#you just build a better fence and move further from where you tend to find the wolves

[hilichurlrights]

PEOPLE MAKE /WHAT/ OF KLEE,,, now, personally, i don't ship kaeluc (i'm more familiar with the English translation) but that doesn't mean i would be mean to someone who does! i would, at most, go "yeah, it's not my cup of tea" and leave it at that! like, if you hate it, why interact with someone you KNOW likes it? people can have opinions other than yours (meaning the rude people's; you're fine). you don't need to respond, i'm just venting. they should spend their time elsewhere

Nah bro vent louder for the people in the back!! Legitimately if you google “genshin hentai” or similar (don’t google it word of warning) you’d find loli lewds in the first few dozen results.

And like, obviously that’s not okay at all, that’s a problem, but even if I decide it’s my problem what can I do about it? Harassing the creator won’t help. Doing anything that spreads the content won’t help. Complaining vaguely with no proof of what I’m complaining about won’t help. Nothing helps, except denouncing it at opportune moments, i.e. someone deliberately shares it with me or asks me my opinion. The more you fuel a fire, the more it burns.

And sometimes I’m wrong about things. We’re all wrong from time to time. As much as diehard anti-kaeluc people who harass everyone and their grandmother about what they ship don’t understand a character of Chinese, my English isn’t perfect, my French isn’t native, my Spanish isn’t entirely fluent. And even if I were a native speaker, plenty of English speakers miss nuance in their own language. I studied Latin for 7 years; mistranslating is half of translation. It’s what you do, it’s how you learn.

And at the end of the day, how much is a perceived wrong worth? I think making lewd art of Klee or other characters with the loli model is horrible, and I think “well she’s not human” (used for all 3 of the current lolis, probably more in the future) is a very transparent alternative to the classic pedo line “you’re more mature than your age”, but what am I going to get done about it? Not what am I going to do, but what can I change? Does harassing someone over it make me the bigger person, even if they are so, so wrong?

All we can do is curate our experiences. I follow some artists on Twitter, I block others, some I’ll like or retweet a post here and there but steer clear of the rest of their content. People can’t be perfect, but we can choose to see the sides of them we’d rather see. Why spend all my time on the internet looking for trouble when there are so many things I enjoy here?

It’s like that expression: knock on enough doors asking to see the devil, and eventually he’ll answer.

[prof-peach]

Can you tell more about the Lycanroc that you just rescued please?

He came in as an aggressive patient, no one else would deal with him, I got an email from Kukui about a week ago about him, apparently so angry no one could handle him to check his health or wellbeing, and rehiring was out of the question at this point. He occasionally sends me cases like this to save them being put down, so I took the big guy without too much info.

He got sent with a file about a day later, the file had limited information. His name was once Rocco, though he has no response to it, he lived in a dog pokemons hoard, and seemed to be mixed with a lot of other, far bigger, far meaner Pokemon, so he became aggressive as a means of defence, like a lot of pup Pokemon can tend to do when pushed like this. He killed another Pokemon while in the care of this trainer, and thus got moved on, as they deemed him too much to handle. Quite frankly the trainers facilities were questionable, with further investigation Kukui had called Pokemon protection on them, and had 27 other Pokemon taken away from them, all with various different issues, luckily none as bad as this Lycanroc apparently. They got moved on to better homes, and from what I’ve heard, they’ve made good progress.

Now this Lycanroc is a midday form, a bit tatty looking and skinny at this point in time, he’s been with us a week, and has never been walked apparently, no vaccinations, no real core training other than brute force battling. First day in the facilities he bolted and went for Valka my dear vulpix, to no avail. She just picked him up and put him back in the kennel space, didn’t even flinch at him. Day two I made a critical error of trying to get a muzzle on him without Val as backup, damn thing slipped my hold and cracked me with his rocky collar, leaving me needing many stitches, and from the looks of it, probably permanently scared now. I went back after getting sewn back up the same day and confronted him, this time with a more functional team with me to handle him. Got a muzzle on him, got a good look at his body after he tired himself out thrashing around. Covered in fleas, utterly riddled with old bite scars, he was no doubt picked on by the other Pokemon he lived with. He is nervous as all hell, that’s all his behaviour is, fear.

Often aggression from Pokemon is just a way of expressing deep seated fear, nervousness is a real issue with Pokemon who aren’t socialised, who are picked on by other species, and who don’t get exposed to the world around them. After checking him over we left him to chill out, for the first time in his life as far as we know, alone from any other Pokemon, while we decided the best method for healing him, and who would suit his temperament best. I’ve personally got a midnight Lycanroc who came back with me from Galar not too long ago, so I was the one to take his case, being a bit use to the breed compared to the others, plus personal pride didn’t like that he got that hit on me so easily. Perhaps it’s wrong of me, but I don’t like to let this kind of behaviour beat me, so I dig my heels in normally when I get clipped by something.

Day 4 of his stay, he’s snapping at any Pokemon who comes close to the secure unit he’s staying in, Val is with me at all times now to make sure he’s kept in check when I’m not watching. She’s fearless, and he hates it, but now, after 4 days of her being stoic and unnerving, he’s not confronting her, and in turn looking at me with a bit more hesitation. In the Pokemons mind he’s probably looking at her like ‘oh shit you and that human are a team? Well I don’t want to mess with that right now’ and he’s skulking off to the back of his kennel space, instead of going nuts at the fence towards us. Good progress, less confrontational for now.

Day 5 we tried to get a walk in, short lead, muzzle, generally quite controlled, he didn’t like it to start with, but the island has...I don’t know, something oddly calming about it. We took a few laps, and he spent most of it fighting me for control, until we hit the lake, where he seemed to mellow out for a short while.

It’s going to be a long schedule of daily training, constant assertion of the pack and who’s boss, which is me, not him, much to his dismay. He’s got a huge prey drive, and is nervous with other Pokemon, but otherwise he’s just stressed out. I think time here will do him well. We’re working on respect and hierarchy, basic stuff like ‘sit’ and ‘hold’ for the most part. He’s snapped at me since but not as much.

I will try to update folks as he goes along his recovery, he’s not ready for other Pokemon yet, and certainly not one I’d have out and off a good strong lead, without other team mates around. Hopefully we can get him manageable and find him a good home. Building trust between him and other people is the start right now, he knocked me back but didn’t scare me off, and that rattled him, so he’s behaving a BIT better for now. Want to chase Tauros though, like, fiercely.

His fleas are being treated, he’s getting good meals he doesn’t have to fight for, and despite guarding his food (which is understandable) he’s not showing any physical illness luckily.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Eggpocalypse

Part One: Crimson Morning

A DreamSMP Fic

A/N: Hey guys I’m writing a DSMP fic :D Why? Because I had an idea that I thought was cool. If you find this fic but aren’t familiar with me, hello, welcome *waves* This will be the only DSMP fic I write, but it’s gonna be a long multi-chapter thing like all my other fics in my main community. If you know me for my other stuff, hello to you too. Feel free to read if you want ^-^ Either way, I hope you all enjoy this! It’s been like...months in the making jsafkh

Brief Summary: Everyone wakes up one morning to find the Greater SMP area is overrun with crimson. The vines attack people, and a small group manages to take shelter...for now.

=====================

Tommy woke up to the faint feeling of something tickling his face. What was that? Well, it didn’t matter. He was trying to sleep. Without opening his eyes, he slapped at the tickling object and rolled over. Only a few seconds later, however, the tickling was back. He buried his face in the pillow, but it kept brushing against his ear. Now thoroughly annoyed, he rolled onto his back and blinked open his eyes, ready to snap at whoever was pulling some sort of prank on him.

Except instead of seeing someone’s face—or anything familiar at all—he saw a lot of red. What? No, that made sense, didn’t it? He fell asleep in the hotel, and it was red. Except...there was way too much of it. He rubbed his eyes to clear the sleep away, and—

“Holy shit!” Tommy bolted upright. “Holy fuck!”

The entire room was filled with red vines.

“No no no no no you can’t be in here!” Tommy threw away the blankets and stood up, tripping over something as he got out of bed. He looked down to see he’d nearly fallen over one of the vines. “Oh fuck, they’re everywhere!” They were covering the windows, snaking across the floor, dangling from the ceiling. And worse, they were moving.

One of the smaller vines dangling from the ceiling wriggled closer to him, drifting across his face. Tommy jerks back. “Don’t touch me, bitch!” He hit the vine, knocking it back, but felt something on his ankle. Looking down again, he yelped as the vine he’d nearly tripped over started wrapping around his leg. And there were more coming, moving snakelike across the floor.

He had to get out of here, before they overwhelmed him. He spun around. The balcony entrance was completely blocked by thick vines, as big around as a tree, and the windows were similarly covered, leaving the room dim as they blocked sunlight from outside. So he couldn’t jump out that way. That only left the ladder chute to the suite. And the larger vines were slowly creeping to cover that as well.

No time to waste! Tommy grabbed his items from the chest by the bed and sprinted across the room. The vines on the floor tripped him up, but he made it just in time to duck under the larger vines and make it to the ladders. He grabbed one of the rungs and started to descend...but froze.

Vines were criss-crossing the ladders, blocking his way down. As he stared, shocked, they stopped wriggling aimlessly and started creeping slowly towards him. “Hey! Back off!” He kicked the nearest tendrils off the ladders, but they recovered quickly and continued to inch closer.

Okay, there had to be a way around this. Maybe he could climb down while fighting them off. Or...there was a small spot that was clear of vines. He could see the distant floor of the hotel lobby down below. At least, he hoped that was the red of the hotel lobby and not the red of more vines. He had a water bucket on him. He could—but if he missed, he’d be dead. Like, dead dead. Forever.

Then the thick vines above him trembled. And they heaved from their position, darting forward with surprising speed.

“Oh fuck this,” Tommy gasped, and let go of the ladder.

The ground approached swiftly. Acting fast, he pulled out the water bucket and poured it—landing with a splash in the resulting puddle just in time. He didn’t even have time to celebrate the success. Because the hotel lobby was even more crowded with vines than the rooms above. They blanketed the floor, dripped from the walls, all gradually encroaching further into the building. The windows were covered, and so were the front doors. Tommy froze again, eyes darting around the room. And soon, the vines noticed him as well, and all of them slithered towards him.

“Tommy! Are you in there?!”

A voice?! Coming from outside. It sounded like—“Puffy, is that you?” Tommy called, taking out his sword.

“Okay, you’re in there! Thank fuck. Hang on!”

A few seconds later, part of the vines covering the door fell away, letting sunlight into the darkened room. He could see the form of two people, and a hand reached inside. “C’mon, we’ll get you out!” Puffy called.

“Oh you fucking better!” Tommy swung his sword at the nearest vines, knocking them back but not slicing into them. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so rude, I’m just under a lot of pressure right now. How’d these even get in here?!” He started walking towards the door, struggling against the vines that were grabbing onto his legs, trying to drag him backwards.

“I don’t know, maybe through the door?” Another chunk of the door-blocking vines fell away, revealing Puffy’s face. “Or it looks like some of the windows are broken.”

“They broke the windows to my hotel?! Dickheads.” Tommy attacked the vines with his sword again, using it more to beat them away than to cut them. Some of the ones from the ceiling were reaching out for him. He punched them away with his free hand.

“I know, right? Just inconsiderate.” Puffy briefly disappeared. The big vines blocking the door were moving, pressing together to try and close the opening. But there was a flash of purple enchantment glow, and they were hacked away again. “You gotta hurry, Tommy, they’re moving fast!”

“I’m coming, alright!” Yanking one foot free of the vine’s grip, he ran the last few steps to the doorway.

Puffy turned to the side to look at something out of sight. “Can you hold the vines back while I pull him out?” A pause. Then she nodded and turned back. “C’mon, Tommy, grab on,” she said, reaching inside.

“Got it.” Tommy snatched her offered hand, squeezing tight.

“I’m gonna pull on three. One...two...three!” Puffy pulled, but the vines struck again, a few suddenly darting forward to wrap around Tommy’s waist.

Tommy yelled. “Holy shit they’re grabbing me! They’re pulling me, it’s just like quick sand!”

“It’s okay, we’re getting you out,” Puffy said determinedly. She leaned forward through the opening in the vines, wrapping her arms around Tommy’s torso. Then she looked back. “Help me on three! One...two...three!”

With a mighty heave, Tommy was pulled from the grasp of the vines, landing on the ground outside the hotel. Immediately, he scrambled to his feet. “What the fuck?!”

“Tommy, Tommy, are you okay?!” Puffy looked him over, patting for injuries. Her red coat was hidden beneath netherite armor, her horns sticking out from under a helmet.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Tommy waved her aside.

<Are you sure you are alright, TommyInnit?>

Tommy looked over to where the familiar sounds had come from. “Yeah, I’m sure, Sam Nook.”

Sam Nook nodded. He was holding an enchanted netherite hoe in one hand. Clearly, he’d been the one helping Puffy to rescue him. <I am glad you are alright, TommyInnit.>

“Yeah, so am I, but what the fuck is going on?!”

“Walk a little bit this way, onto the Prime Path, they tend to avoid that,” Puffy said, shuffling to the left.

“I—okay?” Tommy and Sam Nook followed her lead, and it was only then that Tommy noticed the situation around them.

The vines. They were everywhere, crawling through the grass, climbing up trees and the sides of hills. He’d seen them in spots across the SMP, but they’d never been here before. Now, his house’s entrance was blocked off by vines, the crops in his farm uprooted, his fences hidden beneath crimson tendrils.

“I thought you’d be inside your house,” Puffy said, looking back at the blocked entrance. “I was so freaked out before Sam Nook told me you’d slept in the hotel. What were you doing in there anyway?”

“Well I thought I’d break it in, you know, try it out. It seemed right to do it the night before I visited—” Tommy stopped. “Anyway. How the hell did this happen?!”

“I don’t know, they started to spread overnight!” Puffy defended.

“They’re moving, do you see that?” Tommy pointed into the vines. Every single one was moving, even if only a bit, ranging from tightening around what they were holding to slithering across the ground. “It’s like a bunch of worms, has that happened before?”

“No, it hasn’t! They’re all across the greater SMP area, it’s all covered—well, most of it. They don’t like the Prime Path, I mean they’ll touch it if they have to, but generally—” She let out a huff of air. “They’re all the way out here and beyond.” Glancing down at the sword in Tommy’s hand, she asked, “Do you have a hoe?”

“Well I mean—” Tommy stammered for a moment. “Hrmmm I have quite a lot of hoes, but I don't think this is the time to ask about that, Puffy.”

Under other circumstances, Puffy would’ve laughed. She would have joined in on the joke, or at the very least smiled at it. The fact that her face remained serious showed how grave the situation really was. “Here, take a hoe.” She handed him a diamond hoe. “They do the most damage to these things.”

Tommy took it, then looked back and forth between Puffy and Sam Nook. “Well...what do we do now?”

“For now, you need to get to the Holy Land,” Puffy said. “They don’t go in there.”

“Wait, just me?!” Tommy asked.

“I’m sorry, Tommy, but there are more people out here,” Puffy said regretfully. “Not many, but a few. And I need to find Sam. I think he was at the prison, and I-I don’t know if it’s gotten that far but I need to check—”

“Well why don’t I just stay with the hotel, then?” Tommy suggested, gesturing back to the vine-covered building.

“What? Tommy, look at it! The vines have fucked it!”

“I know that! But it’s—it’s like—” Tommy struggled to find the words for a moment. “It’s my hotel! I did all this to put it together, went on a million fuckton of fetch quests, it’s a—it’s a good place, Puffy, I can’t just leave it behind.”

<Worry not, TommyInnit,> Sam Nook finally spoke again. <I can stay and protect the Big Innit Hotel.>

“Sam—Sam, no, I-I can’t ask you to do that!” Tommy protested. “You’re like—you’re all—what if something happened to you?”

<Nothing will happen to me, TommyInnit,> Sam Nook said with a smile. <I will make sure of it. The crimson will not touch the hotel.>

“But—Sam, you—”

<My job is to help with the hotel. I can stay here. It is important to me that you follow Puffy’s directions and stay safe.>

Tommy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay. Okay. You—you’d better be here when I get back, Sam Nook. I’m counting on you.”

<I will not let you down, TommyInnit,> Sam Nook promised.

“Yeah, you—I’ll—yeah.” Tommy nodded, and looked back at Puffy. “Okay, I’ll head to the Holy Land. I’ll beat the fuck out of any vines that get close to me.” He waved the hoe demonstratively.

“Be careful, Tommy,” Puffy warned. “Don’t let any of them grab you.”

“I won’t. Oh trust me, I have experience in—in beating back bitches with hoes.” He sort of regretted saying that halfway through, but he finished it anyway.

That got a bit of a smile out of Puffy, though. “I’ll be there soon. There should be a whole bunch of people there already.” She took out an enchanted netherite hoe of her own, matching Sam Nook’s, and slowly backed away. “Be careful, okay Tommy?”

“You said that already. And I will be.” Tommy turned to go. “I’ll see you in the Subs!” And he started running down the Path.

=====================

Puffy wasn’t exaggerating when she said the vines were everywhere. As Tommy ran, he saw vines crawling across every surface. The areas that had been covered before were practically solid red with how much they were covered now, and the areas that had been free were gradually disappearing under the crimson sea. The vines usually moved slowly, but every so often they’d dart forward in a burst of speed. He had to stop every so often to fight them back with the diamond hoe Puffy had given him.

He wasn’t the only one out in this chaos, either. He could see people—normal citizens of the SMP—fighting back against tendrils trying to attack them. Very ineffectively, most of the time. People were shouting and screaming as the vines wrapped around them. But not all of them were fighting back. Some of them were just standing there. Staring at the vines. Entranced. And that was even worse.

“Holy shit,” Tommy said to himself. He stopped in his tracks, overwhelmed. Should he do something to help?

Then a few arm-sized vines lunged forward and started grabbing at his ankles.

Crying out, he swung the hoe downwards, chopping off the ends of the vines. He instantly started sprinting again. There were too many people and not enough time! But...he had to do something.

He managed to make it through the shopping centre, the vines getting thicker as he went. It wasn’t that far now. If he could just go a little faster! The vines seemed to know he was here, and were becoming more active as he passed by.

Someone yelled something nearby. It was almost lost in the rest of the cries, but Tommy paused. He recognized that voice. Slowing down, but not stopping, he glanced around for the source of the shout, and saw a pair of familiar faces.

“Sapnap? Big Q?” Now he stopped, hopping in place to make it more difficult for the vines to grab him.

Neither of them noticed him. They were too busy fending off the vines. One of the bigger ones had wrapped around Quackity’s torso, pinning one of his arms. It had knocked him to the ground, where he was struggling to get to his feet again. Sapnap was trying to pull him away from the vine’s grasp, gripping his arm with one hand. There was an axe in his other hand, and he swung weakly at the vine, doing no damage.

Tommy hesitated. Then: “Ah, fuck it.” And he jumped off the Path, running towards the pair and quickly closing the short distance. “Sapnap! Big Q! Hang on!”

“What the—?!” Sapnap looked up as Tommy came running in, absolutely surprised.

“Here, I’ll chop it up, you pull,” Tommy said. Without waiting for confirmation, he raised the hoe over his head and brought it down on the vine, making sure not to aim too close to Quackity. The diamond tool took a large chunk out of the vine, which wriggled like it was in pain. Tommy kept going until he broke the vine, severing it.

Sapnap caught on in time, pulling Quackity away from the remaining part of the vine. He helped him to his feet, and the three of them retreated to the Prime Path.

“Jesus fuck, this is insane!” Tommy said, throwing away the bit of vine he’d accidentally collected upon breaking it. “Are you two alright?”

“Tommy, what are you doing here?” Sapnap asked, a split second before Quackity shouted, “Tommy what the fuck are you doing here?!”

“Oh, well, you know I just saved your lives, you could say thank you,” Tommy commented. “But whatever. Listen, we need to get to the Subs, it’ll be safer there.”

“How much safer are we talking about? ‘Cause I don’t want to deal with this shit ever again.” Quackity pulled his arm free of the vine—unmoving now that it was severed—then unwound it from around him and threw it into the distance.

“It’s—look to be honest, I haven’t seen it, but Puffy told me to go there so that’s where I’m going,” Tommy explained. “She says this shit is avoiding the area so—what are you wearing, by the way?” The last time he’d seen Quackity, he was wearing his usual blue jacket and black pants. Now he had suspenders and a tie on. “Actually, nevermind, that doesn’t matter, are you coming?”

Sapnap and Quackity glanced at each other. “Yeah,” Sapnap said. “I mean, there’s not really anything else we can do now.”

“Exactly! Now come on! If either of you have hoes, now’s the time to get them out, they’re the things to cut through this.”

They set off sprinting down the Path. Soon, they passed by the UFO, now covered in vines that dangled from the edge down to the ground, and came close to the Holy Land. But instead of seeing the buildings in the distance, there was just—

“Is that a wall?” Quackity asked.

Indeed, someone had built a wall around the Holy Land. It was about ten blocks tall, much taller than any of them, and made of a bunch of different materials. Wood, cobblestone, stone bricks, a couple bits of obsidian. It looked like it had been smashed together from whatever someone had on them. The blood-colored vines were squirming around the base of the wall, but not touching it.

“Uh—hello?” Tommy called once they were in earshot. “Anyone in there?”

Someone appeared from behind the top of the wall, leaning down to look at them. Red and blue lenses reflected the light. “Tommy?”

“Jack!” Tommy looked up at him. “Did you build this?!”

“Uh, well it wasn’t just me, it was a bunch of different people.” Jack Manifold turned to glance back down at the ground on his side of the wall. “But yeah.”

“Well can you let us in, then?!” Tommy asked. He kicked away some of the vines on the ground that were trying to grab his feet.

“Uh—no, no I can’t, actually,” Jack said.

“What do you mean you can’t?!” Tommy repeated.

“Well if we take down the wall then the vines could get inside.”

“Yeah, and so could we!”

“Sorry, can’t risk it.” Jack shrugged. “I think you’ll have to stay out there.”

“This is ridiculous,” Sapnap said, pulling out his axe again.

“Yeah, we can just break in,” Quackity agreed, similarly taking out a pickaxe.

“Uh wait—” Jack Manifold started to say.

Too late. Sapnap and Quackity had already knocked holes in the wall and disappeared inside. Tommy quickly darted through as well before they could block the holes back up again.

The Holy Land was crimson-free, but crowded. SMP citizens of all sorts had crammed into the area before the walls went up, and were now standing around, some talking, others just silent. The vines outside inched closer to the new holes in the wall, but stopped just before reaching them, recoiling back. Sapnap quickly filled in the holes with cobblestone.

“What are you doing?!” Jack Manifold dropped down from the wall, wincing a bit at the impact from the fall. “You could have let them in!”

“Well we didn’t, did we?!” Tommy retorted.

“That’s not the point, what if they had got in?!”

“You know, they didn’t really look like they were coming in,” Quackity pointed out. “Tommy, what was it you said earlier? About how they were avoiding the Subs?”

“Oh. Yeah! Puffy said that the vines didn’t want to come into the Holy Land, they must not like it or something.”

“Well they weren’t coming into the place even when there was a way for them to,” Quackity pointed out. “You saw that, right? It’s like there’s a force field or some shit.”

“Well—tha-that’s not—” Jack Manifold spluttered. “What about you three?!”

“Huh? What about us?” Tommy asked.

“The vines are part of the Egg, right? And the Egg’s thing is, like, corrupting people.” Jack folded his arms. “You could be under its control!”

“You think I’m going to listen to something as stupid as an egg?” Tommy asked. “I don’t even—listen, Jack, they tried to get me to like it, they like took me down into the room, and I didn’t feel o-or hear anything at all. It’s just nothing to me.”

“Oh really?” Jack looked doubtful. “Even if that’s true, what about these two?”

“I’m not throwing in with some dumbass Egg!” Quackity protested. “I haven’t even been here recently!”

“Yeah, you really think we’d do something like that?!” Sapnap added angrily. “After seeing what it did to Bad and Ant?”

“I don’t know!” Jack threw his hands in the air. “Maybe! I don’t know anything about this!”

It wasn’t long before the four of them devolved into overlapped shouting. People nearby gave them sideways glances, then as the argument went on, blatantly stared. A few started looking around, unsure what to do. More people came to see what the commotion was. Some pulled out weapons just in case a fight broke out.

“What’s going on here?”

The argument calmed down a bit at the interruption, and Tommy looked out at the crowd, now noticing how many people were nearby. And now he recognized a couple. It looked like Eret and Fundy had managed to get inside the Holy Land before the walls were built. “Oh, it’s nothing, really—”

“Yeah, Jack’s just being a little bitch,” Sapnap added unnecessarily.

“I’m being a-a-a—!” Jack stammered. “I’m being careful! We can’t let the Egg inside, and if any of you are on its side—”

“Wait, hang on a second, Jack,” Eret interrupted. “Doesn’t the Egg cause color changes in whoever it’s controlling?”

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s blue to red and red to white, right? If that was the case, wouldn’t Tommy have red eyes right now?” Eret pointed out.

“Yeah!” Tommy immediately jumped in to agree. “Exactly! Do my eyes look red, Jack?”

Jack paused for a noticeable amount of time, then reluctantly admitted, “No.” Another pause. “But!” he continued. “Quackity’s wearing a red tie! And Sapnap never had any blue or red to begin with!”

“Hey why don’t you leave him alone?!” Sapnap snapped. “Quackity wouldn’t join the Egg! And if we’re going by not having any colors in the first place, why don’t you kick Fundy out?”

“Whoa whoa wait a minute!” Fundy spoke up for the first time. “Why are you bringing me into this? I’m just standing here.”

“Hmm. Standing there suspiciously,” Sapnap commented.

“Wh-wh—you just—I—” Fundy stuttered.

“Nobody is kicking anyone out,” Eret said, raising their voice a bit. “We can’t do this now, with all those vines outside. Unless we have proof that someone is part of the Eggpire, we’re not going to make them leave. Everyone got that?”

The others all muttered their agreements.

“Hey, does anyone know where George is? Or Karl?” Sapnap asked, looking around the crowd that had gathered to watch the argument.

“I...haven’t seen them, but you can always go look,” Eret said carefully.

“Okay. Yeah. Quackity, c’mon, let’s go do that.” Sapnap reached for Quackity’s hand, only for him to pull back. He looked over at him, confused.

“You can go ahead, I’m just...I’ll just chill here,” Quackity said.

“Um...yeah, sure. I’ll...meet you back here.” Unsure what else to do, Sapnap stepped away, then eventually disappeared into the crowd.

“Well, boys, it’s been fun,” Tommy said, swinging his hoe over his head and resting it on his shoulder. “But I’m gonna—I-I’ll—I need to go sit down somewhere. Somewhere else.”

“Yes, go ahead and sit down, Tommy,” Eret said softly. “We’ve been building a basement under the church to fit everyone, it should be mostly empty right now, if you want.” They pointed to their left, indicating an area by the back of the church.

“Right. Thanks. I’ll be seeing you all later.” Tommy walked off, following the direction they gestured to until he found a trapdoor. Opening it, there was a ladder leading downward. He climbed down into a wide stone room, lit by torches but otherwise empty. In a daze, he wandered over to the nearest wall and leaned against it, slowly lowering himself to the floor.

What...had even happened? Why was it happening? Why...now? He had plans for the day. He was going to finally close off this chapter in his life, but this...interruption...it left him feeling aimless. Like he’d been floating in the ocean holding onto a rope, only to find it suddenly severed. What was he supposed to do now?

With similar questions spinning in his head, he slowly fell asleep again. 

=====================

Tommy woke up a little bit later, confused until he remembered dozing off. He stood up, wincing. That hadn’t been the most comfortable position to sleep in, and left him feeling stiff. A walk would probably help with that.

The stone basement was still empty, though someone had moved a couple chests into it while he was asleep. They were by the ladder, so he peeked in as he passed by. Nothing much. A bunch of crafting materials like sticks and iron. A few tools and blocks. Dismissing it, he climbed up the ladder and out the trapdoor.

Everyone was still here. In fact, it seemed even more crowded. Most people were gathered inside the church building; a lot of them were hitting the bells. Some others were nearby, setting up chests, furnaces, and crafting tables. The sun was overhead, meaning it was near noon and a few hours had passed since he’d woken up that morning. The walls around the Subs were reinforced with another layer, and now had stairs. Actually, someone was coming down those stairs right now...wait a minute, that was Puffy!

Tommy almost called out to her, but stopped. She looked distracted...and worried. Once she reached the ground, she glanced around, then ran to the side. “Eret!”

“Hmm?” Eret was nearby, crafting something. Tommy saw them turn around. “Puffy! You’re okay!”

“Yeah, barely. My armor’s really damaged.” Puffy let out a long breath. “I came over here as soon as I could but it still took so long—is Tommy here?”

“Tommy’s here. Did you send him?”

“Yeah, because the vines don’t come in.” Puffy paused.

“How bad is it?” Eret asked grimly.

“Well the whole SMP is fucked, basically. They’re from the L’Manberg hole to Hannah’s house on one side, and from the castle to Skeppy and Bad’s house on the other. And I—I can’t find Sam.”

“You can’t?!”

“No, I think he’s in the prison. But the—the nether portal, the one leading in there—it’s broken. All the vines are wrapped around it, I think...I think they shattered it.”

Eret went quiet. “So he’s just...stuck in there?”

“Yeah. But...I guess on the bright side, the vines haven’t spread across the ocean. In any direction, I mean.” Puffy shrugged. “Maybe they don’t like it.” She looked around the area. “So this is everyone.”

“This is everyone,” Eret agreed. “It’s...small. But I’m glad anyone got out of that mess at all.” They paused. “The question is...how we’re going to get out of here.”

“We can think about that in a bit,” Puffy said. “Let’s make sure everyone’s alright first. I grabbed as much food as I could, and some seeds so we can farm if we need to.”

“Oh good idea. We’ve been making a basement, come on, I’ll show you.”

The two of them turned, and Tommy panicked, running around the other side of the church before they could see him. He wasn’t sure why; he just didn’t want them to know he was listening. They might get mad.

It’s funny, really, that the prison was now sealed up. No, wait, that wasn’t the right word. More like...ironic. If he’d actually gone there today like he’d planned to, he’d be trapped in there. And that was the absolute worst thing he could imagine.

Though...this was bad, too. Granted, it was better than being in the prison, with access to the sky and no blackstone and...much better company. But still. The vines were surrounding them on all sides. They couldn’t leave without risking the crimson snatching them up.

They had to come up with something fast. Or else they’d be trapped in here forever.

[anastyartist]

Cilan x Reader Chapter 2 A Fight For Love

This chapter is a bit short but that's because I didn't want to write out the whole battle between Ash and Burgh because that seemed kinda pointless, I've got the next couple of chapters partly done and should be posting those soon but I set myself a typing limit to get these at a decent length for ya'll.

---------

Waking up bright and early ready to go and meet up with Ash, Iris, and Cilan for Ash’s battle against Burgh. You had battled Burgh before, it took you a few tries but you did beat Burgh, and you can’t wait to see if Ash can do the same. Thankfully the day before you all agreed to meet up in the city plaza and head to the gym from there. Excitedly running up to a street vendor for a quick snack you wait and look around trying to see the trio arrived yet. Until a very hyper Ash came out of nowhere quickly followed by Iris and Cilan

“(y/n) aren’t you excited! I can’t wait to get my next badge!” pumping himself up along with Pikachu.

“Yeah Ash, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Burgh battle anybody in a while” When you were first getting your badge you would watch other people’s battle with Burgh to study his moves when you weren’t doing that you helped tend the plants in the gym’s garden.

Quickly you all walked over to the gym, you decided to show them around a little before the battle and also to find Burgh, which you did high up in one of the many trees he sat feeding a sewaddle. Ash called out to him claiming to be ready for their gym battle. Cilan and Iris looked around them at all the plants that surrounded the room.

Hopping down from the tall tree Burgh greeted all of you “welcome to the Castillia Gym” looking pleased as Ash expressed his happiness about the battle ahead.

Everyone followed burgh to the battle arena further inside marveling at all the plants around you especially Cilan “ I’ve never seen so many trees indoors before, it’s amazing!”

“We transplanted the trees from the pinwheel forest, for the bug types benefits of course” helpfully stated “There’s nothing better than lots of greenery for a bug-type pokemon lover,” Burgh said it gives him ‘inspiration’ you just liked it for the plants.

“Why, even (y/n) helps with the plants from time to time” Turning to look at you.

“Oh, so you have a green thumb then (y/n)?” Cilan questioned though Burgh interrupted before you could respond.

“More like a green hand, even when a little flower might not make it they always seem to find a way to make it grow back stronger than ever!” You knew Burgh appreciated your help with the plants, you were proud of it, everyone saw you as rude just because of your personality, sure you had few friends from school but that was it most of your time was either training or helping with the gym. Burgh jumped back from that note to Ash checking to make sure he was ready to battle and with that the gym floor revealed itself. You, Cilan, and Iris took to the sidelines to watch. Burgh and Ash standing on opposite ends of the battlegrounds.

Before anything else happened the referee started his speech about the rules that you’ve heard a hundred times over. Burgh took the liberty of showing his pokemon first before Ash chooses him.

Tossing out his deweeble to start, Iris was a little surprised.

“Look at the rock on deweebles’ back, it’s different from your deweebles’ Cilan” Now you wanted to see CIlan's deweeble it’s always neat to see what rocks deweebels use for armor.

"Oh yeah Burgh's deweeble uses a different rock for its shell so it's faster than normal deweebels" you nonchalantly said, though not helpful for Ash's battle it's a fun fact you remember about Burgh's pokemon. But now the question came to what pokemon Ash would use against it.

Ash chose tepig as his first fighter, you went back a bit to sit on the concrete fencing surrounding the tall trees and plants, it’s where you would normally sit when watching people battle burgh, Cilan and Iris joined you both leaning against it. The referee blew the whistle and the battle began.

Not surprising at all Ash went straight for tackling deweeble trying to knock it over but Burghs’ deweeble is fast to dodge and dig below, getting the jump on tepig. It wasn’t that long of a battle between the pokemon what with ash only trying to get direct hits on deweeble and deweeble dodging quickly because of the light rock material on its back not weighing it down though you will admit ash did get a few good hits on deweeble. But it’s all for not as deweeble quickly knocking tepig out making burgh the winner of the first round.

Cilan commented on Burgh’s technique noting how he used the move rock wrecker so close to tepig.

“Do you think he lured tepig in closer to him?” Iris was quick to pick up on the sneaky move.

“That’s how burgh battles everyone and it helps with how straightforward Ash’s style is on the battlefield makes him easier to get a surprise attack” jumping in on the conversation, after watching so many battles and hundreds of people falling for the same thing you figured ash would too.

“ I take it you’ve seen this a lot (y/n)?” Cilan cocked his head to look at you

“Yeah I’m surprised Ash managed to get that far with tepig” looking over to see Ash call tepig back into his Pokeball, “So Cilan what other pokemon does Ash have, he’s gonna need something good to beat Burgh”

Cilan contemplated it for a moment “ Well he’d either have to go with his oshawott with its water type moves or Pikachu with his iron tail”.

Ash got ready to try fighting deweeble again. The three of you turn back to face the arena only to see Ash call out for his sewaddle, now you have seen a lot of weird combinations in the past but this was crazy enough that you actually fell back on the fence and into the garden behind you out of shock. Thankfully Cilan turned around and hopped over to help you up.

“I guess nobody is ever ready for Ash’s battle style!” Cilan offered as he pulled you back into the concrete fence.

“No kidding, I’ve seen a lot of battles but I think this takes the cake” regaining your balance while holding onto his shoulder to not fall.

With that Ash took direct attacks against deweeble, having far better luck this time, when rocks got thrown his way sewaddle could use its silk to throw them back. Sewaddle was much faster than tepig and got the jump on deweeble knocking its shell off leaving it open to attacks. So with one good tackle deweeble was knocked out. Honestly, this was one of the better battles you’ve seen. Ash was all over the place with his battle style and it was entertaining to watch. The battle went on for a while but to your amazement, Ash won getting his 3rd gym badge and his sewaddle had evolved into a swadloon leaving him more than happy afterward. Though now is when you realized that the three of them would be moving on to the next city soon and the thought of not getting to go out and adventure with them made you sad.

After the battle, you all walked back to their hotel, you got to point out some of your favorite spots and buildings around the city, cilan ask questions about them. Then when you actually got to the hotel Ash and Iris headed in immediately wanting to get a good night’s rest. You and Cilan stayed outside talking.

“So where do you guys think you’ll be going next?” It did matter to you where they went, you just wanted to come with them.

“I’ll take it Ash wants to get to Nambasa city as soon as possible so that’s where will set off to” Cilan remembers how pushy Ash was about getting to Nambasa before, “You know, you could always come with us I’m sure Ash and Iris wouldn’t mind!”

You did consider coming with them, your mom might not be the biggest fan of it. If you could convince her to let you travel but it’s going to take a lot of negotiating with her.

“I might just take you up on that offer, if I’m able to come along I’ll be waiting here for you in the morning” You couldn’t make any promises but you were going to try your best to go.

“Well then I’ll see you in the morning” cilan gave with a soft smiling reaching down to grab your hand bringing it to his lips with a soft kiss “ma chérie”

Your heart stopped for a moment, more out of surprise, this was the most affection anyone had ever shown you outside of your family.

“Well aren’t you mister fancy?” it was honestly the only thing you could think of.

You both shared a laugh and said your good nights before going separate ways. You kept your composure together until you turned the corner and out of sight at which point you ran back to your house with the fattest grin on your face. Mothers anger be damned you were going with them. Besides it isn’t that crazy for someone your age to be traveling the region. Look at Ash, he’s from a different region entirely. When you actually got home your mom was waiting for you, asked how everything went and that's when you told her your idea.

“You want to travel? But what about your dream of being a gym leader surely Burgh could help you with that” putting down her glass of water on the table, she moved the conversation from the living room to the kitchen.

“I know I still want to be a gym leader but how can I be a good gym leader if I don’t see what else the region has to offer?” It was a 50/50 chance of working, and you weren’t that wrong there were still so many pokemon to see.

“I don’t know, after the whole venipede attack the other day I don’t want you to get hurt” a hint of desperation in her voice.

“But mom I handled it! And I had my new friends with me. Cilan had my back that whole time!” You can take care of yourself. You grew up running around the woods facing whatever it had to throw at you and you would be traveling with a group. It couldn't be that bad.

“Stubborn as always huh? Just like your father, okay I’ll cut you a deal you can travel but you have to message me at least once a day so I know you are safe” Giving you a soft smile, things would go either of two ways you would run off in the night without saying anything, or you would stay in the city and pout about it forever.

“Wait really!? Like I can actually go?” Your mom has always been protective of you, you thought for sure that she would never let you.

With a small chuckle, your mom got up from the table walking to her office room down the hall. You followed closely behind. In her office was a little closet that you were told to never open, this was the first time you have ever seen the inside and when she opened it you saw travel packs and sleeping bags,

“Like I said just like your father, we first met while traveling, when we decided to settle down here in Castillia we kept out old packs” Your mom grabbed one of the packs, it was a little worn and made of dark green fabric with patches all over.

“This was your father's and I’m sure he would want you to have it for your adventure” turning to hand it to you.

You ran your fingers across the front and over the many patches scattered across “So dad collected patches too?” You weren’t as close to your dad as you wished, he died when you were young just after giving you your first pokemon, he said he couldn’t wait to see you become a great fighter and have your own gym. At this point you were trying not to cry.

Your mom stepped forward standing in front of you, she raised her hand to caress your cheek and pulled you into a tight hug.

“All he ever wanted was for you to have your own adventure, and that's all I want for you sweetheart, I’m still going to worry about you but that shouldn’t hold you back” hugging you tighter. Whispering ‘I love you’ to each other she handed you the matching sleeping bag. It was starting to get darker out and she wanted you to get enough sleep for tomorrow.

Though you couldn’t get much sleep, you were too excited about getting to travel and see everything. Though after much rolling around and pillow flipping you drifted into a dreamless sleep.

When you woke up it was just before sunrise, your mother came in to get you up and ready with the pack full of everything you would need for a journey even putting an ungodly amount of snacks and a lot of both her and your fathers' old gear. After getting everything ready to go your mom insisted she walks you to the hotel to see you off. You definitely needed it, your nerves were jumbled up and as much as you were excited it was still scary this would be the first time you left Castillia City. Your mom told you stories from her travels with your dad sharing a laugh over the memories. Arriving in front of the hotel you turned towards each other and and shared one last hug, pulling apart she handed you one final object, it was a pocket watch, made out of black metal and a thin silver chain the words ``Time stops for nobody” were carved across, opening the watch showed to be a normal watch though it had blue and white highlights.

“It was a gift your father gave me when we first got together, I want you to have it and take care of it okay?” her voice was quiet and her eyes were glossed over.

"I will mom and thank you for letting me do this" giving a cheeky smile back at her.

Not long after Cilan, Ash, and Iris came out, ready to get back on the road. Cilan was exceptionally happy to see you there waiting.

Hey (y/n) glad to see you could make it" ash ran up to you. Cilan and Iris close behind.

"Ah, so this must be that boy Ash you said was challenging Burgh?" Another reason your mom tagged along to see you off was so she would know what the others looked like, still ever protective.

"That's right ma'am, I even won my battle first try!" Guess Ash was still riding his high from yesterday's battle, pikachu giving a little cheer of its own.

She laughed at his enthusiasm “Well I must say I haven’t seen anyone that excited after a battle! I’ll have to catch up with Burgh and ask”. Your mom turned to face everybody.

“Please watch each other back, I still worry about my little ball of fury here and I want them back safe” she could tell they were just a group of kids, they reminded her of herself when she was younger.

“We’ve had each other back this far, we'll be even stronger with one more to the team!” Cilan stepped up wanting to ease your mothers' nerves.

Giving a hefty sigh your mother let go of you “Okay, make sure you take care of that pocket watch and message me, please? I love you” Kissing your forehead, you hug her and saying ‘i love you’ too.

With that everyone set off to leave, waving goodbye to your mom one last time as you lost sight of her. A new bigger adventure ahead, bigger than you could have ever hoped for.

Iris the tease she was “So, little ball of fury? What's that all about”

“Oh uhh, I use to be a bit of a fighter when I was younger, still kinda am, but I would get in fights because when other kids in school would get picked on I jumped in to help them get away which would end in a fight with the bullies” little bit of a fib, you would jump in without a thought and everyone knew it so people would bait you into fight.

“Wow really? What did your mom think about you getting into fights all the time?” Iris questioned further.

“Eh she wasn’t that happy with me, said I’d get myself into a big mess one of these days if I couldn’t cool my attitude, but around that time is when Burgh let me help in the gym and tend to the plants helped keep me out of trouble” thinking back your mom is probably the one that asked burgh if you could go to the gym, considering you wanted to be a gym leader one day.

“Glad to know that you found a good outlet for your anger, being able to concentrate emotions into a single thing can do wonders!” Cilan chipped in.

It was nice getting to talk about this stuff, everyone started talking about their favorite thing to do, everyone had something different even Pikachu and Axew started making noise no doubt trying to share their thing. It was a great start to the journey and it could only get better.

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

Done and Done, hope ya'll enjoy this. Again if there are any errors in the chapter let me know, I try my best to triple-check but things slip through the cracks sometimes.

[benditlikepress]

like you’re drawing hearts around my name

I realise this is the 2nd fic in a short period of time where I’ve injured Tony so sorry to him xxxx

read in full on ao3

//

"I just don't see why it's such a big deal."

"Of course you would say that, Tony."

"I've told you I'll clean it!"

"And perhaps if this was the first time, that would be enough."

"It's pizza, Ziva, it's not red wine. It's no big deal."

Ziva turned to look at him with derision as she signalled and pulled into the next lane. He held tightly onto the handle above the door and gave her a look back, though she was certain it was for dramatic effect. She was barely even at the speed limit.

"The point is, Tony, I tell you time and time again not to eat pizza in my car. And look at what happens the second my back is turned."

"Hey, I'm not the only one who ignored rules, alright? What about last week when you made me go on that 5am run? That goes against everything I believe in."

"You could have said no."

"You could've said no to giving me a ride home last night."

Ziva hated that she couldn't think of an immediate response, the swift verbal sparring coming to an abrupt end. She was sure sometimes that he made ridiculous comparisons just to throw her off like that during a petty bicker session, and she was right if the slow smile growing on his face was anything to go by.

She bit back her own. She wasn't sure who else she could get such enjoyment out of arguing with.

"If you don't like my rules, there is a spare seat in Gibbs' car."

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen."

"For seven years you have been complaining about my driving, and you still pick it every time."

"Better music.” Tony signalled the CD player, though it was only playing quietly. Long journeys upstate needed some kind of buffer. “Well, anything's better the sound of McGee tapping his feet and trying to think of conversation. Even your music I don't understand."

"My music is all that is in my favour, hm? Perhaps if I start driving in silence you will leave me alone."

"Where else would you get this stimulating conversation?"

Ziva playfully squinted her eyes when they met with his. It was always like this when they were overtired: their personalities tending to be heightened, rather than dampened. "McGee and I get along very well, as it happens."

"Talking about me behind my back, huh?"

"Sometimes. Although, believe it or not, there are other things in my life besides you."

Tony chuckled at the assertion but didn’t argue, and Ziva turned to look at him as he tapped his fingers on the rucksack on his lap.

"What has put you in such a good mood?"

"There have to be a reason? Sun is shining, murderer behind bars. On the trail of millions of dollars. That's a good day in my book."

“One million dollars. Usually you are not so enthusiastic about a Monday morning.”

“Long couple of days – maybe my body doesn’t realise what day it is.”

“Maybe it is over-tiredness, not just a good mood.”

“That’s a very cynical attitude, Miss David.” Ziva rolled her eyes. "So whadda you make of all this? You think we'll find anything important?"

"At the farmhouse? I am not sure, in all honestly."

"You buying his story?"

"Yes. He seemed to be telling the truth. And it was very detailed for a lie – the average person does not think so logically to be deceptive on the spot."

What had started off as a simple case of a missing petty officer had soon spiralled out of control when prints found on the scene of a bank robbery matched those unearthed on the petty officer's recently discovered body.

But now the murderer had been apprehended, full confession given, and he'd given up the names of his two bank robbery accomplices and the location of the stolen money - the farmhouse belonging to one of the two men, John Richards.

He claimed he'd not spoken to either man in several days, since before the murder, and phone records seemed to support it. He'd expected to be in contact with the third man, Donny Matthews, but said that a lack of contact with him wasn't entirely out of character and that he was staying at Richards' house until the meet. As far as Richards and Matthews knew, their plan was still on to meet tomorrow morning to split the money and head off in opposite directions. The team were hoping to catch Richards red-handed before he or the money moved.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Hope it’s worth the drive, either way.”

“Two hours in the car is very little on a money trail, Tony. If they really do not want to be caught, we should be chasing it halfway around the world by now.”

“Any excuse for a trip, huh?”

Before Ziva could reply, the car in front of them carrying Gibbs and McGee signalled off the main road and down a track lined by trees. Ziva could see a marked car parked a little way further down hidden by trees, and signalled to follow them.

"Here."

Ziva turned and began to wind down the path behind the other car, as the trees cleared.

"You're kidding."

'Farmhouse' was, as it turned out, a gross understatement for the several-story-tall barn conversion that listed John Richards as its sole occupant. The windows were large and shining in contrast to the old building, which was open at the front but had a large imposing fence start at its sides and presumably wind around the back. At the front of the house was a garage that Ziva estimated held room for at least 4 cars.

Tony continued to whistle in disbelief as Ziva pulled to a stop a hundred yards from the house, parking behind Gibbs’ car.

"Ever think we're in the wrong profession?"

"Right now? Yes."

"I bet us two could do that."

"Rob banks?"

"Charm, undercover skills, your shady contacts. Easy."

"I think it requires a little more than charm to make this much money through robbery, Tony."

"It's all about confidence."

"Bonnie and Clive."

"Clyde."

"Is that a real name?"

"Uh-huh. Probably unpopular due to reputation." The final word was accentuated by the sound Tony made as he stepped out of the car, stretching his arms above his head after the long journey.

Gibbs and McGee made their way towards them along with two uniformed officers, while several others headed towards the house.

"Hey McGee, can I get a ride home tonight? My car's still in the shop."

“What’s wrong with Ziva’s car?”

“Creative differences.” Ziva answered for Tony with a smile.

"Depends. You got any more pizza in your bag?"

"Other things to talk about in your life besides me, huh?" Tony directed back at Ziva who pulled a face at him as she put her vest on. "What do you make of this place, boss? Was just saying to Ziva, maybe we should give it a try."

"That a confession, DiNozzo?"

"Hah. Good one."

“Alright, you two head around back. Check for life. McGee, you’re with me.”

Tony and Ziva did as instructed, walking around the perimeter of the house and past the fence that housed a smaller back garden. The fence was at least 8 feet tall and rigid, but wooden, with large concrete posts holding it in place. Obscuring the property and garden from view, but not exactly imposing for potential intruders.

“Not very security conscious, huh?”

“I was expecting barbed wire.”

“At least spikes. We could easily boost over this.”

“Hands out.” Ziva answered, holding her finger up to Tony’s lips as he went to object. Eventually he relented and bent down, holding out his hands for Ziva to step onto and boost herself up onto the wall.

She hung herself over the side while Tony held her legs, looking into what was more a dirt patch than a garden. Ziva supposed first impressions didn’t always tell the whole story. A shovel was stood up against an outhouse, and she noted the fresh dirt on its end.

“You see anyone?”

“No…” Ziva trailed off as she continued to look around. The house was boarded up at the back, and didn’t look especially lived in. It wasn’t that that caught her attention, though, as much as the freshly dug mound of earth a couple of feet in front of her.

There was an object sticking out of it at its opposite end that she couldn’t quite make out from this position.

“You wanna…”

“Shh. Wait.” Ziva squinted. “Hold me steady.”

“I’m trying, you keep moving.”

“Stop. Right there.”

She pulled the top of her body forward to get a better view of the object sticking out of the pile.

A boot.

"Tony, call forensics."

"What?"

"I think we've found Donny Matthews."

(continue reading on ao3)

[prose-for-hire]

Roses are overrated anyway

Pairing: Gunn x fem!reader

Request: not requested. This is a sort of second part/after the end of ‘a rose between two thorns’ because I feel like Gunn was too secondary. Gunn and reader go on a date and end up stepping into an alternate dimension (because my brain wouldn’t let me just write a date without getting carried away with a backstory) 💖

Warning: Mention of falling from a great height. Reader feels nauseous (not sure if that needs a warning but better to be safe). One swear. Fighting. 

You were still seething from the day you had, the only saving grace being you knew someone would be walking in that door in about 30 seconds time that would improve your mood. Your date.

He walked in, the same swagger he’s had since you met - the only difference now was that he dressed smarter now. You used to visit Angel investigations during your summer breaks from college - calling it work experience. You kinda missed how he used to dress - his hoodies had been very comfy. He used to let you borrow them when you had accidentally on purpose left your jacket in the office and you needed to go out and find a demon in the middle of the night. He gave you that smile that he used his entire face to convey. His eyes filled with you, someone he truly loved. So how could he not smile so deeply even if he was just saying hello?

“Hey, how’s my favourite girl?” Gunn asked with a smile that told you he really cared.

“Don’t tell me that, what if I fall in love?” You asked fake-swooning so that he slid a hand to rest on the small of your back as he chuckled. You giggled and pushed him slightly as a lighthearted warning. You tried to avoid the eyes that were boring into the pair of you from behind the glass of Angel’s office. Gunn’s eyes looked over at them momentarily and he gave them a why are you staring look but his attention was quickly on you again. He had always been heavy on the flirting, you were both used to speaking like that but now was the first time you had actually both been in the place to try dating. You were both attracted to each other and you basically told him everything - which is why you had both probably been so reluctant. You didn’t want to lose him, he meant a lot to you. “That would be a bad thing?” He asked before gesturing with his head that you should probably get going. He was already in a suit and you decided your work clothes would have to do. Nothing says first date like an outfit described as being meringue-like you decided. You had gone to vent to Fred about the constant and somewhat unwanted attention from Angel and Spike. Not that you weren’t fond of the pair, but their competitive streak was wearing a little thin. You could sense the sexual tension the way they could sense the blood beating around your body.  Your talking eventually turned to Gunn. You and Fred were close and she has given you her blessing that it wouldn’t be weird for her if you and Gunn started dating (although she was a little disappointed thinking she had built Angel up for rejection with you as she had been so encouraging of him asking you out).

As if the Powers themselves had blessed your relationship, Gunn had run into you in the elevator and had taken his chance to ask you out. You almost fainted in excitement but chose instead to agree and plan something for tonight seeing as both of you were free and you really needed a distraction from your day.

He told you he’d come and pick you up from your desk and wished you luck for dealing with the vampires once you finally returned from the longest paid lunch hour in history.

“Where should we go?” You asked, smiling as he ushered you out of the building.

“I know a place” he winked, tugging you to follow him down the road. You had been walking for about ten minutes, Gunn had been filling you in on his day as you walked. Conversation always flowed so easily between you. There was a brief flash of light. Blink and you would have missed it. But both shrugged it off and carried on walking, you were so engrossed in the conversation.

He pulled you down a darkened alleyway that you thought nothing of, Sunnydale was a good 90% alleyways with little to no lighting. He stopped and turned, smiling. His face on one side and his nose scrunching that way that you loved. He turned and looped his arms around your waist, not able to stop grinning at you. That he finally had you to himself. You could just make it out in the dark. It made your heart quicken and butterflies erupt, making a home in your stomach. You had never felt so cared for before. He had no ulterior motives, he just wanted you for you. His smile making the corners of your lips quirk upwards too. 

You both just stood there, your faces so close he could feel your breath on his face. He looked at your lips and then back up to meet your eyes. Your grin widened when his did. You started to lean in, hands sliding up his chest. Lips almost brushing his. This was already the best date and you hasn’t even arrived and sat down yet. You could stand there in his arms forever, savouring this moment for the rest of time.

Just as your lips were about to meet, a bright green light flooded the area. Much like the flash of lightning you had ignored moments earlier.

“Aliens? Do we have aliens now?” You asked, moving closer against his side.

“Nah, if aliens were real we’d be all over it. My implant and your crazy receptionist brain would know for sure” he said quickly. His implication that your receptionist brain basically knew everything there was to know about the supernatural and wolfram and hart. More than half of the lawyers, you might add. He has told you how good you were at your job multiple times (he found it especially cool as you just managed to adapt to anything). He would always compliment you that way and it never failed to make you smile. You always felt so appreciated by him. He always valued you, he never belittled you or saw you as “just Angel’s PA that everyone seemed to have a crush on”. He genuinely cared, no matter what the situation. You looked around, waiting for something to happen. And just as you started to give up, the ground shifted beneath your feet and you both started to fall.

You were both falling forwards, the surroundings a glowing neon light that you could see whether you closed your eyes or not. You reached for him, but he was too far away. You tried to shout for him, but no sound would come out. You couldn’t see, but he was doing the same for you. Trying to make sure you were safe. There were silver ripples of light, as if tearing the fabric of green light apart as you tumbled further down. The silver became more vibrant until it was the only colour you could see. The air whipped around you with such force you started to become dizzy. You were afraid you would throw up everywhere. the sickness took over your entire body until you were contorting in pain.

Then it all went black. 

You were no longer in pain. There was fresh air. It smelt of salt and overturned soil. You realised you were looking down from above. You were falling towards a flat surface. Concrete. You panicked, trying to slow your descent. You had fallen into an alternate universe. You landed hard on your hands and knees, as did Gunn who had been right beside you the entire time. You both looked at each other, hissing in collective pain. You moved towards him and clasped a hand to his. He squeezed your hand, a comforting gesture. One you needed, as a figure made his presence known from the shadows. 

He looked human. Except his skin was a deep purple, his eyes the shame luminous green as had surrounded you only moments before. He had visible veins popping out of his skin and he was wearing an old baseball cap and what appeared to be several items of smart-casual clothing from different human decades of fashion. As if he had raided the lost-and-found.

”Who are you?”

”Your worst nightmare” he smirked. You rolled your eyes, you had heard that one before. And thus far, it hadn’t been true.

”Kronak demon. Dimension shifting demon. On retainer for Wolfram and Hart since the early 1900s but lost their contract when- well, when we took over” he shrugged. Gunn had been the one to finalise the paperwork.

“Yes, you found the loophole to terminate our little agreement. If we don’t have the support of your firm, things tend to become a little... messy. Unfortunately, your mate shall be the first to pay”

“Hey! I’m not just his mate! I work too! I probably notarised the fucking document!” You insisted, although you realised halfway through your outburst that keeping silent probably would have been the better option. You looked back at Gunn sheepishly, who just smirked. You hadn’t denied being his mate.

“Your mate looks like a meringue and she... smells like one too” he stated, not addressing you directly. Apparently he meant this as an insult on both counts. You scowled, looking down at your work outfit and deciding if you ever got out of here, the first thing you would do when you got back to your apartment was burn it. You both just stared at the eccentric looking demon, so he spoke again, “Consider this your date with destiny” he sneered and both you and Gunn exchanged a look that read ‘can you believe this guy’. It felt as if you were in a fever dream. It felt like he was manufactured straight from the build-your-own-villain workshop.

“I’m from Sunnydale, my date with destiny has been permanently postponed” you stated as Gunn snickered at your phrasing. He liked how tough you could be married with the sweet-natured woman he has met those years ago. He had expected to have to protect you when he first met you but soon found out you had some moves of your own (you lived in Sunnydale it was that or just lay down in the street after dark and let the demons take you).

The Kronak demon started to back you both against a wall. The wall now grey fencing with barbed wire wrapped around it, rather than the usual brick that had been there before the dimension shift.

“What’re we gonna do?” you hissed, your hand still desperately grasping to his. You swore it must have been breaking his bones but he didn’t complain once. he just wanted you to know he was right by your side.

“It’s cool. I gotta plan”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah - Run!” 

He pulled your hand with him and you did. You ran through the cobbled streets and narrow pathways. You jumped over turnstiles and ducked under hedges to try and find a way to well, anywhere. The most unusual thing you noted is that there were no buildings. No concrete structures. You could see land for miles. there were massive holes in the ground, as if gigantic moles had taken over. It was unnerving. The only thing in the entire area that was built up, was the cemetery.

You both turned into the gates, ducking behind a large mausoleum. You huddled together, whispering. You hated cemeteries. Sunnydale had been full of them and you had to excuse yourself if patrolling had brought you there for too long than necessary. They gave you the creeps and reminded you of not only any losses you had experienced, but of the loss that others felt whenever they had to visit. You told Gunn about this, so softly he might have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention. But he was, even through his panting from running, he was focused on you. Only you. 

He understood and so he opened up to you. he hated cemeteries too. Because of his sister. She didn’t get a proper burial. He had to stake her. You almost choked up, you had never heard this story before. He told you about it all. You wrapped your arms around him as he spoke, willing him to feel the comfort. He spoke of how it made him feel while you hid together. Only the light of the moon guiding your path to this place of death. You started shivering and he took his suit jacket off, draping it around your shoulders. You shrugged it around you as best you could and moved to rest your head against his shoulder. This could be a long night. 

You had both fallen asleep, leaning against each other. You had both agreed to take it in turns to keep watch but one of you must have dozed off during your hour. You were woken by a horrific shriek, one that almost burst one of your eardrums it was so piercing. You both jumped awake, getting up to find three purple mole-men squaring up.

You both stood, back-to-back, your fists raised ready for a fight. If you were going down, you were both going down fighting. With any luck, the demons would be distracted by your horrible outfit and allow you to get some offensive attacks in.

Gunn started to attack any that he could reach, his well-practiced punches landing almost every time. You traded blows too, even took off your shoes and threw them at the demons that had been lunging at you.

You slowly walked a circle, still with your backs facing the other so that you could defend each other the best you could. One ran to tackle you but you grabbed him by the t-shirt and tugged. This left you with a handful of soil-stained material and the demon slightly colder than he was before. There had been at least six joining the fight, but you had thinned the original three.

”That thing - in there. We need it” Gunn dropped his voice for you, before going back in with a punch at one that had run at him. You looked and he had gestured to the bare chest of the demon you had just ripped the t-shirt off of. His chest had an opaque circular compartment, as if you should be able to see his organs. It looked like one of those glass cases that you were supposed to break in case of an emergency. Inside this compartment, was a golden sceptre. The kind royalty would hold whilst sitting atop a throne. That was the key to leaving here.

Of course, the one thing you needed would have to be some impossible to access object that you would have realistically not chance in reaching now that it was a six-on-two fight. 

You manged to duck at the right moment and send one of the demons flying into the other, knocking them both to the ground. One popped up straight away but the other was leaking a bright liquid, like a faulty glow-stick. Must be blood, you figured.

Gunn had taken a shovel from one of the grave sides and used it as a weapon as you carried on using your fists. You had managed to kill the rest through working together. The final mole-man, the one that held the dimension key (the sceptre inside his chest), was now on the floor. Decapitated by Gunn’s shovel. He pulled a face, but still reached inside the demon, his arm now dripping with glow-stick coloured goo. He pulled the golden sceptre out and handed it to you, to your dismay.

“Should get us back” he gestured with his head to the sceptre you were holding that was now glowing an unnatural neon green.

“Roses are overrated anyway” you started to smile, inspecting the object.

“You know it” he said, but he was frowning slightly. He had wanted things to go well, or at least better than tonight had. He knew he had feelings for you for a while, finally able to ask once he found out from Wesley that you weren’t trying to pick between Angel and Spike but instead hoping for the affection of someone else. But the fight never seemed to stop, and he couldn’t even have one night off to explore your feelings together. Although, tonight had showed him that you trusted him implicitly. That you had at least wanted to kiss him. And that he could trust you beyond anything he had ever let himself before. You were the one, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, he was still frowning slightly.

“Hey, I mean it. This, just being here with you - I wouldn’t want to spend my time almost-dying with anyone else” you insist - smiling that smile he had always loved.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely”

“We could stick around check out the bars?” You both looked around at the now desolate land that surrounded you with no buildings in sight - let alone bars.

“I think it’s time to go...” you smile softly, his eyebrows raised at your words. He leaned in, his lips catching yours. The adrenaline still pumping through you now slowly becoming replaced by something new. A light, airy feeling as if you had both discovered something new, that in reality had always existed between you. A sweet, all-encompassing love. You gripped the sceptre in one hand - you had to, but the other hand slowly slid round his side and up his back. He moved in further, cupping your cheek with one hand and holding the sceptre with the other. You were both now subconsciously gripping each other tighter than the glowing object. The most important thing in any dimension being this kiss. This heavenly revelation. An enlightenment only the two of you would ever share. You knew instantly that you loved this man, you couldn’t even attempt to hide it.

By the time you broke apart from your kiss, you were back in the alleyway you had been when you had almost-kissed earlier. You both pulled apart, somewhat reluctantly and slightly breathless. You had felt butterflies whenever he looked at you anyway, but now there was an entire colony inhabiting your stomach. it was fate, you had never been more sure of it.

Something about the way he looked at you after that kiss would remain ingrained in your mind forever, as if you were his entire world. Perhaps this really had been your date with destiny.

[thevictorious]

but death she is cunning, and clever as hell 

Name: Fava Thornewood

Age: 19

Gender: Cis female

Sexuality: Pansexual

District: Twelve

Title: (Co-)Victor of the 74th Hunger Games

and she’ll eat you alive

tw: death, murder, killing, & injury

The people of Twelve were scarcely able to survive. Far, far away from the Capitol, the coal miners and their families starved while the rich Capitolites devoured feasts.

The Thornewood family was no exception. Collis stepped into the mines day after day, straining in the dark, with the hopes of keeping his family alive for just one more day. But the truth of it was, that the Thornewood family was as happy as anybody in Twelve could be. Perhaps the children were hungry and and their clothes didn’t fit, but they were loved and cared for. Unlike so many children in their district, their faces were never dirty. They made the very best of their horrid situation.

They were tight knit. Collis and Gemma tended to the fire while their three children snuggled up to them, and listened to the stories of their ancestors. Collis, Fava remembers fondly, was an excellent storyteller.

Hell, she admired Collis in everything that he did. She wanted to grow up to be like her father, strong and capable but capable of great kindness and grace. He was truly her hero.

And, perhaps most importantly, Collis’ work kept the family from starving. They were hungry, and never had quite enough to eat, but there was always food on the table. From time to time, he’d even bring Fava to the Seam to shop for a little treat for her and the twins. Beautiful but vanished trinkets called to her, food from the forest piqued her interest, and she took special pleasure in visiting this place where her father seemed so well loved. People here liked him too. They had good taste.

The news came one afternoon while Fava was in school.

At just eleven years old, she’d lost her hero. His stories, his rough hands, his warm smile, had been buried in the mines. There was no body, no funeral, no money.

Collis Thornewood hadn’t been the only casualty either. An accidental blast had caused the mineshaft to crumble, entombing nearly a dozen miners in the darkness. The people of Twelve, to their credit, did the best that they could to keep the families sustained. They brought over whatever food they could spare, clothing, and firewood, but after a few weeks they could not continue these donations.

What remained of the Thornewood family was entirely on its own.

Gemma tried to remain strong for her children, she kept a brave face when she thought that they were not looking, but crumbled just as quickly. The twins, Grace and Burnet, were equally stunned. They were so little, so heartbroken, and Fava saw her own mourning reflected in their faces.

Still, they had little choice but to move on.

Fava and the twins went to school, and her mother tried to make ends meet as a seamstress. But their efforts were not enough… The family was starving. She could see it in her siblings’ faces, in her mother’s hollowed eyes. They could not possibly make it through this.

Just a year after Collis had died, it seemed that the family would die with him. And then Hudson stepped in. She’d never payed Hudson much mind in school. They were kind and gentle, but never someone she’d been close to, so she could scarcely believe when they had gone out of their way to give her food. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She could take this meal to her family and they could survive another day.

Of course, prideful as Fava was, she was rather embarrassed. But she would not turn down the gift, not if it meant helping her family. She never forgot Hudson’s kindness.

A few weeks later, Fava was awoken by a nightmare and hunger pangs. She thought back on those happy days with her father and the Seam. People there were tough, just as he one was, but they were kind. More importantly, she thought of the food that they sold at their stalls. Animals from the forests…

Perhaps she could provide for her family in the same way.

She ventured out into the forests the next day, slipping through a hole in the fence, and she quickly ran into a neighbor boy. Raab was tall and handsome, his laughter was infectious, but she’d never expected to find him out here. The chance meeting had resulted in a friendship. In time, Raab taught her to make a bow and arrow and how to shoot. He taught her to build traps and catch game. The time that they spent together only brought them closer.

In time, she became a fantastic hunter. Driven by her family’s need, she’d finally found how she could keep them alive. And the extra that she had? She sold in the Seam. The people there smiled warmly at her, just as they did her father.

For years, it went on like that. She and Raab spent long days hunting together, feeding their families as best they could. They earned just enough money to keep their loved ones fed and usually evaded capture. But hardship, be it her father’s death or her hunting, had drained Fava of her warmth. She was every bit as strong and capable and graceful, but she did not have Collis’ kindness.

Not unless she was spending time with her younger siblings. She could never be harsh with them.

At age eighteen, the same year as the twins’ first reaping, Fava tried to reassure them that they would not be chosen. She and Raab, however… It was all that Fava could to to keep her expression stony and calm. She had terrible feeling about the Reaping, but it turned out so much worse than she’d ever anticipated.

The escort smiled as their hand swirled elegantly in the glass sphere, and she drew out a piece of paper. Fava held her breath, only to hear her sister’s name. “Grace Thornewood!”

For a moment there was silence, she was so startled that Fava forgot to breathe. No. No. How could this happen? Without thinking, she charged forward to grab hold of her sister. She would not let Grace go. As the Peacekeepers tried to pull her away, she spoke the words that she’d never imagined saying aloud “I volunteer as tribute.”

Grace and Burnet were safe, at least for now.

What’s worse, Hudson joined her on stage just moments later. She had not forgotten their kindness, the debt that she owed them, and she burned with embarrassment. Would they tell all of Panem how desperate she’d been? Or worse, would they expect her to give up her life for theirs? After all, they’d saved her once.

For days, she tried to pay as little attention to Hudson as she possibly could, tried to push them out of her mind. They were unimportant. All that mattered was that she needed to return home to her siblings, to her mother, so that she could continue to support them. She couldn’t stand the idea that they’d starve.

But in time, she found herself warming to Hudson a bit. They were kind, gentle even, and she helped them when she could in the training center. She had not expected that romance would be central to their survival.

For the most part, her games were something of a blur. She did her very best to do as Griffin said, staying away from the Cornucopia, and she put her survival skills in the forests to use. Maybe, just maybe, she could survive this.

The Games lasted for weeks, testing her mettle and intelligence and strength. Oh, and how Fava suffered. She’d managed to trap one of the careers in a snare, but as she approached the Career she was stabbed. Though she finished them off soon after, and wielded the knife to her advantage, the injury plagued her for the remained of the Games.

From then on, she used snares and her knife as her primary weapon. Trapping tributes one by one, until at last she trapped a young man from two who’d gotten his hands on a bow and arrow. At last, she was in fighting force. No more did she need to hide away in the shadows, but she could show herself off as the competitor she was.

Fava was relentless, keeping to herself save for a brief brush with other tributes, but it was only when she caught a glimpse of Hudson that she paused. In the end, they would have to die, they could not both live through this, but she didn’t have it in her heart to kill them. Someone else would have to finish the job.

Soon after, an announcement was made. Two tributes could leave the Games together, if only they were from the same district. She found Hudson soon after, and the pair watched each other’s backs as the number of tributes dwindled further and further. At Griffin’s encouragement, the pair struck up a romance. Hudson seemed to be far better at it than Fava, but she would do damn near anything to survive. Love was merely a tool to get what she wanted.

In the end, after a brutal fight with a pair of career tributes from Four, they were victorious. They’d made it to the end. But the previous change was soon reversed, and Fava realized that she would have to kill Hudson.

She thought of going home, of seeing Burnet and Grace again, but to leave them? Perhaps there was another way…

Fava gathered a handful Nightlock berries, poured some into Hudson’s hands and shared her plan. The Capitol would have no victor at all. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps she could still make this work. Fava’s bet had paid off. Just as quickly as the ruling had been reversed, the Gamemakers allowed them both to survive, and they were crowned victors. Two!

But she knew that it would not be so easy. President Snow and his wicked entourage would not allow her and Hudson to live in peace. Unfortunately for Fava, she doesn’t have any idea just how terrible their punishment will be.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: you gave up half your life Fandom: Supernatural Summary:  When Dean and Cas disappeared, Sam was lost. But in a world that had nearly broken apart so many times, he wasn’t the only one who needed support and guidance. AN: Remember when I ranted about season 7? Yeah good times. Here’s my 10.000 words Salty Post Season 7 Fix-it in which Sam Winchester accidentally starts organizing a bunch of Hunters all while trying to find his brother.

Read on AO3

Sam didn’t remember the first 48 hours after Dean had disappeared. He knew he must have gotten out of the building, away from the Leviathans, the demons and every pretty little hell his mind could have thrown at him, and driven away in the Impala. He had woken up covered in black goo at the side of a road outside of some tiny town he didn’t even know the name of, miles and hours away from where they had stopped the apocalypse 2.0.

Dean was gone.

Sam had to get him back.

The two of them had a pact, of course. If one of them died, the other would continue on with his life. No shady deals, no sacrifices, no years wasted away chasing after the barest whisper of hope.

That pact was lie.

Sam had known as much from the moment he had died for the first time. They had sworn it to assure each other that they weren’t too far gone yet, that they could still be functional members of society that weren’t utterly codependent.

During his time at Stanford, Sam had taken a course on children’s psychology. Siblings that grew up with absent parents tended to cling more to each other. The younger they were, the stronger the bond.

The course had been eye-opening and confronted him with more than just one uncomfortable truth. (Sam had never cried out for their father after a nightmare.) As long as Dean was out there, somewhere, Sam could manage.

But now Dean was gone.

Not dead, not possessed, just gone.

The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.

His next course of action was clear, he knew his mission (had done so once already in a fantasy land created by a cowardly angel): find Dean, consequences be damned.

(He heard Lucifer singing, oh, so sweetly, “This is why you were made for me.” He ignored it.)

X

Sam started to research. He had always liked that part of the job the most. Ever since he could think, he’d been absorbing knowledge. It was the most ordinary, white-picket-fence like part of being a Hunter. When he had been younger, Sam used to pretend that he was preparing for a school project instead of trying to figure out what was going to kill his family if he didn’t do his job correctly.

He began collecting books from all kinds of places. All his Leviathan research was already stored on his laptop and about five different hard drives he carried with him at all times. It was hard to find anything online Sam didn’t already know or the Leviathans hadn’t covered up themselves. The lore on purgatory, which Sam had already gone through, was about as vague and contrasting as possible. According to the Catholic church, it didn’t even exist anymore. At the same time, the older the lore, the more accurate and Dante had written a whole adventure about it. Sam should have asked Cas how reliable Dante's account of hell, purgatory, and heaven was. Sam had only been to two of those realms and his memories of both were hazy. What little the monsters had let slip out about purgatory didn’t help him either.

Sam was looking at a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, where to start searching. Usually, Dean would throw in some random comment now, sparking a new thought process.

But Sam was alone.

(For now.)

He had to keep looking.

X

After he had gotten back from the Cage, Sam had to stop himself whenever he introduced Dean.

“This is my brother-,” he would say and halt. Dean took over then, playing whatever role he had assumed at the moment.

Sam had been too much of a coward to ask Dean if he knew that it took months for Sam to get it under control, until Adam was no longer the first name on his tongue.

“You’re my brother Adam,” Sam had whispered for a century, wrapped tightly in Grace while sheltering his younger brother.

The least damage to the most innocent of us, three of them had decided down there. The Cage did not provide any space for raging battles or accusations, and it was meant for only one of them. There was companionship to be found in equal suffering.

(Even in the darkest place on Earth, Sam hadn’t been on his own.)

Sam had lost one brother for eternity. He wasn’t going to lose another.

X

Sam had almost forgotten that he had a phone until it rang one day. He had been lying half asleep on the small table of the motel room, which still had two queen-sized beds because Sam hadn’t gotten out of the habit of asking for such yet. Last time, it had taken almost two months. Sam didn’t intend to be separated from his brother long enough to get rid of the habit again.

The ringing of the phone startled him awake. In his disorientation, he knocked his mug, half-filled with cold coffee, off the table.

“Shit,” Sam cursed and threw the nearest piece of fabric he could find over it.

He then rushed over to his bag, searching for his phone.

Please, he thought. I need just this one miracle.

Sam didn’t recognize the number on the phone. Memorizing numbers of hotel rooms, license plates, phones, holes in jeans, and bullets had been one of the first things John Winchester had taught Sam.

After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.

“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. His voice was rough – when had he last talked to someone?

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam’s first reaction was to recoil. He wanted to scream, shout, throw something.

He did neither of those things.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

A sob rang from the other end of the line.

“Oh, God. It really is you. I know I memorized your number correctly, but the tablet messed with my head and I just, I need-“

“Kevin, breathe,” Sam ordered. “Where are you?”

“New York,” Kevin stammered. “State, not city. I managed to escape, but Crowley will know soon because I blew up his demons and I don’t know where to go or what to do-“

“I’ll come get you. Go somewhere safe and ward the room like you’re expecting the devil himself to knock and then call me again.”

He sent a quick and silent prayer to Castiel, the only angel worth praying to left these days despite everything, and began to pack his things. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t really thought about Kevin since that day. Crowley had just grabbed him and vanished, and Dean, always Sam’s priority, had been more important.

Dean would be ashamed Sam had let himself get so absorbed in such a single-minded attitude. This hyper-focusing, while it helped fighting one cause, could get you killed just as quickly. A Hunter couldn’t be entrenched. They had to think quickly and be flexible and open to other ideas. For all that Hunters hated deviating from the norm, if you only knew how to salt-n-burn bones, your third ghost would get you.

Within fifteen minutes, Sam was packed. He loaded his belongings into the Impala and drove off into the direction of New York.

X

Sam found Kevin in an overcrowded motel, hiding out in a wardrobe that was covered in so many sigils, it might as well be drenched in ink. Kevin had picked up on quite a lot of knowledge in the short time he had been exposed to the supernatural. Though, maybe, that also had to do with his status as a prophet of the Lord. Perhaps this knowledge was written into his soul.

When Sam opened the door, Kevin was cradling the demon tablet with one hand and a water bottle with the other.

“Hey, Kev-“

Sam didn’t get much further, as Kevin hit him with a glass full of water.

“I’m not a demon, Kevin,” Sam said slowly. He knew better than to scare the younger man now.

“You could have been possessed!” Kevin insisted, bloodshot eyes wide open with a crazed look.

Sam shook his head and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck to expose his anti-possession tattoo.

“Not with this. As long as I’ve got this one intact, I’m good.”

Kevin stared at the black ink.

“Is that Hunter standard?” He asked. “And can I get one?”

For the first time in weeks, or so it felt like, Sam managed to twist his face into something resembling a happy expression with the hint of a smile.

“Sure, Kevin. If you’re up for a long drive right now.”

Kevin was tired. It was written all over his face, his posture. He had a haunted look in his eyes, one Sam knew all too well. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been raised in this life like Sam and his brother had. But right now, staring in Kevin's sunken-in face, Sam was reminded of just how much Kevin had had to adapt since he’d woken up as a prophet.

“I need to keep moving,” Kevin insisted, subtly shifting so the tablet was pressing into his body uncomfortably.

“Okay. Then we keep moving.”

Kevin fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala within fifteen minutes, still holding onto the tablet. Once in a while, Sam glanced at Kevin, but he slept peacefully. The past weeks must have been an enormous strain on his body and mind if he rested as well as he did now, with no nightmares haunting him.

(The first few nights after Cas had taken Lucifer from him, Sam had been so out of it as well. He had fallen asleep and just woken up again, not chased by blood, torture, and screams. Nowadays, if he slept, he had night terrors. It almost made him miss Lucifer. Almost.)

Sam wished he could say the same.

X

After a couple days of pretty much non-stop driving, Sam and Kevin arrived in a relatively small town. They got a motel, checked for any signs of demons and promptly warded the room to withstand a minor assault. Then they left the Impala in the parking lot and headed for a diner. Kevin hadn’t eaten properly in days (not that Sam had either, but he also wasn’t recovering from a kidnapping) and needed something nutritious.

“Where are we?” Kevin asked while he was swirling his soup around with his spoon, not eating any of it.

“Nebraska, passed the state lines a couple hours ago.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can read road signs, Sam. But you were heading to this city specifically – why?”

“There’s a retired Hunter here, or at least, I hope he’s still here. He owns a tattoo shop.”

Kevin stared at him, not giving Sam the impression that he had made the connection. Then again, he’d been so out of it when Sam had picked him up, he might not even remember.

“You wanted to get an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam elaborated.

“Oooh, yeah.” Kevin looked down on his bowl. “I forgot about that. But why here? Couldn’t we have walked to any shop?”

The answer was yes, they could have, but Sam didn’t want to. Marty McKinnons never really left his state for hunting. Sam had met him when he was on his way to Stanford, seven days separated from Dean. Sam may or may not have had a minor breakdown in the passenger seat of Marty’s car while they drove away from a graveyard.

“I only managed seven fucking days of normal before the crazy came back again. What the hell was I thinking?” Sam had said then.

Marty had let Sam crash on his sofa that night and set his head straight again. He had been managing a shop and a band while hunting. “You don’t have to give it all up, kid,” Marty had said. “Or push it all away. If you see a ghost, take care of it or call someone who can. No need to go searching for cases like your daddy. If your neighborhood’s good, so are you.”

And then he had given Sam breakfast and driven him to the bus station.

“We could,” Sam finally replied. “But I’ve wanted to check out who else is still in the game, and if they know what the demons are up to.”

Kevin mustered Sam a little while longer. “Alright.”

He went back to pretending he was actually going to eat more of his soup and Sam picked at his salad.

X

Marty’s shop was crammed into an alley, an off-shoot of the main road. It was still standing. Sam took that as a good sign. Kevin walked slightly behind Sam, staying as close as he possibly could without full-on taking over Sam’s personal space.

Sam opened the door to the shop and the old bell attached to the doorframe rang. Marty had stolen it out of an abandoned church. Sam couldn’t quite recall what monster church bells warded against, but he could remember in perfect detail Marty’s hilarious tale about its acquisition. It had involved neon pink paint and lucky charms and had sounded like something out of a comedy sketch.

“Welcome to Artemis Tattoo’s, what can I do for you?”

Marty looked a little different than Sam recalled. It shouldn’t surprise him, it had been over a decade. The red-haired man was well into his fifties now, and his hair was graying, giving him a silver-fox look.

“Hey, Marty,” Sam greeted lamely. “It’s me, Sam-“

“Sam Winchester?” Marty interrupted him with wide eyes.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them over his black t-shirt before putting them on again.

“Christo, is that really you, kid?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “Still me, still kicking.”

Compared to Sam, most people were smaller than him. Marty was the only person Sam knew who was taller than him still. When he marched towards you, it was impossible to not feel intimidated. Nobody would expect a man of Marty’s age and built to be as silent and fast as he was, so when he suddenly rushed towards Sam, Sam was caught off-guard. He didn’t even have a chance to act before Marty pulled him close.

He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.

“Holy fucking hell, kid,” Marty cursed. “You’re alive. You wouldn’t believe the shit I heard about you Winchesters in the past years. Where’s your brother?”

Sam tensed and Marty slowly let go of him. Marty had started hunting because his older sister had been killed by a witch, Sam remembered.

Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.

“Dean’s- he’s gone.”

(But he would be back.)

“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“

“He’s not dead,” Sam insisted. Each time he said it out loud, he managed to stand a little bit straighter. “He’s just lost. I’ll find him. But that’s not what I’m here for. Look, this is Kevin.”

Sam stepped aside to let Marty get a good look at Kevin. Kevin waved timidly and nervously took in Marty’s many tattoos. The older man was covered in them from head to toe. Most of them were for the aesthetic, but quite a lot were there because they helped on the job.

Marty specialized in taking down witches, and while you couldn’t protect yourself from all of their spells, there were quite a lot counter measurements one could ink into their skin.

“Kevin’s a prophet. Crowley’s had him for a while-“

“Crowley?”

Right. Sometimes Sam forgot that not everybody dealt with demons on the daily like him.

“Current King of Hell,” Sam continued. “Kevin managed to escape, but we need to get him some extra security.”

Marty nodded slowly and then grinned, warm and toothily like Sam remembered. It was nice to be looked at in kindness for once instead of hatred and fear like most Hunters did nowadays.

“Anti-possession tattoo, you’re thinking?”

“Yes,” Kevin spoke up for the first time since they had entered the shop. “I don’t want one of those bastards in my head. If they know what I know…”

“Could get bad, I got you. Man, am I glad I don’t deal with those sons of a bitch. And you, Sam? Can I get you anything?”

Sam stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper sheer that used to be white once upon a time.

“Yes, actually,” Sam said. “There is something I want.”

X

In the years Sam and Dean had been hiding from Heaven and Hell, they had learned more about wards than their father had in his entire life. Most of them had to be powered by blood, freshly spilled. A few of them, like the Enochian sigils Castiel had branded onto their ribs, could be applied and would work without a sacrifice, or one that only needed to be paid once.

Sam had never thought about putting anything other than the anti-possession tattoo on his skin (it was too easy to alter wards, to make them turn on the one using them, to have them drain you, they made you recognizable) but the last years had worn him down.

And if anything ever got close enough to him again to manipulate him (wear his body, wrap his soul in sweet lullabies while they tear into his brother’s flesh-), then perhaps Sam deserved it.

He wasn’t young and weak anymore.

(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)

Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Marty asked, studying the paper Sam had handed him. “This is… I don’t even recognize half of this.”

(Nobody would. Something had been meant for Archangel Grace only, but Sam had been there and he had listened. And he remembered.)

Kevin looked over the paper as well, frowning. When he met Sam’s eyes, he was troubled.

“That’s a lot,” Kevin said, something old lingering in his voice.

Maybe being a prophet didn’t just mean that Kevin could read God’s Word.

“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”

(I consent.)

X

When they separated from Marty, the man pulled both of them into another heartfelt hug. Kevin looked like he was about to break and Sam’s hug was a little awkward as Marty was mindful not to touch Sam’s back.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Marty said. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for you, Marty,” Sam replied. “And if anyone wants to get the wards, but has questions about them, they can call me. I can explain.”

Marty smiled warmly and messed up Sam’s long hair. “You’re a good kid. Stay safe.”

X

They drove westward, hitting old libraries and archives, universities and churches. Sam kept learning, kept going. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind.

(Except this was reality.)

Kevin wasn’t any better.

He barely slept. Most of the time, he was staring at the demon tablet, taking notes and trying to make sense of everything written there.

After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.

“I can’t do this if we keep moving,” he admitted quietly. “I need peace and calm to actually understand what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He had expected it. “I’ll find a place.”

Some Hunters never traveled far away from their home, others were so lost they drifted until some monster killed them. As much as Sam had detested it, he had been raised on the road. He had studied for his finals lying on the backseat of the Impala. He had gotten a full-ride to Stanford with sticky-notes pinned to the windows.

(Sam wondered what he could have been if he had been able to recover in peace.)

X

Sam left Kevin at an old abandoned church. They set up traps for demons, bought enough non-perishable food to ensure Kevin wouldn’t have to leave the church for a while (until Sam found a better solution) and said their quiet goodbyes.

(“Looks like you’re well and truly on your own.”)

Everybody left.

Sam should be used to it by now.

It didn’t stop him from watching Kevin in the rearview-mirror until the distance ate him up.

X

Dean was gone two months now. Kevin called sometimes, but Sam couldn’t always keep up with his rambles. The Impala was stocked full with books kept in a neat organization system that hadn’t ever made sense to anyone but Dean.

X

Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.

Then a witch in Utah.

A werewolf in Arizona.

Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-

And then, blood splattered over his clothes, Sam killed a demon.

Two hunters with twin shocked expressions pointed at Sam, then at the dead body and threw up their arms in defeat, shouting, “You can do that!?”

X

Sam had been avoiding demons to the best of his abilities. He knew they were hunting him and Kevin down, and while at some point he had entertained the thought of using himself as bait to lure them as far away from Kevin as possible, he had settled on trying to stay as far away from them as he could.

Until he couldn’t.

The demon was working on his own and he hadn’t been really all that well-informed or strong. It was easy enough to trap him and get him to break.

Sam hated torture, but not as much as Dean did.

(Because Dean wasn’t just good at it, he was great.)

But he could get a demon to start speaking if he wanted it to. The demon had boasted so proudly about how much he had made the owner of his meatsuit suffer until the soul had died, not knowing that his actions had only made it easier for Sam.

And then, when he had stabbed the knife through the demon’s heart, two college kids broke into the warehouse.

X

They must be siblings, twins maybe even, Sam thought. Both of them had curly dark hair, equally dark skin, and their expressions were too similar for them to not be family.

“You just killed a demon,” the smaller one said. “How do you- what. Just. What?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Dude, who are you? You just offed a demon!”

They couldn’t be older than twenty-five at most, at best if Sam allowed himself to hope. They knew about demons, so they had to be Hunters. Probably not in the business for long if they didn’t know demons could be killed. That was common knowledge amongst the community, or what was left of it. At least Sam thought it was. He and Dean had never really been close to a lot of Hunters because of their reputation.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself.

The eyes of the pair widened.

Not good.

Sam slowly shifted his body into a more versatile position and counted the exits. He would defend himself, no questions asked, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. If he could get away from the two without the situation escalating into a fight, everything would be alright.

“Sam Winchester,” the taller twin spoke up. “You’re really Sam Winchester?”

And then something curious happened.

The twins dropped their shoulders in pure relief, hope lighting them up like they still had something to believe in that hadn’t been broken by blood and deals.

Well, that was a first.

“Dude,” the smaller one said. “Thank you so much.”

What.

Sam hadn’t said a word, but his confusion must have shown (damn it, he used to be better at acting, at pretending, at reassuring everyone that he was fine) because the kid immediately began to babble.

“You saved us. Just. Thank you. Just, thank you for everything.”

“You are welcome?”

Sam still didn’t know what they were talking about, but he sincerely hoped that he was right in assuming the two of them meant no harm. They put away their guns, practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Sam asked.

“No,” the taller replied. “I’m Gregory Rosswell and this one here next to me is my brother Frederick. Our parents got snatched by Leviathans a couple months back. We’ve been going after them ever since and everything else that came our way.”

Gregory glanced at the dead demon behind Sam. “Mostly ghosts though. Caught one demon, but he almost blew our brains out. Couldn’t chug enough salt and holy water at him fast enough.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “How did you catch one so easily?”

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

The twins shared a look. “Can you teach us how to draw one?”

X

Gregory and Frederick Rosswell were twenty-years-old (too young, children still, they shouldn’t be here) and had both been home from university when their parents had been replaced by Leviathans. When they had tried to do the same to Frederick, Gregory had cut off their heads with a cutlass from their father’s ancient weapons collection.

Sam refrained from asking whether the cutlass hidden beneath the backseat of the twins’ car was the one Gregory had used. They had a fairly impressive collection of knives and swords, but only two small handguns.

“We don’t need those much since we mostly go after Leviathans,” Gregory explained. “Didn’t even know there was more crazy out there until we ran into our first ghost.”

Gregory said it so casually that Sam didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked. Leviathans weren’t easy to kill, even depowered as they now were, and Hunters, whose introduction to life was so violent, tended to die sooner than later.

When Sam tried to explain that, the Rosswells only looked at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, man. Back up a second. Vampires are real too?”                           

The twins turned to each other, conveying thoughts in half-smiles, a groan and a tap on the shoulder. Then they decided to invite Sam back into their conversation.

“What else is there?” Gregory asked. “And how do we kill it?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.

They were twenty, they shouldn’t be hunting when they had their whole lives still ahead of them.

(Sam was twenty-nine, was two-hundred-twenty, centuries, ages, older than his brother would ever be.) 

“We know,” Frederick replied. “But we don’t want to stop. We can’t stop.”

Sam had never met a Hunter who could. (Himself included.)

X

Sam had never actually taught someone how to be a Hunter. Frederick and Gregory got the basics done already and research wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Their father had been a policeman, so they knew how law enforcement worked and could pretend to be a part of it well enough. Sam didn’t feel like he was actually teaching them a lot by giving them a list of America’s Top Twenty Monsters and a How To Kill Them All manual.

If he was honest, he thought the twins did most of the work. For the weeks they stuck with him, they asked countless questions, treating him like a tired college professor.

“How much Holy Water can you bless at once?”

A lot, but no, you can’t just bless the ocean. That’s not how it works.

“Wooden stake for tricksters? Where does that even come from?”

Yes, wooden stake. Works if they’re not angels in disguise.

“Angels are real!?”

Yes, and they all suck. Never let one of them possess you. They may need your consent, but it doesn’t need to be an informed or gentle one. You’ll be out of control and feel like you’ve been strapped to a comet. (Like you’re trapped in the softest dream, surrounded by memories of your siblings when they still loved you and the world was whole and untainted.)

“I know Latin and I’d been learning Greek for my bachelor, but how many languages do you need to know?”

A lot.

“Why do you carry so many books around in your car? Wouldn’t it be easier to get a place to store them in?”

“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.

Sam looked at the backseat of the car and yes, true enough, he had accumulated a small library.

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Sam muttered, and pointedly ignored that one of the stacks of books had fallen over, making the twins grin like idiots.

When they went their separate ways again, Sam was a little more convinced that he wasn’t sending the two of them off to their deaths. And if they ever met anything they didn’t know, they could call him. It was the least he could do.

X

What Sam hadn’t expected when he handed the Rosswells his number, was how often they would call. Sometimes they asked for help regarding hunts, but more often than not, they just asked about him or talked about whatever kind of crazy had happened to them lately. When Sam had started attending Stanford, he’d had to train himself in the delicate art of small talk. While attending school, he’d never connected much with his peers, too aware that he’d soon move away again, and with Dean around, he hadn’t needed to say a single word more than necessary. Even with all their differences, the choices that had made them grow apart, they got each other.

(Except when they didn’t and the world had to pay for it.)

At Stanford, though, Sam learned that small talk wasn’t just something you took part in to stay busy but to build longer-lasting relationships. The years on the road had made his skill rusty, but the Rosswells were doing their best to bring it back.

Sam didn’t know why telling them what he had for dinner was a good topic choice (but it did make him more conscious of the meals he kept skipping) or why he could listen to Gregory talking for a good fifteen minutes about how difficult it was to eat healthy on the road.

He always accepted their calls, never hit decline, even when they called in the middle of the night (Sam wasn’t sleeping anyway).

Marty called a few times too, his latest call informing Sam of his new partner Caitlyn, a young florist, who had set up her shop just a few meters away from him and put all her bouquets in holy water.

“She’s new to all of this. Vamps got her husband last year – that’s why she moved town.”

Kevin checked in less regularly and to even more random times than the twins. After one more erratic call that almost chased Sam halfway across the country, he asked the twins to go check in on Kevin.

At 3 a.m., his phone rang, and Sam got to stare at a picture of three young men, squatting in a confessional box and watching a movie on a laptop. Kevin was smiling tiredly and Frederick’s new scar was healed enough to be exposed.

They were healthy.

(They were alive.)

Sam could keep going.

X

Month four without Dean started by Sam staring at his phone and the many messages he had received in the few hours he had been asleep. Apparently, his friends had decided to team up and create a group chat.

The last dozen messages were everyone trying to make out what the hell Kevin’s sleep-deprived 4 a.m. message had meant while the prophet in question was probably (hopefully) fast asleep for once.

That’s Enochian, Sam typed mindlessly. It means Protection, but specifically referring to a situation in which demons are trying to possess someone who used to be an angel vessel.

Gregory: What?

Frederick: Hi Sam!!!

Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?

Sam grinned. It can also mean Protecting someone who is Loved by God. Angel vessels are precious to them. Ruining them is a severe offense.

Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out. 

X

Sam met the Hilllains on a ghost hunt. They had three kids, fifteen, twelve and six years old, who all knew how to handle knives and shoot guns and what to do when your mom fell over because she had a vision. The Hillains usually didn’t leave their state since “Raising kids on the road is just irresponsible”.

Susan Hillain-Waterbury was the descendant of a long line of gifted people and Terrence Hillain was a priest turned Hunter after a run-in with a demon. Most of the time, they hunted on the weekends and brought home fast food as a treat on Sunday afternoons.

Sam stayed with them until Monday evening because Susan insisted on making her world-famous lasagna for him as a thank you.

X

Four months and two weeks into his search and Sam had stopped asking for a room with two beds. When he realized that, he abandoned most of his weapons except the knife and headed for the nearest bar. People made space for him when he walked past them, and he didn’t think it was just because of his height.

The bartender took one look at him and filled a crystal clear glass with something that smelled so strong it burned in Sam’s nose.

“First one’s on the house,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sam muttered and downed the drink in one go.

(“Free booze! Awesome. C’mon, Sammy. Smile at her! See if you can get a second!”)

“Just keep them going, please.”

Alcohol couldn’t properly knock Sam out anymore. He hadn’t tried drugs (strong ones, anyway), but those shouldn’t have much of an effect on him either. He remembered the peaceful embrace of another, the oblivion that came with being lulled into memories of happy times when Father still loved them all.

Sam was tired.

His research was going fucking nowhere and he couldn’t keep everything organized and he was failing Dean yet again. He hadn’t been able to get his brother out of hell and he wouldn’t be able to get him out of purgatory.

What a fucking waste of space he was.

X

When he stumbled out of the bar, he stabbed a man with blonde hair and green eyes right between his ribs, watched as the demon within perished. Wordlessly, he dropped the body in a side-alley where it would be found by morning and a mourning family would have a place to grief at.

What did Sam have left?

(Nothing.)

He put the few belongings he had bothered out pack back in the car and drove off.

X

The next day he hit a dog.

X

Sam wasn’t thinking when he wrapped the dog into his towel and drove to the nearest animal clinic.

“I need help,” Sam exclaimed when he entered the clinic. Admitting more than he wanted to. “The dog needs help.”

“He just came out of nowhere, right in front of my car. We need a doctor. Are you a doctor?”

The animal couldn’t die. Not now, not right in front of Sam because he had made another mistake. It shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s flaws.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t-

X

Sam’s shirt was still drenched in (Dean's) the dog’s blood. The smell didn’t bother him, it was too familiar to him to register on his mind.

When the doctor entered the room, everything was still a blur. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, stop his hands from shaking and not fall into a panic.

Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.

X

The motel he was staying at didn’t mind that he was keeping Dog, who still didn’t have a proper name. Sam had always been terrible about naming anything at all. When he was younger and had wanted a pet, Dean had collected the spiders of their motel rooms and named each and every one of them.

The various hero names Dean had slapped on them hadn’t been very creative either, but better than anything Sam had come up with.

The doctor who had done Dog’s surgery assured him that he was recovering well. Amelia Richardson, that was her name, was much kinder to him now that he apparently didn’t classify as a total asshole who hit animals while driving irresponsibly.

She still thought he was creepy and that there was something wrong with him (he was torn to bits and pieces, no amount of tape could fix him), but she stopped with the random accusations. The cash he earned at the motel, fixing a little bit of everything here and there, was enough to help him pay for Dog’s medication.

Sam felt like he was holding his breath and he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

X

Five months after Dean’s disappearance began with another random call. He didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone screen, nor the voice speaking.

“Is this Sam Winchester?”

Sam evaluated the pros and cons of lying but settled on stating the truth. If it turned out this person meant to harm, Sam knew how to disappear quickly.

“Yes, who’s calling?”

The woman on the line sighed.

“My name’s Penny. I’m a… Hunter?” She trailed off, sounding unsure. Sam thought he heard a second voice ring in the background, saying something like, “That’s what Mackey called us!”

“Okay, jeez. I didn’t ask for your opinion Himari and Chasers sounds way better, it’s like Harry Potter,” Penny muttered. That was probably not meant for Sam’s ears. “Anyway. We already called Mackey – he’s another Hunter – but he couldn’t help us, and the Rosswells said you always help them with their cases so they gave us your number, and people are dying and we don’t know what to do.”

While Sam had gotten accustomed to his new network over time, he hadn’t expected the others to hand out his number. There was a certain risk attached to it but- Never mind. He could help out another Hunter, especially if she 

“Okay,” Sam said. “Yes, sure. Of course, I can help you. What are you hunting?”

“No idea.”

Sam grimaced and put the phone on speaker, another habit stemming from being around Dean 24/7. Whenever Bobby called them to give them a little help, they put the phone on speaker so the other could listen in. Sam didn’t need to do it anymore. He did it anyway.

“What and how does it kill then?”

“It burns the victims,” Penny said. Her voice sounded a little off, she probably hadn’t come across many burned corpses then already. The smell and the sight were always a little nauseating. “But there are also multiple bite marks and poison and the only reason we think it’s only one monster is that all victims have at least two of those signs.”

Sam couldn’t think of a single monster that killed in such a way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. If the whole catastrophe with Eve had shown one thing, then that America’s monsters didn’t care about staying traditional. Much like humans, they had immigrated over the centuries and spread and there was no way to keep track of every country’s varied monster population.

“I’ll go do some research, Penny. Just send me what you have so far per SMS,” Sam replied, already packing his messenger bag. “I’ll call you back as soon as I got something. If a new victim pops up, give me another call.”

Sam hesitated. Penny couldn’t be doing this for long if she was unfamiliar with the term Hunter, right?

“Otherwise, stick to silver, iron, salt, and holy water. Those works on most things.”

Seasoned Hunters would think of such advice as patronizing, as much as they appreciated help on a challenging hunt, they were all fairly arrogant, considering themselves experts.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam snorted. “Just call me Sam, everyone does.”

He ended the call and halted, just for a moment. Everyone?

(He sure had surrounded himself with more people than he thought he would, than he ever should.)

X

Sam didn’t expect to run into any trouble while researching for Penny until he stood in front of the library, Dog’s leash still in his hand. He couldn’t take a dog into a library, could he? A bit helplessly and lost he stood in front of the library until a young girl took pity on him and told him he could leave Dog on the west side of the library, where they had a small sheltered space for dogs. Sam thanked her and quickly got to work.

He started looking for any incidents happening in the town Penny was in, but couldn’t find any. Then he moved on to ghosts, covering the basics before returning to researching all kinds of monsters. When the American usuals didn’t bring any results, Sam turned to European folklore and myths, where he soon discovered something fitting.

Sam dialed Penny’s number. “Hey, Penny? I think I know what it might be.”

“Really? But- what. That took you barely 3 hours!”

Sam glanced at the time displayed in the corner of his laptop. It really hadn’t taken that long.

“Well, want to hear what I found?”

“Yes, please.”

Sam smiled and scrolled to the top of his word document. “Okay, so, it looks like you’re dealing with a chimera from Greek mythology. It’s a fire-breathing female monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon or snake behind. In the myth, Bellerophon kills it by lodging a block of lead inside the Chimera's throat.”

“How are we supposed to stuff lead inside such a monster?” Penny replied, her voice bordering on hysterics.

“Look,” Sam said. “Myths like to make things more complicated, heroes more heroic and cunning. Most likely, you’ll be fine by using weapons made out of lead.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as you can be with those things.”

Penny took a deep breath, probably to calm herself. Sam waited until she was done to speak up again. “Do you need back up?”

“No,” Penny said. “Himari called Mackey again to tell him I called you – he says hi by the way? You called him after Bobby’s death apparently…?”

Oh, that Mackey. He was one of Bobby’s contacts. Sam had rung them all up to tell them about Bobby’s death. Not all of them were glad to hear of him, but a surprisingly high amount was.

“Yeah, I know Mackey. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, Himari worked with him before. Anyway, he’s driving our way to help out. I guess I’ll call when it was a success?”

“You do that. Much success and don’t forget to aim for the head.”

Penny laughed, still a little nervous but at least not as much as before. “Thanks for the help again, Sam.”

X

A week later, Sam got a call from Mackey, asking if he had any use for chimera blood.

“Always split the spoils with Bobby,” Mackey said. “I swear, Bobby had everything stored down there in his basement.”

“He did,” Sam agreed. He remembered spending two months at Bobby's by himself while John was out like always and Dean was gone. Sam had done a lot of research during that time, not all of it necessarily child-friendly despite Bobby’s attempts to keep him away from it. He’d spend at least one weekend labeling all the weird monster parts Bobby had been keeping on old shelves.

“Thanks for the call, Mackey, but I don’t have the space for that.”

Sam’s eyes drifted to the books and weapons already taking up most of the space in the Impala and some more.

“Too bad, I don’t have any either. You know any Hunter shops?”

“I…” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to Marty or rather Caitlyn. She didn’t hunt as much as the rest of them, only really when Marty asked her to be his back up. But she did start to collect more unusual ingredients, even if most of them were plant related.

“Actually, yes. How far are you from Nebraska? I know a good place there.” 

X

Sam began to run into Amelia everywhere or so it felt. She was funny and kind, and she understood what it was like to lose something so dear to you, you forgot how to breathe.

“So, Sam, I was thinking: Do you want to go out on Friday? A proper restaurant, I mean. Not another motel room talk.”

“I like our-“

Sam’s phone rang. Frederick was calling him. Last Sam had heard, the twins were a couple hours away from him. “Hold up. Hey Fred, everything alright?”

“Sam!”

Frederick’s panic immediately put Sam on edge. “Fred, what’s going on?”

“Can you come drive up? Gregory and I stumbled upon a werewolf pack and they’re hunting kids for sport and I think they’re onto us and I know there are four at least and we have no idea what to do. Just. Please. I know you’re busy searching for Dean, but we’re at our wit's end.”

Sam looked at Amelia. She was smiling softly still, much happier than the first time he’d met her. Riot, the finally renamed Dog, was lying next to her and wagging his tail.

“Sam?”

People were relying on Sam.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible, give me your coordinates.”

Dean’s cursing about dog fur on the Impala’s leather chased Sam over the highways. He broke the speed limit on most roads, haunted by images of two death he could prevent if he was just in time. Riot looked out of the window, peaceful and healthy. All of Sam’s belongings were crammed into the trunk and on the backseat. A whole life and five months.

X

Sam made it just in time. The werewolves had indeed caught up to the twins and jumped their motel room. When Sam emptied a whole load of silver bullets into the werewolves, Frederick was only wearing sweat pants and using a towel to cover up his chest, holding onto his unconscious brother whose head was bleeding.

The werewolves dropped to the ground, dead. Frederick, blood splattered over his face, didn’t let go of his silver knife or Gregory.

Sam didn’t bother checking whether the werewolves were really dead, they had taken a bullet to their heads and wouldn’t return from that (unless heaven or hell took mercy on them and neither were kind to anyone but themselves).

“Frederick,” Sam said. “You need to get up.”

Frederick didn’t move. The motel was pretty empty, but someone was bound to have heard the attack, the fight or the murder, and they would come looking. They couldn’t afford to lose time now.

“Fred, get up,” Sam ordered. He held out his hand and when Frederick, shaken up, lifted his, Sam quickly took the knife out of it and threw it in the small suitcase on the bed. “Get dressed, I’ll take care of Greg.”

Frederick seemed to be moving in slow motion, but he was finally returning to the action. Sam pulled the pillowcase off one of the pillows lying on the bed and used it to stop Gregory’s bleeding. He probably only had a concussion.

Then Sam picked Gregory up as carefully as he could and carried the man to the Impala. Riot looked up in interest when Sam laid Gregory on the backseat.

“Keep watch,” Sam told him and returned to the Rosswells’ room to help Frederick finish.

When he arrived, Frederick was as good as dressed and gathering everything of importance. Sam picked up two bags and threw one last look at the corpses on the ground. They had no time to get rid of the bodies, they would have to stay.

Frederick sits down next to Gregory and pulls his brother’s head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, …”

The mantra followed them down the road until they were three cities further and utterly safe from being accused of any of the crimes they had committed.

X

“Do you have a safe place to stay somewhere?” Sam asked.

They were near Kansas now and could easily swing up to Nebraska. Neither Caitlyn nor Marty had enough space for the two hunters, but it would do long enough for Gregory to heal until the twins could hit the road again.

If they still wanted to after this encounter.

Sam had been injured so often in the past years, he hardly even blinked at a concussion anymore, he and Dean just kept on driving.

“We’ve got a house,” Frederick replied. “I don’t know what shape it’s in, but we were meaning to go check it out anyway.”

“Alright. Directions?”

X

Frederick led Sam to an abandoned house that was a good twenty-minute drive into the woods in the north of Kansas. It looked fairly old and was surprisingly big and in a good shape.

The entire façade of the building had been painted in a soft green. The color was starting to peel off in some places, but it was mostly intact.

“What is this place?” Sam asked after they had carried Gregory inside and let him continue resting on a sofa in the living room.

There was something off about this place that Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it put him on edge. He felt like somebody was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He began mustering the painted walls. Elaborate landscape paintings of a forest covered the living room. The longer he looked at it, the more did he think he was seeing familiar symbols.

“It’s our great-grandmother Agatha’s house,” Frederick said. “Never met her. According to our grandmother, she was a wicked witch who should have never been allowed to have a child. As soon as Grandmother was sixteen, she left and married a nice man and had a completely normal daughter who then had us. Agatha died back in 2009 shortly before you stopped the apocalypse that almost happened and she left everything to our mother. Mom wanted to sell the house, but no deal could be made. People had unfortunate accidents as soon as they stepped into the house.”

Sam stepped closer to the entrance door, tracing over carvings in the wood. “What?”

Frederick grimaced. “That’s why we were heading here. We wanted to check it out. We thought a ghost might be haunting the building.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam muttered.

“No?”

“These symbols spread all over the room, they’re runes. I’m pretty sure they’re wards. Any chance your great grandmother worshipped pagan gods?”

“I don’t know. But she got super old and she was from Norway.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Let’s track down which god is protecting this house and get them a proper offering before they kill us.”

X

In the end, it was quite easy to figure out which god Agatha had worshipped. Sam found her altar in the eastern kitchen window, the first to see the sun in the morning. Old, half-burned candles with a sugary sweet smell stood around a handmade clay flower pot filled with small pink flowers that appeared to be blooming although nobody was taking care of them. And right next to the flower pot stood a bowl filled with sweets.

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on Sam.

“It’s Loki,” Sam said when he returned to the living room. “Your great grandmother was a follower of Loki.”

“That was the trickster angel, right?” Frederick asked. “The one who died? Shouldn’t this house be clean of his influence then?”

Sam shook his heads. “You can never really kill a pagan god. More than any other beings, they cling to faith. As long as someone believes in them, they exist. Gabriel might be dead, but the idea of Loki is still around.”

(He wondered what that meant for angels. They did die, expect when God or whatever interfered. Castiel had died and come back. So why did God let one of his oldest angels die?)

“Anyway, I’ll get a package of chewing gum from the car. Not his favorite, but it’s sweet and an offering.”

“You’re not going to destroy the altar?”

Frederick’s expression was neutral. He wasn’t judging Sam or implying anything. He only wanted to know why Sam wasn’t getting rid of the threat.

And honestly? Sam didn’t know why. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

“This place has pretty strong wards,” Sam said. It was true, they must have been powered by Loki. If Agatha’s life force had also been included in that, it was no wonder she had died when Gabriel did. If the twins took up residency here, offering their blood and redrawing some of the ownership-tied wards, they had a pretty protected place to stay at. It shouldn’t cost them more than a couple sweets every now and then and some new candles. “There’s a bigger advantage to keeping it.”

X

The twins got settled and Sam spent a couple hours exploring the house. The wards Agatha had set up were truly impressive, even more so after they had made the offering. The house itself was a pretty nice place too. Sure, it needed some fixing and a new paint job, but the amount of knowledge stored in the crammed library in what must have been Agatha’s study was astonishing. Sam would definitely take a closer look once he had the time. Since they had no food or drink, Sam went back to the car to head to the nearest grocery store and buy some supplies.

X

After about two days, Gregory was already up and running again - or walking. Every time Frederick even just suggested Gregory take it slow or, God forbid, brought him food to his bed, Gregory looked slightly more murderous. His injuries weren’t as bad as they had seemed, but it had scared Fred regardless. It reminded Sam a little of his childhood when he’d been deemed old enough to give first-aid but too young to hunt still and Dean or Dad had come back already half out of it and Sam had to stitch them back together. They’d always looked as if they’d come straight out of a horror movie, but nothing vital had been hurt (well, except maybe once or twice.)

Sam and Fred had cleaned up what appeared to have been a guest bedroom and settled Gregory there. To avoid going stir-crazy, they’d cleaned up the other rooms afterward. The house had electricity and warm running water and Sam was sure those had only shown up after Sam had added a lot of treats to Loki’s altar.

He might have gone a little overboard, but Sam owed the guy. He’d died for them, the whole world, when he could have certainly taken up a golden throne right next to Lucifer. As twisted as Lucifer was, killing Gabriel had hurt him and that showed how much he would have loved to have his favorite sibling by his side.

And Gabriel has said “no”.

Frederick had only glanced questioning at the mountain of candy, porn magazines, crossword puzzles, honey, and candles, but Gregory was the one to actually ask about them.

“I thought altars were all blood, dark magic and-“ Gregory moved his hands through the air in the bad imitation of a TV witch. “You know?”

“Blood is for worshippers and, in this case, the owner of the house. The stuff I brought is just a guest gift.”

Maybe not just merely a guest gift, but also a little bribery to protect the three of them as they resided here.

“So whoever offers blood owns the house?” Gregory inquired.

Sam shrugged. “Basically.”

“And non-basically?”

Right, Sam had forgotten he was talking to an ex-history student. Without further prompting, he latched into a lecture on Pagan gods, worship, and ownership rules, only halting once to give Frederick a chance to get settled comfortably when he joined them.

X

Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?

Gregory: It’s Greg

Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro

Gregory: Of all the names you could have picked, why did it have to be Frederick again?

Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better

Caitlyn: Sweet. We got a couple Hunters here asking how to get phoenix feathers. Anybody got some ideas? And can I give them your number? @Sam

Sam: Sure, tell them to give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do

X

Frederick and Gregory were up to something. Sam didn’t just guess so, he saw the incriminating looks they shared. Sam had been in and out of their house for a month now. He’d spent two weeks there going through the books their great-grandmother had possessed, but unfortunately, those didn’t provide much information on purgatory either.

Another dead end.

After that, Sam threw himself into helping other hunters. His number of acquaintances had grown exponentially the more the word spread that one Winchester was still alive and kicking and willing to just hand over everything he knew (while the other was gone, never dead. All of them thought it, Sam knew, but they didn’t dare say it around him.).

Hunters were guarded people, they wouldn't survive otherwise. Even information was just shared sparingly, so of course, they all jumped on the opportunity. It was strange to be confronted with Hunters who worked very specialized or were just at the beginning of their careers, as far as you could call killing monsters a job.

Of course, the older ones didn’t exactly trust Sam (he did have a history filled with a lot of dangerous bullshit such as letting Lucifer out of the Cage), but he was America’s expert on everything angelic and demonic.

Even if he didn’t really feel like it. There was so much to know about heaven and hell, Sam’s active knowledge barely scratched the surface and he didn’t dare try to reach for the memories he had buried.

(The Cage hadn’t been all bad, but trauma didn’t let you pick how you’d react to any memory at all.)

But compared to everyone else, that was still more so he taught how to exorcise demons and kill angels and hoped it was enough.

X

“So,” Gregory said one morning. “I’m all healed up and Himari called, asking for backup, so we think it’s time to leave again.”

Sam nodded and closed his book. “Time to move on then.”

“Yeah, about that…” Gregory trailed off and turned to his brother.

Frederick pushed himself away from the wall and began walking up and down.

“Look, Sam. We don’t really have use for this place. And you’ve got Riot.”

“A car’s not a home,” Gregory added. He bent down to pet the dog, who definitely enjoyed his stay at the house more than the endless hours on the road.

Frederick pointed at his brother. “Right? And a dog needs a home and you need a space for the library in your car.”

Sam frowned, realization only dawning slowly upon him. “You can’t-“

Gregory held up has hands. “We can. Look, we still got our parents’ house and all these wards and stuff? That’s your niche. We like hunting stuff that doesn’t require enchantments and we can’t even read half of the words painted on the ceiling.”

“You can learn,” Sam insisted. “This house belonged to your great-grandmother.”

Legacy was important to Hunters. All the lives saved, the knowledge passed on – many Hunters didn’t have any blood relatives left, so their hunting partners were the ones who carried their memories.

But Frederick and Gregory didn’t know that and Sam struggled to find the right words.

Frederick shrugged. “We never even met her, Sam. This house might as well belong to a stranger. We’ll, of course, come visit and crash here whenever, but otherwise? You need a place to search for your brother. Take it.”

X

It took another week for them to wear Sam down, and even then they wouldn’t leave until Sam had gone to the nearest supermarket and returned with new offerings for their pagan god and finally bled over the altar.

Frederick had looked smug the whole time while Gregory sent Sam’s new address to their mutual friends and acquaintances.

It didn’t even take a week for the first person to show up at his doorstep.

X

Sam had always liked doing things with his hands, repairing broken items, stitching up shirts. A lot of handiwork had come out of necessity, but there was also something soothing attached to it all. Over the course of the next weeks, Sam drove to the construction market about every day until the cashiers there greeted him by name.

He bought paint and tools and wood and started to repair the house where it was damaged and touch it up where it just didn’t look all right.

He added his books to the library/study and organized the artifacts Agatha had left lying around pretty much everywhere. The room that once must have belonged to the twins’ grandmother was turned into a guest room with two beds, as was another storage room, a corner of the basement, and the attic.

When Sam was finally satisfied, too much time had passed already, but Kevin Tran, while tired and exhausted, was not bitter and welcomed the change of scenery.

X

Fact was, a lot of Hunters distrusted Sam Winchester. He had a reputation that made them uneasy and the stories haunting him made him out to be much less human than he ought to be. Those Hunters relied on Garth to collect info for them, give them back up and so on. They pointed the new Hunters they found in his direction and Garth-

Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.

Old school Hunters relied on old and proven methods, they would not suddenly think of recording exorcisms on their phones or starting a Supernatural Wikipedia. These New Age Hunters, as they liked to scoff, didn’t know how much the world had changed.

And they were right in that assessment.

When your first hunt involved leviathans and demons, angels stealing people who returned as mere shells, then you didn’t miss the times when the world was straightforward and didn’t include more than ten types of monsters.

X

“Hello, Agent Mercury? One of your field agents is claiming our body here is part of an FBI investigation-“

“The heads, Sam! It only leaves the heads!”

“-and the Park Rangers really-“

“So like, they steal from blood banks, but otherwise they’re vegan?”

“The military must be really desperate if they try to recruit people off the police.”

“Hypothetically, if a werewolf and a vampire had a kid together-“

“Winchester! Holy Christ, you won’t believe-“

“It’s Kevin,” the prophet interrupted Penny. “Sam’s making dinner.”

Silence. Kevin had to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”

“Good, but it’s been busy. How can Agatha’s help you today? Need some spells to get rid of a wicked witch or brain for your local zombie population?”

“Zombies…?” Penny trailed off, sounding unsure. Kevin imagined her shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you guys know anything about a spell or a monster going after the blood of two drained lambs, the liver of a lion, and the eyes of a monkey? We got a bizarre case here in a zoo.”

Kevin glanced at the clock. He wasn’t going to work on the tablet anymore today and if he could help it, Sam wouldn’t shut himself away in his study/purgatory lore cave.

“Yeah, we can do some research. We’ll ring as soon as we got something.”

X

Soon after word had gotten out that Sam had settled somewhere, Mackey showed up at his doorstep, only Himari in tow. Penny, her better half in Himari’s own words, was apparently visiting family up north.

Sam didn’t buy the lie, but he saw no point in questioning her.

“Oh, man, Sam. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s like Roadhouse and Bobby’s in one,” Mackey said.

Sam smiled and looked around. It really was starting to look like a proper place for hunters to crash at. “Not enough books and dirt for Bobby’s yet.”

Marty laughed and knocked his beer against Sam’s. “True enough. I swear the cleanest I ever saw Bobby’s was when your Daddy had dropped you off at his place again.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but still managed to smile softly. “That’s only ‘cause Bobby made me and- made us clean to keep us busy and away from the books depicting torture.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”

Himari, who up until then had only been nursing her tea silently, spoke up for the first time since she had stepped into Sam’s house. “What is the Roadhouse and Bobby’s?”

Mackey's cheerful expression fell and Sam too, who had been making all kinds of calls over the past weeks and should be used to it by now damn it, couldn’t stop his throat from closing up.

“That was before your time, kid,” Mackey replied. “The Roadhouse was the Hunter equivalent to a community center – a place to recover after or before a hunt. I swear, nobody ever managed to talk me out of a hunt before without even saying a word but Ellen. And Bobby was the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. You vaguely describe him your latest crazy, and he’d call you back within a day to tell you what the hell you’re facing and how to kill it. Also our go-to man if the authorities came calling. Without the two of them, the community’s shot to hell. Garth’s been picking up some slack, but he ain’t got time to teach anyone… That reminds me.”

Mackey picked his backpack up from the ground and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for – a dirty sheet of paper apparently – and held it up victoriously.

“Here,” he said and gave it to Sam. “I got into contact with a couple Old Timers. Not sure if they’re on your contact list already, but they offered to help out with the huge influx of newbies so you’re not stuck handling all their questions.”

Sam scanned the list. A few names stuck out to him, but others he was only vaguely aware of or didn’t know at all.

“Thanks, Marty. I’ll give them a ring.”

X

When the Hillains asked for Sam’s help, he expected a little more “Could you be our back-up?” and less “Can we leave the kids with you for the week?” but Sam agreed anyway.

It was certainly an experience to have three kids running around for a week, but not one he minded. He had babysat couple times as a teenager to earn some extra cash, and the experience was familiar enough.

Besides, all three of them loved Riot and the dog was more than just happy about the extra attention.

X

Irv Franklin liked to think he was as good a man as a Hunter could be. Of course, he didn’t have utter faith in Sam Winchester, everybody knew the Winchesters messed around with Heaven and Hell and a whole lot of other things that shouldn’t be touched, but the kid was also Bobby’s kid.

And, really, everybody who actually cared about Bobby knew those two Winchester brats had been his whole world.

Tracy hadn’t wanted to come to Winchester’s place – called Agatha’s for some unfathomable reason – and Irv couldn’t blame her. He had told her she could stay in the motel, but she had decided to meet the man the demons had killed her family for.

From the outside, the house looked comfortable, not as militant as Irv had expected. Sam was kneeling on the porch, painting something on the windowsill. As soon as he spotted Irv and Tracy, he stood up.

“Irv! Good to see you.”

“Right back at you, Winchester,” Irv said and followed Sam inside.

The kid led Irv and Tracy into the kitchen and took a couple beers out of the fridge. “We only got beer and water right now,” he said apologetically.

Irv wondered who exactly we were, but didn’t ask. He had heard rumors about prophets, and everybody who went after demons knew that hell had been in an uproar lately. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t know anything.

“I did look into the killings you described,” Sam continued. “Couldn’t find anything directly, but the books in the living room contain everything I’ve got on ritualistic murders. Feel free to look through them, just don’t run off with them. One of the upstairs’ rooms is already occupied, but you can sleep downstairs in the basement if you want.”

Irv reached for one of the beers on the kitchen table. “Thanks, kid.”

They left two days later.

“He’s not really what I expected,” Tracy admitted carefully.

Maybe she could start to heal properly now.

Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”

X

Sam’s study was a bit of a mess. Papers covered half the floor and whole books the other. Kevin kind of wanted to sigh in frustration, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he sat down on the ground next to Sam.

“Is everything alright?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.

Sam laughed bitterly, his ink-stained hands still brushing through Riot’s fur. “No, nothing’s alright. Just look at me, Kev, what am I doing? It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t found a way to save him.”

Sam didn’t need to say out loud who he was talking about, it was as clear as day.

“I have only been wasting my time trying to- to-“

“Keep over two dozen hunters alive, researching about fifteen different things at the same time with more dedication than I ever put into my term papers despite my mom?” Kevin said drily. “Give yourself a break, Sam. You’re already doing more than humanly possible.”

“But it’s not enough!”

Sam’s outburst was not unexpected but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

Kevin was used to it, though.

They kept themselves together well enough around others, but some things needed more than the duct tape they stuck onto their wounds.

“I want to visit my mom,” Kevin said into their silence. “I haven’t left the house in months and I think it’ll be safe enough. Just a quick trip. One last time.”

“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.

Maybe this was healing. (Maybe it was giving up.)

X

Sam would never know.

Lazarus rose once more.

(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)

[crushedbyhyperbole]

The Space Between

[IMG SOURCE]

Summary:  On mission with The Howling Commandos, your team hunkered down in a city near the Swiss border, in French Resistance safe houses.  With days before the team could move on, Bucky was feeling the strain.  The thing between you didn’t have a name but it had heart and soul.

Words:  1.6k

A/N:  Written for @cake-writes​ 1940′s challenge, filling the prompt “Loose Lips Sink Ships”.  Congrats on the milestone, and thanks for hosting such a wonderful challenge <3  This is a Bucky x Reader using a reader character I’ve used before for, so if you like this then feel free to check it out (link at the bottom).  I’m not massively knowledgeable about ww2 (about anything really) but I hope I haven't made any egregious errors.  Hope you enjoy x

Warnings: Wartime theme, low morale and thoughts of dark times but still fluffy and soft.  Hints of sex - non graphic and barely there at all really but I’m still gonna recommend 18+.

Chambery, Savoy, the summer of 1943.  The heat and the humidity were stifling, especially cooped up in a cramped attic room with nine other men.  Thermals rising through the apartment building settled up there with them, and with no windows to vent with, the whole space was like a sauna.

Bucky mopped his brow with his handkerchief, limp and almost sodden.  The smell of stale sweat filled his nose and he was sure he smelled no better to the rest of them, but it was a damn sight better than being in the trenches on the front lines with all the shit and death and desperation.  Settling himself back against one of the rafters, he waited for sunset, when it would be safer venture outside.

Three days.  That’s all they had left before they pushed on towards the Swiss border.  Three days before their window of opportunity opened and they could start their mission to hunt renowned HYDRA scientist, Arnim Zola.  It would take them months travelling the Southern parts of Switzerland and into Austria before they’d find their man.  Even on a map, the Alps were daunting, cold and treacherous, and long, like the spine of Europe.

He wouldn’t mind the cold, Bucky thought, anything was better than melting up there.  But he knew that the grass wasn’t always greener on the other side of the fence and even though he was eager to get their mission done, a sense of apprehension had settled over him like a shadow. He needed some air.

“Where you off to?” Steve looked up from his map – he’d been studying the route for days now, memorising each part of the terrain, making contingency plans, covering all the variables.

“Cabin fever.”  He knew he didn’t have to explain further, they were all feeling the strain.  But where the rest of the men might venture out a pay for company for an hour or two, Bucky had one person in mind: his nightingale, you.

“Remember,” Steve warned, “loose lips sink ships.”  There was a glint in his eye when he looked at Bucky, like he knew Bucky wasn’t visiting the local madame for a tumble in the sheets, but had to say it because of the men.

“Loose lips sink something else.”  One of the men said and laughter broke out amongst the Howlies.  It was subdued and stifled, but it was laughter all the same and Bucky didn’t begrudge his brothers something that lifted their spirits even if it was lewd; they didn’t know he’d been visiting you.

With a forced smirk, he stepped down the ladders and let a wave of cooler air quench the heat of his sweat-slicked skin.  He wished he could have a quick wash before he went to see you, it was a pipe dream to wish that he didn’t smell like week-old socks.

-----

 The fat orange sun dipped below the rooftops, creating new shadows to sap away the heat of the day. The marigold glow of sunset always seemed to ease you, no matter how bad the day had been, that warmth without heat which trickled relaxation down the spine like treacle, ebbing away tension and bringing peace. But now it was gone, leaving behind a chill that only worsened with time.  Dread seeped under your skin and those forgotten worries of the Austria mission came back to haunt you.

The thing about Italian-occupied France was that it wasn’t much different to German-occupied France. Soldiers, oppression, abuse, fear, and squirreling away all your vulnerabilities lest they lead to something more dire.  War did that to people, it did that to these people, but where there was a spark of defiance there was hope and that’s where you and the 107th existed – in the seams between fear and oppression where defiance dared to grow.

 Living in the local brothel for the last few weeks had been interesting.  You had feared that the madame would expect you to do as the other ladies did in exchange for your board and protection, but that was not the case.  As a nurse, your skills were valued and you looked after the girls like they were your own family.  Their chatter as you tended cuts and bruises left behind by abusive patrons turned out to be more valuable than you or your Captain could have thought; pieces of information from liquor lubricated mouths and lust addled sensibilities would aid the squad’s passage from this region and into Switzerland.  Your Captain and Sergeants were keen to learn all they could to pass back to command, so they checked in as regularly as we possible.

It had been a couple of days since you had seen Sergeant Barnes.  He and the men were hiding out in the attic of a house across the street, assisted by members of La Resistance, they only ventured out at night where the cover of darkness was a shield against the eyes of the Italian soldiers occupying the city.  You were well overdue a visit, and your heart ached because of it.

 The bell tinkled down the hall and your heart leapt giddily.  That sound, then the energetic flutter in your chest – your response was almost Pavlovian.  You waited for your summons, picking at your fingernails with nerves and excitement. The moment you laid eyes on him again would make all the longing worth it.

-----

 The room was dim and a little on the dank side, smells of tobacco smoke, spilled liquor, and sex hung in the air.  It was the kind of place that would horrify him to meet you in, had circumstances not stripped away all sense of propriety.  He hated that you were here with these women, hated that you were apart, and he hated that the only time he got with you was a few stollen moments in a filthy room he had to pay for like he was just here to make whoopee.

The second the door opened he forgot all of that, forgot everything but you.

You filled his arms and his heart, transforming him from sullen and dejected to content and doting. He held you tight, melding your body to his as if you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together so neatly there was no doubt the fit was right.

“How have you been?”  He asked, stroking your hair gently.

“Missing you, you big dope.” You slapped his shoulder lightly, chuckling when he held you tighter.  "How are the men holding up?”

You didn’t need to ask how he was holding up, you could see it cross his face like a shadow; a ghost of torment endured.  Bucky didn’t much talk about what was done to him when he was captured, not to the men and not to you, who had his ear and his heart.  Maybe it was better this way, that he used that pain to drive himself onward, but it hurt you to see him close himself off like that.

“Just about as well as can be expected.”  He tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear, avoiding your concerned gaze. “Sitting up there idle isn’t helping morale.”

“Bucky,” you sighed, leaning into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. “Down here isn’t much better.”

“Being here with you, I-” he cupped your face, running his thumb across your cheek, “I can almost forget what we’re here for.”

“Then let’s forget,” you smiled softly as you lead him to the bed, “at least for a little while.”

You knew he needed you. It’s not what he came to see you for but it’s what you both need.  His lips quivered when you claimed them gently, the thrill of you taking the initiative made him relax; he didn’t have to take charge, be assertive, or even in control.  With you he could let it all fall away, so he does.

Lay on the lumpy bed in a smelly room in a brothel in Italian occupied France didn’t seem so dire or so sordid because it was you kissing him and guiding him.  Everything about you was perfect to him, even the way your brow creased deeply when you succumbed to your pleasure, and the way you rolled your eyes at him when he told you how beautiful you were.  You were everything he’d ever wanted.

 The remaining time you have was spent cuddling and talking.  You relayed all of the information you’d learned from the girls in the brothel and hoped that he and Steve could make some use of it.  And when Bucky started to doze with you in his embrace, you hummed a tune to soothe him.

Voice of an angel. That’s what they said about you. And Bucky too, he called you his nightingale, his Flo, after Florence Nightingale.  Dark days in the trenches spent healing bodies and souls with your skills and songs, and you’d rather not think about those men you’d lost – there would be a time to remember them all but wasn’t that time.

You snuggled closer to Bucky, tucking his head into the crook of your neck as you trailed your fingers through his hair and hummed your tune.  Later, in the attic with the other men, he’d find no peace, so you let him have this moment to rest.  You’d wake him before the time on the room ran out and let him wash up before sending him on his way.  Until then, you let the smooth sound of your voice cleanse you both and savoured the feel of him against you.  Who knew if there would be many moments like this ahead, if any at all.  It was all so uncertain.  But what you did know was that right there, in that space where you abide, where defiance burgeoned… there was hope.

Feel free to check out INTO DARKNESS.  It’s a 1940 war time one shot set in the trenches in France with Bucky and Nightingale.  There’s death and angst in that one so be aware of that going in.

[aromanticasterisms]

Marie did not like the beach.  The sand constantly shifted underfoot and somehow always, always ended up in her joints. She hated the feeling (what little there was, anyway) of the grit in her hands, her ankles, her knees, her elbows, and combing it out of her hair was always a nightmare. Not to mention how terrible it was to have wet sand dry over her hands, encrusting her fingers and leaving her barely able to move them.

Suffice to say she was not entirely thrilled by the idea of a family outing to the beach. But Mal and Xu Li had been excited at the prospect of visiting the ocean when Madame Red had brought it up, and Marie figured the sandy hell would be better than being left at home alone.

Some of the other gods would also be there, and Marie desperately hoped that included Cardmaster. At least she could have someone to suffer with, and to complain to.

The trip had started out alright. The beach itself wasn’t terrible to look at, and the ocean stretching off into the horizon, catching the sun’s rays was a little breathtaking. Or, it would be, if Marie had any breath to take. They had met up with some of the other gods and got the usual semi-awkward hellos out of the way before setting up. Madame planted herself under a particularly shady umbrella after making sure Xu Li and Mal were properly prepared and sending them on their way.

The sisters in question wasted little time searching the beach for shells and the like, and Marie accompanied them for a while at Xu Li’s request before the sand started getting to her. She excused herself and hobbled over to where Madame Red was sitting in order to clean the grit accumulating in her ankles.

As she did, she glanced around the beach for Cardmaster. She was sure she had spotted them when everyone had said their hellos. They wouldn’t have just left, would they? Her heart sank at the idea.

Marie perked up when she finally spotted the familiar shade of Cardmaster’s hair. She quickly fixed her foot and made her way over…

To find them encased from the neck down in sand.

She blinked at them in stunned silence for a while. “Wow. What happened to you?”

Cardmaster turned their head as much as they could and offered her a bright smile. “I drew the card of Encase Myself In Sand!”

Marie made a face. “Did you really?”

“Maybe,” they said with all the smugness in the world.

Marie had no idea what had actually happened but her first instinct was to support them. Even if it involved that much sand. She shuddered to imagine herself in their place, so she shook the thoughts from her head instead.

“Do you need help getting out or anything?”

“Hm? Oh, no! I’m actually pretty comfy right now.”

“Can’t relate,” Marie said without thinking, hugging her arms to herself.

“Marie?”

Glancing up from where she’d been glaring at the ground, Marie saw a look of concern on Cardmaster’s face. She sighed, letting her shoulders droop with the motion.

“It’s nothing serious,” she said. “I’m just not too fond of sand.” She popped off her forearm for emphasis, letting some that had somehow gathered in her elbow fall back to the ground.

“Ah,” Cardmaster nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help? I can’t really—get to my cards right now, but…”

Marie let out a little laugh. “No, it’s alright. I can deal with it, it’s just annoying. How about you? Do you need anything?”

They let out a thoughtful hum. “Kinda thirsty,” they admitted after a while.

“I’ll go grab something for you,” she laughed. “You have any preference?”

“Surprise me!”

She gave a double thumbs up as she headed over to a small building near the entrance of the beach that sold refreshments. There was a moment where she wished she could actually try the things being displayed, but she shook her head. She couldn’t, and that was that, but she could at least get her friend something they enjoyed.

Marie spotted Ielo and Flame sitting in the shade outside the building, Flame’s face twisted in horror as Ielo bit into some ice cream with a neutral expression. Ielo met her eyes, and Marie gave a smile and a little wave as she stepped up to the counter.

Figuring that, despite how funny it might be, handing Cardmaster a glass full of sand would be pretty mean, Marie ordered them an actual drink and brought it over to them.

They perked up as they heard her crunching across the sand, and tried in vain to twist around to face her. Marie let out a little laugh and stepped around so she could look them in the eye.

“What did you get?”

“Dragonfruit,” she said, holding out the drink so they could reach the straw.

They hummed in appreciation as they tried it. “That’s pretty good!”

Marie stayed with Cardmaster long after they had finished their drink, talking, laughing about the other gods’ activities, and joking about what plans they could execute at the next event.  

But despite Cardmaster’s good company, Marie could feel the heat slowly becoming overwhelming. She felt doubly cooked between the sun itself and the sand reflecting its blazing rays. She closed her eyes a moment longer than a blink, hoping for a moment’s peace.

“You okay?”

She blinked herself out of her reverie and looked up at Cardmaster, who was propping their chin up on the sand in front of them.

“Yea, I just think the sun’s getting to me a bit,” she frowned. “Will you be okay if I head off? I’m gonna try to get out of the heat but I don’t want you to fry or anything.”

“I think I should be alright?”

“Are you sure? I could steal one of Madame’s spare sunhats for you if you want.”

“…That might be nice, actually.”

Marie nodded and hurried over to retrieve one of the items in question. Madame Red raised a brow at her but returned Marie’s smile nonetheless.

She returned to Cardmaster and plopped the hat unceremoniously on their head.

“Oh, thanks! Good luck avoiding the heat. And all the sand.”

“Thank you, Cardmaster. Have fun,” she chuckled as she headed back to the small refreshments building to return their glass.

She lingered in the shade for a while, allowing the heat to seep from her as she watched the goings on along the beach.

Xu Li was working on a surprisingly realistic and detailed sand castle—or maybe a sand citadel?—and adorning it with some assorted shells. Mal was sitting not too far away, showing her newest finds to General Min.  Mahogany seemed to be talking with Calypso. Ielo was now crunching on a popsicle with Flame side-eyeing them with disdain. Others were scattered about, but Marie’s gaze was drawn to the far end of the beach, where a lone figure stood.

She realized with a start that she recognized the figure. Not in a oh I’ve seen them in passing at one of Mahogany’s parties sort of way, but in an instant sort of recognition that came with living with someone for years.

It was Ms. Match.

She hadn’t been invited, Marie figured. She never was; she just showed up whenever there was chaos to be made and fun to be had. But now, she just seemed to be…staring out at the ocean, unmoving. Marie absently wondered how long she’d been there.

So, once she had sufficiently cooled off, she stood and headed to the far end of the beach.

As she walked, the sky above her slowly shifted from a bright afternoon blue to a vibrant sunset orange. Maybe a quirk of the beach, or maybe Ms. Match’s doing? Either way, Marie continued walking. But no matter how long she walked, Ms. Match stayed the same distance away, staring off into the horizon.

Marie stopped, letting out a huff of frustration. How was she getting sand all the way up in her knees? She marched over to some rocks off to the side and plopped down to dump it out.

“Hello, Ms. Match,” she called half-heartedly, wondering if she could even hear her with how far away she was.

“Why, hello, Marie!” At once Ms. Match was standing nearer, hands clasped in front of her. Of course she could hear her. When had she ever obeyed the laws of physics? “What a pleasant surprise!”

“You did know we were all coming to the beach,” she said flatly.

“Yes, but I didn’t think you would visit! I very rarely get visits when I stand here.”

She paused her cleaning. “Is that on purpose?”

Ms. Match hummed thoughtfully, sounding like a swarm of bees. “Sometimes! I do enjoy, as the kids say, vibing on my own, but it does tend to get a bit lonesome.”

Marie nodded, not responding as she wiped away some excess sand.

“Are you enjoying yourself on the beach?”

“Mm, sorta. Cardmaster’s here, so that’s fun, but…there’s not a whole lot for me to do. I hate the sand, I can’t eat, and I don’t exactly want to go swimming after that one time with the barnacles,” she shuddered. It had been a weird magic accident, sure, but Marie was still a bit on the fence about swimming after that.

A moment passed where Marie reattached her leg. She looked up at Ms. Match, who smiled at her brightly.

“Would you like to see some crabs?”

“What?”

“Crabs. Would you like to see them?”

“I—Yea, sure.”

Ms. Match led her down the beach, where the sand seemed to vanish and give way to a more rocky terrain.  A little further, and there were…tide pools? Maybe that was the name, Marie wasn’t exactly an expert.

Ms. Match pointed, and Marie saw them. Crabs. There were quite a number of them scuttling about, red shells glinting in the sunset lighting.

The two of them crouched there for a while, watching the crustaceans and listening to the crashing of the waves.  

“Thanks,” Marie said at last.

“Of course!” Ms. Match responded cheerfully. “Would you like to go back?”

“Yea. Yea, I think so.”

They walked back to the beach in comfortable quiet. Marie paused at the divide between the rocks and sand to say goodbye to Ms. Match before continuing on her way.

When she finally returned to the beach proper, the sky still its vibrant orange hue, most of the gods seemed to have packed up and left. Marie spotted Madame Red and General Min sitting at the tables in front of the building she had visited earlier, talking and listening to Xu Li and Mal describe their adventures.

And, of course, Cardmaster was still stuck in their pillar of sand.

“Having fun?” she asked as she approached.

“I was ‘til most everyone up and left,” they huffed.

“…Do you need help getting out now?”

“Yes, please.”

Marie knocked on the hardened sand, her hand giving a dull thunk. “I’ll see if I can find a trowel or something to break through this.”

“Thank you.”

It took quite a bit of time and effort, but eventually Marie managed to free Cardmaster from their sandy prison. They pat themself down, trying to get rid of the remaining loose sand. Marie barely stifled a laugh at the sight of Cardmaster in one of her mom’s hats. They looked up and seemed to take the hint, whisking it off and heading over to where Madame was sitting.

As the two of them walked, Marie frowned down at her hands, feeling the accursed grit working its way into her joints.

“Did you get sand in your hands?”

“Yes,” she frowned, grumbling as she began twisting at one of her fingers. “I hate getting it out of here it’s so much harder to do with one hand—”

Cardmaster cut her off by placing a hand over hers. “Hey. Let me help.”

“I—okay.”

As they returned the hat to Madame Red, Xu Li bounced excitedly and waved at Marie. She sat down at one of the tables with a smile.

“Hi, Marie!” Xu Li signed with a bright smile. Mal gave a little wave.

“Hi, you two. Did you have fun?”

They both nodded, Xu Li a bit more enthusiastically as she began recounting what the two of them had done.

As Marie watched her begin to describe exactly what she had been building before, Madame sharing a fond look and soft smile with Min behind them, Cardmaster sat next to her and worked on getting the sand out of her hands.

With her friend and family around her, and the setting sun turning the ocean shades of red and orange, Marie took a moment to reflect. Sure, she still didn’t like the beach, and yea she would be dealing with the sand the whole way home, but this moment of quiet was nice. Maybe the trip hadn’t been so terrible after all.

[hardyalise92]

How To Stop Cat Spraying Heat Stunning Unique Ideas

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[fortheloveoffanfic]

Gone (pt3)

John Wick x Reader

Soft music played in the background but John wasn’t really paying it any attention. He was sitting at the bar, which was mostly empty, nursing a bourbon, staring at his reflection in the glass shelf behind the counter. He had looked better, but that was before....These days he looked worn, tired, sad, a ghost of himself. A ghost of the man she left.

John could barely fathom it, the more he told himself that he had to accept that Y/n had walked out on him, the harder it was to move on. He had tried everything, right down to convincing himself that she never loved him. If she did she would still be there. It had been almost seven months, and still nothing worked. He downed the rest of his drink and ordered another, this time her favorite whiskey from the top shelf. She had always been a woman of exquisite taste.

The sound of heels clicking against the tiles disturbed the silence. Another day drinker. Then it hit him, like a train, or a bullet or however sudden realizations came. The smell was familiar, even if it was clouded by the smell of expensive cigars and alcohol, it was easy to recognize. Like summers in Paris. 

John turned in the bar stool, just in time to see her taking a seat and few stools away. She hadn’t noticed him, and the bartender came up to her. She whispered, but he knew exactly what she was ordering. Not the whiskey from the top shelf. He could tell from the small, fresh cuts peeking out of the slit of her red silk dress, her split lip and bruise near her eye that she had recently returned from a job, maybe only a few hours ago. Ergo, she would have what she usually had after work, cognac. As the bartender walked past him, John stopped him, and told him to put Y/n’s drink on his tab instead of her own. She had left for a reason and even if it would be in poor, alcohol induced judgement, he was going to find out what that reason was.

Crossing the space between them, John took a seat next to Y/n as the glass was placed in front of her. Her body stiffened and it took a minute before she turned to meet his gaze, “John,” Her voice cold, void of emotion.

“Y/n,” He shifted, regarding her through blurry eyes, did she really not care? He wished he could reach out and touch her, brush the stray strand away from her face the way he used to. “How have you been?”

“Fine.” Was all she managed, fearing that any more words would cause her to cave and admit how miserable had been over the months gone by. “You?”

John sipped his drink, swallowing tightly, “Fine.” This was going to be harder than he initially thought. “Do you come here often?”

Here Italy, or here in this bar? That was a weird question she thought. Perhaps he was as nervous as she was. “Not really. Work.”

He nodded stiffly, and she started at the amber liquid in her glass, tempted to drink it all at once and then threaten the bartender into selling her the bottle. “So...” The word lingered on her tongue and Y/n instantly regretted saying it, especially since she had nothing to follow it.

“Why did you do it?” The words tumbled out of John’s mouth and Y/n could only assume that by ‘it’ he meant leave. 

Y/n opened her mouth to explain but the words wouldn’t come. “I....” She squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her jaw, “I....was scared.” Three words could hardly come close to the explanation that John deserved, but it was all she could offer, along with a couple others; “I’m sorry.” Unable to stand the situation any longer, she slid off the stool, placed a gold coin on the bar counter and stalked, or rather walked very quickly, off, leaving John no better than he was before.

Y/n knew for a fact that that John was still in Italy, so why wasn’t he in his room? After she had stormed out of the bar two days ago, Y/n had done everything in her power to avoid John. That was, until she realized that she had waited months for a just like that one. And she had thrown it away. 

So now, Y/n was trying to create another of those moments. The only problem being that John wasn’t in his room. Thus, in actuality she was just standing outside his door, in true creeper style. If he was ignoring her, he’d have to come out eventually and if he was out then he’d come back eventually. 

John stumbled towards the elevator, not even bothering to check with reception. He should have gone and requested the doctor, but he didn’t. Clutching his bleeding side with one hand, he used the other to punch in the floor number. Afterwards, he leaned against the cool metal wall, closing his eyes as the elevator surged upwards. The job was a success except for the part where the dead drug lord’s dozens of bodyguards came after him. Thankfully, they were all dead now.

The trek to his room felt longer than he remembered. When he got there, fishing the key out of his pocket, John told himself that he had to be hallucinating. Maybe it was the adrenaline high that he was coming down from. Or probably from the blood loss. Y/n was sitting on the floor, leaned against the door. At the first sight of him, she rose to her feet and rushed over to him, “Fuck, John. What the hell happened?”

Y/n brought his arm around her, encouraging him to lean on her for support. She looped one arm sound his waist and used to other to take the key and unlock the door. John wanted to be mad, to shove her off, but it had been so long since he felt her touch that he didn’t protest. “Just work,” He grumbled as an explanation.

She helped him sit on the bed and then hurried of into the bathroom in search medical supplies. “Is the doctor coming?” Y/n called, receiving a gruff ‘no’ in response. She emerged a short while later with a first aid kit and a small silver basin with water. Taking a seat next to him on the bed, Y/n couldn’t help the worry etched plainly on her face. She hated seeing him like this and for a minute she wondered how many other times he had returned from a job without someone to take care him. Sure, doctors were great, but it was nothing compared to the tender care of someone who cherished your life as much as their own. 

Shaking the saddening thoughts away, Y/n helped John out of his shirt, hissing when she saw the bleeding wound at his side. After cleaning it with a damp cloth and some antiseptic, Y/n got to work on stitching it closed as gently as possible. When she was finished, Y/n moved on to tending to less severe cuts when John broke the silence, “ Why are you doing this?” Y/n looked up at him and her questioned further, “Why are you here Y/n?”

Her voice quivered when she answered and instead of baring her should like she previously intended, she let her walls go up, “I told you the other day. Work.” 

“You know what I mean.” He grabbed her hands, his grip loose but still firm, “Y/n, what are you doing here?”

Sighing, Y/n looked at John’s calloused fingers wrapped around her slender wrists, remembering what it was like to hold his hand, intertwine her fingers with his. “I...wanted to talk.” 

John let his hands slip of her wrists as he took the off chance of holding her hands, as he threaded further, “About?”

“Everything. The reason I left and why I’ve been regretting ever since.” Y/n held on to John’s hands as tears trickled down her cheeks, “I’m so sorry. And I know that I have no right to your forgiveness, but I do love you, and I do miss you. So if you co-” Her words were cut of when John pulled her up, his lips crashing to hers in a needy passionate kiss. 

They kissed, her hands travelled to grasp fistfuls of his hair and John’s hands gripped her waist. They broke for a breath and he finally said, “Talk.” 

Without missing a beat, “Leaving you was a mistake. I should have worked it out, confronted my fear of commitment and intimacy instead of bailing on you when we started build something real.” Y/n let out a deep breath plopping back on to the bed, their thighs still brushing, “We were going great. And everything I felt was real, I loved you and I still do.”

“And somehow that's a bad thing?” John’s eyebrows furrowed together, confused. “ You love me so you left?”

“Yeah,” Y/n shook her head, preferring to stare at the sheets as opposed to his face, “I’ve never been good at...being with someone. We were so in love, I thought that the more in love I fell with you, the weaker I would be.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, “I thought what we had was too good to be true, because people like us, we don't get that, we don’t get the happy ending or the picket fences or any of that. John, I don’t even know if I want that. But the minute I left, maybe even before that, I knew that I wanted you.”

Using his finger tips, John gently urged Y/n’s face upwards, “Do you still believe that? That people like us can’t fall in love?” His face searched hers for an answer.

Letting her hands fall to the bed with a muffled thud, “I don’t know.” A disappointed John turned his face away, staring at the wall so Y/n wouldn’t have to see the hurt look on his face. She reached to place a tentative touch on his thigh, “But I do know that I want to try. I know that right now, and for a while now, that I've loved you.” Turning back to her, John interlaced his fingers with Y/s’ and she offered him a cautious smile, “I don’t know how things will be tomorrow or a few years from now, but I know how I feel. Leaving was a mistake John, and I want to fix it. If you do.”

John moved his hand to tangle it in her hair. Their forehead pressed together, “I’ve missed you so much Y/n.”

Drawing him to her, she pressed her lips to his, in a softer, slower kiss. “I’ve missed you too John.” Y/n’s words were a whisper against John’s lips, between, short, sweet kisses. Gently, Y/n pushed on John’s shoulders, encouraging him to lay back on the bed. With her legs on either side of him, she leaned down, “I promise that no matter what happens between us, I wont ever leave like that again.” And with that, neither of them ever had the reason to leave again. 

The end!

A/N- I really had no idea on how to end it there but I hope this sufficed 

[unholyhelbig]

omg haha that was completely my fault for not being specific! especially bc i like the other fic too! if you're considering writing a pt 2 to the one where hope is a surfer you definitely should bc that's my fav ❤️

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts! | Read Part One Here

[a/n: Thank you so much for the love! As always, writing smut is not my strong suit, so go easy on me!]

Title: Braving the Storm [P2] 

Ship: Lizzie Saltzman/ Hope Mikaelson 

The warm summer wind curled around Hope Mikaelson’s legs, the thick scent of the sea pulled at every inch of her as she walked along the mostly vacant beachfront. The sky was cloudless and large water-washed rocks sat littered with seaweed drawn in from the storm. She reveled in the silence.

Her board had been broken and her keys were somewhere in the sand. Despite the warnings and her pounding headache, she took to searching the stretch of land helplessly. Palm leaves and different patio furniture that hadn’t been bolted down lay crumpled and broken. She had left Lizzie at the store, had flushed, and walked out because she couldn’t even justify what had happened.

Concussion or not, Hope Mikaelson wasn’t one to have a quick fuck in a stock room an play it off like it was nothing. She liked to have a connection, or at least a decent meal with a woman first. Hell- even a last name would settle the odd feeling in her stomach. But no, it wasn’t her.

She frowned and kicked weakly at a pile of sand that could have been a magnificent castle with a trapped princess and a valiant prince who would have been a woman all along; because only someone with the female sense could rescue a girl from a tower that large. Finding her keys was a long shot.

Hope had fastened a pair of fake lifeguard pants around her waist- the word was misprinted and the color was an abrasive shade of red. She flexed her toes in the wet sand and breathed in the overwhelming scent of rain and her own sweat, shockingly glad that Lizzie had forced her to down that much water. It eased the nausea in her stomach.

The world felt like it was on its edge; everyone still huddled in their homes either too drunk to see the light of day or too concerned with the power lines and rising water to venture past thresholds. She stared at the waves like so could see the clear line where it cut off, watched as rolling darkness hurried away.

“You’re following me now?” Hope didn’t tear her eyes away from the ocean.

“I figured if you dropped out of nowhere, you’d want someone around.” Lizzie grimaced before taking a breath “I don’t know how concussions work.”

Hope chuckled and glanced over; Lizzie looked effortlessly captivating in the sunlight. Her hair caught every turn of the wind and her eyes were bluer than the very waves they stared at. Her nose was red and raw and her expression was tired but content. It matched how Hope felt.

“It’s just a little headache, I’ve had a few.”

Lizzie lifted a perfect brow as if prompting her to continue, to fill the unwavering silence of their Eden.

“Before I started surfing, I skated. God, my mom was furious with the choice but knew there was no talking me out of something I was determined to do. She took me to a skate park and without any training, or practice, I took to it. I fell within seconds and she had to take me to urgent care for some stitches. I had a concussion then, too.”

“You sound like you’re stubborn.”

“The best people are.”

Lizzie smiled, and Hope couldn’t tell if it was more to her, or to the world.  Either way, she could feel her palms sweat and her throat tingle. There was an odd pull to Lizzie, one that made her feel like it would be okay to straddle in her a back stock room filled with cheesy t-shirts and multicolored rocks that they bought in bulk.

“I’m not like that,” Hope finally stumbled out.

“Stubborn?”

“No, I’m more stubborn than I’d like to admit. I meant… I’m not someone who plays into that whole surfer stereotype. I don’t just fuck random people because they saved my life, or whatever.” Hope’s cheeks felt hot and she averted her gaze.

Lizzie took a deep breath and turned until she could face Hope entirely, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re thinking too much. You’re not the only one who got something out of that, you know? Don’t run yourself ragged over something silly.”

“Like morals?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on who you ask, but yes.”

Hope shoved her hands into the pockets of the cheap sweatpants and sighed “it doesn’t bother you in the slightest that I wouldn’t have given you a second glance if it weren’t for this hurricane and a rainbow umbrella?”

“Oh, should it? People don’t tend to notice a girl behind a counter when all they sell is novelty items. Why would someone who lives here have any reason to buy another shirt with the state they live in, embroidered on the breast?”

Hope weighed her options and her outlying guilt. Lizzie had a point- when she first moved here she was captivated by the glass-plated buildings and what they had to offer; the towels that were screen printed with images of sunsets, the key chains flashing with the most common names, and whatever neon toy was on the market.

“So, just sex?” She sounded out.

“Just sex, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

She pursed her lips and turned back to the waves, watching as they pulled a generous amount back out to sea. Hope had never had an offer like this laid out on the table, not so bluntly, anyway. There had been hookups and long term relationships. But never something just focused on the end goal of pleasure.

“Okay,” her voice was slight “Yeah, we can do that.”

Lizzie nodded, seemingly satisfied with herself, before turning and walking back towards the boardwalk. Hope hated the fact that she watched the entire way, and felt an odd type of ache in the bit of her stomach. But maybe that had something to do with the fact that she couldn’t find her keys.

It took two weeks for their small town to feel normal again. The stores had pried wet wood from windows and piled sandbags in sheds instead of at the edges of doors. Hope had been careful and calculated when it came to every visit to the beach after that.

She couldn’t deny the pull it had on her. She had gotten a new board and fished deep in her junk drawer until she found the spare key to the jeep. The beaches were full again and the waves towered enough to get some good days in- and still, Hope couldn’t bring herself to step foot through the doors of the small novelty shop.

She struggled to peel the wet suit from her skin, releasing the top zipper as her bare feet burned against the asphalt. She ignored the wandering stares around her, and the cooks behind the nearest restaurant as they puffed in smoke before slowly letting it fill the air.

Hope moved the rest of the wetsuit down and threw it in her trunk, feeling the stifling summer air against her mostly bare skin. She started to dig helplessly through her backseat in search of a large t-shirt or even a pair of pants.

“I can’t say I’m not enjoying the view.”

She straightened out, a flash of anger moving through her. Hope dug her nails into her palm and turned to face the culprit “Would you still enjoy the view if I- oh,”

Lizzie had a smug smile on her face, and Hope cursed herself for feeling that familiar rush of heat. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re not rethinking our deal, are you?”

“No, of course not, I’ve just been a little tied up is all.” Hope spoke too fast for her own good and Lizzie was quick to take notice, but nice enough not to say anything in the first place. She knew her cheeks were a soft pink but chalked it up to the sun that beat against them.

The blonde leaned forward, she smelled like sunscreen “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine.” Hope lifted an eyebrow cautiously “Oh, um, I mean- it still kind of hurts. Maybe you could get a better look at it… in my car.”

Lizzie schooled her stance and her smile twinkled as if she was just given an invitation for a massive masquerade ball complete with freshly clipped roses and fancy platters of food. Not the backseat of a used Jeep that had a healthy coating of sand on the floor.

Hope opened the door further, like a real gentleman and watched carefully as Lizzie climbed in before doing the same herself. And she hadn’t really thought this all the way through- because the riskiest place she had ever had sex was a few weeks back in the middle of a category five.

Now they were in the back corner of a parking lot that was surrounded by a weather-washed fence and the backs of a few shops. She suddenly felt like she was exposing more than Lizzie was- still in her work uniform of jean shorts and a t-shirt while Hope sported a black bikini, showing the full expanse of her stomach, arms, and legs. Lizzie traced every inch while Hope leaned forward and locked the doors.

“Your car is nice,” Lizzie managed

“It’s a piece of junk, but thank you for trying.”

“Come here.”

Hope allowed herself to be guided to Lizzie’s side of the car by the top strap of her suit. It hadn’t been hard enough to unloop it, but she was effectively in Lizzie’s lap, a tongue running over the roof of her mouth in a matter of seconds. She wasn’t sure which one of them moaned first, but it lit a fire deep that ran deep against her skin as Lizzie’s hands wandered.

Hope bit down softly on Lizzie’s lower lip before running her tongue over it and moving her touch to Lizzie’s jaw. “I’m in charge this time,” She spoke in a low snarl.

“And what makes you figure that?”

She moved to Lizzie’s pulse point, feeling it quicken under her lips “My shitty car, my rules.”

Hope didn’t’ hear a further objection, just a small whimper of pleasure as she looped her fingers around the bottom of Lizzie’s shirt and pulled it over her head. Hope hadn’t been one to take control before- the nerves of starting a relationship, or lack thereof, like this was teeming at the back of her mind. But not when Lizzie was under her like this. Exposed.

She unhooked the latch of her bra, throwing the flimsy fabric into the backseat with her wetsuit. Hope could feel her own heart rate rise as she got a good look at Lizzie; the way her skin seemed soft, breasts flawless in the early evening lights. She knew in that moment that she wanted to watch Lizzie unravel completely. She wanted to be the cause of it.

Hope kissed softly down Lizzie’s chest, nipping tenderly, her stomach heaving up and down with hot breath. “Stop teasing.” She hummed through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the leather seats.

The button to Lizzie’s pants were easily undone, and she eagerly lifted from the seat long enough for Hope to slide the shorts down to her ankles before they were discarded entirely among the sandy floors. Hope lowered herself, even more, running her nails against Lizzie’s sides.

“You know,” She spoke against Lizzie’s thigh, biting down soft enough to elicit a moan of pleasure, “I thought this idea of yours was pretty crazy.”

“Uh huh,”

Lizzie wasn’t listening, and Hope knew that. She was trying to scoot down the seat to bring Hope’s mouth closer. But the shorter girl had a good hold on each of her legs, moving just a bit closer to her sex.

“It’s starting to grow on me a little bit.” Hope ran her tongue over the little bite mark she had left on the inside of Lizzie’s thigh “Unless my priorities are all out of wack.”

“Hope, don’t take this the wrong way.” Lizzie moved her hand from the seat to the girl's chin, pulling her gaze up until blue met a deeper hue of cobalt. “I don’t care about your priorities unless one of them is screaming at you to get on with it, and fuck me.”

She blew out a puff of air and smiled “Message received.”

Hope returned back to her task, pushing Lizzie’s legs further apart before shifting the strip of wet fabric to the side. She breathed in the scent of lavender before running her tongue over Lizzie’s slit, just barely tasting her. The girl writhed beneath her and let out a shuddered breath at the quick contact.

She had reveled in the fact that Lizzie hated to be teased, ghosting her lips over her clit, hot and heavy. Hope knew what she was doing, knew how to trace little patterns, and suck with just the right amount of pressure until Lizzie shook under her touch. She dug her hand into Auburn locks.

“Keep going,” Lizzie husked, clenching her eyes shut to avoid staring at the fuzzy gray ceiling.

Hope followed the command, changing her pace as she ran her tongue over the small bundle of nerves in a steady rhythm until she felt Lizzie’s body fall rigid. Her own hair being pulled as Lizzie bit down hard enough on her bottom lip to draw blood, to keep from screaming loud enough to catch the attention of anyone who happened to be in the parking lot.

Her chest heaved, her mouth dry as Hope pulled away and moved her thumb against the corner of her lip, a satisfied grin on her face.  Lizzie was coated in an even sheen of sweat, her fingers grasping at her t-shirt. She pulled it over her head, finally catching her bearings.

“I might like you better when you’re not talking.” She sniffed, sitting up as she reached for her shorts.

“Thank you, I think?” Hope pushed herself onto the back seat, moving her hands against her knees to brush off the rest of the sand. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one. But maybe next time, can we do this somewhere that isn’t your car?” Lizzie moved an old energy drink can from where her back had been resting. “Not that this isn’t great, or anything.”

Hope scoffed and pulled that random shirt that she finally found over her head. Her skin was hot and the sand was scratching close to her skin. But it was better than the sudden blush that bloomed against her skin.

She smiled. “Message received.”

[empressxmachina]

It might have been his allegiance to Viridian, but Jasper’s urge to scope out any competition was too strong to let go.

The King’s Citadel, as its splinter of a sign barely reflected onto his vamps, fit its name to a T. Fortified with stone on all sides. Blocky with the occasional spire for decoration. A style almost indistinguishable from visions of Earth centuries past. The width of an entire city block on its own. Its ‘vintage in the best way’ aesthetic was something to be marveled, and with the fencing and banners announcing its temporary closure for renovation in the not-so-far future, there was plenty of work its staff put into keeping it up, and plenty of patrons were taking their time to enjoy it in its present state while they could.

Viridian didn’t display an establishment date here – for a myriad of reasons, choosing one would be complicated – but in this town, as far as what the details listed, claiming it to have been created more recently seemed reasonable. Because of that and its hidden intricacies, despite the brutally exclusive rules for entry, there were many new, once Citadel-centered eyes on the emerald tower. Still, the vacancies of the hoarier fortress were slim, mostly collected at the top in the more expensive sections. But who was to say those dark rooms weren’t just smarter souls hiding away, as Jasper bent down and ran a hand down one of its sides, presenting himself to the skies and humming as he felt the ridges of each window on his finger pads?

Erin, besides having strained to not stain her dress and her chair from Jasper’s destructive sashaying away, surprised herself in how quickly and how much his spiker scolding was taken to heart. His honeyed words sweetened the appeal of the drink au naturel, but there was no way she could down her glass now and not feel bad as the additive had ultimately completed dissolving. So, what was she to do?

The only solace in sight was to dump the drink and start anew. But, to do so, Erin would have to go inside and find a drain. Throwing it off the balcony was the first thought that came to mind. However, with Viridian’s conic shape, it’d probably just end up back on a window, and she couldn’t bear to mess it up from pettiness. The same would go for letting it drip onto the floor: a mess for the all-seeing staff to clean later. Thus, all she could do was go inside… and hope a certain host wouldn’t notice her brief absence.

Erin, to the best of her ability, ascended from the chair, adjusting her outfit and checking for any soils along the way. Her heels clicked across the balcony floor to the edge of the sliding glass doors, and a glance at the reflection in them – the one of her and the charging colossus in the background – showed that said colossus hadn’t noticed. She seemed clear for the moment, but her judgment of her path to the wet bar was more turbid.

Would her shadowy semblance not be instantly perceived zooming in the sea of white that was the suite? If the giant could see her far away while still, then what difference would it make if she was moving? Then again, why would it even matter? What would he do: be upset at her doing what he wanted… only for her to not pay him because of it? Or, worse? These thoughts and many more flooded the bitty business lady’s head, but nothing stopped her from instinctively reaching for the door to do the deed.

No, actually, one thing did.

“What the shit!?” Erin exclaimed as she was nearly knocked off her feet, with glass nearly knocked out of hand. She already had plenty of experience with symphonic sensations and their sizeable sources, but nothing prepared her for this.

It looked like a bomb had gone off and sounded like it, too, as sizeable slabs hit the ground in droves, glass shattered and fell like confetti, and a dust cloud dirtied the sky. However, rather than the silence that would’ve joined a nuclear blast, the metropolitan cacophony was only increased with city folk hurrying away from the epicenter and panicking about the situation in general. As they should.

Witnessing a nine-hundred-foot man-mountain using a hotel as a stool as the smoke cleared probably wouldn’t end well. Counting all the floors that once were but now were under a titanic tush said enough on its own. Erin wanted to be mad about liking what she saw and technically caused – a usual aftermath reaction to a Viridian session for her, though a bit different this time – but she was too busy liking what she saw to care.

“Ah, there we go,” Jasper sighed, holing his ass into a comfortable crater. “Best seat in the house.”

He looked around at the attempting escapers, jubilant at all of the jittering around his feet and in his shadow… and the scattered splatters contained by them. However, upon a closer look, he saw the other consequences of his casual calamity: these not so appreciated.

“I hope this mess was worth it, though,” he then remarked, detailing and swatting at the collections of dust and rubble on his suit. Surprisingly, if one looked past the darkness of night and his obsidian-hued suit, no blood appeared to be absorbed anywhere. If it had, unnoticed, then removing it from his shoes was a non-issue. But he could only wonder what his glutes engorged because he wasn’t moving to check anytime soon. “Better not stain, or someone’s going to have a bad time.” Obviously, to himself and Erin, he was referring to himself or a Viridian volunteer cleaning his clothes later, but the pint-sized public was none the wiser, adding to the hysteria they already had.

As he cleaned himself and prodded around to a perfect position, he claimed the King’s Citadel as a king’s throne with no objection. Maybe no objection. He would’ve had to ask to know for sure, and by the looks of it, he needn’t to question. But an audience was pressed, anyway.

“Oh, heiress,” Jasper sighed, raising his gaze to meet Erin’s… or her silhouette, at least.

The little lass seemed transfixed by something – probably his doing, but he couldn’t be too sure – now standing at the balcony, resembling a ballerina in the third position, with fuzzy, bedroom eyes on her face and her glass untouched but almost sloped enough in her hand to drip. Both expressions were just asking for a climax, and so did he.

“Don’t just stand there,” he directed, slumping deeper into his building chair, cracking it further. “Come, now. You know you want to.”

Jasper’s allusions were, for better words, alluring enough to break Erin out of her whimsical stare, but she hadn’t a clue of his reference. Despite her lack of sureness, it sounded very presumptive, especially with what she wanted but hadn’t yet done with herself from the show, and the assertiveness of it all was… well, it was kind of attractive, honestly. But, of all times, now!? Just moments ago, Erin was close to incapacitating herself with a drink. They both knew that and could see that the glass hadn’t gone anywhere, and he dared to test her patience – the patience she was willing to hold for him to bulldoze a building with his butt – with it and only a glass half-wall in her way from the ground?

Erin was appalled as she waded through increased arousal, and it took an addendum from him to get her head out of the gutter – more like peeking out, in reality – and get on the same page.

“Toss it!” Jasper cheered, though it came out more like a chuckle, motioning a flick of her wrist with his light pole of an index finger. “Throw that shit!”

The glass. He meant the glass. Of course, he did. It’s what he said he wanted, after all. A bold proof of her strength through grief from an even bolder man.

With almond oceans for eyes watching her every move now, the pressure was on. But, the push to do that task wasn’t what kept Erin still. It was how, where, and all the other questions for possible cup launching. Her mind immediately went into a mode of intense concentration, contemplating every possible option in sight and its worth in the end. Minutes ago, they were simple whims to be thrown in the wind, so it did no harm to ponder. Now, one of them literally had to be lobbed and probably would cause a ripple somewhere.

Jasper wasn’t exactly an impatient soul – quite the opposite, actually, from what other clients tended to say – but it didn’t seem like such a profound or prophetic concept in his mind. It wouldn’t matter where the wine glass went in the end; it just had to go anywhere but stay in Erin’s hands. He gave a straightforward directive, and she had a panoramic balcony on which she could follow through with no hesitation. Yet, here she was with just that.

It was unlike her to not know exactly what she wanted, and, in some regards, it was adorable, watching her eyes flutter and take his words to more than the heart, it seemed. Still, the more time wasted would do neither of them any good, just delaying her own satisfaction and the inevitable for the ant-like anthropoids on the ground at their mercy. Hence, he inserted his hand all but literally in the process so that they could proceed.

“Heiress,” Jasper’s modulated voice called for her, releasing the helpless human from her mind palace. “Aim at me.”

Erin’s stance straightened immediately at the prompt, to Jasper’s approval. However, he didn’t expect her to act so quickly at the idea – at him – or so robotically. A chill grazed his neck, perhaps fittingly, as Erin gracefully twirled the stem of her glass to between her middle and ring finger, allowing for the bowl to sit solidly opposite her knuckles. From his angle, Jasper saw a similarity between her new grasping technique and that which is generally used in some throwing sport he couldn’t remember the name. Little did he know, Erin would go down the same path, channeling a star athlete to let go of her aggressively inebriated anchor.

The physics of Earth, Jasper’s home, and the realm where the pair presently resided all showed that a splash from her diminutive dram soaking into his suit was not to be a worry. The distance between the two of them was wider than he was tall, yet the goblet flew outward and down, more so the latter, like it could’ve traversed the blocks with ease. A crystal comet with a sparkling tail: beautiful in flight but still affected by gravity, nonetheless. It, like a meteorite, eventually came crashing down, and both beauties followed its trail: Jasper following it with only his eyes again versus Erin’s all-in, almost toppling, full-body trajectory tracing. The resulting calamity was worthy of the history books, and Erin almost regretted being the cause of it, too.

Almost.

A toxic trickle fell upon some unsuspecting shelter-seekers as they ignored all traffic laws and ran across Viridian’s front street for cover in some greenery. Feeling liquid on their forms, particularly somewhat cool stuff when surrounded by flames and blown fuses, sparked confusion. They instinctively looked up for a hidden cloud and around for a broken hose and found nothing but the green and aqua lights’ glow above and warm dots in the surroundings. At the realization, the group took away any consideration for a human source, remembered why they were running in the first place, and froze in horror and disgust.

The angles and quantity didn’t seem right for their astronomical adversary’s position and girth. But said place and size (and a surprisingly sweet aroma) weren’t right in any reasonable regard, either. So, who were they, in comparison to him, to judge how he played with their lives… and presumably himself all the while? To find out – their place in this world and what was bound to be a new truth – they turned to meet their maker and found themselves in the front row of a greater mess.

The droplets of Chagnioreic Xunnusus did travel far, but they were nothing against the goblet. While the soaked souls were analyzing, it shattered on contact but not on the ground. Shards settled in with flying colors in the back of someone’s skull, and the awestruck audience stood on the sidewalk, burning their corneas and scleras off watching the cards fall as they did.

The unconscious body of the belted bystander tumbled in front of an oncoming car. That same car then swerved out of the way to prevent them from being hit, only to go into another car on the opposite lanes of the street. A new pile-up built at its place, just waiting to be set off or explode… or crushed underfoot if temptations came through looks of wonder. Erin flinched at each bad move gone worse, in spite of her loving the chaos occurring. She enjoyed it while she could because she knew it wouldn’t last much longer. Jasper was just letting the twinkles of terror glisten in his cool eyes, staying calm for the awaiting craziness he wanted her to admit.

She felt his stare, and then she felt him.

“Now that that’s done and dealt with,” the giant bellowed to turn the tables, voice reverberating at a level to blow her hair back, break more than a few windows, and yet shockingly not blow her ears out, “we can get to the real shit.”

“Oh, it’s shit, alright,” Erin stated, not hesitating to snap back, gripping the balcony rail with both hands hard enough to make a dent. “Complete and utter shit.”

“If this world you’ve led us to has anything to do with your supposed tragedy, then it really must be,” Jasper explained, rubbing the scruff on his chin. “Everyone thought you’d be happy today, yet here you are, anything but.”

With how promising her companies’ stocks looked and how flourishing the press releases were all week, the staff of Viridian was restless, expecting their most opulent client Erin to come by for a celebratory session. Sure, she tended to be the only one celebrating through them, but her happiness was all that mattered. The industrial levels of the resort were in a frenzy, switching back and forth between caring for those already there and anticipating future arrivals, including their particular patron of honor.

Some of the more creative souls on the team were considering preparing a treat as savory as her recent accomplishments: a juicy fruit basket with enough juice to lubricate any plaything, living and not, available for her choosing. Others were convinced that she wouldn’t even come in, having such good news and wanting to celebrate in her lonesome. However, upon seeing her enter the lobby, the figure of her silhouette alone expressed more emotion than her vocal self openly gave a reception.

Drooping demeanor. Unkempt makeup. No greetings, gossip, or generalities.

Erin came into Viridian right from overstaying her office time with nothing in mind, giving nothing to offer help, wanting nothing in particular, and thus not filling in anything on her reservation request form at check-in. Viridian had base rules for these so-called ‘blank scenarios’, though usually not as aggressive as what Erin received. They were rather fantastic at basing a session on the client’s current well-being, past service history, and a bunch of other, always accurate qualities they’d never reveal. Putting all of them together in their system as Erin exited the lobby and awaited instructions, the staff quickly saw that the result, aka her and Jasper’s place of pleasure, while physically stable, was going the total opposite symbolically in all of the worst ways.

The host at a height at which people are near indistinguishable from bugs made it statistically impossible for said host to traverse without the annihilation of something important. The client seated at the top of a tower – a conic one, no less – although safe from the ground, made them a target for an aerial approach. For most, at such a size and power difference, a distance was kept between the two for safety or, of course, not done at all. Most customers tended to go more fantastically when they and the chosen staff were on the same scale. But none of them were Erin.

This was Erin. This version of Viridian reaching halfway up a host’s body without asking for it signaled a perceived social imbalance out of the guest’s favor. This was just another blip on her record, one where she was mostly rough… on herself.

Every host was qualified to take on the challenge she was giving, including the one that was going to be assigned to her first. But no one could please Erin as Jasper could, and everyone knew it. The fortunate opening in his schedule as she concocted her troublesome tonic allowed for the best chance of an all-clear ending. So far, so good, but there was still plenty of time for a problem.

Jasper, being the epitome of employees, obviously knew all of that coming in, leaving him cautiously curious about why they had come together with her. With them in mind, along with a plethora of other things about Erin, it only seemed fair for him to inquire further on her depressing dilemma without missing a beat,

“How shitty is it?"

Finding the right words was more of a struggle for Erin than expected, and it wasn’t just because she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. She had good reason to believe that Viridian could and/or would act upon whatever she said, so she needed to be extra careful.

“You, uh… You know how you guys at Viridian enticed me to come here?” she set up, biting her lip on nervous reflex.

The last thing Jasper expected to hear in connection to her quandary was his interplanetary place of work, raising a brow in disbelief. But, going back to the question, in particular, it was obvious what his answer to it would be.

“Of course?” he conceded, openly expressing his amazement. “Why does that matter to you, er, your problem?”

“You… You know how you all – this ‘system’ or whatever – basically don’t exist to the rest of the world, except to those you invited here. Yet, you can have your hands in whatever you want?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Jasper raised his hands to challenge her. “I won’t deny my team and, by extension, all my people having ‘great’ influence, but that is all thanks to your and more so all of Earth’s research organizations being compliant with us.”

Erin remembered how her competitive interrogation tactics led to her finding out Viridian’s extraterrestrial connections to the world’s head space agency right from the get-go, but she never considered it truly being a compromise. Looking at Jasper and all he could do without doing anything was a solid example on its own.

Plus, if he truly meant compromise, then wouldn’t he have used that word himself?

“You’re the ones that want to keep us to yourselves,” the situationally gentle giant continued in a sing-song tone. “We only give as much as you humans allow us to take as part of your patronage, whether it be a simple spa day, fifteen flirtatious minutes of fun, or a more… ravenous respite in a world of your own.”

Erin knew there had to be more laced through that wording than the rather domestic destruction he had already done through so little. Was he going to live up to it? Only time would tell.

He continued further, “A feat of ours can have a wide range, but it’s a two-way street, just like the ones under me and mine.” It sure seemed to be heading there, especially with the too-strong-to-be-unintentional pun play. “That being said…” He elongated his conditional almost as long as his body. “…I can only imagine why an heiress or any magnate, really, would bother to simulate our so-called ‘invisibility’ because that would imply more than just protection.”

Although the implications her words had already made were pretty heavy, Jasper was able to look right through Erin and see that they held even more weight behind them. The nervous, tangentially agoraphobic expressions and quivering she had, rocking in her seat and tiddling her digits – fingers and, presumably, toes, too – emphasized it. Despite all of the supposed security Viridian had and how much every resort-bound staff member and extraterrestrial emissary adored her like a queen, even here, Erin didn’t feel safe, and that certainly wasn’t okay.

Waiting any longer, and Jasper felt she’d implode from guilt alone. So, he set the table for any surprise dish he could be served, not hiding his concern one bit.

“Erin, what did you do?”

The silence that followed, once the general cacophony of insectile, civilian panic was filtered out, was off-putting. As much as Jasper’s near-100-story body broke glass, foundations, pathways, and bodies beneath him, none of that resultant discord was as loud as Erin’s sigh, saliva swallow, and response cutting the upper air with a pause,

“If I promise not to spike it this time… can I get a glass of that bub? I’m gonna need it.”

[a-splash-of-stucky]

no one left behind

Pairings: None

Summary: Steve becomes a cat-dad.

Warnings: None! (ok,,,maybe a bit of language)

WC: 2.6k

Notes: I love Steve and I love cats, so this fic was kinda meant-to-be. The kittens and their names are all based off cats that I’ve had at some point in my life. Written for @happystevebingo, for the fill “Kittens”

My Masterlist | Happy Steve Bingo Masterlist

Steve expertly guides his bike into his garage before putting down the kickstand and killing the engine. He pulls off his helmet and gloves, then rakes his fingers through his sweaty hair as he sighs in relief, grateful to finally be home.

‘Home’ for Steve refers to a refurbished warehouse about forty minutes away from Avengers Tower. It’s in a derelict industrial area, complete with sagging chain-link fences and crude graffiti adorning nearly every surface. There’re a lot of immigrants in the place, which makes for some pretty delicious takeout shops.

The Tower’s nice enough, and his floor has all the gadgets and gizmos that he could ever need (and then some), but there’s just something about this place that fills him with a sense of peace.

Steve’s spent the better part of the last three years working on this warehouse, tearing the walls down, only to build them back up. It had been his project, something that he worked on in between missions.

The warehouse is large and spacious, as warehouses tend to be. It’s got two floors and all the conveniences of the modern world, without any of the frivolous stuff. He’s opted for an open floor-plan, so all the rooms are connected to basically everything else, which makes the place seem even bigger than it is.

His garage is in a small outhouse located to the east of the warehouse itself. Once he’s stowed his helmet and gloves, Steve locks the garage, then heads out onto the short gravel path that takes him from his garage to his front door.

He’s itching to get inside and soak in a nice long bath, preferably with some Netflix and a tub of ice cream. This week’s mission had been particularly gruelling, and though he doesn’t have any severe injuries, his muscles are still sore from making the arduous trek across the Swiss Alps.

The Alps are just as bad now as they were back in the war.

Steve fishes his keys out of his back pocket as he comes up to his door. He pauses abruptly, immediately on edge when he notices that the shoe cupboard beside his front door is slightly ajar.

He’s sure that he closed it up properly when he left.

Tentatively, he wedges the toe of his boot into the gap and, after a deep breath, whips the door open, internally bracing himself to see a bomb or something.

What he sees instead is quite the opposite.

There, nestled amongst his Uggs and loafers, is a grey tabby, curled protectively around four tiny balls of fur. She blinks up at him, mildly dazed by the sudden burst of sunlight. Her mouth opens on a little meow.

Steve blinks, stunned.

Well then. This isn’t what he was expecting.

“Hey there,” he says quietly, as he slowly sinks into a squat, resting his elbows on his thighs. The mama tracks him with her intelligent green eyes, but makes no move to attack him. This close, he realises that the kittens are suckling on her.

“Wow,” Steve breathes, as he gets a proper look at them.

He’d thought there were four kittens, but as it turns out, there are five; one of the kittens is currently being squashed by all their siblings. One kitten is an orange tabby and one kitten looks like a miniature replica of its mother. The biggest kitten has fur as white as snow and is currently trampling a kitten that’s black all over, except for its paws, which are white — it looks like it’s got socks on. The kitten that’s being squashed by its siblings is white with black spots on it.

Steve watches them for a few seconds, a smile on his face; there’s something so serene about the scene.

It’s clear that they’ve been here for some time — maybe the mama even gave birth in his shoe cupboard. The strong odour of cat piss fills Steve’s nostrils, and a couple of bones on the floor indicate that mama has been out hunting for food at least once. Steve doesn’t know a lot about kittens, but judging by their size, these ones look to be a few weeks old, possibly.

Hesitantly, Steve stretches out his right hand, offering his fingers to the mama, for her to sniff. She recoils in suspicion at first, but after regarding him with baleful eyes for a few seconds, she leans forward and gives him a curious sniff. Mama cat doesn’t flinch away when Steve brushes his fingers over her head, so he takes that as a good sign.

Her fur is softer than he expected it to be — it’s silky, like the fur throws he’s got on his couch. When she tips her head up and back, he notices for the first time a dark grey collar wrapped around her neck. The fabric is dirty and fraying at the edges, and it’s digging into her fur like it’s uncomfortably tight. The place where a tag should be hanging is empty and the metal slightly deformed, as if the tag has been ripped off.

Steve presumes that this cat has been abandoned, possibly because she got pregnant.

People can be pretty damn cruel, sometimes.

He can’t leave her to be choking on her own collar, so Steve snaps into action. Hastily, he unlocks his front door, keys in his passcodes to turn off the alarm systems, then dashes into the kitchen, in search of a box. He finds a large delivery box in his recycling pile which he opts to use.

Steve stops by his laundry room to retrieve some old clothes that he’d been planning to donate at the local charity store. A few of t-shirts will make for some nice, soft bedding.

Once he’s back outside, Steve sets the box down by the shoe cupboard. Mama cat blinks her green eyes at him curiously.

“I’m gonna move you guys in here,” Steve tells her, as if she’s intelligent enough to talk back to him.

Then again, who knows. Cats are strange creatures — perhaps she does understand English.

Steve hopes that mama cat doesn’t mind being picked up. Gingerly, he reaches into the shoe cupboard and gets his hands around her; luckily, she doesn’t twist away or try to scratch him. Steve winces when the kittens begin mewling in distress as soon as he lifts her up, their sharp, pitiful cries piercing the air.

Mama cat wriggles in his grip and tries to get away, so Steve quickly dumps her into the box, then hastily scoops the kittens up in his big hands and places them inside, next to her.

Steve takes a step back and gives them all a minute to settle down. He watches as the mama licks at her kittens to make sure that they’re safe, purring loudly all the while to soothe them. The orange and white kittens are nuzzling insistently at her tummy, so she plops back down onto her side, allowing all five kittens to latch on again. Once they’re suckling happily, mama cat glances up at Steve and flicks her tail lazily, as if to say we’re in here — what’s next?

“I’m gonna carry you inside, okay?” he says, in response to her silent question. Whether by coincidental timing or because she understands and actually agrees to his suggestion, at that moment, she flops her head down and closes her eyes.

Confident that they’re not going to put up too much of a fuss, Steve gets to his feet and picks up the box, taking care not to jostle the inhabitants around too much. He sees mama cat tense up in alarm, but she makes no move to leap out of the box, which he is thankful for. Steve carries them into his house, kicking the front door shut with his foot. For lack of a better place to put the box, he sets it down on the kitchen floor, beside the island, before hunting through his drawers for a pair of kitchen shears to cut off that collar.

“Aha!” he says triumphantly, when he finds them in his cutlery drawer.

(Why they were in his cutlery drawer he’s not entirely sure. He thinks Sam might’ve had something to do with that.)

Shears in hand, Steve kneels beside the box and waves them at the mama.

“I’m gonna cut that off you,” he says, gesturing towards the collar. “You’re gonna feel better after that.”

For a brief moment, Steve wonders why he’s narrating everything that he’s doing to the cat. He finds that he’s got no answer for himself other than ‘it feels appropriate’.

After adjusting his grip on the handle, Steve reaches into the box, moving slowly so as to not startle anyone. Mama cat tenses like she’s going to scurry away when he grabs her collar between his finger and thumb, but relaxes again when she realises that he means her no harm. Her tail is curled protectively over her kittens — and isn’t that just the sweetest thing he’s ever seen?

With one quick snip, the fabric collar has been cut. Steve backs away fast, so that he doesn’t stress the mama out any further. She shakes her head and moves it around, like she’s relieved to have finally regained full range of movement in her neck. He fishes the offending collar out of the box and dumps it into the trash, before heading to the sink to wash his hands.

Steve leans against the island as he observes the mama and her kittens, who have now had their fill of milk and are eagerly exploring the box that Steve’s put them in. Since she’s no longer being crushed by her offspring, mama cat pushes herself up onto her legs, eyes the edge of the box, before elegantly leaping out of it. Once outside, she sits down beside it, then turns to look up at Steve.

They stare each other down for a few long seconds, before she finally lets out a quiet meow.

Steve tilts his head to the side. “What?”

In response, she gets up and starts sniffing the corners of the box. Her kittens are still playing inside it, curiously examining his old t-shirts.

“You want me to take ‘em out?” he asks her.

She turns to him and lets out another meow — somehow, she sounds more insistent this time.

“Okay, sure — I can do that,” Steve says easily.

He picks the kittens up one by one, depositing them on the kitchen floor, beside their mama. They’re so — tiny. He can feel the rapid flutter of their heartbeats against his fingers when he picks them up. They wriggle and mewl, unaccustomed to being lifted so high, but once he’s put them back on solid ground, they calm down again.

Upon further inspection, Steve realises that these kittens must be a couple of months’ old, at least. They’ve moved past the ‘drowned-rat’ stage of their life, and now resemble fluffy balls of fur with legs. They’re toddling around, barely able to stay on their feet as they pad across the kitchen tiles, still not quite able to properly coordinate their limbs. It’s clear that they have a while to go before they develop the quiet grace that is so typical of felines.

Mama cat is busy licking herself clean, but from the way her ears are constantly twitching, Steve knows that she’s keeping an eye on her little ones.

Slowly, Steve sinks to the floor and folds his legs underneath himself, so that he can watch the kittens better. They’re extremely alert, looking around his place with their wide, inquisitive eyes. He watches as the white one with black spots playfully leaps onto a couple of its siblings, which results in a brief tussle amongst all three of them.

The black one with white paws toddles over to him. Steve watches with bated breath as it sniffs curiously at his kneecap.

Apparently, he smells okay, because a second later, the kitten digs its claws into his trousers and clumsily climbs onto his thigh. It sits down and looks up at Steve with its big blue eyes, before letting out the tiniest of squeaks.

A funny feeling blooms in Steve’s chest. It’s as if his heart is rapidly expanding, growing so large that it’s pressing up against his ribcage and squashing his lungs, making it harder to breathe.

He realises that the kitten looks like a cat that he had back when he was a kid.

Or, well.

He didn’t have a cat, so much as the cat had a human. He and Bucky had called her Misty, and she used to come to his fire-escape every now and then. She’d been a scrap of a thing, always peering at the world through suspicious, beady eyes, but for whatever strange reason, she had a soft spot for Steve. He used to leave bits of food out for her, if ever he had any to spare.

Steve takes one look at mama cat, gives a cursory glance over her balls of fluff and decides then and there that there is no way he’s kicking any of them out.

“We need to give you all names,” he decides.

“I’m calling you Stripey,” says Steve, addressing the mama cat. Yeah, maybe it’s a tad unoriginal, but she’s got black stripes on the bottom half of her long tail — it’s a sensible name for a cat.

Steve settles on Snowball for the white kitten and Junior for the kitten who looks like a miniature version of Stripey. The white one with black spots is called Spotty (again: super original) and the orange tabby he names Sam, because Sam’s more of a dog person, and Steve’s got a twisted sense of humour.

“And you,” he says, talking to the kitten still perched on his thigh. He boops its nose with the tip of his finger. “I’m calling you Mittens.”

The kitten meows in response. Steve takes that as a seal of approval.

It is at this moment that Steve realises that his house is sorely under-equipped to take care of a cat and five kittens; he hasn’t even got any milk in the fridge, for fuck's sake.  

“JARVIS?” he calls.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” JARVIS replies.

Tony had insisted that he integrated the AI’s system into his warehouse, so that Steve would still be able to receive news from the Tower (in case of emergencies). JARVIS also handles his state-of-the-art security system, which is an added bonus.

“I’m gonna need everything you’d need to look after a cat,” says Steve. “Uh — cat food, kitty litter, a litter box. Maybe some catnip — is that even a thing? Oh, and a cat tree.”

Stripey perks up at the words ‘cat tree’ and turns to look at him, her eyes narrowed accusingly.

“Make that two cat trees.”

“That’s all been ordered, Captain, as well as some cat treats and nutritional supplements you might consider useful,” JARVIS says smoothly, “They’re due to arrive at your warehouse by the end of the day.”

———

Sam pays Steve a visit two weeks later.

He opens the front door using his spare key, only to trip over a cat toy that had been left on the floor. Just as he opens his mouth to ask Steve why the hell he has a cat toy, a ball of orange fur skitters across the floor, towards the kitchen.

Two seconds later, four other balls of fluff appear out of nowhere, racing off in the same direction.

“You got kittens?” he asks incredulously.

“Yeah!” Steve calls, from the kitchen. “The orange one’s named Sam.”

“Aw, you named your cat after me?” says Sam, sounding pleased. He pauses for a moment, a slight furrow developing between his brows.

“Steve, you know I hate cats.”

“I know you do. That’s why I called him Sam.”

“Goddammit Rogers,” Sam mutters.

[shinsoukokuvalentine]

20.,things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear?also i love your blog💘

(Thank you for your patience, nonnie-chan! This one took a while, but I’m really happy with the results. As I said before, I had wanted to do a fic like this for a while, so I wanted to be very careful to give it the time and effort it deserved. Thank you for waiting and for your compliments ^^ I’m so happy you love my blog.

This fic can also be found on Ao3, but as tumblr tends to eat posts with links, I’ll make a separate post for it. Also, this is based on the movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It’s really good!)

185/365: Never-Ending Moonlight

I don’t want to forget.

Ryuunosuke’s eyes open blearily. On his bedside table, his alarm beeps, inviting him to wake to an overcast day and piles of snow.

He sits up, shutting off his alarm, rubbing his eyes. He feels more tired than usual, but he doesn’t remember doing anything strenuous yesterday. Or was that what he didn’t want to forget?

With a groan, he throws his covers off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn’t remember what he didn’t want to forget, of course, making the morning confusing enough without what appear to be tear stains down his cheeks, which he sees once he looks in the mirror.

Ryuu frowns at his reflection. He never cries. He hasn’t cried since he was a child, abandoned on the city sidewalk like a discarded toy, his confused younger sister gripping his hand.

He had grown up quickly.

He sighs. He turns the sink on, washes the tears off his face, combs his hair. He can’t spend the entire morning trying to remember what he didn’t want to forget, and soon the thought’s gone as if it had been washed down the drain.

As he puts his shoes on, he sees that the shelf near the door looks empty, sparse. There’s an open space in the middle that looks like it would be a good place for a couples’ photo.

Ryuu frowns a bit. He moves things around briefly, eliminating the empty space. He doesn’t need any reminders that he’s single.

Standing at the train station, his scarf pulled over the lower half of his face, Ryuu waits in the middle of the bustling crowd. Snow drifts down from the sky again, and the people around Ryuu grumble at it. He closes his eyes and listens, listens to their words, listens to the crunch of snow beneath dozens of feet, listens to the train arriving on the platform below, bound for the coast.

His eyes open. He doesn’t know what prompts him to movie. Maybe he needs a change, a break from his work. But emotion he can’t explain get the better of him, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s moving, running, sprinting, nearly slipping down stairs. The coast. He has to go to the coast today.

Ryuu isn’t sure why. He isn’t sure why he rushes onto that train car before the doors close. He isn’t sure why he’s going in the complete opposite direction of where he should be going, to work, to his job.

Maybe it has something to do with that thing he can’t remember that he didn’t want to forget.

Even this early in the morning, the ports of Yokohama are already noisy, with people shouting back and forth, crates being unloaded, and cargo ships blaring their horns. Ryuu finds a small diner near the train station, away from the noise, but with a view of the ocean outside the window.

He orders an omelette. Something simple, but a breakfast that he rarely gets the chance to have. Not many patrons sit in the diner’s booths, as many people have undoubtedly already begun their jobs, excluding a few elders and a young man sitting a few seats down from Ryuu.

By chance, their eyes meet, and Ryuu quickly looks down at his breakfast. He thinks he hears the other man give a small huff of a laugh. His cheeks red, Ryuu bites into his omelette like he could blame it for the unwelcome feelings stirring in his chest like trapped birds, fluttering around his ribcage and crashing into his heart.

Why do I fall in love with every cute guy I see?

He’s out of there sooner than he’d like, and yet, not soon enough, leaving behind a silver-haired man with bright eyes.

His feet carry him aimlessly, down the coastline and through busy streets. He pauses at the ocean a few times, watches the ships move, listens to the ocean lap at the rocks below. Winds blow in and cause him to tighten his scarf around his face.

Around lunch, he sees him again. That silver-haired man with wide eyes. He stands at the same bus stop as Ryuu, who’s only there because he wanted to get out of the wind. The other man’s on his phone, typing away with fingerless gloves, not looking up until the bus arrives. As if being led by the pull of a magnet, Ryuu follows him on board.

Outside, Yokohama’s gray sky does little to dull the colors of the city’s many shops and people. Ryuu barely notices them. His attention in focused on the man in front of him, the one with silver hair, the one nodding to the beat of whatever song’s playing through his headphones.

The man suddenly looks behind him, and Ryuu looks away just as quickly. But he’s been noticed.

“Hey.”

Ryuu looks up. The man smiles at him in a polite, friendly way. Ryuu doesn’t respond, so the other man speaks up again. “You were the guy in the diner, right?”

Ryuu nods.

The man with silver hair turns more, resting his arms on the back of his seat, facing Ryuu. “I’m Nakajima Atsushi.” He introduces himself so quickly, so fearlessly.

Ryuu’s sunk further into his seat without realizing it. Normally, he wouldn’t have a problem with not saying anything and coming off as rude, but Nakajima draws an answer out of him with one look from those sparkling eyes of his. Oh…They’re two colors. Purple and gold, like miniature sunsets.

“Akutagawa Ryuunosuke,” he says, bowing his head a little once.

Nakajima’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’d never seen you at the diner before. Are you new around here?” Ryuu nods again.

“I’m from a different district,” he says quietly. Nakajima tilts his head.

“So you’ve never been to Tanizaki’s?” he asks. When Ryuu shakes his head, Nakajima’s wonderful eyes widen. “You have to go there for lunch. They have the best ochazuke.”

Ryuu shrugs a bit. Ochazuke sounds good; he hasn’t had a bowl in a while. “Where is it?” He asks.

Nakajima gives a small chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you,” he says quickly, but he suddenly ducks behind the seat a little bit at his own words, like he realized how straightforward he had been. “That is… If you don’t mind going with me. I would completely understand if you didn’t want to.”

Ryuu’s cheeks have become red again, so he pulls his scarf over his nose and looks to his side, out the window, away from Nakajima’s bicolor eyes. “... I don’t mind,” he says. From the corner of his eye, he sees Nakajima’s smile return.

They spend lunch together. The cafe’s styled traditionally, and its ochazuke really is as good as Nakajima said. He eats two bowls in the time it takes Ryuu to eat one.

They spend the afternoon together. Nakajima shows Ryuu his favorite park, and Ryuu buys him a balloon, partly as a joke, but Nakajima ties it around his wrist and keeps it there for the rest of the day.

They spend the evening together. They walk along the docks, in areas where they’re probably not allowed to be, behind old warehouses and around rusty fences. While exploring like children, they talk. Ryuu talks about his position as an executive in a stuffy company. Nakajima talks about his job as an assistant to a private eye.

“That sounds more interesting than my job,” Ryuu says, climbing over crates in a crumbling storage building. From the top of the pile, swinging his legs over the side, Nakajima huffs.

“You’d think so,” he sighs, “But my boss hardly ever does his paperwork, so while he’s off on cases, I’m left to sort through his files.”

Ryuu hums in understanding as he finally reaches the top, sitting next to Nakajima on the large crate. From up there, they can see the moon through the worn, broken panels of the warehouse’s roof.

“I guess you were off today,” Ryuu says. Nakajima chuckles sheepishly.

“About that… I ditched.”

Ryuu turns to him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type,” he points out. Nakajima shoves him a bit, playfully, but hard enough to make Ryuu wonder if his companion doesn’t know his own strength.

“You’ve only known me a day,” he says, apparently not noticing as Ryuu grips the side of the crate a bit harder than before and rubs his shoulder. “Besides, Dazai-san ditches me all the time. It’s about time he got a taste of his own medicine.”

Ryuu watches as Nakajima leans back, laying his back flat against the crate, possibly getting splinters in his hair and jacket. In the small amount of time he’s known Nakajima, Ryuu knows him well enough to assume that he doesn’t care if he gets dirty.

“What about you?” Nakajima asks, peering over at Ryuu. “You weren’t off either, were you?”

Ryuu purses his lips, turning away from Nakajima, pulling his scarf over his nose again, and Nakajima laughs a little. “Knew it.”

“I didn’t plan to skip today,” Ryuu says in his defense. “It mostly just happened.”

Nakajima sighs, watching clouds drift across the night sky. “Same here,” he says. He turns to Ryuu again, smiling, and his eyes are soft as he says to him, “Maybe it’s fate then? Destiny?”

Nakajima’s expression sends Ryuu’s heart into overdrive, but he takes slow breaths, laying down beside him and turning his gaze to the sky.

“I’m not sure it matters how we met,” he says quietly, trying not to jump in the air when he feels Nakajima’s fingers brush his own. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

He looks beside him, and Nakajima’s still smiling. A breeze rustles his hair, his eyes shimmer in the moonlight, and if Ryuu hadn’t fallen in love when he first saw Nakajima, this sight alone would have ensnared him. But since he’s already in love, all he can do is hide his blush.

“Did you have a good time today?”

Atsushi takes his eyes off his phone, looking at the man sitting beside him on the train. Akutagawa looks forward, watching city lights pass by the windows across from them, his hands in his coat pockets. He spoke without turning to Atsushi.

Turning his phone off, Atsushi watches their reflections in the window, looking in the same direction as Akutagawa, but not seeing the same thing.

“I did,” he says quietly, peering at his companion’s dark eyes as reflected in the glass. His heart beats a little faster when he admits it, and he smiles again, hoping to hide his nervousness with it. It’s worked all day.

“Did you?” he asks Akutagawa. The other man shifts a little, and crossing one leg over the other, he nods once. Inwardly, Atsushi lets out a small sigh of relief. Spending the day with Akutagawa has been a joy for him, and he wanted to know that his companion felt the same way, even though he probably hadn’t developed an immediate crush like Atsushi did.

The train’s automated voice cuts through Atsushi’s thoughts, announcing that the next station, Atsushi’s stop, is five minutes away. Atsushi’s knees bunch together as his face falls. Five minutes. He has five minutes left with Akutagawa.

He turns to the side again, looking over his companion’s face. Akutagawa’s the most handsome man he’s ever seen, with hair that looks as soft as doves’ feathers, eyes that constantly reflect the sea at night, and a pale, round face that somehow manages to be both adorable and mature. His expression never wavers, giving him an air of mystery that lures Atsushi in.

And, Atsushi thinks with a sad smile, he’s almost as impulsive as he is.

“Hey,” Atsushi says quietly. Akutagawa turns only his eyes to look at him, leaning back against the seat while Atsushi’s bent over on his knees.

“Yes?” Akutagawa asks in that deep voice of his. Atsushi takes a deep breath, even while his brain reminds him of the many ways that this could go wrong.

“Since, you know, we had fun today,” Atsushi says slowly, inwardly cursing himself for using the word “fun” like a kid, “Would you like to… Do it again?”

Akutagawa doesn’t take his eyes off of him, only blinking once, but staying silent as if he’s mulling it over. Atsushi watches him, almost shrinking back under his intense gaze.

“Yes.”

Atsushi can feel his heart skip a beat. “You mean it?” he asks incredulously, picking himself up, leaning forward towards Akutagawa. His excitement picks up as if pure adrenaline is being pumped into his veins. “You really want to see me again?”

Akutagawa nods, and if he scoots away a little, Atsushi barely notices. His heart’s too busy doing backflips.

“T-then, uh,” Atsushi all but pats himself down, searching through his pockets for something to write on, “w-would you like my number? I mean, it would be hard to meet again if one of us didn’t get the other’s number…” he trails off, stopping when Akutagawa merely holds out his hand to him.

“Your phone,” he says. Wordlessly, Atsushi nods, pulling his phone from his pocket and unlocking it before passing it to Akutagawa. Despite only knowing him for a day, he trusts him with it.

Akutagawa says nothing as he types on the screen, Atsushi leaning over his shoulder, watching as Akutagawa puts himself in Atsushi’s contact list.

“No need to waste paper when you have a phone,” Akutagawa says, handing it back to Atsushi, who stares at the name AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE and the number attached to it as if trying to commit it to memory. “I doubt you have a pen, anyway.”

Atsushi flushes red, and he could swear that the small huff Akutagawa gives is the faintest hint of a laugh.

“Call me tomorrow,” adds Akutagawa, turning away, leaning back again. “I’ll actually be off then.”

If Atsushi can get any redder, he does. Not only does Akutagawa want to see him again, he wants to see him tomorrow . He feels like he might pass out.

Instead, he beams, standing as the train pulls to a stop and the doors open. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Akutagawa-san,” he says. Akutagawa nods again, watching him as he walks to the doors.

“I’ll see you,” he echoes, waving a little, not taking his eyes off of Atsushi until the doors close again and the train pulls away. Atsushi watches it round a corner, making sure it’s completely gone before he leaves the platform, humming to himself, kicking up snow like a child and watching it fall around him.

He’s never felt in love like this before.

Gone, but not forgotten is that feeling when he reaches his apartment. He stops in his tracks, keys in hand, starting at the thing on his doorstep. It’s a package, a large cardboard box with Atsushi’s name and address on it. It sits in front of the door to his apartment, illuminated with yellow light, wet patches on its cardboard from melted snow.

Atsushi frowns. He doesn’t remember ordering anything. He doesn’t recognize the return label, either; it seems to be someone’s personal address, coming from someone named Higuchi Ichiyo. Atsushi’s never heard of them.

Atsushi stares at  the box, watching it as if something might jump from it. But the box is completely still. He shoves it a bit to get to his door, never taking his eyes off of it, surprised at how heavy it is.

Either he’s gullible or his curiosity gets the better of him, but Atsushi takes it inside.

There’s a letter attached to the top of the box, Atsushi realizes once the door’s closed behind it. He opens it first, peeling away the tape that binds it to the package, tearing it open gingerly, almost not wanting to admit to himself how scared he is of its contents.

The only thing in the letter is a harmless piece of paper. Atsushi checks the envelope twice to make sure of this; no powder, no razors, no glitter. Nothing dangerous. Atsushi sighs like he’s just defused a bomb.

But after he’s read the letter, he feels as if someone’s relit it.

Frantically, Atsushi tears open the box. It’s filled to the brim with material, inconsequential things, like plush toys and picture frames and a few crumpled pieces of origami. According to the letter, less than a few weeks ago, these were all Atsushi’s.

And he doesn’t remember any of them.

Atsushi’s heart feels ready to burst from his chest, and not in the giddy way that he felt when he was with Akutagawa. It’s the way that makes Atsushi’s stomach turn, his throat go dry, and his eyes widen in horror. He’s throwing things out of the box now, shaking, realization creeping up his spine like a cold hand. It’s all fake. It has to be.

But it can’t be.

Band tickets. Calendars with dates circled in red. Poems signed by their author, a name Atsushi can’t stand to read. A small blue box, a diamond ring still inside it, never presented.

Breath escapes Atsushi’s lips in ragged pants when he reaches the bottom. Under love letters and fridge magnets, a small flash drive hides, just as Higuchi wrote in her letter.

Atsushi freezes. The words of the letter pierce through his skin like knives, tearing into him, shaking him to his core.

To Nakajima Atsushi.

He takes the flash drive, holding it as if it could kill him if it got too close, but also careful not to let any harm come to it.

I am Higuchi Ichiyo. This may come as a shock to you, but you opted to receive treatment to have your memories of a certain person erased.

Atsushi plugs the flash drive into his computer. His breath catches in his throat when he sees all of them; photos, possibly hundreds of them, all of him and someone he thought he had never met.

Of course, you do not remember receiving this treatment. The memory of that was erased as well.

Atsushi’s never been to these places. He’s never been with that man before. He definitely has never kissed him before, but dozens of photos say otherwise.

I am a former employee of the doctor that carried out treatment for you and many others, Doctor Mori Ougai. It has recently come to my attention that this process is unethical. This is my attempt at making amends.

Atsushi covers his mouth with his hands. Sobs lurk behind his lips, tears slip from his eyes whenever he blinks. He can’t do this. He can’t keep going, can’t look at them anymore, can’t see himself smiling at a man he’d never met before today.

We took everything from you. Every memory, every photo, every object that may carry some trace of that person you wanted to forget. I’m giving them all back to you.

He takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He’s curled up in his desk chair now, knees to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. He has to keep going, he tells himself, even while a whimper escapes his lips. He has to find that final file.

In this package, there’s a flash drive. It includes anything digital that we took, such as photos or videos. You’ll also find a recording of your verbal consent to this treatment there.

Atsushi scrolls past all the photos, not wanting to look at any more of them, but still catching glimpses every now and then, glimpses of a life he can never get back.

I hope you’re able to forgive me and come to peace with this. All the best,

Higuchi Ichiyo

The audio file’s at the very bottom. Atsushi doesn’t hesitate. He clicks on it, letting whatever’s on that file play through his computer’s speakers, echoing through the apartment. This can’t be real, he thinks to himself, still shaking. This can’t be real, and this will prove it.

“What’s your name, sir? ” a faceless male voice says, sounding like it was recorded through a low-quality microphone. Atsushi can feel his shoulders relax a bit; there’s no way a doctor’s office would be using such cheap equipment.

“Nakajima Atsushi. ”

Atsushi freezes. Yes, it sounds horrible through the recording. Yes, it’s nothing like how he sounds in his head. But that’s definitely his voice.

“And why are you choosing to have this procedure, Nakajima-san? ”

The room seems to spin. Atsushi’s vision goes blurry. Every photo he saw in that flash drive feels as if it’s being burned into his memory, leaving scars as a warning to never forget again.

The Atsushi in the recording can he heard taking a deep breath, coming out as static through the poor quality of the audio.

“Because I hate Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.”

"I want to forget Nakajima Atsushi. ”

“He’s irrational. He’s got a naive, childish outlook on life and needs to grow up .”

“Everywhere we go, he wants me to buy him a plush toy. A plush toy! He’s a grown man! ”

“He took a picture from his phone and got it printed and framed. What kind of sentimental idiot does that? ”

“He’s impulsive. I’ve spent so much on his stupid impulses and he never learns. I’ve almost been arrested because of him, all because he wanted to ‘explore.’ This has happened more than once. ”

“He doesn’t know how strong he is. He accidentally broke my arm once. How do you accidentally break someone’s arm?! ”

“He gets jealous if I so much as look at another guy .”

“I hate the way he eats .”

“I hate the way he talks .”

“I hate the way he drags me around .”

“He’s the only person that’s ever made me cry .”

“And… I loved him .”

There’s a pause. The Ryuunosuke in the recording stops for a moment, and he can be heard letting out a breath through clenched teeth as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

“I want to forget about him. I want to forget about loving him! ”

The doorway creaks. Ryuu looks up from his spot on the floor, surrounded by souvenirs and pieces of paper and framed photographs. He’s there, in the standing in the open door, appearing like a phantom but clutching the doorframe like a scared child.

“… Just like he forgot about me .”

“How much of that did you hear?” Ryuu asks quietly, closing his laptop and shoving it away like it offended him. Still standing there, Nakajima doesn’t meet his eyes.

“... Enough,” he says just as quietly, one arm wrapped around himself, the other supporting him against the wall as if he’d fall over if he didn’t have something to hold on to. He clears his throat a bit. “I had your address on a piece of paper. It was in the box,” he admits softly. Ryuu merely grunts in response.

There’s silence for a minute, in which Ryuu looks down at the pile around him. There’s even a shirt in there, decorated in colors he can’t imagine wearing, featuring a arrow with goofy letters beneath it saying “ I’m HIS boyfriend! ”

“Did you really think that?”

Ryuu looks up at Nakajima, a frown on his lips. Nakajima, with his eyes on the floor, doesn’t notice.

“Did you really think all those things?”

Ryuu huffs, causing Nakajima to pick his head up.

“Even if I did, I can’t remember it, can I?” he snaps. Nakajima shrinks back a little, his eyes wide as if he’s been frightened.

Ryuu stares at him, the anger falling from his face as he watches him, scared and confused, like a kicked dog. Ryuu’s shoulders sag and he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Nakajima walks inside, leaving his shoes at the door, his socks stepping gingerly around everything on the floor until he’s next to Ryuu, where he slowly sits.

“... We could try again,” he says softly.

The very idea causes Ryuu to turn away, covering his mouth with his hand, folding his knees beside him. He hears Nakajima sigh.

“I mean, not picking up where we left off,” he says. From the corner of his eye, Ryuu can see him wrap his arms around his knees. “But… Starting over. Going on our date tomorrow, like we talked about. Easy things.”

Ryuu closes his eyes, as if not looking at everything on the floor would cause it to disappear. “It might end up like before,” he whispers.

Slowly, gently, he feels lithe fingers brush against the back of his free hand. He turns, looking down, seeing Nakajima’s hand on his.

“It might not,” Nakajima says just as quietly, his eyes on their hands as well.

Ryuu feels himself begin to tremble. Subconsciously, or perhaps not, he leans against Nakajima, who breathes deep and slow.

“I think that… If I could remember who I was before,” Nakajima murmurs, a bittersweet tang to his words, like strawberries picked too soon, “That version of me… Would be overjoyed that he gets to discover you all over again.”

Ryuu squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t cry. He won’t cry, not in front of someone he’s just met.

But they haven’t just met. They met moons ago, danced moons ago, kissed moons ago. That same moon is still out, and it’s ready to watch them learn to dance once more.