#when you enter the room filled with fog and try to inspect things it mentions a tree and a man.

[wasabikitcat]

I had this realization a few days ago when reviewing what we know about Gaster while theorizing about the mysterious Valentine from the newsletter and idk if other people have pointed this out yet, but I haven't seen anyone else talk about it:

I don't think Gaster's disappearance has anything to do with Core.

The Core is only mentioned in relation to Gaster once, in this dialogue from one of the Gaster followers:

This dialogue is why most theories and fanon built around the idea that Gaster fell into the Core, which for reasons unknown to us erased him from existence. But I'm now pretty convinced that this is a red herring, because it doesn't actually say Gaster fell into the Core. It says he made the Core, and that he fell into his creation.

It does not say that this creation is the Core.

The dialogue is written in a way that leads you to assume the creation he fell into was the Core, but that doesn't really make much sense considering the rest of the dialogue.

The dialogue says "they say he created the Core," which implies this is second hand knowledge, but then says with certainty "One day, he fell into his creation." Why do they know for sure he fell into "his creation," but only knows he created the core from what others say?

If you talk to the follower again, they say "Will Alphys end up the same way?" Why would Alphys also fall into the Core? As far as we know, Alphys doesn't maintain the Core; if I remember correctly, a few monsters at Mettaton's hotel are stated to work in the Core, so wouldn't this follower be more concerned that those monsters will end up like Gaster and not Alphys?

And another question that I think fanon has just ignored due to the assumption it was something we don't yet know about, but I am now wondering about: Why would falling into the Core erase Gaster from time? When traveling through Hotland and viewing the Core in the distance, Alphys says this:

And while this dialogue may at first seem indicative that the Core is more mysterious than a normal geothermal power generator (and it is in some ways), remember: Alphys didn't build the Core. Alphys doesn't understand how the Core works, not because it has some unnatural property that could erase people from space time, but because she didn't build it. Not only does this mean that the Core is likely just a power generator that utilizes the lava in Hotland to produce geothermal energy and convert it to electricity, it also means that Alphys doesn't work on the Core, because she doesn't know how it works. So why would the Gaster follower worry about Alphys ending up like Gaster if she doesn't have any involvement with the Core?

Additionally, that Gaster follower is the only one to mention the Core in relation to Gaster. In fact, one of the other followers says something that could be interpreted as actively contradicting his erasure being caused by the Core:

This follower says "his experiments went wrong," and doesn't mention the Core. Why would Gaster be experimenting with the Core? And if he was, we don't know anything about it.

But you know what experiments we do know Gaster was working on, because it's literally one of the only pieces of dialogue we have from him?

And do you know what other creation was presumably made by Gaster, as Alphys is unfamiliar with it's operation? That is also a creation that was actively being used in experiments, which Alphys is continuing to perform herself? Experiments that are directly involved with something we already know can alter time and space? A creation that is located in one of the most mysterious areas in the game with several oddities in it that are straight up never explained, multiple fourth wall breaking moments, and a couple explicit references to things we believe are associated with Gaster? A creation that suspiciously resembles in appearance the form of a character who canonically can alter time and space, not to mention resembling the thing that's literally called a GASTER BLASTER???

[tfatwsbarnes]

first burn | tlou jesse pt. 3

pt. 1 pt. 2 ft don’t be tardy

summary: reunited with dina and ellie, you proceed in seattle to find joel’s killers

pairing: tlou!jesse x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k

content: awkward tension between reader and dina (not hateful), mentions of pregnancy, vomiting, the usual tlou gore, a lot of dialogue which I’ve cut, blood, reader cannot catch a break and gets a bit fucked up, and the cold shoulder from a certain somebody

a/n: how do we all feel after the finale? i would say i’m still in stage denial over jesse 🙂‍↕️ again: inaccuracies etc etc i have a lot of brain fog, try do my research to stay true to the storyline but yeesh sometimes i just do my own thing. i rushed the end cause omg get to the point

taglist: @beelee-cotton @lostbee20 @pupupwa @ilovetoomanymen @derangeddementor3 @keseqna @blackravena @cxcilla @hsangel64 - tysm for reading! also @tillywasneverhere surprise ITS TODAY

You had learnt the names of the tight-knit group that enforced the torture on Joel Miller and pinned down Ellie Williams to make her watch her father figure in his final moments. Ellie had spent the last of her energy explaining each one from both her and Dina's memory, even when warped in a high stress situation.

You had listened intently, splitting a bag of dried fruit as if it were dessert with Ellie — Dina politely declined with the colour drained from her face. In all honesty, you felt a little helpless at sea, you were being kept afloat just by the skin of your teeth but you were starting to think you were beyond out of your own depth. Ellie had been clearly cherrypicking her details and it struck that perhaps you had entered something you didn't fully comprehend.

        The next morning, it weighed on your chest whilst you readied your bag, Ellie taking the time to inspect the building amenities in daylight. Dina had been sat fiddling with the radio, enough static to make your head split, as she mapped out potential W.L.F. locations through triangulations; a talent that was beyond your assistance.

        Beaded with sweat, Dina looked as if she were keeping vomit at bay whilst you sat a few feet away against a pillar, mindlessly rolling your head back and forth. If you hadn't had stumbled into their conversation, Dina was the shining example of a human intentionally hiding an infected bite from the rest of her team members.

        You dusted off your trousers when you stood and decided to not punish her further, mumbling that you would be tending to Zombie if he hadn't eaten through the interior of the building to escape — the muffled wretch from Dina not going amiss when you left the room.

        Astounded that Zombie remained in the same spot you had left him, grazing on the hay you had packed whilst he laid on the hard floor to relax. His movements halted, ear flicked backward to listen to the sudden movement before he stood to the grand height of himself.

        "It's just me." Even after Jesse and you had spent overtime to tame the Appaloosa, there were fleeting moments of dread that he would drag you by the ankle with his teeth. Taking a step closer, Zombie let out a disgruntled huff, "Yeah—I know. We're getting out of here soon. I thought Shimmer would've been here to keep you company, I'm sorry."

Hard pat to his stomach, you began to stare absentmindedly. Jesse's words at the forefront of your mind, when he explained that the revenge Ellie sought out for Joel's killers wouldn't bring the peace she thought it would. There was no sudden change of heart, it was a complex situation, however, you were starting to think Jesse had something of an intellectual thought there.

Silent moments were beginning to be filled with repentance. You carried the guilt in your ribs. A pain that struck the softness between your ribcage when you inhaled to pin a reminder that you betrayed Jesse to salvage your own inner demons painted in your own failure that led you to believe that you had ultimately caused Joel Miller's death.

But, that wasn't correct. Ellie had slipped up on that.

They wanted Joel dead. That was the catch you had missed when you packed up your life in Jackson, Wyoming and abandoned Jesse in the sheets of your shared bed. The outcome still remained the same. The meat of the information about what the W.L.F. had against Joel Miller, had been cut out by Ellie, but you still wanted to pick them of; they took a community member from your ranks.

"Hey." Ellie called from behind you, the niggling thought of taking Zombie back to Jackson diminished. Ellie added, "Dina has found our chance. . . Zombie stays here.”

        Located down a stretch of buildings swarmed with W.L.F soldiers, the night sky had been your only blanket of discreetness as the three of you minimised yourselves the best you could under the rotating searchlight that brandished an obnoxious ray of white light across the landscape.

Ellie and Dina weaved through the terrain with the skills picked up on whilst drafted on Patrol. You — on the other hand — were a bit clunky, feet tripped over untied laces, chin scraped against the wet concrete and your mouth forming a string of apologies as Ellie yanked you up with a couple of insults clipping you round the ear.

It was hard to concentrate. You hadn't been on many patrol routes where imminent threat was prominent. Part of you harboured the knowledge that as he was in a leadership role, Jesse had organised your patrol routes to be the mundane, simpler ones because he knew you weren't as skilled of a fighter amongst the rest of the patrolmen. Without experience, you were rendering to be a deadweight on Ellie and Dina's limbs.

You would try your best. For Joel.

With a little help, all three of you managed to enter the desired building from Dina's triangulations without being picked up from the soldiers patrolling the area. You dropped to your backside, the palm of your hand pressed against the graze on your chin as your eyes squeezed shut to suppress the throb.

Dina bent at the waist and brought up stomach acid, the yellow bile hitting the edge of your boots.

"You should eat." You managed a whisper.

A wipe to her mouth, Dina swallowed, "I'm not hungry."

Your baby is. Is what you wanted to say out of irritancy and retaliation. Although, only knowing snippets of information, you'd like to think yourself more mature than stooping to a level of pettiness.

Hand rummaged through the contents of your bag, you plucked a ginger biscuit that you had salvaged from a building whilst Dina and Ellie tracked through the worn streets of Seattle ahead of you. From what you had scoured in a pregnancy book one night out of pure curiosity, you had recalled seeing that ginger biscuits helped with sickness levels throughout pregnancy, and more importantly the first trimester — if your calculations were right.

You extended your hand to Dina who looked ominously at the biscuit pinched between your fingers.

"It helps with sickness." You noted, not missing the shot of panic in Dina's face. You gestured for her to take it before settling back against the wall. A softened smile on your face when Dina headed your advice and nibbled at the biscuit.

Ellie came into view, her gaze locked onto the biscuit in Dina’s hand, “Where’d you get that?”

“No sign of infected then?” Dina retaliated and stuffed the biscuit into her jacket pocket.

Ellie shrugged, “Haunted, but empty.” She crouched and pulled at her earlobe as Dina followed it up with a lighthearted joke, “Look, I’m not saying there won’t be infected somewhere in there. In fact, there’s no fucking way this entire place is empty.”

“But, not a horde. Right?” You needed reassurance before you entered the belly of the building.

“We’re not underground, and the Wolves are right next door with their vehicles and lights. A horde isn’t going to ignore that shit.” You felt the drop in your shoulders in relief from the tension they were holding. Zoned out as Dina went into the probability of a few stragglers that could be easily swept out with their experience. Her serious tone caught your attention back, “Hey. If it gets bad, and we have to make a choice between shooting and running. We run.”

“Last resort. Got it.” Ellie agreed, not missing the way Dina’s stare lingered on her, “Oh. So you think no matter what happens, I’m just going to start firing?”

You nodded as Dina verbalised her confirmation of the same.

It was a little awkward. Palpable tension between the two women and you were stuck in the middle. Choosing not to listen into their conversation, you fiddled with your gun and blocked out their voices — something that came easy to you when you didn’t think you should hear it.

“Here we go.” You all stood after a moment more, minimal weaponry as you crept through the door in single file.

You fleshed out in the room, Dina and Ellie close by but a few metres apart from where you were crouched. Ellie shone her torch to the hollow room, all eyes peered from above the pallets as the shape of a human form twitched beneath the shadows and out of sight. The sound of more than a few stragglers piqued your worry that you were outnumbered.

Back against a pallet, your ears rang when you dropped back down from catching a glimpse under torchlight of an infected member, proven to be agile as it dipped from the exposure of Ellie's light. Dread began to pull at your feet, your chest constricted when you watched Dina and Ellie talk quietly amongst themselves adjacent to where you were.

Fingers grappled at the knife unsheathed in your hand, the palm of your hand ached from how hard you grasped the weapon. Whilst the attack on Jackson had left its prominent scars, something felt entirely off centre in the warehouse and you hadn't been prepared for the possibility of coming into contact with alternate infected to the ones you had encountered before.

Dina caught you with a vigorous wave, the pair of them gesticulate to explain the plan with little survival rate. You shook your head and Ellie nodded out of frustration, dismissive to your panic.

You didn't have time to sit and stew.

Ellie made that crystal clear by the grit of her teeth.

Death chapped at your door, Ellie and Dina braced for a quick kiss before their plan unfolded. Grappled by your bicep, Dina hauled you from your position and you almost lost your footing from the sheer force of her pull. Gunshots pierced your ear and you flinched, head ducked and one eye squeezed shut as you felt a hand snatch your ankle and the rug was pulled from underneath you.

Immediately winded, you heaved out a hoarse breath. The bridge of your nose split wide open, hot blood poured into the crevices of your teeth whilst your fingernails clawed at the smooth surface. The infected had you, intelligent in it’s movements, it had basked in the — ironically — lateness of your motion against Ellie’s who was fighting off a pack of them solo. Divided from the group that sought after Ellie, you were uncomplicated to attack.

A scream of your name ripped from Dina’s mouth, the silence swarmed in gunshots and merciful yells. You had managed to link your arms around a column that held the warehouse up, your boot coming into contact with the infected’s jaw but not enough to keep it at bay.

Your flight or fight mode had activated and it was a little blurred between the lines. Death wasn’t an option for you, there was a point to prove to the community of Jackson and more importantly, Jesse — if you ever saw him again. You refused to be reduced to a headstone, name carved into it with shame. There was little experience, but you would fight blindly if it meant you could return to Jackson by the skin of your teeth.

On the other hand, as you flipped from belly to back, the infected that had cleverly picked you out, clambered back on top of you and the closeness made you almost wish for a quick and painless ending. Your mouth pinned shut as you fought against it’s desperation, fingertips brushed the knife you had prematurely slotted back into it’s place against your thigh when Dina had dragged you up. The world was muffled, Ellie had taken a handful of infected down alone, her rage seeping from every orifice of her body, she refused to die before Abby Anderson met her fate.

Channeling the energy that Ellie had, you yanked at your knife, the tip plunged into the infected’s head and it squealed like a pig. You took advantage of the recoil in it’s grasp, flipping yourself over to straddle it before plunging your knife into every exposed, rotten flesh you could find. Vision black, the body beneath you slumped and you had little time to recover before another one caught you in its sights.

A fraction of a hair away, head turned to see the close proximity of the second infected before it hit the column next to you from the force of a bullet lodging into its temple. You got whiplash from how quick you snapped your head round from where the gunshot grazed your ear.

Jesse — your Jesse — came into the remainder of your vision, gun held close, he pulled the trigger with ease and picked off the final stretch of infected that swarmed Ellie like moths to a flame. She laid under a heap, her head upright when Jesse’s silhouette came close and you wondered if he would shoot her there and then. There was no plausible way that Ellie Williams had survived a no bite situation.

His hand stretched out to pull her up and Dina slid onto her knees next to you, hands to your shoulders as she checked you over. The brunette was a distant memory, eyes locked onto Jesse’s frame as he spoke concisely to Ellie about the potential of being bitten.

Waterline brimmed with tears, Jesse becoming nothing but an outline of a person, you shamelessly began to shake, lips pulled into a frown when Dina hugged you tightly.

“I want to go home.” You sobbed.

“I know.” Dina was soft in her tone, a thumb brushed against your shoulder. She spent a moment longer embracing you before she stood up to Ellie’s defence, “She didn’t get bit. She’s OK, they didn’t bite her—Jesse. I swear.”

       Hesitant to believe in the impossible, Jesse turned his attention to your crumpled frame on the concrete. Your ankle torn, chest heaving to gather a breath whilst your nose clogged from the blood that had begun to dry up. You looked anything but someone who had confidently packed up in the night to fight alongside Ellie in Seattle.

He was knelt next to you in an instant. His thumb and forefinger pressed at your chin to angle your face upward to inspect the damage on your nose. His touch felt like a bruise, a sore reminder that bloomed in bluish tones that you left him on a lie.

His face close, but you could feel the miles between you. The pinch of his brow gave you an ounce of hope that he still cared deep down as you knew Jesse wasn’t bounding over to you to give you a welcoming kiss. Your mouth eliciting a hiss as he pressed his hand close to your shredded ankle.

“Can you stand?”

You joked. You shouldn’t have. A reference to your easy love.

“I think you might have to drag me.”

Jesse recoiled. His closeness retracted and you felt yourself drown under the cold water he had just thrown over you in his response. You were wrong for the reference, an intimate moment that you had no privilege to speak on anymore. Deserving in the reaction he gifted you, but you weren’t made of stone; your heart struck in a pain you hadn’t felt before.

“We’ve got to go.” Jesse informed as Ellie pulled you from your spot on the ground — not missing his subtle glance from his peripheral to you.

No questions asked, the three of you — shaken but able to heed order — followed Jesse to the exit of the building. Ankle burned with the pressure you were forcing on it, you tried your best to maintain the same pace as the rest of the group as the sound of other people echoed through the area.

There was no time to wallow in self-pity over Jesse’s rejection. Your entitlement was flawed but you pushed it down and kept focussed on the movement of your feet; doing everything and more to not roll over your bad ankle and become a liability in the escape.

Lights shone onto your bodies, alerting the soldiers nearby. Two men came into view, guns held at the ready — a shrill yell coming from your throat — before Jesse managed to hit them both accurately so their bodies dropped into the mud. His hand subconsciously came to your back as he ushered you through the gates behind Ellie and Dina.

“I’ve got you.” He spoke out when you fumbled, his large hand quick to grab your waist to keep you afloat. He repeated, “I’ve got you, c’mon.” He called to the front, “The park, we can lose them in there!”

The darkness of the park would be an advantage. The thick brush a camouflage met with the lack of light that seeped through the planted area. The W.L.F. soldiers were hot on your tail but as soon as the Jackson group passed the threshold into the park, their tracks stopped with quick yells to their team members that they don’t step foot in that territory.

Jesse had already left your side, his gun propped up to wage a war against a handful of soldiers but soon, lowered his weapon in confusion at their reluctance.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ellie whispered.

“Great. More infected.” Dina added.

You were exhausted. The idea of an influx of additional infected wasn’t on the cards for you.

Jesse responded, “Maybe. We can’t go back that way—” He looked through you, “Come on.”

Jesse scoped the foliage with his gun raised, Ellie and Dina followed directly behind and you just a little further back. He hadn't looked your way once, putting that down to the high alert you were all on from being chased down into the wooded area by the W.L.F.

Ellie was speaking incoherently to him, but you knew she was pleading her case of the original trio managing to handle the situation albeit a sticky one. As a matter of fact, if Jesse hadn't shown, you were sure Ellie would have succumb to a gruesome death, or turned. You had been astounded she had narrowly missed being bitten from the group of Infected.

"Does it look like I wanna fuckin' talk to you right now?" Jesse's voice snapped you into reality. His venom aimed at Ellie whilst his eyes locked onto you.

Please forgive me. You wavered in your step, mouth pulled into a pitiful frown at how your boyfriend was looking at you. He seemed to be seething from inside out, forehead slick with sweat, you swore you could see the prominent vein in his neck pulse from the adrenaline and pure unadulterated anger.

It would have to suffice for now. There were no amendments to be made in the middle of a Seattle park. The W.L.F. had surrounded the outskirts presumably, and your focus had to maintain on the survival rate of all four of you now. It was a little odd that they hadn't followed you in and taken you for the capture, outnumbered by a handful and enough weapons to pick off what Infected resided within the thick verdure.

As you continued forward with Ellie scolded from the reprimand Jesse had inflicted, you too were scoping the area for signs of Infected, and or, a safe exit concealed from the W.L.F.

"No, no, no!" Another voice made all four of you jump with immediate fright. The contrast of the silence compared to the shrill pleading made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. He continued to plead and you soon calculated that he wasn't fighting a horde of Infected. Nobody pleaded their life from the dead.

The leaves of the bushes nearby glowed amber, all four breaths held from the sight of a gang holding burning wood, eyes all to the man they had tied up, a noose dropped around his neck and tightened.

“I know what Isaac is planning. I can help you.” He pleaded.

Your hand instinctively found Jesse's as you watched the Wolf yanked to where his bare feet couldn't touch the grounds beneath him. A bucket was kicked underneath him for balance, your heart in your mouth, a foreboding scene playing out in front of you. Jesse, too, alarmed by the scene, allowed himself to put his hurt aside, quick to comfort you with a soft squeeze.

His lips went to the curve of your ear, "Don't watch." Even he didn't know what was about to unfold, but he refused to allow you to suffer the nightmares to follow.

Eyes squeezed shut, your nose throbbed from the pressure, blood seeped from your nostril whilst you attempted to block out the outside noise. The muffled begging filtered through into your ears that you had stuffed with your index fingers to reduce the noise tenfold. Unable to resist, you peered an eye open to see the entrails dangling from the Wolf’s stomach to the tips of his feet. Mouth flung open, you looked to Jesse as a whistle cracked through the silence.

The sound of flesh being hit made all four of you look to where the noise landed.

An arrow embedded into Dina’s knee, the blood seeped from her jeans as panic laced through her shuddered breaths. You went to say her name, Jesse quick to clamp a hand round your mouth as he and Ellie began to talk on strategical escapes with minimal casualties within the group.

Ellie was immediate as she pounced into action to deter the group away from your spot, Jesse bundling Dina up into his arms as she threw her head back in agony. Hands met the wet dirt beneath you, you pushed off of it to race after Jesse and Dina. The sight of the deceased male hung in the trees etched into your vision, projectile vomit poured from your throat as you ran.

You wanted nothing more than to go back to Jackson.

[todoscript]

Syndicate —  [ 3 ]

parts: one | two | three

SUMMARY: The four of you arrive at Hatsume’s workshop, hoping to find some leads about the mysterious bullet you discovered in the aftermath of the scuffle against the Shie Hassaikai yakuza group.

genre: mafia au. pairing(s): mafiabosses!todobakudeku x fem!reader word count: 2.1k+ warnings: mature themes. mafia talk. crude language/cursing. future adult and violent scenes. polyamorous relationship. characters are aged-up. taglist: in reblogs. please ask if you would like to be included in the taglist for updates on future parts.

author’s note: oh my god, i am so sorry for the very long wait everyone! trying to crank this part out was a bit of a struggle with everything going on, but i’m glad it’s finally done! i initially planned to make this chapter a bit longer and continue on with some of the next section, but it made more sense to end it off here so the next part could be flushed out more on its own

Nothing but the grating sound of machinery sparking against each other fills the room the moment you walk into Hatsume’s workshop, located in the more uneventful parts of Tokyo, and away from the seeing eyes of the public. Your ears recoil at the noise; however, it is a cacophony of sounds you are used to, considering this is far from your first time here. Thus, it’s not so much a surprise, being greeted this way, though still jarring nonetheless.

Mei Hatsume is a woman who usually busies herself with work. Whenever she wasn’t occupied filling out a client’s order, such as creating the gadgets they requested necessary for certain heists, she was always active in coming up with new inventions—other gizmos to win people over. In turn, she managed to catch the three pairs of eyes that are responsible for overseeing the infamous Yuuei mafia. Before long, the syndicate had become one of her most frequent and loyal clients due to her high-quality skills and work ethic. 

Your three men are in tow behind you when you enter, following in not only your steps but your strained expression over the racket.

“Hatsume!” you shout out to try and capture the girl’s attention, being that her eyes are covered in her dense, protective goggles to even see the four of you coming.

Far too engrossed in her work, her nonchalant hums in between her buzzing equipment indicate that she isn’t going to notice you anytime soon. Knowing this, Bakugou grits his teeth out of annoyance and marches past you.

“Hey Goggle-Head!!”

Unsurprisingly, his yell is garishly loud and is enough to cut through the jarring grinding of the machines and reach Hatsume’s ear. Bakugou does prefer to take a strident approach to things after all. And today especially, he isn’t in the mood to wait around.

“Bakugou. That was unnecessary,” Todoroki says, side-eyeing his partner for his boisterous attitude.

“It was totally necessary, Icy-Hot,” the blonde retorts.

Hatsume soon stops what she’s doing and finally brings the noise to a halt. Lifting her bulky steampunk goggles from her eyes, she properly greets her guests.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite clients!” Her tone is welcoming and chipper, despite the somewhat rude awakening courtesy of the blonde. “What can I help the four of you with today? Perhaps in need of some more firepower for your men? Hmm?” Hatsume wiggles her brows—a crafty gesture she usually gives to entice her customers while flaunting some incredibly elaborate contraption of hers in her arms. Midoriya declines with a shake of his head, waving a hand out.

“No, we’re fine with all the equipment you’ve provided our group with so far, Hatsume. They’ve been working wonders for us,” he says kindly.

“Especially that earring from the other night.” You join in the praises, and Hatsume readily eats them up as her yellow eyes begin to sparkle.

“Ah, the teardrop earring, I presume? As expected, I knew that particular item would perform excellently, what with its compact size and design to elude suspicion, along with its vast set of features—”

“Come on, quit yapping already! We’re here for business, not to give our fucking reviews,” Bakugou dispels the girl’s incessant ramblings with his ill-tempered tone.

Todoroki steps forward, following in the blonde’s approach. “He’s right. Excuse us, Hatsume, but we wanted to ask you about something we encountered last night,” he explains, hand digging into his coat pocket to procure the ziploc bag containing their item of inquiry—the bullet.

Your hands glow magenta; your quirk lifts the bullet from the plastic and into the air to prevent Hatsume from needing to touch it directly for examination. As it hovers in front of her, Hatsume’s eyes start to gleam a brighter amber yellow inactivation of her quirk, allowing her to scrupulously inspect every detail down to even smidgen of a scratch.

A few hums leave her lips the more she tilts her head at the object, index finger steady beneath her chin.

“Well?” you ask, a tad impatient for answers as are the other three. Hatsume gives the bullet one last look before turning to you, a somewhat uncertain look on her face.

“Just who did you retrieve this bullet from?”

“A henchman from the Shie Hassaikai yakuza fired this at us last night while we were in a scuffle with them,” Todoroki answers with Midoriya continuing.

“We managed to avoid getting hit by it thanks to a comrade of ours.”

“Hah, as if those jokers could pose even a threat to us with flimsy weapons like these.” Bakugou punctuates with his arrogant poise, and you playfully roll your eyes at his comment before returning to the situation at hand.

“Still, for us to not recognize something as ordinary as a bullet like this is concerning, adding onto the fact they were willing to use this instead of facing them head-on with their quirks,” you add. There’s a silence lingering in the air at your words, but it eventually isn’t long until Hatsume says her piece. 

“Well, after seeing this, I suppose the talk going around the crime groups is true after all.”

The four of you exchange peculiar looks, inquisitive at the mention of such “talks”.

“What ‘talk’?” Midoriya asks, voice dipping low for his standards.

Taking a seat at her workbench while facing her four guests, Hatsume’s expression grows unusually serious.

“Some of my clients have spoken about some shady business going on in the underground recently.”

“Shady business?” Bakugou repeats vehemently, eyebrow quirked.

“This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Todoroki comments, growing wary at the shift in the situation.

“We practically have total control of the black market on the east side of Japan. What shit could be going on under our fucking radar?” The blonde’s eyes flare a menacing red over the news.

“To begin,” Hatsume continues, “my clients have spoken about a new weapon being spread around amongst many criminal gangs. It’s no surprise you haven’t heard of it actually. The ones producing them have made sure to evade the gaze of your mafia group by offering them to those in the west, and have only recently moved to the east.”

“They didn’t want us to intervene and mess with their steady business on the black market, I’m assuming,” you add, and Hatsume nods at your conjecture.

“Likely. Anyways, this weapon didn’t seem like a big deal at first. Just some talk about a bullet similar to the one here.” Hatsume gestures to the transparent bag. “But a bit of prodding later, I learned that the contents inside the bullet actually contain a drug created by a scientist, which was forcibly taken by the Shie Hassaikai yakuza.”

Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki are immediately attentive at the name, their expressions soon altering into revulsion as if a vile stench had suddenly wafted into the air, turning the atmosphere sour.

“So the yakuza made out with some stolen research and are mass producing these bullets onto the black market behind our backs, correct?” Todoroki relays the info with malice prevalent in his timbre.

“Those fuckers. Thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want, huh?” Bakugou’s teeth grit at every word uttered under his breath, fists clenching together. “They’re asking for it now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Kacchan. We’ll make sure each and every one of them is delivered the punishment they deserve.” Midoriya joins his fellow mafia bosses in the menacing pressure exuding from them. His smile is far from genuine—two-faced with intense animosity emanating from just a simple glance.

Having been by their side through situations similar to this level of tension, you’re very much used to witnessing these expressions painted on each of their faces—such as a time when their shipment of goods came far delayed due to a few lackeys’ miscalculations. In turn, Yuuei had lost a bit of time in their well thought out schedule, which was something Deku, Ground Zero, and Mercury were not at all happy about as they thrived on pure efficiency. To make the story short, those henchmen had received a rather brutal ending for their errors when the three were done with them.

Since then, the trio have let it become a lesson learned not to rely on a bunch of simpletons to carry out such important tasks. As a result, the mafia group had become more efficient from then on out, now centering around your smaller group of elites in the aftermath of the events.

You have to admit, seeing the three so riled up is quite attractive in your eyes. They were already charismatic on their own—being in their presence gave you a very tasteful glance of their domineering aura. But in action, that charisma somehow manifested many times stronger, and when in pursuit with such determination in hand, it felt like they could do just about anything they set their minds to.

However, there are times when you knew you needed to step forward and become their sense of reasoning, lest they walk through fog with no sense of direction. Now is one of those times.

“Well, to start, we need some leads.” You join in, and the three turn to you, ready for what their right-hand woman has to say. “Hatsume, do you know what the drug does?”

The girl shakes her head, much to your dismay, but offers a hunch. “I can only assume it must disrupt the body in some way on contact.”

“It’s a good thing Kacchan didn’t get hit by it then,” Midoriya comments.

“Shut up, Deku.” Bakugou harshly jabs his elbow into the young man’s sides, annoyed.

“Now’s not the fucking time.”

“Right, right… My apologies…” Midoriya replies, holding no ill will at his partner, despite his rough demeanor. The trivial exchange between the two quickly ceases. You decide to resume your questions directed at the craftswoman.

“Alright then… How about the scientist that created the drug? Do you have any info on them?”

Musing in thought, Hatsume’s eyes draw to the ceiling as she rummages through her head to recollect her memories.

“Hmm… What I have heard is that the yakuza had infiltrated a place located in the corner of Kamino Ward in Yokohama to obtain the drug.”

“So that must be where this scientist’s laboratory or base of operations must be then. Kamino Ward.” Todoroki guesses and the girl gives him a brief nod.

“Then that’s where we’re going next. We’re gonna find this scientist and get the info we need, even if we need to beat it out of them!” Bakugou exclaims, voice thundering throughout the workshop as his palm emits a small, concentrated burst of fire while coming in contact with his fist. “Not a single one of those half-rate yakuza asswipes are getting away, pulling this shit on us.”

“Though I have to warn you,” Hatsume interrupts forebodingly as a shadow casts over her features, “there have been rumors of people disappearing around those parts.”

You lift a brow, suspicious at the meaning behind those claims.

“Disappearing?”

“That’s right. Anyone that so much as approaches that area ends up poofing out of existence.” She emphasizes this notion by springing her arms outward. 

“Oh? Sounds a bit… far-fetched.” you reason, adamant on the idea that no such thing could happen without natural causes. After all, quirks are biological phenomena. Nothing as supernatural as disappearing from existence should be occurring, right?

“No, Angel Face, it sounds more than just far-fetched. It’s more like a load of bullshit to me,” Bakugou chimes in, bolstering your doubt against it.

“Probably something stirred up to keep people off this scientist’s back,” Midoriya speculates. “He’s already had his research stolen from him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want a repeat of that.”

As he appears behind you, Todoroki lays a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. “Even if something like that is true, I doubt it could truly pose a threat against us, considering who we are.” His hand dips down to find yours before lifting it above your shoulder to lay a quick kiss on your fingertips. You smile at both his words and his touching gestures.

Ignoring the affectionate display, the girl only shrugs. “That’s what I’ve been hearing is all, but I suppose you could take it with a grain of salt.”

Despite the ominous admonition, Midoriya gives Hatsume a grin before reaching into the pocket of his coat. “Thank you for the warning, Hatsume,” he sets a wad of cash down on the workbench in front of her, “along with the valuable set of information. We’ll be sure to put everything you told us to good use.”

She returns the smile, fingers curling around the stack furtively. “Well, a pleasure doing business with you, Yuuei. And remember, my services will always be available to you when you need it.”

“Dutifully noted.”

[its-sixxers]

Harmonics

Charon once played guitar - a scrap of information more precious than gold. The Lone Wanderer recalls it in the depths of her grief. Both realize that even in the wasteland, neither of them are alone. Charon x Female LW, pre-relationship.

Sorta sequel to Hobbies.

AO3 Link

Charon had mentioned he once played guitar.

Scraps of information about him were rare as intact books and Lizzy was intent on building herself a library with what was offered. Information about what he liked was most precious of all - it took her a couple of weeks to even persuade him to talk about anything beyond his contract, and a couple of months to get him talking about his own personal desires. While the faded slip of paper she kept in the inner pocket of her vault suit said otherwise, she and Charon were equals. She wanted to get him a gift to prove it.

The best part about gifts was the surprise, to Lizzy, and so tracking down a guitar presented a thorny problem indeed. Time spent apart from Charon was scant, and he seemed tense the few times she told him to go do as he pleased. When questioned on it, he said it was always more comfortable for him to stick around and her heart hurt to imagine just what was done to make him feel that way.

Still, she took advantage of what time she had - chatting to Rivet City merchants about possible sightings while Charon was distracted, slipping Crazy Wolfgang fifty caps to keep an eye out as Charon inspected a shotgun grip. Lizzy lingered in the magazine and instrument sections of libraries, sneaking reading material into her bag to figure out just what went into making a guitar work. She even made up an excuse to get them into the area of Agatha’s cabin so that she could check in with the violinist and see if her plan was feasible - and found to her delight that yes, it was.

Crazy Wolfgang eventually came through for her with the guitar, and she enlisted Butch’s help in delivering it unseen. To Lizzy’s despair, the strings were broken or rusted away, but Butch reassured her that at least the body was good, giving it a rap with his knuckles to prove his point. So her search narrowed from a guitar to strings, and even as her work for her father and the Brotherhood picked up she kept an eye out for her quarry. The nights she spent in Megaton (growing increasingly rare, with how much DC needed her) saw her sanding out splinters from the guitar body and varnishing it as best she could. Lizzy winced to see that polish only seemed to bring out a bloodstain on the thing more, but supposed Charon wouldn’t mind.

Blood was just another part of living in the wasteland, natural as snow or rain.

Lizzy soon learned the full breadth of what that meant, and the guitar was forgotten.

Her father’s death made her forget a lot of things - forget why she was trying to put one foot in front of the other, forget that her suffering was echoed by so many other poor souls out in the world. Weeks were spent in a hazy state, eating only at Charon’s urging and starting to dip into the few bottles of alcohol she’d collected. The growing cold outside mirrored the numbness that was spreading through her after she found she had no tears left to cry.

Charon spent more time apart from her out of necessity - it was he who went to see what the caravans had now, who went to Gob’s Saloon to find out the news, who even braved getting them raw meals from the Brass Lantern. When she slept in (slept was a generous term, for she often spent upwards of an hour lying limply in bed in the morning) he’d place a large hand on her shoulder to wake her. His contract meant he had to keep her alive - at least, that was what she told herself. Nothing more.

It was when Charon was out doing yet another thing that used to be her responsibility that she heard a knock on the door. Lizzy dragged herself from the couch where she’d been re-reading the same sentence of her book for the past thirty minutes and tugged open the front door of her Megaton home.

Butch stood with his leather jacket zipped up and knit mittens on his hands, holding a small box. Snowflakes stuck to his pompadour as he fell, and with every exhale his breath puffed out in a fog, reminding her of how they pretended it was smoke back in the vault’s freezer as children. Lizzy could remember the look of horror on her father’s face when he discovered them, her own bewilderment as to how the place could be dangerous. She flinched from the memory, and her dry eyes stung.

“Hey.” Butch said, his smile faltering at the sight of her. While not vain by any means, Lizzy had always placed importance on looking professional and put together - now she couldn’t remember the last time she brushed her hair.

“Hey.” she replied flatly, hand leaning limply against the doorway, subconsciously trying to bar him from entering. Lizzy couldn’t bear the sight of his smile, how it reminded her of the vault, of times when it felt like she’d follow in her father’s footsteps and everything was warm and bright. The fact that she felt such a way toward her best friend in the world filled her with guilt, her cup already overflowing. Guilt was the one emotion that broke through the numbness, and she was drowning in it.

“I found something in Rivet City Supply.” he began. “Had to cash in a favor with Seagrave, but I thought you’d like to see.”

In spite of herself, Lizzy’s eyes dropped to the box in his hands, curiosity sparking for the briefest of moments. Butch moved his thumb from the label, and in faded ink she could read “BKM Guitar Strings”. The cellophane window of the box was still intact, and within she could see shining metal strings.

“You came all this way…” Lizzy’s throat was dry from lack of use, most of the communication she’d done with Charon nonverbal. “... to give me these?”

“I know you were looking for them.” Butch looked over her shoulder and into the house, likely searching for Charon judging by what he said next. “For the big guy.” He held the box out to her, and she took it from him. “I’m gonna be staying up at Gob’s for the next couple’a days. I’d stay and chat now, but Moira wants to interview me about hairstyling.” He made a display of rolling his eyes, and Lizzy knew he was just making up an excuse.

It was a feeling the two of them shared, pain from family. A wish to keep their grief hidden, to keep it manageable and clean. For all the teasing he’d done to her in their childhood, he knew precisely when and how to dodge a painful subject entirely.

Sensation hummed in her fingertips, brushing the old cardboard and tingling in the cold. Lizzy nodded. “I’ll stop by.” she said, not entirely certain it was a lie. The guitar. She’d forgotten about the guitar, an idea born of the time before, when the sun wasn’t so cold and remote. Now the project was rekindled in her mind, something separate from the cloud that loomed over her.

Butch tilted his chin up in acknowledgement. “Say hi to the big guy for me.”

“You’ll probably see him on your way out.”

“He’s a hard guy to miss, I’ll give you that.” He laughed, turning back to Megaton’s many platforms. He cast her one last concerned look over his shoulder before she shut the door.

Lizzy moved faster than she had in weeks, the metal stairwell echoing from her hurried footsteps. She took the box into her room and shut the door before falling to her knees and crawling forward to her bed. Setting the box upon the mattress she set her palms flat against the cold metal floor, finding the panel she was looking for and pulling it open, revealing a floor compartment. Within were her most treasured possessions - her mother’s holotapes, the photographs from her tenth and sixteenth birthdays with Dad and Jonas, Butch’s first leather jacket. With them were items of value - an engraved magnum, an intact camera and film, a half empty bottle of scotch, and the guitar body. Lizzy pulled it out of the hidden floor compartment and retrieved a rolled up instructional booklet from inside of it.

The next two hours were spent sat on her bed with necessary tools in hand, stringing the guitar. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, the saying went - and with her hands put to work Lizzy was incapable of thinking of the guilt that threatened to drown her. At some point Charon returned, and his knock at her door startled her terribly.

Lizzy froze, vaguely recollecting that surprise was a large part of why she’d gone to such lengths. If she was discovered now, all the work had been for nothing - and she couldn’t bear something else hoped for being snuffed out. To her relief, Charon did not try to enter. She must have made a noise when he startled her, for he seemed satisfied enough that she was still alright judging by his retreating footsteps.

Soon after her work was complete, and she almost wept on the instrument from relief. So much work, so much time, and now she had something in her arms to show for it, unlike…

Unlike…

It reminded her why venturing out of her carefully constructed bubble was a mistake, for she had no cushioning, no numb protection to the raw assault of memory. A hand pressed to glass, fingerprints on the glass, the geiger counter, the geiger counter -

The bath faucet in the other room turned on, the movement of the water through pipes gently rattling the wall the bathroom shared with her room. It brought her back to the present, staring down at the guitar. Lizzy mopped at her wet cheeks, clinging to the last stage of her project. The gifting itself. Thinking up solutions to the problem crowded out her memory - Charon only took what was directly offered to him if it was ammunition or a grenade. With food or medical supplies, she’d have to make a point of having it appear as if she was doing it for her own sake and creating plausible deniability - a gift of convenience.

When she cracked open her bedroom door, she could hear water splashing from the bathroom next door, the familiar sound of Charon’s large form sinking into it. Even in her state she felt a little swell of happiness to know that he was willing to let himself have such a luxury. Assured he’d be kept busy more than long enough for her to do what she had planned, she picked up the guitar by the neck and crept downstairs into the living room. A fire crackled away happily in the wood burning stove in the corner devoted to the kitchen, and the ground floor was much warmer than her room. It was too warm - too close to reminding her what times before felt like, and so she hurried. Approaching the couch, she set the guitar down in Charon’s favorite spot, in front of the blanket Moira had crocheted her as a housewarming present.

As soon as she was certain the guitar wasn’t going to fall over, she retreated back into the familiar territory of her bedroom. The chill washed over her, icing out not just the wave of memory threatening to drown her again but the fluttering embers of joy her work had given her.

Lizzy stumbled over to her bed and fell upon the mattress. The haze began anew.

When she returned downstairs in the night to grab a bottle of water, the guitar was gone.

--

Charon didn’t mention the gift, but the next day he woke her with breakfast and an announcement.

“I believe it is best that we go somewhere today.”

Lizzy hauled herself upright and looked at him blankly, her fork scooping up small portions of instamash. “Where?”

While his stony posture and expression didn’t change, she heard him exhale in relief. “Gob’s. They think I’ve kidnapped you.”

“Mm.” she hummed, finding she didn’t feel strongly one way or another. Lizzy didn’t protest when Charon handed her a brush in exchange for her empty plate, and soon she was bundled up and shuffling through the snow to Gob’s Saloon.

Butch was eating breakfast, and Nova’s face lit up to catch sight of her. She poked her head into the back room, and soon Gob was walking out of the kitchen wiping his hands with a rag. Charon placed a hand to the small of Lizzy’s back and gave her a gentle nudge forward.

The next period of time - Lizzy had lost the ability to gauge its passage - was a mirror world of normal circumstance - now it was Lizzy giving short and clipped responses to any conversation, and Charon exchanging longer sentences. What was discussed left her memory the moment it was spoken, and soon enough Charon was tugging her hat back over her ears and guiding her back outside.

“Charon.” Lizzy murmured, when they were back outside. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Is that an order?”

“No.”

He nodded briefly, strands of patchy red hair falling across his brow. “It is my duty to protect you.”

It was all he offered in reply, and she accepted it as she always did.

Going out was a mistake, she realized that night - new color was given to her nightmares, the armored men who’d broken into the Memorial breaking into the Saloon as she visited, the scene melting into Butch, Gob, and Nova staring up at her with glassy eyes, melting into her father’s kind face, gone slack, the tick tick tick ramping into a metallic screech with exploding rads, Charon’s arms tugging her away-

Charon.

Lizzy blearily opened her eyes, greeted by the sight of her room illuminated in the deep blue of early dawn. It was a welcome sight, an escape from the nightmare, and she lay with her cheek crushed against the mattress staring at the wall until the blue light started to tinge pink and sleep threatened to claim her once again.

Movement had to be made, and with great effort Lizzy untangled herself from the blankets, coiled around her from the thrashing she’d no doubt done in her sleep. When she opened her door she was surprised to find the door across the hall that led to Charon’s room was wide open, granting her a rare glimpse of his spartan quarters. He never needed to sleep much, but the pre-dawn was early even for him. The change made a bubble of dread rise in her throat - and she walked to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face.

The pipes groaned when she turned the tap, the water cold enough to make her gasp when she splashed it on her face with cupped hands. It shocked her out of her dream state and brought reality into sharp focus.

In her new clarity, she could hear something faint coming from downstairs once the pipes had settled, and it took her a few moments to register that it was music. It sounded nothing like the radio, lacking distortion and also entirely different from anything played on it. Guitar strings, plucked one by one in a simple melody. Lizzy took a few steps out onto the landing, and peered as far over the railing as she dared to the living room.

Charon sat on the couch with the guitar in his lap, dwarfed by his large form. He was twisting the metal tabs on the guitar’s head, plucking a few notes, then twisting another - she recalled from the books she’d read that he was tuning it, something she lacked the knowledge and equipment to do. The metal floor panel beneath her right foot creaked, and he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

Caught out, she froze, horrified that she’d made a misstep and seen something she shouldn’t have - but Charon just dropped his attention back to the guitar, unperturbed. He plucked a few more notes before giving the guitar a single strum. The sound reverberated through her small shack, and caused goosebumps to rise on the back of her neck.

When the echo of the strum faded he started playing properly, and Lizzy found herself slowly descending the stairs, the torn hem of her nightgown trailing behind her. Slowly she approached the living room, feet thankful to move from cold metal to throw rug. The music was a siren song, simple and warm notes intertwining in a rhythmic and almost hypnotic pattern. Truly hypnotizing was seeing Charon’s hands at work, large fingers suddenly dextrous and precise, hands that seemed built to destroy dancing up and down the guitar neck.

Another low sound joined the melody, and it took her a moment to realize Charon was humming, a bassy rumble of thunder. It had her sinking into the armchair across from the couch, and still Charon did not seem to mind - his attention was caught in his music, the few glances he cast her way seeming more incidental than anything.

Then he began to sing.

Not in a language she could understand - at first she thought he’d made up the sounds, so musically did it flow, but soon she recognized it had the same intonations and cadence as the few unfamiliar terms he’d used around her before. He sang as lowly as he spoke, warm and rasping as a campfire. The melody was terribly melancholy, but to her surprise Lizzy found it did not make her sad.

It made her feel understood.

The two of them sat only a few feet apart, the ambient blue light fading into the pink of sunrise. Shafts of golden light spilled through the holes in the roof. In the warmth of dawn, even Charon’s features were softened. For those few minutes the small space seemed another world, their exteriors cut open and bared to the other, each observing but saying nothing. When he made eye contact with her after trailing off of a particularly low and mournful note, she realized that she did not suffer alone.

Something about it comforted her. When at last Charon placed his palm over the strings to silence them and set the guitar aside, she inhaled sharply as she had when she splashed the cool water onto her face.

“What was it about?” she asked quietly, and to her surprise he smiled tiredly at her - a rarer sight than diamonds.

“A warning.”

Lizzy stared at him for several moments, watching the muscles in his jaw work - as if trying to work up the words to say something more. Whatever battle he fought, he lost.

“Thank you.” she said, more a whisper than anything - but he heard it in the still silence of dawn.

Charon nodded, breaking eye contact and staring at his lap for a few moments before standing. “I will get us some food.”

“No, it’s okay.” Lizzy interjected, at last finding it in her to smile. “I’ll make it.”

[greyciees]

3110 Spinarak Mansion Part Two

So this is the spooky story collaboration between @lily-pad-ton , @melanie-melody , @smol-hibiscus , and @dantelionwishes

The second part of the story was written by me and the AMAZING cover art was made by @you-may-call-me-meme Part One

The lights flickered back to life, and for the first few moments everyone stood still. The fouyer, which had formerly been in chaos, was now completely fixed. The broken glass across the floor was gone like it had never even shattered. The calm was broken quickly, as it was hard to miss their group was now short of two members.

“Where’s Pon?” Daddy spoke up.

“Melanie’s gone too!” Frostine gasped.

They looked around but the two trainers were nowhere to be seen, leaving no trace and no way of telling which way they could have gone.

“What the heck is going on in there!?” Marie yelled through the door, muffled by the hard wood as she yanked back at it. The other tried as well, but the door was stuck so tight they couldn’t even see the lights from the outside word.

“Someone took them!” Frostine yelled back to Marie. “The doors won’t budge!”

“I’m going to look for another way in!”

Marie called back, and before anyone could say anything else her voice was gone from the other side of the doors.

“I knew this place was haunted!” Frostine gasped, still jumpy as she pressed her back against the wall.

Freya seemed to get worse at the mention of the haunting. She looked around the hall in a panicked state. “What’s doing this? Where are the others?”

“Well they can’t have gone far.” Jay said, still calm as she spoke up to the others. “We don’t know what’s doing this, we just have to find the others and get out of here.”

The group turned to look ahead, the two hallways ahead of them holding nothing but darkness and cold wind that seemed to come from every direction, old candles seemed to flicker like they were somehow living, but despite their flame the darkness still was looming and unwavering, the silence deafening on its own. One of the hallways seemed to stay downstairs, while the other contained a large staircase.

“Well...which way do we go?” Freya asked, looking to the other three.

Jay seemed to think to herself for a second, and pointed to the left hallway. “Frostine and Daddy, you two look for Melanie. Freya and I will go this way and look for Pon.”

“We’re splitting up?” Daddy asked.

“We need to find them both, who knows how long it would take.” Jay shrugged her response, already starting to walk ahead into the darkness.

“Then we can get out of here.”

•••

When the lights flickered on for Melanie, she realized in a short moment that this was not where she had been before. The room was dark, and small. Inside there seemed to be nothing but an old bed and dresser, all covered in thick layers of dust, but pristine and untouched, each throw pillow still in order.

“Guys?” Melanie said cautiously, slowly craning her head- the empty room staring back at her. “Guys! Where are you?!” She said louder this time, but her voice echoed back and left her in silence.

Melanie went to the doors, immediately grabbing the handle and pulling harshly. The locked door creaked, and she started to pull it harder, banging her hand against the door and calling aimlessly for the others. She hissed a short breath of anger, spinning on her heels to look for some other form of escape.

There were no windows, and everything in the room looked like it had to be decades old. Every now and then the candles seemed to flicker, casting her shadow against the wall like its own sentient being, following behind her in the twisted shape of herself.

She inspected the dresser, ripping the doors open and finding nothing but tattered cloth and more dust. As she walked, she realized that she felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched. She turned, her hair standing in end as she saw the large oil painting hanging against the wall.

The painting stared back at her, and she realized to her horror that she recognized the face in the frame.

•••

Pon was awoken to the smell of old books and rotting wood. She was resting in an old armchair, in front of a desk that was covered in a thick layer of dust. She stood up in an instant, her memories rushing back as she looked around and tried to assess how long she had been out, and where the others were.

“Hello?” She called with a short breath, craning her head in every direction but seeing nothing but shelves upon shelves of old books so dusty she couldn’t make out a single cover.

Pon started to walk, but as the winding maze of shelves continued she couldn’t spot a single door or window. With growing urgency she started to walk faster, but every way she went seemed to land herself at another dead end.

“Hello!?” She called again, her voice echoing in the room, nothing but the books and the creaking of the wood to remind her where she was.

Pon turned another corner, and a cold chill started to fill the air. As she paused, her body feeling suddenly rigid as a new sort of feeling entered the halls around her. Someone was there. She could see the outline of a figure standing among the books. They barely looked human, like a person made up of fog she couldn’t make out a single feature.

She knew, without a doubt that this was in no way one of her friends. Pon took a small step back and the dark creature mimicked her, stalking closer in the low light. She knew she had to get away from it, but with every small movement she made the dark figure made the same.

Pon turned on her heel, taking in a short breath as she started to run.

•••

“This can’t be the right way.” Frostine murmured as she followed behind the other white haired boy. Daddy turned another hallway, stopping as they ended up at another dead end. He paused for a second, his mouth opened.

“Yup- it's this way. This time I’m sure of it.” He said, and turned around to walk the other way.

They walked for another long while before Daddy turned the corner, and they found themselves at a large set of doors, lined with old metal designs and large handles that loomed above both of the trainers.

“See! Look this has to be something!” Daddy said, grabbing the handles and starting to pull.

“It doesn’t look very...safe….” Frostines brows knit together, looking more worried as the doors finally swung open.

The room was surprisingly warmer than the rest of the hallway, inside a large dark table stretched across the length of the room, with plates and silverware still set up. Daddy walked inside with a short breath of wonder, looking up at the high sealing and the odd chandelier that hung from it.

They looked around the room, which was clearly left abandoned like the rest of the mansion. They called a few times for Melanie, getting no answer as they walked around the table. Neither one of them noticed when the lock clicked on the door.

Frostine stopped suddenly, gasping and grabbing hold of the back of Daddy’s cape.

“Wait- Wait look!” She whispered quietly, pointing a shaky singer to the table.

Daddy looked over, and on the table there was what looked to be a tea set, with two pristine cups on either side, filled to the brim with tea. Unlike the rest of the table, they were untouched by dust.

“What? it’s just tea.” Daddy said, walking across the table and pulling back a chair, leaning closer to examine the antique.

“B-but it’s hot! That means someone was here!” Frostine followed behind him, careful not to get too close to it.

Daddy picked up the cup, lifting it into the light and twirling the tea round inside. “It’s just Tea.” He repeated, turning to look at her. “See, look.” And with that, he put it to his lips and took a sip.

•••

Jay held the railing with one hand, and Freya's hand with the other. The room was in complete darkness, and despite the small glow coming from her costume, neither one of the girls could see a thing.

“I think there’s a step here!” Jay said back to Freya, who followed close behind as they tried to feel their way around to some sort of door.

The floor creaked, and Freya let out an audible gasp. “What was that? I hear something!”

Jay scoffed and took another step. “It’s just the floor! This house must be like a million years old.”

They walked in slow steps, hands pressed closer to the walls, sliding across the rotting wallpaper. The house creaked like a response, until Jay said her hand upwards and finally it came into contact with something metal and solid.

“I think there’s a door here.” Jay said, her hand latching onto the handle. She yanked it around until something clicked, and she pulled it open. Both of them filed inside before they knew what was on the other side of the door, eager to find some sort of light source.

Jay let go of Freya's hand, feeling around in the darkness. She could feel something soft and plush, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Freya followed suit, taking a short step into the room and finding a table, her hands desperately slid across it, bumping into something metal. She grabbed it, and realized to her happiness that it was a flashlight.

“I’ve got something!” Freya called out to Jay, picking up the flashlight as Jay continued to feel the mounds of mismatched cloth.

Freya fiddled with the light, hitting it against her hand a few times. In an instant it flicked to life, pointing a sudden sharp beam directly at Jay just as the door slammed suddenly.

Freya screamed, and Jay saw that she was face to face with the decaying class eyes of a broken porcelain doll, and that all around them- on every inch of the wall there was hundreds of them.

•••

Marie jammed her sword into the boarded up window, yanking and succeeding nothing just like the other doors. She cursed under her breath, stepping back to plant a firm kick against the wood, still nothing seemed to move at all.

She knew the party was a bad idea, but she was the only one with the common sense to not go inside. Angrily she kept walking around the large mansion, which seemed to have a layout built to confuse anyone trying to get in. Each window seemed more sealed shut than the last, and the forest around her seemed to be so thick she could barely see anything through it.

Marie stopped, seeing what looked to be another door. As she tried and failed to open it, she felt a drop of water land on her forehead.

Just as she felt the first drop of rain, it started to pour. She sighed, wiping the rain from her face. She looked up again, trying to get a better look at the roof.

She saw a balcony first, with a glass door high up above her. Finally, a way inside. She looked around. Now she just needed to find a way up, she hoped she wouldn't be too late.

[inkformyblood]

hold my ground

Commander Cody Week 2021 Day 05: Rest & Recovery @commandercodyweek

Pairing: Mace Windu x C2224 | Cody (mutual pining)

Summary: This wasn’t the mission either of them had been expecting, but it was still a welcome moment of relieft.

The soft calls of birds — a never repeating discordant melody — filled Cody’s mind, mingling with the remnants of his barely remembered dreams. He kept his eyes closed as he listened, letting his breaths slow and deepen until he was hovering on the edge of slumber once more. 

A faint movement reached him, the unbelievably soft mattress muting the sensation, and Cody was moving before he could think. His spine cracked as he pushed himself up, levelling the blaster at the perceived threat.

Mace Windu’s face curved into the barest fraction of a smile, before slipping back into calm serenity, seemingly unphased by the blaster levelled over his heart. “Peace, Commander. I apologise for waking you.”

“General. I—“ Cody’s apology died on his lips as his gaze locked onto the ring the General still wore, almost proudly. It was a simple item, barely more than a few spare wires braided together into a haphazard circle. Cody’s thumbs still bore the slowly healing wounds it inflicted upon him when the ship lurched while entering atmo. “You’re still wearing the ring.”

Mace blinked before tipping his head and hand in unison — every movement graceful and felt like it was planned like the slow bending of an ancestral oak — to inspect it. “I am. Given the… unusual circumstances of this particular diplomatic mission, I thought it best to maintain.”

He paused, his gaze seeming to slip beneath Cody’s blacks and run over the jagged edges of his soul. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’m more than happy to take it off when we are alone.”

Cody felt his thoughts stop, crashing into each other like a speeder pile-up. “No.”

The word was out before he could stop it, and he felt his cheeks burn but he couldn’t look away. There was a steady beat in the back of his mind that he couldn’t fully ignore, a senseless repetition of ‘mine’.

“It’ll help the mission,” Cody tried, his voice holding steady even as his heart twisted like it was trying to break free in his chest. 

“I appreciate your company on this mission, Commander. Even with it’s,” Mace paused, something akin to a grin tugging at the edge of his lips, “unusual circumstances.”

“Unusual is one way of putting it, sir.”

Cody felt like he had barely managed to keep his footing: stumbling into the barracks on Coruscant for a well-needed break between missions before Ponds had run in, dragging Cody out towards the docking bay, barely pausing to breathe as he rattled off a mission briefing. Then he had been nudged towards a ship — a diplomatic vessel, built for comfort rather than a war, and Cody’s skin had prickled at the thought, immediately ill at ease.

He had barely had time to recover from the gut punch of having his leave cancelled in favour of a specialised protective detail, then Mace Windu settling himself onto one of the ridiculously plush seats next to him, and they were away.

“Yes.” Mace stretched, settling back into the loose limbed meditative pose that all the Jedi seemed to favour. Cody raised himself up onto his knees, the sunlight that flooded in through the large window on the wall behind him warming his skin, and merely watched the steady rise and fall of Mace’s chest, unconsciously matching the rhythm with his own breaths. 

“I fear we may be missing some crucial information from the dossier. I appreciate that this isn’t what you were expecting, Commander, but I am glad for the company.” 

Cody didn’t allow himself to blush, merely nodding with a sharp jerk of his head, as Mace began to meditate. His silent vigil wasn’t discussed, as Cody watched the slow creep of light illuminated the deep bronze of his skin, the clone’s hand remaining next to his blaster as they listened to the sounds of the world waking up around them. 

A wave of deep calm settled in Cody’s chest, and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting his turn towards what it would be like after the war. It would be similar to this, warm and soft around the edges, but that was where his thoughts came to an abrupt end, teetering on the edge of the unknown.

He couldn’t imagine what he had never known.

“I believe our hosts will be collecting us in a moment,” Mace murmured, his eyes still closed, and Cody found himself jolted back into the present. He felt strangely naked without his armour, only wearing his blacks, as he stood, methodically checking his blaster and the blades he kept tucked in easy reach. 

Mace moved to stand, and Cody stepped forward, offering his arm to the other man as support. The other man’s grip was steady, and he squeezed Cody’s arm once in silent thanks as the door chimed, signalling the arrival of one of their hosts. 

They remained close together as they walked to the small hall, their hands brushing together every so often, and each time brought a fresh, furious blush to Cody’s face, causing his heart to skip a beat in his chest. He thought he would be able to handle this, to keep maintaining the same level of denial that he even had a crush that half the vod also possessed, but his carefully constructed control was slipping further every second. 

The air slowly became filled with the scent of fresh bread, a strange almost syrupy sweetness and, lingering beneath them, a spicy scent that set Cody’s blood humming in his veins. He turned his head slightly, searching for the source, and caught the edge of a look of indescribable softness that filtered over Mace’s face before it disappeared once more. 

“I believe,” Mace murmured, looping his arm through Cody’s without breaking stride, and the clone’s heart simply stopped even as his body continued moving out of reflex, “that we should only be here for a day cycle. I would like to apologise for the length of the meetings we will likely be subjected to.”

“It’s no trouble, sir.”

“It was suggested by another Council member that armour could be swapped to allow you to keep your break, while Ponds provided a distraction.” 

Cody couldn’t help the twist of disgust that pulled at his face, a shudder at the idea rattling up his spine. Natborns didn’t understand, couldn’t understand why that was nearly unthinkable to the clones. Pieces of their armour could be gifted as a mark of trust, a clear show of affection with one of the only things they could own, and yet, wearing another clone’s armour in the way natborns borrowed clothing was disrespectful. It would have felt like he was wearing another person’s skin, losing himself in them.

Mace continued, his tone softer. “Yes, Commander Fox made the argument that it would not be a well-liked course of action, and made the suggestion for you to go in Ponds’ place.”

Cody was torn between the urge to thank Fox the next time he saw him or to punch him. Ever since he had settled into a relationship of sorts with Ponds, the other man couldn’t help but meddle in the way that only the Command track vode could. Fox and Ponds both took after Prime, content together even as they looked at their brothers and the romance novels that served as black market currency with a sense of mild confusion.

“I’m happy to serve, sir.”

Mace frowned, but didn’t get the chance to speak before a new problem presented itself. 

“Ah.” 

“Sir?” Cody scanned the room, taking in the low tables, almost groaning beneath the heavy bounty of food set on top of them, noting the strange configuration of their hosts: one sitting curled atop the other. 

“The briefing mentioned that there is a very strict binary of roles, categorised as peacekeeper and protector by our standards, hence the ring.” Mace kept his voice low as he steered Cody towards one of the tables at their host’s gentle urging. “In times of war, the protectors guard the peacekeepers and in times of peace, the peacekeepers care for the protectors.”

“Sir?” Cody couldn’t think, could barely move under his own steam. It felt like he had fallen into one of the over-dramatised holos that always seemed to be streaming whenever he got a moment of downtime. 

“You are a good man, Commander. I don’t want to ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“General, sir. It wouldn’t be a hardship.” He meant every word. Cody knew that looking after the Jedi was just another part of his training, but Mace Windu was different. 

The grin he received in response was blinding.

“Glad to hear it.”

The first thought that made its way through the shocked and silent fog in Cody’s mind as Mace sat on the cushion, pulling Cody down onto his lap, was that the other man was warm. Through the heavy robes he wore, heat pressed against Cody’s back and the curve of his shoulders like sinking into a warm bath back on Coruscant. 

It felt like every ounce of blood in his body was burning through his cheeks, the heat of the blush trailing down his neck and across his chest. 

“What?” Cody managed to spit out from behind gritted teeth, barely able to believe what was happening. 

“Peacekeepers care for the protectors,” Mace said, his voice rumbling through Cody’s chest. While he couldn’t see the Jedi’s face, Cody knew he was grinning once more. It was an expression he wanted to see more of, to watch it unfold again and again and again in all it’s variations like a sunrise.

“I feel like I’m a shiny,” Cody muttered, making a reflexive half-hearted attempt to twist away, embarrassment and longing burning bright in his chest like twin suns.

“You’re certainly squirming enough to be a shiny,” Mace chuckled, settling his chin on top of Cody’s head as he stared out at the room, and Cody settled, remembering the deep calm of the mediation, his heart slowing in his chest as they breathed in unison. The moment wouldn’t last, but they would enjoy it while it did.

[corasbunker]

Bad Mood Rising

Sam Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: cheesy title, canon typical violence/mention of gore, language, a hint of mild angst?, smut (vaginal sex).

Words: 2,269

Note: Again, feedback is appreciated. I’m still getting the hang of writing reader inserts. Thanks!

Blue lights flickered in your rearview mirror. Shit, that the hell did you do now? You weren’t speeding, and your car was registered. Not registered to you, but that didn’t really matter. It wasn’t stolen.

You pulled over to the curb and shut the car off as you waited for the officer to babble some bullshit story about your tail light or something.

“Y/N?” you heard the instant you rolled your window down. Your gaze snapped to the tall, thin figure beside you. Sheriff uniform, check. Familiar face, check.

“Sam? What the—How the hell did you find me?” you snapped. There was no way he could have known where you were. You were three states over from home and had absolutely no ties to the part of Nebraska you were rolling through.

Sam pursed his lips, then tapped on the door. “I’m glad I found you before they did. There was a pack of werewolves on your tail since Iowa.” His voice was barely a whisper over the passing traffic. “I think they know about you.”

Your eyes widened. Shit. No, they couldn’t know. You’ve been so careful to keep your little, well, condition under wraps as you hunted the very beasts that made you who you were. You shook your head.

“How? It’s not like I’m out at night or anything—”

“And that’s just it,” Sam interrupted. “You’re not acting like a normal werewolf.”

“I’m not a normalwerewolf, Sam,” you mouthed. Sam let out a long sigh, then opened your door for you.

“We need to get you somewhere safe. They weren’t far behind when I started tailing you. They’ve backed off a little since then, but we may only have minutes before they catch up.” He stretched out his long arm and motioned for you to get up.

“My stuff is in the trunk.” You turned and lifted yourself from the driver’s seat. “Give me a minute,” you snapped. Sam took a step back, and you offered a silent apology. It wasn’t him who was putting you on edge.

You had hidden yourself for the last seven years, since the night a werewolf had bitten you in the shoulder and left you to bleed in an alley. Sure, a bite meant you were turned, and there was only a small window of time you had to get a cure. But, you were alone, and no one was there to keep you from turning.

There was only one small hitch, you didn’t exactly turn. Once you ended up at the steps of the Winchester’s bunker, you realized that you may not ever completely transform. Instead, you were only mildly affected by the phases of the moon, leading the boys and you to come to one conclusion.

You were somehow immune to the bite.

Now, you did have some changes, but never anything enough to make you dangerous. Your sense of smell heightened during the full moon, and your overall hunger. Oh, and you sex drive was through the fucking roof. Other than that, you were just stronger than the average human most of the time. You weren’t a wolf, or some sort of freak hybrid. You were just… you.

Sam led you around your small hatchback to the trunk, where you gathered your small arsenal of weapons and a few lore books, then headed for the sheriff car Sam was sporting. He grabbed one of the bags off your shoulder and shuffled you over to the car, then ushered you into the back seat. He probably wanted to keep some sort of appearance for the onlookers that were no doubt eyeing the two of you.

Your ass hit the stiff back seat a little harder than you thought it would, forcing an ooffrom your lungs. Then, Sam slammed the car in gear and floored the two of you down the road.

**

Sam pulled up to a motel about an hour from where you had left your car. It was a dive, per the Winchester usual, but it didn’t look like the scene of any recent murder. So, that was promising.

Sam quietly helped you schlep all of your belongings into the surprisingly large motel room. There were two beds, doubles, and an adjacent bathroom. To the right of the door, there was a small, apparently ancient sitting area with a love seat and table for two.

“Sorry to just pluck you out of whatever you were doing, but Dean and I have been trailing these guys for a while now. We spotted you at that truck stop in Cedar Rapids. That’s when we realized that they weren’t running from us, they were chasing you.” Sam peeled off his jacket and chucked it onto the loveseat, exposing the toned muscles of his shoulders under his thin thermal. You turned away immediately, furiously trying to chase off the memories of those very muscles under your fingertips.

“So, you think they know about my immunity?” you deadpanned. Sam simply nodded before taking a seat at the small table.

“I’m sure they do. What else would they want with you?”

“Thanks,” you huffed. Sam smirked, shaking his head.

“That’s not what I mean. It’s just that werewolves don’t usually hunt hunters. Sure, they’ll fight back, but they aren’t instigators. Not like vampires.” You nodded in agreement. It all made since.

“What, are they going to make some sort of cure with me?” You plopped down onto the loveseat. You ignored your pounding heart as you focused on the conversation. “Or make some sort of super werewolf army?” Sam shrugged.

“Who knows? But, they must see you as some sort of either threat or benefit. They were definitely interested in you.” He turned towards the window, inspecting the small slit of moonlight that beamed though the top of the curtains. “It’s a full moon.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” You leaned back and your mind began to race. “So, these fuckers are hunting me instead of hunting their next meal? How would their biology let them do that?” It didn’t make sense. You could feel the full moon, and you didn’t need to hunt. How could the pack resist the urge to hunt without losing their minds?

Sam let out a breath. “I’m sure they aren’t following us now. They can’t resist a meal. So, we’re at an advantage.” He smiled. “We’re safe for the night.”

Like that was any sort of relief. These guys would be almost back to themselves by morning, and they were probably within an hour’s drive from you. So, why the hell were you stopping there?

“So, we aren’t going to try to get more of a distance between us and them?” you muttered, trying not to look at Sam. Your breathing had quickened a little, signaling that the moon was starting to take its full affect. Your blood coursed through your veins, making you suddenly overheated.

Sam shook his head, studying you. He noticed your discomfort. “No. Dean wants us to hang close in case something goes down.” You shot up from your seat.

“Dean’s going in there alone? No!”

“No, Y/N. He has Cas with him, and our friend Jody. They can handle it. He said that I would be the best person to watch you through tonight.” And that’s where Dean was wrong. You and Sam had a history, there was no denying that. But, you had steered clear of the man for the last two years, leaving him out of sight and out of mind. Well, almost out of mind.

Now, he was very much in sight, and the primal thread that raced through you now was making sure he was the only thing clouding your mind.

“Fine. That’s fine. I just—I need to change. Sleeping though the cycle is usually the best move for me.” It was an outright lie. You could never sleep though the full moon, but you needed an excuse to get out of that room.

So, you grabbed your bag and excused yourself to the bathroom. A nice shower would be a good way to get Sam out of your mind. And it would help soothe the ache that pulsed under your skin.

You turned the knob on the hot water and waited for the steam to rise. Then, you entered the blue and orange tiled shower, allowing the heat to devour you.

You could hear Sam shuffling on the other side of the door. Small grunts and sighs filled your supersonic hearing. Shit, were you ever going to get an escape from him? Why couldn’t Dean or Cas have been the ones to pick you up. No, it was Sam Winchester, the sweet and spicy man who made every single one of your nerve flare by the mere mention of his name.

You heard the movement of clothing, sending your imagination into overdrive. You were sure he was changing right now, removing that thermal and exposing those sand dune shoulders. Your mind focused on the memory of his long arms encompassing you, sliding you down creamy sheets and under this thundering form.

The thud of the opening door jarred you from your daydream. “Sam?” you called out from your steamy fog. You were met by the sound of footsteps, nearly forcing your heart from your chest. “Sam?”

“Y/N,” Sam answered with a growl.

And with that one word, you were done for.

You peeled the show curtain back, revealing a very naked, and very aroused Sam staring back at you. You sucked in a breath as you released any last bit of restraint left in your body.

“Sam,” you groaned as he approached you and practically leapt into the shower with you. Your arms stretched, latching onto the towering man as if for dear life. Your ears pounded and your body buzzed as his hands pulled and tugged at any bit of flesh he could grasp.

Your lips met the moment Sam pinned you against the cool tile. His tongue quickly dominated your mouth as he nipped and sucked on your lips. One of his hands found it’s place on your ass, squeezing your cheek while he rolled his hips against you.

Sam’s cock skimmed over your lower stomach, forcing a moan to leave your bound lips. His other hand smoothed down your chest, fingers latching onto one of your nipples, coaxing out a moan.

“Sam,” you huffed. Your head rolled back onto the tile as you let the gorgeous man over you completely take over. His hand slowly lifted from your breast, migrating done to your aching pussy. Your breathing hitched the moment his calloused finger skirted over your clit. You rocked your hips while he nipped against your neck to your shoulder.

Sam slipped his finger further, just barely entering your soaked hole. He groaned at the feeling of your slick encasing his digit.

“Oh, Y/N, I missed this,” he purred into your ear. Then, he scraped his teeth over your earlobe.

“Just shut up and fuck me, Sam,” you commanded. He let out a low chuckle, then he lifted his hand and gripped your right leg. You lifted it up, allowing him to support you against the tile. He lined himself up with your entrance, then paused.

His golden gaze scanned over your face, studying you. You could hear his heart roaring through his chest. There was a glimmer of the gentle part of Sam, the part most people saw, gazing down at you. But, the moment you rolled your hips against him, he lost it.

Sam lifted you ever so slightly, then lowered you down onto his cock. Your nails dug into his smooth shoulders as he stretched you, filling you more than you remembered.

The moment he bottomed out inside you, he began his slow rhythm, pinning you against the wall. He held you impossibly close, moving his lips from your own, to your neck, then back again. Your breathing turned into pants as your body soared on the high of the full moon.

Sam’s hand traveled down to your clit and his finger pressed just right over the throbbing nub. You didn’t know how close you were to your climax until your orgasm was already pulsing though every nerve.

“Sam!” you shrieked while the pounding waves of your arousal washed over your dripping skin. You wiggled as each pulse hit you, but Sam kept you pinned beneath him, quickening his pace. He rocked against you and grit his teeth. He was close; you could sense it.

Just as your climax eased, Sam curled his fingers around your hips and spilled deep inside you. He bucked and moaned as he chased his high, before finally slumping against your body.

The two of you huffed as you struggled to catch your breath. The water was barely lukewarm by now, but it felt good against your searing skin. Even though your bones ached, you never wanted that feeling to go away.

A minute later, Sam’s large hand cupped your cheek. His lips skimmed over yours. Then, he pulled away.

“Y/N,” he repeated. His face changed. The primal need behind his eyes was gone, and replaced by a caring, soft light that made your pounding heart flutter. You just pressed your lips against his and savored the taste of him.

You didn’t know if you would be gone before the morning, leaving him behind like last time. Or, if you would give in and let Sam Winchester enter your life for good. All you knew was that you wanted him to be there right now, and that wasn’t the full moon talking.

[allsassnoclass]

this is a niche au written specifically for @calumsclifford because she put the idea in my head.  I probably won’t continue it but there’s Potential in this universe so please enjoy the very beginnings of a Raven Cycle au

Luke Hemmings has forgotten how many times he has been told that he will kill his true love.

He grew up with predictions swirling around his household before he could talk.  Most of them are significantly less specific: You will have the opportunity to earn a sum of money, be ready for it.  Something catastrophic will happen tomorrow, possibly to do with the number six.  You have a difficult decision that will not make itself.  Go with your gut.

Liz Hemmings and the other ladies of 300 Fox Way begin each reading with the assurance that “these predictions will be accurate, but not very specific.”  It’s easier that way.  Clients can then believe however much they chose to.  Was the neighbor offering to pay extra to buy their lawnmower a coincidence, or what the psychic foretold?  Was the minivan carrying six passengers that ran into their car bad luck or a fulfilled prophecy?  In this way, it becomes a bit of a game for clients to figure out how exactly each prediction will come true.  Their little house remains a roadside attraction without garnering an inconvenient amount of attention.

Predictions about Luke were never anything but precisely accurate.  His mother knew that he would sprain his wrist on the first day of school.  He could never lie about his grades, because Jimi or Persephone would tell his mom about the content of his report card before he got home.  Calla always predicts what song he’s going to play when he pulls out the guitar even if she’s never heard it before.  Everyone in that house knew he was gay before he ever thought to come out.

The Fox Way psychics do not have a habit of being wrong, whether they’re predicting Liz’s tax returns within ten dollars or humming a song a minute before it plays on the radio.

Luke has had his palm inspected, his tea leaves pondered over, and his tarot cards read an infinite amount of times by every psychic woman to pass through their doors.  Each one of them says the same thing:

If Luke were to ever kiss his true love, his true love would die.

He hates this prediction, because despite it’s accuracy, there’s still so much he doesn’t know.  Does it have to be a kiss on the lips, or would kissing his true love’s forehead do him in?  How long after the kiss would he die?  What type of death would it be?

The thought of him having a true love, someone who is made for him and perfectly compatible like a fairy tale, fills him with warmth.  The thought of being the cause of his death has resulted in various late nights spent crying in the quiet of his tiny room, trying not to be heard by one of the various women he lives with.

By the time Luke turns sixteen, he decides that he’s not going to fall in love in order to avoid the ordeal altogether.  Around the same time, his mother starts having intense whispered conversations with her two best friends, Persephone and Calla.  The conversations always drift off or quickly change when he enters the room, and eventually he asks Persephone about them.

Persephone is the most likely to tell him, because her predictions often leave her mouth without permission and he knows that she doesn’t like secrets in the house.

“Luke Robert Hemmings,” she says, cupping his face with her palms, frizzy blonde hair looking like a halo in the sunset light, “this is the year you will fall in love.”

-/-

It’s cold in the churchyard.

Every year, the 24th of April feels colder than it should to a small town like Henrietta, Virginia.  No one notices, because no one outside of 300 Fox Way thinks of St. Mark’s Eve as a significant day year after year.  There are no decorations to put up, and no gifts to exchange or parties to throw.  No one gets St. Mark’s day off of school, or marks it on the calendar.

No one except the psychics, that is.

Year after year, Luke and his mom drive to the abandoned, crumbling, nameless church positioned on the corpse road.  Year after year, Liz looks at the spirits of those who will die within the year and asks them their names.  Year after year, Luke writes them down for her and tries in vain to catch a glimpse of what she sees.

He never sees any spirits.  He sometimes sees mist, but only if it rained recently, and he always sees the caved-in roof and moss-covered stones that used to make the frame of the church.  He never hears anything, either.  Even crickets and other nighttime creatures tend to stay quiet on St. Mark’s Eve.

Luke spends the time waiting for the future-dead gazing at the stars, clearly visible this far out of town, and fiddling with his lip ring.  They’ve already been there for what feels like hours, but they always come well before midnight and more often than not stay late.  The dead have no need for punctuality.

At least he remembered his beanie this time.  His mom tried to get him to put on gloves, but Luke hates writing while wearing them, and that’s half the reason he’s here.

“Tonight is the night,” Liz says, voice soft and airy like it sometimes gets when she’s making a prediction.  Luke glances at her, ready to start writing names, but she falls silent, looking at the outline of a gate positioned in the wall steadily but without the urgency that accompanies the spirits.  Every year, they open that gate in order to let the dead walk their path to the church.

The cold settles a bit deeper into Luke’s bones.  He’s come with his mother on St. Mark’s Eve since he was too young to properly write, but it does feel different this time.  He’s not sure why, but there’s a heaviness in the air, an anticipation that he hasn’t felt since he was six years old and being brought to this abandoned church for the first time because Liz said she focuses better with him there.  At six years old, he hadn’t always realized exactly what that meant.

While Luke can’t see spirits or predict the future, every psychic in the house says that they can do that better when he’s there, sometimes going so far as to call him in during difficult readings to give them direction.

“You’re like a lighthouse,” Persephone once said.  “You show us where to go.”

“It’s like turning up the volume when you’re in the room,” Calla added.  “We all hear better with you there.”

“It’s something to be proud of,” Liz always tells him.  “It’s extremely rare to be able to enhance a psychic’s gifts.”

Luke has spent a lot of time sulking over being the only person in the house who isn’t privy to the supernatural, on top of being the only boy.  He’s had sixteen years to come to terms with it, but sometimes it still stings.  It stings less when the women thank him for his help with something important and tangible.

During the day of the year when both time and the spirit world collide with their own, Liz always has Luke with her to pull everything into focus.

“Aglionby boys haven’t been giving you any trouble, have they?” Liz suddenly asks, startling him enough that he drops his pencil and has to root around in the freezing grass for it before hopping back onto his spot on the wall.

“No,” he says, frowning at the mention of the private school full of politicians' sons and trust fund babies located just outside of town.  His mom has drilled into his head that they’re more trouble than they’re worth, and should be avoided like the plague.  Every interaction that he’s had has supported that advice.  “Not more than usual, anyway.  They’ve started getting their convertibles out with the warmer weather, but I only ever see them at work when they haggle for more iced tea.  Why?  Are they going to be giving me trouble?”

Liz hums, then stiffens suddenly.

“They’re coming.”

Luke straightens and keeps his pencil poised.  He follows his mom’s gaze, but just like in previous years all that greets him is the darkness of midnight in the country.  He knows by the way her eyes are fixed now that that isn’t all that Liz sees, though.  The spirits of those who will die in the next twelve months are making their march on the corpse road to the church, and they are there to ask their names.

Every year, the believing citizens of Henrietta ask if they or a loved one will die within the next year.  Every year, for a small fee, Liz will tell them who is on their list.

“Who are you? Robert Neuhmann,” Liz begins, and Luke hastens to write down the names phonetically and as quickly as possible.  “Who are you?  Ruth Vert.  Who are you?  Frances Powell.”

Luke can’t hear anything except Liz’s voice, can’t see anything except her shadowed figure a few feet from him, but the names of the future-dead appear in his notebook nonetheless.

It’s a lot of names that would have been popular decades ago, with familiar last names.  Henrietta is full of old families.  Not many people move to town, but almost no one leaves, either.

“What’s your name?” his mom asks.  Then, a bit louder, “Excuse me, what’s your name?”

Luke glances up, then loses his breath.  Where there should be empty air is instead the vague shape of a person, faded and fuzzy but unmistakably there.  He blinks, but the scene doesn’t change.

“Mom, I can see him,” he says, voice shaking.

The spirit wanders forward, almost stumbling.  Luke always thought that the procession of spirits would be orderly in some way, but this one seems lost, scared.  The more Luke looks, the more he can make out other details.  He’s wearing a sweater and slacks, hair soft and rumpled.  His face is fuzzing and faded, like Luke is trying to look at it through a fogged window, features completely indistinct.  Luke wouldn’t recognize him if he passed him on the street tomorrow, but somehow he feels like he would know him anyway.

He’s unmistakably young, not much older than Luke, if at all.

The spirit picks at his sleeve, in such an alive way that Luke feels vaguely sick.  Then he stumbles forward, as if jostled from behind.

“Get his name,” Liz says frantically.  “He won’t answer me and I need to get the others.”

Luke slides off his spot on the wall, heart hammering in his chest.  He approaches on unsteady feet, then asks “What’s your name?”

The spirit doesn’t seem to hear, moving slowly towards the church door in a zig zag, as if he can’t see the path but feels a pull to it anyway.

He doesn’t seem to know that he’s going to his death.

“Who are you?” he asks, stepping closer.  He won’t step on the corpse road, not tonight when spirits are actively using it, but he needs to be sure that the boy can hear him.  Even this close, his face is indiscernible.  Nothing about him suggests that this is a person, but Luke can feel it.  His mind knows what his eyes can’t figure out.

His eyes catch on the raven insignia on his sweater, and his breath stutters.

That’s the Aglionby symbol.  He’s a high schooler, just like Luke, and he’ll be dead within the year.

The boy continues forward, and Luke follows, repeating his questions.  The closer he gets, the colder he feels.  Logically, he knows that it’s the spirits drawing on his energy, but it feels like dread, and it feels like death.

The boy approaches the entrance to the church, and Luke knows that he’ll be gone if he passes through that doorway.  Impulsively, he reaches out a hand and touches the boy’s sweater.  His fingers go numb from the cold immediately, but the boy stops, and for the first time seems like he might notice Luke next to him.

“Please,” Luke says, softer.  “Will you tell me your name?”

“Ashton,” he says.  His voice is quiet, but not because he’s whispering.  It sounds like his voice is coming from far away, tinny like it’s been passed through a radio.  The top of his sweater is wet from a rain that hasn’t happened yet, and Luke can’t stop looking at where his face should be.

Of all the times Luke imagined what it would be like to see the dead, he never anticipated that it would feel like this.  Cold, maybe.  A bit lonely, perhaps.  But not like he’s looking at a grave only to find it staring back and asking why it couldn’t be saved.

“Is that all?” he whispers.

“Ashton Irwin,” the spirit says.  He closes his eyes.  Luke doesn’t know how he knows this, since he can’t see any facial features, but he knows.  “That’s all there is.”

Ashton falls to his knees, hands braced against the dirt.  The black of the church seems to swallow him up, and Luke feels a lump in his throat.

“Mom he’s--he’s dying.”

“Not yet,” Liz says.  Sometime during his talk with the spirit, she finished writing the rest of the names and moved to stand behind him.  She puts an arm around his shoulders, and Luke leans into her, resisting hiding himself because he feels like he has to see Ashton off at least.  He fades into the church, or maybe the church fades into him.  Luke watches until there are no traces of him left.

“Why could I see him?” he asks into the quiet.  It feels loud in the night.  Warmth starts to return to his skin, and in the edge of his hearing he registers the distant sound of an owl and a few crickets.

The spirits have passed on, but Luke feels stuck.  His lungs are unfreezing, but the cold is replaced by an empty feeling.  Grief, or perhaps regret.

“There are only two reasons a non-seer would see a spirit on St. Mark’s Eve,” his mom says carefully.  “Either you’re his true love, or you killed him.”

[the-small-one-to-rule-them-all]

I did some Roman Angst

prompt: Roman gets hurt but doesn’t realize it because he’s too busy saving the others and then suddenly once they look at him in shock it sets in and he collapses / he knows and leaves so they don't see and he can let out his pain alone behind closed doors. 

word count: 2478

warnings: injury, blood mention, pain, self-deprecation, crying (let me know if I missed any!)

note: so, this is technically angst, but it has a happy ending because I can’t help myself. I got the prompt from @pawtonsanders. This is for you, Pat! Sorry if it isn’t what you had wanted, I did my best. I hope you like it!

Roman winces as he hops up onto his horse and Patton get on behind him. He sees Logan mount behind Virgil who had gotten knocked out by a blow to the head.

They sped off towards the castle and Roman inwardly cursed himself for not having taken Virgil as Patton's arm snakes around his middle.

He had felt the sting as the poison arrow had scratched his side, but he didn't think it would actually be bad. At this point he had faked wellness for too long. He couldn't tell them now. Logan would surely scold him into next year, after he was done treating Virgil of course. Roman hisses as the pain in his side grows stronger, just a few more miles. Then they will be at the palace and no one will question him retiring to his room after ensuring that Virgil is in Logan’s care.

Roman’s vision starts to swim and he groans, they are just entering the city, he just needs to hold himself together long enough to get to his room

When they finally reach the palace he trips as he walks up to the palace doors.

“Prince, are you okay?” Patton asks him.

Roman looks at the concerned face of his servant, “Of course, just a bit tired is all. I need to rest.”

“Would you like to have food waiting for you when you wake up, Prince Roman?”

Roman shakes his head, holding back a groan, “Patton you are too sweet. No, I do not know how long I will rest. I do not want you worrying over cold stew if I don't wake until the morning.”

Patton bows his head with a smile, ‘I understand. Is there anything else you require of me, Prince Roman?”

Roman lays a steadying hand on Patton’s shoulder, “I've told you, I don't need the royal titles. Call me Roman.”

“Okay... Roman.”

Roman removes his hand from the other and turns towards his room, “See you... when I wake.”

Patton frowns after Roman, the prince was normally so cheery after a fight, especially after saving someone. He wonders if it’s because he and Virgil were the one that were saved that it feels different, or if something else threw him off. Well, he can't focus on it for now, Prince Roman needs his sleep, and he should help Logan with Virgil.

Roman closes the door to his room and lets out a pained groan. He stumbles over to his bed, dropping his sash, sword, and shirt on the floor behind him as he goes. He sits and examines his undershirt, it had been torn and there is blood seeping from the wound underneath, starting to soak the undershirt. Roman swears, removing his undershirt to get a closer look.

He hisses ad the fabric sticks to his skin as he pulls the shirt away. He looks at the cut. It is worse than he had expected. It is all purple and bruised around the cut and he can see the poison, green and yellow spreading from the cut like cracks in a piece of glass.

Roman groans as another wave of pain hits him. He sighs, seeing his bath was drawn before he got back. He might as well clean this as best he can.

He gets up and walks over to the large basin, grabbing the pitcher next to it. He leans over the basin and dunks the pitcher in, filling it with water. He pours the water over the wound and tries to muffle the scream that nearly escapes him. As he lets go of the basin, his legs fail him. He is falling towards the edge of the basin, then, blackness.

Roman wakes to see Patton dragging him... somewhere. He hopes to his bed. He groans as the pain in his side and the ache from hitting the basin hit him.

“Roman! Are you awake?”

Roman groans in response, the pain fogging his mind.

Patton huffs, “I came in here to see you passed out, having knocked over your bath, just sprawled on the floor!”

Roman grumbles indignantly.

Patton pulls him onto the end of his bed, letting his knees dangle, “No, no, you don't get to have that attitude. You hid that wound from me, the person tasked with your care. It’s obviously poisoned and yes i'm scared but right now i'm mad Roman. Why didn't you tell me about this?! Why did you lie to me?! Give me words this time Roman, please.”

Roman groans, “I... I didn't think... didn't think it was... that bad.”

Patton scoffs, “You were right about the not thinking part. Honestly Roman! We’re going to have a serious conversation about this later. I called for Logan and he should be here any second.”

Roman tries to sit up, failing, but managing to get Patton’s attention, “No, don't. He.. he can't...”

Patton frowns, “Lie down Roman. You are going to hurt yourself more if you keep pushing yourself like this! I will pin you down myself if I have to.”

The pain suddenly spikes. Roman’s eyes widen and he cries out in pain clutching his side. He writhes and clutches his teeth.

Logan bursts in, “Roman, I swear, if this is a joke-” Logan stops, staring at the scene before him. Roman is on his bed, writhing and groaning in pain, Patton is bent over him, doing his best to calm him down and failing.

Logan rushes over, “What is happening?”

Patton is flushed, his breathing fast, “He has a bad cut on his side, it’s poisoned, he’s... he’s been hiding it from us since yesterday.”

Logan swears under his breath and pulls out some towels, a bowl of some liquid which he places a towel in, a few jars and lots of bandages, “Where is it?”

Patton grabs Roman’s arm prying the one he has over his wound away and pinning it down.

Logan immediately pins the arm closes to the wound down and gets close to the cut, inspecting it.

He sighs and releases the arm as Roman calms, the pain fading.

“Roman,” Logan begins softly, “Was this from an arrow?”

Roman nods.

“Okay, I know what this is. Thankfully for you, it is curable. However I cannot say the process is pleasant.”

Roman grimaces.

Logan turns to Patton, “Thank you for having him near the end of the bed. Good planning. Would you please sit above the Prince’s head and get a secure hold on his arms?”

Patton moves and does as asked, pinning one arm under him and holding one in his arms, Roman’s head ends up in Patton’s lap and Patton runs a hand through his hair.

Roman gasps as Logan lightly places his hand next to the wound

Logan grabs the towel he had been soaking in a bowl nearby, “Now Roman, i'm going to clean the wound. This is going to sting.”

The towel touches his side and Roman fights back a scream. He writhes and pulls against Patton’s hold on him. His groans come through clenched teeth and a grimace.

Logan sighs, “I know, Roman. I know, it hurts. But you need to stop moving or I can’t clean it properly.”

It takes all Roman’s willpower to relax himself back into his original position.

Patton whispers soothing things to him holding his hand and encouraging him to squeeze it, encouraging Roman to yell if he needs to.

The towel brushes his side again and Roman lets out a blood-curdling scream. He holds Patton’s hand so tight he fears it might break. The tears that are on his face barely register as he breaks out into a sweat.

By the time Logan has finished cleaning the wound, Roman is screaming and sobbing. He holds onto Patton’s shaking form as he cries.

Logan sighs, “There, cleaning done. Now I just need to apply the salve and bandages.”

Roman whimpers.

Patton runs a hand through Roman’s hair, trying his best to soothe him..

Roman flinches as Logan lays a steadying hand on his side, above the cut and applies the salve. Roman feels like he might split open.  He knows he is crying. He is unaware of the sounds he is making, only knowing that he is breathing too hard and has heart is pounding. He tries to catch his breath as the pain ebbs, he almost succeeds. His breath catches with every inhale. He has no more energy to cry as Logan secures the bandages in place.

Logan packs his things in silence, “I left a draught for you on the table, it’ll help with the pain. I’ll be back tonight.” He utters sharply slamming the door on his way out.

Roman and Patton stay as they were, in silence, until they are both calm. Patton gets up to grab some nightclothes for Roman, since he isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Patton frowns, “I still don't understand why you would hide something like that from me. Why you would lie to me and say everything was fine when it wasn't?”

Roman sighs, “I didn't think it was that bad.”

“Didn't think it wa- Roman! Do you seriously expect me to believe that? When we got back you looked like you were drunk! You were walking so unsteadily I had considered following you to your quarters to make sure you actually made it back! You were obviously out of it! That’s a worse lie than before!”

Roman sighs, “I didn't really feel it until we were riding back! I thought I was just coming down from the battle rush. I thought it was just some particularly bad bruising!”

Patton folds his arms, “You would've asked Logan for some bruise cream.”

Roman frowns, he knows Patton is right. He is quiet for a while, “Is Virgil okay? He looked like he was in pretty bad shape even before he got knocked out.”

“You do not get to change the conversation on me!” Patton yells throwing the nightclothes at Roman. “You could've died! And if you had, I would’ve thought that was my fault! I was the last one to see you yesterday! I can't believe you would be so selfish as to risk your life like that! And for what, your pride? Honor? What the hell Roman?!”

“I just.... I thought... I wanted to...” Roman starts again and again. He sighs, choosing not to finish his thoughts.

Patton stares at him, face a mix of grief and anger, “I thought you were dead.” he whispers.

“... what?”

“I thought you were dead, Roman!” He yells, “I walk in to see you on the floor not moving, not responding... in a puddle of bloody water.”  Patton’s voice is quieter now, shaking, “I thought you had died... that I was too late...” he cries, “If you had just put aside your pride for a minute! If you had just told me something was wrong... I would have helped you. I wouldn't have been upset at you. I wouldn't have judged you or spread rumors or anything.”

“That's not what I was worried about-”

“What was it, then!? Huh, Roman? Why would you do this?!” Patton snaps.

Roman closes his eyes tight, “I didn't want to be a burden. I knew Virgil was in bad shape... I didn't want to distract Logan... I didn't want to... To seem selfish. I didn't think it was that important.”

Patton just stares at him, “And why would it be selfish to ask for help and treatment?”

Roman sighs, “Because... it really doesn’t matter how I am. Who cares how I am? Everyone in this kingdom hates me anyway. They already think i'm just an arrogant prince who puts himself in danger recklessly and is sure to do the same to the kingdom. And they’re probably right! Why would they care if I die? Why should I care? I'm just a burden, and one they hate to carry at that!”

Patton shakes his head, “Roman... that’s not true.”

“Yes it is!” Roman yells, “I know it is! I hear it from my father, from the council, from my fellow knights, even! I've heard them say it a million times! The people of the kingdom are only nice to me because i'm royalty, but I hear the gossip, I know what they're saying. So excuse me if I don't tell you because I know you don't care. Can you really blame me?”

Patton sighs. He approaches Roman, sitting next to him on the bed, “Roman, you’re wrong. I care, I really do.  I care so deeply about you.”

“How could you possibly expect me to believe that?” Roman asks. He wants to believe him, desperately wishes he could, but how can he?

“Have I ever lied to you?” Patton asks, searching his face for some hint of belief.

“Never explicitly, but when any kindness feels fake... it’s hard to know.” he shrugs, avoiding Patton’s gaze.

“Roman, listen to me. You are an amazing person. You have the most beautiful singing voice. You are kind to people who you have every right to insult. You are a brilliant fighter. You tell some great jokes, rival only to my own. You say please and thank you to villagers for the simplest things. You listen to children who tell you stories and you encourage them in their creativity. You are passionate about everything you do, and it is beautiful.”

Roman is crying, silent tears falling down his face into the bed, “Thank you.”

“You deserve to know how much people care about you.”

Roman looks at Patton, “I think i'm starting to believe you.”

Patton smiles softly, “Good. Everything I said is real Roman. Don't you ever doubt it.”

“I won’t.”

Patton smiles and helps the royal into his nightclothes, him being unable to even sit up.

“Patton?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for getting Logan.” Roman says, “I really needed your help today. I don't know what would’ve happened if you hadn't found me.”

Patton sighs, “It was as much for you as it was for me. I couldn't bear it if you died under my care, but your welcome.”

Roman winces as Patton climbs onto the bed and pulls him up onto the bed fully.

“Oh sorry, did I hurt you?” he asks, seeing Roman’s face.

“No, Patton, im fine, but.... I'm sorry. I, I should've told you about the injury. I should've and I didn't and there is no good excuse for why. Please, forgive me Patton. I never meant to put you under so much stress, I never meant to hurt you.”

He sighs, “I forgive you Roman. Just, please, promise me you won't hide something from us like that ever again?”

“I promise.”

Patton smiles, “Good. Now drink the pain reliever Logan left you and get some sleep. You've had a long day, and you've only been awake for a few hours.”

[discnchant]

﹍﹎♰ 𝔉𝔞𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔩𝔶𝔱𝔥 𝔐𝔬𝔬𝔯 ♰﹎﹍

The rattle of chains echoed in the chamber, the chatter harmonizing with the incessant dripping of water somewhere in the darkness. The noises did not stop Faerilyth in her movements, hunched over a rotting workbench and drenched in deep shadows. She could hear the groggy confusion behind her, the drugged faerie trying to make sense of their environment with a cloudy mind. It didn’t matter how hard they tried — they would not recognize where they were at, nor what brought them there. Their mind was no longer theirs to control, fogged over. From where she sat, she carefully tugged off the leather straps of a packet, pulling away the fabric and unfolding until the velvet inside was exposed. Her fingers barely hovered above the coil but she felt the heat and heard the sizzle in the air. Iron. Faerilyth let her hand wave over it experimentally, seeing how close her skin could get to it until it burned too much. The flesh on her fingers almost instantly began to blister in response. She hastily pulled away.

From behind the babbling continued at a confounding pace. The softest of sighs slipped past her lips as she then climbed off the rickety stool and turned to her prisoner. “About time you woke,” she greeted the faerie. Even weak and tied down they glowed a faint golden color, the magic in their blood forever coursing. She walked a slow half circle around them, back and forth, half concealed in the shadows though her eyes burned a bright reflective blue as she stared at them. There was no recollection in their eyes, they could not follow Fae’s slow movements. They were confused and hadn’t even noticed they’d been chained down to a slab of stone in a dark crypt, no longer dancing and singing with the other faeries at the prince’s party. She paused directly before them. “This is so much more fun when the subject is mostly lucid, after all.”

The faerie struggled to voice their confusion, staring back with a blank expression. Their eyes were like marbles, glassy and empty, slowly following Fae as she turned back to the bench and the long barbed wire. They didn’t recognize the glint of poisonous iron from across the room, watching in dumbfounded awe as she stood above it. “I suppose I must thank you, for the dance and merry time you gave me. It’s been hard adjusting to Auradon. You see, no one quite wants to get close to me. My mother’s reputation precedes me and is such a hindrance on my ability to make friends. It’s a shame, really. Maybe if I’d been equip to form real bonds, to care, then maybe I wouldn’t be like this.” She paused then, dragging a finger tip over the fiery hot metal wire. She hissed quietly at the burn, feeling a spark of something in the pit of her stomach. A burst of excitement, a tingle of thrill, something beyond the hollow and dull pain that lingered inside her always.

“My mother is such a pain, really. If it weren’t for her, then perhaps I’d be free to make my own choice. You see, Maleficent made such careful designs for me from birth.” At the drop of the name, Faerilyth could hear the jostle and clatter of the chains she used to bound the faerie. Even in a hazy drugged state the faerie feared mention of the Mistress of Evil. It landed the effect she wanted. “It must be an odd idea, knowing the dark fey has a child. She’s perhaps the least motherly person you could imagine. Truth is she’s worse than that — You see, I’m not a child to her. Not her daughter. That was a position taken a long time ago, by someone else. No, you see…. I am a means. A means to an end. She didn’t seduce the horned devil of Bald Mountain out of devotion or even a perverse lust. Maleficent knew someday the barriers between our worlds would come down for someone — She needed to ensure her influence returned somehow.”

“Voila,” she spun around on her heel and entered the light again, dropping the glamour to show her true form to the helpless creature before her. “Here I am, an anti-messiah here to bring about the fall of the Auradonian empire.” A low cackle echoed through the chamber, and she watched the faerie quake in response. It brought a gleeful smirk to her purple lips, a faint thing that disappeared as she returned to walking the shadows of the crypt. “Mother created me with glorious purpose, a tool to determine the true fate of this world. It’s my destiny to bring an end to Auradon as we know it, and I mustn’t fail her. It is the very reason I was made; to burn down the world you all know and love.” Walking back to the other she reached out with small, clawed hands and began to pull at the fabric draped over their torso. The faerie was pinned down on their stomach, their head angled to watch her from the bench. As their clothing fell away, a pair of shimmering iridescent wings sprung free, beating hastily above their back. The faerie hovered off the stone slab but the enchanted chains imprisoning them pulled them back down onto their stomach hard. The air knocked out of them in a loud gasp and they panted heavily for air. A small layer of golden faerie dust coated the stone around them, and Fae ran a single finger through it, inspecting the dust collected on the tip curiously.

“In order to live up to my glorious purpose… there is a lot I have to do. You see, just like my mother and father… I must travel to Bald Mountain, perform a dark ritual, and open the powers which lie dormant in me. Magic is… so new to me. I was overwhelmed by it when I first came to this land. It’s potential. My potential. In order to fully awaken that power I have, I need to slowly bring out my magic. As it turns, it responds to other magic. Specifically good magic. Mother’s ritual includes devouring that which is good in order to bring that which is bad. Hasn’t it been said that darkness cannot exist without the light? That’s my first step; cultivate enough light to bring out my deepest shadows.” Slowly she brought the gold dusted finger to her face, sniffing and then licking it off the digit until not a speck remained. Her eyes glowed a shimmering gold and she let out a shuddered breath. Faerie magic, vibrating within her. Fae’s gaze flashed back to the faerie’s horrified face. “You’re going to be the first step. The War was won with a little… oh what’s the ridiculous moniker? Faith, trust and pixie dust? The first two mean nothing, frankly, but the last…” She giggled darkly, “Well I guess I we’ll see how that goes, now won’t we?”

Her smile turned menacing as she turned her back then to the pitiful faerie, now lucid enough to beg for mercy. When the word flew past their lips, Faerilyth saw red. “Mercy? You desire mercy?” She spat it out like poison, twisting around to face the pathetic creature. “What makes you think I, the dark fey, have mercy to give? Let me show you what mercy I have for you.” She shook her shoulders and in a swift motion the cloak dangling off them flew away. She reached a clawed hand behind her to tear away the back of her dress and dropped the last remnant of glamour she had before turning her exposed back to the creature. The gasp of horror was expected and yet it still cut through Fae, the only thing that could wound her. With eyes closed, she imagined the ghastly sight, having refused to look at it herself. She knew what her back looked like. Long obsidian scars over her shoulder blades, with leathery skin surrounding the crevices, and two sickly nubs where her wings should have been. One was longer than the other, with scarred purplish skin having grown over it. The other was smaller, barely a bump on her back, but a small piece of bone still protruded from it, the skin never growing over it. That one hurt the most, a constant reminder as she sat tall and straight among the royals of what she was and what her purpose was. She stood there and let them stare at the mutilation, the way she truly was and the way no one had ever seen her as before. Not Mercedes. Not her father. Maybe once her brother. And only once ever Maleficent.

“Do you know what mercy will be for you?” She asked in a hiss of a whisper, “Killing you so you don’t have to walk this earth as a deformed creature; a bird without flight.… But that’s too generous for me.” She turned back around to face them, a loud sizzling sound filling the darkness. The faerie’s eyes widened at the sight of her hands, glowing red and blistering as her fists tightened around the iron barbed wire. “Maybe I’ll let you suffer as I, lets find out if you even survive the extraction.” Before the faerie could protest and beg, Faerilyth fell upon them, twisting and binding the base of those shimmering beautiful wings in the wire. There was a loud hiss, a cloud of smoke flying into her nostrils, and the smell of burnt flesh as the faerie screeched out in horrific pain. Faerilyth felt the corners of her mouth lifting upwards into a maniacal smile as she twisted and pulled, slowly severing the veins connecting to the faerie’s skin. There was a sickening tearing noise as she pulled away, the snapping of the spine on the wings as they gave way to the iron cord. With a loud rip one half of the wings broke away, falling lifelessly and bent to the floor by her feet, leaving behind an inch of spine and a few thousand nerve ends on fire. She didn’t wait for them to calm before performing the same hack job on the other wing, once more pulling and tearing away until it came off with a snap.

Gold dust and smoke danced in the air between them, sticking to Faerilyth’s face and hair and hands and arms as she pulled away. She held up the second broken half of the wing triumphantly in her fingers, turning it over. The shimmer was still there but she could tell it was dying from being severed off. “I’ll have to grind this down swiftly,” she said between labored breaths. Swiping dust from her eyes, she gathered the wings and tossed them into a sack, hurling the iron back into its velvet pouch and away from her burning hands. When she unfurled her fists, her palms and fingers were charred. “That’ll be a tough heal,” she commented casually, using a bit of magic to begin healing the skin. Thank goodness for those stupid gloves ladies wore. Letting out a deep breath, she turned to assess her victim. “My, my, my… still alive now are we?” She chuckled, walking to the faerie breathing heavily on the slab. She bent down and eyed them for a long moment. “….how unfortunate. I was hoping you wouldn’t make it through that. I must commend you, you’re a whole lot tougher than I thought you’d be.”

Taking a seat on the edge, Faerilyth took a moment to even her breathing. “Well,” she started after a long stretch of silence, “I think we’ll find better use for you yet.” There was a nervous rattle of chains behind her in response, prompting a chuckle. “No, not for dust… you’re all out, I’m afraid. No, there’s another purpose for you… I ensured it, should you live. And that should be coming right about…. Now.” As she concluded her statement there was a loud heavy bang from the darkness; a knock upon a metal door. “Enter,” she ordered, and they waited as a door creaked open, scratching the stone floor, and someone came into the light. “You must be Madam Plaisir,” Faerilyth said, her fanged smile wide and unnerving. She slid off the slab and stepped aside, motioning to the broken faerie laid down upon it. “I told you I would have a new friend for you,” she smirked. “A beautiful one too; imagine how your customers would take to such a lovely faerie. I’ve been told that they were particularly well liked by the prince… just not his favorite. Unfortunately she was a bit too preoccupied for me to catch her. Now, I believe we agreed upon payment prior.” Fae held out her hand, waiting for the money to be deposited onto it.

“I thought we agreed on all the body’s goods,” said the woman before her; the local brothel owner, hidden under layers upon layers of dark clothing. Her voice was scratchy and low, deteriorating from years of drug use and age.

Faerilyth’s lips twitched. “We agreed upon you getting a new courtesan and that’s it. The rest is mine. Should you not agree to my bargain…. Then I guess I’ll just keep it all to myself—”

“No, no,” Madam Plaisir spoke hastily. “It is agreed…. So long as the memory is wiped, of course. Can’t have it going to the authorities, or worse back to its prince.”

Faerilyth rolled her eyes, “Naturally the memory will be wiped…. I just monologued to this pathetic thing, I can’t let it leave here remembering.” With that, Faerilyth turned back to the faerie, choosing to address them one last time before handing them over. She leaned down close, her dusty face mere inches from the exhausted horrified one below. “And that will be my mercy to you…. Yes, you will have a very difficult life going forward but at least you won’t have to live with the memory of the scars and what they represent, what was taken from you. Imagine how painful that is.” Before they could respond, she waved a glowing hand over their face and their eyes went instantly blank, their mind slowly reconfiguring itself to nothing. “Get it out of my sight,” Fae ordered the woman, who called out to her henchmen to carry the body away. A stack of money was dropped on her work bench and Fae barely registered it.

“What will you do with it? The dust, I mean?” the woman asked curiously.

Faerilyth didn’t lift her head as she whispered back, “Destroy everything.”

﹍﹎♱ 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓻 𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓑𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮 ♱﹎﹍

The fountain’s water was deliciously cold, lapping at her legs as she laid them within. Her giggles mingled with the splashes as she kicked the water aside, discarded petals of pinks and yellows and whites floating on the surface and filling up the pool of water. “He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not,” were being chanted repeatedly as more petals joined the fray, sprinkling the water. With each petal plucked, Briar Rose’s heart thrummed a little more quicker, a light airiness filling her chest. It was like she had a permanent case of the butterflies, a thrill of excitement filling her to the brim. She was in love — at long last so deeply, passionately in love. The one thing she’d hoped so desperately for, had prayed nightly to have, finally in her life. True love, the sort of magical deep and profound connection she’d seen in a stranger’s eyes. In her true love’s eyes — it must have been them she saw from across the refreshment table. Her pink faced, balding, rotund love. She hadn’t cared what he looked like — his complexion matched her favorite color after all, and the shiny span of flesh above his head was completely charming. She had more than enough hair for the both of them. And his protruding belly? Well… more to cuddle she assumed. She didn’t care that he wasn’t a perfect and traditionally handsome man, she was in love. Irrevocably so. No one could ruin such a wonderful realization.

“He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he…” She trailed off after plucking the last petal on the final flower she mischievously pulled from the faerie prince’s garden. “Oh it can’t be,” Briar sighed, staring at the last traitorous petal as it floated to the water. “True love does not go unrequited. Surely my darling Sidney feels the same for me, you lecherous plant.” Scolding a flower over a childish game seemed highly undignified for a young lady of her standing, but Briar pouted at it despite that. Sliding her legs out of the fountain and tossing her loose blonde waves over her shoulder, she turned with purpose back towards the garden and plentiful flowering bushes around her. “No matter, I will simply reverse this curse by finding a more agreeable flower to partake,” she huffed, letting her fingers dance over the soft velvety petals of daisies, peonies, lilies and roses as she made her way down the colorful lanes of the garden. As she moved through, she was completely unaware of the inhuman blue eyes watching her from the shadows, seemingly in her own world and deeply occupied by the ridiculous task at hand. “Which of you will validate my love?” She asked the flowers softly, leaning close and brushing her nose against their sweet fragranced buds. She giggled in a way she hadn’t since childhood, seemingly carefree and occupied in no trouble at all. She was unaware of how intrigued the shadow was of her unbridled girliness and joy, how it hungered for her innocence.

“You,” Briar Rose said with such confidence, her slender fingers pinching the stem of a lovely white flower. “You my little darling, I feel as though you are going to see the validity of my love and bring it such confidence. Shall we?” Before she could pull it away from the bush, there was a snap and rustling from beyond the garden which startled Briar Rose. She instantly let go of the flower and stood upright, staring down the dark twisting paths and around her to catch sight of the intruder. “Who’s there?” She called out sharply, hazel eyes searching every shadowy corner for a hint of movement. “….I heard you just now, lurking. No sense in hiding, I assure you that there is so little to be afraid of. I’m a lot more docile than I may appear.” As if it were a joke, an echoing laugh, sweet and melodic, came calling from the shadows. She frowned at the response, feeling infantilized by it but noting it was the laughter of a female. That made her feel less embarrassed to be caught by it. “Don’t be afraid, come where I may see you,” she called again.

“I find it charming that you think I could be afraid of you,” the voice responded from somewhere behind her. Briar whirled in the direction of it, staring down a shadowy lane flanked by hedges. She could barely make out the silhouette of a person, someone average height but made taller by…. Were those horns?

“In truth,” she replied, “It was I that was startled, I merely… didn’t want to appear weak.” Why she was revealing such a thing to a frightening shadow she didn’t understand. She only hated it more when they chuckled quietly back. “You mock me now.”

“Oh no, my lady, I would never do so.”

“Then why do you laugh?”

She saw a bit of movement in the shadow, the figure shifting its weight but still not moving into the light. It was quiet a moment before it responded. “I thought a lot about how this moment between us may transpire. I just hadn’t imagined it would be so similar to when the ones who came before us had first met.”

The words confused the blonde, whose eyes narrowed at the shadowy figure still concealed from her vision. She tried once more to make it out, unsure if those curved horns she perceived were real or a trick of the darkness. biting her lip, she nodded at them. “Come into the light,” she commanded quietly, taking an experimental step forward. “Please. Tell me who you are and… Let me see you.” Briar had a feeling she knew, but at the same time it couldn’t be. If this were the child she had been told to avoid since their arrival… Then what they said did not line up with what she knew of their combined legacy. Their mothers never met. She swore it.

Another chuckle was heard. “I believe this is where I caution you that you would be afraid if I did that,” the shadow responded. But despite the words, she saw movement and slowly the figure came into the light. Briar was shocked by the person she was greeted with, though she’d seen them from afar plenty a time since their arrival in Auradon. As the moonlight bathed over the girl, she found that there were no horns, nor a staff or evil looking raven on her shoulder. She did not appear as sharp or frightening as her mother was said to be. No, the person who came before Briar Rose was nothing more than a docile and sweet looking blonde girl, one whose only rarities were electric blue eyes and enviable high cheekbones she swore she’d never seen in another. It made her fear she looked much more plain though she knew that wasn’t so. Her frock was nothing special, nor were the evening gloves she wore. “What?” The girl she knew to be called Faerilyth spoke up, “Was I not what you were expecting, my lady?”

Briar actually scoffed, surprising even herself, at the sight of the positively innocent looking maiden. “Well certainly nothing to be afraid of,” she said with a light teasing tone to her words. If she had offended Miss Moor, the other blonde didn’t show it. She was sweet looking but rather stoic, not revealing emotion in her vivid blue eyes or stance. Her smile was small and tight, not changing by even a fraction. She seemed at present either amused or just blasé about their interaction, her exact emotion hard to pin for Briar Rose. She would have spent more time dissecting Faerilyth Moor’s acute expressions, but she gasped when she suddenly remembered her darling Sidney was somewhere inside that manor, likely the object of every eligible young lady’s affection and sparing attention to any number of them but her. “I’m sorry if you were hoping for more from this introduction, but I’m afraid I must be off,” she said in a hurried tone, beginning down the route to pass Miss Moor and return to the party. “My dear Sidney Winterley is inside and I must convey the ferocity of my desire for him before he chooses another to marry,” she stated in a matter of fact tone. “I cannot dally, I truly apologize.”

As she nearly passed Faerilyth, the other’s arm shot out to stop her in her tracks, and Briar Rose was shocked when she felt the other’s deathly cool slender hand against her warm cheek. “My, my, that is a strong enchantment they have on you,” Faerilyth remarked, softly stroking the other girl’s cheek. Briar gave her a confused look, unsure what the woman was referring to. She wasn’t sure if she was uncomfortable by the intimacy of their touch either, feeling quite all over the place in that moment. She wanted to argue against her, to order her away so she could go profess her love to the elderly bachelor inside. But she felt rooted in place, unable to move. She couldn’t even speak as Faerilyth’s hand moved to brush loose golden hair from out of her face. “It would not be kind to leave you under this influence, allow me to lift the spell from you.”

Before she could protest, Briar’s vision was whited out by a blinding light which felt almost as if it came from within. She blinked hastily against it, wanting to reach up and wipe the light from her eyes. When she opened them again it was gone, but it had taken a moment to adjust again to the darkness. Her head was foggy, a small headache forming. She felt uncomfortable and confused, bringing the ball of her hand to rub tenderly at her temple. “Oh my…. I do feel a tad dizzy,” she remarked after a moment, confused even by the sound of her own voice. She felt so… far off? She wasn’t quite sure. She did not even register the hand grasping her elbow and leading her away from where they’d stood. Not until she was brought to the fountain and felt a wet, cool hand upon her forehead.

“Mhmm, as expected, a slight fever. Don’t worry, it’ll wear off soon enough. Faerie magic is rather potent, it will take a moment for it to truly leave your system. For now, you may feel groggy or even confused at times. Your rational mind is trying to see through the haze they put you under, but you’ll be fine. Just sit here for a little while, you’ll be okay.” The words came out of Faerilyth so fast, she could barely keep up. Faerie magic? The haze? She was desperately confused, but Briar nodded along to her words, shakily taking a seat on the edge of the fountain. It was then she noticed the other was leaving.

“Wait,” she called out hastily, reaching a shaking hand out. “…Wait, please. Please don’t go just yet.” Her voice was weak as she reached up to run two fingers over her tender temple. “I don’t feel quite confident alone… Would you stay with me while my ‘rational mind’ fixes itself?” It was an odd request, one she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to make, and yet she waited anxiously for the other to sit with her.

To her absolute surprise, Faerilyth complied. Wordlessly the other blonde sat down on the fountain beside her, silent and stoic again as they both sat still and listened to the night. There was the sound of the distant party back in the manor, as well as sounds of the night, but it was predominantly quiet there. Peaceful even. Briar found herself relaxing a lot quicker when they sat in silence. So much so, she began to understand what had happened. “Unbelievable,” she said after a moment, causing a curious glance from her neighbor. She shook her head. “Rational mind is catching up, I’m afraid. ….Sidney Winterley. They bewitched me to be in love with such an odious man? My Gods. I must have made such a fool of myself already, for I’m not sure even how long I suffered such an unfortunate enchantment.“ She grew quiet as she rested her face in her hands, clearly exhausted. “They all must be laughing at my expense — the girl who spurned off many a handsome gentleman declaring fervent love for that grotesque fiend. He prays on young women you know. He’s positively vile.”

Her rambling was met with silence for a brief moment before Faerilyth spoke up. “I think you’re not the only unlucky one to be a pawn in their games tonight,” she replied in a shockingly soft tone, causing Briar to look up at her in surprise. “There are many a people acting as uncharacteristic fools tonight. I dare say you’ll walk from this unscathed. For what it is worth, I don’t think you revealed your heart to the ‘odious man’ just yet.” Faerilyth had saved her the true humiliation. Mostly, anyway — her lack of shoes and loose hair was already a stain on her reputation, should anyone else see her in such a state. And after Briar had spent so much time with her maids putting her hair up in such an elaborately gorgeous style.

They grew silent again, Briar trying without much luck to calm the headache she was immobilized with. She rubbed at her temples, closed her eyes against any harsh light, and tried to even her breath with no success. She would have to endure the pain until the symptoms of her enchantment completely washed away it seemed. She figured it was best not to dwell on the misfortune for too long. A rare opportunity presented itself with Faerilyth Moor so near. Her parents had told her from the beginning that she was not to interact with the child of Maleficent, the mini Mistress of Evil as they feared her to be. But so far? She seemed so… docile. Did she not just save Briar from such embarrassment? Perhaps her parents were completely wrong about her. At least it appeared so… she thought so anyway.

She had not noticed she’d been staring at Faerilyth until a questioning glance was sent her way, those imhumanly blue eyes pulling her out of her trance with a start. Briar Rose actually blushed in response to being caught gaping so openly at the other. She cleared her throat and attempted to recompose herself. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, “It’s just…. I know this is so strange to say, given you have been trapped away in the Shadow Realm until recently, but… I don’t know. There’s something oddly familiar about you. About your shadow...” She thought back to the silhouette in the darkness from back in the garden. “Strange as it seems I feel as though you’ve been this shadow following me my whole life, there in the dark ever since I was a little girl.” She blushed again, “A silly thought, I know, but…” Again Faerilyth chuckled breathlessly in response and Briar pouted. She did not like being a joke to this woman. “You laugh again.”

Faerilyth shook her head in reply. “Your mother had said nearly the exact same to mine, that is all.”

Briar’s brow furrowed as she turned to the other. She’d made the suggestion before, one she knew for a fact wasn’t true. Why was she saying this now? “You’re mistaken, Miss Moor,” she said after a moment, “Our mothers never met. At least, mine was not awake when they were occupied in the same space. Should you not count when her Excellency Maleficent appeared at her christening, of course.” She knew this, she knew the story so well. The only one to interact with Maleficent was her father, when he smote her. “You must be thinking of someone else,” she concluded.

Faerilyth was quiet, and Briar thought she was mentally correcting herself. That was until she replied, “They really fed you such remarkable lies, didn’t they? I suppose it would make sense. It would be hard to reconcile my mother as the villain to the narrative if the history shared between her and Aurora was well known.” She shrugged and Briar felt a shock of confusion and anger at her response.

“My parents wouldn’t lie to me,” she shot back. Faerilyth just gave her a look.

“Haven’t they already?”

The words stung, the girl remembering the look of pure shock on her father’s face when she found him in the study with his valet in a completely compromising position. She tried to wipe away the memory, not wanting to dwell on it. Instead she turned away to look at anything but Faerilyth, falling deathly quiet. Then she heard the other sigh.

“Would you believe me if I said I was sorry for my words?”

She thought on it. “No but I’ll accept it anyway.”

Faerilyth laughed, seemingly ever amused by her. It grew solemnly quiet between them after that, the pair once more seemingly occupied in their own thoughts. Or at least Briar was — her mind was absolutely buzzing, what parts of it were still not tampered by faerie enchantment anyway. She kept turning over the words she’d said. If Faerilyth were telling the truth, had their mothers really interacted… There was a whole other facet to their legend left unspoken. She knew something was amiss, sensed many holes in the story her father repeatedly told her. Could this have been what was missing? The missing key to the tale of “true love’s kiss” that could explain what she couldn’t understand? She was full of nerves when she spoke up finally, a cross between curiosity and not wanting to give Faerilyth the satisfaction of “being right”. Still she raised her voice just to speak intimately with the other.

“How did they meet? If I’m to believe such a preposterous idea is true?” She asked in a whisper.

Faerilyth had quietly considered the question before shaking her head. “I don’t think now is a good time to discuss it, my lady.”

Briar scoffed in an undignified fashion. “Then surely you are lying,” she concluded confidently.

Faerilyth’s expression grew angry, tiresome with the girl as she turned back to her. “I assure you, Lady Rose, I am not the one who’s been lying to you,” she almost spat at her, and Briar was chastised by the implication of her words. Her father had lied to her about something — who’s to say this wasn’t another thing they concealed from her? “Besides,” Faerilyth added in a softer tone, “You are still dealing with the side affects of that spell. It is better that we have this conversation when you are well rested.”

Briar paused. “So you mean to say that you will tell me what you’re referring to?”

“Eventually, I believe so.”

~ ♰ ~

What Briar Rose didn’t know is that this was all by design. Yes, Faerilyth could have just told her what she wanted to hear, given her some hint as to what actually went down in the past, but she couldn’t give her the satisfaction just yet. It was not just the pixie dust which Faerilyth had been attempting to steal that night, there was another task she’d silently given herself since the previous night’s announcement. She showed her followers the spindle, she knew what more she needed for that part of the enchantment. Blood. The Blood of the Sleeping Beauty. There were ways she could get it but one way stood out most to her. She needed to ingratiate herself to this young woman before her, to cause a shadow of doubt on her most important relationships, to isolate her from the influence of others. So then when the time came, she gave her blood willingly. She would trust in no one but Faerilyth. It was a difficult plan but she was already planting those seeds of doubt, and soon she would reap the benefits.

“I should go home, before I end up victim of another spell and make even more a fool of myself,” Briar spoke up after a minute. She had her head in her hands again, looking absolutely pitiful. Faerilyth could almost feel bad for her, if she felt anything at all. She did in a way hold a strong protective instinct for her, but it wasn’t out of deep sentiment. She had a weird obsession with the woman her mother had regarded as her true daughter; in return she had a weird obsession with that woman’s own child. She wasn’t even sure she liked Briar Rose, she just… fancied her in an odd way. It made her feel sick. “Chattermore will report on this event, I just know it,” Briar added in a sobering tone.

Faerilyth was quiet for a moment more before she responded. “Let me walk you home, Lady Rose. That way you can avoid this Chattermore sooner rather than later.” She didn’t know what the girl was referring to exactly, and she could tell by Briar’s bemused grin that she was likely wrong about avoiding her. Still, she nodded and rose to her feet, spying around the fountain for her discarded shoes.

“Will you give me some grain of truth in our story as we walk?” She asked when she finally located her belongings, putting her shoes on and falling into step beside Faerilyth. “I would like to understand something.”

“What is that?”

“How my father could break the curse your mother lay upon mine when he doesn’t feel that way for her.”

A tall order, Faerilyth could recognize. Offering her arm to the other — she seemed to stumble a bit on her feet, still hazy from the spell — she shrugged. “My dear that is the ending of our tale. I’m afraid if I am to give you any information, then we must start at the beginning and work our way there.” She could see the aggravation in Briar’s eyes but the girl seemed to silently concede. “You lead and I will speak,” she said, pretending she didn’t know where the Basille townhome was, and that she hadn’t stood outside it late in the evenings just staring daggers at it. Waiting on Briar Rose to find her footing and begin the walk towards the Garden District, Faerilyth gave some thought to what she could say to begin the story.

“Right then,” she started, “Our story — the true, unchanged one, begins in a mystical place called the Moors, and starts with a young winged girl named Maleficent and the only boy she would ever, in all her life, come to love.” She paused dramatically as they pushed aside the small wooden gate at the back of the faerie prince’s garden and found their way down the lanes of the Fey Burrough.

Briar’s brow had furrowed. “And who might that boy be?” The thought of Maleficent ever being in love seemed a very unbelievable idea. She wasn’t far off.

Faerilyth just gave her a sideways smirk as they stopped beneath a lantern post. “None other than the man who would come to be known as King Stefan, of course. Your grandfather.” The remainder of the walk, Faerilyth revealed the beginning of their conjoined history — she spoke of the enchanted forest Maleficent had presided over, of the boy thief who would come to be her friend and eventually more, and of the betrayal she would suffer in response in order for him to pursue his own glory. As she spoke of the severing of her mother’s wings, she could sense the curious way Briar looked at her bare back and shoulders, and felt a tingling in her flesh in her response. But neither spoke of it, neither gave voice to the unsaid questions. As they found themselves before the townhouse, she had concluded the story of what actually occurred at the christening, of her mother’s true intentions. “Perhaps it was not so different from the truth after all, but now you at least know why she was cursed to slumber until true love’s kiss awoke her, what truly offended her.”

Briar seemed unsure, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I suppose, but I’m still a tad confused…. You will tell me more, right?”

Faerilyth nodded, “Eventually, yes, I will. But for now I believe we must call it a night, Lady Rose. As I said, your enchantment will disappear after much rest. I promised you as much.” Briar smiled appreciatively, and Faerilyth marveled at how much she liked to see the response. It meant it was going well; her plan was slowly forming. Briar Rose was beginning to trust her.

“Can you answer one last question for me?” Faerilyth resisted the urge to roll her eyes and only nodded. “Why did Maleficent choose True Love’s Kiss as mercy for my grandfather’s actions?” It seemed to truly trouble the girl, this true love nonsense. Faerilyth decided not to keep her completely in the dark.

“Because, my lady, if we are speaking candidly to one another,” Faerilyth started, leaning closer to her, “Then you must know: True Love does not exist.” With that being said, Faerilyth leaned away from her and back towards the street. “And I think I’ll leave you with that.”

“But when can we talk again?” Briar Rose asked impatiently. She was clearly deeply affected by Faerilyth’s words. Not a surprising thing considering how important the notion of True Love was to this girl and her identity.

Faerilyth thought for a moment. “I’m sure there will be time at the next event, my lady. Now then, off to bed.” Before there could be any protest, Faerilyth flicked a finger at her and the girl went silent and still, her eyes glazing over as slowly she turned and marched mechanically into the house. Faerilyth waited until the door closed and some more before she turned to walk away. It was not how she expected to end the night, but then maybe it went better than she could have ever hoped. Briar Rose was quickly becoming a pawn in her game… now she needed to do the same with a few of the other pathetic nobles.

“All in due time, Fae, all in due time,” she chanted to herself as she walked back to the boarding house, suddenly tired of faeries and maidens at least for the time being.

[nebula-starlight]

Corrupt (Part 11 - Glitch)

Narssia was fast asleep on the couch, having crashed there after accompanying Mark out the day earlier to just truly get some fresh air. She hadn’t seen much of the city when she first arrived but now with her no longer fearing Void would take her over and go on a killing spree, it had seemed like a fine idea to get out of the house for a bit. He’d even been nice enough to treat her to a meal, insisting he knew a great place but it was a bit of a drive. Now, however, she was lost in her dreams... blissfully unaware of the world around her.

The sound of a gun going off roughly startled her awake, frantically clutching at the thin sheet that lay over her body as she timidly eyed the pink haired man that stood not far from her. He resembled Mark but had a pink mustache, wearing pink suspenders as well over a long-sleeve yellow shirt. As she watched, he lowered the still smoking gun, twirling it once before slipping it behind his back.

 “Well hello there, missy.” His voice seemed to fluctuate between registers, adopting a quirky but quickly likable drawl that made Narssia relax her grip somewhat on the sheet, thankful she’d fallen asleep in a tank top and shorts for once.

“I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance,” she muttered, trying to stifle a yawn while rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat up.

“My name is Wilford Warstache and-“

“Will, come here for a second.”

Narssia heard the ringing first before she even picked up on Dark’s voice, immediately cowering back slightly in alarm as her eyes flickered to the entryway into the main hall to see the demon glaring in. She thought at first his gaze was on her but once he mentioned her visitor she understood. Wilford probably wasn’t supposed to use his gun indoors if she had to guess what he was being pulled aside for.

“Sure thing Damien!”

He seemed all too happy to comply, leaving the room with a soft whistle as his choice of names confused Narssia. Who was this Damien he’d mentioned? She only knew Dark and even then it wasn’t like she saw him but a handful of times since arriving in the first place.

As the two men talked outside, she had time to fully get up and fold the couple of sheets Mark had set out for her to use on the couch in place of a bed. She’d asked him once if he had a guest room in his multi storied home but he brushed her off, laughing that it was used to house quite a bit of junk. Naris had her doubts about how true that was but she let the matter drop, thankful he at least let her crash on the couch each night.

Stretching as she finished, she glanced up at the clock on the wall and suddenly realized why it seemed so bright outside to her even with curtains closed. The time was almost noon, absurdly later than the regular time she’d been woken up. Almost always Mark would be messing around in the kitchen beside the den and it would wake her but that hadn’t happened. Entire she slept right through it or...

“Listen up, child.” Her head snapped back to the other side of the room as Dark entered, Wilford right behind him. “Seeing as Mark is currently upstairs suffering through a bout of illness, we reluctantly came to an agreement that you could come with us today.”

“What?”

The demon held up a hand, silencing her confused protest. “Do come along. I’m terribly afraid we don’t have much time to properly explain. Consider this your introduction to the heart and soul of Mark’s channel.”

Narssia hesitated at first in uncertainty, only forced into action when she noticed Wilford reach for his gun. She didn’t really have a choice in the matter after all...

Void sat in the darkness, watching thin strands of white light mix with her aura and then fade away. She knew what the color meant... even if it did bring back painful memories. Her mind was clear for once - both a blessing and a curse. To think she hadn’t even told Nether when she had the chance. All those letters sent back and forth with no mention of it. If she had found the strength to tell him... perhaps she would have resisted being Corrupted.

She shook her head, a low growl rumbling past her torn throat as she pressed her wingblades closer to her body. Nothing could have saved her from her fate. Even if she hadn’t fallen to the darkness would he have accepted what they created together? Souls didn’t often fuse their essences but when they did it was because they had truly found the partner of their heart and wished to pass that love on to a future generation. Nether didn’t just kill her when he sliced through her neck... he also took away that chance at them having an offspring of their own.

He hadn’t even known the truth when he chased her down. All those high and mighty Council members had filled his head with lies upon his return, making up some story about how she started killing innocents out of the blue. In reality, however, she’d taken it upon herself to help more and more frequently at the clinics spread across their great city. The effort drained her, diminishing her color to a more darker grayish hue which could have been taken as a sign of possession if one had only taken a brief glance.

Void snorted, tail curling around one of her legs as sparks of her magic tried to shimmer from her barren wingblades. She hadn’t even been able to see him upon his return, having been with a young hatchling who’d sprained a wing. The assistant director of that particular clinic had gotten her attention as she started to leave the room, informing her that she had to run for her life. Somehow Nether had been convinced she was wanted for murder and was coming to kill her.

She remembered well how she fled from the city she’d lived in her whole life, vanishing into the outside wilderness where she had nothing to rely on but her instincts. Nether had tracked her at every turn, always several days behind but never giving up the chase until she found herself up in the mountains to the far north. The air had been cold, fresh snow on the ground as she landed roughly amidst a coughing fit. Her head had been killing her, lack of sleep making her jump at the slightest sound. All she wanted was a warm bed and a good meal, tired of always being on the move. If he desired her demise then so be it. She was done running.

It had been nearly dark when she heard him land behind her, turning to face him with as much dignity as she could muster. If he thought she was acting like a cornered animal she didn’t care... wanting to see what he had become. The sight that met her gaze hadn’t sat well at first but now she could only chuckle at how naive she’d been back when she was alive.

Nether had been clothed in the bright red tunic belonging to their military, his eyes nearly blending with the fabric as she noticed his coloring had changed to a more murky gray. It seemed he wasn’t as pure as he had originally been.... but whether that was a result of his most recent mission or not she had no idea. He’d said nothing at first, silently gazing at her before crossing the short distance between them. Even though she had to physically hold herself back from lunging right into him, she knew deep inside that something wasn’t right. She’d never done anything to harm another spirit! How quickly they overlooked the fact that her gift was healing after all. If the Council truly had wanted to turn him against her there were a multitude of ways that didn’t involve an almost certain death. Void had honestly thought she was liked by the higher-ups overseeing Nether’s particular division but apparently she was wrong.

She’d cautiously approached, trying and failing to say just what was on her mind before he stopped with a shake of his head. The way he almost immediately took a step back afterward told her his heart wasn’t in it... that maybe there was a chance she could clear away whatever fog had clouded his judgement. No matter the risk she had to try!

The next thing she knew he lunged at her, maw open before his jagged teeth came snapping down on one of her wings. Shrieking, she spun around, struggling to get free as she tried to jerk away but only made the damage worse. His grip was surprisingly strong, unmoving no matter how hard she squirmed. Of course she felt it the instant it happened in her core when the beautiful green glow of her captive wing ceased to shine, watching in shocked silence as the see-through membrane shattered like glass. Void suspected he quickly did the same to her other wing while she was still stunned, having no real memory of experiencing that numbing sensation twice.

At least he had the decency to back away once he severely impacted her magic, letting her come to terms with what had been done. It was the ultimate branding - rendering a spirit flightless while also marking them as an outcast who could no longer be trusted with the most sacred gift the Ancestors had bestowed upon their kind. Her life’s work was over now. With no magic how could she make a living? And not just for herself but...

Void shuddered, eyes squeezing shut as she recalled how her gaze had slowly risen from blankly staring at one of her now barren wings to glaring at the shadowed form of her beloved, realizing he had turned around while she herself had been silently bemoaning the loss of her once stable income. How dare he do this to her! Was she not his as overseen by the Ancients? Why would such a peace-keeping spirit suddenly exile his own love without any prior warning of mental or physiological instability?

She rushed at him, screaming his name with all her breath until he turned and she felt something sharp tear across her throat. Her voice failed her, falling silent as she staggered back a step and used one of her foretalons to inspect the wound since it was below what she could see at regular height. There was no surprise when she saw the splatters of blood, knowing it was an accident. It had to be an accident! Her soul-mate wouldn’t just...

“Where the fuck am I now? I swear that demon is...”

Void stiffened at the unknown voice, blinking first and then quickly realizing she had been crying. Frantically trying to dry the tear tracks with several panicked twitching of her wingblades, she still found herself flinching slightly at the abrasiveness of the words. There was an accent there too that she didn’t immediately recognize...

“State your reason for coming into this forsaken void.” Her surprisingly steady voice rumbled from deep in her chest as she reluctantly rose to her feet and turned around to properly greet the intruder once she determined where exactly they were located.

“Aren’t you a pretty lassie... Quite an impressive stature too.” The glitch softly chuckled to himself, eyes briefly closing for a moment. “There I go forgetting the main reason I tracked Him down again. Look, where’s Dark?”

Void tilted her head, crouching down before him as her irises gleamed brightly and the wispy trails of her aura slowly appeared. This little virus wanted to see the demon that held her for who knew how long... What harm would there be to tell?

“I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken in thinking that I belong to that monochromatic menace. The demon you currently seek isn’t here at the moment but I certainly am.” She stalked closer, dropping to all fours as her foreclaws scratched against the dark stone covering much of the realm’s floor. Honestly, she’d become accustomed to the strange space after being trapped within it for so long. “Since I’m feeling rather generous, please, by all means, go ahead and say why you require his attention. Monsieur Dark is a very busy individual as I’m sure you are aware. I’m simply doing him a favor in his absence.”

She circled Anti as she spoke, noting his dark green hair and black ripped clothing. Likely attempts at edginess no less... He didn’t seem like much of a talker though. No matter, she had all the time in the world to get information out of him. At least she thought that was the case.

With barely a sound he exploded into a flurry of green and black glitches, reappearing several steps away with a knife in his hand. Void scoffed at the sight of the weapon, the wispy trails glowing even brighter as she stopped and rose up on her haunches. How dumb was this pesky virus? Even humankind in the past had learned steel did naught against a scaled hide!

“Do think before you make a fool of yourself. All of this can truly be avoided if you just say why you seek him. I won’t even mention our little spat either. Just give me what I want to know and leave - simple as that.”

“Why would I trust you?” Anti spat, twitching slightly as he pointed the knife at her. “You’re too much like that illusion brat...”

While she normally would have silently endured his whole rant, she quickly tuned it out, however, and focused solely on the fact that he knew Nether. Why should she give him any mercy? The corrupted spirit hadn’t when he traced her down and, who knew, maybe this virus was sent from him to find out where she was. Would she have to run for her life again? Not that she was sure how to go about escaping this foreboding place anyway.

“You know Him - that cowardly traitor who ruined my life. I’m not surprised really and why should I be?” Her voice dropped to a raspy hiss, practically seething as she stalked forward; the green of her slitted irises glowing brightly in the otherwise dark expanse of her prison as static swelled around her in response to her emotional state. “One little glitch was all it took to figure out who you are. That Irish menace Dark’s always grumbling about between sessions of trying to break my will.”

“Calm the fuck down lassie! Sheesh, if I’d known how much you hated his guts I’d never brought him up in the first place. What’d he ever do to you in the first place?”

Void hadn’t even realized she was glitching terribly until her still intruding visitor made mention of it. Almost immediately she fell silent, even temporarily quelling the static in the background as she struggled to find a way to properly answer his question without putting her own emotional stability at risk. She’d kept quiet too long about the horror of her past and how she became the broken being she was.

“Why should I tell you ANYTHING?!”

She lunged at the smaller demon, anger and pent-up frustration forcing its way out as a low growl that threatened to shake the very foundations of Dark’s domain. Anti barely managed to avoid being hurt as he glitched away to a safer spot, unable to get away from her flickering glare though as she collected herself mid jump and managed to land on her feet.

“Do cease this petty argument, both of you.”

Void’s continued growl fell into a soft whine before fading away as the sharply dressed demon suddenly appeared between them. She noticed he first looked toward Anti before addressing her but quickly found herself lowering her head submissively once he spoke again.

“Now explain why I must abruptly pull away from my own task to see to this dispute. Yes I understand you came to see me Anti and, quite frankly, I do not care to know why.”

The glitch started to speak but hesitated, glaring briefly at Void before he responded. “Your pet was defending her prison space against the one who invaded it and no explanation would change her mind.”

“Is this true, Void?” Dark’s voice surrounded her, lulling her to a state of almost serene calmness before she realized it.

With a snarl, she jerked back, twitching and somehow managing to shake off the hypnotic influence. Who knew how long he’d been manipulating her into being his obedient little slave. She was no one’s puppet!

“You know what - I’m through with all this. Just how long did you plan to keep me captive here you monochromatic menace? Sure you can smooth talk your way out of every situation but at what cost?” She inched forward toward Dark, eyes narrowed as wisps of her aura gathered along her half folded wingblades. “Let me out of this hellhole! I remember what you did back on Valentine’s Day... how you forced my host to choose. Do you even feel remorse for what you did?”

Void paused to try and calm herself down, letting the eerie green glow diminish until the only thing visible was Dark’s own aura. Snorting in amusement when she received no response, the static abruptly returned as she became violent once more. “No, you don’t. Wanna know why? It’s because monsters like you- like us don’t feel. All we care about is the next kill, the next life we ruin. That’s all there is to our pathetic existence now! We can’t die so we take our rage out on those that certainly can in the hope it makes us feel something, anything other than the nothingness we constantly drown ourselves in.”

Anti twitched behind Dark as Void finished her rant and she smirked, coming to the realization the pesky virus wasn’t so sure he wanted to hang around any longer. Honestly he could leave for all she cared. Her main fixation was right where she wanted him after all...

“You thought you broke me,” she chuckled, taking a step forward as she silently examined the expensive cloth used to create Dark’s suite. “All that time wasted for naught, truly. The only one to ever reduce me to such a state isn’t even here. What would happen if he knew I wonder?” Her body twitched, spastic glitching in place as she felt her aura expand around her. “Keep me captive here any longer and I promise that he’ll learn of it. Heck, for all I know he might already be aware and just hasn’t made a move to get me back yet. The illusion weaver’s a jealous brute when it comes to defending what belongs to him and by Sol no creature stands a chance when he’s on the warpath.”

Void kept her voice low, eyes locked onto the demon as she spoke so she could catch every little change in his mannerism. It wasn’t often she made threats - that was more of Nether’s speciality - but when she did creatures tended to listen up pretty well. Then again, she wasn’t even sure persuasion would work on a demon like Dark. Well what did she have to lose?

“Very well, go on then. I’m sure I’ll come across the illusionist you speak so highly of at some point.” Dark sighed, bringing one hand up from behind his back to snap his fingers. The slightest breeze rippled across the bleak expanse as reality warped and tore open to provide Void a way out to get back to the world where her dear host resided.

She hadn’t thought much of Naris for a while actually... ever since Valentine’s Day and what occurred then. The dragoness hadn’t even tried to help her while she was stuck in this hellhole! No attempt at communication or anything. Oh, she’d let the weakling know how it felt to imprisoned for so long.

Snarling under her breath, she gathered her aura close to herself, letting it build until she could stand it no longer. Like a switch being flipped, her body was engulfed by the energy and turned into a black and green staticky mist. She hadn’t taken a different form in quite some time other than the sudden change into her original body when she was first brought into Dark’s domain. The art of transformation was something most young spirits learned at an early age while in school prior to deciding what their occupation would be.

With a low buzzing from her static, she darted away into the portal Dark had created, leaving the two demons behind as she turned her thoughts straight to torturing the one dragon who could have helped her months ago but chose not to lend any aid.

[taegdcl1018]

3 Billion Dollars [Part 5] - G Dragon Mafia!AU

Summary: When your father owes 3 billion dollars to the mafia, he must repay his debt. Although things don’t go exactly the way he hoped.

Genre: Maybe fluff, most likely angsty

Warnings: Death, swearing, mentions of kidnapping I think

{part 1} {part 2} {part 3} {part 4} {part 5} {part 6} {part 7} {part 8} {part 9} {part 10} {part 11} {part 12} {part 13} {part 14} {part 15} {part 16} {part 17} {part 18} {part 19} {part 20} {part 21} {part 22} {part 23}

A/N: Sorry for not being able to post anything lately, we had lost power due to 60 mph winds. I hope you like it! This one is a long one. Also, update on the Playlist Scenarios; Tumblr Girls will be posted tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to finish it by today. Sorry again for the delay and I hope you enjoy! 

~ Admin Brooklyn

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Ji Yong knew you saw those girls. He knows that you’ve seen worse, but the feeling of anger and annoyance showed up when he thought of it. He tried protecting you for so long. He didn’t know how you would handle it. He still doesn’t know how you’re currently handling it. You were really quiet in the car, which wasn’t exactly unexpected, but he did expect for you to cry way more than you did. He was worried about you. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.

He looked down at the bodies on the ground. Blood slowly dripping out of the hole in their heads. There were four of them. Two topless hookers and two idiot men. They knew that someone important was coming. Everyone knew to be on their best behavior, but nope they decided to ruin not only their name but Ji Yong’s image on you.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. Trust me.” Seunghyun said, knowing what’s bothering him. Ji Yong shrugged, thinking of your face as he killed your brother. The pure shock and pain that filled your eyes. It was hard for him, but it’s not like he hasn’t killed before. “I know. She’ll have to move on sooner or later.”

“Ji Yong, come here for a second.” Mr. Kwon said. Ji Yong nodded and walked towards his father. Mr. Kwon was talking to three guys at the time. All of which looked like they had been through the worst things you could imagine. They were covered in sweat and dirt, and one of them was bleeding. Mr. Kwon didn’t seem too happy with what they said, despite the smile he gave them. “Yes, dad?”

“Now boys, please repeat to my son what you just said to me.” The boys stood in fear, nodding their heads at uneven, fast speeds. One of the boys went to open their mouths, only to have a hand clamp their mouth shut. Someone else spoke up. “They got away sir.”

“What?” Ji Yong said. His expression was calm, but he was anything but. His eyes glared into the younger’s. They were all scrawny and honestly Ji Yong was surprised that it wasn’t their blood on their shirts. One wore an obnoxious blue and orange polka-dot shirt. He was quiet and standing in the back, purposely trying to hide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite understand what you said. Please repeat yourself and this time, explain.”

Polka-dot sank further down into his shirt collar. Trying to disappear from the world. “They got-”

“Oh no. I don’t wanna hear it from you.” Ji Yong’s voice replicated his father’s. It was smooth but sharp, cutting its way into people’s mind. Woman found it profoundly attractive. He could say a single word in that voice and have panties dropping for miles. People watched as Ji Yong crept up to the scrawny young boy in the blue and orange shirt. “You. Explain to me. What happened for your friends to utter the words ‘they got away’ to me when I gave you a job to do?”

“Well… Um, Mr. G Dragon sir. Well, we had Flynn and some of his crew in the warehouse at first. Everything was going as planned,” G Dragon smiled. Watching the boy squirm and shake in fear of what will happen. The boy paused, causing G Dragon to raise his eyebrow. His questioning looks ushering the boy to continue. “Until they just up and left. We knew that we had to kill them before they left, so we started shooting but it didn’t work and Flynn got away.”  

“What do you mean they just left?” His voice was menacing. His eyes no longer held his arrogance, instead, anger and slight aggravation took its place. The boy seemed to cower away, afraid of what his consequence will be. A boy with blood staining his white shirt spoke up. “Around 9:30 they just left. One of his lackeys said something to him and he left.”

Seunghyun’s head shot up, listening to the conversation. He looked straight at Ji Yong. He wasn’t surprised to see the anger in his eyes, a little vein popping out of his forehead. Ji Yong froze, a little shocked but mostly pissed. “I’ll take care of this dad. You head inside.”

“Good night son.” Mr. Kwon said, before finally heading inside. Ji Yong watched as his father walked inside. It wasn’t until his father had disappeared inside his house did a gunshot ring out. One of the boys collapsed on the ground. Women shrieked and people ran away, avoiding the area. G Dragon stood still his gun pointing at the now dead boy. The boy’s white shirt staining with even more blood.

A car pulled up right behind Ji Yong. He turned and watched as some men got out and opened the trunk. One of them pulled out a silver suitcase, a smaller bag, and a white and pink fluffy stuffed unicorn. “We got everything boss. Her blanket and dog didn’t fit in the case so we put it in the bag with her phone and speaker.”

Ji Yong smiled at them. His usual sweet smile turning into a menacing and slightly insane one. He placed his gun back in the holder. The men stood there awkwardly, staring at the dead body on the floor, a small pool of blood forming under it. “Thank you, boys. TOP and I will take them. Will you please assist these teenagers with cleaning up. Let them know they got the easy punishment for failing a mission.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Your room was huge. The bed was against the left wall. Cream colored sheets covered the queen sized mattress. The walls were a beautiful deep blue shade, completely contrasting to the light cream color of the carpeted floors and wood of the bed frame, dressers, and doors. You hated to admit it, but Ji Yong knew you well. You loved it. It was beautiful, simple and neat. There were three doors in the room, the one you came in from, one you assumed was the bathroom, and the other also assumed to be a closet. As you opened one of the cream doors your suspicions were confirmed. A wide spacious closet with cream colored shelves and a rack with hangers waiting to be used. In the far wall, there was a full body mirror. Everything was empty, becoming useless to you in that moment.

   The third door welcomed you to the bathroom. It was a large bathroom. On the front right corner, there was a huge shower, glass doors enclosing it away. By the back right-hand corner along pristine white bathtub occupied space. A toilet took up space by the wall on the far wall. There was a counter that covered the entire left side of the room, with a wide mirror that covered the entire wall above the counter. On the counter lay two towels and boy clothes folded neatly. Honestly after thinking over what Youngbae said you started to feel crappy. Stress and post-anxiety, as well as trauma, wore you out.

   Quickly you stripped off your clothes and turned on the water, letting the water warm up. You inspect the clothes that were given to you. They were bigger than the size you normally get. Something had fallen from the counter, and as it laid on the floor you realized that they were boxers. Look back at the shirt you recognized the design. They’re Ji Yong’s clothes. You started to regret your decision to take a shower, but it was too late. Steam was leaving the shower, fogging up the glass. You set the shirt back on the counter and pick up the boxers from the floor, before entering the shower.

   A long sigh of relief left your lips as the hot water ran over your body. Your muscles relaxed as the hot water touched it. The water burned a little, leaving little tingles as it hit your skin, but it felt good and warm right after. You soaked your hair before grabbing the shampoo and washing your hair. Up next was your body, grabbing the plain white bar of soap, then conditioner followed. You wrapped hair in a towel then your body in another fluffy towel before stepping out of the shower. You looking down you realized that your clothes were soaked. The results of a long hot shower. All that you had left were Ji Yong’s clothes, and you weren’t really happy with him lately. You put on his clothes, his cologne still lingering on it as well as his sent. Everything was too big for you. His shorts that he had given you loosely hung at your waist, and the shirt barely stayed on your left shoulder. You didn’t really mind, though. You were too tired to deal with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   “It can’t be an accident that he left at 9:30.” TOP said, his eyebrows knit together, deep in thought. Ji Yong half sighed half growled at the thought. “I know, I know, but how in the hell did he find out about her?”

   Currently, Kwon Ji Yong, with a grouchy and irritated expression on his face, carried Miss Cupcake in his arms. The bright fluffy unicorn tucked under his arm, while Seunghyun drags the silver suitcase and carries the other bag in his hand. Honestly, Ji Yong was glad that he put you on the far side of the house, the quietest side. You were far away from any damage, but close enough that he’ll get to you quickly when you needed it.

   “How do you think she’s taking it?” Ji Yong asked nobody in particular. They walked at a steady pace, passing painting after painting. Seugnhyun shrugged. “I don’t really know. I don’t know her too well. She’s not gonna be happy with you, though.”

   “I know. Shit, I’ve fucked up didn’t I?” Ji Yong sighed. He was tired, but his day was almost done. After dropping your things off, he can finally rest. His room was just a few doors down from yours, his request. He was almost done and he can finally sleep for the day. “It’s not like either of you had a choice, though.”

   “Your right.” Ji Yong’s words left his lips as he spotted Youngbae and Gaho standing by your door. Gaho laid down right in front of it, lifting his head as he spotted his master. “She’ll have to get used to it.”

   “She took a shower. She’s out now, I’m not too sure if she’s sleeping, though.” Youngbae informed him. Ji Yong nodded his head, quickly looking down at Gaho who rubbed his head against his leg, seeking attention. Ji Yong petted Gaho before knocking on the door.

“So that is Miss Cupcake?” Seunghyun snorted at the name. Ji Yong frowned at Youngbae, his sour expression turning into a sweet one. “She picked the name okay?”

“Obviously. You suck at name things. Miss Cupcake is a perfect name for something that colorful.” Youngbae snickered. Ji Yong rolled his eyes. His once laidback nature turning more upright as the door handle turned. Youngbae let out one last chuckle at Ji Yong before going silent, a smile still on his face. As the door opened Ji Yong was revealed to the sight of you in his clothes, and god he found it hot as fuck. Your hair was still wet, but that just made the look better. His shirt falling off your left shoulder, and his shorts were baggy on you. He looked into your eyes. They seemed so tired, so worn out, he could relate.

“I got your things.” His words were simple, and the registered in your head, but you didn’t react to him at all. You just stared at him. He gave you a questioning look, showing Miss Cupcake in his arms. You moved away from the doorway, silently inviting him in. Ji Yong gave you a small soft smile, stepping into the room, followed by Seunghyun who actually carried your things. Ji Yong set Miss Cupcake down on your bed. Seunghyun put your suitcase by your bed and the bag on top of it.

“How are you doing princess?” Ji Yong asked cautiously. You rolled your eyes at the stupid nickname you adored when you were five. You scoffed quietly. “Perfectly fine, just you know, dealing with the fact that my best friend not only is in the mafia and never told me but also killed my brother and my mom.”

Ji Yong sighed. He was getting irritated, everyone could see it. You didn’t care, though. You needed answers. Both of you knew it, but only Ji Yong knew you weren’t ready for it. “I didn’t exactly have a choice sweetheart.”

“A choice for what? Joining the mafia? Or killing my family?” Your voice was raising. Ji Yong’s glared at you. His demeanor changed, taking on the familiar look he had whenever you asked about his work. His eyes became emotionless and stone cold. His nature seemed laid back, but he looked ready to strike.

“You are seriously digging your own grave princess.” Ji Yong stalked towards you. Whatever made you talk back to him, pride, confidence, adrenaline, it all seemed to just disintegrate away. You froze, not wanting to back away. “You are currently in not only the wrong house but also the wrong situation to be saying that. Any of that. I’ve been protecting you for your entire fucking life. Appreciate it.”

Ji Yong noticed how your eyes had hints of tears. Not enough for a single tear to fall, but enough for your pain to be noticeable. Ji Yong sighed, raking a hand through his hair. He stepped away from you, giving you space. “Your phone is in the bag. Call, text, email, hell fucking send a bird that you're here and I’ll just kill anyone that comes to find you. Understand?”

You nodded your head, seeing a small hint of sane Ji Yong in him. He sighed once more, looking towards Seunghyun. He seemed to be enjoying himself, watching you two fight. It was quite amusing from a distance. Ji Yong looked at him, then towards the door. Seunghyun put his hands up mockingly and walked out of the room, shutting the door on the way out.

“I know this is a lot to process, and I’m not expecting you to just be okay with everything.” Ji Yong started. His cold persona now gone, and the old Ji Yong replacing it. You looked up into his eyes. He seems sincere, actually caring for your well being. “For now your room is gonna be constantly guarded. You can’t step outside of this room without me knowing. Got it?”

“So you're locking me away like a prisoner?” You ask him, disbelief and anger framing your face. You frown as his jaw sets in place. He’s getting aggravated again, you see it. “Princess, look around you! You think this is what a prisoner's cell looks like? Cause I could show you!”

“A person can act the same away as a demon without having to look like one.” You shut him up. Ji Yong lets out a frustrated groan. His hand goes through his hair once more, brushing away any distraction. “I’ll get you some books, okay? Just stay in here.”

“Why are you keeping me in here? Why can I leave?” You ask him, demanding for answers. He practically growls, glaring at you. A small vein popped out on his forehead. He was getting pissed at you, whether he wanted to or not.

“You saw those hookers. Out there people only care about sex, drugs and keeping everyone off their ass. Out there people will fuck you without giving a shit. Out there people will drug you, kidnap you and do worse shit that you can even think of. That’s fucking why you can’t leave. You can’t leave cause I’m not gonna let you get hurt when I’ve been trying to protect you. Understand?”

Ji Yong’s little rant ended with his final question. You frowned at him. Tears were fully formed in your eyes by now, but you refused to let them fall. Ji Yong saw them, and his heart broke. He sighed once more, losing the tough guy attitude once again. “(Y/N), please tell me you understand. I need to make sure you won’t go out there on your own. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I understand.” You said quietly. Ji Yong gave you a small reassuring smile. He started to calm down, his mind full of problems he needed to sort, though. You continue talking, wanting to get your point across. “That doesn’t mean that I like it, nor does it mean that I like you. I hate you. You killed my family, took me and left my dad there. You’re locking me away and not telling me why I’m here. You knew this was going to happen too. I hate you, and don’t expect that feeling to change easily if it does at all.”

“I don’t think I have to worry about that. You’re stuck with me, princess. That what I knew when I first met you years ago.” Ji Yong’s words hung in the air as he walked towards the door. His back was facing you, not noticing the single tear that had fell despite your wishes. “Your right by the way. I knew what was going to happen to your brother as soon as he was born.”

Ji Yong left the room swiftly. Leaving you alone with your thoughts, your tears, and your pain. You were fully crying now, silent sobs wracked your body. Although you tried staying quiet, your sobs were loud enough for Youngbae to hear. His eyes were on his wrist watch, mentally recording the time you started crying. He was a little happy that you did. He knew you needed to get it out. He watches his best friend as he carried himself down the hall. Ji Yong had stopped at his bedroom door. Looking at Youngbae, who gave him a small salute. Ji Yong sighed as he walked into his room and fallen on top of his bed. All of the today’s events went through his head. Ji Yong took a deep breath, stripping his shirt off of his chest. His shoes slipped off his feet. He went towards his closet, finding comfortable bottoms to wear.

Ji Yong laid in his bed after his nightly routine. As he thought of all the things he needed to do tomorrow, his mind keeps wandering to you. You seemed to consume his thoughts like they always do. He couldn’t the image of you out of his head. So much happened when you were gone. So much changed. You matured, something he noticed right away and was instantly drawn to, not that he’ll admit it. It was decided that he’d take his father’s place soon. Everything with Flynn three years ago. Ji Yong sighed deeply, finally letting sleep consume him.

[crowleysqueenofhellwithasmile]

Saving, Mr. Holmes

Chapter Five- Beasts of The Past

Chapter One

Chapter Two 

Chapter Three 

Chapter Four

Words: 3,673

Warnings: Gore, Language, Sherlock fluff, mention of someone wanting to attempt suicide 

A/N: @onepissedofsquirrel

Baskerville was small and quaint. The walk to the hotel was short but scenic. It would have been refreshing if it were not for the countless “Baskerville Hound” signs littering every block. As we approached, Sherlock would pause momentarily and inspect them. His face held a quizzical look.

“Seems to be nothing more than a legend.” Sherlock stated matter of factly.

“There’s truth behind the craziest of legends Mr.Holmes.” I sing-songed as I continued to walk along. As we were walking we passed a small newspaper stand.I grabbed one and read carefully through some of the pages.

Sherlock sauntered to the front desk and sat his hands on top of the counter. “Three rooms for Holmes.” The man looked at Sherlock, then at the two of us. He turned around and grabbed three room keys. When he spun back around, John, Sherlock, and I had our hands outstretched. The man smiled and dropped a key in each of our hands.

John’s room sat across from mine, and Sherlocks was connected to mine with a small wooden door. I opened the door and slipped into his room. I sat at the small desk in his room and pulled out John’s Laptop from his bag, seeing as I carried it to the hotel. “So get this, Bob Frankland was a research scientist at the Baskerville Military Base near Dartmoor. He was well known for his input on Project H.O.U.N.D which was previously disbanded. Can we keep that door open?” I pointed to the door that connected our rooms.

He gave me an odd look but shrugged it off “I want to get a look at a couple things at this Reasearch Center… me and John will go. Why don’t you check out Dartmoor.”

“Alone?” I looked up at Sherlock the nerves bundled in my lower stomach.

“Don’t worry I was planning on picking up Henry on the way. The man who was in my sitting room.”

“Yes, Sherlock. I know who he is. I guess he is better than nothing.” I opened my purse and pulled my colt out of the hidden pocket. I dispensed the clip and loaded it with silver bullets before tucking it into the back waistband of my pants.

“Do you have any lore that points to what this could be?” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Just go to the research center. I’m not drawing any conclusions till I see the scene.” I turned and looked at him with a straight face. “Be safe. And give John those bullets and tell him to reload his clip.”

“Okay, and yeah, you to.” He said walking out of the room.

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

Sherlock and John dropped us off at the edge of the wood, leaving the rest of the trek to Henry and I. Henry nervously chatted for a majority of the walk to Dartmoor. The area was quiet and serene.

“They call it Dewer’s Hollow.” he said “Careful… the hound could be anywhere. Just waiting to claim someone else…”

“Believe me, Henry. I’m not scared of the hound.” I spoke quietly while examining the area. I bent down to pick up a tuft of fur. I removed a small plastic bag from my pocket, placing the fur in it and sealing it shut. “I have all I need. We can leave now.” I voiced as I began retreating from Dartmoor, back through the woods.

Henry and I headed separate ways as he headed home and I headed to the hotel. When I arrived, I jogged up the stairs to my room and instantly took the door between our rooms. I ruffled through his bag until I found his microscope and slides. I knew he brought them with him. I removed the hair from my coat and prepared a slide, inspecting it under the microscope.

Sherlock entered his room hours later, and my nose was stuck deep in John’s laptop reading. “Hello, Kassie. I see leaving the door open did have purpose,” he pointed to his microscope. “You can stop though now. It wasn't a hound.” Sherlock bounced giddily on the balls of his feet. “I figured out what it is.”

“Correct. It’s not a hound. It’s a werewolf.” I stated matter-of-factly.

“No... It’s an acronym H.O.U.N.D. they were a C.I.A organization… imagine that! Oh this is just brilliant!” He sat down on my bed and I turned in my chair “It’s this anti-personnel chemical weapon. Oh and Lestrade is here. But more importantly I solved the case!”

“I found fur at the scene that’s normally a sign of a werewolf, Sherlock and that makes a lot more sense than a chemical weapon made by the C.I.A.”

His phone started to ring and he answered it “Yes? What? That’s amazing!” He stood while he hung up the phone. I looked over at him “I have no time with your pointless arguing right now Kassandra. Henry is about to commit suicide. Are you coming or not?” I sighed and nodded standing and sliding my colt back in the waistband of my jeans.

Sure enough Henry was in the middle of Dewer’s Hollow with a gun to his head. Lestrade was there with John trying to talk him off the ledge.

“Henry,” Sherlock said getting down with him “It’s all a hallucination.” Smoke started to fill the Dewer’s Hollow and I heard growling I got my gun out. Lestrade looked at me oddly.

“This is kinda my profession… hunting down nightmares.”

“Well no wonder you’re dating Sherlock.” he said

“They’re not dating yet… needs to happen soon for fucks sake.” John commented with a smart ass tone in his voice.

I looked at him “Really? Of all times? Massive hound coming our way.” That’s when I noticed the hound stalking toward Sherlock and Henry. A man walked out from behind Lestrade with a gas mask fastened tightly behind his head.

John shot at the dog causing it to dissipate into the fog. Moments later all of the fog began to clear. I didn’t notice the man remove a gun from his pocket. The man pulled off his mask and I saw Bob Frankland make a run for it. “Sherlock!” I yelled as I started to run after him. All four of us made it to the field before Sherlock stopped us all. Suddenly Frankland exploded.

“Landmine.” Sherlock said.

We all rode back to the hotel before splitting up to go to our separate ways. I put my gun under my pillow before walking back over to my bags. “See sometimes it is just people. People are also monsters, Kassie. You have to remember that.” Sherlock said as he leaned on the doorway.

“Did you want to watch me undress or something?” I said still a little aggravated about the way he acted earlier. He didn’t say anything but I made sure he couldn’t. I went to the door, “Good night Sherlock.” I pushed him out of the doorway and slammed it shut in his face. I locked it behind me and quickly climbed into bed not even getting changed out of my clothes. I feel asleep quickly with angry thoughts swarming my mind.

I was rudely awakened the next morning to Sherlock banging on the door between our rooms. “Kassie wake up there’s been another killing. The heart is missing.”

I stood and opened the door, shoving my journal into his hands. The journal opened to the page in my journal about werewolves. “Go ahead tell me I’m wrong. What if we had left last night, Sherlock? How many more people would be dying?” I huffed and I grabbed my laptop from my bag, pulling up the local news.

“What are you looking for?” Sherlock glared over my shoulder.

“Moon phases.” I looked at him angrily. “Tonight is the full moon. Where was the body?”

“Near Dewer’s Hollow.” He looked at me and fiddled with the edge of the table.

I took a deep breath and sighed pulling a pouch of silver bullets from my suitcase. “How’s Lestrade on the belief meter?”

“I wouldn’t know. Is it necessary for us to inform him?” I rolled my eyes.

“If you wanna kill this thing bring me John and Lestrade in ten.” He nodded and stalked out of the doorway. I quickly and quietly undressed and redressed. I pulled a pair of faded light blue skinny jeans over my legs before pulling a white t-shirt over my head. I pulled on fresh socks and my combat boots before lacing them up tightly. Lastly I slid my arms into my leather jacket. There was a knock on the main door and I opened it to see the Lieutenant, Detective, and Doctor all standing there. I invited them in and had them all sit down.

“Right, everyone but Sherlock has a gun. Correct?” Everyone nodded and I handed Sherlock my spare pistol. “Alright now that that is settled… we are dealing with a werewolf.” I tossed Lestrade the pouch of silver bullets. “Reload your gun lieutenant. Silver bullet to the heart. That’s the only way to kill it.” Lestrade looked at me disbelieving and not yet moving. “Lieutenant. Move. NOW. I know this is a large surprise to you. Yes they exist. So do thousands of other supernatural beings but we do not have time for the shock and awe effect. Someone could die.”

“Have you killed one before?” John questioned as he checked his gun and counted how many shots he had in his clip.

I looked away from them both, my heart plummeting into my stomach. “I haven’t seen one in a long time. The last one I heard of was killed by Sam and Dean while I was home in the bunker. They aren’t my favorite thing.”

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

When night fell we all hiked silently into the woods. I ordered John to take the left and Lestrade to take the right. I looked to Sherlock next, “Stay with me.” Sherlock nodded and we began our way down the middle. I pulled out my colt, tightening my grip on the handle as we walked. I felt the sweat build on my skin as I tried to steady my breathing.

Suddenly the werewolf jumped from a large rock behind. Its feet hit the ground with a thud in front of us. I watched the beasts claws dig into the mud as I stood stunned. I knew I should’ve lifted my gun steadily, cocked the trigger and shot him right in the heart. I knew the anatomy of a werewolf, and after countless days at the shooting range I was the perfect shot. However, I couldn’t force my body into moving. No it wasn’t fear that made me freeze. It was recognition.

That night I stayed out later than I should’ve. My dad was at the table “Kassandra Madison.” He barked sternly. He only used my full name and that tone when I was in trouble. I heard the sound of my mother playing the grand piano in the living room.

“Sir?” I responded respectively. My father was in the military when he met my mother and retired days before I was born. Respect alone helped me dig my ways out of many punishments. That and the fact that I was his only daughter.

“I believe curfew is nine-thirty. What time would it be now?”

“Ten, Sir… but I can explain the movie ran late.” I noticed then that the music had stopped. I could just barely see my mother’s figure enter the room. She was in one of her longer nightgowns but she still looked gorgeous. She was so elegant and had a very sure grace around her.

“Darling give the girl a break it’s only thirty minutes passed.” My mother was always forgiving. “Go on upstairs baby girl… it’s fine. You’ll owe me thirty minutes on the piano tomorrow.”  

I went upstairs to my bedroom and sat down on the bed. Waiting for them to go to sleep. My boyfriend at the time was supposed to sneak in that night. I was going to give him everything that night. He was going to take it. The last thing standing of my innocence. I was in charge of the locks and had purposely left them open for my boyfriend. I saw the full moon reflected in my full length mirror. That’s when it happened. I heard a deep growl down stairs and the sound of someone rummaging through the house. My biggest fear that night, was that it was my boyfriend at the bottom of our stairs. I gained a new fear that night. I heard my parents walk down the stairs quietly before the bottom step creaked under their weight. I heard my mother scream followed by a deep howl. A wolf’s howl. I built the courage to open my door and slowly moved down the stairs, on the bottom step, I saw my mother’s lifeless body resting in a puddle of her own blood. All of the poise and grace that previously flowed through her was now crumpled on the floor with her corpse. I panicked and searched for my father as I hyperventilated.

My father looked up at me, locking his eyes on mine. I heard his deep bellowing voice scream to me “Run Kassie, Run!” I was frozen in place. I couldn’t run and I watched as the beast bit into my father's throat and ripping out a chunk of his flesh. I watched as the blood splattered the walls and pooled under the beast, still holding my lifeless father’s body. Then the beast turned to me, I backed into the corner as it stalked toward me tauntingly slow. I was only sixteen but in that moment I was content with dying. It was then I realized it wasn’t that I couldn’t run. I I realized I had no need to. Who was I to run to? My parents were right here dead. Their blood splattered over the walls. That’s when I heard the gunshot and watched the monster fall in front of me. Where the beast once stood was a tall man with short hair, emerald green eyes, and freckles staring at me. He was wearing old tattered jeans and a black t-shirt under a green button up.To wrap it all up, he wore heavy boots and an old worn brown leather jacket.

“You okay kid?” he asked stepping closer to me. I retreated into the corner farther, shaking slightly. A taller man walked into the room with long almost shoulder length hair came in. “We won't hurt you.” He was in a plaid shirt and jeans. His face seemed to hold a deeper concern than the man next to him.

Those two men saved my life that night in more ways than one. They killed the beast and had taken me in giving me a knew home and a new family. And I came to know them as Sam and Dean Winchester.

A gunshot pulled me from my trance. I looked around frantically before my eyes fell on Sherlock with his gun up. “Like that right?” Sherlock questioned making sure he had done what was needed. I nodded slowly and tried to even out my breath. I looked at the now dead beast. I felt sick to my stomach from the memories, and couldn’t leave quick enough.

The ride back to the hotel was a massive blur. I could feel Sherlock’s eyes on me as we rode back. Once we arrived at the hotel, Sherlock never left my side. “It doesn’t take a master of deduction to know that something is bothering you, Kassie.” His tone was softer than I had ever heard it before. Like he were afraid his words alone would break me.

I rolled my eyes as they watered, threatening to form tears. “Why don’t you figure it out. That’s what you’re famous for isn’t it? For being the great Detective Sherlock Holmes. For knowing everything under the sun just by making your stupid deductions. Why don’t you fucking figure it out! Huh? Why don’t you!?” Sherlock sat stunned where he stood. He stared at me and I could see the pain I had caused behind his eyes. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean any of it. I promise. Something happened tonight, and it’s hard for me to deal with… I’m sorry, Sherlock.” My eyes filled with tears before I could fight it. I stood in front of the main door into my room.

“Kas…” I looked up to face Sherlock as I opened my door. “You can tell me anything. I know you have not been in my company for very long, but I do care. In my own special way. It’s hard for me to express it. I promise I do though.”

I stepped to the side of my door holding it open. “You’ll need to sit and I will need a drink.” Sherlock stalked to a chair in the corner as I rifled through my duffle bag, finding the flask dean gave me a few years back for Christmas. I walked quietly to the edge of the bed before sitting carefully. I threw back the flask and gulped down the burning liquor. As it coated my throat, it drowned the pain in my heart. I started from the top. I told him everything. From witnessing my parents being slaughtered in my childhood home to the Winchesters saving me and giving me a home. Tears streamed down my face despite how many times I tried to swallow them down. “I’m sorry.” He apologized almost robotically. I didn’t take any offense. I knew that is all he could really say when someone drops something like that on you. I stood from my spot on the bed and he stood quickly as well. I looked at Sherlock, my mind running a thousand miles an hour. I dropped the now empty flask on the floor, as I took two short steps to be stood in front of him. I reached my arms around his torso, hugging him tightly as tears continued to fall. He carefully and hesitantly wrapped his arms around my shoulders, tightening his hold on me when he became more sure of his actions. I nuzzled into his neck briefly, before I felt his fingers under my chin. He gently tilted my head back as he leaned in close. His lips were barely on mine. I could see the hesitation in his eyes. “Please, Mr. Holmes. Kiss me.” Sherlock’s lips pressed against mine in a gentle grazing touch. It started a fire within me that hadn’t burned in years. His hand slowly slipped from around my body finding it’s place gently on my cheek. Sherlocks kissed and touched me as though he were afraid I would break. I kissed him sweetly. Running my hands through his hair gingerly. He pulled away slightly causing me to look into his brilliant blue eyes. I felt the small fire burn brighter as it warmed my chest. For the first time since that night I felt complete again. The piece of me that had been lost when my parents died was now filled with none other than the Sherlock Holmes. I smiled softly and pulled away. “There’s so much you have yet to learn about me, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock smiled and laced his fingers in mine. “Things I would love to hear, whenever you are ready, Ms. Carter.”

In order to help him understand the way I have lived for years and to bring him full circle with the things that go bump in the night, I let him read my journal. As he had questions I would answer them. As he read, he kept his fingers laced with mine and would every so often kiss the top of my hand. Every so often after reading about certain creatures, he would lean over and kiss me softly. “You’re amazing” he would whisper. Around midnight he yawned and stretched. “We have a train to catch in the morning…” He stood slowly and I walked with him to the door that separated our rooms. We kissed once more before he entered his room and closed the door behind him. I listened closely, and never heard him lock the door. My phone buzzed a second later, a text from Sherlock.

I’m just a door away if you need me…

I slowly peeled my clothes off from the hunt, dropping them into a pile beside my bed. I pulled and oversized t-shirt over my head. From the tears and the coffee stain on the bottom left of the shirt, I knew it was one I had stolen from Dean. I didn’t bother to put on pants or shorts for that matter. I knew what awaited me tonight. I climbed into the bed and quietly slid into a deep sleep. That’s when I saw it, all over again. My parents being butchered in front of my eyes. It felt too real. Like I was there all over again. I jolted awake, in a cold sweat. I noticed my hand was wrapped tightly around the Colt, as I pointed it into the nothingness of my room. I tried to fall asleep again, but it was pointless. I stood quietly and tiptoed to the door. I silently entered Sherlock’s room and found him lying in bed with his eyes closed. He had his blue silk striped pajama bottoms on paired with a gray t-shirt. It looked different on him than his usual tie. I slowly climbed into his bed, lying my head on his chest.  

“Are you okay?”

“Just didn’t want to be alone.” He nodded and laid perfectly still, as if he were scared to move. “Would you mind running your fingers through my hair, Mr. Holmes.” I felt his long fingers gently brush through my hair twirling some of the strands as I feel asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.