#sad we will probably never get a full body shot

[scottishmushroom]

Gif: @fuckyeahgoodomens

Keeps me on my toes.

Gif: @raggeddypond

[al-melon]

JUST GOT BACK FROM THE FNAF MOVIE

SPOILERS AND SCREAMING UNDER THE CUT

FIRST OF ALL i just wanna take a second to say the absolute JOY and UNFILTERED SEROTONIN i felt when the living tombstone's fnaf 1 song started playing during the credits is a high i will ride for the rest of my life. let ALONE the fact that almost everyone in the theater immediately started singing along. everyone in that theater i love you.

second of all i cannot fucking believe scott had the fucking AUDACITY to JUMPSCARE us with BALLOON BOY of ALL fucking wretched little bitches. not once, not twice, THREE FUCKING TIMES.

so angry. well played, scott.

i was so happy we got brief cameos from matpat AND coryxkenshin! i was so happy for cory especially. was really hoping for a dawko cameo too, but hopefully we'll get one next time!

i also wanna mention that i never would've guessed that we'd get a scene of the animatronics behaving like kids!!! it was SO cute to see them play with abby and be silly, i never knew i needed that so badly until now. i'm not joking, literally half of my theater went "awwwww..." when abby drew the heart and gave it to bonnie, and then bonnie turned to show it to the others 🥺 i wanna hug them all so badly now... they're so CUTE. they're my babies now if mike won't go back I WILL

i'm sure this makes me a terrible person, but one of the things i was hoping so desperately for was that we would get to WATCH WILLIAM DIE, and i am SO happy that they made it as brutal and painful as possible. the satisfaction i felt as the animatronics dragged a squirming, slowly dying william away to suffer and the kids getting their revenge was worth the 8 year wait. i also now understand why matthew lillard was like "can we even show this" LMAO that shit was brutal and i'm almost shocked they kept it in while keeping a pg-13 rating.

i love that they kept foxy singing to himself, and i KNEW the second that dude stepped into the closet bonnie would be there and i was ECSTATIC when he flipped on the light and i was right. predictable sure but who cares honestly, it was amazing!

i also can't believe sparky really WAS in parts and service. i'm so fucking done with you, scott. fucking sparky. at least i ASSUME that's who the dog character was, unless it was a reference to fetch, which would be way less cool.

will say i was fucking THROWN by vanessa being william's daughter. um scuse me? what about elizabeth? is she not canon to the movies? guess we'll find out lol. i was also really hoping we would've at least gotten a HINT of the puppet, but i guess the puppet being in the fnaf 1 location the whole time really wouldn't work in this scenario. seeing as she was supposed to be the only one truly aware, it definitely wouldn't have worked as well. hope we see her next time!

overall i give the movie a 9.5/10! my only complaint is i feel like there wasn't QUITE enough scary stuff. another ten or so minutes of horror would've done wonders, i think. this is a day one dvd buy for sure! can't wait to see what extra features the dvd will come with, and i hope it comes with commentary <3

[blushweddinggowns]

I'm all for the angsty overhearing a conversation trope where it's all sad because of a misunderstanding. But I also love the opposite. Overhearing a conversation where the other person is just singing their praises. Especially with Steve and Eddie.

Like Steve being very aware that he likes Eddie, but way too afraid of rejection to actually do anything about it. So he just pines away, and gets closer and closer to him with the full expectation of it never going anywhere. Until one day, he comes to pick Dustin up from Hellfire too early, and he can hear everyone talking through the door. About him. But mostly it's Eddie, his loud voice carrying across the room. And he's just raving about him, and somehow managing to bring him up in conversations that have nothing to do with him.

Do you remember that time Steve saved my life by shoving my guts back into my body? Yeah, that's the level of skill and luck you're going to need to survive this.

Did you guys know that Steve actually gave me this background music? He's weirdly knowledgeable about classical stuff. Isn't that cool? He's so smart and-oh, yeah, the merchant agrees to the deal.

So uh, is Steve maybe seeing anyone? He isn't right? Like he would tell me if he was, wouldn't he?

And he doesn't give a single fuck at the collective groaning of the group whenever he gets going, never failing to pull out the I almost Died saving the world with you card to get them to shut up. And by the time it actually ends, Steve is a glowing, blushing mess who can't stop smiling.

Or the other way around. With Eddie full on assuming he has 0 shot because Steve's, Steve.

The golden boy who could obviously never be into him like that, or any other guy for that matter. So he doesn't do anything about his feelings, he just hangs out with him more and more and falls for him more and more, waiting for the inevitable day when he gets a girlfriend and his fantasies could finally die. Except one day, he spends the night at Steve's, but he isn't in bed when he wakes up. He goes to find him, just to hear him downstairs loudly talking to Robin. Because neither of them know the concept of inside voices when they're together. And he waits at the top, listening in just for the fuck of it, but mostly because he doesn't want to interrupt.

"I just feel like bed sharing the way you guys do is gay as hell," Robin sighed, "Especially at your age. Also, should we even be talking about this with him in the house?"

And before Eddie has time to freak out over that and the possibility he's gotten caught with his feelings, Steve is already answering, "I know right? And don't worry about it, he sleeps like the dead. But I don't know what to do about it. He still hasn't done anything. Am I just reading this whole thing wrong?"

"Well you could try making the first move instead of trying to trick him into doing it," Robin tried.

"And ruin our friendship incase I'm wrong? Yeah, no. Besides, I go like, full dumbass around him when I'm nervous. He's too hot. I'd probably walk into a wall in the middle of professing my undying love."

"Yeah," Robin sighed, "You probably would."

And Eddie is just having a moment upstairs. A full on I think I may have to jump for joy moment. Or even, I think I'm five seconds away from squealing like a teenage girl moment.

Yeah, I like that shit.

[rowenablade]

Okay. I’m going to wait to do a second watch before I articulate most of my other feelings here, but I want to address one thing.

I’m seeing a lot of posts like, “I related to Izzy because I am also queer and older/disabled/depressed. By killing him off, the writers are saying that I deserve to die.”

Guys.

I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid. I totally understand grieving a character that you relate to. But speaking as a writer, I just want to point out that trying to write with the shadow of “what is the absolute worst and most harmful way a reader can interpret this” will smother your ability to create. Twisting yourself in knots, trying to think up the worst-faith takes possible and scotch-guarding all your writing decisions against them is exhausting to the point of making you just not want to write anymore.

And we’ve seen the writers deliberately choose not to do this in Season 1. Remember all those terrible “Izzy is racist” takes that the writers and cast seemed completely blindsided by? That happened because the writers and directors and actors weren’t going over every scene with a fine tooth comb, ferreting out every shot or line of dialogue or micro expression that could possibly be interpreted as racist, and scrubbing it off. Because there comes a point where your story is what it needs to be, and you have to accept that some people will interpret it in ways you didn’t intend them to. And if you can’t accept that, you’ll never find the courage to put your work out there.

The point of diverse casts and writing teams isn’t to achieve a state of, “Nothing bad ever happens to a character from a marginalized demographic ever again.” It’s to achieve a status quo of these types of characters just being people in the world of the story. Not symbols, not representation boxes to tick, not tokens that you can point to so that you can say, “Here, we acknowledged this type of person exists, now where’s our woke points?”

OFMD is full of characters of color, queer characters, older characters, characters of differing body types. And in stories, things happen to characters. Some fall in love. Some make the same mistakes over and over. Some turn into birds. Some die.

Izzy’s character represents a lot of things, but he does not represent every older, disabled fan or fan who has struggled with suicide, any more than Jim represents all genderqueer fans, or Olu represents all black fans. That’s not how the writers were handling him. They were handling him like a character, because that’s what you have to do.

Again, I understand being sad. I am so, so fucking sad. But this idea of, “Any time something bad happens to a character I relate to means that the writer thinks I deserve these bad things to happen to me,” will poison everything you engage with eventually. Because stories are full of things happening to characters, and they won’t all be good things. And the more representation we get, the more often bad things will happen to characters we relate to.

But good things will happen too.

Queer couples get married. Disabled women run off with their favorite husbands. Middle-aged characters change careers. A multiracial polycule finds a home at sea. A fat man covered in tattoos stars in a drag show and all his friends cheer. All these things happened in the same show as Izzy’s death. This is what this world is.

Anyway. I know emotions are running high and I’ll probably get blocked or unfollowed by a few people for this. But I’m just trying to find my peace where I can, and if anyone else finds this useful, cheers.

[ellemj]

Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 10 (FINAL PART)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

*Read parts 1-9 first for the full effect!*

Summary: Everything is out in the open between you and Bucky now, but there are two rules for your new secret relationship.

Warnings: unprotected sex, teasing, possessive!Bucky (hehehe), maybe fluff (?), profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author's Note: We've finally reached the end. I think I'll miss this version of Bucky and reader but I'm pretty excited about the work that I'm planning on putting out here next. Hopefully everyone's okay with the conclusion of this, I didn't want to have anyone riding off into the sunset or anything, but I also didn't want to have a horribly sad ending, so this felt right. You guys should totally let me know in the comments what kind of things you'd like to see from me soon! I don't know if I'll take specific requests anytime soon, but I'd love to at least find out what might get you all excited. Thanks for the umpteenth time to @littlemiss-yeehaw for being the best cheerleader and warnings-writer out there. She also draws some unbelievable shots of Bucky based on scenes in these fics.

           

In the shower, on the hotel bed, in the chair by the window, hell, even on the floor when the two of you rolled off of the bed in the heat of the moment. You’d successfully christened every surface of your hotel room before the clock ever struck midnight. You hadn’t meant to go at it like horny teenagers who found themselves home alone for the first time, but that’s what happened. It’s like you were both thinking about how this may not continue once you get back to the compound tomorrow morning, so you fit as much as you could all in one night.

            Now, you’re laying side by side in bed. Your most recent tryst involved you on your hands and knees with Bucky doing all of the right things behind you, and it thoroughly winded you both. You listen as your collective breaths fill the air, the two of you each coming down from your post-orgasmic highs.

            “Do you think Dr. Raynor will figure this out?” You ask softly, raising a hand and wiping a bit of sweat from your brow. Bucky laughs and turns his head to look at you. He still can’t get past how pretty you look after doing such dirty, animalistic things with him. Even without the super soldier serum decreasing his refractory period to mere minutes, he thinks he’d be recovered and ready for round five just from looking at you like this.

            “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

            “It’s on my mind, yeah.” You admit. You’re probably more worried about it than you should be, but deep down, Bucky’s worried too.

            “So, how do you want to handle it?” Bucky asks, fully rolling onto his side to face you.

            “Maybe we just wait and see what she has to say after observing tonight’s mission and then go from there. I don’t want to say anything first and give her anything to use against us.” He’s listening to your words, honestly, he is. He doesn’t think he could ever miss a word you say. But he can’t stop himself from reaching over and running his fingertips along your flushed cheek. You turn to look at him and he lets his fingers ghost over your lips and down the column of your throat until he reaches the notch between your collarbones. His eyes linger there for a moment. Something’s missing.

            “You never gave me my dog tags back.” He whispers. You’re not wearing them, and neither is he. So, where are they?

            “Yeah, I wasn’t sure when to give them back.”

            “Bullshit, you wanted to keep them.” Bucky teases. You push his hand away from your neck at the accusation, but can’t stop the smile that’s creeping over your features. Fuck, he’s so into you. He closes the distance between the two of you and places his body carefully over yours under the covers, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. Even just kissing you sets off fireworks inside of him.

            “They’re sitting on my nightstand, back in the compound.” You tell him, hoping it doesn’t make you sound too obsessed. You had planned to give them back all week, but avoiding him made that a little difficult, so instead you left them sitting beside your bed. It was sort of comforting to see his name every night before you fell asleep, and every morning when you woke up.

            “Keep them.” He insists, pressing another kiss to your soft, soft lips. You get lost in the moment, focusing on the feeling of his tongue working against yours, his scent enveloping you in the most consuming way, and his weight keeping you pinned to the mattress. You could stay like this forever.

            This, of course, is when Bucky’s phone would ring. He groans in annoyance as he breaks the kiss and touches his forehead to yours, looking down into your eyes.

            “Tell me not to answer it.” He pleads. You purse your lips, knowing it’s probably someone from the team calling with some kind of update or new order. Bucky groans again before rolling off of you and snatching his phone off of the bedside table. He answers it and puts it on speaker, confirming that it’s someone from the team.

            “Hey, sorry to call so late. The threat has been neutralized so you guys can head back now and get some sleep, we’ll debrief in the morning.” Sam sounds tired but calm, so it must have been more of a nuisance situation than a major threat. Bucky closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his vibranium hand.

            “Sounds good, we’ll be back soon.” He grumbles. You can tell he’s annoyed that you won’t be staying the night here. When he hangs up the call, he lets out a deep sigh before sitting up on the side of the bed, with the covers gathering around his waist. Without thinking, you crawl up behind him and wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him from behind. He stiffens as if he didn’t expect your touch, but that just makes you lean into him more, resting your chin on his shoulder. You feel him slowly relax and having that effect on him warms you to the center of your being

            “We’re going to go home, get some rest, and debrief in the morning like this was any other mission.” You say, attempting to be reassuring.

            “That’s what you want? To pretend like this was any other mission?” He questions, running his hands over where your arms are wrapped around his abs.

            “I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant we don’t have to run in and tell everyone that something might be going on between us.”

            “Might?” He chuckles. You feel his abs shake beneath your hands as the melodious sound leaves his lips. You never heard him laugh much before, and you didn’t expect to like it as much as you do.

            “Hey, I told you that I fell for you, and you said fuck, I’m cumming. How am I supposed to know you feel the same way?” You tease, letting go of him and laying back on the bed, drawing the covers up over your naked body. He turns a bit to face you and starts pulling the covers away from you slowly.

            “Y/n…” He says your name with so much genuine feeling that it sends tingles throughout your body. Has he always said your name like that and you just never noticed before? Yes. “I made you wear my dog tags while I fucked you.” What the hell does that have to do with what you just said? He can see the confusion on your face and it brings a smile to his. He slides back under the covers next to you and begins peppering kisses across your shoulder and collarbone.

            “Bucky…” Fuck, if you start saying his name again there’s no way either of you will make it back to the compound tonight. He quickly makes his way up to your face, attaching his lips to yours for a moment and then tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away. It’s the nicest way anyone has ever shut you up.

            “I wanted to be able to pretend like you were mine. I fell way before you did.” He whispers against your lips. Holy shit. He feels the same way. Bucky Barnes feels the same way about you as you feel about him.

            You know that you have orders to head back to the compound, and neither of you are the type to disobey orders from above, but how are you supposed to pack up and head out after finding out that you have feelings for each other? You can’t stand the thought of traveling back to the compound tonight knowing that you’ll have to put on a show and pretend like nothing happened here. So, why not delay a bit and take what you want one more time?

            That very rational thinking is what inspires you to slide your hand between the two of you and wrap your fist around Bucky’s already-hardening cock. He sucks in a breath at the feeling of your small, soft hand wrapping tightly around him, and he wonders how he went so long without having you this way. You’ve been right across the hall from him all of this time. You’ve been going on missions with him for the last two months, giving each other shit nearly every waking moment, and completely missing what had been there the whole time. Love. He won’t say it out loud yet, he doesn’t want to scare you off, but that’s what it is. He’s sure of it. He loves you. He may not say it but he can damn well express it.

            That’s how Bucky finds himself, for the fifth time tonight, guiding the tip of his cock inside of your perfect cunt. He’s done this enough times now that he knows as soon as he bottoms out inside of you, you’ll tense up and scrunch your eyes closed, trying your hardest to adjust to his size. He watches as you do just that, and then he feels your entire body relax beneath him and he knows you’re ready. He pulls one of your legs up and over his hip as he begins fucking you into the mattress. When your eyes flutter open to meet his, he has to go completely still inside you so he won’t cum right then and there. You laugh to yourself. You know what eye contact does to him and you love it.

            “What’s the matter, James? Keep going.” You taunt, wiggling your hips and forcing his cock to slide into you another inch. He’s only halfway inside of you. He breathes out a slow, calming breath before leaning down and nuzzling his face into your neck, letting his cock sink into you slower than it ever has before.

            “You like rushing me, don’t you?” He asks, giving your cunt gentle thrusts. A soft hum leaves your lips at the pleasure that’s beginning to build in your lower stomach. You’re so focused on the feeling that you don’t even acknowledge his question. “Don’t rush me tonight.” He buries himself to the hilt before stilling once more, drawing a whine from your lips. “We’re making love, not fucking, sweetheart.”

---

            A few hours later that same morning, a very uneventful debrief took place in the conference room at the compound. You and Bucky turned in your mission reports, leaving out the details of what happened in the hotel room, and then you were dismissed to have a few hours of freedom before having to meet with Dr. Raynor.

            Everyone probably assumed that the two of you went off to your respective rooms upstairs, but it took little convincing to get Bucky to sneak over into yours. When he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the first thing he noticed was his dog tags, right where you said they were.

You kick your shoes off by the door and walk over to sit on one of the small gray chairs that you have off to the side of the room, feeling surprisingly nervous that Bucky Barnes is seeing your room for the first time. Nervous. After everything the two of you have done this week? You’re ridiculous. You watch him as he crosses the room and scoops the dog tags off of your nightstand. He stares at them in his palm for a moment, and for a second you worry that he might pocket them. However, when he turns to you with a soft smile and a mischievous glint in his eye, your fears are assuaged.

“Do you have any rules? For this thing that we’ve got going on?” Bucky asks, taking the free chair across from you and setting the dog tags flat on the coffee table that separates the two of you. You tilt your head to the side, studying him closely. You see what he’s doing. The first night, while under the influence of that chemical, you gave him one rule: no kissing. He returned with his own rule: wear his dog tags while he fucks you.

“I have one. We keep this a secret, just between us, for as long as we can.” You respond, letting your eyes trail over his physique. He’s sitting in your chair the same way he sat in the chair in the hotel room last night. The man knows how to demand attention without saying a damn word. You watch as his licks his bottom lip and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Fine. It’s a secret.” He agrees, his gaze briefly lingering on your neck. “But I have one rule too.” He reaches out with his flesh hand and begins sliding the dog tags across the table toward you. “You’ll never take these off again.”

BONUS CHAPTER

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[thegettingbyp2]

Can you do one where jasper hale and the reader are doing the deed and Carlisle and Esme walk in on the thing happening. Thank you ❤️

Also fem reader plz

DRINK WATER thanks love ya

Caught

You whined softly as Jasper’s hips pushed gently into yours again, one of his hands firmly planted on the bed next to your head in order to keep his weight off of your body as his other hand trailed softly along your body. Jasper was getting better with understanding that you weren’t going to snap if he held onto you a bit tighter, but when it came down to sex, he was still terrified of hurting you. Your whine caused Jasper to stop suddenly as he looked down at you, bringing his hand up to your cheek.

‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, worry filling his eyes.

‘No,’ you replied, running your hands up his chest, gripping onto his shoulders as you pulled yourself up, pressing your chest against his. Jasper brought his arm around your waist to keep you against him as he buried his head into your shoulder, kissing your skin gently. ‘Jasper you’d never hurt me. If you wanted, you could go faster, you know, harder?’ you continued, your cheeks heating up, suddenly glad that he wasn’t able to see your face.

‘(Y/N), I don’t think I’d be able to control myself, I barely have it together at the moment,’ he said, chuckling into your shoulder, his chuckle turning into a groan when he felt you clench around him.

‘I trust you,’ you said, pulling his head up until he was looking at you. ‘You won’t hurt me, please Jasper, it feels so good.’

Jasper looked at you for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours. ‘You tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?’

‘I promise,’ you said quickly, nodding your head as he lowered you back down against the bed. You shivered when you felt his grip tighten on you ever so slightly as he thrust into you again, a cry being torn from your lips at the force. Jasper continued to pick up the speed of his thrusts until he had a gasp falling from your lips every time his hips met yours. Dipping his head back down to the column of your throat, your breath stuck as you felt him graze his teeth along your skin, silently wondering what if would feel like if he sunk his teeth into you.

He was so lost in you that he didn’t hear the sounds of Carlisle and Esme coming back home from a hunt. Carlisle and Esme heard the sounds of your cries and instantly ran up the stairs, following the sound to Jasper’s room, afraid that their newest son had lost control while they had been away. When the door opened, Jasper’s gaze shot over to the movement and, upon seeing who it was, pulled out of you and wrapped your naked body in a blanket before you could blink.

‘You’d gone out,’ Jasper said, panting slightly, his body hovering protectively over you.

‘We had, but then we came home,’ Carlisle said, a small smile appearing on his lips.

‘We heard (Y/N) and thought,’ Esme trailed off when he saw the look of sadness and guilt that passed across Jasper’s face.

‘You thought that I’d lost control and hurt her,’ Jasper finished for her. ‘I’m getting better and - ’

The combination of your hand coming to rest gently on Jasper’s cheek and Carlisle’s words cut him off before he could start to get worked up. ‘We know, son. But with a human in a house full of vampires, that’s the first thing that comes to mind when,’ Carlisle gestured in front of him, his shoulders shaking with supressed laughter. ‘But we can go back out, let the two of you, you know,’ he said, smirking slightly as he wrapped his arm around Esme’s shoulders and led her back downstairs, closing the door behind them.

‘You know, for someone with amazing hearing, you probably should have heard them come in,’ you teased, trying to cheer Jasper up. It worked as a small smile replaced that sad frown that had taken over his features and he turned his attention back towards you.

‘Well sorry ma’am if I was a bit distracted,’ he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. ‘I am getting better though right, being around you?’

‘Baby,’ you cooed, tugging him down until he was lying next to you and you curled your body into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. ‘You’re amazing, you didn’t need to get better at anything, you just had to get used to being around me. And based on what was interrupted, you’re definitely used to me being around,’ you said, unable to hide the smirk on your lips.

[misctf]

Coach's Curse

Jason could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he propelled himself on his skates. He expertly navigated between his opponents, doing his best to tune out the cheering crowd and the shouting of his teammates. And as Jason reared his hockey stick back and fired the puck forward, he felt as if the world went still. He watched as it sailed through the air- as the goalie attempted to block his shot. But as he watched the puck find the back of the net and the buzzer sound, he could barely believe it.

Jason immediately was tackled by his teammates, all of them cheering and yelling in celebration. He did it. He scored the game winning goal. The championship hockey game- and he scored the game winning point. The next part was a blur. He was in the locker room with his teammates, all of them still basking in their victory. Jason beamed as the victory cowboy hat was placed on his head. There were plans for a big party later that night with a few of the frats and sororities on campus. And Jason couldn’t be more excited. As the winner of the game, he was sure he’d get a few girls in bed that night. But as he thought about the night ahead of him, his coach told everyone to quiet down. As per game tradition, Coach Henderson was giving them a victory speech. But something about the speech was off. It was almost somewhat... dull. Maybe even a hint of sadness. Jason ignored it, thinking it was probably just coach getting all sentimental. Besides, it had been 15 years since coach’s last victory.

“Jason,” His coach’s deep voice boomed through the locker room, “I have your game winning puck in my office. Come with me.”

Jason smirked and followed Henderson out of the locker room and down the corridor lined with old jerseys as his team cheered him on. He remembered his first walk down these halls when he was a freshman, excited to start his time on the team. He never imagined that his college hockey career would end like this.

“Oh Jason.” Coach Henderson mumbled as they entered his office, “I never thought I’d see this day. It’s been so long.”

“Doesn’t matter how long it’s been.” Jason smirked, “We fucking did it.”

Henderson frowned, “You know all those years ago, I didn’t know what to make of it. When I stood in this very room.”

“Yeah but it’s all worth it. Doesn’t matter if it took you fifteen years or whatever to get another one.” Jason frowned as something cool passed through him.  

Coach smiled slightly, “At first it didn’t feel like I had a choice. But I think I’m going to miss it.” He took a deep breath, “You see, many years ago the real Coach Henderson put a curse on the team.” The room was silent, with Jason standing and processing the odd statement.

“What are you talking about?” Jason chuckled, “This some kind of joke?”  

“It was to teach a douchebag on the team a lesson. But the curse continued even after that.” Jason shuddered as he felt more cool air pass through him, “The winner of the championship game, to prevent them from becoming too full of themselves, would have to become the team’s coach. And lead them to victory.”

Jason could barely process the words as his whole body started to shake violently. He tried to tell Henderson that he wasn’t feeling well, but the words couldn’t leave his mouth. The whole world was starting to spin now and he fell to his knees, shivering as the coldness around him became unbearable. But that’s when he noticed it. He raised his hand and looked, inspecting it closely. The skin of his hand looked more weathered, lighter even. He raised an eyebrow as he watched the hair on it become lighter in color as well.

“I wasn’t always coach.” Henderson said as he raised his hand. Jason’s eyes widened as he watched coach’s hand become more tan, the weathered appearance disappearing, “My name was AJ. But fifteen years ago I scored the game winning goal.”

Jason was unable to respond as the feeling in his skin intensified. He fell to his back and writhed as his body started shifting. He could feel the changes moving up his arm and he forced himself to watch as his biceps expanded at first with muscle. This was soon followed with a thick layer of fat- while the skin became more weathered and tired with age. He looked at his changed arm in horror, feeling the new skin and fat with his other hand.

‘This doesn’t make sense!’ He thought, a feeling of dread passing through him as he saw his other hand begin to change, ‘Curses aren’t real! This isn’t real!’ He looked up at Henderson, who’s arms had lost their fat, replaced instead by strong muscles- muscles that put Jason’s old ones to shame.

And that wasn’t all Jason noticed. Coach’s belly shrunk. And Jason quickly learned what that meant for him. His stomach start to grumble, the sound becoming more and more intense. He looked at Henderson with desperation, silently pleading for help, but found his coach frowning at him. Jason let out a belch and a thin layer of fat covered his lean abdomen and chest. Another belch and now a slight pudge graced his features. And with each belch Jason’s abdomen expanded and expanded. And with one final loud belch, Jason could feel his stomach reach its final size. At the same time, his lean chest pushed out with fat and muscle, jiggling slightly as he moved. Jason cringed at this foreign feeling. At this new heaviness that he never appreciated in his life. Ever since he was young, he was lean and in shape. Years of practice and playing hockey gifted him with his physique. And he shuddered at the realization it only took a few minutes to reverse that entirely. He pushed himself into a sitting position and watched as his gut fell into his lap. Jason placed a hand on his belly and frowned. It really was his. It was real. He looked up at Henderson, who was running a hand over his perfect abdominal muscles. The two met each other’s gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Henderson whispered, running a hand over his head as blond locks started to sprout.

Jason copied the motion, running a hand through his black hair and knocking his victory hat off. As his hand moved through his hair though, clumps of it began to fall out and disappear into nothingness. At this point, a few tears fall from his eyes and onto his plump abdomen. He cherished his hair- always making sure to style it and keep it well maintained. He loved when chicks ran their hands through it. But now it was gone, replaced by the same buzz cut that Coach Henderson sported. And as he looked up at Henderson, who’s neck fat receded and face became more angular, Jason knew that his face was changing. Fat filling his angular face. His neck disappearing under a layer of chub.

“I know I shouldn’t brag.” Henderson- or AJ said, feeling his face with a grin, “But it really feels nice to be back.” He rubbed at the goatee that still adorned his face, which quickly began to fall away with each touch.

Jason’s hand shot to his new face and frowned as he felt hair sprout from his upper lip and chin. He liked to be clean shaven. But just like that, his face was now adorned with his new facial hair. And that’s when he noticed an itchiness move across his chubby body. The small amount of body hair he did have already started to fill in more, blanketing his chest and flabby belly in a nice coat of hair. He watched as his treasure trail grew with hairs sprouting along the sides of it. It crawled up his abdomen until it reached his chest, which then erupted in a dense layer of hair before expanding out and coating the remainder of his chest. Jason rubbed a hand through it, wincing at the feeling. And as he looked down at himself, still trying to process that this was real- that this was him- AJ extended his hand.

“Here coach.” AJ said calmly. Jason frowned and grabbed AJ’s hand, allowing the younger man to help him up. As he stood up, he shuddered as his ass jiggled with its new padding, “I know this is a lot to process.” AJ’s voice was less gruff now, a youthful tone now escaping his lips, “But I’ve told you what you need to know. You’re Coach Henderson now, at least until some other poor guy wins the championship game. But until then you’ve gotta coach them, got it?”

Jason’s eyes were wide, unable to fully process any of this. He was going to stay stuck like this? Until the team won a championship? It took fifteen years... would he be like this for the next fifteen years?

“No fucking way.” Jason winced at how deep and gruff his voice had become, “No, turn me the fuck back. I just won the game. There’s no way...”

“No, I just won the game.” AJ replied, placing the victory hat on his head, “From this point on, Jason never existed... at least until the next time this team takes home the championship. People will think I won the game tonight.”

“But my friends? My family? What...?”

“Everything will return to normal when you lead the team to victory, okay Jason? Until then, you have all the tools you need. All the basic memories to get by day to day.” AJ smiled, “Use those memories of who you were to motivate you. That’s what I needed to do. But from this moment on, you’re Coach Henderson. It’s easier if you accept that.”

Before Jason could reply, his former teammates called out for AJ. The hockey star gave Jason a smile and a nod, before heading out to celebrate his victory with the team. Jason could only stand there, in the quiet of his new office, the thrill of his victory turning into despair.

_______________________

Coach Henderson yawned as he pushed himself out of bed, careful not to wake the naked bear of a man sleeping next to him. He trudged through his apartment, scratching at his hairy chest and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. As he walked, he kicked a few beer bottles out of his way, barely acknowledging the messy state of his apartment. He plopped down at his computer, looking over briefly at a team photo. One where AJ proudly stood with their championship trophy. A photo taken about 16 years ago. Henderson turned his attention back to his computer, looking at the roster of new players that would be joining the team for the season. They looked promising- maybe just maybe this was the year.

He quickly shut his laptop and yawned- he always thought that. That hope that this year would be the year. Why should he think this year would be different? He stepped into his bathroom and looked at himself over in the mirror. Sixteen years looking like this- didn’t matter if he shaved, exercised, drank- his appearance remained unchanged. He let out a belch and frowned. He barely remembered his life as Jason or what he used to look like. It got to a point where he was starting to wonder if he was ever anyone else. And he stopped even thinking of himself as Jason. And maybe that was for the best. He could feel the magic that changed him feeding off his doubt, cementing itself. He wondered what would happen if he just let it completely win.

“You could...” A voice whispered in the back of his head, “Live the rest of your out as me.” It echoed, “Become me fully.”  

Henderson shook his head, and those thoughts became quieter. But soon another voice filled the room. One asking how he was doing and if he was excited for the year. One belonging to another man, who wrapped his arms around Henderson and gave him a kiss. A man that Jason would’ve never considered, but as Henderson couldn’t help it. And so maybe if this year didn’t end in victory, Henderson would have to take the voice in his head up on its offer. Maybe that was all he would need in the end to win anyway.

[sarah-yyy]

what: period cdrama // 40 eps, roughly 55 mins each  where: youku (you can also dl the app) // youtube // coming up soon on viki (usual disclaimer that i do not use eng subs so i don’t speak to the quality of subs) why: do you love watching a poor little meow-meow get tortured in a variety of ways before he decides to go fuck it, i’ll be a demon lord and kill everyone who wronged me?? do you like enemies to fated to kill you lovers??? do you enjoy PAIN AND SUFFERING??? this is the show for you

meet tantai jin, the cdrama fandom’s newest obsession 

cursed prince of the Jing kingdom who was sent as a hostage to a neighbouring kingdom. he’s been unloved and bullied all his life - think, discarded and left to die by his own father, kicked around by servants, begging for scraps of food, abandoned and slowly betrayed by everyone around him... it’s NOT GOOD buddies, you will watch his life unfold and you will become attached and want to let him do whatever the fuck he wants 

surprise surprise this sad pathetic man will one day become

THE demon lord who destroys all of humanity etc etc. look at this wardrobe upgrade??? amazing. beautiful. bad for humanity but great for him. good job, bud, you did well.

ANYWAY this show opens with demon lord tantai jin (affectionate) going on his lil’ murder spree (understandable). the fate of humanity as we know it to be rests on the shoulders of one li susu

to defeat tantai jin, she will transmigrate to the past into the body of ye xiwu (tantai jin’s evil wife who whips him every night (not in the fun way sorry buds) and tortures/bullies him for because it pleases her) to try to kill him while he’s weak, before he turns evil and amasses power. this is for the good of humanity!!! but also he’s truly so pathetic in the past that she can’t quite seem to put her heart into it (there’s also this whole finding his evil bone and getting rid of that before she can kill him problem but HMMM) and decides that?? maybe if she shows him some care and love??? she’ll subvert his murdermurdermurder tendencies????

this is the gist of the show!! there are a few arcs that we go through like all good xianxia cdramas, so we get to see them live through a few different lives (think: ten miles of peach blossom, pillow book etc etc), and every single dynamic between them is SO GOOD!!!!! we have spicy enemies to lovers!! cutesy arranged marriage between strangers to lovers (who don’t communicate enough for them to be happy)!!! star-crossed lovers fated to kill one another!!! 

the show is so goddamn pretty!! the aesthetics!!! the cgi!!!! the costumes ohmygod, i have never wanted to buy so many headdresses before

LOOK AT THIS!!! HOW PRETTY WAS THIS!!!!

he’s got this whole demon look LOCKED IN who else does it as well as my boy tantai jin

this show is very PRETTY but make no mistake there will be a lot of angst!!! that’s part of what makes it so good!! luo yunxi does Tortured, Feral and Deranged™ SO WELL i weep every time i see him on screen, i have truly not been Okay since this show started airing, buddies please join me in till the end of the moon hell, you will not regret it, promise 😇✨

⚠❗ few post-finale thoughts so y’all go into it with full disclosure (and can’t yell at me for inflicting pain on y’all, just know what i am also Suffering™) - stop reading from here if you want no spoilers for the show at all. 

trigger warning: there is some dubcon in ep 14 (stretches between approx. the 25:00-27:25 min mark) between ming ye and sang jiu 

we were all hoping for a happy ending, but this ends on a bad-open scale, depending on how you look at it. @minmoyu​ has helpfully directed me to a happy audio-epilogue which was apparently shot but didn’t make its way into the episode?? we still dk if the footage will be released as an extra?? we can all form a prayer circle and HOPE i guess

the plot is HMM the further to the end we get, probably because they had to cut the eps down, so it’s a little choppy, esp the last few scenes??? idk idk. it’s a bit exhausting to watch towards the end, because you root for ttj so so much and he tries so so hard and SIGH. i need another few working days to digest this, i’m still a bit :/ about the ending

would i still rec the show, post-watch? yes! this show starts off really solid, and luo yunxi carried the show throughout. like. y’all thought lyx was good in ashes of love?? watch him in this. every single micro-expression was flawless. bai lu’s acting is always so dependable, and it’s the same with this show!  

this show has an a+++ ost (i mean it’s got the king and queen of cdrama osts liu yuning and zhang bichen, literally how could this be bad)!! and CERTAIN side characters are so so good (pian ran my baby girl, ye qingyu who grows on you, decidedly NOT bingchang/tian huan/mo nv although i will concede that chen duling’s acting in this show was Incredible). 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: this is our place (we make the rules)

Chapter 2 - Probably should read ch1 first Gun has a new neighbour. Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Epilogue

Good manners cost nothing.

Certaining when you barely had a few wons to your name, that was all you could afford. And your pride.

So just because your neighbour essentially said ‘leave me alone, have a nice life’, he still did you a favour. 

That you owe him for.

Love thy neighbour and all that.

.

.

Gun Park’s home is not homely by any stretch of the imagination.

All black and white and grey, nearly industrial in taste with wooden accents. Straight lines and sharp edges softened by nature’s hues.

Very few furnishings adorn his apartment, minimal and just shy of clinical. Anything that has a place is the best of the best, luxurious and with an exorbitant price tag to match.

Handcrafted bed from Sweden, which apart from Gun’s, has not experienced the same body twice.  

Imported italian coffee machine, used only with beans from Kenya. Drink of choice: 2 shots of espresso, taken as is. 

Never-used cooking appliances, still brand new and silver and top of the range. 

L-shaped sectional sofa from one of the hottest designers in South Korea, selected and praised by HNH’s own Interior Designer with words that held no interest to Gun.

An obscenely huge bathtub in the corner of a spacious bathroom and facing a breathtaking view. A shower with a rainfall head amongst other sprays and nozzles. Both having washed away a lifetime (and then some)of dirt and grime and blood.

Enough space for a personal home gym in one room (even if the building does include a gym and pool for communal use), and a walk-in wardrobe the size of most other pads in Gangnam.

He’s not much for sentiment, just a couple of more meaningful trinkets here or there. Reminders of Japan and souvenirs from his victims. 

Most surprising of all, in a lone forgotten corner, outlined against the impressive, sprawling cityscape and where the best sun spot should be, sits a plant.

Given to him by Goo Kim as a joke for housewarming, “Let’s see how well you can keep something alive”.

Gun’s first urge was to throw it back in his face. Though. The idea of keeping something living intrigued him. A little challenge.

Healthy and vibrant and green with long spiky leaves when it was thrusted into Gun’s hands. 

It didn’t hold his attention for long.

Kept alive in the early days by the cleaner, before Gun realised he hated the idea of someone touching his things and being in his space. 

Now a sad, neglected eyesore. Shrivelled and brown and hanging on for dear life. Lucky to get a few squirts of water once a month; momentary rejuvenation until it is left to wither again.

And lastly.

Hidden in the cabinet below the huge TV, regularly rotated out for the latest model, lives a few gaming consoles.

...Because Gun is still a young bachelor after all. He isn’t completely immune from the psychological thrills of video games.

.

.

Minimal as it is, and busy as Gun is - it’s still his home.

A sanctuary full of things he has collated and deemed worthy enough to be in his life that he makes sure to regularly return to. 

Today, he’s ready for a weekend of nothing. No doubt his leg will bounce and get twitchy after a few hours, but the last few weeks of being on the go with the Four Crews has taken a toll.

Not to mention the hijinks with his neighbour yesterday. Someone that looks like they don’t belong in this district, nevermind in the building.

Yet you knocked on his door. 

On Shiro Oni’s door. 

Exuding a quiet confidence even as your body betrayed your nerves. Even as two spots of pink appeared on your cheeks once you took in the full view of Gun Park.

Most fascinating of all is that you saw his eyes, treated it as an everyday occurrence, and did not hesitate or flinch.

Huh.

.

.

You ring the doorbell again.

At first, you thought this was an excellent idea. 

But now, as you wait (seriously, what is Gun doing in there), you’re feeling more and more foolish.

Tupperwares of homemade kimchi stew, and kimchi sits in the crook of your elbow. 

Because when someone has enough money to drown in, and obviously someone living in this building should have, then there’s nothing like a homemade touch.

Here he comes. 

The footsteps don’t sound irritable today. Thank the heavens. Maybe antsy, a little too quick footed to be relaxed.

The door is flung open, and your neighbour greets you. 

Ok, his footsteps didn’t sound irritable but his face certainly is.

And how does this guy have this effect on you? 

Your throat dries up as you notice his hair flopping over one eye, no longer messy after a full day of what must be work, instead likely just leftover from his bedhead. 

(Bed. Head. your horrid nasty brain repeats as you think about his BED.)

The linen shirt and pants. Chest bared, pretty collar bones on show and teasing the outline of hard pecs. 

Relaxed mode, weekend mode.

Sleeves again rolled up and highlighting the tattoos and faint veins protruding on his forearms.

Seriously, did this guy choose the tattoo placement just to highlight his muscular forearms? Fuck him, it absolutely works. 

Gun crosses them, leaning against his open door and observing you. His face, previously not bothering to hide his annoyance at being interrupted by you once again, only shows amusement. Amused to see how hard you are ogling him. It’s not new, though many don’t make it this blatantly obvious.

“Morning,” You hear your voice cracking and clear your throat. “Here.”

You hold out your tupperware boxes.

No hands receive them. They just hang there, in the air between you both.

Gun doesn’t move, continuing to look at you with a hint of a smile and an arched brow.

“It’s thanks. For yesterday.” You give the boxes a little shake. Why the hell can’t this guy just take it. 

“No.” is all he gives, retreating back and closing the door.

Your foot darts out, jamming itself into the gap just before it shuts.

“Just take it,” you try to shoulder your way in a little, "it’s for you.”

“I’ve broken people’s necks for less. Move your foot.”

“Just take it,” you repeat again, “then I don’t owe you anything. We’re even.”

Gun considers this. 

He didn’t think you owed him anything for yesterday, but you obviously did. It was a quick job in exchange for a peaceful evening, not out of the goodness of his heart.

If this right now is what it takes to get you out of his hair-

“I promise I’ll leave you alone,” comes your voice.

And out of his life forever. Fine.

Gun relents, stepping back as you stagger forward and into his domain.

You hold out the boxes, avoiding his gaze, face bright red at how much of an idiot you feel and what a fuss this has turned out to be.

He finally takes them, once again fingers grazing yours. “Thanks.”

Your eyes meet his as that singular word catches you off balance. You didn’t think it existed in his vocabulary.

“Now get out.”

Ah, that’s more like it.

[michelle-is-writing]

Long Time Coming, Jax Teller

Word Count: 2k~

When you see the man you’ve been with for the past year out with another woman, you get angry. You get upset; that’s normal. However, as of right now, I don’t feel any of that. When I first caught the familiar hair and equally familiar body outside a bar, I didn’t think much of it. I had gone out to dinner with my friends after work, so he was free to do whatever he wanted. However, I wasn’t expecting to see him when I got in my car after dinner; the bar he stood outside being right next to the restaurant I just left. Like I said, he was free to do whatever he wanted, but that didn’t mean he could make out with another woman when he thought I wouldn’t find out.

I felt anger rush through me the instant I saw it, red taking over my vision, but as the seconds passed, I started planning in my head. We didn’t live together, but in the year we were together, some of his stuff ended up at my place - including his laptop and other valuable things. That didn’t matter though; it was all going by the curb as soon as I got back to my apartment.

Once I walk into my house, I change out of my work clothes and into shorts and a tank top before heading to the kitchen and pouring myself a shot of whiskey from a bottle I was saving to enjoy with him. With my speakers turned on, I begin ridding my home of any trace of him. As sad as it sounds, I knew the romance had been dead for a while - we never even had sex as he “didn’t feel quite up to it.” My friends always told me I deserved someone better as it seemed like we were only tolerating the relationship, neither of us wanting to actually end it. However, my closest friend, Jax, was probably the biggest advocate for me to leave him. It didn’t help that his family would also tell me I deserved better as I always had a close relationship with Jax’s mom and the club. Jax always told me he never liked the man, but I blamed that on me and Jax always being stuck at the hip since we were kids; now I see Jax was right, and he was a dirtbag.

After packing the third box full of my now-ex’s shit, I pour myself my fifth or sixth shot and focus on emptying my fridge and pantry of anything that only he eats. I don’t even put it in a bag for him to get later; it’s all going directly in the trash can. Just like the rest of his stuff that’s waiting by the front door for me to take out to the curb.

I’m not sure if it’s the liquor I’ve been drinking or the growing irritation from finding little things of his around my place, but I feel like I might be going a little overboard. I just can’t get the image of him kissing that other woman out of my head. I was supposed to be the only woman he kissed, but in all actuality, we didn’t have a real kiss in what felt like months. Like I said, I knew the relationship was going downhill, but now that I feel so much resentment and barely any heartbreak for him, I have no idea how we were still together until now.

A slight rumbling sound disrupts me from my thoughts, causing my head to poke up from the fridge. A few seconds pass before I end up brushing it off and focusing on my music as I throw the last frozen dinner of his in the trash. Despite this, a loud knock sounding against my front door makes me poke my head out of my fridge once more and over to my entryway. It feels as if my heart and stomach drop as my head begins racing with thoughts of my ex being at my door. I’m calling him my ex even though he doesn’t know he’s now my ex, but if it is him at my door, then he’ll know when he sees his belongings ready for him. Although, that’s not what I’m worried about. I still have no idea how I’m even going to confront him over me catching him making out with another person.

Pausing my music, I head over to my front door before looking out the peephole, only to see my favorite person. Immediately unlatching the lock, I open my door to greet Jax with a grin. “Hi!” I say to him, my previous shots influencing my sudden excitement over my best friend coming over.

Jax only gives me a confused smirk before nodding at me. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” He asks, receiving a nod back from me. “But you’re here by yourself?” His question unintentionally stings, instantly reminding me of why I decided to open up that bottle anyways.

Seeing me shrink into myself a little, Jax seemingly picks up on my sullen mood as barely another second passes before he’s stepping into my apartment with a worried look on his face. “Baby? What’s wrong?” He asks, making my stomach churn at him calling me the nickname he’s called me since we were little. I knew as a teenager that I was in love with my childhood best friend, but now that I’m an adult, I’ve had to push those feelings away. He hasn’t given me any hint of him reciprocating my feelings as things between us have always remained the same. Jax and I are still best friends all these years later, and only best friends.

I can feel my face begin to drop at the heartbreak, but not from my recent breakup. “I broke up with Josh,” I decide to tell Jax, looking away from Jax’s blue eyes and over to the boxes by the front door. Most of them are just random things he left over here with the rest being a few pieces of his clothes. After all, he only stayed the night a few times, which was odd now that I think about it. Most people stay over at their significant other’s place, right?

Before I can think anymore about my stupid ex, I watch Jax turn his head to look over at them with me, the gears slowly turning in his head as he looks back at me shortly afterward. “Darlin’,” he murmurs, taking another step forward to cup my face in one hand while the other rests against my waist. Once again, the line between us as friends and lovers is questioned, but I can almost guarantee nothing has been changed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been upset over that asshole.”

Jax’s words make me smile before I ultimately end up laughing, leaving Jax to slide his hand on my face down to match his other hand on my waist. He simply holds me as I get lost in my giggles with him eventually joining in out of slight confusion.

“You know, I was a little hurt at first,” I admit to Jax, looking down at the floor as my arms hang around his neck. “But after a few seconds, I just snapped out of it and came home to get rid of his shit… I caught him cheating, Jax,” I reveal to him, his grip on me going stiff as he listens to every word that leaves my mouth. “I went to dinner with the girls at work and saw him kissing another girl when I went outside to leave,” leaning my head against his chest, I let out a sigh as Jax continues holding me, his grip never ceasing. “I just want everything of his out.”

A few seconds of calm silence pass between us before Jax does something that surprises me. He kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry, baby. You don’t deserve that,” He tells me, his words settling deep within my chest. I really wish I wouldn’t have opened that bottle now because sober me would’ve already been freaking out over my current predicament, but then again, maybe that’s a good thing.

“Then what do I deserve, Jax?” I question him, leaning my head up to look at him. From this angle, my eyes trail up his blonde chin to his ocean-like eyes as they stare back at me, a bit darker than before. I go to question this until I see his vision fall to my lips, and as if a switch were flipped, I take the hint.

Just as I begin to lean up, Jax meets me in the middle and places his soft lips against mine in one of the best kisses I’ve ever had. All of the made up scenarios I had in my head as a teenager are nothing compared to what’s happening right now. The way his hands grab at me, effortlessly pulling me closer to him makes me hold onto him for dear life as his lips continue their assault on mine.

Chests heaving, we reluctantly pull away as panted breaths fall from out from our parted lips. “Is that what I deserve?” I can’t help but ask Jax, my eyes watching as his face shifts from bliss to that of utter happiness.

“And so much more,” Jax utters, still breathless as he presses another kiss to my lips. “More than that guy could ever give you, baby girl,” at the same time Jax says this, one of Jax’s hands slides away from my waist and up to my face where he brushes my hair away from my face. “Why don’t you just go get ready for bed, hm? I’ll take all his shit out.”

A grin breaks out across my face at his words. “Thank you, baby.”

“Of course,” Jax murmurs back, biting his smirking lip as his eyes stay trained on my form disappearing into the hallway. However, just as I turn the corner, I hide behind the wall and wait a second before turning to watch Jax. Just as I do this, I see him walk out my front door with one of the boxes before kicking it across the street, its contents flying out as he does so. I hold back my laughter at this, and instead, I choose to wander into my room and wait for Jax to join me once he’s done taking care of my ex’s stuff.

It doesn’t take him long to come into my room before stripping down to his boxers and climbing into bed with me. As soon as he does so, his arms find their way around me and pull me close, keeping me warm against his chest. For a few moments, the silence around us is very calming and relaxing, like everything is where it belongs - including us.

“I always hated that jerkoff,” Jax murmurs, causing me to let out a small laugh. Of course he’d be the one to break the silence.

“I could tell,” I murmur back, looking up from his bare chest. His beautiful eyes greet mine instantly, and I can’t help but feel lost in them. “You made it pretty obvious.”

Jax stares back at me, almost gawking. “Then why didn’t you break up with him?” He asks, earning a knowing look back from me. “Okay, I know I should’ve made a move sooner, but baby, I hated seeing him anywhere near you.”

Seeing him nervously explain himself to me, I teasingly smile as my eyes squint. “Jackson Teller,” I say his name, slowly, “was that jealousy I just heard leave your lips?”

At my question, Jax simply smirks before leaning down and pressing our lips together once more like earlier. “What can I say?” He simply whispers, his face mere centimeters from mine. “You’ve always been my girl… I’ve just been too much of a pussy to do anything about it,” this time, I’m the one that connects our lips, Jax pulling away with a soft sigh as soon as the kiss is over, his eyes wandering down my form. “I’m lucky. So damn lucky.”

[superums]

GENTLE EARTH — various characters

these are an assortment of drabbles i made getting inspiration from the anonymous site gentle earth. gender neutral reader. no pronouns. y/n mentioned once or twice. black coded reader in one. multiple characters: denji, deku, yuuji. fluff. angst. if you feel like you've seen these before you probably have, i wrote these and posted them on wattpad a couple years ago.

( April 2, 2021 ) yuuji said: i keep seeing you in my dreams

laying under his covers yuuji looked at the ceiling. his surroundings dark, not a sound from outside seeped in. he thought about them, their brown skin that always seemed to leave him speechless. thick lips that always felt so good whenever they kissed each other. those brown eyes that looked into his own with more love each time.

“yuuji i love you…” they would say time and time again, each in a slightly different surround and position. but what wouldn’t change is the words. ‘i love you’ would always be uttered followed by an intense stare, their hands intertwining and a kiss. everynight he has these dreams just to wake up to nothing.

his heart was starting to get warm, chest getting heavier. his body started to move on his own, getting up from his warm blankets and walking to his door. the cold air from the hallways would have made him shiver but it didn't not when he had a destination. walking down the hallways as quietly as possible he made it in front of a door.

knocking on it slightly he twisted the knob, it was unlocked luckily. there layed a figure, a light from a lamp in the corner lit the room dimly, almost like a night light. he walked in and closed the door behind him before making his way to the bed. his hand moved towards the covers lifting it he climbed under them trying not to wake the person next to him.

“yuuji what are you doing?” they asked as the bed dipped under the added weight. “i…..i missed you.” the pink haired boy started to get comfortable, turning around to face them. the boys arms wrapped around him, their body was arm and the bed smelled just like them. “....i keep seeing you in my dreams.” yuuji confessed, his nose dipping into his lover's neck. “ i see you in mine too..”

(6 days ago) yuuji said: i think i saw you last night, it’s been so long

his lover broke his heart and left for tokyo months ago. they were in tears when they told him they can’t see each other anymore. a long distance relationship could have worked but both of them know how hard that is. they said it was a really important task they had to do something that might kill them, he knows that they never lie to him especially about something as serious as death.

“yuuji… i love you.” their tears bringing him to tears. he’s never felt like this, he usually doesn't cry when it comes to things like this but here he is. he remembered how sad he felt after the fact, hugging his pillow, wearing the hoodies and shirts they left even though the scent was fading. the last time he saw them was at school on the roof top. the newly formed cherry blossom petals falling around them gently.

their fingers intertwined with one another, soft hands on calloused ones. the boy looked at his lover, heart aching at the sight of them being upset. “w-whats wrong?” hsi words were getting caught in his throat. “yuuji… w-we need ro break up.” it was as if he was shot in the heart. it was deceiving, their eyes full of so much love but their word full of so much pain. “w-what do you mean?” “i have to break up with you-.”

they couldn't even get the whole word put as they broke down. wrapping his arms around them he let them cry for as long as they need to. the way they shook in his arms, it was almost painful. he couldn’t even hold back his own crying, the tears flew out of his eyes as he held his lover tighter, both slowly falling on the ground and staying in that position.

his lover looked at him before coming closer for a kiss. anybody else would have been disgusted, after all they were crying their eyes out, balling even. but not yuuji, not yuuji knowing this might be his last kiss with them ever. “why..?” his voice cracked as he could beastly get it above a whisper. “i-i can’t explain it but… it's something really important.”

“try to explain it to me.” “please itadori…. just trust me.” holding his cheeks he was forced to look into their eyes, to see the love they had for him. he knew they didn’t lie to him, all of the long talks they had, the dates, the sleep overs, the talks about the future; he knew they wouldn’t lie to him.

he let them go, he watched as his partner walked off the roof and out of his life. his heart breaking every time he thinks about it, their seat was empty in class the next day and he never saw them after that. he never forgot about them though, the way their brown skin glowed in the sun light. how their laugh sounded, the way they would hold him after a long day he never forgot.

now here he was, locking eyes with someone that reminds them so much of his lover. their skin the same lovely shade of brown that his lover had. lips just as plump as theirs and their hair in a cute style that he’s seen his partner wear time and time again. “itadori come on we have to go!” megumi stood with his arms crossed, they were going to meet gojo and meet the other first year student.

‘i think i saw you today… it’s been so long’ yuuji sent a text last night to his lover last night regardless if they would see it or not. rolling over he closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep unknowingly getting a text back 20 minutes later. ‘i think i saw you too.’

( April 5th, 2021) denji said : we only talk when it’s 3am

denji was laying down on the hardwood floor next to (y/n) in the empty house. he didn’t want to think about the recent events. snuggling into the devils chest he heart her heart's beat each having a different tempo than the one before. the steady beats sounded like a drum.

the radio 5 feet away from them played old songs from the 80s and 90s, filling the room with slow yet nostalgic sounding music even if the boys never heard them before. stroking his hair the devil was lulling him to sleep. “i love you.” he broke the silence first.

“i love you too denji.” after everything they’ve been through, after what happened to their friends, saving japan, how could they not.

[ MANGA SPOILERS!!]

( April 12, 2021 ) deku said: i’ll be back soon

the new york air was cold. the snow falling from the sky reminded him of you, your quirk that blew him away, your eyes that seemed to become an icy shade of blue whenever you used your powers, the cool tone of your voice, everything reminded him of you somehow.

now he’s here without you. a villain was attacking yet all he could think about was you, your smile, the radiant glow you seemed to give off regardless of your environment. ‘i wish i could have brought you with me…’ his mind raced back to you even with this looming threat over his head, even with the danger looking right in.

“any time now…” the voice in the back of his head brought him back to reality, he wasn’t with you, he was miles away. away from his friends, away from his home, away from you. “a villains attacking the city..” his voice wasn’t cheerful like it used to be, it was nearly monotone, lacking emotion and meaning. but how can he be hapoy when he’s away from his lover?

my love: where are you?!

you must have seen the note he left by, he didn’t want to know if you were upset with him but deep down he knew you would be. who wouldn't in a situation like this.

deku💗: i’ll be back soon

deku💗: just trust me.. Okay?

[toastnpretzels]

A Little Hope

Crosshair x reader imagine, hunter x reader (platonic)

masterlist

Warnings: angst, nothing other than that really. I tried to keep it gender neutral.

Word count: about 1.1k

Author’s note: So I haven’t written anything like this since middle school but I really do enjoy writing and reading so I thought it would give it a shot. Let me know what you guys think. This one kind of came out of nowhere, I was feeling pretty sad and just started writing. Hope you guys enjoy!

I’m going to try to start writing more in my free time so if you have any requests or suggestions for writing feel free to send them! I can’t promise I will get to them seeing as I do work full time and I’m in school but I will do my best. I will only be writing for the clones as of right now, but maybe I will branch out at some point when I feel more confident in my writing abilities.

Summary: You and Hunter talk about your feelings for Crosshair.

The Marauder is quiet. Everyone is asleep. Everyone except you and Hunter who is on watch. The blanket wrapped around you becomes too hot. You sit up and lean against the wall of your bunk. It is hard to say what keeps you awake. Maybe it is because you are not tired. You know that’s not true. You can feel the exhaustion throughout your entire body. Running job after job for Cid is making you exhausted. Maybe you just can’t fall asleep. Maybe it is because he isn’t here. Crosshair isn’t here. The mere thought of him coming back is what is keeping you up. You need him to sleep. You need him to wrap his arms around you and whisper how he feels to you. You miss him. You need him back. It’s exhausting you more than the jobs to miss him, more than anything has ever exhausted you. Waking up without him is hurting you more than anything. Trying to hold on to hope for his return is only making it worse. It’s been months. You know he is not coming back, but yet the voice in the back of your head endures.

He will come home.

He misses you, just as you miss him.

He is ok. He isn’t hurt. He is protected.

But there is another voice in your head.

He doesn’t care. He never did.

You try push that one as far back as possible. Its not fair to him for you to think that, but you can’t help it. What if he needs you? What if he tries to reach out?

He won’t. Stop waiting for him. He made his choice.

But what if the chip is still controlling him?

But what if it isn’t?

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Hunter’s voice snaps you out of your self-loathing thoughts. You didn’t even hear him walk in.

“I don’t think your heightened senses work that way,” you reply sarcastically. You feel bad that he has seen you like this, but it’s not the first time. It is like this most nights.

“You can talk to me you know. All of us for that matter. You don’t have to go through this alone,” he says.

“I know. It’s – it’s just so hard.” You force yourself to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. Maker, when did I become so emotional. Probably the day we were split apart. You don’t even know when you started to cry, but it’s happening more and more as of recent.

Of course, Hunter notices the tears. Nothing slips past him. Him and his damned heightened senses. He wipes them from your cheeks.

“I miss him,” you whisper. You miss him so badly. You’ve never missed someone this badly. It hurts more than anything you’ve faced. It tears you apart, rips right through your heart. Everything you’ve felt the last few months without him comes spilling out. Every emotion, every thought, comes out in the form of tears that won’t stop spilling. You hate that you’re crying in front of Hunter. You should be asleep right now.

But Hunter is right here. And he keeps on wiping your tears. He moves to sit in your bunk. Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around you. He was never taught how to comfort anyone. They don’t teach that on Kamino. He rubs your back, it’s what feels right in this moment, a comforting gesture nonetheless. He feels tears start to form in his own eyes. He feels guilty within himself, just as he has every waking moment. He shouldn’t have left Crosshair there on that platform. He should’ve forced him to come with, stunned him and dragged him along. They don’t leave their own behind. He feels like he has played some part in ruining your life along with Crosshair’s. He knows Crosshair loved you. He has never seen him act in a way that was so soft for anyone else. He remembers the first few times he seen you both together. Crosshair kept you a secret for so long, only to hide how he became soft around you. Seeing you both together for the first time was a shock to him. It was weird seeing someone with so much happiness wrapped around Crosshair, but then he saw the way he looked at you. Crosshair showing emotion other than annoyance or sarcasm? It was a shock to everyone to see how much love Crosshair showed you. Short kisses and hugs, random little gifts he would bring back from missions, his devotion of all of his free time to you. He could see the love Crosshair held for you plastered across his face. And you showed it right back. He had never seen two people so in love with each other. He knew from that moment that you were something special. All he wanted was for you and Crosshair to have a happy ending. He did everything he could to make sure Crosshair came home alive for you. Every time they weren’t on a mission, Crosshair was with you. Hunter had walked in multiple time to him talking to you on holocalls in between missions. Hunter began to think of you as family. All of his brothers adored you. He adored you. You became family to all of them. But now this family was broken. He is trying to fix it while simultaneously keeping it together. He wants Crosshair back just as much as you do. He wants Crosshair to see you with Omega. He wants him to see you in a life without the war. He wants everyone to settle down on a planet away from the Empire. He wants everyone to be together. He wants Crosshair back with his brothers and the one that loves him, back with you. Hunter didn’t even realize that he is now crying as well.

“Hunter… It’s not your fault.” You never blamed him once. He has made the best out of this situation. You know he can’t control it. He can’t make Crosshair come back.

“I still feel like apart of it is. Just know that a day doesn’t go by where I don’t think of him. If there is ever another moment where we can get him back, we will. I promise.” Hunter leans back and rubs his eyes wet with tears. He never lets himself cry. He feels so vulnerable, but he feels better now that he has let it out. They should have really taught them how to handle emotions on Kamino.

It once again becomes silent throughout the ship. You sit together for a little while longer, both calming down after the overwhelming emotions. You start to feel the tiredness steep into your mind once again. Hunter gets up and says good night as you begin to drift off. You will finally sleep tonight. Your negative thoughts cease to exist, replaced by happier memories. You have hope.

Crosshair will come home.

[anexperimentallife]

Since the rights have reverted to me, this is the story I WAS getting paid to license as the basis of a video game until the deal got canceled unexpectedly after a year of development(for understandable reasons I won't go into here). There's a lot I'd change about it now (I'm a better writer now, for one thing, and my understanding of problematic tropes is better now--this was the first story I ever sold, and was originally published in the anthology The Crimson Pact, volume 2), and my Quiet World setting has morphed and expanded quite a bit since then, too. This will be getting a rewrite, with additional characters (some of whom you'll meet if you play the dialogue-only demo linked to below). But anyway...

HERE’S THE ORIGINAL STORY--ENJOY!

(also here's a link to a playable dialogue-only version of the first three chapters of the mobile game version--which is quite different)

Karma

by D. Robert Hamm (about 15,000 words)

We hit the interstate like an unguided missile. Needles of frozen rain and jagged blades of wind beat my face numb and turned what was left of my dress into a full-body ice-pack. Even with the heater on ‘incinerate,’ I couldn’t stop shivering, but the outside air was all that kept me from gagging on the smell of my own puke and the rusty stench of blood, so the window stayed down. Between the black pavement and blacker sky, the air was wet and gray. It sucked the vitality from my headlamp beams well before their natural time, but that was okay. I wasn’t paying much attention to the little they revealed anyway.

The man in the passenger’s seat either didn’t feel the cold or was too stoic to show discomfort. The dashboard glow turned his short white beard to green and deepened the age lines in his face. Gods, I’d loved that face growing up. It was my grandfather’s face. But right then, I could barely look at it, because this wasn’t my grandfather, just a sad, confused spirit wearing his body. And even though he was one of the good guys, that didn’t mean it was easy to take.

“You’re going to catch cold,” Not-Grandpa shouted over the storm.

“I’m… what?”

Since last night I’d been shot at, whipped, and electrocuted. I’d watched a good man beheaded and disemboweled before my eyes, and learned things about myself, my family, and especially my past, that had already driven other people into padded-room territory. I was marinated in a vile concoction of blood and various other body fluids, quite a bit of it my own, and had spent the last however-many hours fighting horrors that should never have existed. In the middle of all that—because I’m an overachiever—I took time out to kill a man I loved.

And this guy was worried that I’d catch a fucking cold?

Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. The kind of deep, full-body laughter that doubles you over and makes your stomach muscles ache for days afterward. The kind that shreds the lining of your throat and rises in pitch to rapid staccato squeaks, like sneakers on a hardwood floor. I held back the worst long enough to wrestle the car onto the shoulder, then let go. The laughter turned to howling, the howling into screams, the screams into sobs, and the sobs into a quiet whimper that finally, gods finally, tapered off, and I could breathe again, in great, ragged gulps. I wiped away a rope of snot hanging from my nose and sat hunched over with my eyes closed and my forehead against the steering wheel, shaking, while the rain pummeled my back with tiny, ice-cold fists.

In shock? Probably. Hysterical? Definitely. Look, I make sandwiches at my family’s restaurant for a living, okay? Sandwiches.

Not-Grandpa waited until I quieted down before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was the dozenth or so time he’d said it. The line of his mouth stayed hard, but his eyes and his voice were soft and broken. I believed him. Had to believe him.

“I know.” I didn’t mean for it to sound bitter. He’d saved my life after all, and he deserved better than that. I just didn’t know if I could forgive him for not being who I wanted him to be.

A little too “in media res” for you? Yeah, me too.

So here are the vitals: My name is Karma Miranda Rodriguez. I’m twenty-three years old, five foot six, with brown eyes, light brown skin, and dark brown hair that I keep boy-short. I claim to be a size five, and I dare you to say otherwise. I like strawberry daiquiris, support equal rights for supernaturals, am indifferent toward long walks on the beach, and . . .

And oh, yeah—apparently, I kill demons.

Eli’s Borderland Station, my family’s restaurant, has been the only twenty-four hour eatery on the Kansas City Plaza since back before the Jasonites outed the supernatural community (aka, “The Quiet World”) and we had to coin the term ‘daylighter’ to differentiate plain vanilla humans from those touched by the paranormal. During the riots that followed the Jasonites’ little party, and all through the Apocalypse Wars, my Grandpa Eli and Uncle Garston kept the restaurant open as a free kitchen-slash-aid-station for refugees and emergency workers, and turned the upstairs apartment—which is mine, now—into a de facto headquarters for various peacekeeping forces.

So alongside our Absolutely Killer Turkey Sandwich (made from, according to the menu, genuine killer turkeys), we serve up a mean side-order of history. Obviously, a lot of things have changed since the AWs; for instance, the Plaza, always an upscale shopping district, is now a level four Private Patrol Zone with the best law enforcement money can buy. As you’d expect, our main business is well-heeled shoppers whose sidearms are more fashion statement than personal defense, but we try to keep prices reasonable enough for the average college student, too.

No amount of money will buy you a table or a bar stool in our VIP lounge, though, even if every other seat in the house is taken. The lounge is permanently reserved for veterans, proxies, bounty hunters, elites, and so on. It’s where people with code names like Halloween Jack, Lucy D.T., HalluciNathan, and so on come to catch up with one another, trade information, or just relax. Grandpa and Uncle Garston are technically civilians now, but a lot of the VIPs still use their call signs from way back when, so if someone in armored leathers with notched weapons and a stare that looks like they’re counting the ways they could kill you with one finger says they’re going to see The General and Body Mass, they’re not talking about some secret mission, it just means they’re headed our way for the lunch special.

On Tuesday nights we lock up for a few hours of uninterrupted cleaning with my special patented Karma Rodriguez closing procedure. This involves, among other things, lots of dancing around with brooms and mops, and other Weapons of Mess-Destruction, and me in a casual dress singing along with loud music at the top of my lungs. It’s effective. The more I can make work feel like play, the faster and more efficiently I get things done, and as proof of that, what used to take three people on Tuesday nights now requires only two.

At thirty seconds to zero-dark-thirty on a drizzly February evening, when my grime-fighting partner Jayden and I were the only ones left in the restaurant, I locked the front door and hit the music. My mix for the night was weighted heavily in favor of pre-Apocalypse rock—music that was old before I was born. It was a minor tragedy when it cut off about ten minutes into the shift, right in the middle of David Bowie’s Rebel, Rebel. Jayden and I both trailed off a cappella.

“I didn’t hear you singing if you didn’t hear me,” Jayden said. “We stick together, and nobody can prove anything.” He fixed me with what would have been a deadpan stare if not for that quirk at one corner of his mouth that I thought of as his, ‘our little secret’ smile.

I put on my best film noir ‘tough dame’ voice. “It’s always secrets with you, isn’t it? Fine, I’ll play your game.” Staying in character, I headed upstairs with an over-the-top hip-swaying sashay, to reboot the router while Jayden kept cleaning.

I can’t be objective about Jayden, so I won’t try. He was one of a kind. Literally. Part Aosidhe, part Graealfinsidhe, and part daylighter, Jayden was a medical miracle, and he got the best from each branch of his ancestry. Six and a half feet of lean muscle, flawless skin, hair like pale gold silk, and . . . you get the idea. His ears were only slightly pointed, and with his hair down, he could pass for an exceptionally pretty daylighter, if not for his eyes. Whiteless, and bright turquoise in color. They suited him.

And yeah, I know. If only I wasn’t his boss. Jayden had something of a ‘mystery man’ air about him that only added to his status as local lust-object. Among other things, the way he dressed like a wastelander (only cleaner) but acted like a gentleman fueled speculation. He kept his past and his private life just that, though—past, and private. It was like the world was in love with Jayden, but Jayden wasn’t sure how he felt about the world and didn’t want to lead it on.

When I got back from confirming that the router was indeed fried, those exotic eyes of his were fixed on the big screen in the main dining area. I came up behind him and stopped, gaping. “What the . . . ?”

Just north of us, people were fighting in the streets and looting, while Hushville—Jayden’s neighborhood—burned.

“Short version?” Jayden said without turning around, “They busted the wrong guy for the Taylor murders, so they released him. He lasted a whole three hours.”

“They didn’t give him police protection?”

“He was under police protection when it happened. Now everybody has a conspiracy theory, and apparently with every conspiracy theory this week, you get a free Molotov cocktail kit. Speaking of which . . . ” He rewound a few seconds and paused on a burning apartment building that I recognized as his. “Great firebomb, huh?”

“Wow. I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, his back still to me. “I carry everything really important with me.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to leave you alone?”

He paused, as if considering. “No.”

“Okay. But know what? Fuck cleaning. Help me get the trash out, then haul your duffel bag upstairs. You’re staying at my place tonight.”

Jayden turned and looked at me as though I were speaking Swahili. “Your place?”

“You just lost your apartment to a xenophobic asshole with a fire fetish, and you need crash space. Friends do that kind of stuff for each other.”

That earned me a confused look. “No, I just . . . Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” He seemed utterly bewildered. So much for his famed stoicism and unflappability. Ah, Jayden. Such a strange, strange boy. I ran up to get my coat and pull on a pair of jeans under my dress, and Jayden and I dragged the first can out into the alley.

I remember the air tasted of cold grease and wet pavement. I remember the electric buzz of the street lamp, and the way its dirty light turned the drizzle into sparse gray streaks like anime rain. I remember the exact cadence of the trash can’s scraping and banging as we dragged it toward the dumpster. How screwed up do things have to get before taking out the trash is a fond memory worth replaying in your head?

We didn’t hear the patrol team until they entered the mouth of the alley, running hard toward us, shouting at us to get inside. The woman’s name was Lawson. She’d lost her helmet, and a sheen of blood covered the left side of her face. Her partner, Hall, had a crack running down the side of his faceplate, and his body armor was shredded in places. They both carried their weapons at the ready, scanning the roofline as they ran.

Before they’d even finished their warning, a clot of shadow and sickening angles detached from the rest of the dark. The Shashashkuhun slaughter-spider—How did I know that?—dropped from the roof and—The Shashashkuhun and the bad people are making us walk a long way again. I don’t say how tired I am because I am almost eight years old, and that means I’m a big girl, and because it would make Mommy feel bad that she can’t carry me that far. Mommy and me are in our nightgowns because we were asleep when they—Where were these images coming from?—landed in the alley behind them. It was an impossible thing, eight or nine feet tall, all mottled ochre-and-black chitin, with eight spiked and bladed spiderlike legs from which it took its name, serrated mandibles beneath great protruding compound eyes, and short, thick, writhing tentacles suspended from the underside of a bulbous, misshapen central body.

I shouted my own warning, but Hall was already emptying his magazine at the thing as he backed toward us. Lawson either tripped or dove in our direction, twisting in mid-air to land on her back. She raised her shotgun, and—grabbed us, and it was really late because both moons were out, but they let us put on our boots before they made us start walking. Mommy tried to fight them and she shot one of them but they beat her up and cut her cheek really bad. But she is still the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. It was real people, not Shashashkuhun, but they don’t act like real people. Mommy says they have bad things inside them called Qlippoth. I think they are telling the Shashashkuhun what—made it roar as she hit the pavement.

The monster’s cry was like a foghorn made of cats and feedback, a spike that shoved through both eardrums. Lawson had hurt it, taken out one leg, in fact, but it wasn’t enough, and Hall’s automatic gunfire cut off with a sickening, meat cleaver sound as the spider sliced through his neck. Hall’s head flew from his shoulders and bounced against the alley wall while the spider eviscerated his body before it could hit the ground, as if he weren’t–to do. A man tried to run away today, but they caught him, and instead of shooting him a Shashashkuhun stuck one of its sharp arm/leg things in him and cut him open and played with his insides until he stopped screaming, and I cried, but I won’t cry anymore, because I’m a big girl, and—dead enough already. Even as far back as Jayden and I stood, hot, sticky wetness splattered our faces.

The monster tried to leap toward us, but its missing leg threw it off balance. Lawson’s shotgun was out of ammo, so she fumbled out her .45 and taunted the slaughter-spider while edging toward the side of the alley opposite the door. Sacrificing herself—big girls don’t cry. The demons usually kill everybody, but now they only kill people who try to run away or stop walking before they tell us to stop or people who fall down and can’t walk anymore, but sometimes when somebody falls down they let somebody else make a travois, which is a kind of sled thing that you drag—to give us a chance to get away. My gun was in my purse inside, but even if I’d had it on me, I couldn’t loosen my grip on the trash can, let alone force myself to move.

I caught Jayden’s eye. I’d never before realized–when I feel like crying I think about Daddy. Daddy is a general, which is a kind of soldier who tells other soldiers what to do. He is a long way away fighting other Shashashkuhun, but when he comes to save us, the Shashashkuhun and the bad people are going to be sorry. I am going to be a soldier like Daddy when I grow up and—how much he and I communicated without speaking, but with that look, I knew we’d done the same math. One of us might—just might—make it to the door. If we left the other one to die along with Lawson.

Fuck that.

Once I’d made the decision, the tension drained from my body—I am nine years old, and I have been in the prison camp for over a year. They tell me it is time for the laboratory again, but if I pick someone else to go, they will leave me alone today. If I choose my mother to go they will leave me alone for a month. They seem surprised when my answer is to hold out my wrists for the cuffs. I am the daughter of a general and a hero. I do not run, or let others take my pain. And no matter what they do to me, I won’t let them see how scared I am—the way the fear had, sublimating into the night and leaving me perfectly relaxed. Jayden gave me that ‘our little secret’ smile, and I knew he got it. He understood. Not just what I was about to do, but why.

When anything you do will end in death, make your final act one of defiance.

And so it was that we, about to die, in the most futile and ridiculous gesture in the history of futile and ridiculous gestures, screamed our defiance in the face of death, and charged the monster that would surely kill us.

With a fucking trash can.

We slammed into the slaughter-spider and fell hard, with the trash can bouncing between those giant legs and spilling its slippery contents out onto the already-slick blacktop. The slaughter-spider screamed at the impact, even louder than when Lawson had shot it, and nearly toppled. A serrated leg missed me by inches, and I rolled away, but I’d only be able to dodge for so long. My only regrets were that since I hadn’t properly prepared this body, I would die along with it—again, where the hell did that thought come from?—and that so many things would go unsaid between me and those I cared about. Including Jayden, if I was being honest.

Something hard in my coat pocket bit into my side as I rolled. I’d forgotten about the taser I almost always took with me when I left the restaurant. Even if it was still charged, it wasn’t salvation, but at this point salvation wasn’t an option. Victory was what mattered, and victory was nothing more nor less than continuing to fight until the inevitable happened. I pulled out the taser, flipped off the safety, and sent 50,000 volts into the center of that mass of tentacles, along with all the fury I could muster. The slaughter-spider jerked momentarily, and Lawson took advantage to pick up a piece of steel rebar from the junk pile in the alley and plunge it glove-deep into one of the slaughter-spider’s faceted eyes. Jayden followed with a sharp piece of broken two-by-four into the other.

And as though someone had flipped a switch marked ‘alive/dead,’ the slaughter-spider fell . . . in slow motion, like those television broadcasts of building demolitions. After one final spasm, it was still, and the alley was silent for several seconds except for the buzz of the streetlight. After barely long enough to begin to accept that we weren’t dead, answering cries to the spider’s death scream split the night.

We staggered inside the restaurant as the first new creature hit the pavement, and got the bars across the door just before another slammed against it. I slapped my palm against the ward sigil and spoke the syllables to activate it, then ran to the front and did the same there. After grabbing my gun and other weapons from upstairs and activating still more wards, I hit the ‘dim all’ switch and met up with the others in the kitchen. Lawson used a cabinet as cover, her shotgun aimed at the door, and Jayden . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I’d been gone perhaps two minutes, but when I returned, Jayden stood transformed, a grim-faced cross between a modern wastelander and a wild warrior from legend, in a combination of armored biker leathers and Fay armor. The hilts of two matching blades extended over his shoulders, and his jacket sleeves were pushed up to reveal Sidhe archery gauntlets—the real kind, not the department store knockoffs. Other weapons clung to various parts of his body, strategically placed so as not to impede movement—blades, throwing disks, bolas, and quivers and bandoliers of bolts and arrows for the quick-load mini-crossbow in his hand and the compound bow housed in a slender case across his back. He shrugged bashfully—Jayden? Bashful?—when he caught me staring. So this was what he meant when he said he carried everything important with him.

The booming of another hit on the door jerked my attention away from Jayden. After a few more tries, though, the spiders seemed to realize that it was futile, and ceased their efforts.

Now that we had stopped racing time, time slowed to let us catch up. Whether from the endorphin rush or something else, I felt disconnected, an observer watching from inside myself. In the dimness, Lawson and Jayden were pale, oh so pale, and heartbreakingly beautiful against the gray and charcoal shadows. I stood with chest heaving alongside them, seeing and feeling and hearing everything as though for the first time, in love with it all. Because we, who moments before had been dead, were alive and more than alive, were filled with life until we could burst from the pressure as it strained against the insignificant scraps of skin and flesh that could barely contain it.

A single glossy drop of blood formed at the tip of Lawson’s finger, creating itself until it was real enough to float downward and finally join its comrades who had already emigrated to the floor to form a puddle, and Lawson was falling, falling, falling behind it as if to join the puddle herself.

I shook out of my trance barely in time to help Jayden take Lawson’s weight. She was conscious, but weak. “It’s okay,” I told her, “We’re going to get you taken care of. Did you call for backup?” Lawson shook her head weakly, closed her eyes, and made a sound between a chuckle and a sob. “Nobody left to call. Even if the radio worked, nobody left to . . . ” she trailed off and seemed to fold in on herself. I’d seen what that thing did to Hall. I didn’t need her to tell me what had happened to the rest of her squad.

We got Lawson into the VIP lounge and onto a folded-out hide-a-bed, and raided the crisis closet. There was more in there than I’d realized. We patched up Lawson as well as we could and got a saline drip going with something for pain and nausea. It was only after I’d given her naproxyn, though, that I thought to wonder if it thinned the blood the way aspirin did. What if she had internal injuries? Was there anything else I was supposed to be doing? At least I remembered to elevate her feet and make sure she had plenty of blankets. Beyond that, it was a matter of, ‘do no harm,’ with a supersized side order of, ‘hope I don’t fuck this up.’

Damn it, I wasn’t qualified for any of this. Grandpa was the one with the certifi—Duh! Grandpa could talk me through this, and we needed to get word out anyway. Our phones may as well have been paperweights, though. No signal, whether due to the riots or something else. If all else failed, Lawson said that after too long with no contact, it was corporate policy to send in what amounted to the wrath of the gods to investigate. The restaurant was pretty much a fortress—even the ‘glass’ was actually transluminum—so theoretically speaking, all we had to do was stay buttoned up for a few hours and wait for help to arrive. And not go nuts in the meantime.

I’d cut away most of Lawson’s uniform, but the rest needed to come off to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Her partner had died saving us, and I’d be damned if she followed suit because of me. I asked Jayden to leave the room, but Lawson put a hand on his arm, winked, and flashed a weak smile. “‘Sokay. I like your boyfriend,” she said.

“Just a friend. It’d probably break my ego to date somebody that much prettier than me.”

“‘Just a friend,’ my ass.” She smiled and closed her eyes, slurring her words, and rolled her head around on her pillow. Her own smile didn’t so much fade as disappear. “Thanks, guys. You did good. I just wish . . . ” Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, and it didn’t take a psychic to know how that sentence was supposed to end.

After helping Lawson down some broth with a little liquid protein and Nutri-All added, we let her rest. When we were sure she was asleep, and that her breathing and pulse were regular, Jayden and I crept out of the room to treat our own injuries, mostly scrapes and bruises.

It seemed like there was something about what had happened in the alley even stranger than the attack. A flash of knowledge or memory. But whenever I tried to access it, it slipped away. Probably the kind of thing that takes over for some people in emergency situations, like the woman who supposedly lifted a car off of her toddler, or the accountant who found himself standing over the bodies of three would-be muggers, with no memory of what had happened. The other disturbing thing was that I was so . . . blank. I should have been shaking. I should have been horrified at Hall’s death, and at the deaths of the rest of their squad. It’s not that I didn’t care, I just kept feeling like it should have affected me more. We should have been . . . I don’t know, mourning them or something. Maybe I couldn’t let myself feel it yet.

I knelt behind Jayden on a tablecloth on the floor, dabbing antiseptic onto a scrape on his upper back. “So everybody dies,” I muttered, “and we end up with road rash. That’s fair.”

“That’s survivor’s guilt talking,” he said.

“Yeah, well.”

“Lawson’d be dead if not for you. We all would.”

“I had help.”

“Your idea, though.”

I’d been swabbing the same area for maybe a full minute, no longer aware of what I was doing, until Jayden spoke again. “You were wrong, you know.”

“About what?”

“About the ‘prettier than you’ thing. I don’t think anybody is. Nobody I’ve ever seen. And I see into the infra-red and ultra-violet, so I see more than you’d think.” I could almost hear that, ‘our little secret’ smile. “It’s not a peeping thing,” he added quickly, “It’s just my normal vision.”

Blatant change of subject, but not unwelcome. I’m pretty sure I blushed. “Yeah, well thanks. But hey, I like the way I look and all, and I’m not fishing for a compliment here, but—realistically speaking—if you’ve never seen better, you must’ve been living in a cave.”

“Actually,” he said, “a Graealfinsidhe separatist conclave, until five years ago. It was carved into the side of a mountain, so I guess it counts as a cave. Never talked to anyone about it until now. I stand by my statement, though. I decided that if we lived, I was going to tell you that. Tell you everything.”

I blinked. “I’m . . . honored. And I’m not complaining—I mean, look, you’re not the only one who decided out there to reveal some things; guess almost dying does that. It’s just, the guy I’ve been crushing on for two years now is suddenly . . . Why me?”

I caught myself stroking his hair, and was about to stop when he tilted his head into my hand and sighed. We sat there like that for a while before he answered. “I want you to know me.”

Coming from him that night, there in the dark on the hardwood floor with the smells of grime and antiseptic assailing our senses, with death waiting outside the door, those were the sweetest words ever spoken. Sweeter in their simple, naked honesty, than any candle-lit declaration of love, more beautiful in their artlessness than any sonnet delivered on bended knee. I couldn’t stop the wetness on my cheeks, and I didn’t want to.

“Yeah, well, there’s something I want you to know, too.” I pulled him back against me, brushing my lips along his cheek. He turned his body in my arms until we found each other’s mouths and lost ourselves, and entwined around each other on that blood-streaked tablecloth on what might be the last night of our lives was the only place I ever wanted to be.

We dozed, and when we woke it was to Uncle Garston standing over us like a bearded, glowering mountain of muscle in blood-stained flannel, with one bandage around his head and another showing through a rip in his shirt, wearing a flak vest that didn’t quite close around his girth. In addition to his omnipresent Desert Eagle in its holster, he clenched an assault rifle in a hand so huge and meaty that the rifle looked almost like a child’s toy.

“Where’s your half of Eli’s find-me charm?” he growled.

“What? What happened?”

His nostrils flared, and he snorted like a bull about to charge. “Did I fucking stutter? Where is the gods-damned—” He stopped, took a breath, and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Sorry. L-word, all right? I didn’t mean to . . . Just, where is it?”

I told him where it was, and he sprinted out of the room. Jayden and I dressed hurriedly, and Lawson called out from the VIP lounge asking what the shouting was about. “That’s what I’m going to find out,” I told her. I ran upstairs, with Jayden behind me, to find Garston in the kitchen scattering the contents of drawers onto the floor.

“Here,” I said, “Right where I said it was. Now stop being Uncle Growly long enough to tell me what’s going on.”

“They took him. Don’t know why, or why they didn’t kill us, but those bastards—”

“Who? The Shashashkuhun? The Qlippoth?”

“Of course, the Shashashkuhun. Who else . . . ” He looked at me with an undecipherable expression. “How did you know about the Shashashkuhun?”

Yeah, how did I know? “I—I don’t know. But when the slaughter-spider attacked last night—”

“They came here?” Garston roared loudly enough to be painful. “Why didn’t you say so? Did they hurt you? And you, boy,” he turned to Jayden, “where were you when this happened?”

Gods. Could I get one question at a time? “I’m fine,” I said, “and Jayden helped kill one of the damn things, so you can back up out of his grill right now. They killed an entire patrol squad except for Lawson, though. She’s downstairs. But this is . . . ” I shook my head. This wasn’t right. “People don’t suddenly know things like that, Garston. And then not even wonder how.” My heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest. Anyone would be freaked out, but why now instead of last night? Where was this panic coming from? “But that’s exactly what I did. I haven’t thought about it since—and when I do, I get these pictures in my head. There were two moons, and we were walking to some prison camp or something, and I was a little girl, and they . . . ” I could hear my voice rising in pitch, but couldn’t stop the words from spilling out or the images from growing more and more solid. Garston and Jayden moved toward me, but I held up my hand. I could do this on my own. I slowed my breathing and counted my breaths, an exercise I had learned as a little girl. One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Little by little, the panic faded, and I opened my eyes.

“Better?” Garston asked.

“Oh, hell no,” I said. “Or yeah, better, but not good. What’s happening to me?”

“Something your grandpa and I were afraid was coming, and that fucker last night must’ve kick-started things. ’Swhy we made you learn all that meditation and shit. Important thing to know is you’re not crazy, okay? But right now, I have to go find Eli, and we’ll explain it all when we get back. Just try not to think about any of it until then.”

“No, you can explain on the way.”

Garston shook his head. “This ain’t a discussion, K-girl. I want you safe. Don’t worry about me. I’m just gonna find out where they’re headed and call in the big guns soon as I get someplace I can get a signal.”

“You’re right, it’s not a discussion. We’ll take my car; it’s faster, and I just charged it.”

Garston opened his mouth to argue, but Jayden jumped in. “Quick question,” he said, “Do you really think anything you say is going to stop her from following you?”

My uncle glowered, but Jayden spread his hands, “I didn’t make the rain, I’m just reporting the weather.”

Garston looked from one of us to the other and threw up his hands—narrowly missing my spice rack with his AR-15—and, grumbling, led the way back downstairs.

Jayden, with his preternatural senses, rode in the passenger seat with Garston’s AR-15, once again in full warrior regalia, while Garston rode in the back with the find-me. I drove. It was calming to have something active on which to focus.

“So,” I said once we were under way, “Tell me if I’ve got this right. Monsters kidnap Grandpa Eli and attack the restaurant, and you know all about them, right down to their inseam sizes, but you don’t think to say anything until they show up and actually start killing people? Oh, and I have random surprise knowledge and first-person scenes from a science fiction movie popping into my head, and you knew that was coming, too, but didn’t think to warn me about that, either. So if I sound just a little bit pissed off, it’s probably because I am. Care to explain?”

“It wasn’t . . . We never thought they’d come here, and just . . . you were so happy, not remembering. You could grow up and have a life this time. Meet a nice boy. Or girl. Hell, a dozen of each and a fucking toaster if that was what you wanted. But you’re the one that made yourself forget shit, and we figured you had a reason and we shouldn’t fuck with it. Maybe it was wrong, but if we’re guilty of anything, it’s trusting your own subconscious, so if you’re looking to be pissed off at somebody, you better put yourself right at the top of the list.”

Ouch. I pretended to focus on traffic for a little while.

“Sorry.”

“‘Sokay.”

“So, whatever ‘it’ was, it was that bad?”

Garston snorted. “Pardon the old war-dog cliché, but I still wake up screaming some nights, and that’s after decades with a PTSD specialist. See, we got what they call desensitized after a while, so they stepped things up a little at a time. When I remembered, though, it was fifteen years all at once, including the stuff at the end that would’a broke anybody unless they worked their way up to it. The good part is it doesn’t sound like it’s hitting you all at once, and like I said, there’s all that meditation and shit.”

“And I still have no idea what ‘it’ is. Looks like we’ve reached the point where not remembering is more dangerous than remembering, though. Agreed? Make me understand here.”“Eli’s better at this kind of thing than I am. It’ll sound crazy coming from me.”

“I challenge you to top the last couple of hours in the crazy department.”

“Okay. Here goes.” He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and went for it. “Your Grandpa Eli is a demon hunter who travels between universes by performing a ritual that lets him die and come back in other worlds, and he’s actually your father from your first life. You and I and a bunch of others got taken prisoner by the Shashashkuhun demons—who were working with the Qlippoth demons at the time—when you weren’t quite eight years old. Everybody thought we were dead, but we weren’t. We spent about the next fifteen years as live test subjects for demons, until we finally escaped.”

I pulled onto the interstate. The electric hum of the motor, the tires on the wet road, and the wind buffeting us from outside were the only sounds for a while. The drizzle had picked up into rain, and sandwiched between the black sky and blacker road, I struggled to see through the falling gray that sucked my headlight beams into limbo.

“So. You escaped. We escaped, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“By doing this death ritual thing.”

“Yeah. We got separated, and you took forever to get here, but one day you just sort of . . . coalesced is the word Eli uses. This perfect, beautiful little baby girl, looking exactly the way you used to. Eli picked you up and held you for the longest time, staring at your face and crying, and I said, ‘See? All the good things you’ve done, your karma finally caught up to you.’ And he said, ‘Yes, she finally has.’”

I drove. And I admit that I sniffled a little.

After a few minutes Garston said, “Well? You gonna say something?”

“This is probably the biggest understatement of the century, but it’s a lot to take in.”

“I warned you.”

“You did.”

Still trying to figure things out, we compared notes on the attacks. When Grandpa and Garston saw the riot footage and couldn’t reach me by phone, they headed to Garston’s truck to come check on me. That was when the demons hit them, about an hour and a half after the attack on the restaurant, roughly twelve-thirty or so, when we were still huddled in the restaurant thinking the monsters were right outside. Knowing all that didn’t help much in the ‘figuring things out’ department, though.

Jayden had been silent most of this time except for helping fill in details of our fight with the slaughter-spider. When I glanced over, he was frowning.

“So,” I said, “Regret getting involved with me yet, or do I need to work on that?”

“You’ll have to work on it. Had a thought, though. I’m still not getting a signal, and . . . ” He clicked on the radio. Nothing but static all the way up and down the dial. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” I said.

I caught up as close as we dared to the find-me charm, which bought us a few minutes to pull over and search for the jammer. Once we found it, in a waterproof casing fastened to the inside of a rear wheel-well, disabling it was simple. For something a little bigger than a pack of cigarettes, though, it had certainly caused enough trouble.

Jayden took the wheel when we got back on the road so we could run without headlights, thus saving juice and making ourselves stealthier at the same time. Garston made the call. Not just to anybody, but to Malachai Traeger, who doesn’t need a code name because, hey, he’s Malachai fucking Traeger. He might be a sweetheart when he’s not working, but according to local legend, he’s faced down gods. No, that’s not hyperbole. Handy having someone like that as a family friend, especially considering there was no way we could afford him otherwise.

Just knowing that Kai was on the job did wonders for morale, and we whooped triumphantly. Okay, I whooped. Jayden smiled, but for him, that counted. Uncle Garston’s whoop sounded more like, “Would you please shut your mouth while I’m on the phone?” but I claim creative license.

Why wouldn’t we be jubilant? We had a plan, and professionals to carry it out. We had a big head start, but Kai said he’d catch up as soon as he could, and make calls on the way to assemble a small recon team and get someone to the scene of each attack to do forensics. The recon team would figure out exactly what they were up against, and call in extra support as necessary. All we had to do was point the way.

The find-me led, and we followed, with occasional updates to give Kai our route. Once we got out of range of the last cell tower, we dropped emergency reflectors and other expendables at exits and intersections to blaze a trail, and considering we were well into unpatrolled territory at that point, I strapped on Lawson’s body armor just to be safe.

On a sketchily-paved county road at the corner of nowhere and nothing, something pinged the fender, and the front right tire blew with a ‘whump’ like a glove hitting a punching bag, Jayden fought for control and lost, and the world did cartwheels as the car flipped sideways into the ditch, coming to rest halfway down with wheels in the air. Jayden and I extricated ourselves from our seat belts and air bags while I called out to Garston to see if he was okay. He didn’t answer, and when I turned to check on him, he was gone, along with one of the rear doors.

With Jayden’s night vision, it didn’t take long to find Uncle Garston, laying spread-eagled in the bottom of the ditch with his head at an unnatural angle, and wheezing with every breath. I fought back the impulse to throw myself across him the way I had as a little girl, and knelt beside him instead. Jayden understood more quickly than I did what was happening, or maybe just accepted it more readily, and stood silently nearby.

“Least it doesn’t hurt.” Garston said. “Can’t feel shit, to be honest.”

“Kai should be here soon. We’ll get you to a hospital and you’ll be—”

“Come on, K-girl. This ain’t my first body. I know when one’s going.”

I felt like I was six years old again. “You can’t just give up. You’re my Uncle Growly, and you’re tougher than anything, remember?”

“Difference between giving up and knowing when to cut your losses. I need you to do something for me, now. It’s hard, and I don’t want to ask, but—”

“No. No, don’t make me do that again. I can’t.” Again?

“Yes, you can, K-girl. I don’t need the ritual, either, not if it’s quick and clean. If I’m stuck in this body for too much longer it’s over for real, though.”

“I call bullshit. You’re going to hang the fuck on, and that’s all there is to it.” I knew better. But until I admitted it, it wouldn’t be real.

“Karma, I’m asking you to do this because I can’t do it myself. You’ll get past it. Jayden’ll help you with that. I’d ask him, but I know you—even though he’d be saving me, you’d never be able to look at him again and I want better for you than that. So I’m begging you now. Please, do this one last thing for me.”

He coughed, drew in another wheezing breath and coughed again. I ran my fingers over that tangled, salt-and-pepper mess he called a beard and kissed him on the cheek, and after a little bit of struggle, I managed to free the Desert Eagle from its holster and hold it somewhat steadily in both hands.

“L-word, Uncle Growly,” I said.

“Love you, too, K-girl. I’ll be seeing you again.”

Garston closed his eyes. It took me a while, but I pulled the trigger. The big Desert Eagle knocked me on my ass and punched me in both eardrums. I turned my face skyward and howled while the rain sluiced thick, sticky warmth from my face.

And I remembered. Not everything, not even a lot, but enough to begin to understand just how fucked up everything was. To understand why they hadn’t wanted me to remember. Why I had made myself forget. Jayden stood back while I let it out. If he’d put his arms around me or offered any kind of support, I don’t think I could have handled it. He seemed to know that.

Although it’s the worst place to find it, there is strength in pain. Not if you stuff it down or deny it or revel in it, but if you accept the pain as yours. When I was done crying, I used that strength to pull myself from the mud, and hand in hand, Jayden and I helped each other up the slope to the car to assess the damage. Jayden made a frustrated sound beside me, and flipped open his cell phone to show me the bullet hole in the fender.

And that was when I put it together. “Jayden, this isn’t about Grandpa. It never was. This is about me.”

I laid it out for him.

Whoever planned this had learned my routine, knew it would be just me and one other person on Tuesday night, and knew we’d be in the alley with our hands full at some point. The idea was simple. Grab me and get the hell out of there. The spider was never supposed to kill me. But because of the riot, the Plaza had a bunch of extra security, and Jayden and I changed our schedule, so not only were the—call them minions—not all in place, they’d been spotted. Once they’d tipped their hand, they only had a few hours to act, so plan B was to grab Grandpa and use him as bait, leaving Garston alive to come tell me. If they just wanted me dead, why a jammer instead of a bomb, either on the car or in the alley? Or why not a sniper in the alley? And why would someone clever enough to think of making us carry our own jammer not think to look for a find-me charm? They had to have found it, but instead of getting rid of it, they incorporated it into their plan. Then, when we got to where they wanted us to be, they shot out the tire to keep us in place.

There were easier ways to do this. All of it. That someone had gone to all this trouble to show they could outsmart me and pull my strings meant this was something personal, and considering my age when the Shashashkuhun had taken us, it had to be something to do with the prison camp.

It took maybe thirty seconds to explain it all. “So, what do you think?”

“I think my girlfriend is either a brilliant detective or a criminal mastermind. What’s our next move?”

I had no idea.

Garston had brought an extra rifle and plenty of ammo. Jayden and I gathered everything and scrabbled to the edge of the ditch. The tree line was perhaps a hundred yards away on the other wide of the road, but in the darkness it may as well have been miles. I was thankful for Jayden’s eyes.

“I’ve got some movement, but nothing much,” Jayden said “They’re either waiting for their boss, or they just want to make us sweat.”

“Probably the latter,” I said. “We screwed up their plan. Whoever it is, now it’s even more important to show how clever they are. Both for their own ego and to save face. They’re going to want to talk. And gloat. I’ll try to stall them until Kai’s crew gets here. If I say anything horrible that doesn’t sound like the me you know, and I probably will—”

“No, I get it. ‘Words are weapons, sharper than knives.’”

Devil Inside. Now there was an appropriate reference. I nodded. “Just wanted to make sure.”

We watched the tree line in silence for a while. Rather, Jayden watched the tree line. I couldn’t see that far in the dark, so I watched Jayden and tried to stop shivering.

“So,” I said, “Bet you’re wishing you’d stayed at the restaurant about now.”

“No. Gotta admit, though, I normally don’t do the whole monster-fighting thing until the third date. But you’re special.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls who almost get you killed.”

Jayden seemed about to say something when a man’s megaphone-amplified voice shouted across the field. “Karma Rodriguez.”

“It speaks,” I shouted back. “And it knows my name. Should I be impressed?”

“You should remember mine. It’s Brallus. I’m sending over a field phone so you don’t have to shout.”

“Anything that steps out of that tree line dies, Brallus. Especially if it’s carrying something I think might go ‘boom.’” I was already getting hoarse, though. After a quick exchange we determined that both sides had access to walkie talkies, and that Brallus had no need for signal jammers this far from the closest cell tower.

“Alright, Brallus,” I said into the walkie-talkie, “Good people died tonight because of you. If that was supposed to get my attention, it worked.” I wanted to scream at him to give my grandfather back, but if there was any chance at all of that happening, I had to downplay how important he was to me.

“You expect me to believe you’re upset about those native guards?” he said, “What happened to the cold little demon-bitch who whored out her own mother for scraps and special treatment?”

What? Jayden caught my eye, and I shrugged, nonplussed. “You know that’s not how it was. And which of us is working with demons? I could swear that was a Shashashkuhun slaughter-spider I killed a few hours ago.”

“A temporary alliance. And better the Shashashkuhun than monsters like you. See, I know why the Qlippoth’s little experiment worked on you when it killed everybody else they tried it on. You were evil to begin with. That thing they put inside of you wasn’t an invader, it was a soulmate.”

Okay, best not to think about the Qlippoth putting anything inside me for now. Probably something I was better off not remembering. “Brallus, I was a child when they captured me.”

“Captured you? Took you home, you mean. Put you in with the real prisoners to spy on them, and anyone who caught on, you had your followers kill. Then when you and your little band escaped, you left the rest of us there.”

“Okay, do you see the flaw in your logic here? If I was somehow serving the Qlippoth, why would I want or need to escape?”

“How should I know how a demon thinks? After what you did to my brother, I stopped even trying to understand you.”

Riiiiiight. Not like I’d really expected logic to work, anyway. “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No idea? His name was Kolb. You used your powers to seduce him, then had him ripped to pieces when he finally gave in. As if he had a choice. I can still hear him screaming.”

Speaking of screaming, I didn’t need the walkie to hear him at that point. If the idea was to stall, as opposed to goad, I’d better take things down a notch. I keyed the mic, but before I could speak, the world went away. This world, anyway.

The stone is rough against my back, and Kolb has his hand over my mouth. His brother Brallus is supposed to be keeping watch, but he keeps looking at me funny, and he says they shouldn’t do this, but he breathes harder when he looks at me. Kolb thinks I am afraid of them, but I am just waiting for them to make a mistake. When Kolb tries to rip my top off, I bite his hand as hard as I can and knee him between the legs the way Mommy taught me. I still have a piece of his hand in my mouth, and it is gross, but I can’t think about that now. I spit it out and dig my fingernails into his eyes and scream as loud as I can. And then Mommy is there . . . That twisted . . . And he called me a monster? When I could speak again I screamed back hoarsely. “I was nine years old, you sick fuck. I’m glad Kolb is dead. I hope it hurt like hell and took a long, long time, and I’m just sorry they could only do it once. Now give me back my grandfather, you piece of shit, or I swear I will tear you open with my bare hands and feed you your own intestines.”

I was shaking with rage, and when Jayden touched my arm I nearly decked him before I regained control. He raised an eyebrow and indicated the tree line by inclining his head toward it. By the time I followed his eyes, he was already sending arrow after arrow across the field. The Shashashkuhun were attacking. There were at least a dozen or so—I was a little too occupied to count—a mix of slaughter-spiders and more humanoid-looking creatures—slothor, something inside me said—laying down suppressing fire with automatic rifles, but considering what it had taken to kill just one already-wounded slaughter-spider, we were well and truly fucked. So much for Brallus wanting me alive. The only thing to do was go down fighting, but that would probably be quicker and cleaner than whatever Brallus had originally planned. I picked up the AR-15 and took aim, and Jayden lay down his bow and grabbed the other rifle.

“I’m sorry, Jayden,” I shouted. Like sorry would cover this. “They don’t care about you. If you run they might let you go.”

Jayden’s only response was to keep firing. I had to give him the out, even though I knew he wouldn’t take it. Part of me found comfort in knowing he’d be there until the end, and the rest of me hated myself for that.

“I love you,” I yelled above the sound of gunfire. I should have said it months ago, and I might not get a chance to say it later.

“You’d better,” he said as he swapped out magazines, “And I love you, too.” He tried to give me one of those ‘our little secret’ smiles, but failed, and we pretended not to see the fear on each other’s faces. We downed two demons, but although that made them a little more cautious, they were still too tough and healed too quickly. By the time they were thirty yards away, we had only taken one more out of the fight, and were nearly out of ammunition. It would be hand to hand with the remaining ones soon, and realistically speaking, that wouldn’t last very long. We were about to die. The only question was whether we could take any more of them with us.

And that was when our miracle arrived. At first I thought it was more Shashashkuhun, but no, the demons were taking flanking fire from the roadside perpendicular to ours, and a three-wheeler with a sidecar leapt over the adjoining road and sped toward us down the center of the ditch. Malachai Traeger, tall and lean in brown armored leathers and that Boba Fett-looking helmet of his, jumped off the trike before it even came to a full stop, letting it stall out, and a slender Aosidhe woman in ill-fitting rust-colored gear followed from the sidecar, carrying four assault rifles with jungle clips. If I knew Kai, and I did, they’d be loaded with something to give us an edge. She tossed one to Kai on the run, and scrambled up the slope to hand one each to Jayden and me before taking a prone position and firing. She and Kai squeezed off disciplined three-round bursts, and Jayden and I tried to follow suit, focusing on the same targets. The Shashashkuhun didn’t simply fall back or retreat, they scrambled for the tree line. About half of them made it, and the gunfire changed to occasional shots and bursts as targets became less visible.

The Aosidhe woman took off toward the other end of the ditch. Kai waved me a little further down the slope and plopped down next to me, flipping up his faceplate. “Would’ve been here sooner, but someone left a surprise for us. And by the way, that trash can did quite a bit of damage. Not fatal on its own, but more than it should have. Same with the taser.”

“So their weaknesses are aluminum and electricity?”

“Nope. I have a theory about that, but—”

The radio squawked. Brallus wanting to know if I was still there. “Yeah, I’m here, Brallus. You’re down a few troops, though. Seems like this might be a good time for you to surrender.”

“Not when I still have something you want.”

I made sure the mic was off, and explained to Kai what was going on, then asked, “Can your people get to my grandpa?”

“They’re working on it, but we don’t want to put him in any more danger. Stall.”

Along with everything else, Brallus was playing a power game. He couldn’t just tell me what he wanted—He had to make me ask. “Okay, what do you want?”

“You, demon-bitch.” He didn’t speak the words so much as spit them. “Wearing thrice-blessed iron manacles, in a circle of containment. Then I’ll let the old man go.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Traditional anti-demon thing,” Kai whispered. “This is good. Keep him talking.”

“I see a couple of problems with that,” I said. “The first of which is, gee, wouldn’t you know it, Brallus? I’m fresh out of thrice-blessed iron manacles.”

“Funny. I’ll send over the restraints.”

“And what’s to stop you from double-crossing us once you have me?”

“I don’t think you have much choice.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“He’s rather . . . indisposed.”

“Look, do you see the other hole in your logic here? If I’m this evil demon spawn you claim, why would his life mean enough to me to risk my own?”

“I don’t know, nor do I care about your reasons.” Of course. Hadn’t we established earlier that Brallus was immune to logic? “I’ll give you twenty minutes to decide how important he is to you.”

“If you kill him, you lose your leverage.”

“True, but I don’t have to kill him. How do you think he’d like living without his lips? Or maybe his eyelids?”

That was when I knew that no matter what, even if it cost me my own life, I was going to kill that son of a bitch, and anyone who got in my way.—The worst part isn’t what they do to us. It’s what they make us do to each other. I am strapped to the table trying not to cry while my mother stands over me with a hot iron. They give her a choice. She can take over torturing me, or they will burn out my eyes, one at a time. If she still refuses, they will cut out my tongue—but not all at once. They will draw it out. They make it very clear just how long and how horribly they can make me suffer while keeping me alive and awake.—

“You touch one hair on his head, and I’ll make the prison camp seem like Club fucking Med, motherfucker. I’ll . . . ” I don’t even remember the rest of what I screamed into the walkie-talkie at that point, only that my hands were shaking so badly that I dropped it. I was wiping the mud off when Brallus’ voice broke in again.

“I’ll turn this back on in twenty minutes. Have your answer ready.”

Oh, I had an answer for him, all right. I was going to put him in a hole where no one could hear him scream. I was going to cut off his balls and feed them to him. I was going to—

“You know you can’t hand yourself over, don’t you?” Jayden said.

My voice came out harder than I’d intended. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You think I don’t understand the risk? Would you do it for someone you love?”

Jayden’s voice was quiet when he answered. “You already know the answer to that.”

Oh, smooth. I was bitching at a man who’d proven twice in the past few hours that he’d stand beside me even if it meant dying. I hung my head, blinking. What the fuck? One minute I was ready to kill, the next, I was fighting back tears.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I said. “It’s just so messed up right now. We started the night being attacked by monsters. And do we run from them like, oh, I don’t know . . . sane people? No, we chase them into an unpatrolled zone like some kind of demon-food delivery service, because yeah, that was bound to turn out well. But what other choice did we have? They took Grandpa and we had to get him back. And Garston . . . I lost one of only two people I consider family tonight—no, correction, I blew his fucking brains out, and I don’t dare even slow down long enough to let myself feel it yet.” I heard my voice rising, felt my control slipping, and I didn’t care. “Apparently my entire family is from some alternate universe, and I’m remembering things from a past life where I was tortured by demons for fifteen years starting when I was eight years old—Let me tell you, it wasn’t a good time. I am this close to completely, absolutely, permanently, and irrevocably losing my fucking shit, and the only reason I haven’t already lost it is that all of this is so utterly bat-shit insane that I can’t even focus enough to go properly crazy. I—”

Jayden knelt and pulled me to him hard, covering my mouth with his in a kiss that, for just that moment, was more real than anything else in existence. Solid and tangible proof of a connection with another human being. One who would support me no matter what the odds. When we broke the kiss Jayden remained, holding me firmly but gently, grounding me.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say, “I just . . . I’m doing the best I can, but I honestly don’t know how much I have left in me. I’m trying to be strong, but I’m so fucking tired of being strong right now.”

“And you are strong, Karma,” Jayden said. “Just stop taking it all on yourself. Nobody’s that strong.”

Kai shook his head and sighed. “The kid’s right,” he said. “Most people’d be ready for a rubber room after half of what you’ve been through in the past—what’s it been, five hours or so? I’ve been close to the edge myself a couple of times, and I deal with fucked-up shit for a living. No shame in needing somebody to pull you back.”

I swallowed and nodded, and Kai continued. “That said, as much as I don’t want to push you any further, we’ve got a deadline to meet. You gonna be okay?”

There was a question I’d heard before. “Ask me that in a couple of years. But let’s do this.”

“Okay. Give me your hands. I have to check something.” Kai knelt where Jayden had been and took both my hands in his. A familiar, subtle energy, both warm and cool at once, circulated through me. Something in Kai called out to that energy, but it was like the call was in a foreign tongue, a friendly language that I could almost, but not quite, understand. Kai became somehow more real, more solid. I had an impression of immensity, of a bright column of light almost too intense to look at, that feathered outward like three sets of giant wings, and of a voice like singing multi-tonal bells and pipes accompanied by a chorus of beautiful, almost human voices. Kai removed his hands from mine, and the vision faded.

“You’re a—” I started.

Kai cut me off. “Don’t go there, it’s not what you think. I’ll explain later, but for now let’s just say the Quiet World is a hell of a lot bigger than most people think. There are some people who don’t even know they’re Quiet Worlders. Like you.”

I swallowed.

“So what am I?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Not the same as me, but similar enough that I’m betting your power—at least one part of it—works about the same way mine does. At least there’s one thing we can both do.”

“Are you telling me I’m a—”

“I said don’t go there. Now about this power . . . ” After he told me I sat blinking, trying to take it in.

“You’re telling me that I turned a trash can into a holy weapon? And I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.”

Kai winced. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but basically, yeah. You channel energy into objects, and if something’s got a supernatural weakness, well . . . You’ve seen the results. You’ve already done it unconsciously, and we have about ten minutes to figure out how, so let’s get with it.”

When Brallus came back on the air, I told him I was ready. He sent the more humanoid of the remaining Shashashkuhun across, pulling what looked like an old barn door on makeshift runners, marked with containment circles. Assuming they were specifically keyed to demons, they wouldn’t affect me, nor would the blessings on the restraints. Unfortunately, though, the chains would hold me just like they would anybody else. Brallus insisted I strip down to my bra and panties to make sure I wasn’t hiding a weapon, and while that made sense on one level, it was also creepy, considering. The kind of pseudo-succubus he’d convinced himself I was wouldn’t mind stripping, though, and the idea for now was to play into his expectations.

So I stepped up into the containment circle and made a show of it, shimmying and tossing my head as though dancing to some private, raunchy music—which is a lot harder than you’d think when you’re soaked, and shivering uncontrollably. When I got down to my underthings I ran my hands down my sides, did a little wriggle, and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. “Sure you don’t want me to keep going?” The demon eyed me and licked its black lips as it came closer. Gods, I was going to be sick if the thing actually touched me.

At a word from Brallus, it backed away hurriedly, and someone in the tree line fired a warning shot. “No tricks,” Brallus shouted. “You, with the long hair,” meaning Jayden, “Chain her up. And do it right, or the old man suffers.” So far, so good. Part of the plan depended on either Jayden or Kai getting up onto the platform with me.

The cuffs and collar were fastened to a ring in the middle of the platform by chains that wouldn’t allow me to raise myself up past a crouch, and secured by large, medieval-looking padlocks. As Jayden snapped the last lock in place, I lowered my head, ostensibly in defeat, but in reality to hide my smile at the feel of cold metal hidden beneath my foot and the chemical smell in my nostrils. The drizzle hadn’t let up, and would already be diluting the acid, but all the acid had to do was weaken the wood where the ring was bolted.

It took forever for the monster to slog across in the mud pulling me behind it. This would work, I kept telling myself. For the most part I believed it, too. Until Brallus stepped forward, placed his hand on the platform, and spoke an activating word. After that I was too busy screaming to think about much of anything.

When I came to, I was huddled on my side in the fetal position, shivering, in a pool of my own vomit and urine. At least I’d landed on the multi-tool when I fell, keeping it hidden. The air was damp and cold, but a tent kept the rain off of us. Brallus stood nearby with arms folded, glaring at me. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, fairly well-muscled, with close-cropped, thick, dark hair. The overall effect was like someone had brought a G.I. Joe to life. A .45 sat holstered on his right hip, and a coiled whip hung from one wrist by a leather strap.

“Killer turkey sandwich,” I croaked, “No mayo, black coffee, apple pie.”

“You have no idea how difficult it was to treat you like a human being, or to keep my food down while looking at you. And by the way, please try to move again. The outer circle is containment, the inner one is pain, as you’ve already discovered. So sorry your foot was touching it when I turned it on.”

“Kinky. If I were fifteen years younger I bet you’d be creaming yourself. Again.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I was scared shitless, and trying to hide it from him any way I could.

It wasn’t a good tactic. I barely saw the whip coming in time to take the lash on my arms instead of across my face. It was a half-hearted strike and didn’t quite draw blood, but it stung like hell, and I cried out despite myself. The whip gave me an idea, though; I just wasn’t ready to try it yet.

Brallus was red in the face. “Soaked in holy water. It should have burned you, but I guess that’s just one more mystery we’ll have to solve. Some old friends want to see what makes you tick, and I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it. If there’s anything left when they’re finished, you’re mine. Think about that, demon-bitch.”

I thought about it, alright, and I didn’t like the pictures in my head. “What about The General? Did you let him go?”

In answer, Brallus pointed behind me to where Grandpa was tied to a post by his wrists with his head down on his chest. He was breathing, but unconscious. ��I’ll release him at a more appropriate time. For now, though,” He pulled a baby monitor—talk about creep factor—from his cargo pocket, switched it on, and set it on top of the nearby field table. “Feel free to scream at me as much as you like. I’ll be listening.”

He muttered what I supposed were instructions to the monster who’d dragged me here, then swaggered out of the tent. Smug bastard. The man demon growled when it looked my way, but immediately averted its many eyes, as though afraid to look directly at me. I guessed Brallus had him convinced that I was dangerous. I took advantage to inspect the pain ward more closely, careful not to move any part of my body over it. I was no expert, but if I was right about it, my idea should work. I wrapped myself around the ring, and worked it back and forth, covering the motion with fake, body-wracking sobs, augmented occasionally with very real dry heaves from the stink of my own fluids, until I’d gotten it as loose as I thought I could by hand.

I was determined to stay alert for a chance to work on it with the multi-tool, but I was at that point of exhaustion where inanimate objects move in the corners of your eyes and normal background noise becomes voices on a far-away radio. The pain and growling in my stomach reminded me that what little I’d eaten in the past few hours was either smeared all over my skin or lay in a noxious pool beneath me, and the last time I’d felt warm or dry seemed like a lifetime ago.

My body finally said, ‘enough,’ and as if my brain was trying to convince me to stop fighting sleep, I could almost hear a lullaby in a woman’s soft mezzo-soprano, familiar and comforting. I held the song against myself and let it pull me down into the welcome dark.

I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes, but when I opened my eyes, the demon guard’s misshapen head lolled to one side in sleep. It had to be a trick, I thought at first, but then again, we’d left Brallus short-handed, and who knew how much it took out of these things to heal as quickly as they did?

I turned at a low hiss from Grandpa. He winked at me and wiggled the end of the rope. He’d gotten loose, but held it in place to make it look as though his hands were still bound. Thanks to the baby monitor, we didn’t dare speak, but I managed to pantomime my idea, and urged him to escape. He frowned and shook his head no. I hadn’t really expected him to leave me there, any more than I’d have left him or . . . Gods, I didn’t want to tell him about Uncle Garston. I set to work with the multi-tool, digging around the ring to which my chains were attached. Once I got it out I replaced it, took a deep breath, and with an encouraging look from Grandpa, got ready to put on another act.

“Brallus,” I said toward the monitor. The demon guarding me jerked its head up, awake, but other than that, nothing. “Brallus! Please, I’m cold, and I’m hungry, and I know you don’t care about that, but I’ll tell you things you want to know. All I want is a blanket and some food. I’ll cooperate. I didn’t know how bad it would be without my power.”

Still nothing.

“This body’s getting weaker. It’ll get sick. What if it dies? What then? All this for nothing?”

Something rustled outside, and Brallus entered the tent glowering. He spoke a few words to the demon in an ugly language, and the beast left. I did my best to look small and pitiful and afraid. The afraid part wasn’t hard, and I figured that being scared at least meant I was still sane.

“I sent it for food, water, and blankets. I’ll have it bring them in once we’re done here.”

I bowed my head, doing my best ‘humbled prisoner’ act, and reminded myself that as long as those wards were active I’d be unconscious from pain before I could get my hands around Brallus’ throat. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

“Don’t thank me. I’d rather watch you suffer.”

I bit my lip. Have to play this just right. I couldn’t have him get pissed and walk away. I needed to get hold of that whip.

I kept my head bowed. “I know. But I’ll keep my end. I’ll tell you everything.”

“And how would I know it was the truth?”

“Because my best chance of survival, or at least a quick death, is to cooperate.”

The best lies contain at least partial truths, and I sprinkled in just enough to make things sound plausible, given that there was no way he’d accept the unvarnished version. Some things I had to blatantly fabricate, though. For instance, I claimed that the riot and Grandpa were both parts of long-term plans to gain power in this world, and that when I agreed to trade myself I did so thinking that Brallus couldn’t hold me (that part was true) and I’d have my pawn back for free. After a few minutes, it was time to bait my hook. With head hung low, I offered to tell the truth about what I had done to his brother, and said that I’d write a confession. He bit, and I started reeling him in.

Another thing about lies. People will buy into almost anything as long as it confirms what they want to believe, and unless I had seriously misunderstood Brallus’ expression when his brother was trying to molest me, Brallus’ tastes ran similar to Kolb’s.

So I spun a Lolita story that would have made Nabokov proud. Although I barely kept from gagging as I did it, I confirmed all the lies people like Brallus and Kolb tell themselves so they can sleep at night, and credited myself demonic powers to further absolve Kolb of responsibility. Brallus’ breathing quickened, and every so often he’d unconsciously moisten his lips with his tongue. Yeah, I know. Makes you want to throw up, doesn’t it?

“And you’d write this out as a confession?” he asked.

I hung my head. “With witnesses, if you want, to prove I wasn’t coerced.”

He steepled his hands and sat watching me. “You know this doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. Still, I was hoping maybe . . . ”

I let the pause hang there until he prompted me. “I knew you’d have an ulterior motive. You were hoping what? That I’d unchain you and let you go?”

I shook my head. “No, just that if I cooperated and told you everything you wanted to know, maybe you wouldn’t turn me over to them.” I wasn’t even sure who ‘they’ were, but I assumed the higher-ups in the Shashashkuhun hierarchy.

“That’s out of my hands.”

“No, you can convince them. And you can . . . use me any way you want.” Emphasis on the ‘use.’ And then, for the bit that would set me free. “And if this body doesn’t please you, I could help you find young girls, like I was back then. Boys, too, if you want them. I could make them either submit or fight back, whichever excites you more.”

His face went slack and pale. The last thing people in denial want is to have their proclivities thrown in their face. “You. Dare.” Brallus stood and unfurled the whip. I crouched and threw my hands in front of me as though cowering, but as the whip wrapped around my forearms and bit into them, I grabbed and pulled. Brallus teetered, off-balance, but didn’t fall. We played tug-of-war, and Brallus was winning until Grandpa threw himself at Brallus’ back and knocked him across his own wards.

The wards flashed with electricity, and Brallus screamed, convulsed, and passed out. I used his body as a bridge to get out of the containment circle, then Grandpa grabbed his sidearm and his keys. Grandpa offered me the .45, but I waved it away in favor of the keys, and told him to deactivate the find-me charm—which would signal Kai and his group to attack. I should have taken the gun and put a bullet into Brallus’ head, but I wanted him awake and alert when I killed him. As I finished with the locks, scrambling noises outside said that at least one demon was on the way back to the tent. I grasped the chains that had held me and swung them in a slow, but accelerating circle while I used what Kai and I had discovered about my power to infuse them with what energy I could.

When tall, dark and revolting poked its ugly head into the tent, I swung my chains with everything I had, and sent it staggering back. The power in the chains flashed, then diminished, but did not completely fade, and the demon’s face blackened across its eyes where I’d hit it. I swung again and again while Grandpa flanked it with Brallus’ .45. On my third blow, the demon’s skull cracked open, spattering me with blood and brains.

Gunfire and other battle noises announced the arrival of our allies, and by the time I’d secured Brallus and stepped out of the tent, the fighting was over. Filthy as I was, I threw my arms around Grandpa’s neck, telling him how much I’d missed him, how worried I’d been, and babbling about Jayden.

Grandpa looked away, with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not your grandfather.”

“I know. Uncle Garston told me. Dad.” I grinned.

“You don’t understand. I mean—”

I heard movement behind me, and turned to see Brallus low-crawling toward the tent flap to escape.

Reunions would have to wait. I ran toward Brallus swinging my chains, and opened a gash across his back with the bolt end of the connecting ring. He bellowed and fell forward, and I went to work on him. Not his head, though. That would be too quick. This man had killed my friends, kidnapped and tortured my father, forced me to kill the other man I thought of as a parent, and those were only the tip of the mountain of things he had to answer for. He rolled onto his back snarling and tried to catch the chain, and got a broken arm for his trouble. He succeeded in pulling me off balance, but I don’t think me landing with my knee in his solar plexus was the result he was going for. While he gasped for breath, stunned, I raised my arms into the air and smashed a double fistful of chain into his face.

Once he was unconscious I let up, simply because it wasn’t as satisfying to hit him when he couldn’t feel it. I wanted to kill him. I wanted it more than I could remember ever wanting anything. But I didn’t. No, not because of some cliché like, ‘he wasn’t worth it,’ or, ‘that would be stooping to his level.’ Oh, hell, no. I could have killed him and slept the sleep of the just, but it came down to a question of practicality. I had questions for the bastard, and if I killed him, I’d never get the answers. I left him to Kai’s tender mercies for the time being.

One of the proxies loaned us a vehicle to get back to civilization, and Jayden and I set out to find where Grandpa-slash-Dad had gotten to. The drizzle had become a downpour by the time we found him on the side of the road staring at the spot where Garston had died. Correction: where I had killed him. I stuffed that thought down as best I could. Kai’s cohorts had already removed the body, but someone must have told him. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved that I didn’t have to break the news, or guilty that he’d had to hear it from someone else. I finally decided on feeling guilty about feeling relieved. Jayden kissed me—yes, vomit and all—and said he’d be close by, then wandered off to give my grandfather and me some time alone.

I stood behind Grandpa and put my hand on his shoulder. I didn’t know what to say, or even whether to call him Grandpa or Dad, so I didn’t say anything. After thirty seconds or so, he broke the silence, and I didn’t think I’d ever heard him sound so frail or tired.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry. I thought I could get Eli back, but then I was . . . He’s in here somewhere, but he’s buried deep.”

My stomach dropped, and my spine turned to ice. I backed away, drawing my nine millimeter, pointing it at the back of his head and thumbing the safety off. “Who are you? What are you? And what the fuck are you doing in my grandfather?”

“I—Nobody. Just another prisoner. Someone who tried to save everybody and failed. You did great, though. Saved everybody I couldn’t, including yourself. Including me. I’ll keep this body alive long enough to get it to a hospital, and then I’ll leave you all in peace.”

I lowered my weapon. “What do I call you?”

He turned toward me, and I averted my eyes to avoid seeing someone else behind that face. “I won’t be around long enough to need a name.”

There was nothing left but to go home. I took the wheel, with Not-Grandpa in the passenger seat and Jayden in the back. In the enclosed space, all the things I hadn’t been able to wash off hit me square in the face. That window had to come down, freezing rain or no. I eased us back to pavement, and then opened up full throttle, trying to outrun my own thoughts.

Nothing. It was all for nothing. I’d failed, utterly and completely, and as if to prove there was no justice in the universe, I was still alive—Then again, maybe there was justice after all. Maybe surviving was part of my punishment.

Which brings me to my laughing-slash-crying jag at the side of the road. The car was too confining, so I drove to the nearest rest stop, got out and walked to a covered picnic table. After a few minutes, Jayden joined me. As he’d already shown, he had a good feel for when to approach me and when to leave me alone.

“I was talking to, uh . . . ” He gestured toward the car.

“I’ve been thinking of him as ‘Not-Grandpa,’ for lack of anything better. And look, I already know I’m not giving him a fair shake. I can’t help it. And yes, I know we should try to help him find another—”

“About that. I know the whole deduction thing is your territory, but as the Watson to your Holmes, I figure I can come up with something once in a while, too.”

“Okay, spill, Watson.”

“Under one condition.”

At Jayden’s insistence, I gave myself a sponge-bath in the ladies’ room while he rinsed my clothes and laid out his thoughts and conclusions the way I’d done with him earlier. When he finished, I stood literally open-mouthed for probably a full minute, letting it sink in. If my power was, as Kai thought, something like his, there was one way to see if Jayden was right.

“Go on,” he said. “I’ll wait here for a little while.” Seemed like that boy spent a lot of time waiting for me. Then again, we’d waited almost two years for each other, so we should’ve been used to it by then.

Back at the car I took Not-Grandpa’s hands, over his objections, and focused on finding that same energy I’d felt with Kai.

There were no heavenly choirs, no columns of light. Just a face. Layers of faces, actually. The first one was a facade, the peak of a bearded mountain named Garston. Behind that one was a woman’s face, with long, dark hair, and eyes like mine. A face from another life. My mother.

Although it was Grandpa’s body in front of me, it was still my mother’s face I saw superimposed upon it. She turned away from me, crying. I was almost too stunned to form words, and my mouth opened and closed several times before I could make anything come out. “Mom?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—” she started, but a huge sob cut her off, and for a while, we just held each other and cried.

So much for this all being for nothing.

Maybe we all got what we deserved in the end, after all. We’ll be a family again for the first time in nearly two lifetimes, once we get Dad back from wherever inside himself he's hiding out and find Mom a new body (no idea how we're going to do that, but I have some ideas). Jayden got me, and at the risk of blowing my own horn, I’m not such a bad catch. The patrol officers—after everything I’d seen, I couldn’t believe that death was the end for them. Me, not only was I getting my family back, along with some sort of as-yet-unexplained superpowers, but also quite possibly the most fantastic guy in this or any other universe. I don’t know what I did to deserve any of it, but it must have been something pretty awesome. So even if it sounds corny—and I know it does…

I’m going to call it karma.

[wackyrumble]

Charisma House v.s. Fusakin

Charisma House - Charisma House

Seven guys living together. Iori: makes people sign slave contracts to treat him like a dog, Terra: self obsessed, Rikai: drinks boiling water instead of alcohol, Saru: rebel who crashed a wedding with a metal pipe, Oshe: tried to kill himself because Rikai was nice to him, Amahiko: "world sexy ambassador, minister of sexy affairs" and gets seasonal dick pains, Fumiya: the normalest one. Read more about them below.

Fusakin - MARIKINonline4

Fusakin was once a balloon that fought with sharp weapons, despite the risks, and eventually gave himself a body through alchemy. Forbidden alchemy, which put him on house arrest. Through a series of events, he creates a beast which he attempts to destroy his soul in order to kill it but it kills him before he can. Read more about Fusakin below.

Full description of the Charisma House:

“apologies im submitting all of the characters from here. you can pick your favorite(s)/the weirdest. **my personal picks (they always get a “wtf”)

**IORI: (bottom right) so basically his entire thing is hes a slutty malewife and loves doing things for others.. but hes also a masochist (in denial). he makes people sign slave contracts with him and forces them to burden him with tasks. he calls himself a dog for the people… he barks… he wears a collar… yeah. also he was a jealous girlfriend (tm) in a valentines day track and shot (we dont actually see it) rikai for “sneaking in chocolate” (he didnt do it) because he wanted to be the only one to give chocolate.

TERRA: (blonde) he loves himself. he’s obsessed with himself. hes married to himself. hes also genderfluid in my heart just look at him. he has 41 mirrors in his room as well as a giant painting of himself.

RIKAI: (glasses) the second normalest out of all of them. hes obsessed with keeping order and is kind of strict but we love him. he doesnt drink alcohol, instead drinking boiling water. he also thinks holding hands before marriage is illegal.

SARU: (pink) his names kei but they call him saru. hes the exact opposite of rikai. he rebels against every little thing like its hardwired into his brain (terra uses this against him). he acts tough but hes scared of ghosts. he tried to crash someones wedding and bring a metal pipe. he also has a lone wolf motif. hes an orphan.

OHSE: (trashbag head) hes really sad and sopping wet and pathetic. every time he makes a mistake his first response is “im sorry ill go die.” he likes reptiles. he never wears shoes his toes are always out. he has ugly ass neon yellow pants. his wiki page has a cw for suicide on it. he jumped out the window to try and kill himself because rikai was nice to him (hes kind of gay for rikai tbh).

**AMAHIKO: (youll know by the desc) dear god. hes basically the ceo of sex. like. he says his occupation is “world sexy ambassador, minister of sexy affairs.” hes also 30 btw. he has NINETY NINE POLES. he calls everything sexy. i mean everything. also he gets seasonal dick pains. he flirts with basically everyone. he wanted to pole dance for the elderly at a grocery store as a greeting. HE STRIPPED HIMSELF NAKED as his christmas present. hes a very silly and whimsical man.

FUMIYA: (orange jacket) hes 19 years old but has probably committed crimes. he has a sweet tooth. his entire thing is hes morally grey so hes by default the normalest. he cant swim. hes the one who invited everyone to the house.. somehow. he breaks the fourth wall and asks the audience for money.”

Full description of Fusakin:

"there are multiple factors contributing to this guys general weirdness so i am going to go over all of them. 1. his character design: like come on just look at the guy. ·×· lookin ass. his design weirdness is further exacerbated by the fact that hes the only playable numa (species name) to wear a shirt (most of them are naked, one wears a rudimentary cloak) so he stands out on account of his epic fashion win. he is gods strongest white boy 2. his general personality: this guy puts stars at the ends of his sentences sometimes this guy uses tildes. he considers himself 'everyones idol' and he is pretty much the most flamboyant character in the entire game. he gets more voice lines than practically any other character he will literally not shut up. did i mention the bushido thing yet i dont think i mentioned the bushido thing he considers himself some sort of honourable samurai type guy. hes just kind of a lunatic though he introduces himself like this

3. and this one is important - the shit hes pulled: so okay this is gonna take a minute. this guy used to be a balloon, right? he used to be a literal balloon, his arms were balloon strings, he fought with a shitton of swords and knives anyway despite the risk, you get the idea. then he decided he wanted a normal body to be on par with his friends because his balloon body was too weak for his liking, so he did dark forbidden alchemy to get an actual body! ...which put him on magical house arrest due to the law of equivalent exchange, so he wasnt able to leave. no one except like two guys checked on him for years. when the party shows up he has them go on some fetch quests to get the ingredients to make a powerful magic pendant. one of the items he has them get is a limited-edition strawberry daifuku that isnt even necessary he just eats it. then he makes the pendant in the microwave. he gives it to the party without saying what it does other than to use it in their hour of need, they use it way way later in the story to fight a powerful enemy, a dude shows up in a giant red suit of armour to fight for them. ...then someone pulls his helmet off and its just fusakin in a suit of armour thats way too big for him because he made it without taking measurements, and it turns out all the pendant was ACTUALLY for was to break his house arrest curse so he could just kind of show up and be cool at a critical moment. oh yeah hes a blacksmith he made that suit of armour and giant sword himself, in his forge room that he hid in the yard of the house he lives in (which is some kind of weird temple) underneath a stone lamp or whatever and its always sweltering hot in there because he leaves the forge running at ALL TIMES so its always at "peak efficiency", also you have to have him use his forge to upgrade your weapons to the highest tier and he goes fucking apeshit with it and theres a bunch of cartoon sound effects as he works. anyway in postgame he shows up and joins your party and everythings going well until way later in when the main fucked up and evil guy pushes a button in his fucked up mecha that causes the maidonium (FUCKED UP IF TRUE MAGIC MATERIAL) in fusakins artificial body to resonate with the traumatized evil spirits being used to power the maidonium in the mecha or whatever im not really sure how that worked. but the important part is it causes a tiny fusakin beast to chestburst out of his back and turn into a fucked up monster creature that immediately steals his sword and starts Killeing People and then later fusakin shows BACK UP in balloon mode again and helps his homoerotic bestie fight off the beast (he has a homoerotic bestie. you fight them during the main story and they have COMBO ATTACKSlike come on. he has the other guys name saved in his phone as "chikorita") hes like "hey i knew this might happen. anyway i promised my master id cut my head off if anything like this happened" and he tries to kill himself by destroying his soul forever to obliterate the beast but then it just fucking kills him before he can do that and thats where things just leave off for him right now we dont know what happens next because the postgame isnt finished yet! if you think this description is long please imagine with me how difficult it is to explain the rest of the plot of the game because good fucking lord i have tried and its always an hourslong explanation Anyway i hope you can consider fusakin for the weird character bracket"

[1d1195]

Made to Be Extra I

Probably too early for an extra but it's the only thing my brain will allow me to write right now. Read the rest here: Made to be

Someone (I'm pretty sure it was my anon, but your message is lost in the chaos of my blog) asked if we would ever find out about the days in between the football game and Harry's apartment.

Here you go!

Warnings: implications of abuse, toxic relationship, signs of physical abuse, psychological abuse

Of course, it was Harry.

They didn’t have full-on conversations as she and her sisters did. Or even the group chat with her friends. But for her to leave Harry unanswered yesterday, he must have known something was amiss.

Sorry for the second message! I’m sure you’re busy and doing things—wanted to show you this book I just finished. I think you’ll really like it. I’ll bring it to school tomorrow. Have a nice day! :)

Everything about Harry made her want to cry.

She was locked in the bathroom. A serious case of shock was present in every inch of her body. She saw her hands shaking as she looked down at them. She could hear his angry stomping and the door slamming shut. A breath escaped her lips in relief.

Looking in the mirror seemed like a terrible idea. Panic surfaced into her chest and throat. Her stomach rolled with nausea. She had to look. What was her other option? She was terrified. Her head was aching. Nothing about this moment made sense. It shouldn’t have happened. It had never happened before. What was she supposed to do?

Then her phone vibrated with a message.

Of course, it was Harry.

Despite the ache of dread in every inch of her body, Harry’s name on her screen lightened the heaviness she felt. It didn’t make it better. Not by a long shot. But there was a flicker of...hope?

I should tell him. She thought. He would probably come running. But that wasn’t fair to him. Harry wasn’t her knight and shining armor. He wasn’t hers. He was her coworker for God’s sake!

But he would.

She knew he would.

With her hand shaking she opened the message. It was a picture of the food she always liked when he brought it to lunch along with the recipe. The smiling emoji with the here y’go attached to it made her melt. She wanted to answer him immediately. It’s like he knew something was wrong. His simple little message made her hands shake less. The throb in her face eased just a fraction.

Just ask him to come here. Tell him. He’ll come for you.

She shook her head and set her phone aside. She had to be brave. Swallowing the lump in her throat she looked up into the mirror. Her eyes met her own gaze for just a second. Her chest swelled with anxiety and anger. She was so utterly sad. This wasn’t supposed to happen to her.

She looked back down at her shaking hands as she let a fresh set of tears spill down her face.

Her mind wandered back to Harry’s text message. Just a recipe and an emoji and her heart was nearly fluttering. He didn’t make her feel this way: broken and alone. He never would. She was so sure of it. She could see it unrolling in her head. Her thumbs tapping out the message to him asking him to come get her, no questions asked.

Of course, love. He’d answer immediately. It was like she could see the message on her phone without it even happening. Is everything alright? And she would say “no” and she could imagine him breaking every speeding law in the world to get to her.

She thought about him holding her hand when he aided her small cut on her finger. That was nothing in comparison. He would probably cradle her like a wounded bird. She thought about the way his fingers would feel holding her broken face and it made her cry more as she felt weakened by how desperately she wanted Harry’s touch.

It wasn’t fair.

Harry would never let her feel this way. She couldn’t imagine a scenario in which he would let her feel like it. Every time he looked at her from across the hall and gave her one of his gorgeous, dimpled smiles she felt literally weak in the knees. Someone like that would never let her feel the way she did right now.

Harry would come get her.

She opened her phone to his message thread. She hovered her finger over the call button. His number staring back at her. She wished she had a picture of him next to his name. She was so sure it would comfort her. It probably would have convinced her finger to move the last centimeter to press on the screen to call him.

Harry would come get her.

But she couldn’t do that to him.

She closed her phone. Slowly she looked in the mirror again. Maybe it would go away. She couldn’t look as long as she did the first time. Her ear was waiting for the sound of him returning. Would he continue their argument? Would he not come back? Would he pretend nothing happened?

Would he...?

She shook her head of the thought causing the painful throb in her cheek to return. Her thumb opened Harry’s contact again. How easy it would be to call him. He would come over before she finished her request. But it was Saturday night. He was probably curled up with the soup he made, a good book, maybe a glass of wine. She couldn’t interrupt him. It wasn’t his problem to deal with and he didn’t deserve it.

Closing her phone again, she slowly retreated to her room. The bed seemed like a terrible place to sleep. She didn’t want to share it with him. She wondered where he went. Would he come home? She thought about Harry’s apartment and how warm and homey it seemed on Thanksgiving. It seemed like a sanctuary now.

She could go over there. He wouldn’t deny her. He wasn’t the type. He would never let her suffer.

How could her brain only think of Harry in a time like this?

She laid on her side of the bed. It felt cold. She felt stiff. Sleeping wasn’t going to happen. Her heart raced with fear that he would come back. Her clothes were still on and the only thing that was actually keeping her grounded was the throb spreading from her cheek to her eye and the ache piercing her head.

That, and thoughts of Harry of course.

*

Sleep must have overcome her at some point through the night. She woke up to an empty bed and relief in her heart. She just had to get to school tomorrow. Harry would be there.

Harry.

Oh.

What was he going to say? Her mind started to spin. He could be mad at her for not coming to him. It seemed like something he could get mad about—like the time she tried to hang her fall leaves decorations up by standing on the back counter of her room without a spotter. It made him frustrated.

This would be worse. She knew it would be because it was worse.

She couldn’t tell Harry now. At least in front of kids he would have to hide his frustration. He would make sure she was okay. That’s all he would do. She was sure of it.

Somehow, she did manage to sleep in a bit—even with a racing mind as she drifted off. The other half of her bed looked undisturbed. He didn’t sleep here last night. The thought comforted her.

She listened closely for any sounds of life in the rest of their shared home. There were none. Sighing with relief—and then regretting the pressure of pain her pursed lips caused her cheek—she made her way to the bathroom. A shower would do her good. It always did.

The water warmed her skin and made her hair feel better. She was mindful of her sensitive cheek.

Her brain was in disarray as the water flowed down her skin. She wanted to sit on the bottom of the tub and wait for the water to freeze her, but she had to get out and do something. Needed to do anything except lack for something to think about.

*

Her phone vibrated again. It made her jump. She couldn’t get anything done so she resorted to aimlessly staring at the TV not paying attention to the characters on screen. She needed to do some grading, but her mind was so scattered—she was worried he would come back. She should have packed all her stuff. But nothing made sense right then.

She was scared to look at her phone. Maybe it was her mom—she couldn’t lie to her mom. Or her sisters. If she answered them, they would know in a minute. Maybe she should have told them immediately. They would have come to get her just as fast as Harry would have.

Harry.

Of course, it was Harry.

They didn’t have full-on conversations as she and her sisters did. Or even the group chat with her friends. But for her to leave Harry unanswered yesterday, he must have known something was amiss.

Sorry for the second message! I’m sure you’re busy and doing things—wanted to show you this book I just finished. I think you’ll really like it. I’ll bring it to school tomorrow. Have a nice day! :)

Everything about Harry made her want to cry.

Her thumb hovered over his contact again. Two taps and thirty seconds and there was no way he wouldn’t be driving to her doorstep. The pain in her cheek was just a dull ache now. The shock of it all wore off and she was only reminded it was there if she accidentally itched her cheek or shifted herself on the couch to lay more comfortably (which was a lost cause).

Harry would give her ice or a heating pad. He would comb his fingers through her hair and make sure she had enough blankets and coffee. He would help her.

She closed her phone.

*

Harry’s final attempt to talk to her was an email sent at eight PM. She was anxiously awaiting his arrival home when she read through his email on her phone. She wished she was in a better mood. His ideas were always so good and sounded so nice. She wanted to call him just to talk those over—let alone ask him for help.

With a sigh she meandered to the bedroom dreading sleeping again. Anxiety plagued her waiting to see if he would show up. She wondered where he went but couldn’t be bothered to care for longer than a moment.

She should have left.

But where would she go? She was isolated from her friends. Her family was too far. In theory she should have just gone to a hotel. But everyone would know.

“Shit,” she hissed to herself throwing the covers back off herself. She hurried to the bathroom and dumped her makeup bag out on the counter. Distraction. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

She slowly, gently, carefully, covered her face in makeup. There was no way she could go to school with her face looking like this without anyone noticing. She needed a cover story to go with her coverup. They would know.

Harry would know.

She felt tears ready to spill over her lash line once more thinking about how unfair it was that she had to do all this hiding, shaking, covering again. She wished her youngest sister was here—she was a wizard with makeup. Her best friend would have a story—not that she would help cover this up, but she would know just what to say. She had gotten her out of work on more than one occasion. She could do it.

She thought about Harry.

Harry would...

Well, she doesn’t know what Harry would do, but she would know that he would help.

When she had used a substantial amount of makeup on her skin, she looked at herself in the mirror desperately hoping something her sister had told her years ago had stuck.

It wasn’t fully covered. Anyone that looked for longer than a second could see it. She needed a story. What could pack a punch like this? Sighing, she realized she would have to come up with a story and avoid Harry tomorrow.

Harry would know immediately.

She wished she had told him already. Right when it happened.

But it was late, now. She would see him tomorrow.

She knew if she called him right then, he would still come rushing to her side. It didn’t matter that it was late.

Harry would always help, she thought.

[donnerpartyofone]

This is an incomplete image of my collection of lobster ephemera, featuring only the soft specimens. At least one of them is actually a dog toy. If you have known me for any length of time you are probably aware of my hyperfixation on lobsters, which is a little difficult to explain. It seems to have something to do with my father being from Maine. When I was little I used to have nightmares that there were lobsters in my bed, and I would wake up my unfortunate parent at 4am to shake out all my sheets to get rid of them. Now there are literally lobsters in my bed, put there by my own hand. Why I have chosen this path remains a mystery.

And on that note, let us acknowledge that only a true friend observes and honors one's mysteries. In the Year of Our Lord 2001 (which was about five years ago, right?), I was staying in Portland, Maine for a particularly lost semester off from school. I was visited there by my dear and devoted friend Darcy, whose unique closeness has always served me in times of trouble. We went out for a hardy dinner and as we rolled home in the dark like a couple of beach balls, I spotted something incredible in a storefront window: a 30" stuffed lobster with a little felt top hat safety-pinned to its head. "I HAVE TO HAVE THAT!" I screamed, and Darcy, ever sensitive to my personal needs and perceiving that the little office was empty and the door was unlocked, shot in and snatched it up. Then, just three steps into her getaway, she was suddenly caught in the blazing light of the business the office was attached to: a dance school, its floor filled with elderly couples learning the fox trot. Darcy stood there for a stunned moment gripping her captive in full view of the entire class, before we bolted all the way home.

All these years later, I still have the giant lobster, and it remains the crown jewel of my collection. It's a really excellent piece of lounge furniture, actually; it is the perfect size and shape to organize your limbs while you are collapsed in abjection. If, for instance, you are lying on the couch, sick or sad and endlessly doomscrolling, the body can prop up your elbow while you rest your phone hand on one of the claws, with no need to contort yourself to see all the terrible things on your screen. But, more importantly, it is an object of devotion every bit as powerful as a ring. Through this item Darcy and I are forever joined in lobstrimony (or lobotimony if you are familiar with our exended lore), and though a continent divides us, I am never alone as long as I have this. I hope you have a good birthday, Darcy! Please call me soon, we have to do more crimes!