enemies. However finally, you stumble throughout this orange floaty factor. Let’s name it Scarfy. Scarfy doesn’t transfer. Scarfy doesn’t assault.

Might it’s that you just discovered a brand new good friend? Maybe it’s a good suggestion to greet Scarfy, perhaps you’ll get a immediate to speak to it or it’ll provide you with a present. Or perhaps that Scarfy is evil since you’ve performed this recreation sufficient to know the foundations of early platformers. If it’s in your approach, it should need you lifeless, so you must assault it first.

Whichever you selected, you have been unsuitable. Your selection scarred your childhood.

In the event you’re not aware of Scarfies, the moment you do something with them — contact, inhale, something — they are going to rework into dark-skinned cyclopes with ravenous enamel, pursuing you relentlessly with their new horrifying visage. In the event that they contact you, they EXPLODE IN A CIRCLE OF FIRE. Discovering this was my first expertise with jump-scares, so go determine I’m a wuss who avoids precise horror video games just like the plague.

However having the information of what they do is simply as scary. When you perceive the true hazard they current, you’ll all the time take warning to keep away from upsetting them, continuously dreading their true face even whereas it stays hidden. These items gave impressionable six-year-olds a style of horror, and even as we speak, I’m skeptical of this cute Scarfy plush. It in all probability performs a disturbing noise like Marx’s dying scream in the event you hug it. I ain’t discovering that out.

Different folks say that Zero is essentially the most horrifying and disturbing creature in Kirby’s historical past, and so they aren’t unsuitable. However Zero by no means threatened to offer me nightmares, partially as a result of I by no means truly fought him. This unstable demon in an angel’s masks did. And his form are in every single place in Kirby’s video games. In all places.

CJ Andriessen

Within the 1942 movie Cat Individuals, there’s a scene halfway by way of the place Alice Moore, performed by Jane Randolph, is strolling down the road alone at night time when she hears footsteps behind her. She seems again and there’s nothing there. The footsteps come and go, however neither she nor the viewers ever will get a glimpse at what’s making them. Whereas not notably horrifying by trendy horror requirements, it’s a completely unnerving scene that performs upon what is probably the best concern there may be: concern of the unknown.

Concern of the unknown is mostly a concern of concern. It’s a concern that you just count on to have one thing come alongside and frighten you, and the stress that builds inside you as you watch for what you concern is inevitable can generally be an excessive amount of to take. Large spiders, ghoulish monsters, and horrors of all form finally lose their capacity to terrify, however a concern that depends on the consumer’s creativeness for scares, that’s a monster that by no means will get outdated.

Perhaps that is dishonest for this week’s matter – no it most definitely is – however I’ve stared down zombies in Resident Evil, ghosts in Deadly Body, and aliens in Useless House; none of which deliver the thrills like they used to. However the unknown continues to terrify, generally even reworking pretty normal video games into one thing petrifying. The Metroid franchise isn’t a horror recreation however there’s something completely unnerving about exploring the depths of Zebes within the first recreation and SR388 in Metroid II that’s unnerving. Not understanding the place your subsequent dying goes to come back from in 1001 Spikes can flip the already edge-of-your-seat platformer right into a coronary heart racer. However each of these video games have enemies that may kill you, so there’s a slight purpose to be concerned. The place the unknown, this concern of concern, actually shines is when it’s in a position to rework a recreation that offers you no actual purpose to be scared in any respect.

Gone Dwelling is a recreation that I snigger about each time I give it some thought, as a result of I keep in mind the night time I performed it. It was round 12:30 within the morning and I, having blockaded any details about the title to that time, determined to offer it a whirl. I do know now the sport is principally a queer, high-school brief story a few woman strolling round her home, however that night time I knew nothing of these empty hallways, nothing of these nonetheless rooms, nothing of these secret passages. I knew nothing about this recreation and that completely scared the fuck out of me.

I do know I’m not the primary particular person to explain Gone Dwelling as an unintentional horror recreation, however I’ve but to play one other recreation that has scared me a lot with so little. My creativeness, fueled by this concern of concern, made the expertise far scarier than it’s. I really like the work that goes into creating grotesque monsters in horror video games or video games of any type, however I’ve seen my fair proportion of them to actually not be disturbed by their look anymore. However that concern of the unknown, that’s a concern that’ll by no means stop to terrorize me.

Josh Tolentino

Like CJ mentioned above, generally concern of nothing will be extra horrifying than any monster. And as an enormous coward, I would agree. Ever since my older sister pressured me to look at 1992’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula on laserdisc, I would recognized horror as a style is not for me. I do not play horror video games or learn horror tales, and usually tune out when individuals are discussing creepypasta and the like.

To today one of many few exceptions to my horror aversion is Amnesia: The Darkish Descent, a recreation that thrived on imposing cowardice. You’ll be able to’t struggle the monsters in Amnesia, and may barely even stand to take a look at them, and it is in that pressured mode of reluctance that the concern takes maintain. When you possibly can see them in any respect, they’re grotesque and inhuman, and generally you possibly can’t see them, interval. It is a masterful instance of “much less means extra” in a recreation tradition the place extra is sort of all the time handled as higher, additionally benefiting from the truth that generally what we do not know will be much more distressing than what we do.

Bass

Journey video games, like these made by Humongous Leisure, have been my gateway into gaming. Their simplicity and concentrate on writing over mechanics make them an ideal match for attempting the medium out. However at such an impressionable age, not each journey recreation is a good suggestion.

So there’s this gap in The Neverhood that tells you to not bounce in, in any other case you’ll die. I do not keep in mind if I anticipated the sport to be mendacity to me, or if I simply wasn’t in a position to learn the indicators in any respect. In any case, my curiosity obtained the higher of me. I clicked on the drain, and Klaymen fell.

And fell.

And fell. Infinitely.

Imagining dying after such a protracted fall was terrifying. Imagining myself falling ceaselessly, much more so. I’ll all the time keep in mind this pit and its nightmarish implications.

Jonathan Holmes

There was undoubtedly a time after I would have mentioned Chiller, the arcade cupboard, was my vote for many nightmarish online game character. Simply the truth that a recreation about capturing bare torture victims with a crossbow till the flesh was torn from their bones was allowed in a kids’s arcade informed me extra concerning the world than my 10 year-old-mind was ready to know. The mere existence of that recreation made me queasy for years afterward. Today although, it would not hit me fairly as arduous. Perhaps it is as a result of I’ve since learn all concerning the considering that went into creating the sport, and I do know that the builders of Chiller have been additionally disturbed by what they made. 

So what’s the recreation that leaves me feeling essentially the most traumatized in 2018? Like Chiller, it is one other recreation the place you, the participant, are put able the place you must maim an harmless to progress. The psychological horror of controlling J.J. Macfield and strolling her into a hearth, solely to have her scream “WHY!?!?” whereas she crumples to a black husk on the bottom, is essentially the most unsettling sight in a recreation that I can consider in the meanwhile.

Swery is nice at making video games the place you play the a part of a facet of the protagonist’s psyche that isn’t built-in into their larger ego house. In Lethal Premonition, you’re Zach, guiding York round and speaking to him in his head, whilst you management his arms on the wheel. You might be part of Agent York, however you aren’t York as he sees himself. You might be part of him that he sees as another person. Individuals I do know who hear voices and keep it up full conversations with those who their unconscious has created expertise just about the very same phenomena.

With��The Lacking, you do not play as a hallucinatory pressure, however as a substitute tackle the position of J.J.’s self-destructive urges, and extra so, her feeling that sacrificing herself to avoid wasting another person is value it. Even when which means being the sufferer of the world’s anger, although it is typically arduous to inform the place her world ends and her inside emotional conflicts start.

Ughhh it’s so actual and unhappy. Swery actually nailed it this time. 

Wealthy Meister

I have a tendency to not frighten simply. As a child this was not the case, a plastic skeleton might make me bounce by way of the rattling roof, however no matter my childhood cowardice one nightmarish set of creatures nonetheless provides me the creeps as an grownup. The household in Ocarina of Time’s Home of Skulltula. 

In the event you’re unfamiliar with this specific facet quest, there’s a home in The Legend of Zelda Ocarina of time inhabited by a as soon as very rich household. The household, cursed for his or her greed has been remodeled into horrific big Skulltula spiders. It is as much as Hyperlink to destroy each Gold Skulltula within the recreation to free them. 

They do not look notably horrifying within the recreation itself, however the pure idea of those big arachnids all mashed up with bits of human flesh nonetheless makes me shiver.

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[briangroth27]

Groth Potential Blog Index

For my new followers and anyone wanting to take a look back at older posts, here are direct links to everything I’ve written so far. I hope you find something you enjoy and/or a new conversation starter!

About Me Puns Puns 2 Homemade Archery Targets

Short Stories 1-9 are the Spooky Shorts I’ve written for Halloween a couple of years ago. Some have NSFW language and violence, but I try not to go overboard. The tenth is a fairy tale from the dragon’s perspective.

1. Intuition 2. Visage 3. Lock Your Doors! 4. Sweet Tooth 5. Flicker 6. Deathbed 7. Deadly Decor 8. Campfire Tales 9. The Final Girls 10. Less a Princess   

Short Films The first link contains two short films I wrote, directed, and acted in back in college as well as a play I starred in (but did not write or direct) afterwards. The second link will take you to my college senior capstone project, a one-man show I wrote, directed, and performed.

1. Men Simplified: The Pizza Box, The Bourne Romantic, and Showing Your Hand 2. An Evening at Fred’s

Make This Show Pitches for shows I’d love to see. And write.

1. Super-Fast Friends 2. Hawkgirl

What’s Wrong With This Picture? Finding the good in disliked movies.

1. Ghostbusters II 2. Star Trek Into Darkness

TV/Movie Speculation & Theories 1. The Flash: Who is Zoom? 2. Supergirl: The Secret Tragic Origin of Kara Danvers 3. The Flash: Who was that Masked Man??? 4. The Flash: What Has Barry (Un)Done?!? 5. Supergirl: Welcome to Earth-1? 6. Arrow: Who is Vigilante? 7. The Flash: Who is Savitar? 8. Riverdale: The Most Unreliable Narrator? 9. Riverdale: Who Killed Jason Blossom? 10. The Flash: How to Save Iris West 11. Supergirl: What Happened to Mon-El? 12. Is the DCEU Headed for a Crisis? 13. Riverdale: Who is the Black Hood? 14. The Gifted: Whatever Happened to the Children of the Atom? 15. Timeless: Did Jessica Really Cheat Fate? 16. The Flash: Elementary, My Dear Thawne??

TV/Movie Opinions 1. Agent Carter: Don’t Close the File on Peggy Yet 2. Captain America: Bi, Bi, Mr. American Pie? 3. Ghostbusters 2016: I Ain’t Afraid of No Reboot! 4. Arrow Hit the Bull’s-Eye with Real Issues 5. 5 Things I Wish We’d Gotten from Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine 6. Fox Should Wait to Recast the X-men’s Logan 7. Batwoman is Coming to the Arrowverse...But on Which Earth? 8. Back to the MCU Part 1: The Fantastic Four 9. Back to the MCU Part 2: The X-Men

TV/Movie Wish Lists 1. Eleven Things I’d Love to See from Marvel Studios 2. Supergirl Season 2 Wish List 3. DC’s Legends of Tomorrow Season 2 Wish List 4. Arrow Season 5 Wish List 5. The Flash Season 3 Wish List 6. X-men Films Wish List 7. Bring These Shows Back! 8. Power Rangers 2 Wish List 11. DC’s Legends of Tomorrow Season 3 Wish List 12. Supergirl Season 3 Wish List 13. Netflix MCU Wish List (as of 2017) 14. The Flash Season 4 Wish List 15. Arrow Season 6 Wish List 16. Spider-man Films Wish List

Movie Reviews 1. Jurassic World 2. Ant-Man 3. Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation 4. Fantastic Four (2015) 5. Goosebumps 6. Spectre 7. Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens 8. 10 Cloverfield Lane 9. Deadpool 10. Batman V. Superman: Dawn of Justice 11. The Jungle Book (2016) 12. Captain America: Civil War 13. X-men Apocalypse 14. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows 15. Now You See Me 2 16. Independence Day Resurgence 17. Legend of Tarzan 18. Ghostbusters (2016) 19. Star Trek Beyond 20. Suicide Squad 21. Jason Bourne 22. Pete’s Dragon (2016)   23. Doctor Strange 24. Arrival 25. Star Wars Rogue One 26. Passengers 27. Moana 28. Split 29. The LEGO Batman Movie 30. Get Out 31. Logan 32. Hidden Figures 33. Kong: Skull Island 34. Power Rangers (2017) 35. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 36. Wonder Woman 37. Baby Driver 38. Spider-man Homecoming 39. Atomic Blonde 40. IT (2017) 41. Blade Runner 2049 42. Kingsman The Golden Circle 43. Thor Ragnarok 44. Justice League 45. Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi 46. Black Panther 47. The Cloverfield Paradox 48. Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle 49. The Shape of Water 50. Game Night 51. A Wrinkle in Time (2018) 52. Tomb Raider 53. Pacific Rim Uprising 54. A Quiet Place 55. Ready Player One 56. Avengers Infinity War 57. Deadpool 2 58. Solo: A Star Wars Story 59. Ocean’s 8 60. Incredibles 2 61. Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom 62. Ant-Man and the Wasp 63. Teen Titans Go! To the Movies 64. Mission: Impossible Fallout 65. The Nun 66. The House with a Clock in its Walls 67. Spider-man Into the Spider-Verse 68. Hell Fest 69. Halloween (2018) 70. Goosebumps 2 71. Venom (2018) 72. Aquaman 73. Alita Battle Angel 74. Captain Marvel 75. Bumblebee 76. Mini-Reviews: Escape Room & Captive State 77. Mini-Reviews: Ralph Breaks the Internet & The LEGO Movie 2 78. Us 79. Pet Sematary (2019) 80. Shazam! 81. Avengers Endgame 82. Dark Phoenix 83. Men in Black: International 84. Toy Story 4 85. Spider-man: Far From Home 86. Annabelle Comes Home 87. Pokémon: Detective Pikachu 88. Godzilla: King of the Monsters 89. Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark 90. Ready or Not 91. Dora and the Lost City of Gold 92. IT Chapter Two 93. Joker 94. Gemini Man

TV Reviews 1. Vixen Season 1 2. Daredevil Season 2 3. iZombie Season 2 4. Sleepy Hollow Season 3 5. Supergirl Season 1 6. The X-Files Season 10 7. Agent Carter Season 2 8. Bates Motel Season 4 9. DC’s Legends of Tomorrow Season 1 10. Arrow Season 4 11. The Flash Season 2 12. The 100 Season 3 13. Person of Interest Season 5 14. Houdini & Doyle Season 1 15. Stranger Things Season 1 16. Amazon Pilot Season: The Tick & Jean-Claude Van Johnson 17. The Get Down (Part 1) 18. BrainDead Season 1 19. Vixen Season 2 20. Luke Cage Season 1 21. Sherlock Series 4 22. Westworld Season 1 23. Scream Queens Season 2 24. The Exorcist Season 1 25. Iron Fist Season 1 26. Timeless Season 1 27. The Good Place Season 1 28. Dimension 404 Season 1 29. Legion Season 1 30. Bates Motel Season 5 31. Riverdale Season 1 32. Sleepy Hollow Season 4 33. Amazon Pilots 2017: Will vs. the Future, Skyward, A Kid Called Mayonnaise 34. DC’s Legends of Tomorrow Season 2 35. Supergirl Season 2 36. Marvel’s Defenders Season 1 37. The Flash Season 3 38. Arrow Season 5 39. iZombie Season 3 40. The 100 Season 4 41. Stranger Things 2 42. Marvel’s Inhumans Season 1 43. The Punisher Season 1 44. Freedom Fighters: The Ray Season 1 45. The Exorcist Season 2 46. Black Mirror Series 4 47. Runaways Season 1 48. The Get Down Part 2 49. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2012) Season 5 50. The End of the F***ing World Season 1 51. The Good Place Season 2 52. The Gifted Season 1