#well that's unsettlingly accurate

[gummishiki]

hello ~~~ i know it might be a little sick but how about if you want of course one that wally kidnaps the reader after they've seen him do something bad? he keeps them in the basement but the reader refuses to eat driving wally crazy, what will he do to make the reader eat????

that's what i wanted to do

( I love you friend )

It's what's inside that counts 🍎 [ part 1 ]

of course friend :D I shall do my best

(y/n) is a farmer puppet :D not really an important thing I just thought it would be cute :))

tw : kidnapping, vomit, blood, force feeding, obsession, overall dark themes, wally being a silly messed up lil fella

🍎 you had never intended to intrude on wallys personal time with home, everyone in the neighbourhood knew how much he cherished their time together and you had all subconsciously agreed to not question wally whenever he claimed to want to spend some time with home.

🍎 you had only wanted to deliver him some fresh new apples, picked just that morning from your apple tree which brings you to where you are now with your felt knuckles repeatedly knocking on homes door.

🍎 after a few minutes with no answer, you grew slightly concerned. wally was known to always answer the door immediately, he would "never leave his beloved neighbours to stand outside for to long" in his words. you found his consideration sweet.

🍎 with a slight hesitation (you cared about your neighbours privacy of course, you'd never purposely Intrude on them) you twisted the handle of homes door noticing how it was left unlocked which wasn't all that uncommon in the neighbourhood.

🍎 what was uncommon however was how unsettlingly dark home was. you moved forwards and away from the entrance, not taking any notice of how the door slowly closed by itself. with fear in each step you continued to walk forwards in hope of finding wally.

🍎 "wally, you there buddy ?" you felt your voice waver as you attempted to stay calm. a sudden creak of a floorboard caused you to yelp slightly, looking in the direction in which the creak came from you noticed a door slightly ajar. ignoring every survival instinct in your body, you placed the basket of apples down and you felt yourself move towards the door and peak through the gap it had left.

🍎 you felt your breath hitch in your throat at the sight in front of you.

🍎 taking in the scene infront of you, you couldn't help but shake at the sight of endless amounts of canvases around the room, all in which had eerily accurate and realistic portraits of some oddly recognisable creature that you found looked familiar.

🍎 they didn't look like puppets, they didn't have brightly coloured skin or oddly shaped eyes. they had no stitches, no obnoxious hair styles or bright clothing.

🍎 they weren't puppets, they weren't from the neighbourhood. so how did you recognise all the different faces staring back at you ? why did you recognise them ? you sworn you had never seen them before so why do you feel like you have ?

🍎 "just adorable, aren't they ?" you shrieked at the sound of a voice behind you, turning around as fast as you could. "wally, there you are !" sweat built itself down the side of your face as you stared at your dear friend. his eyes blank, pupils dilated as he stared at you, unblinking.

🍎 "I'm sorry, I never meant to Intrude" you attempted to explain yourself as wallys eyes never left yours. "it's just, well you weren't answering and I got concerned so..." you trailed off as wally made no movement to move his gaze away from you.

🍎 a sudden chuckle from your dear friend caused you to blink in surprise. "its alright neighbour, don't worry" his voice sounded hollow, no noticeable emotion could be found in his tone. it unsettled you.

🍎 "um..." you finally managed to find your voice and speak up. "my apologies if this is a rather personal question friend but, who are they ?" you noticed how wally seemed to lighten up slightly at the mention of 'them'.

🍎 his smile seemed to stretch as his pupils expanded. "why they my dear neighbours, they are the viewers" his voice still remained emotionless despite the bright expression on his face.

🍎 "the...viewers ?" your voice wavered, what ever was your dear friend talking about ? were these 'viewers' from a book or show he watched ?, they must be.

🍎 noticing your questioning expression, wally wordlessly took both your felt hands and locked them in his own as he stared at you with an elated expression on his face. "yes, yes !" he exclaimed. "the viewers, they are the ones who are watching us !" you jolted at his sudden claim, wally however gave you no time to think as he continued. "they are the ones who we perform for, the ones we teach valuable lessons to, the ones we were created to entertain !" you felt yourself begin to shake.

🍎 "w-what do you mean wally ?" you attempted to say in a humorous tone. surely he was joking, surely this had to be some sick joke he decided to pull on you.

🍎 "we aren't performing for anyone wally, we weren't created for entertainment. what are you going on about ?" you notice wallys demeanour deflate slightly as his grip on your hands tighten.

🍎 you felt an eerie feeling fill you as wally continued to wordlessly stare at you, not once had he blinked throughout your entire interaction.

🍎 "ha, ha, ha" wallys laugh had always sounded off to you. there was never any tone or humour behind it. just a hallow fake sounding laugh. "my dear neighbour, surely you must believe me" he suddenly pulled you forward causing you to stumble over your legs. " I have proof !" his voice raised, desperation evident in his voice. "I have proof of their existence, that they are the ones who created us and that they are the ones watching us!" he gave you no time to process your thoughts as he hastily dragged you along with him as he turned and rushed forwards towards a door you had never noticed on pervious visits to home.

🍎 you were dragged behind him as he hurriedly ran down jagged creaky steps. you felt cold and unsettled the second you heard the door slam shut behind you. wally paused, finally reaching the bottom step of what you now gathered to be a basement, causing you to nearly topple over him.

🍎 he gently shoved you forward towards a TV with nothing but static showing on the screen. "home showed me this when I was feeling lonely..." wally trailed off, you could still hear desperation in his tone. "I sat here for hours, watching them" his gaze remained unmoving from the static.

🍎 he turned to you, looking at you softly as he spoke "now you can see them too friend, you won't be lonely ever again knowing that they are watching us" he smiled gently at your shaking form.

🍎 "wally..." you hadn't realised how sympathetic your tone sounded, but wally sure did. "wally, I don't see anyone".

🍎 wallys gaze shifted back to the screen. still, only static was shown. "whatever do you mean neighbour ? don't you see them ?" he remained staring at the screen, his smile never leaving his face.

🍎 a sudden jolt from your friend caused you to yelp as he pulled you to the ground in a sitting position. " ah ! I understand now " not once had he blinked. "it took me a while before I could see them too, perhaps all you need is time friend !". you didn't like how that sounded as he held both his hands on your arms.

🍎 " you can stay here, until you see them." his tone sounded demanding yet desperate. "nonono, wally I can't stay here !" you yelled. "let me go home okay, I'll forget this, I'll forget everything I saw and forget everything you said" you didn't want to stay in this cold dark basement any longer, you just wanted to go back to your farm and pretend this never happened.

🍎 wallys grip on you tightened, "no ! no you can't leave until you see them !" tears of frustration poured down his soft felt face causing you to stare at him in both sympathy and anger.

🍎 before you could open your mouth to protest, a thick black substance fell from the ceilings pipe and into your mouth causing you to choke. your vision began to fade as you ripped your arms away from wallys grasps and brought your hands up to your throat.

🍎 the last thing you see before blacking at was wallys blank, dilated pupils staring down at you with desperation.

-timeskip-

🍎 you lost count of how long you had been kept in that cold dark basement, unmoving from the TV that remained only displaying static that had begun to drive you insane.

🍎 everyday, every morning, afternoon and night withouf fail, wally would visit you. he would sit next to you for hours on end gripped onto you telling you how sorry his was and how he couldn't let you go until you saw 'the viewers' just like he claimed to had.

🍎 one afternoon no different than all the others for you, wally had made his presence know to you as he sat next to you. the same routine as every other day. however, this time you noted how wally held a familiar basket in his hands. it was the same apple filled basket you brought to home that you had intended to give him.

🍎 "my dear neighbour" he spoke in a shakey tone as he stared up at you. " I never thanked you for the apples, but I thought of how bad of a friend I would be if I were to not share them with you" he smiled at you. your expression remained blank as you stared at the screen Infront of you. you can't recall the last time you spoke or moved, you felt trapped, stuck in this position.

🍎 wallys shoulders dropped slightly as his smile wavered. he picked up an apple, now visibly molding and held it up to your mouth. "please (y/n) " his voice shook with desperation and emotion as he attempted to open your mouth. you remained unmoving.

🍎 wally began to shake as he finally opened your mouth, the sudden movment caused you to snap out of your daze as you thrashed about. the rope wally used to tie you down in a sitting position seemed to tighten around your form.

🍎 "get away from me !" your voice was hoarse as you yelled at him. "don't touch me, I'm not eating anything, go away !" you made an attempt to bite at wallys hand as he shoved the apples into your mouth.

🍎 you choked back a sob as you thrashed around. the molded apple felt like mush in your mouth. you cried, screaming at someone you once viewed as a dear friend. you began to heave, bile quickly rising in your throat.

🍎 wally hesitated, but he moved backwards slightly as you spewed out the molded apple he had just forced down your throat. your frame shook as you heaved at the sight.

🍎 "I-I'm sorry friend, I didn't mean to-" wallys shoulders shook as he felt tears build up as he stared at you frail form. "don't come near me !" you cut him off, not wanting to hear any apologies or sympathy from him. "get the fuck out, get away from me, leave! " you screamed, tears still streaming down your face as the vomit below you began to spread.

🍎 wally stared at you, on the verge of crying again. he didn't understand, what had he done wrong ? why weren't you seeing them ? why wasn't anything working ?.

🍎 "I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT !" your voice cracked with emotions as you screamed at wally who was now trembling. he turned away from the sight of your pathetic form and wordlessly made his way up the creaking stairs.

🍎 as you heard the basement door gently shut, you felt like you could finally breath again. you turned your head towards the tv.

🍎 "you won't leave me, right neighbour..." you trailed off, gaze unmoving from the tv as you began trembling again.

🍎 the tv remained showing nothing but static. who are you talking to (y/n) ?.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THAT WAS MY FIRST TIME IN A WHILE ACTUALLY WRITING IM SORRY IF IT SUCKED ☹️💪

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Gates to Heck Chapter 4

"Shishou, I can't find him."

"Of course you can't." Reigen had a slightly manic look on his face, which had been there ever since Teru vanished into thin air. "He's not here anymore. Did he teleport? Can he do that?"

"I think it used up the last of his energy," said Shigeo. "It was already so low. Now I can't find his aura at all. I don't think he's in Seasoning anymore."

Shigeo took out his cellphone, ignoring the missed calls, and speed dialed Teru.

Teru was the one who had programmed his speed dial numbers. Number one was for home, two was for Ritsu, three was for Reigen, and four was for Teru. Shigeo was number one in Teru's phone.

An American pop song began its muffled chorus from somewhere in Teru's jacket, which was still sitting on the coffee table.

"Oh," Shigeo realized. "He doesn't have his shoes either."

There was a knock at the door that made both of them jump and Shigeo frown. As far as he knew, he was still the only person to visit Teru's apartment. Except for Claw.

He intercepted Reigen to answer the door himself, which was probably for the best, since the person on the other side already appeared to be in a bad mood, and Reigen would have only made it worse.

"Ritsu!"

Shigeo should have noticed the familiar aura sooner, but all he could think about were Teru's feet. It was starting to get dark outside, and the temperature was dropping too. The fever might have been failure-induced, but it could still be exacerbated by exposure to the elements. Teru was definitely going to need a hospital after this.

"Tell Hanazawa-kun that if he's going to keep you late, he should at least have the courtesy to ask first. Mom was worried when you didn't show up for dinner. Did you leave your phone on silent again, Nii-san?"

Now all Shigeo could think about was how Teru didn't have anyone to worry about him when his phone went unanswered or when he was late to dinner. He didn't even have anyone to eat dinner with.

Teru's living situation had seemed normal enough to Shigeo when they first met. A lot of Japanese children lived alone so they could attend better schools, and Black Vinegar was one of the best middle schools in Seasoning City.

Of course, most of them didn't start living alone until high school.

Not elementary school.

Shigeo hugged his brother. It wasn't a rare occurrence, but it was unusual enough to break off Ritu's tirade. At least until he saw Reigen.

"Did you rope them into another one of your jobs? I swear-"

"Save your energy, Otouto-kun," said Reigen, who seemed to have found his bearings again under the familiar power of Ritsu's glare. "I think it's gonna' be a long night."

Ritsu bristled like a cat. "I'm not helping you with whatever shady-"

That was when Teru's jacket started to vibrate.

They might not have even heard it if it hadn't been resting on the hard surface of the coffee table. Reigen patted the jacket down until he found a cellphone tucked into one of its pockets.

"That isn't Hanazawa-kun's phone," said Shigeo. They had just heard Teru's phone ring. Reigen was holding a cheap looking flip phone that Shigeo had never seen before.

Reigen answered it with an unsettlingly accurate Teruki Hanazawa impression. "Moshi moshi."

"Who the hell is this?" said the person on the other end.

"Who were you expecting?"

There was a snort. "He calls himself the Kaijin."

Reigen's eyebrow twitched. "What do you call yourself?"

"Misunderstood."

"You-"

"Look, I don't really give a shit," the voice cut him off, "but if you do, then you might wanna' know that Kaijin is in trouble. One of his catches slipped the net, and it was the one that got a taste of his aura the other night. I just felt that same aura flare up, and if our missing man felt it too- well, my gut says he'll be out for payback. He seemed like a Taurus, you know?"

While Shigeo was still processing the first few words, Reigen said, "So why don't you help him?"

"I'm off the clock," the voice said lazily. "I was just calling to tell Kaijin to bring the guy in if he doesn't get himself killed first."

He hung up. Reigen tried to call him back but the phone didn't even ring before being routed to an unactivated voicemail box. He dropped it back onto the coffee table.

"What's going on?" asked Ritsu. "Where's Hanazawa-kun?"

"That's the million yen question," said Reigen. He signed and ran a sweaty palm down his face.

Ritsu wrinkled his nose. "Why did Joseph call him the Kaijin?"

"That's a long- Wait." Reigen twirled around and put both hands on Ritsu's shoulders. "You know who that was?"

"I think so. Let go of me."

"Who was it, Ritsu?" asked Shigeo.

"It sounded like Joseph," said Ritsu, brushing off his shoulders. "You know, from the government? Suzuki-kun calls him sometimes for updates about his father."

"And he answers?" asked Reigen.

Ritsu nodded.

Shigeo didn't have Shou's phone number saved to his speed dial, or even his contacts, but he knew who did.

"May I borrow your phone, Ritsu?"

Ritsu handed it over without question, and Shigeo scrolled through the contacts until he found Suzuki Shou (Arsonist).

Shou answered on the second ring. "Ritsu-kun!"

"Actually, it's Shigeo," he said. "I was wondering if you're available to help us blackmail a government assassin?"

"I'll get my coat!"

[just-french-me-up]

As Tantalus Reaches for the Apple

Fandom : The Sandman Pairings : Dream of the Endless x Hob Gadling | Desire of the Endless x Nameless Lover Rating : G / T | Pining | Angst | Family | Hurt and Comfort Author's note : We're going by Nada rules : if an Endless gets too intimate with a mortal, the Universe rules dictate ruin shall befall said mortal Summary : Endless beings and mortals are not meant to be together, such are the laws of the Universe. As the pain of it becomes too much to bear, Desire reluctantly confides in their brother, who is well-versed in this bittersweet agony. Requested by @erynion-rogueofthegreenwoods

The New Inn is abuzz that night, the atmosphere warm, filled with patrons' laughter and clinking sounds of glasses. Dream of the Endless pays it no mind.

There always seems to be a seat for him at the pub, no matter how popular and crowded it is. Always the same, waiting for him, for them, to resume the conversation where they left it. As though the space has been carved there for them only, invisible to other eyes but their own.

Dream is early. It is the least he can do, after being thirty years late, though through no fault of his own. Still, it only seems fair. Hob Gadling will arrive in a few minutes, he knows it. Perhaps, he thinks, he's looking forward to it as much as he is.

A hundred years is too long a time, they decided last time they met. The 21st century is a roaring, ever changing beast, and if Dream wishes to hear an accurate account of Hob's experience, they ought to meet more frequently. Once a year is what they settled on. A radical change, but only one amongst many, these days. A welcome one, if anything.

As he waits, Dream looks around him, detailing the new host of their reunions. It almost feels a little too clean, the New Inn. It bears none of the history the White Horse had, but it will do. Perhaps in two, three centuries it will develop a charm of its own. Three hundred meetings, he thinks. How delightfully strange.

Lost in thought, the dragging of a chair against the wood floor startles him. Where he expects to meet brown eyes, he finds golden ones, and an unsettlingly sharp, deep red smile.

"Is this seat taken?"

Desire stares down at him, their wolfish grin ever wider. Dream frowns, going quickly from confused to annoyed.

"Very much so."

It does not matter. Desire is already pulling the chair, ignoring him.

"Desire, do not-"

They are sat before the protestation leaves his lips. They lean over the table, feigning to take an interest in the chalk board hanging on the wall. Dream observes them, his jaw tight.

"So this is where you meet your little boyfriend every hundred years, then," Desire says, looking around them. "It's... quaint."

Dream knows better than to be baiting by their sibling into an argument. Eons of practice have turned ignoring their comments into an artform. His eyes go from Desire to the door. Hob could walk in any second. What would he think, seeing him sitting with someone else?

"Desire, I am not in a gaming mood."

"Too bad, I, for one, am in excellent spirits! So, what will you have? Chablis? Bordeaux?"

The prospect of having Hob Gadling and his sibling meet is not a charming one. It resembles more a nightmare than anything else, without the sweet release of dawn. Dream's eyes detail his sibling's attire, from the deep burgundy suit they're wearing to the long gold necklace hanging around their neck, falling on their shirt-free chest. Did they choose it on purpose?

"I thought I made myself clear," Dream warns, his voice low yet threatening. "Mess with me or-"

"Yeah, yeah," Desire waves their hand at him, dismissing his words. "Mess with me and mine again, yada yada yada. I heard you the first time, brother. As fun as it would be, I have business of my own here."

Dream quirks an eyebrow, taken aback by the admission. Desire prefers conducting their business in darker places than this one, he knows that. Night clubs. Pleasure houses. Casinos. Alleyways. They did not choose the location, he understands.

"You too are waiting for someone."

"Please. People wait for me, not the other way around."

Dream doesn't insist. He doesn't need to. They way Desire looks around the pub, studying the faces around them is enough. He knows that look. He has seen it before. Felt it before.

A beeping sound rises from Desire's seat. They pull out a phone from their pocket, a gaudy thing, and their smile widens once more. Dream looks on, his eyes locked on the device.

"Why do you have one of those?"

"I keep up with the times, Dream. Some of us didn't spend the last century locked up in a basement."

The blow is cheap, designed to cut deep, but Dream doesn't let it. They're deflecting his curiosity more than anything. In spite of their mutual distaste, he can read his sibling as well as if they had their own book in the Library of the Dreaming.

The bell above the front door rings. Alert, Dream looks up. On the threshold, Hob Gadling is removing his snow-freckled scarf and gloves, his eyes already looking for him.

"That's my cue," Desire croons, sliding off the chair like a feline on the hunt.

Hob has found them by the time Desire is standing by the table. His eyes go from Dream to Desire, giving a quizzical look to the former.

"Pleased to meet you, Hob Gadling," they purr, brushing a few snow flakes off Hob's shirt, much to Hob's bewilderment. And Dream's annoyance. "Enjoy your night."

Hob barely has time to open his mouth that Desire is gone, their silhouette disappearing amongst other patrons to the other side of the pub. A frown settles on Hob's brow. There are still a few drops of snow clinging to his hair. From where Dream is sitting, Hob Gadling looks like he has been crowned with little white stars.

"So... Who was that?"

"An endless headache of mine. Please, sit."

--------

The New Inn is calmer now. The roaring crowd has left, either home or to another establishment. The bartenders are stacking up chairs here and there, cleaning the bar. Hob Gadling is gone, too. Something about an early lecture he is schedule to give in the morning. There was something in his eyes as he talked about it earlier. Something Dream will keep with him for the next 365 days.

As he readies himself to leave, he notices a familiar shape leaning over the counter. Hands in his pockets, Dream takes slow, measured steps towards it.

"You are still here."

"Astute observation, brother. Keen eyes you've got there."

Desire is holding a glass of whiskey, taking occasional sips from it. Not their drink of choice. Whiskey is for foul moods. Enough family dinners taught him that. He could almost feel the bitterness on their tongue.

"I take it your business did not go as intended."

A cynical huff blows mist over the whiskey glass.

"Oh, my business went just fine. Splendidly, even. That's the damn thing about it."

Dream stands beside them, studying them. Gone is their mischievous energy. It almost feels strange, seeing them like this.

"How do you do it?" they spat out, closer to a reproach than a question.

"How do I do what, sibling?"

"This."

They gesture vaguely at the room, the ice cubes clinking in their glass.

"Silly humans and their silly lives. Frail. Fragile. How can you bear burning for one of them, knowing you'll ruin them the moment you touch?"

"I am not certain to follow."

"Oh please, let's not pretend you drag yourself here every hundred years out of curiosity. I can feel your stupid longing from here to the Threshold. It's unbearable."

There is nothing to answer. Saying anything in response would be an admission.

"The Universe is a cruel master. We must all abide by its rules, as rigid as they are."

There is a kinship there. A shared burden. Desire is the last person he thought he would share it with, and yet here they are.

"I am sorry, my sibling. It must be agony."

"What is?"

"To burn from the only desire you can not indulge in."

Desire looks away, taking a swing out of their glass.

"It's not a burn, it's a torment. A sick joke the Universe plays on us."

Their voice is a tune Dream recognises well. Where Desire lurks, their twin is never far. Perhaps Desire is not used to tasting Despair's poison for themself.

"Despair could perhaps rid you of this torment." The softness of his tone surprises them both. "If it is too much to bear. Remove the pain and keep but the infatuation."

Desire seems to ponder on the suggestion, their glass pressed against their cheek, but eventually shakes their head.

"No. T'would cheapen it."

"It was no twist of fate that you and your sister were interwined, even at birth. Perhaps to love is to suffer, or accepting the possibility of it. Perhaps love only rings true if losing it would break us."

They nod faintly, glancing up at him.

"Is that what you tell yourself when you look at your human like he's the sun? That the pain is worth it?"

The corners of his lips twitch into the hint of a smile. He can bear the mockery for tonight. Tomorrow they will both go back to contempt, but tonight is a time for commiseration.

"It might take a hundred years for the pain to subside. But yes."

It takes but a single glance to reignite it, once a century. Once a year, now. He has grown used to it after six hundred years. Despair's poison in a constant acrid taste in his mouth, but it is an acquired one.

"They don't have a hundred years," Desire mumbles grimly, before finishing the rest of their drink in a single gulp.

The harsh truth sits between them, dividing them once more. Perhaps the Universe made its rules to keep them both, Endless and mortals, from hurting each other. Mortals from the sheer power of their beings, and Endless from the brevity of their existence.

"I must leave you, my sibling," Dream says after a moment of silence. "The Dreaming awaits me."

Desire nods, their eyes fixed on an invisible point ahead, away from him.

"I do hope you will find a way to love them anyway," he offers tentatively. "In spite of the pain."

"So do I, Dream, so do I."

"Farewell, Desire."

"Goodnight brother. Hope the bed bugs bite."

For a second, their melancholy disappears beneath the veneer of their usual self. They give him a small smile and a wink, raising their empty glass in his direction. Dream smiles back, a quiet, compassionate smile, before the New Inn is blurred is a gust of sand.

------------

Desire dreams, that night. Tumultuous dreams of meeting lips, tangled limbs and burning skin. So does the object of all their forbidden desires. As they wake, they can almost still feel the touch of the other lingering over their bodies.

Hob Gadling dreams, too. He is back at the White Horse, in 1789, save for the much comfortable addition of armchairs. Dream is sitting beside him, much like he did, all those years ago.

"I am afraid once a year won't be sufficient. We still have much to discuss, Hob Gadling."

[ask-anarky]

The Aftermath

The tangled mess that made up Detroit Steel was laid out in its hangar, dozens of engineers working on cutting out the damaged parts and salvaging the rest. The problem being there wasn’t much left that wasn’t warped by the impact, or a pile of molten slag. The decidedly not holographic form of Markus Barnes stood on the gantry, looking over this exceedingly expensive mess, with the pilot in a wheelchair to his side and covered in burns, while at his other side was the head of the engineering crew. “Thing wasn’t fast enough sir, those spiders ran circles around me, and the main gun sent me flying back too soon to be accurate.” “I didn’t ask you to be accurate, I asked you to fill the room with lead! How hard is it to gun down a room full of people with no way out of that room? Detroit steel cut down daemon lords and the masses of the undead in its first excursions, it practically won the battle of Lethe single handedly, how do half a dozen idiots in spandex bring it down?” “They’re faster than it?” Barnes seethed, his grip on the metal railing tightening before he took a breath, and turned to the engineer. “How do we make it faster?” The engineer was practically holding his clipboard up as a shield between him and his boss, who was clearly in a bad mood.

“Well, its motors are classed to move a lot faster, if we repaired it, and.. Replaced all the broken parts, we could set it to move much faster.” “Why didn’t we do that TO BEGIN WITH?” The engineer was practically bent over double, now actively blocking strings of spittle from Barnes as he turned a deeper shade of red. “Its- Its the cores sir, the abrahamic cores. They’re.. Well they run hot, they need a lot of ventilation or..” He pointed at the now frozen slag at the center of the wreckage. “We could fit one easily, but there’s no way the pilot would survive, and the cooling problem would just be even easier to exploit.” “So.. We need more power, and it can’t be our cores.” “That’s the long and short of it sir. If we could get our hands on one of the new Arc Reactors from-” Barnes ripped the clipboard out of his hands, and started smacking him with it, mostly on the helmet in a fairly pathetic display. “WE CANNOT! START BUYING PARTS! FROM STARK!”

The crew of engineers down on the shop floor stop their working, staring up at the man who signs their paychecks. “Alright sir, we get it, we'll work on some kind of solution. I’ll have some proposals on your desk by the end of the month.”

Quietly, almost unsettlingly, one of Hammers R&D Department crept up behind Markus, and tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump half a foot in the air. “Sir, if I may, you know I’ve been working on an alternate energy supply, one that would put Stark and the Abrahamic cores to bed permanently.” “Yes, yes I remember. I also remember telling you that you were blowing your entire teams budget in a tenth of the time the others were and to focus on something more affordable.” “Well.. I may have kept working, within my means of course. With your approval, and a little more funding, I may have a solution to my problem, and to yours.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- New York 2079

Obediah Stane’s old Monger Core was whirring with activity, the copper discs set around the room were spinning far beyond their capacity, making the walls of the room more like a blender than a surface. While the core was crackling with energy, arcs of electricity slamming into the walls, and ball lightning sparking to life for moments before dying. All the old monitoring equipment in the control deck was pulsing as the magnetic fields grew larger and larger, already breaching containment. Reed Richards and Susan Storm frantically tried to override the sequence while inside the core, Johnny Storm and Spider-Man were dodging the chaos as well as the bolts aimed straight at them. The charge at the center kept building and with swinging not an option, Spidey was forced to dodge blasts of super charged electricity with just his reflexes. As Electro was staggered by a blast of fire, Parker made a run for the console at the base of the core. “We can’t let you do this Electro! The magnetic field’s gonna destroy the earth, and I just put a down payment on an apartment!” Electro caught the next blast from Storm, warping the electro-magnetic field around the plasma, and sending it back at Storm who went flying into the blender. Parker was halfway through the shutdown sequence when his Spidey-sense went off, and he jumped to the side, the bolt of electricity coursing through the space he just occupied, and obliterating the console. “I wasn’t asking Spiderman! I’m about to be the biggest lightning bolt in history, then you’ll all pay! You, the blue wonders, and then everyone else!” Spidey shot a double bolt of webbing at him as he started to float towards the center of the core. “Really felt like you didn’t use the hyphen there Max! And you gotta have bigger goals, there’s a good chance this’ll kill you!” Electro just fried the bolts as they came near, cooking them so thoroughly they hit the ground with a clang as they landed, solid lumps of charcoal at this point. “You wanna see a light show Spiderman?” “Not feeling like no is an option here”

Peter jumped for Electro, just as his hand made contact with the contacts at the center of the core.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Electro screamed, but no noise came out, as his body was still coalescing. Tiny streaks of power made the air crackle, some of them sticking around, arcing to one another, some dissipating. More and more sparks, more strings of lightning, the spherical field started to have arcs cross its width.

“Give it more power” Barnes watched as the team upped the power poured in, it had cost a fortune to recreate most of the monger core, with some extra containment fields, but it was looking like it might not be a waste.

More arcs crisscrossed the field, forming a glowing, partially muscled skeleton, then a circulatory system, layers of glowing plasma and energy forming faux tissue, finally vocal chords. A distorted guttural scream through superheated air as Electro returned to life. “What- Where am I?!” 

He tried to send a bolt of power into the field, and was disappointed when it dissipated. “Mr Dillon, I’m Markus Barnes, CEO of HammerTec, and you have just come back from the dead.

“What do you mean back from the dead?” “Reed Richards threw the magnetic fields into overdrive, the only thing he could do with you burning out the controls was turn it up, and change the frequency. You were ripped apart by a thousand different overlapping magnetic fields. There wasn’t anything left of you.” Eletro clutched his head, memories of agony flashing through his head. He flared out his powers, energy crackling through the field and again, doing nothing.

“Keep going Mr Dillon, we’ve set up what could be the world's biggest power sink, you’re certainly going to keep the lights on for a long while!” Barnes patted the lead scientist on the back.

“You see, I need a power supply for my mech, a new one that won’t superheat it, and a pilot that can survive inside. It seems like you’re a two in one deal. And in return, you get to live! I’d take the deal if I were you.” Electro chuckled.

“You pumped a lot of power into me, yknow that? Needed a whole lot to pull myself together right?” “Right you are, Mr Dillon, but as I said, that field is connected to a sink, it doesn’t matter how much you pump in, it can take it.”

“Yeah, and so can I.” Electro slammed his palms onto the field, drawing in more and more power. “Trip the breakers! Disconnect the field!” One of the skeleton crew working on this project ran to the fuse terminal, flipping the switches over to disconnect the sink. Electro grunted, and the switches flicked back over. The labcoat went to switch it back over and the terminal instantly started to glow. Their skin around their hands started to blister and burn, and the sound of their own muscles snapping bones could be heard by the whole crew who grimaced.

“I’mma take the juice back if that’s okay with you Mr Barnes. And the name isn’t Max Dillon, it's Electro.” The spherical field started to glow so bright that the onlookers had to avert their eyes, most of them running for the exits. Markus Barnes just looked on hopelessly as the field emitters gave up the ghost at the sheer voltage running through them.

Electro floated above the scorched podium, electricity arcing from limb to limb.

“You got a lot more juice nowadays huh? I like that..” He dropped down to just above the floor in front of Barnes, small sparks flickering from his feet to the ground.

“I gotta thank you for bringing me back HammerTec, I’m gonna leave now but, I do owe you one. So I’m not gonna cook you, this time.” He reached up, and tapped Barnes at the center of his chest, and he dropped like a stone.

“Clear.”

[xisadorapurlowx]

Jai's Story: Chapter 5

Jai wanted to kick and scream like a child as he was led through the crowds of party goers. 

He kept his eyes on the ground, hoping not to catch anyone's gaze, lest he might try and beg for someone to save his life.

“What’s going on here?” A familiar voice asked the man who was forcing Jai through the crowd.

“Your father wishes to see this man.” The man behind Jai responded to Leo.

Jai could see the black shoes and bright red trouser legs, staring at them as he hoped beyond hope that Leo would get him out of this situation. But he knew that wouldn’t happen.

“W-Well he hasn’t done anything wrong.” Leo’s voice trembled slightly at the mention of his dad, “He’s my friend. So you will let him go.” 

“I don’t take orders from you, boy.” 

And with that, Jai was steered to a flight of stairs and led into a private room on the second floor. 

In the room were the rest of the members of UN3RGR0UND, forced to their knees on the ground by other men in suits. 

“Nice going Jai.” Goldie snarled as Jai was shoved to the ground beside him, “Way to get us all caught.” 

“I followed the orders you all gave me! I wasn’t allowed to have any input on this plan, was I?” Jai snapped back.

“Are we all here?” 

The door opened again to reveal the villain behind their capture: Tall, young-looking and handsome, Antonio Angelico sweeps into the room. He is the splitting image of his son, the only key difference being his skin was tanned skin. 

Is that a real axe? Jai thought.

His costume was unsettlingly accurate to who he was as a person: A suit, just like the rest of his men, with a red tie, blue shirt with a white collar and covered with a raincoat. His hair had been slicked back and he carried an axe.

“Yes. These are the members of UND3RGR0UND.” The man standing behind Lithop said in a low grumble.

Antonio approached the group, “Eden,” He pulled off Lithops’ red eye mask and threw it aside as if it was a piece of litter. She tried to scramble away from his grip but he still got to her anyway, thanks to the men behind them, who all forced her to remain in place. 

“Luke.” He pulled off Tim’s and tossed it.

Jai’s eyes widened in horror as Antonio took off Titan’s mask, “Evelyn. June.” Goldie’s mask came off. “And finally, the man of the hour,” Antonio gave an empty smile at Jai as he took the mask that was still in Jai’s hands: “Jai.”

Nobody struggled or spoke a word, paralysed with fear. 

Jai fought against his every instinct to get up and run. To run and leave his group behind to face the devil in front of him. 

“Eden, Luke, Evelyn, June and Jai. Those are all your real names.” He repeated before going to sit on the edge of a coffee table in the middle of the room, “You have all caused me a lot of trouble. But I don’t blame you.” Antonio waved a hand dismissively, “You were all just following orders, weren’t they, Kaye?” 

From the bathroom came a woman and another man. 

The woman was battered and bruised, dressed like Amy Winehouse, mascara and eyeliner running down her cheeks from crying. 

“I’m lucky I have so many security precautions in case to make sure that my security cameras will tell me if they have been tapped into, or if someone has spoken to a group who are known for vigilante activity.” He looked around at ‘Kaye’ and continued, “I am glad that you finally decided to act, Kaye. It means I now have a reason to kill you.”

“Bastard,” Kaye hissed, “You absolute piece of shit! You cop paying off-” 

“However, before that, let me address all of you.” Antonio cut her off. “My sister in law is a rabid conspiracy theorist: Flat earth, Illuminati controlling the world Governments, 9/11 was an inside job, you know,” He looked at Jai. “That kind of thing. She thinks I killed my wife. I didn’t.” 

“Bullshit!” Lithop hissed at him, “We heard you!”

“Shut up!” Goldie and Tim shouted at her.

Jai’s eyes widened in horror as Antonio’s smile vanished from his face and his eyes suddenly became vacant of emotion.

“I did not kill my wife.” He repeated. 

Jai suddenly understood what he was getting at and he hung his head so that he didn’t have to look at the monster any further. What were they going to do? How do they get out of here without being forced to agree with what he was implying?

“In exchange for your freedom, you will not tell anyone about what you saw here.” 

Jai’s eyes darted to the others beside him. The group were all looking at each other as if silently conferring. Then, they all bowed their heads, “Okay,” Titan’s voice trembled, “Okay, okay. We won’t tell anyone.” 

“Are you guys kidding me?!” Jai spoke before he could stop himself, “This man definitely killed her! Look at what he’s done to us, to his son!” 

Thoughts of the scared boy that he heard on the phone, the way Leo had begged Jai to get his friend out and the desperate way Leo had tried to save him before he was led into this room. He had to do something! Anything! 

He dared to look at the demon again and then instantly regretted it. 

If Antonio was angry before at what Lithop had said, then this was sheer rage. The man's eyes had widened, all emotion completely depleted from his face. Gone was the thinly veiled niceness, now replaced with a cold and calculated expression. Jai could see the cogs turning in his head. Eventually, he stood and looked down at Jai. 

Jai was forced to stare into the dead eyes in Antonio’s face as if he was facing death himself.

Then, the facade went up again. “Okay Jai. I see what you’re saying.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “Since we are both children of immigrants and Americans, I guess I can be a little more lenient.” Antonio looked Jai dead in the eye, “How about ten thousand dollars to buy your silence?” 

Jai’s jaw dropped at his offer. “I don’t want your blood money!” He shouted. “I want-” 

“Jesus Christ, Jai shut the fuck up!” Tim bellowed at him.

The sudden outburst made Jai look around at Tim, who was breathing heavily, “Take the loss!” 

He knew what Tim was saying and he didn’t want to agree with it. The only way to get out of here was to agree and move on but… Could he live with that? On his conscience?

Considering the mission: Eliza was murdered by Antonio Angelico and now one but they knew about the truth of it. He would still die if he refused the money again and no one would once again know what actually happened. But, if he took the money… He could at least save his own life as well as the group's life and prevent more deaths. He could do the one thing he failed to do the first time.

“Okay.” Jai hung his head, ashamed, “Okay. I’ll take the money. Just don’t hurt the rest of the group.” 

There was a smirk in Antonio’s voice as he spoke, “I’m glad we could come to an agreement. Release them one by one, in random intervals.” 

Goldie was the first to go, then Lithop, Tim and then Titan. Jai was the last person to be let go but before he was allowed to leave, Antonio spoke to him one last time. “I may be in need of your services at some point Jai. I hope that you will not turn down my request. Oh and one more thing.” 

Jai looked around as Antonio’s face darkened, “If you ever take another step closer to my son- no, if you even breathe his name again, I will not be as forgiving as I am now.” 

A chill shot down Jai’s spine and he nodded. 

As he left the room, he heard the sounds of Kaye, begging.

“Please, no! Please, don’t Antonio, please-!” He shut the door behind him, every fibre of his being telling him to turn around and try to defend the woman. But he gritted his teeth, balled his hands into fists and walked out of the party.

[ask-churro-cookie]

*suddenly, an unsettlingly accurate clone of lobster appears, but with silly straws bursting out of his back*

Well.. Ya got punched- HARD- YOU STARTLED 'EM, THAT'S FOR SURE-

[astrabear]

well that's unsettlingly accurate

[bleedingheros]

WHICH UNPOPULAR ARCHETYPE ARE YOU?

Tagged by: @reapersman

Ace: THE LOYAL

it’s a good thing you’re so patient. you know what it’s like to feel the full weight of doubt bearing down in you. for years, it tried to squeeze the life from your lungs. but nothing’s going to make you bow. you kept the candle’s flame alive. you whispered the names at nightfall. the vigil still lives inside of you. one day, the waiting will have been worth it. all your love is going to come home to you. you’re more important than you know. you’re still the one true believer. / / personality: calm, level-headed, stubborn / / counterpart: the accomplice

Omicron: THE KILLER

you got fucked up something awful. sorry. i don’t know why or when it got so bad for you, but now that heat feels so true to you that it’s hard to imagine a you without it. there’s nothing grand about the damage you do. it isn’t the kind that people write stories about. for this reason, it’ll be a while before anyone stops you, if they ever come around to it. it’s all the more likely that you’ll have to dig your own way out of this pit. one day you won’t even remember how blood tasted. the rage won’t keep you warm forever, killer! / / personality: intense, introspective, edgy / / counterpart: the dark horse

Ben Reilly: THE GHOST

you left them behind, but a part of you comes back at night. you’re in their dreams and just outside their doorway. you’ll haunt them forever. the people you love. the people you hate. everyone who’s ever been afraid of you. they’ll remember your face, your hands, your eyes in the dark. you’re the reason they don’t sleep easy. there was no epilogue when you died, but the whole story is drenched with your requiem. you live on forever in their memories. you’ll always be missed, ghost. / personality: memorable, shy, spooky / / counterpart: the higher power

Tagging: Anyone who would like to take this, just tag me if you’d like <3

[fluffypeachwriting]

Can I request yandere Jiro who has a crush on a female upperclassman? 🥺👉👈 Preferably the possessive and doting type of yandere (;ŏ﹏ŏ)

Happy White Day!  <(￣︶￣)>

Jiro was the last person you expected to garner any attention from when you considered how popular and busy he was. Not even the girls in his class caught his eye, so his frequent trips to your classroom were a surprise. Well, not after the tenth time in a week. There was always a sappy smile on his face when he offered to walk you home – a total contrast to how he roared at anyone who interrupted you talk. He was definitely the boisterous kind but nothing much less than sweet and wholesome.

At least, well-meaning.

In fact, when you saw a note shoved in your locker – written in scrawl – that asked you to come to the rooftop after school ended, you smiled. You had given him a little chocolate gift for Valentine’s Day. Your classmates saw it as obligatory chocolate but it was more of a general thank-you gift for the little things he’d done for you. Any time you lost something he would have found it and delivered it safely before the day ended; it was always things like that that conveniently began your outings with him. And he never asked for anything in return, in fact, he adamantly refused to accept any kind of payback. All he’d ever wanted was for you to “spend a lot of time with me before you graduate, yeah?”

He may as well have had a senpai-is-in-distress radar. The conversations you had with him were full of energy, though there was an underlying feeling about him that you couldn’t quite place, like he always had the upper hand in every interaction. But it could just be his nerves – he was talking to someone a year above him, after all, so you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, the final bell had rung for the day. The time had come, and there was no way to predict how it would go.

Jiro wasn’t exactly the punctual type, so when class was let out late you didn’t hurry much. However, contrary to your expectations, you spotted a familiar figure through the door to the roof.

“You’re here! Did I keep you waiting?” You asked, skipping over to where Jiro was leaning against the rooftop railing, “Class was late and stuff, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No! You could never… I don’t mind waiting for you. Even if it was a while, heh.” Jiro was unusually sheepish as he turned to face you, “I’ve waited months for White Day so, a few minutes is nothing. I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” His tone was unsettlingly quiet. His cologne was not.

Words came out of him like he’d thought them over countless times.

The next part, even more so.

“I wanted to give you this.” He handed you a flat box and put his shaking – betraying – hands behind his back.

“Jiro! You didn’t have to –”

“I did!”

“…”

His assertive bark shut you up. Instead, you nodded with a smile, trying to stay cheery. With cold hands, you opened the box. A single, giant, shortbread cookie sat in the middle, on top of light blue tissue paper. It was burnt and crumbled and broken in a few places – clearly handmade. In blue icing, a simple ‘Happy White Day’ was sloppily written on the top. When you looked back up, Jiro was biting his nails while waiting for your reaction. He was red in the face and practically sweating a river. His eyes were trained on your face, and it didn’t seem like he had blinked in minutes.

Like he wasn’t fully in the moment until now, Jiro realised you were looking at him and his entire body perked up. He puffed his chest then leaned in to gauge your emotions as accurately as he could.

“Do you like it?” Jiro cleared his throat; it wasn’t a question, “You like it, right?”

“I can tell you put a lot of time and effort into this, Jiro.” You weren’t lying. It would be a safe bet to assume he wasn’t a total culinary expert. It was the thought that counted, “Did you do this on your own?”

“Mm hmm!” His eyes twinkled at your acknowledgement. It must mean a lot to him. He rubbed the neck of his neck, giggling to himself, “Only me…”

Then he cleared his throat suddenly, making you jump.

“I’m sorry to scare you,” Jiro shuffled forward, his eyes flicking between the cookie and you, like he was fighting some mental battle. “I… I wanted to make a bunch of cookies but… if I made too many…” He had to catch his breath mid-sentence, “… they’d take your attention away. I can’t have that. You know, when I was baking, Saburo said I should use a recipe… and Nii-chan too… but they don’t get it. I know that my heart would tell me the good way to do it. They said I was in over my head but they don’t know anything about this – what we have. They don’t get why I need to be perfect to keep you safe and happy.”

An hour may have passed before he gasped in realisation, “I… No!” He yelled.

His previously shaking hands became a blur as he snatched the box from your hands and threw it to the rooftop floor behind him, not looking away from you in the process. It broke into pieces, the box and paper flying away in the wind.

“Jiro?! Your gift!”

“I can’t let it!” He grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the railing as his voice strained, “I can’t let that shitty fucking cookie have any off your attention! You liked it, that’s enough! No, it’ll never be enough.” He gripped the railings either side of your head and pressed his forehead against your own, “No-one else gave you gifts, right? Don’t answer. It doesn’t matter. You know, I got so many gifts today. Valentine’s Day too. I don’t care about them. Yours was genuine. I could feel all the thanks and the…”

Sudden silence. Wind fluttered over the rooftop yet the air was thick. A suffocating heat radiated from his body – you could smell it too. The sweet boy who blushed when you talked to him was gone. In his place, an immovable force was pressing its aura onto the atmosphere you breathed in.

“… the l…” He looked worried, yet insanely strained all the same.

“L? Jiro? Are you okay?” You tried to sound caring. Not as if you didn’t care, but being trapped didn’t put you in an easy spot.

“I wasn’t finished. I meant the… love. The love in your gift. That’s what it was, right? So I put in all of my love into the gift three times as much. And I’d do it a thousand times just to see that happy smile again. It’s so precious… Hey, you love me too, right? Right?”

The wind howled and whipped at your skin.

You could barely hear the sounds of a van pull up to the school, and two pairs of footsteps jump out.

[endlines]

listen i Know i and the fandom as a whole consistently joke about how stupid graves is but i also want everyone to be very keenly aware that he isn’t ... actually stupid.

he’s much more of a practically oriented “left brain” type of guy, but he can pull his weight. he’s really good with maps and memorizing the layouts of different places he’s been - he can navigate extremely well and he always knows where he is. he has an exorbitant amount of knowledge about guns and takes EXCELLENT care of his own. lockpicking, haggling, a fairly strong sense of common sense ... street smarts, essentially. he’s not Wise, per se, but he’s a man of average intelligence with a few areas of specialty either way.

the real root of the thing is that he’s impulsive, doesn’t really Have much of a sense of self preservation, and has a really quick temper supplemented by mood swings. he’s often too cocky to acknowledge the consequences of his actions in the moment and, more commonly, knows what the consequences are and just doesn’t care. his capacity for empathy is also unsettlingly low, hence why he just Snaps and goes fucking bonkers sometimes - he either knows exactly what he’s getting himself into with some disillusioned belief that it’ll go his way, or he simply does not care and knows he’s gonna find a way to MAKE it work somehow. (which, in all fairness, is not very smart of him. this is literally how he went to prison.)

his social skills are also supremely fucked. people aren’t his thing and he is more than willing to leave that to T.F. graves is, however, pretty perceptive - he’s a really good judge of character and can tell a lot about a person from minute things like body language and speaking patterns. the caveat is that he just rarely speaks much because he usually doesn’t talk unless he’s prompted to. as most of you have seen he does in fact have moments of Intense clarity where he can psychoanalyze people in a way that’s far too accurate to be comfortable. he notices! he just deigns not to say it, most of the time.

tldr malcolm graves isnt actually That much of an idiot he’s just mentally ill and also an asshole

[alaricseer]

Eri knew well that they weren’t the only being to frequent this clearing, with its mix of ash and blackthorn trees. She knew with some certainty that the local teenagers would rough house and hang out here, but that was perhaps the problem. Mortal teens rarely seemed the care for nature, and the half fae glared as they surveyed the broken tree limbs and garbage in the clearing. So there they were, as gently as possible removing partially broken limbs with apologies to trees of all things. Like the trees had feelings. But then again it had been a habit over the years to do this. To care for the clearing after the children had damaged it.

They felt like they were being watched, which wasn’t unheard of with the proximity to the border with Faerie. They ignored it for a good while, before calling out to the open air.

“Whose there? Come out!” Blue eyes glanced into the trees trying to parse out a figure, a shadow, anything.

“I’m not causing trouble.” For once. Their sure Alaric would have a stroke over the thought. (Lxvelikewinter)(Eri to blackthorn. For kicks)

He had come because of the teens, or more accurately, because of their actions. Once or twice was expected, in a city where mortals lived, but the abuse was rampant and the trees had called to him. It was a call Blackthorn never ignored.

Here was a girl, cleaning up the symptoms of the issue. Unexpected, appreciated certainly, but not a cure. Still, there was time to sate curiosity before moving on.

"You make an awful lot of demands, but I don't see any reason why you deserve to have them met. So-" Blackthorn came forward, glamour bringing his height down to reasonable, his features still handsome, but not unsettlingly so. "Let's try something else. You give me your name, or at least your motivation for cleaning public parks, and I'll consider giving in return."

[foursideharmony]

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 7)

Summary: The final confrontation with the wicked White Warlock!

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: More Remus being Remus. Violence and threats of violence. Someone slowly being covered in ice.

Word Count: 3,675

Read on AO3: here

“Huh,” Remus said, apparently lost for words (which was unusual in itself). “So now what?”

Janus blinked. “I'm not sure.”

“Which means you are sure, right?” Remus said with a great big wink.

Before Janus could explain for the umpteenth time that it wasn't that simple (and never had been), there came a loud growling sound from nearby, and something huge and brown came crashing out of the brush and charged them. Janus barely managed to dive out of the way of what he quickly realized was an entire bear. Remus, always a big believer in the principle that the best defense is a good offense, dodged it by leaping straight up, and used the momentum of his downward arc to add force to a massive swing of his morningstar. The blow knocked the beast off its feet, and it threw great arcs of snow into the air as it skidded to a stop.

“That was fun!” Remus declared, resting the weapon on his shoulder. “Hey, want me to skin it for you? A nice bearskin rug will keep you warm so you don't have to crawl under a rotting log to hibernate!”

Janus had no time to muse upon how accurately he had predicted Remus's behavior, because a motion at the corner of his eye told him that the bear was not totally out of play yet. It was made of far sterner stuff than the dwarf had been and had only been stunned by the blow, and was now shaking itself awake. But rather than lunging at them again, or even fleeing back into the trees, it hoisted itself into a sitting position, clutched at its head with its paws, and began to whimper.

“Oh, stop it!” Remus said petulantly. “You attacked us, remember? Roman calls me violent, but I would just like to point out that so far, 100% of the creatures from this winter wonderland of his have tried to kill us!”

Much to Janus's surprise (though perhaps it shouldn't have been), the bear pivoted on its rump and said: “I was only protecting Mr. Logan!”

Janus smiled...now this was a situation he could deal with. He stepped forward, made Remus silence himself just to be on the safe side, and said, “Why, we would never harm Logan! We're some of his closest friends, after all!”

Still rubbing its—his—head with one paw, the bear rolled around until it was standing on the other three. “Then sirs, you must be the help he sent for!”

“We are! We got his message! But alas, it seems we were too late to prevent this.” Janus gestured at the crystallized Logan.

“It's not your fault, sir,” said the bear. “I was supposed to protect him from the White Warlock. And now I've got to go back and tell the others what happened.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea. But first, why don't you tell...” Janus trailed off, realizing the Remus—still silenced—was jumping up and down behind him and frantically waving his free hand. He released him. “Yes, what is it?”

“I know what this is!” Remus said gleefully. “Roman's gone and recreated the first Narnia book!”

“I never realized you were...into that sort of thing.”

“Are you kidding? With all the descriptions of war and violence and disturbing religious subtext? Not to mention a happy ending where everyone dies! What's not to love?”

“Even after all these years, you still retain the capacity to surprise me, Remus. However, I doubt the same aspects are what holds appeal for your brother, so try not to get too excited.” Janus turned back to the bear. “As I was saying, I think it might be a good idea for you to tell us what happened here. Who did this to Logan?”

“The White Warlock, of course, sir!”

“A warlock instead of a witch?” said Remus. “That's a new one...Roman usually loves fighting witches. He has this one recurring antagonist, the Dra—”

“Yes, Remus, we are all aware of the Dragon Witch.”

“Begging your pardon, sirs, but I think this Roman of yours is the White Warlock. That's the name the others called him back at the Stone Table.”

Remus did a spit-take. He hadn't been drinking anything, of course, but it was hardly beyond his capabilities (or his inclination) to generate something within his mouth entirely for the purpose of spitting it out. It looked like used motor oil. “Roman made himself the bad guy? That's definitely a new one!” He was grinning, but it was a rather fixed grin, and his eyes darted around under a furrowed brow.

“You said you were going back to the others,” Janus said to the bear. “Take us with you.”

Virgil, for once, felt genuinely useful: He had volunteered for the first watch of the night. Hushwing the Owl had shown him a tree he could climb from which he could scan the entire western and southern approach to the hill. It was a clear night and the moon was pretty close to full, and its light turned the snow into a stark bluish canvas against which any sort of moving shadow was plainly visible. Thus, as the ten o'clock hour approached and a large shuffling shape emerged from the trees to the west, Virgil looked not directly at it but at the silhouette it cast on the ground. It was definitely a bear and definitely had riders, one of whom was wearing a bowler hat. Good enough, even with the odd distortion of light and shade that seemed to sit between the forms of the two humans. He made the hooting call Hushwing had taught him which meant “Friendly approaching” and clambered down from his perch in order to go glower at Janus.

The climb took longer than he would have liked in the dark, and by the time he got back to the crown of the hill, the party had already arrived and was being greeted and offered blankets and a bit of warmed-over stew. Stoutpaws had apparently collapsed and fallen asleep right there on the hilltop...as Virgil supposed he would, after an entire day of running. Janus (ugh) was being helped over to the rebuilt campfire. And Logan...

Someone lunged at Virgil. Flight won, as it usually did, and he skittered backward several steps, only to realize that it was Patton he was flinching away from, and Patton was crying. “Shit...sorry...startled...” he mumbled, opening his arms and letting the Moral Side fling himself into them. He was shaking with sobs. “Patton...what happened?”

“R-R-Roman d-did something awful t-to Logan!”

The cluster of Narnians seeing to the arriving group parted. At first, Virgil couldn't tell what he was looking it—the object was translucent and oddly shaped, and moonlight and torchlight played over its surface and through its interior in ways that prevented him from focusing on its edges...until a chance flicker brought the details into clarity.

His head swimming, his thoughts useless, Virgil slipped from Patton's arms and dropped to his knees. He couldn't stop staring at it.

At Logan, frozen in crystal.

A murder . He was looking at a murder.

“Hell of a thing, isn't it?” said a screeching voice behind him. It was the sort of thing that ordinarily would provoke an instant reaction in Virgil (and that voice in particular would give a huge boost to Fight), but he was just too stunned. “As soon as Janus warms up enough that he's not going to drop off into a snake-coma, we'll all sit down and work out what to do about it. I can't wait to tell all of you my idea!”

Something in Virgil's brain finally lurched into motion, but all he could manage was a half-hearted glare back over his shoulder and a mumbled “What are you doing here?”

“Well, la-dee-dah, Panic-Depressive, I didn't know Thomas's Creativity needed permission to visit the Imagination.”

Virgil decided—to the extent that he was capable of deciding anything in the moment—that he could only cope with one atrocity at a time. He brushed Remus off and turned back to Patton. “Are you okay?” Patton shook his head emphatically. “Yeah, okay, dumb question.” In a way, Virgil was grateful for Remus's presence, since severe annoyance was usually a pretty strong barrier between himself and panic. “Let's...just...gather around the fire, so we can get our discussion going the instant De—Janus is up to it.”

They did. Janus sat on a boulder less than a yard from the fire, gazing rather glassily at it. The Narnians had given him a dark woolen cloak, and he had been engaged in an unsettlingly animalistic ritual: alternately spreading the cloth wide like wings, catching heat from the flames, and then wrapping it around himself to absorb the warmth. He glanced up, more or less, as the others approached. “So I assume you've all been made aware of the depths of depravity to which our dear Roman has sunk in his quest for...whatever it is he's questing for these days.”

“Roman's not depraved!” Patton said in a tone that suggested he had expected the accusation. He took his own seat across from Janus. “He's just...I don't know what exactly is going on with him right now, but he's not depraved!”

“Patton...” Virgil said, choosing to remain standing for the time being, “...he turned Logan into stone. There's no way to sugar-coat that.”

“It could have been an accident!”

“Patton...”

“It could have! He made a point of sparing Muricata's tree! I can't square that with the idea of him doing that to one of us on purpose!”

“Pat, listen. This?” Virgil mimicked the Logan-statue's outflung arm. “Is a defensive posture.” He started pacing. “Which means he saw it coming. Which means Roman telegraphed that he was going to do it, which means it was on purpose.”

Patton's eyes started to well up again. “I just wish I knew why,” he said.

“We'll be sure to ask him when he comes here to kill the rest of us in the morning,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “Who knows? He might even answer. The more important question is what to do about it. Can we change Logan back?”

“Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! I have an idea!” said Remus, who had been watching the argument between Patton and Virgil with the glee of an obsessive tennis fan. “When he shows up tomorrow to kill us all, I sneak up behind him and clonk him on the head! Once he's knocked out, primary control of the Imagination will automatically pass to me! Then I can make this story go my way, and I guess you can hash out your issues with Roman afterward or whatever.”

There was dead silence for a moment. Then Janus shifted in his cloak. “Let's make that Plan...” He started counting silently on his fingers, and manifested a few more hands to get to the number he wanted. “X. Plan X.”

“Can we make it Plan Triple-X?” Remus said, waggling his eyebrows.

“If we reach that level of desperation, I'm sure we'll be happy to let you do just whatever you want,” said the Dishonest Side. “In the meantime...something less drastic first, perhaps?”

“Logan's original plan,” Virgil said cautiously, “was to let Roman catch sight of you, hoping that it would shock him out of this downward villainy spiral he's stuck in.”

Janus looked taken aback for a split second, almost like a micro-flinch. “Well...” he said after a beat, “...far be it from me to question the soundness of one of Logan's ideas...” He let the end of the sentence hang in the air like an icicle.

Remus lost interest in the conversation and began searching the area for things to put in the fire.

“If it makes you feel any better, Scales, I was against the whole thing,” said Virgil. “But you're here now, and it's not like we have any other ideas.”

“Well, as long as I have your vote of confidence I know we'll do just swimmingly.”

Remus dropped a pine cone on the fire and giggled as it ignited with a series of explosive pops.

“H-hey, guys,” Patton said with a slight quaver. “Stop sniping at each other. This isn't about you two. It's about...well, all of us, really.” He swallowed, and when he continued his voice was stronger, more authoritative. “It's about Roman, and because it's about him it's about our whole family. We have to cooperate. Now then, Janus, if you're skeptical of Logan's plan, why don't you tell us why so we can figure out something else?”

Janus did his very best impression of a deer in headlights for a moment. Then he recovered his composure, cleared his throat, and said “I may have been exaggerating. Am I correct in thinking that the idea is to show Roman his idea of a villain so he presumably stops trying to be one?”

“Something like that,” Virgil mumbled.

Emboldened, Remus stuck a twiggy branch in the fire until it lit up and waved it in the air like a pennant.

“That's hardly a kind view of me,” Janus continued, “but I've heard of worse stratagems. Might I suggest a few...refinements?”

“Guess we can't stop you.”

“Virgil, be nice! We'd love to get your input, Janus.”

“Thank you, Patton. Remus! Pay attention; this concerns you as well.”

Remus, who had been on the point of touching the burning branch to his own hair, tossed it aside and plunked down onto a log, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands cupping his face. “Fire away, Jay-jay!”

Janus took a medium-long look at the ensorceled Logan, and began.

Dawn came all too early and with it, the bellow of a war horn. Startled awake, the Sides lurched to pull on clothes and scrambled out of the hillside shelter to see what they were up against.

At their previous meeting, Roman had been accompanied by an entourage. This time...he had brought an army. Perhaps five thousand strong, they massed around the foot of the hill, blocking off any retreat except by air...and the presence of Dwarven archers among the ranks ensured that any creature attempting to escape via flight would fail as well. The good Narnians, outnumbered nearly two hundred to one, clustered at the crown of the hill, facing grimly outward and wondering when the charge would come. The Sides stayed near the middle of the group at first, protected and almost entirely screened from view.

Roman, almost too brilliant to look at in his snow-white suit and icy jewels, detached himself from his throng and marched up toward them. “Showtime,” Janus muttered.

“Yesterday,” the self-styled King of Narnia proclaimed, “we issued an ultimatum to this company here assembled. Now we return to hear your decision and respond to it. Do you or do you not swear fealty to the Crown of Narnia?”

The Narnians, per the plan, stood firm and did not speak.

“We asked for your reply!” Roman snarled. “Where are my fellows? Have they abandoned you?”

“No, we haven't!” Patton said. The Narnians stood aside to let him through, followed by Virgil...and Logan. “And we're not surrendering either! You've taken things way too far, Roman, and it is not okay!”

Roman said nothing, staring dumbfounded at Logan. “You seem surprised to see me in my current condition,” said the Logical Side. “Your enchantment wore off after what I have calculated to be two hours, forty-seven minutes, and eleven point three four seconds.”

“That's impossible!” Roman shouted. “The transformation is permanent until counteracted!”

“Perhaps your control over the Imagination is not as absolute as you have heretofore assumed. Patton believes...actually, I will allow him to explain. Patton?”

“It's because you're abandoning your calling, Roman! Thomas doesn't want a wicked Creativity! Hurting your own creations for the sake of a story is one thing, but hurting us? You're turning into something that Thomas would never allow to be in charge of his Imagination!”

“Yeah, and it's really throwing a wrench into my plans!” said Remus, suddenly springing out of the crowd to Roman's shock. “What are you doing , bro? You can't be the evil twin! Because then I have to be the good twin, and I can't go shaving my mustache now! I just got it the way I want it! I don't even know how to be good!”

“You—! What are you all playing at?” Roman said, backing away slightly. He leveled a scandalized finger at Remus. “Working with him ...this is exactly why...but never mind. You will surrender to me—all of you!—or none of these foolish creatures you have befriended will survive the day!”

“I know you don't mean that,” Patton said softly “You didn't even really kill the Dryad's tree yesterday. You want to be the hero, Roman. So be the hero . Take off that crown, put down the wand, and let's talk.”

Roman's face became pensive. He was considering...no, he was listening for something, and then he stepped forward again. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” he said. The wand swished through the air. The other Sides shouted in alarm, but no one turned to stone. Patton, however, wobbled, his feet literally frozen to the ground in a thick coating of ice.

The ice began to creep up his legs.

“Surrender,” Roman hissed. “Swear fealty to your King. Or watch him freeze.”

“Guys...” Virgil said.

Someone began to clap slowly, but the claps were muffled as if by gloves. Which was exactly the case. “Oh, bra-vo, Roman,” said Janus, dropping the Logan illusion. “You're finally doing for yourself. Using your power to take what you want. I couldn't be prouder.”

“You!” Roman gawked, even more appalled than he had been at Remus's presence. Then his face split in a grin of triumph. “Ha! I knew my enchantment hadn't worn off! Now will you yield to me, or stand by while Patton suffers a similar fate?”

“Yes!” Janus said with the merest hint of a hiss. “That's just the way! Show them all what you are capable of when slighted!”

“Shut up!” Roman said, and for the first time, his rapidly twitching expressions lighted on uncertainty . “Your input is not welcome here!”

“Clearly not; why I daresay you've supplanted me and Remus both with your villainy.”

“I said shut up!”

“Roman...” said Patton as the ice slithered up toward his hips, “...why are you doing this?”

“BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO!” Roman wailed. “Because you and Thomas lost all perspective...you invited him to the table...and all I wanted was a simple adventure where I knew who the bad guy was...and then it turned out to be me ! Even the Imagination started pushing me out of the hero role!”

“Pushing you!” Patton repeated. “So you don't want this!”

“And now you're even working with Remus! You'd rather have him on your side than...than...”

Remus made a loud scoffing noise. “Dream on, bro! For your information, I invited myself! They wouldn't have let me stick around if you weren't acting worse than me! Think about that , why don't you!”

“Roman, darling,” said Janus, approaching slowly with his hands up in a gesture of appeasement, “what makes you think anyone has to be the villain?”

“Every story needs a bad guy,” Roman insisted, backing away.

“That's not true,” said Patton, a mite breathlessly as the ice began to squeeze his chest. “What about all those stories where the conflict comes from misunderstanding? I think that's what's happening here. You're not understanding us or we're not understanding you or both.”

“Look, man, I get it,” Virgil offered, though his calm tone was belied by the constant reverberation of the Tempest Tongue. “I know what it feels like to think you have to be the bad guy. This is me, right? But we got over that, and we can get through this too. Take the enchantments off Patton and Logan and let's all figure it out together. You said yourself stories in the Imagination can take on a life of their own. That doesn't mean they're always telling the truth.”

“But, you know,” said Janus, examining his fingertips. “Your choice, Your Majesty.”

Roman looked from Virgil, to Patton (iced up to his neck) to Remus and Janus, to the whole of Narnia around them. His face twisted up into a terrifying snarl and he stalked forward once again. He raised his wand. Virgil put himself between Roman and Patton (not that there was much more that could be done to the Moral Side), but when he was only feet away from them, Roman suddenly flung his crown to the ground with a shrieking sob and brought the wand down on it. And in an instant, the wand was his sword (and always had been, they realized) and the blade struck the large diamond, shattering it into a thousand shards of ice.

Golden mist rose out of the splintered gem, coiling and flowing, and washed over Roman from his feet up. As it went, it dragged a second mist, bluish-silver, out of him as if plucking hairs by the roots. Roman cried out in pain as the power of the White Witch was scrubbed out of him by the power of Aslan. Both mists spun around each other until they reached a height of several yards, at which point there was a soft explosion and they rocketed away from each other. The Witch's power soared off in a northerly direction, while the Lion's made an arc and landed in the woods nearby.

The ice covering Patton fractured away, and he sagged in relief. “Roman...?” he said.

The Prince turned a plaintive look on him before collapsing to the snow.

[scrivenerofmossflower]

I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost

Word Count: ~2.8k Summary: Four new friends decide to celebrate their recent meeting by doing some light breaking-and-entering at the local cemetery. They're looking for a ghost. They accidentally come out with the seeds for a YouTube channel. In which Gonff has done research, Rose brought the video camera, Martin's a little too comfortable with this, and Columbine wonders how a pre-med like her wound up stuck with two theater geeks and an enigma. read on ao3 Notes: Human AU, College AU. Un-beta’ed, all mistakes are my own. I’ve been sitting on this for like, over two years and the fact that the ‘verse is still bothering me and I still remember all the details to the set up means that I’m just going to have to exorcise it. Have a Halloween fic the day after Halloween.

The cemetery was on the western edge of town and looked not as a cemetery usually does, with neatly kept graves and graveled paths and mown lawns, but as a cemetery should. With the sun just below the horizon and night falling quickly, the overgrown graveyard with it’s off-kilter, lichen covered headstones and crumbling mausoleums looked like something right out of a horror movie.

“Hollywood called, they want their set back,” Rose said. All four friends were leaning against the iron gates at the entrance, nerving themselves up to go in.

“Oh, come on, this is B-list horror fodder at best,” Gonff countered. “More like Haunted Mansion or Hocus Pocus than—are you recording this?”

“Yep,” Rose said. She turned her phone towards him, zoomed in and out on his face, and stuck out her tongue. “You know how big a wimp my brother is about the spooky stuff, so I was going to send it to him. Congratulations, he just found out you’re a massive Disney geek.”

“Everyone likes Hocus Pocus—”

“Are you seriously going to do this?” Columbine interrupted, and rolled her eyes when Rose turned the camera on her.

“Scared?”

She sighed. “Of getting arrested for trespassing? Yes.” She reached out and made a swipe for the camera, but Rose avoided the grab. “Especially if you’re going to be recording us breaking the law—Martin!”

While they’d been talking, Martin had swung himself onto the top of the chest-high wall and sat straddling it with one leg to either side. “What?” he asked. “It’s not that high.”

“That’s not really her point, mate,” Gonff said. What was chest high on Martin was shoulder high on Gonff, and between that and a bit of extra pudge, it was a bit more of an undignified scramble up. Martin snagged the back of his shirt and heaved when it looked like he wouldn’t quite make it. “Thanks. C’mon, Columbine, you’re up next.”

She sighed again, but took both their hands and let them haul her up between them, with a neat little twist that left her sitting on the wall, feet on the outside.

“Here, catch,” Rose said. She tossed her phone up to Martin and waved off their assistance, bracing her hands on the top of the wall and hopping up, accepting her phone back with a grin. The group paused again on the top of the wall. “So,” Rose said, dragging out the vowel and turning the camera on each of them. “What do you think we’re going to find?”

“I was poking around in the library this afternoon,” Gonff volunteered, drumming his heels against the wall, “and turned up a couple of specifics. Apparently there was this chemist—and I use the term loosely, he wasn’t trained and it was the 1700s, I think—but when he died he said he’d be back.”

“And was he?”

“Well, he was exhumed at some point, and the body was unsettlingly preserved. Though I suppose saying the tomb was broken into would be more accurate; a curious medical student tried to cut off his head.”

“And you say it’s the theater geeks who’re weird,” Rose said. “When has a theater geek ever tried to cut off someone’s head in the name of science?”

Columbine just raised both eyebrows in Rose’s direction. “Really? We’re really going there?”

“Okay, but when has a medical student willed their skull to a theater so it can be used in a production of Hamlet?” Martin asked, and ignored how all three just looked at him in bewilderment. “Go on, Gonff. The body was unusually preserved, the student tried to take its head.”

“Which I contest, honestly,” Columbine interrupted. “You could get as good a sample without desecrating the corpse like that.”

“Anyway,” Gonff said. “As he was putting the head in the sack he’d brought with him, he heard whispers coming from the corners of the tomb.” He gestured, describing the scene with relish. “Whispers at the edges of reality, seeping through the cracks. When he turned around, there were shadows writhing and twining in the corners, reaching out as if they would pull him into the void itself.”

There was a beat of silence.

“And this tomb is in this graveyard?” Rose said, scanning the layout of the ground below them.

“Yep. The student ran, of course, and left the head behind. It’s probably still there, kicked into a corner by a panicked foot.”

Martin and Columbine exchanged skeptical looks. “Guilty conscience, obviously, and probably wind through the leaves,” Columbine said. “Look, there’s trees all along the wall, and there’s grass and stuff, too. When was this?”

Gonff blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t really remember, a few years after the guy died?”

“So call it the 1810s at the latest,” Columbine said, crossing her arms. “Way before electricity was harnessed for things like flashlights. If he had a lantern or an oil lamp, those shadows were probably caused by the unsteady light source, and obviously an overactive imagination.”

“Speaking of which, anyone else have a flashlight?” Martin asked. “First quarter moon won’t be up for another few hours.”

There was another, longer silence.

“We are really bad at this,” Gonff said finally. “Martin’s the only person who brought a flashlight? Seriously?”

“I was just going to use my phone,” Rose said. “But that’s going to eat my battery, especially if I’m recording at the same time.”

“Lesson learned. When poking around old graveyards after dark, everyone in the crew brings a flashlight,” Columbine said, shaking her head.

“We’ll keep it mind for next time,” Rose decided, and hopped down into the graveyard without further commentary. “Come on, let’s go find this tomb. You remember which one it was, right, Gonff?”

“Yeah, it’s in the north corner. I’ll lead the way.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Martin said as he helped Columbine down off the wall, “I swung by earlier today to talk to the groundskeeper. Ghost hunters aren’t new to him, and we’ve got permission. As long as we don’t break anything, leave trash around, make too much noise, etcetera, he’s fine with it, if a little resigned.”

“I’m beginning to think you’ve done this before,” Columbine said, half joking, half accusing.

Martin shook his head. “No, I just don’t see any reason to take unnecessary risks.”

Gonff laughed from in front of them, and turned around to walk backwards and still face them. “Matey, I’ve known you for a week and I can already say with full confidence that that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

“I did say unnecessary risks,” Martin said with complete calm. “Besides, I haven’t been that reckless around any of you.”

“Yes, because jumping two flights of concrete steps is perfectly reasonable,” Rose said, giving him a very disappointed look.

“I was running late and took the landing on my shoulder like you’re supposed to.”

The deeper the four friends passed into the graveyard, the older the headstones became. What names and dates had survived the years were obscured by green-gray or orange lichen. At the very back were a row of small marble buildings, some with long fractures in their walls, some with craggy domes, some in eerily perfect repair but with the iron grate hanging askew. The casual back and forth banter grew quieter as they approached, until at last the muffled sound of shoes upon gravel swallowed it up entirely.

“That’s it,” Gonff whispered, nodding towards a mausoleum built into a low hill, the dark space where its door should have been framed by ivy and brambles.

Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Break my phone and I’ll curse you,” she said, and thrust it into Gonff’s hands.

“Wait, what are you doing?”He fumbled it, checking the camera and keeping it trained on Rose. The image was becoming grainier as the light faded, but it was still enough to film, for now.

“I’m going inside,” Rose said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, not without me you’re not,” Gonff said, shoving the phone at Martin. “Here, you hold this.”

“I’m pretty sure this violates the 'don’t break anything' request we got from the groundskeeper,” Columbine said, rubbing at her forehead.

“Do you want to go in to explain every ‘experience’ they have, or shall I?” Martin asked. The video wouldn’t show the fond grin he wore, but it was clear enough in his voice as he trained the camera on Columbine, equally fond for all her exasperation.

“You’ve got the flashlight,” Columbine pointed out, waving him on. “I’ll stand guard on the off chance someone comes to run us out.”

“We can jump the wall and make for downtown if that happens,” Martin said. “Always have an exit strategy.”

“You’ve definitely done this before.”

“No, that’s just general life advice.”

They were interrupted by a low call from Gonff from inside the mausoleum. “Martin! Flashlight?!”

Martin fished the penlight out of one pocket with one hand, keeping the camera steady on the door as he approached. He knocked on the jamb with it. “Hello? Sorry for the disturbance, but we were just hoping to look around for a little bit, if you don’t mind the company. We’ll leave you in peace again soon.”

He flicked the light on, and startled back when it illuminated Rose, who was far closer than he’d expected. She also backed off with a pained protest. “Warn a girl before you do that, will you?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin said, angling the light a bit lower.

She rubbed at her eyes. “Were you talking to the ghost just now?”

“Look, if there is someone in here, just because he’s dead doesn’t mean we have to be rude,” Martin pointed out, following Rose into the crypt. “How’d you feel if someone came poking around your room without even apologizing for it?”

“You don’t even believe in ghosts,” Gonff pointed out, squinting around. The three of them drew closer together—ghost or no, they were in a small space with a dead body after dark, circumstances creepy enough to raise the hair on the back of anyone’s neck.

“I prefer to hedge my bets,” Martin said, sweeping the penlight slowly around. It was mostly empty, but for a few dead leaves in the corner and a low, rectangular construction in the middle of the room—the tomb itself. “I don’t see anything in here. Should we go a bit deeper?” They were huddled near the door, the blue-bright LED penlight aided by the distant starlight and the sickly yellow glow of a nearby streetlight.

“Yeah, why not,” Gonff said. His voice was a bit higher than normal, but he slid one foot forward, then another. Rose trailed behind him, looking closely around the room.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go in front?” Martin asked.

“You’ve got the camera,” Rose said.

“Right,” Martin muttered, not sounding too pleased with that. “Of course.”

“I’ll curse you, too, if you break my phone—” Rose started, only to cut herself off with a gasp. “Did you hear that?”

“No?”

Another long moment of tense silence, before all three heard a rustling sound from beyond the tomb.

“I heard that,” Gonff said, this time with an almost manic sounding giggle. “It sounds like he doesn’t like curses. Maybe don’t talk about that right now?”

“Right,” Rose said. She swallowed. “Sorry.”

“There’re a lot of dead leaves in here,” Martin said, directing the penlight towards the corners. “It was probably the wind, or an animal. Something like—huh.”

The light illuminated a misshapen lump closer to the entrance, a bundle of something that looked like it might be cloth. The trio stared at it for a moment.

“Do you think that’s the head?” Rose whispered.

“It’s definitely something,” Gonff said. All three drew closer together until their shoulders were touching.

“You know, I sort of thought the head would’ve been moved, or missing, or eaten by now,” Martin said.

Gonff blanched. “Eaten?”

“Well, yeah. Animals, scavengers, that sort of thing. What, did you think I meant cannibalism?”

“No…”

“Well, only one way to find out,” Rose said. She squared her shoulders. Each step forward echoed hollowly in the empty mausoleum, and when she spoke, both Gonff and Martin couldn’t quite suppress a jump. “Martin, will you stop moving the light around? I’m nervous enough as it is.”

“I’m not moving the light, Rose. And my hands are steady, before you ask,” Martin protested, eyes on the video to make sure this was the case.

Rose halted without turning around. When she spoke, her voice was forcibly calm. “If it’s not the light, what’s making the shadows move?”

“Martin, are you getting that?”

“I’m recording the shadows acting like shadows, yes,” Martin said patiently. “They’re moving because you’re moving, Rose, and you’re between the light and the—oh,” he said, as the shadows trembled again and moved up the wall.

There was a crash of stone on stone from behind them, loud in the sudden stillness. All three screamed, Gonff and Rose both latching onto Martin’s arms. Martin had dropped the penlight to free one hand, and the light swung wildly about the mausoleum, chasing spiky shadows and weird shapes up the walls.

“I think we should get out of here,” Gonff said, already backing out and dragging Martin along with him.

“Good idea,” Rose agreed, matching Gonff pace for pace. “Great time and all, really interesting, but we ought to, you know, go analyze the footage, see if we got an EVP—”

“Not find out what that was?”

“A ghost angry about a joke about curses.”

“Don’t joke about curses, I was cursed once and it offends me,” Gonff agreed with another high pitched giggle.

“This is just for practice anyway, next time we’ll go investigate,” Rose said.

There was another rustling, and the penlight caught the reflective gleam of eyes at the other end of the room.

They broke and ran, bursting out of the mausoleum and almost bowling over Columbine.

“What, what did you—”

“Eyes, dark, something—”

“Just run!” Rose said, pushing the both of them ahead of her.

“Over the wall?” Martin asked the group.

“Yes, fine, just away!”

This wall was conquered far more easily than the first, the fear adding extra speed to all four friends’s flight.

“You really saw a ghost?” Columbine panted.

“No,” Martin said, at the same time Gonff said “Yes!”

“There were eyes, mate, actual, glowing eyes!” Gonff continued. “And the shadows, you saw the shadows!”

“I saw shadows move that weren’t caused by Rose,” Martin said.

“And the crash? And the rustling?”

“Coincidence. Dead leaves. There wasn’t a ghost in there.”

They stopped a dozen blocks away, Rose clutching a stitch in her side, Gonff with his hands braced on his knees, gasping for breath.

“Then what was it?” Rose asked, leaning her head against the wall of the closed coffee shop.

“I don’t know,” Martin said. He was breathing deeply, deliberately slowing his breathing back to normal. “But it wasn’t a ghost.”

“That’s… because… it was a fox,” Columbine said, also bent double and panting for breath. She waved her phone, which the other three only just noticed in her hand. “I saw it come out about two seconds before you did,” she said, straightening as her breath came back. “Snapped a few pictures. He’s a cutie, you probably scared him.”

“We scared him?” Rose repeated, scandalized.

“Oh, let me see,” Gonff said, leaning over her shoulder as she swiped through the handful of pictures.

“Wait, let me get a shot of this,” Martin said, a grin beginning to steal over his face. He raised Rose’s phone again, getting a good angle on Columbine’s. “Aw, he is cute.”

“What about the eyes—?”

“Probably a family,” Columbine said. “I mean, that’d be a great place for a den, wouldn’t it? Sensible people don’t go in.”

“Did I ever claim I was sensible?” Gonff asked her, turning to look at her indignantly with his chin still propped on her shoulder. “Did Rose? Did Martin?”

Rose shook her head, beginning to laugh. “So our first ghost… was actually a family of foxes,” she said.

“Apparently,” Gonff said.

“Stepping through leaves, knocking something over, moving around so that there were shadows,” Martin listed. “And our imaginations did the rest.”

Columbine shot them all a grin. “Good thing I didn’t come in with you guys, then, or I wouldn’t have evidence,” she said, waving her phone in Gonff’s face.

“Well, you’ll have to figure out a way to get evidence from the inside next time,” Rose decided. She put out a hand and wiggled her fingers. Martin passed her the phone.

“Next time?” Columbine repeated.

“Absolutely,” Rose said, and panned the camera around the group. “After tonight, we’ve got to find a real ghost. This is too embarrassing a note to leave on, don’t you think?”

[tlbodine]

Let’s Talk About Folk Horror

Folk horror, both as a term and a concept, is seeing a resurgence recently. It’s been widely used to describe Ari Aster’s film Midsommar, which may be the first time you’ve seen it. But the sub-genre, like the traditions at its heart, is quite old and rich with examples.

What is Folk Horror? 

Folk horror is a type of religious horror concerned with Pagan or pre-Christian religion as opposed to Christianity. Instead of demonic possession or devilish influence, the supernatural elements of folk horror (if they're present at all) will be rooted in other, older traditions. There's still plenty of overlap between Christian occult horror and folk horror, though, and aesthetically some stories featuring Christian mythology and tradition could fall under the folk umbrella.

Folk horror will often draw on several or all of these tropes:

An isolated setting, most commonly a rural community that's a big "backwards" by modern standards and often populated by unsettlingly eccentric locals.

Cults or cultish behavior, either overtly or suspected.

Blood sacrifice, violent rituals, and other types of murderous mayhem enacted by aforementioned cult members.

A slow-building, atmospheric type of horror rich in detail of the strangeness of the setting/its people.

Ideas drawn from mythology or historical religious practices, especially those of Pre-Christian Europe

An aesthetic that might incorporate Pagan (or pseudo-pagan) motifs, whether or not they’re portrayed accurately or historically - masks, dances, sex, rituals, blood magic, etc. 

Some folk horror is supernatural or overtly occult -- there might be a monster or monstrous god posing a very real and physical threat. But most folk horror is most commonly rooted in fears of the Other, and what happens when an outsider encounters believers of a faith that appears confusing, frightening, dangerous or immoral. 

Folk horror taps into a number of potential primal fears: 

Fears of “otherness” and the unknown 

Fear/distrust of religion or organized belief structures and their power/influence

Fears of social isolation or faux pas; the anxiety of not knowing or adhering to the rules (and being punished for it) 

White guilt, or related anxieties regarding colonialism, lost history/identity, and fear of being punished for the same

In many ways, folk horror is “kissing cousins” with the murderous hillbilly genre: both often tell stories about outsiders who go to a place they don’t belong and suffer the consequences at the hands of the locals. 

More modern iterations of folk horror often side-step the xenophobia by placing the main characters within the culture instead of outside it. These tales are frequently told as historical pieces and may or may not ultimately position Christianity or white imperialism in the villainous role (but not without heavily leaning on the symbolism and aesthetic of the folk elements to provide creepy atmosphere first). 

Another reason folk horror may be enjoying a modern resurgence is because it deals strongly with identity, especially the lost (and reclaimed) identities of old religions and cultures. As “whiteness” as a concept undergoes growing pains and tries to define itself, reaching back to the “old ways” of European folklore (or even early colonial America) can provide a richness and depth of history fraught with potentially horrifying perils and deeply interesting opportunities. Which is not to say that folk horror must by default be about white people...just that white people should probably let other groups handle their own folk horror stories (see previous rant re: wendigo). 

Difference Between Folk, Occult and Gothic 

Occult, by definition, means "supernatural or paranormal.” Stories about magic, demons, witchcraft and possession fall under the occult umbrella. Quite often, occult films default to a Judeo-Christian mythological framework (in the West, at least, Asian occult horror of draws on a different set of cultural influences). Regardless: in occult horror, the occult is front-and-center, and it’s a very real influence. 

Folk horror, by contrast, requires no supernatural elements -- merely a stalwart belief. At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter whether the blood ritual actually summons an old god, only that the cult members earnestly believe that it will. 

Gothic, meanwhile, often shares a lot of aesthetic territory with folk horror. But as we’ve discussed before, the defining characteristic of gothic is decay -- locations that were once opulent but have fallen into ruin, beliefs that were once sacred but since have been abandoned (for better or worse). Folk horror is very much alive, and often extremely vibrant. 

A Taste of Folk Horror Media

Ok: So you’ve got a basic understanding of what Folk Horror is about. Now where should you start with studying it? 

The usual recommendation is to start with the so-called "Unholy Trinity" of folk horror films, which really cemented the genre in cinema. Michael Reeves' Witchfinder General, Piers Haggard's Blood on Satan's Claw and Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man were released in the laste 60s/early 70s and laid out a number of the tropes you'll grow to find quite familiar later on -- theology, human sacrifice, rural communities, and lots of British weirdness.

Now armed with the basics, you might be better equipped to appreciate more modern films -- let's try a sampler of different flavors.

Try The Witch, directed by Robert Eggers, and follow it up with The Wind, directed by Emma Tammi, for a pair of women-centered historical pieces rooted in early America (colonial and frontier eras, respectively). They draw heavily on the folk side of Christian tradition and are both atmospheric marvels.

Or, here's a trifecta that's fun to watch for compare/contrast: Ari Aster's debut, Hereditary, which combines pagan cults with family drama; David Bruckner's film The Ritual, where a night in the woods is interrupted by an ancient Pagan monster-god; and Apostle, directed by Gareth Evans, where Christian apostasy and creepy cults collide. Finish up with Midsommar if you’re not sick of Ari Aster yet. 

If you're looking at books, Stephen King occasionally dips his toes in folk horror. Pet Sematary dabbles in it, and Children of the Corn takes a proper full plunge. Both were adapted into films, too, if that's your preference. 

Incidentally, The Ritual was also a novel, written by Adam Nevill, and by all accounts it's even better than the movie. If you like that, also pick up his new novel The Reddening. You might also enjoy some of the work of Douglas Clegg, such as The Halloween Man.

If you're done with white dudes for a while, cleanse your palate with some Asian folk horror: The Wailing, directed by Hong-jin Na, combines folk beliefs, Christianity, and virology. Kwaidan, directed by Masaki Kobayashi, is itself a sampler anthology of Japanese folk tales.

If animated features are more your speed, try Over the Garden Wall from Patrick McHale. 

Folk horror even shows up in video games. Fatal Frame straddles the occult/folk line pretty well, especially Crimson Butterly, which delves deep into some cult-gothic territory. Alternatively, try out Unforgiving: A Northern Hymn, a wonderfully creepy game about Swedish and Norse mythology that you will love if you enjoy Adam Nevill's writing.  

And, because I can never plug it enough, Chandler Groover’s short interactive fiction game Taghairm is a magnificent example (warning: playing involves text-based simulations of roasting cats over a fire). 

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

WIP Wednesday, kind of!

for @grandthorkiday this year, I really wanted to finally finish the fic I started for it last year, but that didn’t happen because literally everything is happening at the same time this October and also it’s hard to focus on writing in general right now. but then I thought of this older Sakaar fic that has been vaguely on my “I’m almost positive this is practically done if I would just put some time and effort into finishing it (but it’s also totally possible it’s nowhere near as close to being done as I think it is)” list for ages, and I realized it totally fit the definition for Grandthorki, and I thought maybe I could finish that real quick instead!

...I couldn’t. there’s a lot more to this one that needs to be written than I kind of thought, in part because it’s so old I wrote it before Ragnarok ever came out, so it was based purely on the trailer (and then inspired by some speculation by @theotherodinson, I think), and to finish this fic I would first have to decide if it would be more straightforward to just keep going with my pre-Ragnarok speculation or change the setup a bit to fit the film. also I would have to turn a bunch of bullet points into an actual conversation that would have to...make sense? and, like, establish things? and that’s hard even when my brain isn’t busy constantly screaming.

but! I can post most of what I already wrote, just for fun and because at least this is something Grandthorki-related that I haven’t already posted elsewhere! knowing me this could backfire because then I won’t have as much motivation to try to finish it but on the other hand it’s been sitting at this exact level of unfinishedness for like three years so it’s probably not going to hurt.

warnings: I kind of don’t know what to say here because nothing actually happens but there’s a lot of discussion of rape and graphic violence, so...warnings for that!

[the basic premise/assumption here was that Thor ended up on Sakaar at some point in his search for the Infinity Stones, was forced into the Contest, and gradually gained more of the Grandmaster’s favor and attention because he’s Thor and he’s great at fighting. it’s probably been months at this point, he’s one of the Grandmaster’s champions, and that earns him a reward that he extremely does not want: a few hours with a sex slave, basically.]

The Grandmaster calls them his pets, sentient beings he keeps because they are pretty rather than for their fighting prowess, but the term seems only partially accurate given that it implies both ownership and some level of exclusivity. The latter, at least, seems to apply on a purely arbitrary basis according to the Grandmaster’s whims. There are other appropriate terms, certainly, and Thor has heard plenty from the guards and his fellow warriors. “Pleasure slave” seems to be the most accurate while still remaining within the bounds of marginal politeness.

“Grandmaster must like you special,” the guard says in a confiding tone as they walk. “This one used to be one of his favorite pets, all personal like—didn’t share him much, real picky about what anybody could do with him. Guess the mouthiness lost its shine. Oh yeah, that reminds me—” He digs into his bag and emerges with a handful of metal. “Boy’s really got a mouth on him, so use this when you get tired of it. Or if you wanna make sure he won’t bite; he still hasn’t learned his lesson on that either. Up to you though; walls are soundproof, so whatever you get up to won’t bother nobody else.”

It’s a gag, Thor realizes, reminded with a jolt of the muzzle he fastened on Loki before bringing him back to Asgard, and he cannot afford to think about Loki now. “Thank you,” he says as politely as he can, “but I have no need of…that.”

“You do, trust me,” the guard says. “Only way the boys have found to shut him up and stop him biting. Never met somebody who runs his mouth like that. Dunno why the Grandmaster liked him so long. Oh, and it opens, see—” He twists something at the side of the gag and part of the mouthpiece folds inward. Another twist and the opening widens, and it takes very little creativity to imagine how the mechanism would force the wearer’s jaw wide. “Careful with that, by the way,” the guard adds. “Two turns gets him open, three or four is good, keep going and you can dislocate his jaw—which is fine, fixed that before, it’s just the kind of thing you probably want to know you’re doing, right?”

Thor’s stomach turns over. When he is free of this place, he will come back to help the other slaves. He forces a smile. “I assure you, I do not need such an instrument.”

“You’ll thank me when you change your mind later,” the guard says, shoving the gag into Thor’s hand. Thor gives up and takes it, because if he has learned nothing else in the last few years he has at least learned the importance of picking his battles. “He hasn’t been fed today, either, so no worries he’ll puke on you. Might get him to cooperate if you promise him food after, but that never really works with this one, so, probably a waste of time. All up to you though. Anyway—” He puts a hand over the locking panel and the room’s outer door slides open. “I’ll lock you in, come get you in a few hours. Comms are open in case you need something. And ‘cause we get bored.”

“And if I prefer not to have an audience,” Thor says.

The guard snorts. “You been here this long and you don’t get how things work? In you go.”

Thor sighs and does as he’s bid. The outer door hisses shut behind him and the inner door slides open, revealing a modestly appointed bedchamber. The bed is the largest thing in it, a sturdy-looking wooden construction with prominent bedposts, but Thor’s attention is drawn immediately to the figure kneeling on the floor. He is facing away, though not by choice; his wrists are shackled behind his back and bound to a metal loop in the floor with a short length of chain. Thor has no doubt the positioning is deliberate, just another way of reminding the slave of his powerlessness. His shoulders are rigid, his fingers curled into fists—blue fingers, Thor notes, with black nails, and blue skin at the back of his neck under black hair. Probably Kree, then, which makes it a little odd that he is not being used in the arena, instead of…this.

Thor grimaces and moves to put himself in the slave’s line of sight.

[aaaaand naturally the slave is Loki, miraculously alive after dying in Thor’s arms on Svartalfheim! also he doesn’t recognize Thor at all and in fact remembers nothing prior to waking up half-dead on Svartalfheim and being scooped up by the Grandmaster somehow! this is all very upsetting for Thor! it gets more upsetting when, in the conversation I haven’t written, Loki starts working really hard to goad Thor into a temper and Thor realizes what he’s trying to do!]

“You want the gag,” Thor says finally.

Loki jerks back, his mouth snapping shut. He recovers quickly, his eyes crackling with anger, but he’s not quite fast enough to keep Thor from glimpsing a flash of fear underneath. “What I want is irrelevant. This is about what you want, that is the entire point, and I know your type, dozens of times over. You’re a warrior. You want to win. You want to hear me beg you to stop, to show mercy you delight in withholding. And I am telling you now, you can do anything you like but you will not hear me beg, not for anything. So use the damn gag.”

And with a flash of nauseating clarity Thor gets it, why Loki’s working so hard to goad others into forcibly shutting him up, because it’s the one tiny piece of control he has left. Unbidden, the image forces itself into his mind: Loki, eyes squeezed shut in pain, screaming into the gag and clinging to the very last scraps of his pride with the knowledge that if he breaks and begs for it to stop, no one will know—clinging to those scraps even though his defiance hurts him, because he has been left with nothing else that is still his.

[Thor gets real upset! upset enough to unlock his lightning powers without access to Mjolnir? yep!]

Loki’s red eyes widen, his bravado visibly wavering, and his voice shakes just a little as he says, “Well done, that’s actually a new one.”

“I’m sorry,” Thor says, “this will hurt, but I will be quick,” and he reaches out one crackling hand for the collar.

[Loki’s eyes widen etc. here instead probably] and he cringes away, raw panic breaking through his bravado, but if the guards are not already on their way they will be soon, and there is no time to spend on reassurances Loki will have no reason to believe anyway. Thor steels himself and lunges, seizing the chain at Loki’s wrists with one hand and his collar with the other, and Loki’s body snaps taut as lightning floods into him.

Once, over a century ago, a journey with Sif and the Warriors Three went disastrously wrong, resulting in Thor and Loki stranded alone on Muspelheim, relentlessly pursued by a dozen Fire Giants and unable to get far enough away to safely call on Heimdall. By the time the giants truly cornered them, they’d been running for three days straight without water or sleep, Loki’s magic was nearly depleted from several aborted attempts to hide them and open a pathway between realms, and Thor couldn’t draw down a storm from the painfully dry desert air. With no options remaining to them, Loki convinced Thor to channel the last dregs of Mjolnir’s lightning through Loki himself, in the theory that doing so might amplify what little remained of Loki’s magic and grant him the power needed to escape. It was a mad, desperate gamble that could have easily killed him and nearly did, but it worked, leaving Thor with—among other things—an unsettlingly precise knowledge of how much lightning Loki’s body could take without dying.

He has not thought of that incident in years, but he is glad of it now, especially without Mjolnir to help him control his power.

 When everything clears, Loki is sprawled on his back, staring up at Thor and breathing hard, freed of all his bonds. His expression shifts through pain and fear and shock into confusion and then, finally, a faint glimmer of recognition, and he says hoarsely, “…Thor?”

Thor exhales, relief and battle-lust tangling inside him, and holds out his hand to help Loki up. “Come, brother. It’s time to get out of this place.”

Loki stares at him for a moment longer, his throat working, and then he reaches back and takes Thor’s hand.

[starkeristheendgame]

Honestly, I don’t even know. I watched Teen Wolf again and got inspired. Enjoy.

WinterIronSpider.

TW: Kidnapping (non-explicit) | Accidental tape bondage | Tape burn?? |

There is a teenager in his bathtub.

A more accurate descriptor would be that said teenager is trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, his legs bound around the ankles, knees and thighs by thick rolls of duct-tape and his arms trapped to his body. A thick strip of black gleams at his mouth, reducing his panicked shrieks to high-pitched muffles.

The kid looked as surprised to see him as Tony was to see a taped up teen in his $2,000 Italian claw-foot, which, frankly, was ridiculous. Wide, tear-glassy doe eyes stared up at him and the kid squirmed, gazing at him with distrust.

Tony flicked the curtain back.

That was an issue for another day.

He was discarding his clothing when the bedroom door opened near silently. He’d have missed it, if it were not for the giant mirror that lined the left wall. Bucky looked suitably caught, freezing with a look remarkably not unlike the teen’s.

Speaking of.

“Did you know there’s a teenager in our bathtub?” He asked conversationally, turning to sit on the edge of his bed as he tugged at his tie, loosening it enough to draw it over his head. Bucky, predictably, wears an expression that clearly states he did.

He’s dressed in combative gear, the tactical kevlar lending him a formidable structure. The sheen of his metal arm was mollified by dark, rust-coloured blood and soot. His hair was a static mess, resting at his cheekbones like a horse mane. Tony sighed softly, and gestured towards the bathroom door pointedly.

“He saw me” Bucky rasped, looking non-plussed, as though he’d just stepped in a particularly fresh heap of shit. Tony lifted a brow steadily, meeting the iron gaze across the room.

“And that called for you to Mr. Grey him? Into our bathtub?” He asked sceptically. leaning back on his palms to eye his lover. Granted, Bucky was new to this whole...Functioning thing. But he’d thought they were past this. Whatever this actually was.

Barring a massive lawsuit and PR nightmare, of course.

“I didn’t...He’s not hurt” Bucky scowled back, the metal plates of his arm shifting and re-aligning as he flexed his hand. To anyone else, it was an impressive, rather terrifying display of strength. As it was, Tony rolled his eyes and stood, making his way back to the bathroom. He could sense more than actually hear Bucky following.

The kid jerked again when he swept the curtain aside. He wore what appeared to be a permanent mask of horror-confusion-surprise. It was rather endearing. Tony cocked his head, and then glanced over his shoulder at his lover, who lurked in the doorway with his trademark glower. The kid followed his gaze and - astoundingly - scowled straight back.

“And what, exactly, were you going to do with him after this?” Tony asked, gesturing to the immobilised form. The kid’s gaze jerked back up to him, horrified. As though he had just suggested they gut him there and then. Tony lifted a brow at the kid and gestured rather helplessly. “You can’t exactly stay here” he pointed out.

“You always told me to leave the ‘sorting out’ to you. I’m not allowed to sort out. My method of sorting out is ‘bad” Bucky quoted petulantly. Tony cast the child a can you believe this look and the kid shot back what sort of conveyed as I have no part in this.

“Usually, I’d agree. But what, my dearest, are we to actually do now, hm? We can’t kill him, because that goes against Moral Rule Number One. But you’ve also kidnapped him. Rather well, I might say. And that’s quite disagreeable, too. Because now we face a dilemma. Namely, because you kidnapped him”.

Bucky’s scowl got darker with each word, and the kid looked more and more like he was about to pass out. “I’m not allowed to kill them, I’m not allowed to torture them, now I’m not allowed to kidnap them” he muttered darkly. The kid made what could only be described as a desperate squeak.

“How about...Not getting caught in the first place, hm?” He suggested sardonically, folding his arms as he faced Bucky. The Solder narrowed his eyes at the form behind the billionaire.

“He’s not normal” he hissed, like an offended cat. Tony gave the man a pointed, deliberate once over. He had a vague impression of the look the kid would be giving them both, at this point.

“Arguably, I’d say he’s the most normal of everyone in this room, right now” Tony defended, glancing over his shoulder. The kid appeared to be stuck somewhere between confused and concerned. Nothing much new, then.

Bucky muttered something low and bitter in Russian and stalked forwards, the soft snick of a flip-blade audible in the room. The teenager immediately begun to struggle, a litany of angry, panicked sounds joining the force of his wide but blazing stare.

“If he breaks anything, you deserved it” Bucky announced, before he drove his arm down, sliding through the tape around the boy’s leg. When the boy recovered from what appeared to be heart-stopped fear, the effect was immediate. Bucky saw the kick coming a fraction before Tony did, only just managing to knock the kid by the ankle.

Unfortunately, it meant his $2,000 tub caught the kick. The lined porcelain gave a loud, ear-splitting crack and Tony watched in dismay as a chunk of it slid from the main body and crashed to the floor.

“That was a custom import” Tony informed the teen, who cast him a withering look in response from where he had twisted onto his side. Bucky had a firm hold of his leg, holding it aloft like the boy was some hunted fox. He looked as equally non-plussed as he did earlier, and Tony had the inkling that Bucky had been on the receiving end of such a kick earlier.

Perhaps that explained the excessive amount of tape.

“You know, that rather just adds to our issue” Tony pointed out. Unsettlingly, they gave him a simultaneous, withering stare.

As it turns out, the kid was remarkably, un-human-ly strong. Bucky had to sit on him to tape his legs back together, and the boy writhed and twisted like an angry snake at every second of it. By the time Bucky hauled himself back over the edge, he was suitably annoyed.

“So...What is he? Who is he?” Tony asked when Bucky had righted himself, both of them staring down at the teenager as though he were that invasive house spider that neither wanted to kick out.

“I don’t know. He was there when I was...Cleaning up. He almost put me through the window” Bucky huffed back, looking down at the flex of his arm. The kid was still scowling up at them, something defiant in the glimmer of his eyes. Tony wanted to laugh, really.

The infamous Winter Soldier, caught out by a child. But then...That left him with having to deal with this nonsense, and, really, that was less amusing. Tony let his arms fold as he sat on the edge of the tub and looked down at the kid.

“Obviously, we’re not going to kill you. But as you can imagine, this kind of awkward for us. Him especially, I would imagine” Tony begun, and he could feel more than see the absolutely obliterating glower that Bucky sent him. He had a feeling he would be making up for that later.

“Now, I’m a businessman. And I think we are at a stable place in terms of negotiations, y’know? I’m getting that vibe. So how about this; I’ll take the tape off your mouth, and we can see about making this...Go away, hm?” He asked, gesturing vaguely around the room.

The kid didn’t seem convinced, glancing between them almost pointedly. Tony supposed he could sympathise; it wasn’t every day you had a tall, dark and dangerous serial killer-cum-Avenger kidnap you and dump you in the local billionaire’s bathtub.

Then again.

“And, whilst we’re at it...Let’s throw a little non-violence rule in there. On both sides. You’ve got a mean swing. He’s got a meaner swing. And honestly? I’m too old for this sort of thing, these days. I’d rather not have to get all suited up to prove a point” he divulged. The kid was staring at him now, vaguely like he was the owner of three heads. But after a heavy, awkward pause, the kid nodded slowly.

“There we go, see? That’s how adults do this kind of thing. Presumably. I’m not an expert on underage kidnappings” Tony announced airily, twisting away from the kid to reach for Bucky’s hip, where he knew at least three knives were concealed. Bucky slapped his hand away and produced one from another magical compartment somewhere on hi opposite side.

The kid shrank away distrustfully, brows pulling and eyes widening as Tony came closer, but he held up his free hand placatingly. He supposed there wasn’t a whole lot he could do to make the kid feel safer. “Trust me, sweetheart. Of the two of us, I’m the one you want holding the knife” he soothed, and cut through the first wind of tape to the kid’s horrified expression.

Tony made quick work of it, deft flicks of the knife that had the kid’s legs falling apart and his arms shaking against his chest once they were free. Tony supposed they might be a little numb. He had, after all, no idea just how long the kid had been a bathroom ornament.

Tony leaned back, and the kid blinked at them for all of five seconds, mouth still taped, before one arm shot up, palm pressing flat against the tiles and then the kid just...Lifted. Kicking out of the tub with startling speed and agility. Tony yelled, knocked by a long, slender leg so that he twisted, tipping over and into the tub in an inelegant flail of limbs. He could just about catch a glimpse of Bucky streaking after the kid.

They stood side by side, arms folded and in a matching state of annoyed disbelief as they stared. Below them, the kid scowled up at them with ferocity. He’d made it all the way to the bedroom before Bucky had slammed him into the carpet, and he sported a dark, rosy rug burn across the left side of his face, the corner of his lip ever so slightly indented where he’d bitten it.

“Its not like I knew” Bucky begun, but Tony let his head loll to fix him with such a withering stare that the Winter Soldier stopped talking, turning to sullenly stare at their captive. His own right cheek was already blossoming with a nice, knee-shaped bruise, where the kid had got one back for the rug-face.

“I hope you realise that this Earth does not contain enough caffeine - nor prozac - for this” Tony informed them both tersely, reaching up to rub at his temples. As it appeared, Bucky had not only kidnapped a child, but an enhanced child. The little shit was worryingly strong, and quicker than either of them could’ve anticipated.

“How did you not notice this when you kidnapped him” he continued, pressing harder at the building headache. Bucky remained silent, in a clear sulk as he and the kid stared at each other with building venom.

They had collectively managed to wrestle the kid to the side of the bed, where Tony had shamelessly linked him up to the reinforced cuffs in the wall that they normally reserved for...Less...Well. This.

As it was, the kid huddles against the bed frame, mulishly eyeing them like an old, pissed off cat waiting to strike. His arms were up, draped across the top of the bed and pulled taught. Tony had taped his legs again. Heavily.

Christ. Pepper would have a fucking buffet with this.

“Alright, alright. I’m going to remove the tape on your mouth. And we can try this again, okay? Like people. Adults. I can’t let you go until I know you’re not gonna go spilling this at Boy Scouts, and I’d kind of like you to know neither of us are going to hurt you”.

He eyed the dark, angry pink.

“...More”.

“And if you bite me, so help me God. I’ll....Think of something” he finalised, approaching. He didn’t give the kid enough time to react as he reached out, fingertips pinching the corner of the tape and pulling hard to the side. It came away with a loud tearing sound, rivalled only by the high-pitched yelp of pain that the kid gave.

And...Well, fuck.

He was even cuter with a full face.

A wet, pink tongue parted his raw lips and laved over the lower one slowly as the kid tipped his head back, scowling at him from under a layer of thick lashes. His mouth was a dark pink, raw from the tape.

The kid’s jaw worked as he chewed at his tongue and leaned back, staring them both down defiantly. It took Tony almost a full minute to collect himself. Christ, the kid was, what, fourteen? Fifteen? And here he was, thinking of...

“So!” He announced suddenly, clapping his hands together. “Now that all of us are somewhat willing participants in this, lets get it settled. I, for one, want my bed. And a generous slug of whiskey, after this. Name the price of your silence, kiddo”.

The kid stared at him for several long, drawn out seconds. The expression on his face was one of distrust, of uncertainty. His tongue worked at his lower lip and his jaw flexed once more. Tony kept his gaze fixed to his eyes, for he knew he’d track the movement otherwise.

Of course, the kid could ask for his entire bank account. And...Tony would probably give it to him. It was nothing he wouldn’t make back in a matter of months - a year, at the most - but still. Or perhaps the kid would take ‘price’ as a non-numerical sum. Perhaps he would call in a favour, or an act.

The kid did neither of those. His dark, amber gaze slid past Tony, fixing on where Bucky lurked with a steely resolve.

“He kills people”.

Tony blinked. A voice that silken, that sweet, had no business existing. Especially not with such a pretty face. It was a killer combination, really. His voice was slightly rasped, slightly rough from lack of water and perhaps from screaming.

“Ah”. He clicked his tongue and looked over his shoulder, to where Bucky was standing. Closer than initially thought, but generally, that was nothing surprising. Bucky had a tendency to be looming over one shoulder or the other. To his credit, Bucky didn’t seem disturbed, merely staring back just as challengingly.

“Well, y’know. That’s kind of a...John Wick sort of thing. Or...I can’t think of any moves where they kill for good, so. Let’s just say he’s a morally encompassed John Wick. Although it does beg the question of why you were around the sort of person he was going after” Tony pointed out, arms folding.

“He was part of the team that....Did this to me” the kid whispered back, fingers flexing through the cuffs. Tony didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what he was referring to. There was no way anything about this kid was entirely human.

Especially if the footprint on Bucky’s jaw was anything to do by. Or the horrible, tragic death of his bathtub.

“Mm. That’s...Fair” he settled on, shuffling on the spot. Christ. That just made all of this...Worse. There was clearly some tragic backstory there, some awful storyline the kid had probably been seeking answers or vengeance to. At a glance, Bucky was clearly thinking the same thing, brows pinched and jaw working as he chewed his tongue.

Clearly, Bucky hadn’t known that.

The kid was back to staring with those wide, earnest eyes. Tony let out a groan and rubbed at his temples, before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, near the bottom. The kid tensed up, tucking back against the wall, and Tony found something in his heart cracking a little.

“Jesus, kid. This is messier than my PR after a night out” he sighed, and made a flippant gesture to Bucky. “Get him some water. And something to eat”. His gaze drifted down to the kid’s clothing. Messy. Torn. But changing him would mean uncuffing him.

Tony shifted, lifting his hips enough to drag the thick, faux-fur blanket from the bottom of the bed. It was the softest material money could buy, luxurious and a bitch to wash. He crouched to one knee, an arm from the kid, and held out the blanket. “I’m gonna put this on you, yeah? I’d appreciate if you didn’t kick my teeth out”.

The kid stared at him balefully, but didn’t move as Tony shuffled closer, folding the blanket over his tiny shoulders. Up close the kid smelt like blood and leather, like aftershave and something almost akin to perfume. He was small, up close, but the clothing could well be hiding lithe muscle.

Even Clint looked a little on the slender side, without those biceps bared to the world.

Tony moved away, and for a while they simply sat there, awaiting Bucky’s return. For the life of him, Tony couldn’t think of a perfect, immediate solution. On one hand, this kid was...Clearly enhanced. Clearly had the ability to be dangerous. Being kidnapped by Bucky was possibly not the worst thing to have ever happened to him.

Christ, this could be even bigger than just this. What if the kid wasn’t the only one? What if -

“I can hear you thinking” the kid stated with an unimpressed tone. When he looked up, the kid was staring at him, tucked down into the blanket for warmth. Tony snorted, but didn’t try to argue it. How could he not? He couldn’t walk away from this, now. Couldn’t in good conscious just toss the kid some bills and send him back out to whatever potential horrors awaited.

“He’s The Winter Soldier, isn’t he?” The kid asked after a moment, and Tony looked up in surprise. He was saved from answering by Bucky appearing in his peripheral, expression pinched and guarded. e held a large glass of water in one hand, and a small try on the other, filled with small portions of various foods.

“Yes” Bucky answered for him, approaching with silent steps and crouching at Tony’s feet, though he faced the kid. Tony automatically reached out, but remembered himself at the last moment and let the hand fall to his shoulder, not his hair. “You said they did this to you. Clarify” Bucky ordered, though gently, as he set the tray down.

He reached up then, past the kid to press his thumb to the scanner on the cuff of his right hand. It beeped and fell apart, releasing the kid’s wrist. He stared at it in disbelief and wariness, and Tony tensed, ready for him to try and fight his way out again. But then with a cautious glance at them both, he reached slowly for the water, and sniffed it, before sipping carefully.

“They used nuclear and molecular modification to weaponise and mutate the DNA of a spider species. I never found out which. They needed a test subject. I was walking home late, alone”. He sipped again, and Bucky glanced back at Tony, who sighed heavily.

Whelp. There officially goes the easy option of throwing a million at the kid and herding him out.

“Every time I plan a hot bath” he muttered, scowling as he double-tapped the arc reactor at his chest.