#anybody have a map & good for you are stuck in my damn head

[arguablysomaya]

unfortunately dear evan hansen has great music

#i'm pretty upset about it #shut up somaya #i went back and listened to all the musicals i used to be obsessed with and #anybody have a map & good for you are stuck in my damn head

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Fear Me Not - Swiss

Summary: Fears are not to be taken lightly; sometimes what people may think is stupid can be a big impact on another's mental state of mind. When your job is managing the lives of others through social media sometimes the reality of how big a job it can be really takes a toll! When Aurora thinks she's a strong woman good at her job...she gets a reality check that humbles her and gives her a new appreciation for her work...even if it means facing her fear. At least she isn't alone.

Phobia: Social phobia (social anxiety disorder)

Pairing: Swiss x Aurora (Manager!Oc)

Support My Work!

When you are stuck in the moment of a hectic schedule, adrenaline, and the sheer magnitude of work that time costing you don't often have the moment to step aside and breathe! Not that Aurora had minded; she loved her job and she loved the chance to travel with her Ghouls and Papa while doing her job she knew she was damn good at it. But it takes a toll on one's mental state; especially if you don't take the time to stop and smell the roses every once in a while.

Unlike the rest of the girls Aurora was never apart from her lover. That knowledge is a double-faced coin. On one hand, it's always amazing to be able to get back to the hotel or the bus at the end of a show and cuddle but at the same time; there isn't a lot of time to breathe away from each other - everybody needs alone time at some point. That often means tempers get high. Aurora knew this more than anybody how stressful it could be on one's relationship. She and Swiss often were known for being the cat and dog sort of couple; even when there is respect and affection between the pair (not always outwardly shown to the public) they were people with high energy and sometimes well...heads get bonked quite often while on tour.

So you could say Aurora felt a sense of peace when her eyes opened to find the familiar room of the Multi-Ghoul staring back at her in all its dark-colored glory instead of the cramped bunk bed on the tour bus or bland colorations of a hotel room. She always loved Swiss' room, it screamed him. From the posters and maps on the walls to the knickknacks the man had on his shelves and the multiple of a different array of instruments lying in the corner. It also was rather messy, the floor was covered in clothes; both from the pair of them last night to those clothes he'd strew around while packing - he had the worst time when it came to packing for tours and since no one was really allowed into the ghoul's wing while they were not there it was clear to say his room was a mess.

The gentle puffs of Swiss' breath against the back of her neck made her smile as she nudged herself back against his chest and curled up; content to be the little spoon as she hugged his arm across her chest and played with his long fingers. His fingers had always fascinated her. Long and thick but so expert when it came to his instruments. He sure knew how to play her as much as he did his guitar.

The room was a bit cool from the fan in the corner of the room so she pulled the covers that were resting low on their waists up to her shoulder. Swiss gave off sleepy body warmth that kept her relatively warm but she always did love snuggling under the blanket with him for that extra comfort. He had one of the softest blankets she'd ever cuddled with and that was saying something because despite Dewdrop's firey personality he was a fan of soft blankets too - a fact she'd found out when months before he'd given her his favorite blanket after they got caught up in a thunderstorm having to cut their outdoor concert short.

Aurora expected that she'd be laying in bed for a while even as the sunlight streamed through the cracks of her lover's window but she did not mind it; she didn't have to do anything for work today. A fact she was grateful for - Sister Imperator had been generous when it came to the band's recovery after tours, enough time for them to relax and decompress before getting back to work. So she was happy to just lay there and maybe go back to sleep.

But that idea got thrown out the window when she felt Swiss' lips press to the back of her neck; following the curve down her shoulder before his head popped into view and he gave her a sleepy smile. Gone was his usual flirtiness and the sleep-drugged smile that rested on his lips was soft and dopey as he gazed down at her. He was feeling the effects of being home too; she could tell and it made her smile up at him.

"G'morning beautiful," he mumbled resting his chin on her shoulder to peer down at her with his whiskey-colored golden eyes.

"Morning." Aurora covered a yawn before letting him go and stretching with a groan.

Swiss rolled her over onto her back; resting on his forearms as he hovered above her. His fingers gently brushed away the mess of tangled hair from her face before a fingertip stroked down a spot on her neck.

"You gave me a hickey didn't you?" she sighed in faux frustration.

"Well...." Swiss craned his head studying the dark mark. "Not... quite a hickey..." he pressed down on it and she hissed at the ache of the tender spot.

"You motherfucker bit me." she gruffed out with a huff as she reached up to feel the mark too. Yep, definitely teeth imprints.

"Sorry." Swiss chuckled as he nuzzled against her jawline. "You weren't complaining when I gave it to you last night. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure I recall you pulling me closer and-"

Aurora's hand flew to cover his mouth; her cheeks flushing a bit as she gave him a half-hearted glare. "Don't you dare finish that thought, Swiss."

The multi-ghoul grinned behind her hand and licked her palm making her squeal and yank her hand away; wiping it aggressively against his bicep as if she could wipe his saliva away...even saliva was somehow worse than any other bodily fluid they'd shared in the past.

"You monster that's gross!" she whined playfully and her lover laughed as he pressed his face into her neck again; pressing gentle kisses along her exposed skin until she was giggling along with him.

"I'm still your manager sir! Behave yourself!" she chided playfully pushing at his shoulders.

The ghoul's grin turned a little mischievous as he hovered over her again before knocking their foreheads together gently; the nudge of his horns against her forehead was like a playful cat - a feat she thought was only Dewdrop's personality. But it was cute anyways especially as he started purring against her.

"Your my manager when we're on tour, ma'am. But when we're back at the Abbey. You're my girlfriend."

"Oh? Am I know? Did we actually decide to label us as such?" Aurora challenged playfully.

Swiss' face grew a little serious as he stared down at her; his voice dropping a few tones as he murmured. "Would you rather I mark you as mine and call you mate?"

she swallowed looking up at him and feeling her heart rate pick up. It wasn't a conversation they had often besides a few bantering comments. The thing was Aurora and Swiss never actually discussed what they were. Some would say they were dating. Others would say they were just fuck buddies. At times it felt like both. They slept together a lot but to the public, they never showed any signs of affection towards each other - behind closed doors only other team members on the Ghost project got to see Swiss' affection towards her. But there was no real label.

When she didn't say anything his face softened and the usually playful Swiss returned and he rolled off of her. "Come on, I got some stuff planned for today!" he told her excitedly as he climbed out of bed butt naked.

Aurora watched him in a daze still rolling his words around in her mind as she watched him trope towards his bathroom to take a shower; it was only after the water started running that she finally sprung into action. Dragging the sheet with her like a makeshift dress she walked into the bathroom, propping her shoulder against the doorframe as she watched the ghoul grab them stuff for a shower.

"Oh? What happened to take it easy today?" she quirked a brow.

The ghoul spun on her and grinned wide in that signature Swiss grin that was all teeth. "Aw baby you know my way of taking it easy is having fun! Now knowing you won't be breathing down my neck for the next month we can go out and have some fun!"

She snorted shaking her head. "I'm your manager it's my job-"

The male walked over to her and wrapped his long arms around her waist hugging her close to his naked frame. "No, baby girl. You're not my manager today...You are going to relax and have some fun today with me."

He bent down to drag her into a lazy kiss. "As my best friend." he kissed her cheek. "As my partner in crime." he kissed her other cheek. "And as my special girl." he pecked her lips with a smile before he yanked the sheet from her body and tossed it back inside the room.

"Now get that sweet little ass in the shower so we can get ready!" he gave her ass a quick swat before he was jumping into the steamy shower.

Aurora smirked in amusement before stepping in behind him and under the spray. They made sure to have some 'morning fun' to get a little dirty before they got clean; unwilling to leave their little bubble of domestic bliss behind in favor of going out just that second.

~

She didn't know how he managed it. Maybe he'd bribed or weaseled Papa into letting him borrow the car for this. But he managed it. Swiss has always been a smooth talker like that; what Aurora wasn't used to though was seeing him in his glamor. It was like sitting next to a stranger - a very attractive stranger but still. She'd only ever seen the ghouls in two forms. The ghoul uniform and unglamored in all their ghoulish glory. But he had to do it. The only way for him to leave the Abbey and dress normally was to glamor. Not that she was going to complain. What she was going to complain about was the freaking secrecy of this outing.

"Where are we going again?" she prodded his bicep as he drove down the road.

"You'll see." he flashed her a brief little smile.

"Swiss...." her tone was a warning. She hated surprises because they usually meant bad things when on the road.

"Aurora~" he sang back at her with that cheeky grin causing the woman to sigh and cross her arms.

The soft music of the car lulling her into a sense of relaxation as she watched the scenery. Until she realized there were too many cars going the same way as them and she looked up to find they were in some sort of double line heading inside a...was that an outdoor venue? She blinked at the ghoul owlishly feeling the familiarly dreadful friend she kept hidden raise its ugly head.

"Swiss are we at a concert?" she asked trying to keep her voice even.

"Yep! Surprise!" he nearly bounced in his seat as he was directed to a rather crowded parking area in an open field for the overflow of cars here for the venue.

"Why?"

"There's this new local up-and-coming band that's playing tonight! I've listened to a few of their singles and they are epic! You have no idea how excited I was when I realized they were coming into town; although this is their last day playing so I'm glad we managed to grab a few tickets before they were sold out."

Yep here comes the panic. The one thing Swiss didn't realize about Aurora despite the years of knowing each other was...well she hated crowds. She hated large social gatherings with strangers. The idea of being packed elbow to elbow and jostled around made her skin crawl and her heart rate skyrocket. It was an irrational fear of hers - you'd think she'd be fine with crowds like these, comfortable even seeing as she was a manager for a band whose venue was triple that of this place. But you'd be wrong. Aurora always worked behind the scenes. She was never out in the crowd and when the concerts were over; she was always the first one out of there so she didn't get stuck in the crowd of fans leaving while the band made it to the bus.

The anonymous work of things that she did made her happy; being in the background and making sure her boys shined knowing she did her part to get them the love and support they clearly deserved. Being part of the crowd below looking up at them...well that was not something that made her happy. It made her feel sick. But he looked so happy. His dark eyes shone with glee and excitement for the show and having the chance to support an up-and-coming band like he once had been with the Ghost band many years before made her choke down her fears; Aurora couldn't deny him this. Being able to spend a day out with this man doing something that clearly made him happy...what kind of best friend would deny their other half such a thing? She wasn't going to start being that kind of person. So she choked down her words and plastered a smile on her face.

"Okay. Let's go then."

She stuck close to him. Her smaller hand clasped in his tightly (too tightly that she feared he'd catch on to her nerves) as they walked through the isle of cars and through the line of people to the ticket booth where they were let in after Swiss handed over their papers.

He stopped at the cantina first though, purchasing a few beers for them before his arm wrapped around her shoulders - dragging her along as he bounced from one merchant stall to the next browsing the merch the band had for sale. She was happy to see him acting like a child - he always knew how to make her laugh and he'd even made her forget the crowd of walking people mulling about for the time being.

That was until she saw where he was dragging her towards. The mosh pit. The fucking mosh pit in front of the stage where the band would be playing any minute now. Her guard was instantly up and her grip on his hand tightened even more as he pulled her through the packed area; mumbling 'excuse mes' as she went as Swiss pretty much shoved his way in.

They'd gotten up close to the fences up front and Aurora had to hold her breath steady; Swiss was right there with her and the crowd was behind them. It would be okay as long as she didn't look anywhere but the stage in front of her. But that solid plan got thrown out the window just like her last thread of sanity when Swiss bent down to speak in her ear; still having to shout over the sound of people cheering and talking that he was going to go grab them another drink and to have her hold his spot.

He was gone seconds by the time she'd spun around to try and catch him. She was ready to beg him not to leave her with any excuse that came to mind. But he was already gone and the show was about to start any second now. Body of strangers were milling too closely for her comfort and the sounds of their combined voices trilled in her ear until it deafened the pounding in her ears from her thunderous heart.

Her palms began to sweat and the panic lodged in her throat. When a blast of entertainment fire shot into the air with the entrance of the band coming on stage she let out a little scream that was drowned in the scream of fans while she jerked backward; her body slamming into someone behind her and the feel of cold liquid - sticky and fowl got poured down her front.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around making her face the disgruntled figure she'd involuntarily hit and made spill their drink looked down at her pissed and very much drunk already. The man was a good foot taller than her and looked like your typical biker with long hair pulled back into a low ponytail and tattoo-covered arms exposed by the simple vest he wore with nothing underneath.

"Hey what the fuck was that for bitch? You made me spill my drink!" he snarled at her before his drunken eyes scanned her figure and a new look came across his face when he registered the pretty face in front of him.

He didn't seem to realize the tears brimming her eyes or that the rapid rise and fall of her chest in her simple tank top was from fear - not something else entirely. But in his drunken state, the stranger didn't seem to realize the woman was having a panic attack as his hand grabbed her wrist and tugged her closer.

"Well, looks like that was in my favor huh missy? Can I buy you a drink?"

her head shook from side to side rapidly as she tugged her wrist within the man's iron grip trying to get loose. "I'm sorry...I-I need to go now. I need to go find my friend and-" She tried to diffuse the situation even when she could see some other fans were watching them instead of the band on stage right now.

Where the hell was the security when you needed them? Weren't they supposed to be watching the crowd?! But no one was coming to her aid; not even other fans and Aurora felt suddenly very very alone and fragile swimming in the sea of people.

But then, the hand on her wrist released her, and a strong arm wrapped around her waist; tugging her against a body. Her first instinct was to fight off her attacker but a familiar scent filled her senses; like warm sugar, sweet vape juice, and something spicy tinged beneath it.

The woman could feel the rumble against her back as Swiss' voice spoke near her ear; loud enough for both her and the stranger to hear. A sound tinged with deadly intent as she imagined his dark eyes brewing with warning as they pinned the stranger.

"I think the lady said she was with someone, pal. Why don't you leave my girl alone before I make you."

A sudden feeling of relief nearly made her knees buckle and she gripped onto Swiss' bicep draped across her chest protectively. She didn't know what else was said because she was turned around and quickly marched through the crowd until they left the ocean of bouncing and shouting fans.

Swiss carefully sat her on a picnic bench off to the side by the food trucks catering to the venue and crouched in front of her. He saw the way her face was pale and her eyes wet with tears she was too stubborn to let loose and cursed himself for letting her out of his sight. He noticed the spilled drink all over her tank top and grabbed a few napkins from the holder on the table to dab away the access although it didn't really help much; she'd need a shower when they got back to the Abbey unless she wanted to walk around smelling like cheap beer for the rest of the day.

"Oh, baby girl," Swiss murmured when he noticed her lip trembling and her hands clasped tightly; white-knuckled in her lap. He grabbed her hands and lifted each one to press a warm kiss to her palms; the stubble on his glamoured skin was scratchy but comforting to her as she finally raised her eyes to meet his worried expression.

"I'm sorry." she finally murmured shaking her head. "I didn't know-" she took a shaky breath.

"Hey hey hey. Look at me, I'm right here." Swiss rested his hands on her legs and scooted closer looking at her with regret. "I should be the one apologizing...I didn't know you didn't like big crowds. I didn't think..." he trailed off.

Oh, she knew, he didn't think she had social anxiety because of the nature of her job. She couldn't blame him - it wasn't as if she had told him ahead of time. But she wanted to be here for him and she hoped he understood and didn't think it was his fault.

She gently cupped his face and brought him closer; pressing a firm kiss to his lips and holding onto him like she was trying to convey something to him. When she parted from him she rested her forehead against his and breathed him in.

"It's not your fault...I should have told you beforehand...B-but you looked so happy to be here and I didn't want to ruin the surprise since all you wanted was to spend a day with me outside of work," she said earnestly.

"I know I don't say it enough but I appreciate the effort you put into when it comes to putting work behind us. Especially after tempers get so high on tour and stuff; wanting to be normal for a day isn't a crime...I'm just sorry I ruined it for you." she sighed.

"Aw baby you didn't ruin anything." Swiss soothed pulling her head down to his shoulder as he stroked the silken locks. "I promise. I don't need to have a day out like this just to feel normal...spending any time with you is special," he assured kissing her head.

"So you're not mad at me?" she lifted her head to look at him again; her expression resembled an abandoned puppy and Swiss wanted nothing more than to curl up around her and reassure her over and over again she was precious to him until she believed it.

"Of course not silly girl." he bopped her nose before pressing a kiss to her lips. "I would be happy to laze around with you all day doing nothing if that's what you wanted," he promised.

"Yeah?" she sniffled feeling her eyes sting again at his sweet words.

"Of course." the multi-ghoul chuckled smoothing his hands down her arms until he could hold her hands in his; marveling not for the first time they started getting together just so small but strong she was.

"So...You wouldn't be mad if I asked to go get ice cream instead?" she asked almost sheepishly. "After a shower, of course." she added with a bit of a laugh as she looked down at her ruined outfit.

Swiss' warm laugh echoed hers as he pressed another endless kiss to her forehead. "Absolutely! Come on, let's head back home and get changed. How about I call ahead and see if one of the siblings can pick us up a few cartons of ice cream and then after our shower we can sit down and watch a movie; your choice." he offered rising to his feet and pulling her with him.

"I'd love that." Aurora replied feeling relieved as she walked with him until they got to the car.

Swiss was a gentleman as he opened the door for her and let her in but before he closed it he leaned down. "Hey, silly girl. You know I love you right?"

Aurora looked up at him a bit stunned at the words but her eyes shone with adoration as she smiled up at him and nodded.

"I love you too."

~

Taglist: @strawberry-moonpies, @darklylucid

#Ghost #Ghost fandom #Ghost band #nameless ghoul #swiss ghoul #swiss multi-ghoul #Swiss x oc #swiss ghoul x oc #swiss ghoul oneshot #swiss oneshot #the band ghost #swiss

[platypanthewriter]

Lazerbeamy Strongman

Day One of Harringrove AUgust, prompt: Superhero AU

Steve Harrington, newly hired reporter and resident Wholesome Nice Guy, kept sidling over to Billy’s desk to read his interview questions. It was hard enough coming up with questions for a superhero who could fly, hold up falling skyscrapers, and shoot lasers from his eyes. The memory of the pulse of blue light blowing out the engine block of the armed robber’s getaway car made Billy shudder.

‘Are the lasers under complete control,’ he typed. ‘Could you be startled into vaporizing the city?’

Directly behind his chair, Harrington snorted a laugh.

“Shut up, Hawkins Indiana,” Billy told him.

Harrington didn’t move.

“Cut this shit out, or I’m squirting you with a bottle,” Billy told him, through a bite of ham’n’rye sandwich. “You keep climbing all up in my business, you’re gonna get Lysol between the eyes.”

“Sorry,” Harrington said, looking abashed, but his eyes still strayed to Billy’s screen, and Billy grabbed the Lysol, spraying a whole cloud as Steve dove back to his own desk. He ducked his head as the editor of the Planet walked by.

A few hours later, Billy caught him staring at the list of questions again, from way too far away, really—it wasn’t like Harrington could actually read Billy’s screen from the coffee machine, but he looked suspiciously intent, so Billy stalked over.

“Can you see my questions from there?! Are those huge nerd frames telescopic, or—just—what the fuck, dude,” he muttered, squinting over at his desk. He could make out that Microsoft Word was open, maybe. Maybe. “How the hell,” Billy growled, turning his glower on Harrington, who stared innocently out the window, sipping his coffee.

“How could I possibly,” Harrington said, not meeting Billy’s eyes as he drank the last of his mug of coffee, and Billy took the last of the coffee in the pot just to spite him, and stalked off.

Ten minutes later, he scooted his chair back and hit Harrington’s jeans with his elbow, and Harrington stumbled back, like he hadn’t been reading over Billy’s shoulder. “Are you a fucking cat?!” Billy hissed. “I’m gonna get one of those invisible fences and shock you every time you try to sneak my interview questions—”

“You’re better at interviews than me,” Steve told him, shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck in the annoyingly ‘aw, shucks’ way Billy was fairly sure couldn’t be sincere. “Just interested.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna have the opportunity to use these questions again,” Billy said drily. “Unless you’re gonna ask the next CEO you write up which planet he’s from, and how his clothes don’t burn off when he pulls people out of burning buildings.”

Harrington shrugged, grinning. “Um, I was actually gonna ask, what are you doing tonight? After wor—”

“Staking out the roof of the police department,” Billy told him, walking away to his desk—backwards, so he could yell. “He keeps leaving criminals up there. With notes! Thirty-percent higher chance on Friday nights!”

When the spandex-clad hero landed, cape aflutter, Billy leapt out. “To whom am I speaking?” he asked, in a breathless but calm professional voice.

“Just a moment, citizen,” said the hero, running his fingers through his hair and winking at Billy, and it was the first time he’d seemed like a real person, albeit a pickup artist, and not a comic book cliche.

He bent to handcuff three unconscious bruisers to the roof, prodding a muscled, fishnet-stockinged leg back towards the woman it belonged to. “Ah,” he said, when he stood back up, his hands on his hips like he’d practiced his dumb hero pose in the mirror. “I must go! Crime never waits!”

“What the hell,” Billy shouted after him, waving his notepad.

The next morning, Harrington looked smug. “How’d it go?” he asked, like he knew, and Billy sat on the asshole’s desk and drank, in turn, from both mugs of coffee. “Hey, isn’t that one mine?!” Harrington asked, and Billy stuck his tongue in it, swishing it around.

“Not anymore,” he said sweetly, and Harrington stared at him. “And it went great, obviously. He totally listened to his public and didn’t just fly off after acting like a shithead.”

“Wait, what’d he do?!” Harrington yelped, staring. “I—I read he, uh, he brought in the leaders of three different gangs!”

“Yeah, like a shithead,” Billy repeated, draining Harrington’s favorite mug, licking it, and handing it to him, empty. “And I froze my nuts off for four hours waiting for him to come back. That’s how it went. Shithead.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, frowning into his empty mug, as Billy wandered back to his desk with his own, ignoring Harrington’s mumbled “I mean, maybe—maybe he’s got to keep, like, his identity secret—”

“I didn’t ask for his goddamn alter ego, I was asking general shit,” Billy shot back, growling, and waving the hand without coffee in it. “Or I was going to!”

The next time Billy saw the shithead, he ran straight at him, dodging the falling debris, until abruptly he was flying.

“What are you doing,” the shithead hissed, his arms warm and strong as they carried Billy to the top of another damn building. “We’re under fire.”

“That’s your job,” Billy hissed at him. “My job is this damn interview. What kinds of disasters are you most likely to help with? Does Search and Rescue have your number?”

“Stay here,” the shithead commanded, and flew off, leaving Billy stranded on the top of a skyscraper. He spent the next hour trying to pinpoint the name of the building on Google Maps, before finally finding a number to call to let him in.

“I heard you ran right into the wreckage,” said Harrington, like he was worried, and Billy scoffed.

“I’ve worked warzones,” he said. “I can handle a car accident.”

“The viaduct collapsed,” Harrington said weakly, like a coward. “You were almost crushed by a flaming bus.”

“I also didn’t get even one question answered,” Billy muttered, glaring at the list on his screen, and Harrington stared from him to it. “I’m gonna have to grappling hook that shithead.”

“Um,” Harrington said, wincing. “He seems kind of...busy, usually, when he’s—”

“So am I,” Billy told him, reaching up and prodding his coworker’s shoulder. “I have won Pulitzers, I have better shit to do than spend my nights shouting questions at some shithead who can’t be assed to tell anyone his name, let alone answer some basic peace-of-mind questions like—” he made air quotes, “—‘to what degree do you feel obligated to help humanity?’”

“He’s kind of new,” Harrington said, wincing. “Maybe he doesn’t have, a um, a super...name, yet? Maybe he doesn’t want to say, like, ‘hello, good citizen, I am Lazerbeamy Strongman’—”

“Oh jesus,” Billy snorted, choking on his coffee.

“Hello, I’m Captain Awesomesauce,” Harrington groaned, his cheeks red for some reason. “I’m Rad-Dude.”

“Oh fuck me,” Billy coughed out, cackling. “So you’re saying he’s a moron.”

“I did not,” Harrington huffed, and Billy grinned at him.

“Are you a fan, Harrington? I saw you run right over to look at the latest pictures of him. That why you’re trying to edge in on my interview?”

“No!” Harrington groaned, rolling his eyes. “I just think you put all this...thought into this, and maybe he’s just helping out, you know, like anybody. Like if somebody calls the police on a purse snatcher, you don’t ask them why, or like, how much help they’re gonna be in future—”

“He wears a cape,” Billy pointed out. “He put a goddamn cape on, and he’s wearing some kind of themed onesie, and he says stuff like ‘Hello, innocent bystander,’ and that’s all weird as hell, so he better answer some questions. This isn’t somebody who was just there—he came on purpose, and he doesn’t want people to know who he is, or he’d talk to me—”

“Heroes wear capes!” Harrington argued, rolling his eyes again. “Maybe it’s a little creepy when you ambush people. On the roof of the police station.”

“We gotta call him something,” Billy told him, rolling his eyes. “He can answer my questions, or he can have every investigator in three cities trying to figure out his angle. He’ll be a police file five inches thick by this weekend.”

“Oh no,” Harrington said, wide-eyed, and Billy snorted.

“The hell d’you care?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “You think he’s a moron who calls himself Lazerbeamy Strongman.”

“No,” Harrington said quickly, grimacing. “No, I just, uh. It’d...it’d suck if he’s just...trying to help.”

“If he’s just trying to help, he can give me something reassuring to publish, even if it’s just that he’s calling himself ‘Mr. Neato McCheeto’. People need to hear that he’s not going to use those laser eyes to shoot planes out of the sky.”

“Fuck you, he’s helping,” Harrington said sullenly, covering a snicker.

When Billy left for lunch, he bought the guy one of the badly painted caped bobbleheads already circulating the city, and left it on his desk.

“Oh no,” he heard Harrington say in horrified tones when he found it.

The third time Billy caught the new superhero, he was flying everyone to the tops of buildings. “Oh, fuck you,” Billy groaned, his body held in strong arms while his hands investigated the texture of the cape.

“She turned the ground into actual lava,” the shithead hissed at him. “I’ll get you down when you can walk without turning into a pillar of flame.”

“You better be back within the hour, or I will step off the edge,” Billy threatened, and the shithead groaned. “What’s your cape made of?” Billy yelled after him.

“I’ll come get you,” the shithead yelled back, and Billy sat down to wait, and write some preliminary scene setting. Metropolis’ newest hero shuffles a street of pedestrians onto the roofs of buildings in under a minute, before emptying the cars. Below him, Shithead was dodging around, trying to talk to the small child waving a wand and spraying lava.

Shithead did reappear, though, within the hour. He wasn’t even panting or sweating, and Billy eyed him with extreme dislike. He took the other people down, and Billy yelled threats after him, fully expecting to get stranded again, but Shithead flew back up and floated in front of him, his arms folded like Billy was supposed to be impressed.

“I’ll answer your questions,” he muttered, glowering.

“What’s your name,” Billy asked, wasting no time, because the wind on the skyscraper was sliding through his coat like he was naked. He shivered, turtling deeper into his scarf, and Shithead reached out, his hand twitching towards Billy.

“We—I can take you somewhere else? Somewhere warmer,” he offered awkwardly.

“Somewhere there’s coffee,” Billy growled, and the shithead laughed, grinning at him, and then stepped close to lift Billy again, but didn’t do it.

He just stood so close Billy could feel him breathing, holding his arms up like a scarecrow, and Billy groaned and turned to put his arms around the neck of a goddamn superhero and got scooped up like he was a damsel in distress. He sighed, disgusted, as Shithead took them back to the Daily Planet, dropped down past the roof, and landed them on the glassed-in balcony where Billy went when it was a choice between 1) smoke or 2) commit homicide.

Billy stared. “Have you been watching me,” he hissed, and the damn hero raised his hands.

“There’s coffee here,” he said, grimacing, and Billy stalked past him, by Harrington’s desk—the slacker was missing, and Billy snorted dismissively, and then remembered not everyone had had a ride back through the freezing wind. He shivered so hard as he poured the coffee he nearly spilled it, and whispered a brief prayer to Saint Drogo, patron saint of coffee and the insane, for his intervention in saving Billy’s water of life. The first sip told him it had been sitting on the burner, and his tongue curled in his mouth, his nose wrinkling, but he could feel it warming his veins and brain.

Shithead was still waiting on the balcony, frowning out over the city, and Billy watched him, taking another sip of the acrid coffee.

“Why d’you float like that,” he asked, and the weirdo blinked at him.

“Oh, um,” he said, frowning down, and reddening. “Uh, is this...on the record?”

“...not if you say it isn’t,” Billy said, leaning back into a creaky plastic chair, and putting his feet up on another.

“This outfit is sturdy enough to not burn up, but the feet get dirty if I walk,” Shithead said, grimacing.

“Your footie pajamas get dirty if you walk outside,” Billy said flatly, sighing. “This is an amazing start. On the record now—what’s your name, hero?”

“Oh! Ummm,” he said, wincing.

“Christ,” Billy groaned, pinching his brows together.

“"I'm...very...strong...ness..." the moron trailed off, and Billy stared at him.

“Try again,” he said.

“My sidekick—”

“You have a sidekick,” Billy interrupted, holding his pen up. “Nobody’s seen a sidekick.”

“He tells me when things happen, so I can help. He doesn’t go out there,” Shithead said, looking horrified, and for once sounding reasonable.

“Ah. Carry on,” Billy said, writing sidekick?? in the margin to address later.

“He thinks I should go by Encyc—oh, no,” he slapped a fist into his hand in realization, “It was Atlas,” the unnamed hero said, and Billy narrowed his eyes.

“Fair enough,” he said, about to ask why that didn’t out-rate ‘Very Strongness’, but the shithead crossed his arms with a huff.

“It makes no sense, I’m not a book,” he said, and Billy stared at him.

“You’re exactly the moron he thought you were,” he said disbelievingly. “You’re an idiot.”

“Hey! I—I just—I saved you from lava,” Shithead protested. “I saved you from a falling bus!”

“We gotta workshop this,” Billy said, groaning into his hands. “I’ll help you, because you did do all those things. And more to the point, I can’t make every news agent in the city say something that stupid every time you’re in the news.”

“What about Superguy,” the hero asked, leaning in enthusiastically. “Great...dude? Mister Awesome!”

“Fuck my life,” Billy sighed, laughing in despair. “What about something based on your powers—”

“Muscle-lasers! Musclasers?” the idiot suggested excitedly, and Billy smacked himself in the face again.

“What about just like...Knight Errant. You’ve got that kind of...shield shape on your chest—”

“Oooo,” Shithead said, floating closer, and Billy put a foot up and nudged him further away. “Because just Knight could get confusing, huh, like on the radio,” he said, and Billy wondered whether he did have a brain, and it just shorted out, like, most of the time. Maybe it was the lasers.

“D’you want to see the sunset,” Knight Errant asked, and Billy blinked at him. “You’re off work, right? I promise I won’t run, I’ll answer your questions,” he said, grimacing. “But...do you? The sunset over the city?”

As a career reporter in Metropolis, Billy could hardly refuse, and he tried to remind his libido of that while he lay cradled in strong arms, warm against Knight Errant’s chest, watching the sun set and the lights come on all over his city.

He was close enough to hear the hero’s stomach growl, and they got sandwiches from a street cart to chomp on during the interview. After that, Knight Errant flew them to a small loft apartment on the edge of the industrial district, and Billy wandered around trying the faucets, fascinated by how normal it all was.

“My apartment’s off the record, right?” Knight Errant asked, with belated nervousness.

“Yeah, sure,” Billy laughed. “I protect my sources. So. You...get hungry?” Billy asked, watching him put away enough food for four people.

“I’m just a person,” Knight Errant muttered, wiping mustard off his chin. He’d taken his cape off, and pushed the onesie down to his waist. In the dim light of the city, he looked familiar, though Billy couldn’t place him—and attractive, the shadows on his abs and arms making him look like he’d been painted in chiaroscuro.

It felt like a date, was the thing.

“Search and rescue does have my number, or a way to get ahold of me, anyway.” Knight Errant sighed. “There’s nowhere in the outfit for a phone. I mean, it’d melt, anyway, first time I flew into a burning building,” he pointed out, and Billy nodded slowly, talking to a hero about his revealing costume, and wondering whether he’d been sucked into the Twilight Zone.

“There sure isn’t anywhere to hide anything,” he agreed, remembering.

“Sometimes I don’t help them,” Knight Errant confessed. “—but I can’t—I help where I can. I have to sleep too.”

“You sleep?” Billy asked, cocking his head at the shadowy king-sized bed in the corner. He wondered whether the moron had different-patterned footie pajamas to sleep in, possibly with sheep on them. And a woolly sheep cape.

“I sleep. I have a job,” the man sighed.

“Thanks for saving me from the lava,” Billy said, belatedly. “And I...probably would’ve been crushed by that bus.”

“Anytime,” the hero of Billy’s city said, stepping close with a grin. “You have to be more careful. I’d hate to lose my favorite reporter.”

“You talk to all the others already?” Billy asked, laughing, his heart pounding as he stepped closer.

“Nah. I know it’ll always be you,” the moron said, grinning with an incomprehensible mixture of mischief and sweetness, and Billy kissed him.

The next morning, Billy hitched a ride to work in the arms of his superhero. He took the time to straighten his jacket and tie after the wind, and found Harrington at his desk, holding a mug of coffee, his eyes huge and weird in the absurdly thick glasses.

“Had a good night?” he asked, smugly, and Billy shot him a suspicious glare, and flipped him off.

Here’s the rest of my Harringrove (and everything else)

#Harringrove #Harringrove AUgust #Superhero AU #SPread the word y'all #There's a Harringrove August collection on Ao3 #Put your rad stuff in it!

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [20] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Violence, kidnapping.  NOTE: Chapter 20, damn. lol I’m not feeling 100% about this chapter but I wanted to get something out this weekend. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.      TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid @ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil @cirillamylove @bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx @r4reland @itsnothingwithoutchaos

You knew there was some conflict in you about how everything turned out, the hurt Arthur caused still lingering somewhat but you knew you had to take that as it were.

Yet, you felt good. It felt good to finally cross that point with him--again. Perhaps things weren’t the same as they were in your memory, how sure you were in your relationship with him. However, things weren’t the same since Blackwater. You knew that even when your memory had been worse than it was currently, struggling to remember names and faces, let alone whole relationships. A part of you felt like you may never fully remember your relationship with Arthur, but you felt like you had finally taken a step in the right direction with your relationship with him currently. 

Admittedly, it had been a little difficult to leave the small privacy of that beach where you had kissed him a couple days ago. To return to camp, to the dilemmas and course of normalcy you had found within. As normal as a group of outlaws could get, at least. For a while, you weren’t sure how Arthur wanted to approach this development, if it was worth telling people. You had realized that it would just be announcing what they already knew, but...well, maybe you were just overthinking that. 

Really, it seemed like Arthur just took it in stride. Too exhausted to make a thing out of it, or if there was a point to doing so. A part of you was relieved. 

Still, you did catch a couple eyes at the added bounce to your step, and the lingering touches when Arthur would seek you out as he was starting to move about on his own a little more frequently. He seemed to avoid outright public affection, something you had caught onto pretty quickly, but the two of you weren’t exactly hiding it. Still, nobody really felt the need to comment on it much outside of the odd question, which you found yourself not really minding. 

It felt like you were allowed to let it go where it may without getting caught up in old expectations. Though, you weren’t too sure on where Arthur’s head was at, but he didn’t seem overly disappointed over that. You’d just have to trust him to tell you if he had an issue with anything. 

Despite everything that happened to him, Arthur eventually seemed to return to his normal self after a while. A little thicker in beard and with a stiffer shoulder, but otherwise he seemed to have gathered himself back up after the whole ordeal with the O’Driscolls. You were greatly relieved at that, as much as you knew he would have to get back to gang business and what that entailed. 

So, you weren’t too surprised to find him approach you one late afternoon with news that he had business in town with Bill and some other gang members. 

“You sure you got the strength for whatever that will be?” you asked, Arthur rolling his previously injured shoulder somewhat. 

“‘Bout as much as I’ll need,” he replied, “Can’t stay here forever, I gotta get back to what needs doin’.” 

“I know,” you replied, giving him a small smile, “I just don’t want you hurting yourself again. I don’t think anybody can take you stuck in bed for another couple weeks.” 

“Myself included,” he returned with a small huff. 

As much as you had tried to cover it with a touch of humor, you really did worry he might injure himself again by getting back out there so soon. At all, really. You knew what type of life he led, what they all led, and the chance of a bullet to the skull was always high. You could remember the way Arthur had fallen off his horse that night, how he barely was able to move his legs to get to his cot. You had struggled with the feeling at the time, but you knew that regardless of how everything had developed after, you didn’t want to see him like that again. 

Yet...well, there was always a chance that you just might. 

“You’ll be safe?” you asked after a moment, glancing at him. Arthur shifted, glancing down for a moment before meeting your gaze. 

“Hate to be the one to say it, but I ain’t afforded that luxury. Not with this life.” 

He did have a point, as much as you didn’t like that answer. 

“Hey, I’m gonna be fine,” Arthur said after a moment, “Bill’s probably just got some lead, nothin’ too complicated.” 

“Because everything lately has been so easy…” you muttered, stepping into his side as Arthur reached out to wrap an arm around your shoulder, a small grin touching your face when you felt him press a kiss to the side of your head. 

“It’s gonna be fine.” 

“Alright,” you replied with a nod, letting out a small sigh as you wrapped an arm around his back somewhat, “You know what you’re doing. Just be careful--for my sake, if anything.” 

“I’ll try,” he replied, squeezing you to his side a little before releasing the embrace. You turned to face him once he had done so, watching as he seemed to glance off toward the horses for a moment before turning back toward you. 

“Been thinkin’ we should head out to get the last of that treasure map,” he said after a moment, pulling a small grin from you, “Get outta here for a bit.” 

“I’d like that,” you said with a nod, “Let all this play out first, though.” 

“Yeah…” he replied, giving you a small grin of his own as you squeezed his arm somewhat before he turned to head out toward the horses. 

You were worried, but you couldn’t fight the inevitable with Arthur turning his attention back to the gang. Perhaps it was a touch selfish, but you also knew everything that had happened had shaken you up some. Still, you were going to have to let that go. Some of it. You knew you had questions and a distrust of Micah that stemmed from what he did to you on that mountain and now what happened with Arthur. 

That was a touch subject to approach, yet one you knew you would have to mention to Arthur eventually. It was just...hard to talk about. There was Micah himself, but even the memory of it filled you with such dread and fear. 

Still, it couldn’t continue to go unsaid. 

“Glad to see that fight you two was havin’ is cleared up,” a familiar voice from behind you said, turning to glance over your shoulder to see Abigail standing there. 

She stood there with a cup of coffee, giving you a small smile as you let out a small huff. 

“Yeah, and then some,” you replied as she walked up to stand beside you as she finished off her beverage. 

“If only I could get John to see some damn sense. Ain’t from lack of tryin’,” she said around a sigh, you giving her a small nod. 

It wasn’t the same screaming matches you heard from Dutch and Molly, and lord had those only gotten worse, but you knew Abigail and John had their moments in camp. Really, when you saw Abigail storming out from that tent they shared, you knew to give her some space. Still, you weren’t witness to the specifics of their relationship--well, if you had, it didn’t matter with your memory now. 

“Grimshaw’s sayin’ Pearson needs a hand with dinner,” Abigail said after a moment, “Figure two hands might get us eatin’ all the quicker.” 

Honestly, that didn’t sound too bad. You would need the distraction. You followed her out toward the food wagon once she had gotten her fill of the moment she had walked in on between you and Arthur. Still, even with the chopping of the vegetables and meat, you still couldn’t really shake this feeling that lingered at your back. You just...well, you were worried. That was what it was, and you were sure you would end up feeling foolish for it when they all returned back to camp. 

Thankfully, your partial absentmindedness didn’t cost you a finger or injury. Though, you were pulled from your thoughts when you felt Abigail touch your shoulder, a look of mild irritation crossing her expression. 

“Think I can wrap up the rest,” she said, “Think you can Jack for me? I think he’s playin’ in the woods near the edge of the river. Maybe the boy’ll listen to you quicker while I finish here.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, passing her the last of the food you had to chop up. “We’ll see, but sure.” 

Rinsing your hands in one of the washbasins nearby, you headed out toward the mouth of the river near the path leading out of camp. You didn’t see any sign of him from where you stood--he wasn’t tossing rocks into the water or drawing in the dirt with a stick like he usually was. You could feel a small twist to your gut, hoping that he was just in the tree line and you wouldn’t have to wander off to find him. 

You dropped down onto the bank, following it along until you were able to step up and into the trees. You paused for a moment, listening for anything before walking further in. 

“Jack?” you called out, pausing in your walk, “Your mama’s looking for you!” 

Silence. More twisting in your gut. You really hoped he was just playing a game not wandered off or…

You moved with more purpose into the trees, calling his name once more before you heard some movement nearby. However, as you did so, you heard a muffled cry that sounded from very close nearby. Yet, as you turned to look in that direction, something very solid and hard jabbed into the centre of your back. The pain radiated up your spine, settling hard in your kidneys as you felt your knees hit the ground. 

“Stay down!” an unknown voice hissed, your eyes lifting as someone stepped out from around a tree. He had his hand pressed against Jack’s mouth as he squirmed in his grasp. Instantly, you tried to stand up but you felt a hard kick to your side in retaliation. 

“I said ‘stay down!’” the voice behind you said, hissing the words between his teeth before the man holding Jack spoke up. 

“The hell’re you doin’?” he demanded, “We was just to get the kid.” 

“What? Have her run back into that camp and tell everybody what happened? We’ll have them all on us ‘fore we can even get anythin’ outta this.” 

What?

“We ain’t got time for this,” the man in front of you replied, “Take ‘em both.” 

You heard Jack let out a cry behind the hand over his mouth, however you didn’t really get the chance to fully process what was happening before you felt a solid hit to the back of your head. Instantly, you heard ringing in your ears, before another hit sent you into darkness. 

                                                            ***

Your head was pounding, feeling the sway of a horse under you as you could feel the strain of your arms tucked behind your back. Blinking open your eyes, you saw the ground under you moving with the quick strides of the horse you were currently slung over the back of. You took in the breath before the events from before flooded into your head, causing you to jerk your head up. You could see passing trees as you were rode down some large pathway, seeing another rider ahead with an arm wrapped around Jack. 

Twisting, you tried to see if you could roll off the horse but the tug at your shoulder told you that you were secured to the back of the saddle. Shit, no. 

You thought about yelling, screaming, trying to see if anybody would catch on but with how fast they were riding up the path and how empty the area seemed to be, you knew it would only just make things worse. 

It wasn’t long before you caught sight of the large structure at the end of the path--a plantation house. You squirmed as they stopped outside the steps, hearing Jack let out a yell as he was pulled from the horse in front of you. The rider of the one you were on the back off slipped off his saddle as the doors to the house opened, your world swaying somewhat as you were pulled to the ground. 

You grunted as your face hit the gravel, likely leaving a couple cuts as you grit your teeth against the sharp and familiar headache. 

“I told you to only get the boy,” a woman’s voice said from the stairs above you. 

“She walked in on us,” you heard the man holding Jack say as you felt a pair of hands grip at your arms, hauling you to your feet. “Guess we’ll have to see what we can do with this one.” 

“Damn useless,” the woman replied, your gaze lifting to see her beckon your captors inside. You nearly tripped over your own feet as you were shoved forward, catching the steps before being dragged up them and into the house. 

You could hear Jack crying, a part of you wanting nothing more than to comfort the kid but you knew it would be only so fleeting if you didn’t get out of here. 

“Bronte’s men are coming within the hour to pick up the boy,” she continued, “I don’t see why they would take her too, but I’ll have to figure something out. Separate them.” 

“What the hell does that mean? Who is that?” you demanded, despite yourself, “H-He’s just a little boy! Please!” 

“Shut her up,” the woman demanded, sounding much like she was done with the situation as Jack called your name. 

“It’s going to be okay, Jack!” you called out as he was carried away from you toward another room. You heard a chuckle behind you, a tug on your arm turning you roughly toward the stairs leading to the upper floors. 

“Sure is,” your captor stated, “Boy’s goin’ to Saint Denis, but you? We’ll get you sorted out.”

#my writing. #arthur morgan x reader

[floral-and-fine]

Heaven Bent part 1

Daryl Dixon x female reader

A/n: My first time writing anything for The Walking Dead fandom, but this idea was too cute to pass up! Thank you @ewokiee for all the help!

Summary: The reader finds Sophia lost in the woods, too bad neither of them have any sense of direction. 

You stopped in your tracks, taking in your surroundings. You found yourself in a small clearing amongst all the tall trees. This part of the forest looked familiar…maybe.

You furrowed your brows and spun back around, looking to where you just emerged, then turned your head back to look ahead.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, it all looked the same to you. Just leaves, bark, twigs, not a damn thing stuck out.

Sighing, you continued to trudge forward, you didn’t even have a mild clue as to what direction you were traveling in, but it was better than just standing in one place, right? It’s not like there was anybody out there looking for you.

Getting lost wasn’t a big surprise, necessarily, you had always been directionally challenged your whole life. Growing up, you used to live by woods similar to these, as a kid you believed there was something magical about it. Spending hours exploring, not realizing you were lost until it started getting dark out.

But that was back when the world was a safer place. Usually, the sounds of things like car horns and roaring traffic would help guide you to the nearest road, or your mother would come looking for you, shouting out your name so you could follow her voice, but not now. Now the world was eerily quiet, just the occasional bird or rustling of the trees.

“I should get a compass and a map,” you mused to yourself, wishing you had something to help you out of this. “That is If I ever find my way out of here and back to what’s left of civilization.”

It’s not like you were exactly prepared for or even expecting the end of the world to happen. Hell, even before shit hit the fan, you were barely scraping by week to week.

Most people thought of you as a free spirit, constantly moving around, never staying in a place for too long. And while you had your fun and had seen all sorts of wonderful places and had met the most interesting people, a part of you regretted not putting down any roots or living closer to your family.

Under normal circumstances, you loved your lifestyle and wouldn’t have it any other way, but now that you were on your own in the middle of all this mess, you couldn’t help but wonder how it could’ve been had you been with your family or close friends.

Your ears perked up at the sound of water, it was faint, but hopefully, it wasn’t too far away. Automatically, your pace picked up as you moved towards the sound.

You stumbled down a small hill, finding a creek at the bottom. You smiled to yourself, just relieved to see something new. At least it was something more memorable than trees. It could even serve as a little landmark.

You knelt down, dipping your hands into the cool water. It probably wasn’t safe to drink but it felt nice on your skin. You splashed some water on your face, helping you feel a little more awake and refreshed after your hours of walking in this heat.

You were almost tempted to strip and get in just to cool the rest of the way off, but you’d settle for just dipping your feet in.

As you were undoing the laces on your boots, you heard whimpering coming from some place close by. You stilled your movements and focused on the sound. The cries were muffled, whoever it was was trying their best to stay quiet.

“Hello?” You whispered, not wanting to draw any unwelcome attention to yourself, the last thing you needed was to have to run or fight off any zombies.

You waited a moment for a reply, then took a deep breath, and spoke up a bit louder, “Anyone there?”

After a few seconds, a young girl with light brown hair peeked her head out from behind a nearby tree. She was clutching a doll tightly to her chest.

Immediately your body relaxed. The poor girl looked terrified, not that you blamed her, if you were her age, lost in the woods with living corpses on the loose, you would’ve been petrified.

“Did you get lost?” You asked softly.

She nodded, taking a tentative step closer to you.

You smiled warmly at her, hoping she’d come a little closer. “I’m y/n,” you started. “What’s your name?”

“Sophia,” she answered in a small voice.

“Hi Sophia,” you smiled. “You come closer, I don’t bite.” You patted the spot next to you, and watched as she cautiously sat down.

“How’d you get separated from your family, Sweetheart?”

She stared at the water, recalling what had happened the day before. “We were on the road, and a bunch of walkers came out of nowhere.” Her eyes started to water, “we all hid underneath the cars… but one almost got me, so I ran.”

You gently, rubbed her back as she started to cry.

“Mr. Grimes came after me,” she sniffled. “But there were more walkers. He told me to hide, so he could distract them… I was supposed to run back, and I did but I got lost. I-I couldn’t find the road and I was so afraid I’d run into one of those things.” Her shoulders shook as she cried harder.

Wrapping an arm around her, you pulled her in for a hug. “It’s going to be alright,” you murmured. “We’ll find them together.”

You now felt a renewed sense of determination to find your way out of these woods, you wanted nothing more than to get this girl back to her mom.

…

“I like your necklaces,” Sophia spoke up all of sudden causing you to smile. The two of you were walking hand in hand, hoping to find that highway she was talking about.

“Oh yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes fixated on them, specifically the long ones with pretty crystals hanging off of them. “They’re very pretty.”

You slowed down, coming to a stop. Sophia looked up at you, curious as to what you were doing.

“Can you let go of my hand for a second?” You asked, smiling at her. “It’ll be alright.”

Reluctantly, she released her hold, freeing your hand.

You wiggled and stretched your fingers for a bit. Ever since you found her, she had held onto your hand with a death grip. Not that you minded, you figured she was scared of getting separated and being alone again, and in all honesty, you were afraid of the same thing.

Reaching around behind your neck, you pulled one of your necklaces over your head. “Here,” You knelt down and held it in front of Sophia, it was a simple necklace with a single crystal pendant.

“The crystal is an amethyst,” you pointed out. “It's for spiritual protection.”

You placed the necklace in her cupped hands, watching as she ran her fingers over the crystal. “You can keep it,” you chirped happily.

She looked at you wide-eyed, before putting it on. “Thank you,” she whispered.

You nodded, and offered her your hand again, curling your fingers around her palm. “Which way do you think we should keep going?”

…

A couple of days had passed and you started getting worried. You kept it all to yourself though, putting on a brave front for Sophia’s sake.

But things weren’t looking good. You were already running low on food and water. You did your best to ration what was left between the two of you, often giving Sophia a little more than you gave yourself.

You knew the more time that passed the less likely it was that her group would find either of you.

In the daytime, you did everything you could to keep your and her spirits up, like playing little games of I Spy, quietly singing songs, asking her questions about her group.

It sounded like they were a good group of people, for the most part, you wondered if they’d accept you. It had to be better than surviving on your own.

The further the two of you walked, the more lost you felt. It was as though the forest was endless, your own personal hell in a way.

The nights so far had been the worst part. Once you’d find a semi safe-looking spot, you and Sophia would sit against a tree, she’d fall asleep curled by your side, while you stayed awake through the night keeping watch.

That’s when things seemed the most hopeless to you, sitting alone in the dark with just your thoughts to keep you company. You wasted the hours worrying about all the things that could go wrong, how inevitably you’d run out of food, that one or more of those walkers, like Sophia called them, would find you…

Not to mention, you were physically and mentally exhausted, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep any of this up.

As the sun was beginning to rise, you spotted a walker out in the distance. However, you didn’t want to wake Sophia up yet, she needed her rest if the two of you were going to keep searching for your way out of this forest.

You dug through your bag and took out your knife. Carefully, you stood up, trying your best to be quiet. You observed the walker carefully, it moved slowly with a limp.

You had only killed a couple of them total, usually, you preferred just sneaking around and avoiding them.

Sighing, you gripped the handle of the hunting knife tighter and tiptoed towards your target.

Despite how many of these walkers you had seen, it still made you sick to your stomach, between the smell and their appearance you weren’t sure if you could even imagine anything more disgusting.

You approached it from behind, taking a deep breath before taking a hold of its shoulder and plunging the knife through the back of its skull.

Just like that, it fell to the ground. Stepping down onto its back, you reached down and tugged the knife back out. You tried your best to ignore the unpleasant squelching as you wiggled the knife free.

Quickly, you returned to where Sophia was still soundly asleep. Taking out a rag, you wiped off the bloody knife, before slipping it back into your bag.

…

Daryl huffed as he packed a bag and prepped for venturing out into the woods again.

He couldn’t stand the sight of Carol’s moping, he felt bad for her, he truly did, but comforting people wasn’t his strong suit. Made him feel useless watching someone cry and not being able to do a damn thing about.

He never received much comfort or sympathy growing up, his father and brother weren't compassionate types. So he didn’t have a clue as to how to make anyone else feel better. He had seen how Lori and Dale were with the others, always saying the right words, knowing what people needed to hear to get through the bad.

The only thing Daryl could do was go back out there and find Sophia, which was a hell of a lot better than sitting around this farm twiddling his thumbs while everyone else was having a pity party.

“You’re going back out there?” Carol asked softly, she appreciated all his efforts. It honestly surprised her when he volunteered to search for Sophia. A part of her had expected him not to care.

The more she got to know Daryl, the more obvious were the differences between him and Merle. On the surface, he was tough and brash just like his brother, but somewhere inside of Daryl, he cared about the group, about people.

“Ain’t like anyone else is gonna,” he answered, slinging the backpack strap over his shoulder.

Carol placed her hand on his forearm, squeezing lightly, “Thank you.”

Daryl glanced down for a moment before shrugging her hand off.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he muttered, tightly clenching his jaw. He headed towards the stables, figuring he’d be able to cover more ground by horse then just on foot.

…

“Sophia!” Daryl shouted on the top of his lungs, he didn’t give a damn if he drew the attention of every damn walker in the whole state. He was determined to find her.

It felt like it was all up to him to find her, cause if he didn’t no one else was gonna step up.

Rick had his hands full with Carl, and Daryl could tell that Shane had already given up on the girl. He understood why, little girl lost in the woods, no food, no water, the likelihood she was still alive was slim to none, but there was something in his gut saying otherwise, and it pushed him to keep searching.

Each time he went out looking for her, he honestly believed that this was going to be the time he found her. That he stumbled across wherever she was hiding, and she’d be there, alive.

He continued at a slow trot, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement, before picking up the pace.

…

Neither you nor Sophia had any energy left to keep going.

You offered to carry her when she started falling behind and stumbling over her own feet. You crouched down, allowing her to wrap her arms loosely around your neck as you looped your arms to hold her legs.

For a few hours, you had mustered up just enough will to keep pushing forward, but then it was like your body just gave up. You collapsed to your knees, and couldn’t find the will to stand back up.

Sophia had passed out, and your eyes were growing heavy, you had no fight left, but you tried you to at least stay conscious. You drag yourself over near a tree, so you and Sophia wouldn’t be completely exposed.

You wrapped your arms around her. No matter how much you wanted to keep going, you just couldn’t. Days without sleep and water had finally caught up to you. You felt so heavy and limp.

Looking up to the sky, the sunlight seeping through the leaves and branches was bright and warm.

Your eyes started to water, this was probably your last day alive. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had just been you, but you failed Sophia. You thought about Sophia’s poor mother, out there somewhere close by looking for her daughter. You had hoped you were going to be able to reunite the two of them.

You began to openly weep as a wave of emotion crashed down on you. Maybe Sophia would’ve been better off without your help.

You squeezed her shoulder gently and whispered an apology.

Suddenly, you froze, you couldn’t believe your ears but it sounded like there was someone shouting in the distance. But he was too far, and you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

Wetting your lips with your tongue you tried to speak. But you could barely get a word out.

“Sophia!” The man yelled, sounding like he was heading towards your direction.

“Here,” you croaked, your voice cracking as you tried to speak louder. Your eyes watered, frustrated that he hadn’t heard you.

“Sophia!” He shouted again. He sounded like he was closer, this was your chance.

“HERE,” you repeated, straining your voice as you tried to shout, praying that he heard you this time. You watched closely in the direction you heard the voice. “Please,” you whispered, “we’re here.”

Time seemed to slow down, and it was absolute torture. You balled your fists tightly, waiting for someone, anyone coming to your rescue. Just as you were about to lose hope, a man with a crossbow emerged.

He was covered in sweat and was panting. His short brown hair was a mess and there were bloodstains on his clothes.

Daryl took a couple of steps forward, he couldn’t believe it. He had actually found Sophia. Although, he wasn’t expecting to find anyone else with her.

“Is she alive?” He asked you.

You nodded in response. “Are you with her group?” You asked, your throat still sore from earlier.

“Yeah,” he answered, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to get you both back to the farm. Sophia was out cold, and you didn’t seem to be any better off.

Daryl scooped Sophia into his arms, then turned back to you. “Got a horse nearby, we just need to get ya to it.”

You nodded, just grateful that he wasn’t going to abandon you out here. You weren’t anyone to him, or to their group… the easiest thing would’ve been to leave you, and you would’ve understood.

As you stood up it felt like your legs were going to give out at any moment. Daryl allowed you to lean against him, as you made your way towards the horse.

Somehow, you managed to find the strength to mount the horse. Daryl instructed you just to hold on, as he grabbed the reins to lead you and the horse back. With Sophia in his arms, he started walking back towards the farm.

You rested against the horse, clutching its mane with your fingers. Your eyes felt heavy like you were going to pass out any minute, the world around you was blurry. Watching the trees pass, you thought you could see figures standing between them, tall dark shadowy figures.

Shaking your head, you tried to focus on your and Sophia’s savior walking ahead of you instead.

You smiled noticing the white wings on his back. You couldn’t figure out if it was another hallucination or if they were real. But maybe he really was an angel.

You sighed, feeling safe in his company. Everything was going to be alright. You rested your eyes, the movements of the horse gently lulling you to sleep.

Daryl stopped in his tracks when he heard a loud thud behind him like someone had dropped a sack of dirty laundry on the ground.

Looking back, he saw the horse saddle empty and you laying in the dirt like a rag doll.

“God damn it,” he muttered.

He gently sat Sophia down, before wandering over to you. He crouched down to your level, making sure you were still alive. God, you were going to end up being more trouble than the girl.

“Hey,” Daryl said sharply, patting your cheek, causing you to stir.

Your eyes slowly opened, blinking a couple of times before they were able to focus on his face. You smiled at him, a warm sweet smile. With the light of the sun shining down on him so brightly, it looked almost as if he had a halo.

“You really are an angel,” you mused in your partially delirious state. “You’ve got wings, a halo, and everything.”

Daryl scowled, “The hell you goin’ on about?”

You giggled, it was pretty funny to hear an angel curse.

Daryl sighed and muttered something under his breath about how you probably went crazy out there. Before helping you sit up.

You looked over to the side and noticed the horse standing there. Tilting your head to the side, you asked “Did I fall off?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #female reader #reader insert #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #twd #walking dead fanfic #walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic

[actualbird]

nobody asked but pat gill is so fucking hot to me and im going to tell you why im attracted to him | a 2.3k word long post where i hold you, dear reader, hostage

[SCENE: You, the reader, are tied to a wooden chair in an empty room with nothing but a small table and a projector. You pull at the ropes that tie your hands together behind your back, but then the door opens and I stroll in. I am dressed in a full black suit and am also wearing shutter shades. I am also holding a powerpoint clicker. The fancy ones with a laser pointer in them. You shudder in contempt for you know that you are about to witness a horrible lecture.]

Hello, reader. I know you know why I’ve brought you here. I’m here to discuss something very important to you. Don’t look at me like that, it is important, I swear. I am here to tell you why I find Pat Gill hot.

[I switch on the projector. My presentation slides flash to life on the wall. Behind your back, you locate the feel around the knots tying your hands.]

This is not a presentation where I will convince you that Pat Gill is hot. No, I wouldn’t prescribe my tastes onto anybody, that’s not nice. What I will do is explain in horrid, vivid detail why I myself find Pat Gill hot. 

Like everything I do, I cannot dive in without first setting up some kind of framework or system of analysis. What I am trying to explain is how I find another person attractive, and that has thus pushed me to make the AHG Criteria, a criteria made up of the three principal characteristics of a human which makes me attracted to them and is also, coincidentally, the sound I make when I see images of Pat Gill. 

The AHG Criteria refers to the following:

Appearance: the most shallow but noticeable of characteristics. Here, I will explain just what it is about Pat Gill’s perceivable flesh prison that gets me so upset in an attracted manner.

Humor: I love a funny human and humor theory is one of my side interests. Here, I will dissect two specific instances of Pat Gill’s humor, bringing in references and related literature, in an effort to explain why his sense of humor is stellar.

Good at presenting things: I am very attracted to competence, but one skill I hold in very high regard is the skill of explaining and conveying information. Here, I will analyse Pat Gill as a communicator.

So let’s jump right into it. 

Pat Gill’s Appearance is, frankly, an anomaly to me. This is not to say that anything about his appearance is strange, but that, quite honestly, as handsome as he is, he’s basic. He is white, he is tall, he is thin, he has black hair and a slight beard (though currently he is sporting more of a moustache, which I’m still into). At first glance, one wouldn’t pay him much attention. I sure didn’t, until I watched more and more videos of him. I sure didn’t, until I realized.

His Appearance is basic, but his vibes, which I am including in the criteria of Appearance, bring his Appearance to life. Pat Gill looks a little unapproachable, with his resting sad face; but, when he smiles, he is so shameless and happy. Pat Gill looks like somebody you’d see leaning on a wall outside a bar, looking up at the sky, and you wonder just what he’s thinking about---wonder if you could get lost in his thoughts. Pat Gill looks like somebody friendly--- once his resting sad face gives way---somebody who would help you pick up your stuff when you bump into him and the contents of your bag spill out. Pat Gill looks like somebody who would use his goddamn turn signal. Pat Gill looks like somebody who would pet many dogs, as many dogs as he physically could. Pat Gill looks---

[As I prattle on, your fingers explore the knots behind your back. In your mind, you are mapping out the knot’s shape and orientation, thinking about how to undo them. When you tune back into my voice, the slide on the projector has changed and I have shifted topics.]

Let’s move onto the next criteria. Humor.

Paul McGhee in his book Humor: Its Origins and Development brings up Göran Nerhardt to define humor as “[...] a consequence of the discrepancy between two mental representations, one of which is an expectation and the other is some idea or percept” (McGhee 14). Nerhardt’s definition of humor is one that relies on incongruity: wherein there is an element that is not in accordance with the other elements. An incongruous element is one that is not the expectation, and in this subversion of expectation, humor is achieved. What is funny in a humorous situation, is then, what is unexpected to a certain degree. Humor, and the reaction to it, is due to the recognition of the incongruous. 

Despite this incongruity, there is still an internal logic to anything humorous. This internal logic is different for each humorous situation, and consists of everything within the situation; the set-up, punchline, characters, etc. It is this internal logic that allows for jokes to “make sense.” It is that internal logic that helps us get from one element to the incongruous element, realize their relationship, and thus find the whole thing funny.

Incongruity and internal logic are one of the many characteristics of humor, and they are the ones I will be focusing on. With those definitions in place, let’s talk about what you’re here for: Pat Gill.

Pat Gill is a funny guy. If I tried to analyse every single instance he was funny, I would never shut up. You wouldn’t want that, would you?

[You shake your head no. God, no.]

Right, so I’ll just be focusing on two instances of his humor that stuck out to me (originally, I wanted to discuss three, but then I saw that the length of this post was getting kilometric, so I cut it down to the essentials), these of which I think is a good marker for the kind of sense of humor he has.

The first one is my absolute favorite tweet of his:

This tweet is, at first glance, a lot. Pat Gill doesn’t wait for the punchline to be incongruous, he throws incongruity straight at our faces with the opening line, and one may think that that’s a bad move. Not necessarily. It’s just a ballsy one. It’s a move that doesn’t spoonfeed the audience with the internal logic, you have to work for it. As you read through the tweet, the internal logic starts to come through the incongruity. The literal dramatic situation of the tweet is a persona talking about the good state their nemesis is in. The language of the tweet keys us in to the kind of Medieval vibe, like a scheming duke in the hallways of a castle. The punchline comes after the last comma. The monolog of the nemesis’ good fortune will be interrupted by the persona’s attack on their life.

This tweet is an example of the bedrock of many of his jokes. He doesn’t give a damn if he makes sense or not. He will throw you into the deep end of the joke and it is up to you to tread the water. However, if you do manage to keep afloat, his internal logic will bring you to the punchline and, thus, satisfaction.

[Your fingers have been working on the knots steadily as I speak. You try your best not to react as you start to feel something give way, and you keep working quietly.]

The second instance of humor I want to discuss is the Solid Snake Skincare Routine dialog he wrote and performed with Brian in episode 8 of Gill and Gilbert. The full transcript is as follows:

Pat (as Solid Snake from Metal Gear Solid): Colonel, how do I know which moisturizer to buy, and how do I know it’ll match my skin type?

Brian (as Colonel from Metal Gear Solid): Unfortunately Snake, there’s no way to tell for sure. Certain retailers will offer samples, but in most cases, it’s up to you to purchase a product and try it out.

Pat: Sounds expensive.

Brian: It is, Snake. And the cost disproportionately affects women.

Pat: Women?

Brian: Societal norms in the west dictate that a woman’s value is tied to their appearance, and the thing every woman has…

Pat: Skin!

Brian: Right.

Pat: So, we expect women to attain a higher---So, we expect women---women, to attain perfect skin, and we also expect them to pay for it?

Brian: All while paying them less for doing the same jobs as men.

Pat: So Colonel, that means…

Brian: Yes, Snake. It is imperative that you give your money to women.

Pat: Right.

Like the tweet discussed before, Pat Gill shoves incongruity in your face immediately. Solid Snake, super cool spy dude (?? I don’t fuckin know anything about video games) talking about skincare. He expects you to keep up, and if you do, you are rewarded by a surreal yet lovely conversation between Snake and Colonel talking about the intricacies of skincare, but then things get really interesting. The topic shifts to the societal expectations of beauty and how it ties into womens’ experiences. This isn’t a grand woke moment or anything, but it is a surprising shift in subject that is perfectly in tune with the internal logic of the conversation. The punchline is amazing, giving all your money to women, yet it is also written in a way that does not imply that women are the butt of the joke. The butt of the joke here is the surreal vibe of the conversation as a whole.

This dialog builds upon the bedrock of Pat Gill’s humor: he isn’t afraid to go places. This is something that is apparent in many of the Unraveleds that he writes (Dark Souls Bosses is a very good example), he brings in real issues, makes the jokes funny, but never treats the marginalized or the victims of these issues as the butt of the joke. In Susan Purdie’s book The Mastery of Discourse, she remarks that to joke about a certain topic, to make something the “butt of the joke” can degrade this topic and bring it down lower, in the process shifting the power to the joker instead (Purdie 59). Pat Gill is aware of that power dynamic and never jokes at the expense of those who are struggling. He instead makes us laugh at characters, at situations, at surreality.

[The knots tying your hands are almost undone. You just need to bide your time. You’re so close to escaping from this thirsty pseudo intellectual motherfucker]

The last criteria I need to discuss with you is GreatAtPresentingThings. 

Pat Gill has done a lot of presenting. For this, I will be analyzing just one of the many videos where Pat Presents Things, my favorite among his “X is Y because of Z” videos, “Why Bloodborne and Muppets are the exact same thing.”

I’ve talked about this video in a previous long post analysis about Pat Gill, but let me talk about it again. Pat Gill, on camera, brings up an absolutely bonkers fucking thesis: that the horrible monsters in Bloodborne are similar to the Muppets because of how they use character design. 

Pat Gill, as a presenter, is very lovely to listen to. The cadence of his voice is not only extremely relaxing and makes me feel like a tranquilized zoo animal that Pat is talking to very gently about video games, but his voice is also very easy to follow. There are many voices on the internet, and I have a bunch of sensory issues, so a lot of the time, even when I want to listen to somebody, I just can’t because of how their voice grates at my ears. Pat Gill’s voice is not that. It is of a good speed and good vibe that not only puts me at ease but makes me want to listen.

Pat Gill uses gestures. This is most apparent in this video, where he does that cute thing when he says Shape, Movement, and Texture. Here are screenshots of it because it’s so fucking cute, what the fuck.

I know, I know, what do gestures have to do with presenting things? Well, if you told me “shape, movement, texture”, six minutes later, I wouldn’t fucking remember any of those. But with these gestures, those words do stick. When words stick, the explanations behind those words stick as well. When words and explanations stick in your mind, congratulations dude, you just learned something! Pat Gill when talking, and whether it is scripted like this or unintentional like a random gesticulation, the movement catches my attention and I become a more rapt listener.

Honestly, I could go on and on about Pat as a communicator and---

[Before I can speak, you bolt upwards from your chair, finally having gotten the ropes loose. Quickly, powerfully, you grab the projector from the table and smash it over my head. I stumble and fall to the ground, and you look down at me as your chest heaves.

As I slowly lose consciousness, you hear me say, softly, but with so much fervor:

“Pat…..Gill…..hot.”]

Thanks for reading! 

(Read my other unhinged analysis essays at actualbird.tumblr.com/tagged/nobody-asked-but. If you have a suggestion for an unhinged analysis essay I can write, send me an ask!)

References:

McGhee, Paul E. Humor: Its Origin and Development, W.H. Freeman and Company, 1979, pp. 1-41.

Purdie, Susan. The Mastery of Discourse. Harvester Wheatsheaf. 1993.

#polygon #pat gill #patrick gill #pat gill thirst jail #nobody asked but

[theoriquewitherseld]

Heck I DO wanna know more! I'm super interested in thia fic 👀

OK I am SUPER happy receiving this ask, but alas all I can offer is a lot of excerpts,, more under the cut

When Jacques arrives at Stain'd, he finds the records to be VERY accurate: it's a deadzone. That would likely explain the weird look the conductor gave him when he requested to get off. There's no longer anybody here

Back then there must have been some, perhaps, in order to enact Lem's apprenticeship. But he still regards the situation with an air of apprehension. Large chunk of reports were missing, reports that were leading up to his disappearance. It could be that VFD hid it, of course, but intentional or not, its denominator remains the same: something monumentally terrible occured for that to happen.

And he will have to walk straight to it. Or at least, its aftermath.

The rattle of the train leaving startles him, and he shakes off his nerves. He wants so badly to get back on the train, jump on the railings perhaps but the rear has gotten quite a distance away. He's already alone.

(Oh God I just realized I have no idea what people do after they get off trains. Should there be like people taking ur tickets or something?? Ive been on a train only once and that was super long ago)

The Stain'd Station was utterly deprived of life. Everything was cracked and looked in the danger of falling apart. Litter and dirt was strewn all around. There was no place that Jacques just wanted more to bail out of immediately (except, perhaps, that one wasp-infested area but that is besides the point). It unnerves him, to listen to the echoes of his footsteps in the abandoned station, with its business nothing more than a ghost of its past. It rattles him more than the rattle of train wheels on the tracks. But he trudges on, hoping to find some clue.

Out on the street was no better. All buildings were boarded up, some windows smashed. Brown grass was growing out of the sidewalks. There was few vehicles on the side of the road: a brown rusty one with its hood popped up and its insides gone, a yellow cab so terribly dented, and a black one with its paint job scratched and all four of its tires missing. It was a miserable place, not fit for any human life, much less an apprenticeship. He grimaces in dismay. This is where they dumped his brother? Even as a containment procedure, it was a bit much. No person should be in this place.

But that wasn't the most pressing issue. The most pressing issue is where to start. He does not have the faintest idea where he is in this desolate town, much less where his brother stayed for the duration in the past — except for the address of The Lost Arms. But that information was useless without a map, and every other map he scoured to know about the town has vehemently insisted that Stain'd-By-The-Sea does not exist. Whether VFD has already tampered with those maps, he can not tell.

He had hoped there may be a clue in there, some forgotten item, a thing accidentally left behind. But with no map, his best course of action is to simply search every establishment and hope for serendipity. Not all of the best things are necessarily good things.

He hears a rumble of an engine.

His gaze snaps upwards, puzzled if whether or not he had imagined it. Then he can see the yellow dented cab making its way towards him at a snail's pace. Jacques's heart stops, and gripped his suitcase until his knuckles turned white. It was a trusty little suitcase, filled with tools and files that are of great use of him, but he's not so sure if it were of any use against a damned ghost cab. If it were really a ghost. If Kit was here, she would've scoffed at him. But he's not really feeling up to an argument, not when his feet was stuck to the pavement, body frozen into place. He stares, heart pounding like there was no tomorrow as the taxi pulls up to its side, exactly right in front of him, and stops.

But then the window rolls down, and Jacques felt very, very foolish, but immensely relieved, as it reveals a worn and much younger face of a boy with a busted blue cap.

"Well, hello there friend," he says, with a voice just as tired. "Another visitor was the last thing we expected, but —" he gives a small shrug, "— here we are. Need a taxi?"

It took him a moment to realize how stupid he looked with his mouth gaping open. "I-I'm sorry," Jacques stammered, once he found his voice. "We?"

Another younger face pops up from below the young driver, and Jacques nearly jumps in surprise. "That would be us, the Bellerophon brothers," he reveals with a squeaky but cracked voice. "I'm Pecuchet, and this—" he points upward, and his brother tipped his hat at him, " — is Bouvard, but that makes people's tongue tired, so you can call him Pip, and me, Squeak."

The driver known as "Pip" frowned. "Are you alright though? You've looked like you've seen a ghost."

His eyes fluttered. "Er  — Yes, yes, I... I am afraid I also didn't expect anyone to come here either." He tips his white hat at them in turn. "Greetings to you, I am Ja— James Moore."

Internally, he cringed. It was a sloppy pseudonym, but he can't risk revealing who he is in the potential situation VFD managed to track his trail, they wouldn't be able to hold incriminating evidence against him. Curiously, it didn't arouse much suspicion from the odd duo, except for a slight tilt of the head.

"Well, nice to meet you Mr. Moore. Do you need a ride anywhere?"

Jacques is not quite sure what to think of climbing into a cab with kids of odd names in an abandoned town. However, his relief in discovering that there is fellow life, inexplicable as it is, and a likelier possibility of gaining information triumphed over whatever reservations he had at the moment. In the pursuit of his search, with its very nonexistent lead, he'd take anything.

"I'd like to go to the Lost Arms please."

"Sure," Pip reached out behind him and opened the door. "Hop in."

He pauses, and then climbs in and closes it shut, and soon enough, the two brothers drive away from the Station with startlingly expert hands on both wheel and brakes. Jacques is fairly impressed at their coordination.

"Say," Pip starts, once they got a quite the distance away. "Apologies if it sounds prying, friend, but out of curiosity, what business does a stranger have with Stain'd-By-The-Sea?"

That shook him out of his stupor. Idiotically, he hasn't prepared for that, he was ascertain there won't be anyone here, he even got business cards and all but it's not in his suitcase (which he wants to smack himself on). His mind blanks for a moment, but he manages to scramble an answer that isn’t necessarily a lie nor a truth. "I am private investigator hired to search for someone last seen in this town."

Pip looked at him through the rearview mirror, which was a bit dirty and cracked. "Oh? That certainly does explain why someone wants to be in this town."

Jacques didn't bother to clarify he does NOT want to be here at all, but he nods his head instead.

He expertly steered the wheel. "You wouldn't happen to be allowed the details no? Sorry, but interesting things have rarely happened here since..."

"I'm afraid not, no," Jacques blinks. That felt off. "Speaking of visitors, you haven't happened to have driven someone around lately no?"

"Until you came along? Not one for the past year. No outsiders at the very least."

He deflates a little, but he's unsurprised. So he really wasn't here recently. He was about ask more, when the taxi came to a stop in front of a shabby and derelict building he would presume to be the Lost Arms.

Once again, Pip reached out to open the door for him. "Here we are then, Mr. Moore."

"Thank you," he says, retrieving his wallet. "How much is the fare?"

Pip blinked in surprise. Then his eyes flickered towards the wallet, and his eyes widened further. "Huh, I never expected a paying customer today either."

It puzzles him so much that he tilts his head. Did they just let him ride as a charity? "Well, it's only natural to pay for a service, no?"

He just shrugged. "It's alright. Keep the money, it's not gonna be much use anyways, with the state of the town. You may wanna give that to the proprietor though —" he nods to the building, "— Prosper Lost."

"Well, I shan't dare to think of leaving this taxi without giving something in return," Jacques insisted.

"How about a tip then?"

"A tip?" he frowns. "A tip what?"

"Anything really, s'long as its useful."

That got him thinking. He thought of giving them a tip of accepting money when they get it and leave this terrifying place, but decided against. He then looks up.

"Here's a tip, there's this book that..." he trails off, feeling a painful lump form in his throat. "That my associate enjoys. Champion of the World, heard of it?"

~

Ellington feels the bitter sweetness on her tongue. The air was damp and cold after the shower, having ceased into droplets. Everything reminded her the cool greens and blues of a watercolor painting. At the distance, the light of the morning sun peaks through. She's glad she's getting some pieces of her back, but some of the damage will be permanent, and some things are just lost forever. Seeing the Association and strangers and natives to Killdeer fields all work together to set things right was amazing, but also drove home on the tragedy of Armstrong Feint, whose pursuit of vengeance blinded him, destroyed himself and set back hopes of recovery for years. The pain he inflicted was an unnecessary cruelty, that if he had bothered to spare, even the tinniest bit of mercy and offered his help, he would've witnessed the return of the sea and the recovery of the environment, and they could've been together.

But he had made a decision. All of their parents did — the Mallahans, the Hixes, the Knights, the Bellerophons, the Losts. What's done is done.

She remembers a line that her father read her once, many years ago. It was the book where Snicket claimed a wizard was not so very helpful, and that her father loved because of its elaborate descriptions of trees. Many elaborate description of trees.

"'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo." Ellington murmurs to herself.

"'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'"

She stares at the sky.

~

But there was a knock at the door

They both froze. Moxie is still on the phone — with who, Kellar didn't hear.

It could be anyone, Kellar thought, perhaps some coworkers who forgot their stuff, or has the intention to work overtime. It may even be some neighbor, asking for help or providing assistance. It could even be a fellow Associate. There's no reason really, to think there could be enemies on the other side.

But he walked anyway. His breathing far too loud and uneven, yet his pace cautious and fearful. He calls out, "Who's there?"

No answer.

"I'm warning you," he says slowly, attempting to keep the tremble out of his voice, "that I'm armed."

Silence. It's a blatant lie of course, but no matter how he strained his ears, he still can't hear anyone walking away. They’re not fooled.

He motions to Moxie to get ready to run. A few seconds, he could buy that. Enough seconds to scramble whatever data they need and bolt like hell. Kellar doesn't see if she saw it.

The door is inches away from him now. His heart pounded in his chest. His hands carefully placed on the dark wood, and he looked into the peephole.

Kellar had barely moved his head in time just to dodge the blast shot that would've blown away bits of his brain, but had blown off half of his right ear instead.

He screamed, it hurt, hurt worse than anything he'd known and he's sure he's lost his hearing there, but he let the wound bleed and instead ducked and braced himself against the door to keep them from opening it. "Moxie run!"

~

"Look at him. Look. At. Him." Pip hissed, and Squeak looked at them with an air of innocence. "You think that's an angel?? A beacon of innocence?? Wrong. That's bastard incarnate. The single source of maliciousness on this earthly realm. Look. Look how evil he looks. He's a little prick."

~

"Frankly, I'd love to have a sibling," Cleo said.

Kellar looked at her as if she said something deranged and jabs a thumb towards Lizzie. "No, you don't. I love my sister, but you think she won't sell me off to the circus first chance she gets?" He shook his head. "Think again."

~

"Dibs."

"What the—" Moxie then scowled. "That was too fast."

Snicket just shrugged. "I have two older siblings, Moxie. The true nature of siblings... Is natural selection."

"Are you certain you should be using big boy words like that?" Ellington asked, bemused. "I'm fairly certain you can't even differentiate a crocodile and an alligator."

~

"If I may introduce you to my family," Jacques says.

He points to Kit emerging from his side. "— Parasite number one—".

And he points to Snicket as he emerges from the other. "— and Parasite number two."

~

"Alright, does anyone have any questions?" Jacques asks tiredly.

They all raise their hands.

"That isn’t sarcastic," he snaps.

They all lowered their hands, disappointed.

Jacques sighs. "Lizzie, you've got the stage."

~

"Just what time is it?" Ellington inquires, exhausted.

"Hang on," Kit smiled, and instead of whipping out a clock, she instead produces a clarinet. She took a deep breath, and blew. Before she could even make it to the second note, they look up at the ceiling— startled— suddenly hearing a very muffled but very clear yell from Jacques, Kit, are you seriously playing the clarinet at 2 IN THE DAMN MORNING.

They look down. Kit still has a devilish smile plastered.

"It's 2 am," she announces.

#ask #asks #atwq #all the wrong questions #the association au #snicket snippets #my writing

[h0unds-of-h3ll]

Sweet and Salty

Sup, so I have found that writing one shots are way much faster then continuing my full fledged story. Although I will be still be furthering the plot on that story, I’d rather get to write something that would rather come out somewhat good. That is why I am continuing on these one shots, so please enjoy!

This is a Dean Winchester x reader one shot.

Based somewhat around Dean not doing shorts, you’ll see about that.

Sweat stained skin and clothes sunken through, hair matted to the scalp and the skin of your neck. You groan the heat taking a toll on you. The bunker AC was shot and it was in the middle of July, the hottest month of Summer. You were sure that you weren't going to make it. But oh lord the sight before you, Dean had shredded his shirt a few hours ago. The heat became unbearable for him as well, and you'd be lying if it didn't look good on him. His chest puffed and broad and he hefted up the shitty thing that made this all happen, the muscles in his stomach tightening.

Dean had easily captured your full and undivided attention without a doubt. You and Dean had an odd relationship of sorts. When he first introduced his idea of calling you his own, he hadn't come to the realization of having to be romantic. Dean, to say the least, was a one and done and to wake up the morning and run from the unknown girl who he finessed into his bed in the night. Although that was before he had met you. One night, your best friend Sam from high school had invited you to come over to his place and watch the new season of The Walking Dead. This wasn't out of the norm for either of you nor Lurch. (Sammy's nickname you gave him one night when you both decided that it would be a not so great idea to go to a house party.) He would invite you over some nights to binge the latest sci-fi series on Netflix, hours without end.

Drool peeking out of your mouth whenever you fell asleep on the brothers' couch. Then, a figure appeared in front of your sleeping form groggily you bawled your hands and rolled them over your eyes to relieve the itch of them opening. The figure blocking the televisions ghastly glow in the dim of the room, the figure turns and you decide to fake being asleep for the fear of not knowing or what the figure is that is now casting over you. The figure's torn and maimed hand softly touched your jaw. Tilted your head back, the figure leans down and its chapped lips pressed against your cheek, the figure's nose gently pressing against your rose dusted skin. The gesture sent your skin on fire. Such an innocent gesture set your skin ablaze, yet, you haven't known who the perpetrator was.

It couldn't be Sam, you never thought of him as a lover and he didn't seem he did either. It couldn't be Dean either because he simply didn't do love. So who could Mysterio be? you decided to just take whatever it gave you and decided in the morning. The figures kiss left your cheek as did his lips as to your dismay, although the figures hand cascades into your hair and tuck a fallen piece behind your hair. The creature being satisfied with its doing it leaves your side and turns off the television, the light being drowned into the dark as well. The figure's form disappears into the imagination but before he departs he lets out; "you look so beautiful, sweetheart." You were nonetheless confused when you awoke the next day but you didn't dare say it wasn't nice.

The boys had given up on the idea that they could fix the ac in a day, supposedly how it short-circuited in the first place. Was because Castiel tried to teach Jack how to revive a baby bird that had fallen outside of the bunker. It was a few miles from the bunker whenever they went on a supply run they had found the fallen creature.

Jack, being Jack used his power a bit too strongly and busted every possible thing that could be breakable in the room. Even a few of the men of letters possessions that Sam was disappointed to have found about, Dean on the other hand was outright ballistic at the fact that they had no cool air. Leaving them here, sitting around the small entertainment center they managed to find in one of the many bunker rooms. The only thing making everyone the slightest bit cooler. Happened to be Sam's fan he brought from college and refused to sell saying in desperate times like these it would become handy. The catch was that the fan was so slow from age it circulated air every few minutes, so everyone drank up their minute whenever it landed on them. Becoming disappointed you got up from your spot on the floor by Casanova since Jack, Lurch, and Dean reserved the couch, you continuously denying Dean's offer for you to sit on his lap.

Cas had forgone his usual attire and opted for one of Dean's old shirts, his heavy overcoat being too obnoxiously warm from the heat. You patted him on the shoulder as you got to know that you were leaving too tired to ask why he just assumed it was lady stuff. He learned the last time that department he wanted to stay out of for the rest of his years on Earth. Dean on the other spectrum shifted his head on the headrest of the ratty couch to stare at you. As you waltzed into the kitchen in search of something that was the least bit refreshing, Dean found something rather refreshing making his mouth water at the sight of it. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down. Trying to muffle the groan of seeing those short jean shorts riding up your thighs. Giving him a glimpse of where your thighs stop and where your ass began. "Anybody want anything to drink while I'm up?" you sounded out happily once you had found the few Popsicle's left over a few weeks ago. You got a few groans and moans in response but Dean oh so desperately wanted to say 'yeah, you' but he stopped himself when Sam had hit him on the shoulder. "Dude, gross!" he said as he scrunched up his face in disgust once he realized why Dean was so quiet for the first time today. He was worse than a dog in heat, Sam slowly started to reach for the remote that now sat out of Dean's grasp.

The remote that Dean had so unfairly hogged all day since he claimed that any other show was less superior than Dr sexy. M.D. which quite frankly had mixed results from the group. Sam hated it for being so nasty, Castiel being interested just because he was curious of what everything was, and Jack well, saw his first pair of tits. Dean was so proud and clapped Jack on the back and called him a man after that, and you decided that this was indeed the day you would die. Sam had never been so concentrated in his life on something so meaningless, but he'd be damn if he didn't get this stupid remote and save his dignity. His long arm stretched and he was sure his mission had no-fail, but then y/n had to go and ruin it and come back with Popsicle’s in hand. Dammit, now! He grabbed the remote but before he could Dean grabbed his arm and they both had haphazardly fought for the ownership of the remote. Dean weirdly jolted his elbow into Sam's face hitting his nose, he knew he fucked up whenever Sam had lifted his hand to find crimson.

He rolled his eyes socking Dean in his arm "You don't always have to be such a Jerk" Sam snarled out going into the kitchen to find an ice pack they are sadly way too familiar with. Y/n handed out the destined Popsicle’s, a few thank you's coming out of the respected angels, but before you gave Dean his. You went behind the couch and stuck it on his bareback rather than the normal shriek he let out a soft moan the cool ice on his heated back felt pleasant to him. A shiver ran up his spine, his bright venomous eyes whirled around and glared at you. The Popsicle’s in question was quickly forgotten as he grabbed your hand and grabbed the plastic of the Popsicle’s with his teeth and tore it open sending you a wink before he turned around tuning into his show. Whenever you patted Cas on the back to tell him you were back and tried to sit in your destined spot but the arms wrapped around your torso and pulled you into Dean's lap. Jack's eyes widened in shock from knowing all too well as to what was going to ensue from Dean's actions he quickly dismissed himself and went to his room. Cas going into the kitchen to help/heal Lurch.

You squirmed in Dean's arms trying to get comfortable "look what you did you made everyone leave!" you whined gently slapping Dean's sticky chest. Some of the cherry Popsicle's’ syrup running around his mouth “hmm,” is all you had to what seemed like a reply. Your face scrunched from seeing Dean pig out, it wasn’t the first time you've seen him pig out but this. This was something different. Dean, the alleged human incarcerated lust, made it 10 times more intimate. How? Well for starters he would not stop looking at you the entire time his plumped, pillowed, pink lips slurped and sucked the taste of the sweet treat. You couldn’t help but let your mouth fall open in shock at how he didn't care that Castiel and Sam were only a few mere few feet away from the both of you. He had sucked the last syrup-filled ice cube into his mouth and there was plastic somewhere near the couch, you usually were the boy’s maid since they didn't know how to do laundry nor cleaning that being said you knew you were more than likely going to have to pick that up later.

“Dean, really?!” you screeched at him. You thought you had taught him better, you just had gotten him to start cleaning his room. He rolled his eyes shifted his hips so you were now skin against skin, his chest pressed against yours. Stomach against his and God it felt like heaven. He ran his hands up and down your sides mapping out every curve and ditch you had, you didn't think it was possible for it to get even hotter but now it had gotten into purgatory levels of heat. His breath fanned against your face it was surprisingly cold and his eyes half-lidded and clouded in a daze, his hands moved up around your neck and cupped your neck pulling your lips into a rough, demanding kiss. His mouth working wonders on its own, his tongue poked out and ran across your lip his tongue felt as if it was frostbitten, the ice tucked into his cheek cooling his mouth which made it felt like ecstasy. Your hands ran into his hair tugging and yanking the dirty blonde hair each and every way.

Shortly after his hands quickly duck down and cup his hands around your ass kneading the flesh in his palms, although his long fingers skimmed across the torn distressed parts where it couldn't hide your skin. You moaned into his lips when he started to push his body into yours making your hips grind against his own, and then you felt it. You smirked and left his now kiss sore lips, his pupils dilated and telling you he wasn't nearly done with you. You pushed your forehead against his and kissed his nose he scrunched it up as a child would. “Are you packing the colt, or are you just happy to see me?” you whispered your lips turning into a grin, as he grabbed you and hefted you up, you instantly wrapped your legs around his waist. He shoved his face into your neck nipping and licking while he walked past Sam and Cas into his room. “USE PROTECTION!” you heard Sam wail out, and you couldn't help but chuckle.

#dean winchester #xreader #dean winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #Cute and hot at the same time IRTR #jack kline #jack kline x reader #castiel x reader #castiel novak #fluff #dean being a little shit #cuteness #cute butt #sexy cute #deans a warning of his own #fanfic #SPN #supernatural

[1-800-hellraiser]

(Just a P.S.A, this is more of a 'father and daughter' type thing, in this oneshot, you're 15. MAPs are disgusting. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.)

Requested by: no one 

Pages: 7.5

Words: 2,733

Genre: fluffyyyyyyyy

Associated song: Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood

!TW! Mentions of family issues, mental and emotional abuse, blood, murder and some swearing.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

"And if you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do. I'd run away and hide with you, I love that you got daddy issues." 

​​​      Throughout your life, you were a good kid. You followed directions, you were kind and friendly, everything a parent could ask for in a child. Except, your parents were different, your parents hated you. They would call you names, manipulate you and put you down. You obviously hated it, so, one day you snapped. You killed your family, you didn't feel guilty.

     Now, you live in a mansion with a bunch of serial killers, some human, most not. They are your family now, and you're glad to call them that. One being in particular that makes you feel this way is Hoodie. He was the first one to take you to Slender's mansion. Since then, you've been training to becime a proxy, just like him. 

     You see him as a father figure, you never said anything about it though. You don't want your relationship with him to be ruined. You're scared that if you tell him how you'll feel, he'll abandon you. The only  one who knows about this is Slender, since he's the only one (other than Hoodie) that you trust in the mansion with this information. 

      You have a big day ahead of you today. You go on your first mission with Hoodie. You've been living in the mansion for about six months, those months have been used as training months. Now, you're ready for you're first misson as a proxy. You're excited, but also very nervous. What if you mess it up. What if the target gets away. What if you lose Hoodie.  What if you lose his respect. What if-

      "Good morning Y/n. You have to get up to get ready for the mission. You've got thirty minutes, I'll be waiting downstairs." You turn in your bed to face Hoodie. You take your hand from under your covers and give him a thumbs up. He chcukles at your action and closes the door. 

   After Hoodie leaves, you roll to the edge of your mattress and sit up. You raise both your arms above your head and stretch your back. You get up and pad over to your dresser. You open up the first drawerbto get undergarments and socks. The next drawer, you pull out your f/s (favorite shirt). You open the second to last drawer to grab some denim jeans.

   You walk over to the bathroom built into your room. You put your clothes on the edge of the sink, and grab the towel that you used yesterday. You gently turn the handle to adjust the temperature. Silently taking off your pajamas, you toss them on the floor. Making a mental note to get them when you get put of the shower, you step into the shower. 

  �� You step out of the shower and grab your towel. Wrapping the towel around you, you pick up your pajamas with a dry hand, then toss them in with your dirty clothes. You pad back in to the bathroom and dry yourself off. After you dry off, you style your hair how you want. After that, you put on some deodorant and start putting on your clothes. 

    "Damn, this smells good." You comment to yourself  about your body fragrance. You look in the mirror above your sink. You twist and turn a bit, then put your hands on your hips confidently. "I look like a boss ass bitch," You comment at your reflection. You walk out of the bathroom and grab your combat boots that are put neatly next to your bedroom door. 

    Sliding on your boots and tying them tight, you grab your weapon of choice. A simple aluminum baseball bat. You also grabbed your plain black zip-up hoodie, and headed downstairs. You try your best to walk down the stairs as quietly as you possibly can. You don't want to wake anybody up. Especially Jeff, you rather not get stabbed today. 

   Silently stepping off the last stair, you gently speedwalk to the living room. The living room is also close to the kitchen and the front door. The only thing dividing the kitchen from the living room was a counter. Bringing yourself back from the decor of the murder mansion, you turn to see a smiling Hoodie. He doesn't have his mask on yet, which suprises you greatly. 

   Hoodie always wears his mask, even if its unbearably hot outside, or when he's sleeping. You don't understand how its comfortable, but you learned from living with a bunch of serial killers to just not question it. "You ready to go?" His soft tone brings you back from your thoughts. You just simply nod and walk out the door with him. 

   The pastas and proxies don't normally have to use cars to get to their destination, but there are rare occurrences where they do. Only on missions that take more than an 45 minutes in walking time. This one was not an exception, just driving to this person's house will take you and Hoodie about a hour and a half.  

  The only car the pastas and proxies have is this big white van. Dubbed 'the candy van' by Jeff and BEN. Because of it's nature in media, you can see why the name sticks. You hop into the passenger seat and make yourself comfortable. You silently stare out the window into the vast forest that surrounds you.

   You see why Slender put the mansion in the middle of a forest. Even if most of the inhabitants are stuck there, at least they have a beautiful view. You're torn away from your fixation on the forest by the revving of the ignition. You steal a glance at Hoodie, then relax into the questionably stained seat of the van. 

   The car ride was full of you seeing Hoodie become more, how do I put it, talkative? Yeah, he told you a lot about his past, you knew some if it, but not all of it. You feel honored to have this information and trust. So, its only fair you tell him your story as well right? You told him everything, everything from the nitty-gritty, to your favorite memories with friends. Mini road trips are magical. 

    Hoodie pulls into a rocky drive way at an unknown l youocation. The little GPS on his phine still showes about a five minute walk to the destination. He takes his phone, turns it off, and slips on his ski mask. He glances over at you, you are spacing out at the forest in front of you. "You okay?" His voice cuts through the air like a knife. You blink a few times, trying to get your train of thought back on track. "Yeah, I'm good, I just spaced out," You explain sheepishly.

   Hoodie nods understandingly. You both hop out if the car parked in the dense forest area, and make your way to the victim's house. "So, what's the sitch Hoods?" You ask, not knowing the plan because you and Hoodie forgot to talk  about it on the way there. But it was worth it. 

   "A woman by the name of Annie Butler has been sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. She's finding out way too much. So, we have to take some files of hers then kill her." You nod, hyping yourself up to do this. Admittedly, you are a bit anxious, but that won't stop you from gaining more of Hoodie's trust and respect. 

   You are hoping you don't fuck this up big time. You cant lose the bond that you and Hoodie have, it's way to important to you. You give a gentle sigh and keep walking with Hoodie.

  Eventually, you arrive at the house of the person of interest. The house is white and the trim is a robins egg blue. It looks like the house of the traditional nuclear family, but with a bit more, suspicion. You start walking towards the house through the drive way before Hoodie grabs your arm.

   "We gotta go around back to break in, she'll see us comming up the driveway." He informs, you blush, embarrassed about not thinking about that.  You follow Hoodie around to the back of the house. Annie has a very nice white patio with a glass table and five black metal chairs with white cushons on top. She has a medium sized firepit adjacent to the patio near the backdoor. 

   "I think we should sneak in through that window." You say, pointing to the window next to the patio. Hoodie nods and you both start to walk over to the window. Once you reach the window, you slide up the protective  screen and pull up the window.

   Luckily, this lady is dumb enough to leave her windows unlocked. You set your butt on the windowsill and stick one leg in, then your torso, then the other. Hoodie follows in suit as you stand in the garage. You see the door that leads from the garage to the house and go to open it. Unfortunately, this lady is smart enough to lock the doors.

   "What dumbass doesn't lock their windows, but locks their doors?" You say, Hoodie chuckles softly at your jab. You smile and fish around in your pocket, you grasp the cold metal and pull out a bobbypin. You pick at the lock for a while before hearing a small 'click'. You try the handle again and the door opens this time. 

   You and Hoodie both sneak into the house, you do not see Annie yet. "I'm going to go check the kitchen, you check the living room," You give Hoodie a thimbs up and tou both ho your separate ways. You silently pad over to the doorway leading into the living room and peak inside. 

   The living room walls are painted a light grey. There is a black couch on one side of the wall, and a flat screen t.v on the other. In the corner between the couch and the wall is a house plant in a modern, porcelain plant pot. Above the couch sat a few picture frames with pictures of what looks to be Annie and her family. You give a slight smile, she looks so happy in the photos. You see no sign of Annie.

   You meet Hoodie at the foot of a stairwell. It probably leads up to her room. "This stairwell leads up to Annie's room," called it. You and Hoodie walk up the steps, being as quiet as humanly possible. You both see two doors "Her door is the left one" Hoodie states nonchalantly. You silently step towards the eggshell white door. You take a deep breath, and roughly shove the door open. Bat in hand, you speedwalk into the room, Hoodie right behind you. 

   You see Annie sitting at a desk with a monitor on it. She flinches into her chair and whips her head at you and Hoodie. "W-who are you, and what are you doung in my house?" Annie gets up from her chair and stumbles backwards a bit. "You know too much, we can't have that, we know what you know." Hoodie states reaching for the handgun in his hoodie pocket. 

   "S-STAY BACK", Annie shouts, pulling a meat cleaver from under her pillow. You chuckle lowly, "Do you really think we're afraid of you, Annie?" You seer, she gives you a look of shock and horror. "How do you know my name?" She questions, you laugh in her face. "Oh dear Annie, we know every little thing about you~" you laugh and step towards her menacingly. She stumbles backwards and falls on her butt, she scoots as far away from you until her back hits her bed. 

   You tilt your head to the right, signaling Hoodie to go get her files. You slowly and menacingly step towards Annie, every step you take your bat hits the floor with a solid 'thunk'. Your standing toe to toe with Annie's shaking form, you raise your bat. "P-please don't." She whimpers, her arms blocking her face. You chuckle and get ready to swing the bat.

   "Too late, sweetheart." You say as you bring the bat down as hard as you can onto her head. Blood spews all over everything. Annie lets out a scream as you bring down your bat once more on her head. She lets out a gurgle as blood drips down from her bashed in skull, out her nose, and her mouth. Hit her with your bat right in her temple to make sure she's dead. Once you know she's dead, you lean on your bat, and try to wipe spewed blood off your s/t face. 

   "You got the files?" You turn to Hoodie, he holds up a thick manilla folder. "Ok, let's go." You say, as you start to navigate to the front door, Hoodie follows in suit. You both find your way out of the house, and take a trail through the forest to get to the van, so you won't get noticed. You finally get to the dirty white van and you hop into yhe passenger side. 

   Almost as soon as you both get on the road, you pass out. Who knew bludgeoning someone to death with a bat could knock the energy out of you. When Hoodie sees you passed out, he smiles and chuckles softly. It's normal for a new proxy to clonk out after their first mission. 

   Once you and Hoodie got home, it was about 5:30 pm (17:30). Hoodie gently shakes you awake. "Y/n, you gotta get up, we're home now." He whispers gently to your sleeping form. You stir and slightly open your eyes, you blink and sit up straight. You yawn and stretch a bit. "How long was I out for?" "About 45 minutes." Hoodie informs, you nod, grabing your bat and getting out of the van. 

   You and Hoodie proceed to walk back to the mansion. "Hey kid, you did a great job today, I'm proud of you." You smile, still sleepy and out of it. "Thanks dad." Hoodie stops in his tracks, you turn back and let what you said sink in. "UH, I meant thanks Hoods, eheheh." You say and speedwalk as fast as you can to the mansion. 

  As soon as you enter the mansion you haul ass to your room. You shut the door and run into your bathroom. You sit in the toilet seat, trying not to hyperventilate as you flip your shit. You just called Hoodie dad, you're royaly fucked. You start toncry a little before you hear a knock on your door. You stop everything you're doing.

   "Y/n, please come out, I need to talk to you." You jear Hoodie's soft voice call from your door. You sigh, fuck it. You get up and trudge to the door. Your shaking hand grips the knob and turns it slowly. Your door creaks open to reveal Hoodie. "I'm so sorry for what I said I didn't mean to say  it out loud I don't want you to think of me any less and I would like to forget this ever happened." You spew out, flinching back when you're finished. Hoodie frowns underneath his mask and puts a hand on your tense shoulder. 

   "It's ok Y/n, I never knew you thought of me that way, but, It's okay." He almost whispers. You start to shake again, Hoodie sees this and engulfs you in a hug. He gently rocks you back and forth as you let out muffled sobs of shame. "It's okay honey I'm here, I'm here." 

   "Love is just a history that they may prove, and when you're gone, I'll tell them my religions"

#marble hornets #creepypasta #marble hornets brian #marble hornets hoodie #hoodie #fluff #oneshot #short story #writers on tumblr #<3 <3 <3 #ilysm <333 #ily <3333

[paulwalltran]

Dungeons and Dragons Loneliness

Another interview with lofi music. Today was a pretty shitty day, alot on my mind. Here to unload. 

Today’s mood: Fuck it all...

It’s a mad addiction, a horrendous one. It’s all I think about, it’s all I want to talk about. Or almost anything fantasy related. I’ve recently gotten a little closer with one of my co workers. Delerner Banks, everyone calls him Del. He’s always in the tunnel, and always brings warhammer books to read and do work (whatever it is he’s working on.) We talk about fantasy related things all the time, and sometimes we bounce ideas off each other, feeling out our thoughts of settings and lore. Talking to him about some fantasy before leaving work made me feel alot better. The loneliness inside has been eating at me.

I know it’s salt, I know its jealousy, that I’m mad at my friends. They been hanging out more without me, playing cards and shit. Its not a passion of mine, its fun sometimes, but its still not me. Its what they bond over, its what they do together, and that’s what theyre into. If I had to guess, they’re okay with Dungeons and Dragons, but even my best friend said that I take it too serious. Its fallen out of their favor, it eats up a lot of time, and they each have their version of what a fun campaign would be like. In me, I said to myself, “Fine, fuck it. I’ll have to assemble another crew to play with.” Tough situation then isn’t it? Wanting to play a social game that needs bodies, during an age where social gatherings are frowned upon, because they carry a potential to spread a virus... Still, this is what I want to do. I want a group of friends, who share the same passion I do. My current friends must think ill of me, they may just want to hang out. They think that if they come hang with me, I’ll want a game of DnD without a doubt. They just want to chill and kick it, they don’t want to roll dice. But ask me once and I’ll tell you yes twice, to playing DnD. 

I love it with all my heart, all of the contents and materials are here, ready to play. No extra investments, no money needed to be spent, we can get going off of nothing like we did back then. A table top roleplaying game, we started with cardboard and lego figures, and just two books to share. But there was fun to be had, and a few heated sessions. But fun it was, the more we played the deeper i grew fond of the game. I’m even willing to experiment with other systems if I have someone to guide me. With cards, you gotta constantly update your arsenal to keep up with the meta, and let’s be real, not playing anything remotely close to meta isn’t as fun. Different formats allow different decks, and to keep current you gotta keep up. I dont have the fundings for it, I dont have the luck. I would rather buy a module that’ll last for years, versus a pack of cards. I have two books that have skyrocketed in value, cards go up and down like stocks. But thats the appeal I suppose, I don’t care for it though.

Back to the thing at hand, I’m in their group chat as they make plans. I can’t be there for all that. But fuck it, that’s all Im going to say. Fuck it, on repeat, until its engraved into my head. Pride is getting the best of me, I refused to be denied again. If it’s not something they want to do, so be it, I need to look out for me in the end.  I must muster up the courage to start playing online again, the first one wasn’t bad, but it fell apart. I need to get the courage to be social, and get over the fear that everyone expects you to be a pro player. I’m scared going into this green still, roll20 isn’t my forte. But if I want to play DnD, this seems to be my only option. It may fulfill my wish, to find friends who are just as passionate as I. My other friends, they’re over on the other side. Its fine, it truly is, they have one another, and I need to be strong. I need to find the strength in this loneliness, even though its tearing me apart. My circle becomes smaller, thats just the way of the world. Adapt to survive, be formless like water...

Dungeons and Dragons, my greatest escape. I can be anybody, and do things I normally can’t. I can clobber up bad guys, indecent folk, and finesse my way out of punishment from the law. I can save a village, a town, a kingdom, when I can hardly save myself. I can fly, cast spells, break locks, imagination is my only limit. I can hoard and amass vast amounts of riches, I myself can even become a dragon. I don’t have to be me, although a bit of me resides in everyone I’ve made before. I can never truly separate myself, from those Ive breathed life into. For hours on end, I can go anywhere, do anything, I melt into the world thats placed before me.

 Because the reality is that I’m practically shit, and nobody. The world is fucked up and jacked up and spiraling down the drain. I’m mentally fucked and my physicality is pretty much the same. I’m stuck in place when the world is demanding me to change. I lost with no real direction. No map in hand, no guide, and I’m scared out of my mind. I don’t know whether to trust the process or commit suicide. Im not sure where I’ll end up, if it’s good or bad. Im struggling, I’m suffering, and there seems to be no end. I could say I’m trying, but I would be lying, if I had to look at the brighter side. The positive things in life are so hard to identify. But my emotions are raw and hit hard, slamming against the walls in my skull. Demanding me to give them attention...and attention I give them, as they tear me up. Like being pulled at by the limbs, drawn and quartered is the method it seems like today. I was thinking that I couldn’t drink forever, my body would eventually reject. But what if I drank energy drinks on end, a heart attack to get me out of this place. I can down those all day long, so whats stopping me from taking that way out of it? Less grotesque and violent, it’ll probably be painful as hell. An organ seizing up, as the body ceases the function. I get said thinking about it sometimes, but one day, enough will be enough. But damn that lady...damn her for speaking those words... Tomorrow. If nothing is better by tomorrow, then do as you may. But sleep it off, tomorrow is another day. 

It’s not verbatim, but its the gist. Just wait for tomorrow, and hopefully things will change. The choice is still mine to make, and something in me pushes me forward, keeps me going on. Sometimes I think about who I’m leaving behind, and maybe how much it’ll hurt. The evil darkness inside me says that they’ll get over it, they have to, and time doesn’t wait. I won’t be immortalized, I’ll simply end up a statistic. That maybe itll be a few years the sadness remains fresh, but wounds always heal. Discrediting my actual existence, and any form of relations. Like I wouldn’t have made any actual impressions, people don’t weep for me now. People kind of forget I exist already, what makes me think they won’t after I’m gone? 

I think about my folks, my grandma, my girlfriend, my second family, and other close dear friends. I think about how many last will letters I would have to put out there, before I call for the curtains. Sometimes, I say I will start writing them, but they give me pause. I end up not wanting to leave this world, after pouring out my heart. Because I don’t want to leave any questions behind for people who matter, I want them to know how I felt before I passed. I want to leave with them apart of me, so they would never forget. 

Still it doesn’t change, shit is rough as of lately, work has been eating me up. I feel like Im never hundred percent, and me back on gaming is making it worst. I’ve gotten back onto Elder Scrolls Skyrim, its been my virtual version of DnD. Waiting for the Outer World Expansion, so I can get addicted to that again. All I want to do is play Dungeons and Dragons, the question is how do I make that into a living? I think being a Matthew Mercer is one in a million, I don’t think I’m that great. I’m willing to learn, grow, evolve because it is my passion, but I’m always scared of making mistakes. To be one of the greater Dungeon Masters, to be THE Wizards of the Coast Dungeon Master, it may possibly be the dream. To eat, sleep, breathe, Dee en Dee. My obsession isn’t that crazy though, I’m still behind on the lore of creatures and settings, I haven’t studied at all. But with the right drive and motivation, I would, especially with something as real as a legit group.

Enthusiastic players, who show up every week, bi weekly, once every month even, to play this fantastic game. Group of chill folks who is willing to take the Dungeon Master Mantle with I get burned out and have the desire to be in the player seat. One of those is the driving force, they make me want to plan. They make me want to make the world, the style, everything in general better, with the constructive feedback. I mean it’s been so long as I was a player in a campaign until the end, I’m beginning to think paying for a Dungeon Master wouldn’t be so bad. Once a month? A couple of hours? I mean I’m thinking like seven USD per hour? Eight isn’t bad, but after that it becomes a questionable amount. It repeats in my head, “No DnD is better than Bad DnD”, this much is probably still true. I say still because I still might want at least one session with said game, so I can at least say it was the worst after having attempt it, rolling something. Ha ha, I kid myself, I’m lying because I know the rage would be all to real and caution is my game most of the time. But I mean, I just might have to start exploring the idea, I was definitely going to ask on FaceBook if any Roll20 games was recruiting a newbie. 

Alas, today won’t be the last time I speak on the matter, Dungeons and Dragons haunt me everyday. I stare at minis, I stare at the upcoming books and modules, and I watch youtube where they tell RPG Horror Stories, Its become a huge part of my life, such as dancing once was. It almost links right into my earliest talents...writing. I love to write, just like I’m doing now. Im fairly decent at the writing game if I must say. Hey, real life failed Bard here, I should make one who always ends up playing big bro, and end up being friendzoned by all his interests. Im short, so Halfling is very true. Am I charismatic? Who knows, I can’t say for sure. But yes, I feel like this is what I need, a solid weekly game, maybe once every two weeks, hell, once every month would still be great. Something to look forward to the very least, in this life of routine and mundane. Something to look forward to for me, something that’s my own. Something I don’t need my closer friends to be apart of, since they’re not interested anyhow. I’m really talking shit because I’m hella salty, but at least I’m being upfront. Get it all out now, before the typing is done. 

It’s been a productive session, I may have to attribute it to Lofi it seems. The Lofi Hip Hop Radio on YouTube, also found on Spotify. Some tracks still strike me deep in the chest, giving me horrible flash backs and feeling in my chest. Others keep me going, forward, almost propelling. I’m currently training myself to be accustomed to the sounds, because I at first was very scared. That it would just transport me to a dark place and keep me there. I’ve been trying to confront my feelings more with this music, I think I felt better after last session like this. The more I faced myself, the better I became. Yes, I most definitely referenced Persona 4, another amazing and loved title because of the message it portrays. I always wondered what my shadow self would look like, and what they would say. But eh another time, I’m about to start rambling again. I have to conclude here, before I get off topic.

Until next time Tumblr...

[illnessandinjury]

Whumptober Day 24 - Secret Injury

ALRIGHT FUCKERS IT'S LATE BUT IT'S HERE - I wrote half of this while basically high off xanax (it's prescribed, don't come for me), so if it sucks, I blame it on that.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Summary: During a "Survival" exercise, class 1-A is sent into the woods to fend for themselves and make it through the night; it goes well, until it doesn't. The League of Villains drop of a nomu at the campsite, and chaos ensues. Bakugou kind of gets thrown into a tree and gets a bit fucked up, but neglects to mention it until he basically can't hide it any longer. Time line of the story happens before All Might retires. Warnings: Blood, violence, slight emeto. Parings: KiriBaku if you really squint, because fuck you Words: 6,713

Art and fic under the cut!!

Bakugou POV

Goddammit, Bakugou hated the outdoors. He always thought that families who went camping "for fun" were psychopaths and/or masochists. So it explains why the blonde was less than enthused when it was announced that the class would be doing a survival trip in the wilderness. Which, in the first place, didn't make any fucking sense. This wasn't boy scouts - they were all UA students, future heroes. Aizawa made some bullshit excuse that it was going to be a way to test resourcefulness and teamwork.

Everyone else in the class seemed pretty excited, seemed to be viewing it as a vacation, and Bakugou secretly added all their names to the list of "psychopaths and/or masochists". He thought maybe he could tell them he caught a bad bug and had to stay home, but Aizawa told them that the exercise was being scored as a test, and well, goddammit that just ruined that idea. There was no way out of this apparently, so Bakugou held his tongue and retired to his dorm that night to pack his bag - which mind you, there was not much they were allowed to bring. A change of clothes, and that was pretty much it. No cellphones, no electronics or any kind for that matter, they couldn't even bring books for recreation. Wanna brush your teeth in the morning? Too damn bad, use a leaf for all they cared.

The sun had barely risen and they were on their way. The bus ride was long... and fucking loud. He was sharing his seat with Kirishima, although Bakugou didn't really get a say in the matter, the spiky haired bastard just sat down and made himself at home. Mina was leaning over the seat in front of them talking excitedly to Kirishima about all the "cool and fun" things they were gonna do, who was going to build the best shelter, what kind of food they could catch, blah, blah, fucking blah. Bakugou never wished for his phone and earphones more in his life.

By the time they arrived at the site, they had to hike (yes, fucking hike) about a mile to a safe house. Apparently U.A. had a lot of these little buildings placed in the most random places ever. Basically armed with what people would need in case of emergencies. There was rationed food, water, a radio broadcaster, a TV that looked like it was straight from the 1990's, etc. Someone had also taken the time to pack all the class' hero gear into a crate which was being brought in by All Might.

Bakugou watched as Aizawa was desperately trying to get a hold of everyone's attention, before President Mic basically said, "Nah, I got this", and screamed at the top of his lungs which basically gave everyone a heart attack, but successfully got them to be quiet. Aizawa rubbed at his ears, "Yeah, okay, thanks President Mic. Anyway, students, here we start our Survival Test. Let's get the rules out of the way first. Rule number one, absolutely no use of any of your quirks. Two, if I find out that one of you managed to sneak in something on the "do not bring" list, you will be given a failing grade. And three, everyone must make their own shelter; no shaking up. Now, there will be three main areas set up, and you will all be divided between those three. I will be accompanying one-"

"And me one!" President Mic boomed. Bakugou prayed to any god that was listening that he wouldn't get stuck at that one.

"And me, of course!" All Might stood heroically.

Aizawa continues, "Yes, anyway, there's 20 of you in total so there will be one group of six, and two group of seven. These goes as follows; My group will be the one with six. I will have Aoyama, Asui, Iida, Koda, Shoji, and Tokoyami."

Present Mic took the stand next, "And I will have Mineta, Sero, Todoroki, Sato, Kaminari, Ojiro, and Mina."

Kirishima elbowed Bakugou and whispered to him, "That means we're together with All Might!" Bakugou inwardly groaned, not just that, but he was about to be paired up with fucking Deku of all people.

"And of course that means," All Might spoke next, "I will have Uraraka, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Midoriya, Hagekure, Bakugou, and Jiro."

There was a little bit of mixed groaning from those who got split up from their friends, and the gleeful cheering of those who got paired with theirs. Aizawa spoke up again, "It was all selected randomly, so if you have complaints, I really don't care. Get with your team leader, pay attention and take the lesson seriously, and we'll meet up tomorrow afternoon."

Clicking his tongue, annoyed by the whole situation, Bakugou followed Kirishima to meet up with everyone else around All Might, taking precaution to stay as far away from Deku as possible; this trip was already shitty enough, he really didn't need that fucking nerd ruining it anymore.

"Alright team!" All Might started, and then handed everyone a paper with instructions, tips, and a small map on it, "We have many tasks to do today, and not much time to do them! Everything has to be completed by nightfall or you will either wake up hungry, or be forced to sleep on nothing but dirt. I will be supervising you - after all this is for a grade. If I see someone slacking off and not pulling their weight, their grade will be docked. But," He paused, "That doesn't mean we can't have fun while we're at it!"

'Oh, gag me with a fucking spoon', Bakugou thought to himself. Round face and Deku were looking at the map and excitedly pointing things out to each other, Hagekure was jumping up and down in thrill, and Kirishima was already talking to Jiro about how they were gonna start a forest fire, which... fucking hell, let's hope not. "Alright gang, let's head out!"

They had all fucking neglected to mention the fact that the camp sites were an almost a seven mile hike away from the safe house, and by the time they got there, Bakugou was already ready to call it quits. If the summer heat paired with the hiking wasn't going to kill him, it was going to be the dozens of bug bites he's probably already gotten.

With a small huddle and deviation of tasks it seemed that Bakugou was stuck with Jiro and Kirishima to collect enough fire wood to last the night, set up animal snares (which damn, that seemed a little brutal for a school trip), finding a good source of reliable water, and of course, building their own shelter.

It was tiring, boring, irritating, and by the end of it all Bakugou's body was already covered in a light sun burn, countless thorn bush scratches, and somehow had gotten burs in his hair. They had successfully caught two rabbits, while Yaoyorozu and Hagekure had caught enough fish for them to all have at least one - so they were good on food although they were all a little grossed out by the aspect of the whole wilderness to table dining.

Bakugou set to building his shelter pretty fast but honestly had no fucking idea where to even start. There were some tips on the paper they were given, but honestly he was just stealing looks at the one Yaoyorozu was building and trying to copy it as much as possible, and pretty much failing miserably. Well... it was standing and it was big enough for him to fit under if he curled up, so Bakugou decided to count that as a win.

Night fell pretty quickly, and it was time to get the fire started and make dinner. Starting a fire was not the easiest task in the world, and after about ten minutes of a bunch of his useless classmates trying and failing to get a good spark, Bakugou just wanted to run over there and set the whole thing ablaze - but noooo, that was against the rules. After what seemed like fucking forever, the kindling caught and they had enough fire to spit roast their catches.

Turns out - unseasoned fish and rabbit? Not that fucking good. Like... at all. But with all the energy that Bakugou had spent that day completing dumb tasks out in this godforsaken forest, he didn't complain much; and just chased down the bland food with the water he collected from a nearby river earlier.

Everyone retired for the night (can he just mention the absolute fuckery it was that All Might got to bring a whole pop up tent) and Bakugou celebrated how close they were to being done with this bullshit. Wake up in the morning, tear everything down, clean up, and head back home. Hallelujah.

Of course though - things can't go that smoothly for anybody in this fucking school.

Bakugou was roused from his not very restful slumber, I mean how nice can you sleep when you're laying on a bunch of dirt and twigs, by a scream coming that ran out through air; Hagakure. At first he thought the girl had woken up to a bug crawling on her, and just turned over and tried to go back to sleep - but that wasn't the case. He heard something he would never be able to forget his whole life, a sound that was introduced to him when they first met, the heart-dropping sadistic laugh of Shigaraki.

The League of Villains.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. Bakugou jumped up from his shelter, hands immediately sparking up, looking the threat - but it was dark. The campfire had almost died down and he could barely make out some shadows, which he didn't know who was his classmates, and who were villains. By this time it seemed everyone had jolted from their sleep, mumbling to each other about what was going on, who was screaming, was it a false alarm. Maybe it was? Maybe it was a training exercise and that was the real reason the were brought out here?

Before Bakugou's brain could land on a concrete answer, there was suddenly a huge hand on his shoulder, gripping it painfully before violently flinging him backwards. He helplessly flew through the air until his body collided with a nearby tree, knocking the air from his lungs, and Bakugou swore he could hear something inside him crack. Consciousness must have left Bakugou for a second, but when he opened his eyes again things were still just as dark, and everyone was still engulfed in a confused panic.

His mouth tasted like copper, and he was briefly aware of a warm liquid lazily sliding down his forehead. Then, like a sick, sadistic light switch got flipped on, agony ripped through the blonde. Everything hurt, but the pain seemed to blossom from his left shoulder and side, and then jolt like hot electricity throughout the rest of his body. Turning his head to the side, Bakugou sit the copper from his mouth, and wiped a mixture of blood and sweat from his brow. He sat there for a while, just trying to regain his bearings, breathe through the pain. If Bakugou were a betting man, he'd guess he cracked a few of his ribs, but he couldn't pinpoint what was wrong with the shoulder; it hurt like hell and felt... just wrong. Goddammit, every breath was like getting a knife jabbed into his side.

Another scream rang out from one his classmates, and there was suddenly a bright flash of what looked like lightening with All Might's voice ringing out an attack's name. It was quick, but it the moment of light Bakugou could see a little bit of what was going on - All Might charging at a huge, muscled humanoid; a nomu. That must have been what grabbed him and flung him around like a good damn yo-yo.

He would never admit it, but he let out a breath of relief when he saw that the rest of his classmates seemed fine,  just shaken up and starting to scramble back from the direction that All Might had projected himself towards. In the bright flash there were also no signs of other villains. It was almost like Shigaraki dropped off the nomu and just dipped out - making his head spin of where he had gone and what he was doing. He thought of the other campsites.

"Bakugou?" Kirishima's voice spoke up, soft and shaking, "Where are you?"

Trying to stand up was easier said than done; his whole body protested. As soon as any pressure was put on his left arm to try and push himself up, Bakugou's vision went white with blinding pain and he had to bite his cheek to keep from yelling out. Okay, right arm it was. Gingerly, he was able to pull himself into a somewhat steady standing position and walk, well more like limp, his way over to Kirishima. He gingerly placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling Kirishima jump under it, "It's me, shitty hair."

Blindly, Bakugou reached around before his hand landed on one of the other classmate's shelter before he quickly lit it ablaze to get a better picture of what was going on, "There we fucking go."

Like he had seen earlier, all of the other classmates were fine and accounted for. Following the noises of the fight, Bakugou was able to get a clear look at All Might; hand to hand with the nomu and trying to push him backwards. The first idea that popped into Bakugou's mind was to help his teacher out and join the fight, but with his busted arm and ribs, he didn't think he'd be much use. Of course the most competent one here would get put on a fucking crutch.

Suddenly All Might spoke up, his voice booming through the stagnant night air and echoing off the trees, "Listen, students, I need you all to hurry back to the safe house. The other teachers will tell the rest of the students to do the same. Once you're-" He was cut off by the nomu taking a swing at him which he successfully dodged and was able to knock the creature back a bit, "Once you're there, radio the school. Tell them what's going on. Fight only if absolutely necessary, and stick together."

Running was the absolute last thing Bakugou wanted to do - that was such a weak thing to do, so cowardly. He wanted to yell back at All Might and tell him that wasn't going to fucking happen, but the nomu jumped on him again and they locked up together again, "Go!"

Yaoyorozu ran up to Bakugou and the other students who were now standing closely together under the flames that he had created earlier, "I memorized the map from the paper, let's get the hell out of here," she took note of the worry written on some of the other student's faces, "All Might can handle it. He's counting on us to do our part in this situation too."

Okay, yeah, easier said than done, Bakugou thought. Just a moment ago he was wanting to rush in to join the fight, but his adrenaline was leaving his bloodstream slowly and the pain was getting more and more nagging as time went on. He let out an aggravated groan, "Fine, let's fucking go. Yaoyorozu, lead the way."

She nodded in confirmation and without hesitation materialized a flashlight before taking off, the rest of the class following behind her.

Running was... uncomfortable, to say the least. Every time one of Bakugou's feet connected with the ground, a spike of pain shot through him like a bullet, but at this point the only thing he could do about it was grin and bear it. After the noises of fighting from All Might and the nomu slowly faded behind them, Deku spoke up, "Everyone okay?"

Everyone rang in with a hushed, "fine," or, "all good here," and Kirishima's personal, "scared shitless, but other wise okay!" Bakugou spoke up as well, "We're all fine, so shut the fuck up, and focus on not running into a tree, shitty nerd." Bakugou was anything but fine, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that; it would also cause everyone else to give him their needless pity instead of focusing on the task at hand. Best to keep it under wraps for now, but goddammit did it fucking hurt. Every quick dash around an obstacle twisted his body in a way where he swear he could feel the broken bone fragments rub together and his vision would go white for a moment, but he continued onward.

Bakugou was lagging behind, taking up the rear with Kirishima an arms length away from him, so nobody could see him cradle his injured arm protectively to his body, trying to keep it from being jostled too much. If he was being honest though, there was a cold numbness that was starting to seep into Bakugou's left hand, starting in his fingers and slowly working it's way up - that couldn't be good; although part of him was glad because it made it a little less painful.

Suddenly, a horrible familiar raspy voice sounded from behind them, "And where do you all thing you're going?"

Shigaraki. Fuck.

They all whipped around, the flash light illuminating him a bit, his disgustingly pale face, as he reached a hand Bakugou. Shit, if that fucker touched him, Bakugou was going to have a lot more to deal with on his plate, so with quick thinking he blasted himself backwards, "Fuck off!"

Without warning, the light was extinguished and Yaoyorozu's voice rang out, "Scatter!"

Before Bakugou could think about which direction to run in, a rough calloused hand grabbed hold of his left wrist and pulled right. It took everything in Bakugou's will to not let out a shriek of agony, gritting his teeth so hard he tasted blood. The owner of the hand on him spoke up, it was Kirishima, "I have no idea where I'm going!"

The way Kirishima was jostling his arm was almost unbearable, "Fucking let go of me, shitty hair!"

Kirishima did as he was told, but complained, "Fine, but stay close, I don't want to lose you in here!"

"I can handle my damn self, I'm not incompetent like the rest of you fuckers," Bakugou bit back, "Worry about yourself!" The moon had finally moved directly over the woods, and while the line of vision was still not the best, it was at least a little easier to see the basics of what was going on around them. Bakugou glanced behind him, "That fucker isn't following us."

Kirishima made an affirmative noise, "We should find a place to hide for a bit to collect our thoughts and come up with a plan."

Stopping didn't really seem like the best choice, but at this point, Bakugou would take any chance to sit down and try and even out his breathing. The harsh gasps that came from running were like shattered glass running through his blood, "Fine." The pain that enveloped Bakugou unfortunately wasn't the type you could get used to, instead it was the kind that was growing in intensity - aside from his arm which was numb almost all the way up to his elbow at this point. The pain was making Bakugou's mind hazy, he wasn't going to be able to keep a clear head much longer, god he just... just wanted to sit down.

"There!" Kirishima pointed at a large hollow tree that was a couple yards ahead of them. Bakugou followed and they finally collapsed into the shadow's of the tree's cavernous opening. The boy's labored breathing echoed off the wood walls that encompassed them, working their way up the trunk. Kirishima broke the silence first, "O-Okay, so we ran right, right?" he breathed through gasps of air, and Bakugou gave him a hum of approval, "So if Yaoyorozu was going to the safe house in a straight shot, we just need to run forwards, but diagonally left."

Bakugou didn't really think it was all that simple, but it was the best shot they had at this point, "Sounds good enough, shitty hair."

The two rested there a bit longer taking a moment to catch their breath and recharge their stamina a bit, but this time Bakugou's adrenaline was hanging on by a tiny thread at this point. A wave of pain rushed over him, eyes going wide, biting his cheek until blood filled his mouth and slammed his head into the hollow wood behind him; anything to take the edge off the torment that was his ribs and shoulder.

"You good over there?"

"Just frustrated," not technically a lie.

Bakugou could feel Kirishima's skepticism and hesitance, "Alright, well... you ready to head back out there and run for our lives?"

No, "Yep, let's go."

Getting back up again proved to be almost as challenging as it was the first time Bakugou pushed himself up and away from the fucking tree he got slammed into. With only his right arm working properly, he used the tree's trunk to help himself up onto unsteady legs. He was being slow, Bakugou knew, but if he moved too fast he would be engulfed in pain, but if he was too slow he was going to compromise both his and Shitty Hair's safety. They had to keep moving, because holy fuck they were being chased by maniacs; actual psychopaths, and not just the "I like camping" ones.

The two took off running again; it felt like Bakugou had been doing this for hours, he was exhausted. His body was crashing, fast. A rouge tree branch wacked him painfully, catching him right in his injured shoulder and he couldn't bite back the gasp of pain that left his lips fast enough.

"Yeah, man, these thorn bushes are killer on the legs," Kirishima let out a weakhearted chuckle.

Yeah, thorn bushes. Honestly the little pricks cutting up his legs was all but ignored compared to the agony that was radiating through his side. God, he was so fucking weak. Bakugou hated feeling inferior, and that exact feeling was starting to overwhelm him as he realized he was lagging behind, putting more and more distance between him and Kirishima. In a last ditch effort, Bakugou tried pushing more power into his legs, but it didn't too much. The exhaustion, the pain, the... everything was taking over. It was torture.

Up ahead, Kirishima cursed, "Fuck!"

Panic seized Bakugou's chest, "What? What's wrong?" Kirishima had stopped running, and Bakugou caught up with him before he saw it - a small cliff standing right in front of them, easily seven feet tall, "Ah, fuck indeed." Bakugou cast a glance to the left, then to his right, but it seemed that the cliff stretched on for quite some distance; Kirishima seemed to notice this as well. If the boys wanted to keep their straight shot, they were going to have to find a way over it.

"Fuck!" Kirishima cursed again, "Okay, Bakugou, blast yourself up there, and then help pull me up. There's nothing my quirk can do to help me here."

The thought of having to pull up his lug of a friend was enough to cause him to pale, but Bakugou didn't see any other option at this point. Fuck! "Fine, let's get this over with." Bakugou sent off little pops in his hands, gearing up for the bigger blast that followed shortly after. Shit! He overshot it! Good news, Bakugou cleared the cliff just fine - bad news, the ground was rushing up to him pretty fast. With quick thinking, he let off another small explosion to cushion the fall, which worked as good as it could have in theory. Bakugou landed on his back, the breath knocked out of his lungs and for a split second he thought he was going to pass out again. FUCK, it hurt. Taking a moment to try and catch his breath and wait for the agony to slowly ebb away, Bakugou stared up at this sky, not knowing if the stars he was seeing were real or just the exhaustion and dizziness taking him over.

"Bakugou?" Kirishima whispered harshly, "Everything okay up there? You need to pull me up."

"I know!" Bakugou barked, "Shut the fuck up, just give me a second."

Bakugou stole a breath and steeled himself. He could do this. All he had to do was pull Kirishima up. Bakugou wasn't weak, he could do this dammit! Bakugou leaned over the side of the cliff, his arms dangling down for Kirishima to grab, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his ribs as they dug into the ground below him. Kirishima grabbed his hands and Bakugou pulled up and-

No, nope, he couldn't do this. There was no fucking way. Bakugou let go immediately, letting out a strangled cry, cradling his left arm in his lap, eyes pickling with forced tears. He barely registered the sound of Kirishima landing harshly back on the ground below him, but Bakugou could care less. At this point it took everything in Bakugou to keep his vision stable and clear as white, hot bolts of lightning jolted outwards across his body from his shoulder.

"-kugou!" Kirishima was yelling up at him, "What happened? Are you okay? Bakugou, answer me!"

"Shut up, shitty hair! I'm fucking fine, just..," Okay, how was Bakugou going to explain this, did he tell the truth? No, he could just use his right arm to pull him up. He reached back down and Kirishima hesitantly took his arm.

"You got me this time?"

"Yes, so shut the fuck up, and get the hell up here already!"

Kirishima used Bakugou's strength and the wall as he repelled his way up the cliff. It didn't hurt as much as the first attempt, but this one was much harder on his ribs. The muscles in his sides contracted around the broken bones, using whatever strength Bakugou had left to pull up his friend. Afer a lot of discomfort and curses, Kirishima was finally up, already on his feet. Bakugou stayed on the ground, rolling again onto his back and gasping up at the sky. Reaching his hand out for Bakugou, Kirishima said, "Alright let's go." Already? "Just let me fucking breathe for a second, fuck." Bakugou know he didn't have time to just sit around feeling sorry for himself, "Please... Just a second."

Please? Really? Since when did Bakugou let that word slip past his lips.

"So, uh," Kirishima spoke up tentatively, "What's wrong with your arm?" Bakugou cursed at himself. Kirishima may not have the best grades, but he was pretty attentive to details, "Nothing, asshole. I'm fine."

"I'm not blind, Bakugou," He crouched down next to Bakugou's flat out body, "It's your left arm, right? You tried pulling me up, yelled, and then used just your right. Did you hurt it?"

Bakugou wanted to scream at him, tell him to keep his shitty opinions to himself, but he could only let out a strained, "No." Kirishima snapped, yelling in a hushed whisper, "Just be truthful with me for once, goddammit! For once. Shove your damn pride out of the way and tell me what's wrong!"

"I don't know what's wrong with it, okay?" Bakugou bit back, "It just hurts, now fuck off and let's go." Which was the last thing he wanted to do, but if it got him away from this conversation, Bakugou would gladly push onward.

"When did it start hurting?" His friend pressed him, "Did you run into a tree or something?"

Before Bakugou could stop himself he was blurting out the truth, "More like thrown into one."

"What?" Kirishima's voice raised before he quieted himself, "When the hell did that happen?"

He shouldn't have said anything. Bakugou should have just kept his damn mouth shut, but there was no hiding anything anymore. The moment Kirishima got a whiff of something even the smallest bit off, he'd keep pressing and pressing the issue until the person facing him finally caved, "Back at the campsite. That fucking nomu bastard threw me; hard. Fucked up my arm."

Kirishima was silent for a moment and Bakugou could tell he was seething, "You should have told me right away, asshole! Are you at least okay besides the arm?" 

Bakugou remained silent. Why did he feel guilty? It wasn't his fault he got injured. It wasn't his fucking fault.

"I'll take that as a no then," Kirishima responded to his lack of answer, "What else is wrong?"

Bakugou opened his mouth to answer before shutting it again. He didn't want to admit anything. He didn't want to tell Kirishima. Pain was a sign of weakness. Injuries were weaknesses, "I, uh," Bakugou's voice faltered as it broke the silence, "I think some of my ribs are broken."

Suddenly, a harsh thud came from the ground right beside Bakugou's head, and for a second his heart seized thinking that the enemies found them, but realized that Kirishima had punched the dirt, "Dammit, Bakugou! Why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

Guilt. It ran through him rampantly, "It wasn't the time. It still isn't. All Might said to get to the safe house. I would have just... slowed everyone down." God, why the fuck did he feel like crying. Why was he so fucking weak?

When Kirishima spoke again, his voice was softer, "You arm. Is it broken too? Or?"

Bakugou let out a weak laugh that sounded more like a groan, "I don't know. It doesn't feel like it is. It just feels wrong," he closed his eyes tightly, "Hurts. The shoulder anyway, the arm itself it just... numb at this point..,”

Kirishima took on a more serious tone, "Let me take a look at it. I might know what's wrong," he started grabbing a few sticks that laid nearby, "I did some brief medical training during my internship. It's risky, but light these on fire real quick so I can get a better look."

Doing what he was told, Bakugou put his hand over the twigs and with nothing more than a small pop, they were ablaze. Kirishima got a good look at his face, and his smile fell, "Damn, you look like shit, man."

"Shut the fuck up, shitty hair."

Kirishima started working the sleeve of Bakugou's shirt up to get a better look at his shoulder. Bakugou bit his lip, trying to keep any embarrassing noises at bay as Kirishima laid his hand on the injured joint; although he wasn't all that successful as a few pained whimpers got through. As soon as they left his throat, Bakugou wanted to punch himself directly in his fucking face.

"Shit."

"What?"

Kirishima stomped out the fire desperatley, "I was right. Your shoulder is dislocated. It needs to be put back in place. Like, now."

"Fuck no," Bakugou paled, "That's not fucking happening."

"Do you want to keep your arm or not?" Kirishima asked him harshly, but it was more deserpate than bitter, "Numbness is a bad sign, so if you want the nerves to keep dying, you can continue being stubborn - or you can let me put it back in place and hopefully be able to use your arm in the future."

Fuck. Fuck! Bakugou sighed in defeat, "Okay. Fine. Just get it over with."

Kirishima sat him up a bit, one hardened hand was placed behind the shoulder, and the other rested painfully on the out of place bone, "It's easier than you see in movies, I promise. But... it's going to hurt. You have to try and keep quiet. I know it's easier said than done, but if the villains find us like this while you're injured..." He trailed off.

Bakugou knew. It wouldn't be good. He wouldn't be able to hold him own. He'd get in the way. He'd be useless. Useless..., "I'm not a weakling like you, I can take it. Just do it already, asshole."

The grip on the bone tightened, and Bakugou bristled, gritting his teeth, "Ready?" Bakugou nodded.

With a rough push, and a paralyzing POP! of the bone realigning into the socket, Bakugou's eyes went wide in pain. It was absolute agony. Sharp, hot, stabbing, electric. Oh god, it hurt so fucking bad. A strangled scream rose up his throat but was cut off by Kirishima slapping a hand over his mouth, and cradling his head, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. Please be quiet. It's okay. It's over. It's okay now. I'm sorry."

Bakugou dug his fingers roughly into the dirt below him; pain was the only thing he could feel. Tears leaked through his scrunched eyed and Bakugou realized, 'Oh fuck, I'm gonna be sick'. He slapped his friend's hand away from the mouth and tuned his head to the side to gag wetly onto the ground, bringing up thin streams of his meager dinner that night along with the burn of stomach acid and bile.

The sharp pain in his shoulder was starting to receded a bit, only to be replaced with the knife in his side that the muscles around his broken ribs contracting as he retched weakly. Bakugou let out a pathetic whimper before collapsing forwards into Kirishima. The later let out a noise of surprise, and Bakugou's face burned with embarrassment. This was so out of character; so pathetic. Weak. Pathetic.

Kirishima ran his hands through Bakugou's hair, "I'm so sorry, Bakugou." He was exhausted. Whatever adrenaline Bakugou's body was desperately holding onto, left him the moment his shoulder was relocated. For a moment, Bakugou thought he might fall asleep right then and there. The dirt below him and his friend's chest was suddenly so comfortable. Maybe he could just- Suddenly there was a blast far away, and Bakugou looked up to see a mushroom cloud of dirt reach up towards the sky, birds flying away in a hurry to get the hell out of there.

"We need to get moving again," Kirishima informed, "I- I'm so sorry. But we have to get to the safe house."

Bakugou lifted his head up, wiping away stray tears and the vomit that still clung to his chin, "Don't be, 's fine. I'm fine." He tried standing up, but as soon as Bakugou's feet was underneath him again, they buckled and he was sent back towards the ground.

Kirishima grabbed him before he fell back down completely, helping to steady himself, "Woah, there buddy. It's okay."

Weakly, Bakugou slapped away the hands on him as soon as he felt that he was stable enough to stand without help, "I said I was fine, dammit," his retort barely had any bite to it, instead it sounded like an exhausted sigh. The worst thing was that the feeling was starting to return back to Bakugou's arm, the blood returning back to the limb. The numbness was gone, and it just started hurting again; throbbing in time with his jostled ribs. Bakugou tried to keep his breathing low and shallow as to not aggravate his side anymore, but he wasn't very successful, "Alright... let's go."

Kirishima's POV Bakugou was in bad shape. Kirishima cast a glance over at his friend, and even in the dimness of the moon's light it was easy to see how pale his tan skin was, how sweat glistened off of it and stuck his spiky hair to his forehead. Not only that, but Bakugou was barely keeping up any kind of fast pace - but Kirishima expected that; the fiery blonde was clearly exhausted. He broke the silence, "We'll reach the safe house soon, I promise." It was an empty promise, and Kirishima had a hunch that Bakugou knew that as well; they still weren't even sure they were going in the right direction, and they were only going at a fraction of the pace they had been holding up earlier. The other classmates had probably already made it to the safe house. Kirishima hoped, anyway. That would mean that the other pro heroes were on their way. Another explosion sounded off in the distance, and the blonde picked up his speed a bit, and Kirishima matched it. Ever since they took off again after relocating Bakugou's shoulder, Kirishima wasn't working up a sweat at all, but Bakugou's breathing was so labored, and it seemed extremely painful. Briefly, Kirishima remembered the time he cracked a rib as a kid doing something stupid - and it still hurt like a bitch even after the pain killers; he didn't even want to imagine what Bakugou was feeling. That mixed with the agony of a dislocated shoulder? Kirishima shivered at the thought, thinking, 'Nope, no thank you.'

Caught up in his thoughts, Kirishima hadn't noticed that Bakugou started lagging behind him again. He turned his head back just in time to see Bakugou, who's eyes were closed, his face scrunched up in pain, clip his bad shoulder on a nearby tree.

A hoarse yelp rang out through the air as Bakugou was sent to the ground, curling in on himself, hands gripping his left shoulder so hard it looked like his finger nails were going to start piercing the skin, "Bakugou!" Kirishima rushed over, wincing himself at just the thought of it, "Hey, buddy, you alright?" His hands anxiously hovered over his friend, not sure what he could do to make it better, to help ease the pain.

"M' fine..." Bakugou breathed into the dirt covered ground beneath him "M' fine, just... give me a moment."

Kirishima nodded, "Of course, buddy." He kneeled there for what felt like forever, just watching Bakugou writhe in pain. Kirishima couldn't get over how out of character for the blonde; he almost never showed signs of discomfort. It seemed like it was was beyond him; almost like he didn't have any pain receptors. Kirishima took a moment to actually feel glad they got split up together, knowing that Bakugou would probably just had continued hiding his injuries otherwise. It seemed you'd really had to push this kid before he would break down and admit something was wrong.

Finally, Bakugou's whimpers and desperate gasps died down, and his breathing evened out a bit, "Better?"

"Yeah," it was a lie that they both knew.

"Alright," Kirishima pulled Bakugou's good arm up and over his shoulder, "Up we go."

At this point, Bakugou was nothing more than a dead weight. His feet were barely moving, and it was more like Kirishima was just dragging him along. God, he prayed that they didn't run into Shigaraki again, or any of the other villains for that matter. Things were bad; terrible even.

Suddenly another noise rang out through the stagnant night air, but this one was different. A small shot, like the firing of a gun. Both boys looked up the direction of the sound and saw a blast of light shoot upwards towards the sky before slowly dying out. A flare! Oh thank god. It wasn't that far away from them, a little bit to the left and about another mile out. Kirishima smiled and turned to Bakugou, "Look! It's a signal. The others made it just fine." Bakugou let out a weak smile, "G-Guess the others aren't so fucking useless after all."

Kirishima let out a chuckle, glad to see the blonde was still his usual asshole self, but the laugh cut off abruptly as he watched Bakugou's eyes roll backwards, and he collapsed forwards, "Bakugou!" The only thing that kept his friend from falling flat on his face was the arm that was still draped around Kirishima's shoulder. Shit, shit, shit.

In a moment of panic, Kirishima scooped Bakugou up into his arms bridal style and started rushing towards the direction of the flare. Looking down, he took a little solace in the fact that his friend's face was smooth and calm, no longer scrunched in pain and blanketed with exhaustion; but he desperately needed help, and fast.

"Just a little longer, Bakugou," Kirishima spoke to the unconscious form in his arms, "I told you we were gonna be there soon. I promised.”

#whumtober #i can't fucking write for shit but i couldn't help myself #katwrites #katdraws #bnha #fic #art #injury #blood #dislocation #slight emeto #just lemme throw this fic and run tbh #the xanax is gonna wear off and im gonna read this and just die inside i can feel it

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Someone Alive, Part One

How does it feel?

Falling. Castiel knew that falling was defined as a verb, to move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher to a lower level. 

Touch. How does it feel? They were just words, concepts. He understood them as a functionality, just another thing that happens like the wind or the sunrise. They are not required to have a meaning, not everything does. 

Castiel was a man of faith, he had to be, but sometimes he still wondered. When he saw the leaves move with the breeze, a bird with its outstretched wings gliding through the sky, or the lapping waves of Lake Michigan against the harbor. 

What was cool, warm, sweet, soft, gentle, rough? How does it feel?

He wore sensible shoes, when it wasn’t necessary for him to wear shoes at all, but suddenly he was glad that he had them. He stared at the city, his toes hanging over the edge of the scaffolding. His arms extended like wings, his trench coat catching the wind and flapping wildly, but even then he didn’t have the answers. He only had a taste, a longing for the tug of gravity, for just a brush of something real. 

He didn’t know how it felt. He didn’t know how any of it felt, and all he could hear was the echo of a voice inside his head, “I need to be with someone alive.” What was a life anyway? It was all so meaningless, but as the sun rose in the distance, the shape of the buildings just a dark silhouette against the bleeding pink and orange sky, he heard the music. It was a song familiar, like a mother rocking her child to sleep, a hum deep in his soul, shaking him to his core. 

There was a majesty, a mystery to a plane of the world that he couldn’t reach out and grasp, that had no definition - like the song within the sunset. But some things don’t need to be defined. Perhaps it was better to leave the mystery, the vague idea of something more, or perhaps it wasn’t. 

Before  

“Winchester what the fuck are you doing here? This is your off time, go be off,” Lieutenant Bobby Singer grouched as he walked out into the common area of the fire station. 

Dean sat with his feet up, reading the newspaper. He offered a huge smile to his Lieutenant. “I am off, see ?” 

“Don’t buy it for a second. Go home.” 

“Come on Bobby,” Dean whined. “Just let me hang around here, I’m not botherin’ anybody.” 

“You’re bothering me. Git.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He placed his feet on the ground with a huff of complaint, and walked to his quarters to grab his bag. He hated going home, if he was being honest. It was lonely in his one bedroom loft, he preferred the loud, busy chatter of the fire station. He flopped down on his bed, his head resting on his pillow. He didn’t function well on breaks, it wasn't in his blood to stay still. The guys were always trying to get him to take a damn vacation, and he always told them that vacation wasn’t in his vocabulary. 

 There was a groan from the bunk above him, the bed springs sagging as his roommate shifted in his bed. “Brother, what’re you still doing here?” 

“Mind your own, Benny.” 

Benny chuckled and leaned over the edge. He smiled down at him sleepily through a full beard. “What’s your obsession with this place, anyway?”

“Don’t have any other friends.” 

“You don’t have any friends, brother,” Benny laughed, sitting all the way up with a stretch. “Fuck, I should probably get up and around, and you should go home. Really.” 

“Buzzkills, all of you.” 

“Go have sex with your pretty girlfriend, some of us would kill to have that to go home to.” 

“She ain’t home.” 

“Where is she?” 

“She’s a pharmaceutical rep, she travels a lot. She’s on the coast now, I think,” Dean said, almost sounding bored. He’d been with Lisa since graduating from college. When they were together, things were good, and when they were apart, there were no strings. It worked for them. Dean could burst into flames and know that she wasn’t waiting around for him, worrying. The perks of having no family was that he didn’t have to worry about his own safety. He could just focus on putting out fires and saving people. It’s all he’d ever wanted to do. 

Benny’s feet hung over the side of the bunk, his bare toes uncomfortably close to Dean’s face. “Then go have some phone sex or grab a beer. Get a hobby, because if Singer finds you in here he’s going to be pissed.” 

“Eh, he’s always pissed. It’s his default emotion.” The bed creaked as the heavy man above him hopped down, giving Dean a full shot of his hairy ass. “Aw Christ, Benny. Really ?” Dean groaned, covering his eyes. “God, I can’t unsee that.” 

“Kiss my ass, Winchester.” 

“Bend over and give me something to kiss then, princess.” 

“You wish.” He moved his fingers a bit to see if his friend was decent again, just to catch him shrugging into this shirt, his ass out of view again. 

“I told you I’m lonely, don’t tempt me,” he joked. 

The familiar sound of the alarm began beeping, lights flashing - alerting them that they were needed on site. 

“Yes!” Dean grinned, hopping up. “I knew I should stay.” 

Benny was shrugging into his pants and shoes. “No way, man. Singer will kill you if he sees you out on the job. You’re off duty.” 

“Not anymore! I’m not letting you take on the job without me.”

“Stubborn ass,” Benny mumbled, jogging out of the room and down the hallway. 

Dean followed him with a laugh, matching his pace. He patted Benny’s back and offered him a wide grin. “Don’t call me by my true name, can’t have the other guys knowing.” 

“Shut up,” Benny laughed, shaking his head. 

This was Dean’s favorite part. The anticipation before, wrapping his legs and hands around the cool metal, sliding down. He slid into his clothes perfectly in less than sixty seconds, pants, boots, suspenders, coat, SCBA, SCBA mask, hood, helmet, and gloves. He was fast, much faster than Benny who always stumbled around when it came to his boots, leaving Dean snickering inside of his mask. He slid into the truck. 

He’d wanted to be a firefighter his entire life. When he was a child, his mother died in a fire, trapped in the house. They couldn’t get to her and his father pulled him out, the flames licking at their ankles. The firemen let him sit in the truck, and he got to watch as they put out the flames. He watched as one man ran in, bravely pulling his mother from the second story window. She died of smoke damage at the hospital later that night, but Dean never forgot. His own father wasn’t brave enough to go after his Mom, but the stranger in the heavy gear did, without a second thought. 

Dean was four years old, and his future was suddenly laid out in front of him. He bought a fireman's hat from the dollar store with the money that he stole from his Dad’s wallet when he was passed out drunk. 

He was desperate to find the bravery that the men who tried to save his mom had. Even an ounce of it could’ve changed everything. So he went on every run that he could, he trained as hard as possible. He was a smartass, but he was damn good at his job. No one complained when they saw that Winchester had snuck onto the truck, again . 

Dean always said that he was gum stuck to the fire station’s shoe. They couldn’t get rid of him no matter how much they tried. They were stuck with him, and as much as they bitched, he knew that they were happy that he was there. Benny settled next to him, and Dean slapped his back approvingly. 

The rest of the crew consisted of three other firemen. Jo, the petite blonde who was good at squeezing into smaller spaces. She kept up with the boys just fine, meeting every one of Dean’s snarky comments with one of her own. The night that she hustled him in poker she gained his respect and all of the money in his wallet. Kevin the genius kid, who was so good at building structures that he often mapped out their entire entrance plan, making him invaluable to the team. Last but not least, Jack Kline rounded off the group. He was the youngest in the group, brand new and fresh out of fire science camp. He had graduated early, taking classes during his junior year, so there he was: twenty years old, not even old enough to drink, drowning in his gear. Dean was gladder than ever that he decided to stick around. They were going to need him. 

They arrived at the fire first, an apartment building was caught on fire. In the briefing Kevin explained that the fire seemed to be coming from one of the mid level apartments and was spreading upwards. Evidently the old building was extremely flammable, by the time they arrived the flames were licking out of the windows, black heavy smoke curling up into the sky. 

Dean clicked on his oxygen, itching to run right into the shit. He’d gotten a talking to more than once about zipping in without orders, but he always got the job done, saved the unsaveable, he didn’t make mistakes. So he continued to be reckless, because sometimes that was what needed to be done to save the most people. At least that’s what he told himself. 

The police had already sectioned off the building to keep the civilians away, the lower levels were already evacuated and Dean could see soot-covered individual’s being checked out by EMS. 

Kevin rolled out the schematics of the building to show the team. His mask was up so he could talk them through the plan, but Dean felt the itch, something deep inside of this gut that told him he needed to go right then. It was almost like a heavy hand on his shoulder, a tap telling him that it was time to run, that he didn’t have the time to stand around staring at maps. Maybe he did have a death wish, or maybe it was something else altogether, but regardless of the reasoning, he turned away from his team, saluting Benny, and running into the building. 

The lowest level of the building was filled with heavy smoke that seemed to have creeped through the vents and down the steps of the building. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was left behind, but the coast seemed clear. He jogged to the stairs, checking his weight on them before determining that there wasn’t enough damage to cause him any real difficulties. 

The higher he climbed, the harder it was to see. The next floor up was heavy with smoke, and he squinted through his mask. His adrenaline pumped through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears. There were people up there that needed to be saved, and it was Dean’s responsibility to get to them. 

“Hey, idiot! What do you think you’re doing?” Jo buzzed into his ear piece. 

He groaned. They’d recently updated their radios, and he still wasn’t used to hearing them essentially inside of his head. “Savin’ people. You know, the job,” he said back to her into his mic. “Rooms clear on the second floor.” 

“You’re fast, Winchester, I’ll give you that. Don’t go up any further without backup.” 

“What? You’re breaking up,” he said, making chhhh noises. 

“I’m going to break something on you! Stay where you are, I’m coming to you!” 

It was some kind of miracle that Dean hadn’t been fired already, no pun intended. He was garbage at directions, and he was always getting into sticky situations. Sticky situations that he always managed to get out of, and he supposed that was why he still had a job. 

He grumbled and awkwardly stood where he was, deciding that he should probably wait for Jo. It was the right thing to do. It would be shitty of him to leave her all alone in a major fire. At least that’s what he thought until he heard the sound of the building groaning above him. It was going to come down, that was obvious, he just didn’t know how fast. “Jo,” he said into the mic. “Don’t come up, it’s not stable.” 

“Come back down, Dean. We can go up through the window.” 

“Can’t, already this far,” he said, not intending to blatantly disobey her, but fuck he wasn’t going to walk out when there were still several floors left that he had yet to sweep. Before she could respond, a cry cut through the air, through the smoke, and through the thick material covering his ears, and he had no idea how he didn’t hear it before. “Fuck, there’s a kid up here. I’m going up.” 

“Dean!” 

If Jo said anything in addition, he didn’t hear her. He was too busy running. He climbed upwards, not bothering to test for weight, which was an amateur move. He was hyper focused on the sound of the child crying out. He would get to the kid, and get him or her out as quickly as possible. He would save the little one no matter what. When he reached the next level he finally saw the flames. The third floor was clearly the originating location of the fire. Flames licked out of the open doors and out into the hallway. 

Even after all the fires that he’d been a part of he still wasn’t used to breathing easy in the midst of all of the heavy smoke. He listened hard, waiting for another wail to tell him which direction he should be going in. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to think, to focus . He knew he could find the kid, and as if he summoned it himself, a cry erupted from his left. 

He turned sharply and approached the door. He tried to open it, but the knob wouldn’t turn. He quickly eyeballed the doorframe to get a good idea of its stability. He had no real reason to think that it’d crash down around him, so he backed up a bit, and kicked at the door as hard as he could. Kicking down a door wasn’t as easy as it looked on television and even after some practice it still took a few tries before he was able to break through. The door swung open and he immediately shielded his face as the fire reached out toward the oxygen in the hallway.

He pushed through into the apartment, and it was so much worse than he expected. The ceiling groaned angrily above him, threatening to collapse, and just about every surface was engulfed in flames. He couldn’t see shit, let alone a little kid. He went through the house, looking behind furniture and inside closets, but he wasn't getting anywhere. His stomach twisted, as he realized that he might never get to the kid. Not the way he was going. Jo was screaming in his ear, but he tuned her out. 

Dean knew that it only took a single second, a thought, a breath to change his world forever. So he pulled off his mask, and he shouted as loud as he could. “Where are you? I’m here to save you!” 

He squinted in the smoke. “I heard you crying!” Come on, damn it! It didn't take long for him to already start feeling lightheaded, and he thought that maybe he’d imagined the cry all along. “My name’s Dean,” he called out weakly, feeling like it was a sad attempt at putting the mystery child at ease, but something must have made a connection, because just as he opened his mouth to call out again he was met with a small squeak that sounded a lot like his name. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m here! Where are you?” He followed the soft sound of the child’s voice over the angry, roaring fire, trying his damndest to get to the kid before the roof came crashing down. “What’s your name?” 

“Charlie,” she said, poking her head out from behind the washing machine. 

Dean let out a sigh and smiled. “Hey Charlie, you’re safe now. M’ere.” He turned his head to speak into the microphone. “Jo, I found the kid. I’m gonna get her and head down.” 

“Good, you idiot! Which side of the building are you on? We are bringing the ladder to you. The building is unstable, and the Super says that he has a good headcount of the tenants. We think the building is clear.” 

“North side,” he grunted. “Heard.” 

He crouched down and offered the little girl with two red pigtails a big smile. She coughed in response, her pale, thin fingers tightly gripping a stuffed dragon. 

“Your chest hurt?”

She nodded lightly and he pulled his oxygen away from his helmet and offered it to her. 

“Breathe in, okay? Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.” 

Her pale cheeks were covered in soot along with her nightgown, and Dean had to wonder where her parents were. “Are you alone? 

She nodded quickly again and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, spreading the soot. He stood up, backing out of the small opening so she could get out. “Let’s get out of here. It’s too hot for my taste, what about you?” He offered her a hand, and she nodded up at him, reaching out her own hand.

It happened so fast. It was another moment, a split second rift in the space-time continuum that would change his life forever. Her fingers didn’t even brush his before a loud crack erupted through the apartment. Charlie recoiled into herself, pulling her arm back into the gap next to the washer, directly under a shelf. He reached back for her, feeling like he was moving in slow motion against the pulse of the flames and the haze of heat radiating through the air. 

Dean wasn’t even able to suck in his breath before the ceiling collapsed. The support beam above them holding everything together broke right between them, crashing into the floor with so much force that it busted a hole right through the already-burning floor. Ash, flames, and smoke littered his vision and he had to blink it all away, narrowing his eyes to focus. 

He was on the ground, the falling debris having landed directly on him, and he was fucking glad that he had kept his helmet on. He couldn’t move. He was trapped. The adrenaline pumping through him made sure that he was numb from his shoulder down to his fingers. That can’t be good . He tugged gently and a white hot pain shot up his arm into his shoulder, which surprisingly felt like a good sign. He knew that at least his arm was still under there somewhere. His eyes scanned the tube going from his oxygen tank that had been connecting him and Charlie together. It was pinned underneath the rubble. “Charlie! Hey! Kid, can you hear me?” 

He coughed, his chest burning. He’d been in here too damn long. Heat licked at his cheeks and every breath was hard labor. He pulled on his arm again, feeling the true weight of the beam against his likely-broken bones. The impact fucked up his radio, and all he heard was static where Jo’s voice used to be. He never thought he’d miss the sound of her nagging, but it was all about perspective, he reckoned. 

The weight of the smoke was heavy on his tired lungs and his arm cried out in pain. All of those moments that he was told to slow down felt just a little more justified to him now. “Charlie.” His voice was weaker, his vision blurring as he tried to see her in the rubble. 

He always assumed that he would die trying to be a hero, although most would probably say that he’d die doing something pigheaded. He figured this was as good of a compromise as any. 

It came like a ping, and Castiel knew where to go. Death was a part of life, and it was his job to help the wary souls pass through the gate into heaven. He often approached the situation with eager anticipation, and when little Charlie Bradbury’s face flashed in front of his eyes, the ache in his chest that was always there pressed a little more insistently. 

He could move with a single thought. It was not like most people assumed, there were no large fantastical wings, adorned with thousands of golden feathers. He instinctively reached back behind him, grasping for the place where his wings would’ve been. Compared to what people expected, his travel was lackluster at best, but it was effective nonetheless. 

The apartment was on fire, blazing angrily around him. By the look of things, it had to be hot, painfully so, but he couldn’t feel the heat on his face, and there was no risk of danger to him as his eyes scanned for Charlie. 

His eyes were made to locate lost souls, which glowed radiantly, even as they still lingered inside of their bodies. It wasn’t difficult to locate her once he adjusted his perception. She was lodged underneath collapsed ceiling materials, gasping for breath. A piece of wood had pierced her chest, and she was still trying to breathe into her oxygen mask. The tube ran underneath the rubble and connected to a man. Castiel hadn’t noticed him previously. 

He stepped over the collapsed ceiling and crouched next to him, he had to wait for Charlie to disconnect, anyway, so Castiel had a little time. He was a fireman, still completely in his gear apart from his mask that was given to the little girl. His face was covered in soot, but even through the black, Castiel could see that his cheekbones were dusted with freckles. The fireman’s full lips were open, his breaths weak and labored. It wasn’t his time, Castiel knew, but his arm was trapped below the fallen beam. He looked like he’d given up. 

He wasn’t granted the ability to perform miracles, but there was still something that he could do. There was always something. Castiel reached out his hand and pressed his open palm to the man’s chest. Dean Winchester . The name rushed into his mind in an instant, and Castiel focused on his own grace, willing Dean to breathe in deeply, for his lungs to repel the smoke long enough for him to get to safety. He focused his strength on giving Dean the will to live. Sometimes that was enough. 

The fireman’s eyes shot open as he sucked in a deep, easy breath. He coughed a few times, spitting up black saliva, and then Dean looked at him. His face was a breath away from Castiel’s, his green eyes were alert and Castiel wished that he could see his own reflection in them. He knew that if he had the need to breathe, that Dean would’ve taken his breath away. He opened his mouth as if to speak, to ask Dean if he could see him, but Dean’s eyes flickered away, and he pulled on his arm again. 

The arm was stuck, Castiel saw that it was too much for him to pull himself free. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t shake that look that Dean had given him. He stood up to full height and reached down, pulling up the beam just enough for Dean to pull his arm free. Dean winced, and laughed breathlessly. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

You’re welcome, Castiel thought, not trusting his own voice. 

Dean’s arm was twisted wrong, blood staining his rig, but despite the pain that he had to be in, he hurried to his feet and began to call out. “Charlie, hey kid! Can you hear me?” 

Castiel closed his eyes for just a second at the realization that Dean was in the fire to save her. He was trying to save someone that could not be saved. There was a rustling, and Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean throwing pieces of rubble away, exposing the little girl lying on her back gasping for breath. It was too late, it would’ve always been too late. 

“No, no, no!” Dean fell back to his knees, moving the useless mask away from her bluing lips. He put his ear next to her mouth looking for breathing signs, and his fingers pressed to her throat searching for a pulse. 

Castiel had been an observer in many tragedies, and he’d seen the way people react to situations of dire emergency, but what he saw Dean do surprised him, and he hadn’t been aware that he could still be surprised. 

Dean took his broken arm, pressing his palm against her sternum with a wince, and he pressed his other palm over the bottom one, lacing his fingers. He was counting, low, his voice full of pain as he pressed down on her chest, trying to get her heart to start back up. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Live , damn it!” 

Something was stirring inside of Castiel, something that he didn’t know was possible, something that he didn’t yet have a name for. 

“You ain’t taking her. You hear me?” A pair of green eyes met Castiel’s again, causing him to still completely. Dean was looking at him, like he was a man. “Not today! Not on my watch!” 

Dean looked wary as he turned his face back down to Charlie, still pushing with all that he could, but the fire was still intense and rising around him. Castiel frowned, knowing that she was a lost cause, but not knowing how to communicate that to the stubborn man fighting in front of him. 

Castiel was fixed on the movement of Dean’s body as he attempted to pump life back into Charlie when he noticed a small tug at his trench coat. He glanced down to find Charlie Bradbury standing next to him in her pajamas, her skin and clothes clean. She glowed brightly as she blinked at Castiel confused. “Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel,” he said, crouching down at her level. He offered his hand out to her, and she stared at it suspiciously. He smiled at her. People often thought that children were far too trusting, but he found that their honesty made them trusting of only those who deserved it. “Come with me.” 

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” he said simply and as their fingers brushed he sent a rush of calm through her. She exhaled in response, her eyes fluttering shut. 

There was a crash, a breaking of glass in the other room. “Dean,” someone called out. It was a female voice. Dean called out something that Castiel wasn’t sure was even English, sending the female firefighter bursting through the flames in his direction. “We have to go, idiot.” She stopped, her eyes settling on Dean and Charlie’s lifeless body. She shook her head. “Oh Dean, come on, we have to go. How long has she been down?”

“I can get her, I can…” 

“Come on, let me help.” She crouched down, putting her arm under Charlies neck, holding her. 

His shoulders slumped. He stopped pressing against her chest. “No, I’ll take her,” Dean said, defeat in his voice. He slid his broken arm under Charlie’s body, protectively holding her against his chest. 

The woman offered him a fire resistant blanket to wrap around the little girl’s frail, limp form, and she led Dean to the window. 

“Mister Castiel?” Charlie asked, looking up at him.

He blinked a few times, not realizing how long he’d been staring. “Yes, little one?”

“Is Grandpa there?” 

He nodded quickly. “Yes, he is waiting.” 

“Let’s go,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. 

So Castiel gripped her hand a little tighter, feeling the need to keep her close to him after watching Dean try so hard to fight for her, try just to fail. It was so beautifully human. He turned, seeing the white glowing light of the door to Heaven swinging open for them, and they walked easily over the rubble and through the fire, into the next life. 

“But Lieutenant!” 

“But nothin’ ya idjit!” Singer shouted back. 

Dean sat in his office, his face down turned in embarrassment. He had climbed down the ladder, holding Charlie in his arms, and delivered her lifeless body to her weeping mother. His arm was twisted all to hell, and he was going to have to be in a cast for at least two weeks to fix it. He had other burns and serious smoke damage, but more than anything his ass was getting skinned by his boss. “I was tryin’...” 

“I don’t give a shit, Winchester,” Singer sighed, scratching his beard. “Listen, son, I know what you were trying to do. The fact is that you ignored my direct orders and went on the run, and then you ignored more and got yourself hurt.” 

And I didn’t even save her. He wanted to scream, break his fucking arm again. “So what?”

He shook his head, leaning across the chest. “You’re suspended until I get a call from your doc sayin’ that you’re permitted to come back. So go home, rest, and get your fucking life together.” He waved his hand, dismissing Dean. 

Dean knew that he was being let off easy, and maybe it was the fact that Lieutenant Bobby Singer had a soft spot for him, or maybe it was the fact that Dean almost killed himself trying to save a seven year old girl that he couldn’t save. 

He couldn’t save her, but the girl's mother still hugged him tightly and cried. He was invited to the funeral, and if he was being honest, it all seemed like way too fucking much. But he was a glutton for punishment, so he knew that he wouldn’t miss it for anything. 

He stood up and walked out of the office, and went straight to his bunk to grab the rest of his stuff. He’d already moved a few things, expecting nothing less than a suspension. Singer was chomping at the bit to get him to take some time off, so the required time off was a good compromise. 

He adjusted the sling on his arm, the strap rubbing against his neck. He grabbed his clothes, shoving them haphazardly into his duffle bag. Jo leaned against the doorframe of his quarters. “Got the boot?” 

Dean snorted and glanced at her. “Singer doesn’t want to see my face until my doc says I’m healed.” He waved his bad arm with a wince. 

“I’ll miss your face around here, Dean, but if you keep at it you’ll end up getting yourself killed. Maybe a little vacation will be good for you.” 

“Smug doesn’t suit you, Harvelle,” Dean grumbled. 

“Everything suits me,” she said dismissively. 

He zipped up his duffel with his one arm with some difficulty and a grunt. He picked it up and swung it over his uninjured shoulder. “You seen Sam anywhere?” 

“Benny drove him home when you were getting patched up.” 

“Great.” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t need help with anything before I go, do you?” 

“Nu uh, Winchester,” Jo said, walking towards him and taking his arm. “I am not going to help you disobey orders. Get the fuck out.” She dragged him out to the front of the firehouse. “I’ll see you later, okay? I got you a Netflix subscription. I texted you the login details.”  

Dean stumbled out into the street, the clouds hanging overhead, blocking out the sun. He grimaced at the sky, feeling like the weather was a little too on the nose with how he was feeling. He made his way to the Loop and found one of the only seats away from other people, his bag resting on his lap. He stared out the window, watching Chicago zip past him in a blur. 

He’d lived in the same old Brownstone his entire life. They’d redone the inside of the house after the fire, so the inside was different but still the same. When he looked really closely, he could still see the scorch marks under the paint on the ceiling in their bedroom. He used it as his office now, but he was rarely there, keeping the door shut at almost all times. 

Dean’s father had disappeared into the night. It was the typical cliche, he went out for cigarettes and never came back. He’d had a revolving door of family members watching over him and the apartment until he turned eighteen two years later. It was already paid for, his grandfather Henry having purchased it with the little money he had coming home from the war when he was young. Dean couldn’t give it up, no matter how much he hated being there, no matter how much his old bedroom kept him from sleeping.

He hopped off the Loop a few blocks away from his place and enjoyed the fresh air, because he knew that the next few weeks would be suffocating. He could already feel the pressure on his chest, constricting his lungs. He unlocked the front door, taking one last deep breath before he crossed the threshold. 

“Sam,” he called out, tossing his duffel bag on the couch. “They suspended me! That’s some bullshit, right?” 

He walked to the fridge and swung it open, grinning wide as soon as he saw that Benny had stocked it full of beer. He pulled one out, struggling with the bottle opener with only one good hand. “Everyone is pissed that I went in against orders. I was just tryin’ to save her, and maybe if I’d got there sooner…” He finally got the cap off, letting out a heavy sigh. He took a swig of his beer and leaned against the counter. “Sammy, you listening to me? Are you mad at me too? Sam?” 

Dean heard the footsteps before he saw him. He turned and crouched down to catch his massive chocolate lab in his good arm. He wrapped it around the dog's neck, scratching behind his ears. “Aw, Sammy I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.” He laughed as Sam licked his cheek. 

He was never a dog person before he got Sam, but on one of the first house fires that he worked, he’d seen this little puppy in the corner, howling and whimpering. He couldn’t just leave the poor thing there to burn, so he carried him out of the burning building and fell in love with the little guy. It wasn’t often that dogs were allowed in firehouses anymore, but the entire team loved Sammy. He was quiet and well behaved, and when Dean went home he took Sam with him. He liked to joke that Sam was the only other living being that he could live with permanently since everyone else drove him stir-crazy. Sammy was happy to see him no matter what he did, and he didn’t give him that disappointed look that everyone else seemed to have. 

“Just me and you for a few weeks, buddy,” Dean murmured, scratching behind his ear, already feeling the quiet from his apartment creep around him like smoke, like a curse. 

Castiel stood on top of Willis Tower, overlooking Chicago as it transitioned from day to night. All the flights flickered in, illuminating the thousands, millions of angels standing around the city on street corners, ledges of buildings, lamp posts, vehicles… everywhere the air touched was also touched by an angel. They were the soldiers, the messengers of god. 

There was a sound of flapping, for just a moment, as if Hannah was taking land as she appeared next to Castiel with only a thought, a breath. She wore a simple suit, much like Castiel’s own. Her hair was plain brown, simple, but she was pretty in her own regard. She was his very best friend, if angels had such a thing. 

“Castiel,” Hannah said pleasantly, lowering herself to a seated position so her legs hung off the edge of the building. He followed suit, sitting next to her. 

They did this every day, sitting on the edge of the buildings and watching the sun disappear over the horizon. They sat, talked, and when the last rays of sun touched the earth they were quiet. 

“I escorted a little girl today,” he said, squinting at the buildings, his hands clasped in his lap. 

“What was her favorite part?” Hannah asked. She could seem disinterested, but for most of Castiel’s brothers and sisters it was just easier that way. Angels were not known to have the capacity to feel, so most didn’t bother to fake it. 

For Castiel, though, it was different. His curiosity with humanity often pushed him to the edge of what was expected of him. He’d always been a bit of a black sheep. 

He reached into his trench coat and pulled out a small notebook. He licked his index finger to catch a page, turning it easily. Hannah gave him a look, like she didn’t quite understand, but she was quiet nonetheless. “Her favorite part of being human,” Castiel said lightly, with a smile, “was the marshmallows in her morning Lucky Charms.” 

“Sugar,” Hannah said with a knowing nod. “Not quite insightful.” 

It wasn’t, but he still wondered. How did it taste ? He tried to close his eyes sometimes and imagine it, just for a moment. He tried to imagine what one of those tiny morsels would feel like on his tongue, melting away, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t grasp onto it. Most days, those thoughts left him more hollow than ever, the emptiness whistling through him like through a chip in a glass. 

“She asked if she could become an angel,” he said quietly. 

“Did you tell her the truth?” 

“I didn’t want to upset her.” 

“Castiel, she can’t be an angel.” She reached for the hand of her friend and patted it gently. “We were never human.” 

“I know.” Castiel let out a heavy sigh. 

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth, but I did offer to make her wings out of paper.” He turned to Hannah, offering her a wide grin. 

“And what did she say about that?” 

“She said, what good would wings be if you couldn't feel the wind on your face?” His voice was solemn, quiet, catching the breeze and floating away with it. He reached his hand out for the breeze, trying desperately to feel something, anything . “Do you ever wonder what that would be like?”

“What are you asking?”

“Touch… do you ever wonder what it would be like to feel ?”

She pressed her lips together in a tight line, in a thought, a consideration. Her eyes were focused elsewhere, out into the distance, and when she opened her mouth to speak, he’d never heard her so hesitant, so unsure. It wasn’t in their nature. “No.” 

He could feel the corners of his mouth tug up into a smile. “Did you just lie to me?”

Her eyes flickered to his, and she pursed her lips. “Of course not. It’s pointless to wonder about things that you’ll never experience. It is a waste of time. You should stop this nonsense, Castiel, it may get you in trouble one day.” 

He knew that, of course he did, but he couldn’t stop, not until the questions that plagued him had answers, and another one had been drilling into his mind since the moment he saw Dean Winchester’s magical green eyes lock with his in the midst of that fire. “Hannah, have you ever been seen?”

“My, you are inquisitive today.” She laughed to herself, a small exhale out of her nose, before her dark eyes flickered to his blue ones. “Of course not, Castiel. Humans can’t see us, not unless we want them to.” 

“When I went to get the little girl today… there was this fireman, and I could’ve sworn that he looked right at me.” 

“He wasn’t looking at you.” 

Castiel swallowed hard, because he knew that she was right. Dean wasn’t looking at him, he was looking directly into him, past the outer layers and into his soul. 

Hannah must’ve noticed his hesitation, because she leaned in closer to him. “You didn’t let him see you, did you, Castiel?” 

Did he? He shook his head. “No. He didn’t… comment on what he saw, but he seemed like he was looking at me.” 

“Your head is in the clouds,” she said fondly, turning her face back out to the sparkling lights from the city. 

That was him, Castiel, the angel with his head in the clouds, but was that so unreasonable? To him, it seemed like a logical place for an angel’s head to be. The time for talk, questions, and judgement was over, because the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, emitting a beautiful hum almost like the first note on a violin. Even though he didn’t know God personally, his purpose, or why he couldn’t get those green eyes out of his mind, at least he had the song in the sunset, because when he heard it, feeling it rush through him into his bones, he had all the answers that he needed. That song gave him faith. That song helped him see God. 

But that day, in that exact moment, the song sounded different… It sounded like Dean. 

  -------------------------

Part Two

Masterlist

Read on A03 Here

Art Masterlist

#SPN #supernatural #SPN AU #supernatural AU #Destiel #otp #dean winchester #castiel #Hannah #Sam #dog!Sam #charlie bradbury #Bobby Singer #benny lafitte #Kevin Tran #Jo Harvelle #Roamance #love #firefighter!Dean #broken arm #angst

[lmpala97]

Not Your Dean (Dean x Reader) PART 3

All Parts under # not your dean

Warnings: NONE

Summary: takes place in season 10 shortly after Charlie���s death. Dean let’s the mark take over. You just want the man you love back.

Part 2

https://lmpala97.tumblr.com/post/184122935945/nydp2

Part 4

https://lmpala97.tumblr.com/post/184263009570/warnings-none-summary-takes-place-in-season-10

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

The next week I continued to occupy myself with lore, hoping and praying that I would find something that could lift this hellish curse off Dean. I knew it was hopeless. Sam had went through these books dozens of times and found jack, but digging through that lore was a way to occupy myself. Being in the bunker just reminded me of Dean’s absence. The empty bed, the full fridge of food. Hell, I even missed his snoring. He’d always tell me “you’ll wish you could hear my snoring one day”...He was right.

Sam had gone off to see Rowena in that dungeon he’d set up, trying to see if he could crack the spell now having that translator Charlie had figured out before she...you know. I decided to stay behind, I couldn’t deal with Rowena’s sass. Not today at least. I probably would have stabbed her in heart if she said one damn thing about dean.

After what felt like hours and the hundredth useless lore book, Cas broke me out of my daze.

“Anything?” he questioned, walking into the disaster I now called my room.

“You tell me.” I said, rubbing my temples. “12 voicemails, low-jack Sam stuck on the impala CLEARLY has been disabled. So in short,  a big heaping scoop of nada. We need Rowena to hold up her end of the bargain NOW, which hopefully Sam has made some progress on -  before I go and gut the damn witch myself!.”

Castiel made a stink face and sighed turning away from me.

“What.” I said a little too bitchily. Everyone was getting on my last damned nerve. You either help me find Dean or you get the hell out and I knew Cas had been on the fence since the beginning.

“Nothing.. It’s just that if she removes the mark using the book of the damned” He shook his head “what of the consequences?”

That was it. Castiel picked the wrong day to even slightly throw out the idea of not curing the mark.

“Ok, which are what?” I said, slamming my laptop shut, making a poor attempt at containing my frustration.

“Dean said..” he began before I harshly cut him off

“Dean guessed!” I yelled “What are we supposed to do Cas? Sit on our asses and do nothing while Dean is out there doing god knows what. This close to turning into Cain 2.0” I held up my fingers a mm apart  for extra emphasis.

“No” he said stepping closer to the desk I was sitting at “we find dean!”

“And then what!” I yelled again, not even attempting to control my anger anymore. “The ONLY thing that stopped that whack-job Cain was DEATH. Do you wanna kill Dean? Because I DON’T!”

Cas remained silent as I continued my tangent. Probably figuring it was best to shut up while he was ahead.

“And the only way I know how to save the man I love is to cure the mark” I continued “And yes castiel, I know there will be consequences, And not you and not Dean, not anybody can tell me what those consequences are! So I’m not gonna let Dean destroy himself on some stupid guess!”

The room was silent as me and Cas made eye contact. Mine intense. His avoidant. He didn’t say anything. Deep down I knew he agreed with me, he wanted to save Dean as much as anyone else and he was just scared. I felt bad for going off on him for feeling something so human. But I was scared too, and I wasn’t giving up. Not on Dean. Not ever.

I finally broke the silence, cutting through the thick air of the room

“We save Dean, Cas. Plain and simple.”

Thankfully at that moment the phone rang, giving me an excuse to not look at the awkward angel standing in front of me.

“Sam” I said, glancing at Cas “Please tell me you found something before I swallow a bag of knives”

“YN” Sam said in a worried tone. “I know where Dean is”

….

“So Dean’s working a case? That’s random. Why would he go do that after he flipped the “evil” switch.” I said trying to decipher the map while Sam manned the wheel. I’m terrible at directions, why couldn’t he just let me drive, dammit.

“I don’t know” Sam replied frowning “Maybe he’s trying to do good again? You know, save people, hunt things”

“The good ol’ family business” I sighed “Well, look where that’s gotten us”

“Ya well, Rudy said Dean was working a case alongside him but wasn’t playing nice… couple of girls have went missing. I’m just hoping that now that we have the ingredients for the spell Rowena can pull it off”

“I hope so.” I said biting my lip. The ingredients for that spell seemed damn well impossible to find. All the items were like biblical and ancient. The forbidden fruit Adam and Eve chomped on, the golden calf? Something Rowena loves? Like what the hell even was that? I guess I should’ve expected it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing ever really was in our line of work.  

It was night time by the time me and Sam pulled up to the crime scene. It was nothing I haven’t seen before. Cops bustling around here and there, paramedics, caution tape. It was weird how normal this environment had become when you really think about it.

“I freakin hate these stupid FBI pants/skirts” I complained, as I adjusted myself “they always ride up my ass.”

Sam managed to slip me a dirty look before one of the officers approached us.

“Can I help you two?”

We went through the whole spiel of introductions, badge-flipping (I was moore, he was blackburn)  and Sam asking questions. After a couple minutes and some cringey jokes later, the officer was leading us to the crime scene, where apparently two bodies had been found. I was more than ready to get to the scene. I couldn’t stand one more poorly-delivered-old-man joke. Geez, what was with it and old small-town folk.

The chipper officer lead us to an old beaten down cabin up on a hill in the woods. I let Sam and the officer guy walk ahead of me, trying to avoid being looped into their conversation. Sam was first to enter the cabin but stopped cold in his tracks a few steps in, resulting in me nearly colliding head first into his back.

“Geez. Blackburn, Would you mind?” I grumbled. Despite my remark Sam didn’t move an inch. It was almost like he was frozen in place. Something you’d see someone scared crapless do.

“Sam?” I said, now too worried to keep up with the fake alias names,”what is it?”

Still no response.

Frustrated and frankly starting to get a little scared I pushed my way into the cabin standing alongside Sam.

“Holy sh -” I gasped, not finishing my sentence. For what I saw in front of me was too disturbing.

Laying on the ground, eyes wide opened was Rudy.  Rudy was dead. A hunter was dead.

And Dean had killed him.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Tags:

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#dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #castiel #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfic #not your dean

[sweetcircuits]

Chinmay Week Day 5: Mechanical

I actually didn’t write this specifically for today - I had it sitting in my wips document for longer than I’d like to admit (probably at least a year, yikes). I thought of it when I saw the prompt list and decided now was as good a time as ever to post it. It was originally a little longer but I edited it for clarity and stuff. 

*      *      *      *     *      *      *

Annie D. Roid

Chiro felt his vision tinge red. He suddenly knew how Sparx felt when Nova was the one in danger. “I’m going to ask nicely one more time. Let her go,” he growled, voice low and menacing. “She isn’t yours. She’s not a thing. She’s a person with people who care about her. Drop her, and get out of here.”

*      *      *      *      *      *      *

Jinmay was terrible with directions. Whenever her gps malfunctioned she always, always, always got lost. It figured that her gps malfunctioned within twenty minutes of their search of the unfamiliar city. Of course Otto could fix it in less than five minutes, but that didn’t help them now.

“Chiro?” Jinmay’s voice rattled out from Chiro’s comm.

“I copy. Jinmay, what’s the matter?” Chiro stopped short and landed on the nearest rooftop.

“My stupid map system broke again and I can’t see anybody’s locations. Where are you?”

Chiro groaned. This was the third time in two months. He wanted to just chalk it up to overuse, but it was just too inconvenient for it to keep breaking like this. When they got home, he was going to have to ask Otto to check Jinmay’s operating system and see if it was a bug in her programming.

“Chiro?”

“Ahh! Sorry!” Chiro searched around him for some landmark that would help her find him. “Fly as high above the rooftops as you can and look for a big glass building with a billboard on the side.”

There was a few moments of silence before she replied. “I see a glass building but no billboard?”

Chiro swooped around the sides of the building and confirmed that the billboard was only on one side of it. Whoops.

“Wait, I think I see something moving, flying, over there. Is that you?”

Chiro released a blast of Monkey Fu aura.

“It just turned green. That is you!”

Within moments she had tackled him from behind, grabbing him around the waist. He grabbed her and hugged her. “Okay, so I guess we’re gonna stick together from now on,” he chuckled.

This worked well for all of a half an hour until the trail they were following split into two. They looked at each other and their hands slowly slid apart.  They looked at the twin paths disappearing down identical streets.

“I guess we have to split up?” Jinmay said, more of a question than anything.

“Guess so,” Chiro replied unenthusiastically.

“I’ll follow this one,” Jinmay pointed to the left “and you follow that one,” she pointed to the right.

“What if you can’t find me?” Chiro mumbled, more to himself than to her, but she heard anyway.

“Um, if my path doesn’t lead to anything, I’ll follow it back to the ‘y’ right here, then I’ll follow your path to find you.”

“Okay.” He kissed her on the temple.

She broke apart from him, blushing, and ran down the street following her assigned trail. Chiro started down his own, searching carefully.

A few moments later, Jinmay’s voice rang from his comm again. “The trail stopped. The street keeps going but the trail’s ended. What do you think I should do?”

Chiro thought for a moment. “Does it go up like a ladder or a window or anything? Or up onto the roof?”

“I don’t see anything, even with my best ultraviolet vision.”

“Hmm. Well, go down to the end of the street and if you still don’t see anything, turn right around and go back the way you came and find me, okay? Do you want me to backtrack and meet you in the middle?”

“That’ll just waste time. We’ve gotta hurry and find the Chronometer.”

Chiro sighed and pressed his back to the alley wall. He pulled his comm off of his shirt and stared at it, as if by force of will alone he could keep her safe. “Please be careful,” he begged.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay. Chiro out.”

He stuck the comm back to his top button and turned down the alley again, looking for any clues, anything at all. Minutes and minutes passed and he wondered if he was even in the correct place. Gibson’s instructions had been surprisingly non-specific.

A scream rang out in the alley and Chiro jumped, the hair all over his body standing on end. It took him a moment to realize that it was coming from his comm.

He ripped it from his shirt and yelled into it. “Jinmay! Jinmay, do you read? Jinmay!”

“Chiro! I can’t…!”

Then there was a burst of static and for a long moment he couldn’t hear anything. This was followed by a loud buzz and an unfamiliar voice.

“Yo, grease, an android!”

“A pretty damn sexy one too. She’s gonna be worth a lotta money.”

“Hey!” Jinmay’s voice shouted.

“Ey, Annie, where’s your bolt?”

“My what?”

“Yer bolt, yer… eh, yer restrainin’ bolt. Ah, maybe you ain’t got one. That’s okay. It don’t matter. We were gonna take you anyway.”

“You can’t do that and my name’s not Annie!”

“Sure it is. Yer an anne-droid, ain’t ya?”

There were whoops and howls.

“When Chiro gets here, he’s gonna rip you guys apart!”

Damn right he is, Chiro thought, already dashing back down the alley the way he had come.

“Who’s Chiro? Is he your owner? Your master?”

More howling laughter.

“No! Hey! Stop it!”

“Careful, babe. Those nets are woven titanibur. Short-circuits all the weapons. Don’t wanna scratch the merchandise.”

“Get close to me again and I’ll claw your face off myself!”

That’s my girl.

“Grease, I don’t like this Annie’s mouth!”

“Lance her then. Only one dose though. Gotta keep her sorta coherent. Better yet, start pulling out wires and try to turn her off. That’ll keep her quiet.”

Chiro had his comm out, trying to follow the pink dot that indicated Jinmay’s position. How was she so far away?

There was another loud buzz and a screech and more static, which was followed by a piercing scream that rent him to his core. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

“What’s this thing?”

“…no… not…”

Jinmay’s voice was the last thing he heard before the comm went silent and her pink dot disappeared. “No, no, no!”

It took nearly fifteen minutes and three panicked calls to the rest of the Monkey Team for them to triangulate her position. But they succeeded. Thank goodness for the Super Robot’s advanced radar systems.

Chiro peeked around the corner and saw Jinmay—thank gods—but she was curled up in a ball on the ground and that didn’t mean anything good. What was more, she was surrounded by a group of thugs, maybe seven or eight of them. Many of them had weapons, mostly knives. Chiro chewed on his bottom lip. He was pretty durable against blunt injuries—he’d been hurled against walls and fallen from not insignificant heights and not come out terribly worse for wear. But there was probably no way the Power Primate could protect him from a knife stuck between his ribs.

He did want to go back to Shugazoom sometime this week.

And preferably take Jinmay back with him.

He rolled his options over in his head. He could run in there and maybe knock a couple of them out before they could injure him. He could Monkey Fu them from here but then they could just run away. If he pulled out his Inner Primate aura they’d definitely turn tail and run and he was trying to avoid that. Maybe… maybe he could start with his lowest powered ability. Something he’d learned in tactics with Antauri was that he could always start small and escalate from there, but if he started with the big guns, there was not much going back from that. He took a deep breath and released his Hyper Form transformation, turning back into normal jacket and jeans.

Chiro turned the corner and dashed toward the end of the alley. He was stopped short by a thug and the knife that was pointed at his chest. “Jinmay!”

She was bound in a net of a brown rope-looking material. Titanibur, they’d called it. Her eyes were wide and filled with pixels instead of iris and sclera. She looked as terrified as one who probably wasn’t fully conscious could possibly be.

“Untie her! Let her go! She’s mine!” Chiro yelled.

“We found this little android in the gutter, and ya know what they say, finders is keepers here,” one of the thugs drawled.

“She’s not just an android,” Chiro said. “She’s my teammate, my friend… my… my girlfriend. She doesn’t belong to you. Give her to me.”

“Chiiiii…rrooo…Chiiii…ro…” Jinmay articulated unsteadily.

Chiro tried to run at her but was stopped again by the switchblade that was aimed at him. “If you touch her, if you break her, if you hurt her, I will turn you inside out so fast you won’t know which way you’re going!” He didn’t know where the words had come from; yelling at them probably wasn’t a great idea. But there was Jinmay, lying on the ground, probably broken somehow, and his blood ran hot and cold and hot.

“Touch and break her, huh? Guess you don’t want us to do that because you want to do it yourself, huh, kid?”

Anger and embarrassment pricked at his cheeks. He was seventeen. He could handle a couple of jerks making rude assumptions about him. He clenched his fists. The thug with the switchblade looked at him uneasily.

“You look like a clean-cut, respectable typ’a kid. Never woulda pegged you as a robot-fucker. Ha!”

“Chi…ro… Chi…ro… so…rry… got… lost… Chiro… got… lost…” Jinmay’s voice wavered out once more.

“Kid, she’s tellin’ you to get lost, so get out of here! Yain’t welcome here!” One of the thugs jabbed her in the side with a prong of metal. Electricity laced through her and she fell silent.

Chiro felt his vision tinge red. He suddenly knew how Sparx felt when Nova was the one in danger. “I’m going to ask nicely one more time. Let her go,” he growled, voice low and menacing. “She isn’t yours. She’s not a thing. She’s a person with people who care about her. Drop her, and get out of here.”

The biggest thug laughed. “Oh, look, this kid thinks he can boss me around in my own end of town! Forget it! And I think you’re the one who needs to get out of here. No telling what can befall a hapless child in these dangerous streets.” Two other thugs advanced on him, one with a laser pistol and a second one with a knife.

All right. Negotiating hadn’t worked. Time to pull out the party tricks.

“You may think that this is an ordinary street in an ordinary town, and that I am an ordinary person. And you’d be wrong.”

Starting with the soles of his feet and moving up, he worked his Hyper Form transformation. But instead of using light, as he always had, he used fire. The Power Primate often manifested itself as a flame, and as such, it was only an illusion. But the looks on the faces of the thugs as he slowly lit himself on fire was a treat he’d savor for a long time to come.

“This is an ordinary street in an ordinary town, but I am not an ordinary person.”

As the fire came to his face, he made his eyes to glow green as he filled himself with the power of the Power Primate. “My name is Chiro. I am the Chosen One. I brought balance to the universe. I defeated one of the greatest evils the universe has ever known at the age of fifteen. I control energy and lightning.” He summoned a Chiro-spear-o that was as tall as he was. It waved and sparked in his grasp. “Let her go… and maybe I won’t fry you until your skeletons are crispy and golden.”

That was good enough for all of the thugs. They dropped their weapons and Jinmay and promptly got the hell out of there.

Chiro dismissed the lightning bolt and changed back to his normal clothes and snorted. He kicked the knives out of the way distractedly as he made his way over to Jinmay. Then he picked one up and cut the knot holding the net closed. With his heart in his throat he noticed that one of the panels in her neck had been pried open and there were loose wires. Those creeps—!

Jinmay didn’t move until he’d untangled her from the net and put his hands gently on her shoulders to help her sit up. When she felt his warm hands on her cool skin, she blinked. The pixels in her eyes wavered. “Siro.”

“I’m here, Jinmay. It’s me, Chiro.”

“Siro.”

Chiro ignored the fact that she was getting his name wrong and attributed it to the fact that her system had suffered severe shock. “You were really brave, Jinmay. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. When your comm broke, I couldn’t locate you and I panicked but Sparx was able to find you and I’m glad I got here before anything really bad happened.”

He helped her to her feet and she wobbled a little. “Come on, Jinmay, let’s go. We need to get you fixed up.”

He looked around the alley and realized that one of the shock-lances was still lying on the concrete. He picked it up, clicked it off, and shoved it into his inside jacket pocket. Maybe Gibson could reverse-engineer how to fix Jinmay if he had one of the weapons they’d used on her.

His rocket pack was in the garbage can at the end of the alley where he’d left it, thank goodness. He put it on his back and clicked the buckle over his chest. The pack fired up and he zipped up almost to the rooftop when he realized that she wasn’t following him. “Jinmay?”

She tilted her head at him and tried to walk toward him but her foot dragged and she almost fell. She got up and stepped on the side of her foot, tripping again. Chiro raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?”

She didn’t look up toward his voice, didn’t get up again, only blinked once very, very slowly. Chiro wasn’t even sure if she’d heard him. “You know what, if you can’t fly, I’m just gonna carry you.” He scooped her up princess-style and activated his rocket pack again, setting off back toward the Super Robot. She tucked her head against his chest and was quiet. He thanked any and all gods, spirits, lucky stars, and benevolent cosmic beings.

“Chiro to Hyperforce. Chiro to Hyperforce.”

“Reading you loud and clear, kid.”

“I’m on my way back with Jinmay. She’s malfunctioning and acting weird and she’s gonna need some repairs.”

“’Kay. I’ll get Otto. Are you okay, kid?”

“Tired. More relieved than anything. I feel bad though, I got distracted by Jinmay getting lost and I wasn’t very much help finding the Chronometer artifact.”

“Don’t worry about that, Nova found it.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, while Gibson and I were trying to track down Jinmay, she called us saying that she found it. Antauri’s meditating over it right now.”

“Phew. Good. Oh, I see the Robot. Hang on, I’ll be right in. Chiro out.”

Chiro flew into the chest hatch and landed in the main room. Sparx and Nova met them. “Chiro, I’m glad you’re back,” the yellow Monkey said, relief etched plainly on her face.

“Glad to be back.” He shifted Jinmay’s weight in his arms. “Hopefully Antauri can figure out the date with the Chronometer.”

“If he can’t we’ll figure something else out,” Nova said. “Come on, Otto and Gibson are waiting.”

Chiro laid Jinmay down on the examination table and Gibson plugged the back of her head, her chest, and her thigh into the main computer. “These readings are so strange,” the blue Monkey said. “It’ll take me a minute to pinpoint what exactly needs repairing.”

Otto moved Jinmay’s arm so that her hand rested on her stomach and took a look at her neck as Gibson tapped on the computer’s keyboard. A yellow lightning bolt icon flashed on the screen. He tsk’ed and turned back toward the robot girl. “Otto, don’t touch her wiring—”

“Ow!” The green Monkey shook his hand and stuck out his tongue.  

“—yet.”

“She’s live,” Otto complained as he wiggled his fingers gingerly. “Did she get infused with electricity or somethin’?”

“Oh yeah.” Chiro took the lance out of his jacket pocket and placed it down on the other table. “This thing. Those creeps who were gonna kidnap her, they had a bunch of these and they stuck her with them. I think they called it ‘lancing.’ I think it overloaded her system and maybe that’s why she’s acting weird?”

Gibson turned a bit pale. “How many times did they lance her?”

“Two times that I know of. Maybe more. I lost contact with her for maybe fifteen minutes before I found her.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I really hope she’s going to be okay.”

“Oh, dear.” Gibson shook his head. “No wonder she’s unconscious. Well, in any case, I cannot fully connect her with Diagnostics until the excess electricity is drained out. We don’t want the current to feed back into the computer as that would cause a significant amount of damage.”

Chiro sat down on the other table, a sick feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach. She was damaged because she’d gotten lost without him, because he was in too much of a hurry to stick with her, because her map system was broken…

“Otto, is there any chance you can check her system and fix her maps and gps? Permanently? I don’t want this to happen to her again.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Chiro,” Otto said, smiling at the boy. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll be okay.”

“Well, it’s easy enough to drain the excess electricity,” Gibson said. “Sparx! Sparx, get in here!” he yelled out the sick bay door. “I could use your help.”

Sparx stuck his head around the edge of the door. “You need my help?”

Gibson waved his hand. “I just need your magnets.”

“Oh, just my magnets.”

Gibson looked over his shoulder at the red Monkey. “Jinmay received a severe electric shock and her body is live with electricity. I need you to drain as much of it as you can in order for us to be able to commence the rest of the repairs.”

“Got it.” Sparx pulled out his magnets, aimed them at Jinmay, and concentrated. A slight hnnnnnn arose in the room as Sparx drained crests and crests of electricity from Jinmay’s still form. After a few moments he stopped and Otto touched Jinmay’s wiring again, this time without damage.

“Chiro!”

Chiro snapped his attention back over to the red Monkey. “What?”

Sparx’s magnets had taken all Jinmay’s excess electricity and had formed it into a rolling red ball of electricity. “I can’t just dissipate the energy. Give me something, anything, something small, doesn’t matter, I just need to… to…”

Chiro’s fingers closed around something narrow and threw it in Sparx’s direction. Sparx’s Magno-Ball hit it in midair and there was a resounding szash. Particles rained down on everyone in the room and Chiro covered his face. Gibson and Otto leaned over Jinmay, covering her.

“Aw, that was my favorite wrench,” Otto said mournfully.

  Gibson blinked. “Use a bit more care next time, Sparx. I don’t need you to set off the Robot’s alarm systems.”

  Sparx turned his magnets back into his hands and glared in the blue Monkey’s direction.

Gibson’s expression softened. “But thank you.”

Sparx crossed his arms. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Otto looked over at Chiro. “Chiro, you don’t have to sit here and watch us. You can go check on Antauri and we’ll tell you when we’re almost done, okay?”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please, go,” Gibson said, pulling down his zoom goggles. “This could take a bit of time.”

An hour or so later, Chiro entered sick bay again, the door hissing closed behind him. “How is she?”

Otto had his zoom goggles on and was tinkering with something tiny in the side of Jinmay’s neck. He looked over at Chiro. “She’s much better now. Those guys really messed her up.”

Chiro’s adrenaline rose and his hands clenched at his sides. “I’m gonna go back and snap their necks,” he grumbled to himself. I let them off way too easy by just scaring them off. I should have beat them up when I had the chance. How dare they hurt her!

When Mandarin had gotten a hold of her, he’d ripped her head and body apart and had searched through her memories, looking for something. He still remembered the way Mandarin had chortled about it afterwards. …oh, how I enjoyed examining the sweet circuits in her head, and THAT had pissed him off like nothing ever had before. She’d been reprogrammed by one of the Five and the biker guy was lucky that he hadn’t been there when he’d done it or he would have broken every bone in his body three times over. Jinmay screaming as her programs were overwritten and her circuitry was rearranged and her systems ran out of her control was his ever-present nightmare. No one, NO ONE was allowed to touch his girl’s circuits without her permission.

“Gracious, Chiro, you’ll do no such thing,” Gibson said. “She’s all right. We were able to mitigate the damage and repair her accordingly.”

Chiro knelt to the floor with a thmp and took Jinmay’s hand. Her eyes were closed now, and if the wires in the side of her neck weren’t still exposed, he would have sworn she was only sleeping. “What did they do to her?” he asked quietly.

“There were a number of things,” Gibson said. “You must have noticed that some of the wiring in her neck and shoulders was exposed when you brought her in.”

“Yeah.”

“A number of wires were pulled loose and one of her circuits was removed in order to make her more docile. Luckily Otto was able to replicate the missing piece.” Gibson turned to the other table. “That tool, the lance. Those are actually illegal on twenty-seven worlds because of the damage they can do to sensitive machinery. What they do is to emit a low frequency alongside a certain voltage of electricity. It is supposed to shock the robotic system and shut it down, not unlike a taser, but it also short-circuits certain centers in an inorganic brain.”

“That’s why she couldn’t say my name right,” Chiro replied, putting his chin on the table.

Otto pressed her neck panel shut with a tiny click. “I’m done. Just gotta reboot her and she’ll wake up fine.”

Chiro gripped her hand tighter as Gibson went on. “It’s not the worst damage we’ve had to repair,” the blue Monkey sighed. “It was easy enough.” He turned back to the boy. “But Chiro, I don’t want you to go out and cause trouble. Everything worked out accordingly, we found the Chronometer and Jinmay is all right.”

“I’m just really worried about her,” Chiro mumbled. “I hate when these things happen to her. This is like the third time. I hate when people think they can just dig around in her head whenever the heck they feel like it.”

“It’s an occupational hazard of being inorganic,” Gibson said, laying a hand on Chiro’s shoulder. “She is a little more vulnerable because of it, and we all need to be more careful because of it, but she’s all right now and that is truly all that matters.”

Sparx wandered back into the room. “How’s Jinmay?”

“Almost there,” Otto said, unplugging her from the computer.

“She needs a few moments for a system reboot, and she will be in perfect health,” Gibson said.

Sparx walked up to Chiro and put his elbow on his shoulder as they both waited for Jinmay to awaken. There was a low pnnnnn and then a louder ping and Jinmay’s eyes opened. They glowed red for a moment before settling back on mint-green irises. Chiro was so relieved he wanted to cry.

“Chiro?” she grunted. She swallowed and tried again. “Chiro?”

Chiro slid her fingers between his and squeezed tightly. “I’m here, Jinmay. You’re okay. You’re back in the Robot.”

Jinmay sat up very slowly. “Easy, Jinmay,” Otto said, helping her up gently with a hand between her shoulder blades.

She looked at the green and blue Monkeys. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry for causing so much trouble…” She looked down at her lap dejectedly.

Chiro leaned over her lap. “You’re okay, and I’m really, really glad for that.” He took her cheek in his hand. She leaned into it and smiled, and her smile was like soothing ointment for his aching heart.

“All your systems seem to be operating at full capacity,” Gibson said from the computer. “You’re good as new, Jinmay.”

“What happened?” Jinmay asked, rubbing her head. “I remember those thugs, I remember yelling at them, and then they shocked me the first time. Then everything is fuzzy, I remember being dragged along the ground. Then I saw you, and I tried to call out to you, and then they shocked me again… and I don’t remember anything after that until Otto rebooted me just now.”

“Well, I scared those creeps off, then I picked you up and took you back to the Robot so you could get fixed up. It wasn’t much.”

Jinmay nodded. “I’m okay now, Otto?”

“Yeah, you’re good to go, Jinmay. I think I fixed your positioning systems for good this time, it shouldn’t break anymore,” the green Monkey explained. “There was just one error that was messing it all up but I cleared it so you’re fine now.”

“Thanks, Otto. You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

Otto beamed like sunshine.

She turned toward the blue Monkey. “Thank you, too, Gibson.”

“Of course, Jinmay. It wasn’t a problem at all.” Gibson crossed his arms and smiled.

He turned back to the computer and Jinmay hopped off the table. Together with Chiro, she waked out the door and out into the main room. Sparx had already wandered off somewhere. Chiro pointed upwards and Jinmay nodded. They took the tube upstairs to the top of the Robot’s head and sat down next to the antenna.

Jinmay leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Chiro.”

He laced his fingers between hers. “You apologized already, and you didn’t even need to apologize the first time. It’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here for you.”

“I feel like I’m always the one that’s getting kidnapped.”

“That’s not true, remember that one time it was Sparx? And that one time it was Otto? And you and Nova did get kidnapped together that one time so it wasn’t only you.”

“Yeah, okay. But it would still be nice if I had to be the one to rescue you, instead of the other way around.”

“Don’t say it. Now it’s gonna happen, and it’s gonna be your fault.”

She laughed, which made him laugh, and then they were just rolling in hysterics for a good few minutes. It felt so nice to laugh. They didn’t get to do it nearly enough.

After the laughter tapered off, they just sat together for a few minutes. Jinmay snuggled up to Chiro’s side and sighed. He was so warm. Warm and soft and safe.

Chiro exhaled as Jinmay slid her head under his chin. She was cool and solid and grounding. His heart beat a bit faster as she entwined her fingers with his. The sun began to set across the skyline, bathing them in its last golden rays. The Power Primate hummed contentedly in his chest and he smiled. And without even looking down at her face, he knew Jinmay was just as happy as he was.

#srmthfg #super robot monkey team hyperforce go #chinmay week #chinmay #chiro #jinmay #gibson #otto #sprx-77 #i really don't know what to say about this except here take it #i'm sorry if chiro seemed ooc here or anything #whatever plot thread is here doesn't connect to canon in any way #i just needed them to be looking for something and it turned out to be an artifact #chiro and jinmay's canon relationship isn't really expanded on too much #it's just kind of there #i'd like to think that the fact that jinmay got her head hacked into at least 3 times #would actually upset chiro a lot more than we've seen #he seemed really mad in hidden fortress when her head landed back on shugazoom without her body #so i just kind of ran with that #my fics

[hippychick006]

14.19 - Jack in the Box Recap

I mean I absolutely loved this episode, one of my favourites, if not the best episode ever written.

But enough about The Benders… this recap/review is on 14.19, Jack in the Box. Predictions have been coming in ever since the episode title was released that Jack was going to end up in the box that Dean built for himself way back in the season.  I was hoping we weren’t going to go that literal, but no, the episode ultimately does exactly what it says on the title.

Some excellent scenes, but as is usual with me, a lot of things that irk so scroll on by to the next post if you want to avoid negativity, particularly note the tags.

This one was a mixed bag, I’m not too sure how I feel yet about the episode as a whole.  It’s not a love love love, but it’s not a clunker either.  That aside, there’s no denying there were several stand out scenes that, regardless of who did what to whom, made for some pretty awesome television between the actors, all of whom brought their A game.  2 scenes in particular between Sam and Dean and 1 between Dean, Sam and Jack.  A lot of the other scenes were actually okay, and they packed a surprising amount into this episode that didn’t leave me with whiplash for once - which Buck-Leming episodes have a tendency to do.

Most of my negativity on this one is on the opening couple of scenes, but my mood does get better as the post goes on... I think.

I don’t know if anyone else notice the opening montages, but Sam and Dean are barely in this one.  This is the penultimate episode and your number 1 and 2 on the call sheet got a scant few seconds of recap.  It was all Castiel, Jack, Nick and the angels. We don’t even get a shot of Sam’s face at Mary’s replicant burning, just Dean. For me, it’s just a reflection of the issues I’ve been having with this season in particular; if the recap for the penultimate episode doesn’t have much of your leads in it, then that to me is a problem for your writing. JMHO.  Others can and do disagree, no biggie.

We open on what appears to be a wake for Mary. Complete and total strangers they’ve pulled off the streets of Vancouver to stand around looking sadly at personal objects of Mary’s on the map table.  I think once again I’m supposed to be sad, and I am, seriously, I’m in mourning for my show. I’m in mourning because this scene if they’d written the character and story correctly and hadn’t cheapened death, should have been sad and it just… isn’t.  kicks my stuck record player and moves on.  

Mary’s three sons – Sam, Dean and Castiel – and I can’t with this god damn fan fiction pandering shit – come out from the library and Dean speaks to the strangers.  “We know that her family were beyond just us.” (Family mention right out the gate, fantastic, I’m always worried they won’t fit in enough family references throughout the episode). Thankfully, for the safety of my television 28 floors up, Dean points to just Sam when he says, “just us.”  But I need someone else’s input, but was this line a dig?  I feel that it’s a dig, and given the writers and showrunners, I wouldn’t put it past them to get snarky because a lot of us haven’t liked the “found family” bullshit they’ve tried to force and haven’t been quiet about it.

I know I’m not meant to, but I can’t help laughing my way through this scene, particularly when Dean describes Mary as someone who was “tough, strong… stubborn as hell” (which she is, that’s not the problem), but it’s the fact that raises a chuckle from the complete strangers who all nod and go “yes, that was her!” Sam’s just nodding his way through this (like the Churchill bulldog in a British TV ad for insurance), but we do get the camera moving to him at one point so they’ve remembered he’s one of her sons, even though they didn’t show him the same way as Dean in the montage earlier… (sometimes I’m just a bitter Sam fan, ignore me and move on)

They raise a toast to mom and say goodbye.  

Just as they are finishing, one of the strangers gets hit with an axe to the head. All the hunters immediately rush into action, running for weapons and preparing to deal with whatever just did it because they are hunters, that’s how hunters react when under attack.

I wish, but no, they all just stand around not really doing much of anything, other than looking clueless, until fake!Bobby walks in and smiles at them.  

Turns out to be a wraith from a nest that Bobby and Mary took out on their last hunt.  Okay, I’m going to go ahead and allow that Sam and Dean are far too grief stricken to apply tests to people, so they just allow everyone to walk straight into the bunker (test for a wraith by the way would be a mirror).  I’m also going to presume they all knew the “hunter” wasn’t from the AU, but everyone just though he was Random!hunters plus 1 so didn’t think to ask who the hell he was.  

Fake!Bobby asks how Sam is.  He answers that it’s tough. Fake!Bobby asks “And the other one" nodding his head at Dean.  Sam responds, “Dean… he seems to doing okay, hard to say.”   Fake!Bobby: “Yeah, maybe he’s like me, being teary in public is not my style.” I think this line is to remind us that Fake!Bobby isn’t our Bobby and he really doesn’t know them at all. Worth noting that Castiel doesn’t get asked how he feels so make of that what you will.

Dean’s packing up the personal effects into a box, Sam tells him most everyone else is heading out, he suggests they open the bottle of scotch Ketch left, hang around and talk about mom.  Dean: “Talk about mom? Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” He leaves the room, leaving Fake!Bobby, Castiel and Sam just standing there.

Sastiel are in the kitchen looking at a picture of Mary, when Fake!Bobby joins them, bringing a beer for Sam.  Fake!Bobby asks Sam what happened to Mary because he’s hearing “the kid…” He doesn’t finish because Dean walks in. Castiel’s still trying to get back in Dean’s good books and asks if he needs anything.  Dean says that yeah, he needs a drink.  Fake!Bobby tells him the bar's open and points to the fridge.  Dean says no, he’s going to go out for a while.  

Sam says they need to talk about Jack (which is 100% Sam because he never allows himself to grieve, he locks it up and focuses on the problem at hand, he did the same with Jessica, their dad and now again with their mom). He’s as dysfunctional as Dean is when it comes to facing his grief.  But I think Sam is also more accepting of her death than Dean, because he knows she’s in a happy place (which he believed for Jessica and their dad due to his faith, but at the time of their deaths, he didn’t know for sure), so I think he’s sad, yes, but I don’t know that he thinks it’s altogether bad that she’s with their dad and no longer having to hunt, whereas I think Dean’s coming from his perspective, he’s lost his mother all over again.

Dean says, “we will” (talk about Jack later) and then walks out.  Sam’s not overly happy about it, but he knows his brother and he’s learned that this is the way Dean deals with grief and he doesn’t go running after him.

As soon as Dean leaves, Fake!Bobby turns to Sam and says, “About that, I liked the kid, we fought together, but there’s only one way this ends.”

Castiel: Bobby’s right, we have to find Jack and help him.

Oh Castiel, I really don’t think that’s what Fake!Bobby meant.

Sure enough, Fake!Bobby’s face when he looks at Castiel could turn him to stone, “What? That kid, he killed Mary.”

Castiel: I know that…

Fake!Bobby: Don’t say but…

Castiel: But…he, Jack may not even realise that what he did was wrong

Fake!Bobby: If his human side is gone, you know what’s left… Lucifer.  Now if you boys want to sit around and talk, fine, but me, I’m going to get on the horn to some of my people and go find that boy.

Castiel: And what then?

Fake!Bobby: An unstoppable monster, who don’t know right from wrong, gets put down, or the closest we can get to it, and anybody who don’t know that, needs to go back to school

I’ve put this whole dialogue in to point out that Sam says nothing during that entire scene.  He was window dressing. They wrote an entire scene for side character fake!Bobby and side character Castiel with Sam in it, so anyone, anyone at all that says we don’t get better writing for J2 because “J2 want time off…” I’ll be slapping this scene down every single time because Jared was there, he just wasn’t being used.  

Jack looks to be in an abandoned warehouse.  He’s flashing back to killing Mary. He says, “I wish you were here… mom” and I think some people (those watching the fan fiction version of the episode) are interpreting that as Mary, but it’s Kelly he’s calling for. He knows who his mother is. He asks her to tell him what to do.

Hallucifer appears saying the usual stuff; that the Winchesters don’t care about him.  He’s nothing to them, just a little pet monster.  Jack responds that no, they’ll understand, “I’ll explain to them, it was an accident, and I tried to bring her back, and… they’ve made mistakes too…” Hallucifer tells Jack they hate him and Jack’s all he’s got, and him.

We switch to night and see the impala is parked and the music in this scene would be best utilised in a b movie horror flick. Oh wait…

It’s really dark, but I eventually see Dean and he’s crying out in the middle of nowhere and yes this is sad, and yes Jensen is great, but I’d love the scene a lot more if it hadn’t become forced over the last couple of seasons.  It’s just “oh, it’s that time of the season where Dean cries.” Okay then.  And as I’ve said, this isn’t on Jensen at all, but these scenes are just no longer organic for me personally - great if you still enjoy them. 

We’re in heaven, I hate heaven.  I hate how corporate it is. The same with Hell. Actually the same with wherever Death lives too.  They’ve turned all these places into corporations. Duma hands a file to a minion and Cass appears.  He wants to see Naomi and Duma tells him once again that she is unavailable. Cass presses why, Duma tells him Naomi’s been demoted and is in a tiny cell, Duma’s currently in charge. Castiel tells her he needed Naomi’s help in finding an archangel. Zzzzzzzz

Duma says that there’s none left.  Castiel tells her about the problem with Jack and that he has grown “massively powerful… dangerously so”.  

Why would you tell the angels that?  Weren’t they after Jack’s powers at one point to sort out heaven?  Even without that, when have the angels ever done anything that can be trusted, Castiel?

Castiel tells her that Jack’s burned through his soul and is on the run from the Winchesters, fearing their fury, but he thinks Jack can be salvaged and “rehabilitated with patient moulding and guidance.”  

Duma says she’ll see what she can do.  Me: Yeah, I bet you will.

Sam’s on his laptop when Dean returns.   He asks Dean how he’s feeling, which Dean ignores to ask Sam what he’s working on. Sam says he’s trying to find Jack and that they need to find him, “before Bobby and his crew because if they find him first…”  Dean: “He’s going to kill them all.”  Sam says he doesn’t know. Then with no lead in, to what they were just talking about, Sam randomly says that he can’t stop thinking about mom.

Sam: I can’t stop thinking that… most people, it’s, it’s, it’s… hope and faith, right?  That’s all they have, but we know the truth, we know God is real, we know Angels are real, too…”

Dean: God writes paperback books in his underwear, okay… and angels are dicks.”

Sam: But, they’re real, right… we know that mom’s not sitting on a cloud, playing a harp, she’s in a good place, she’s in a great place, she’s with dad…”

Dean nods, and responds, “You know what else, there wasn’t even enough of her left to even try to bring her back.”

I think some people had a problem with this promo clip, and I did too when I saw it.  The conversation doesn’t seem to connect.  It could possibly have been written better, but I don’t think it’s supposed to connect.  Sam brings up mom, because he wants Dean to understand that even though she’s dead, they know she’s happy, that her being dead and with their dad isn’t the worst thing.  I believe it’s the start of Sam’s campaign on trying to get Dean to rethink about Jack. Sam - though he’s not coming right out and saying it (because he knows his brother) - is still Team Save Jack (with Castiel). Dean on the other hand is reminding Sam, that what Jack did was so terrible, that there was nothing that could be brought back and there’s no coming back from that.  So he knows what Sam is doing and he’s making it clear he’s no longer Team Save Jack.  That’s just my thoughts on this scene, because otherwise, yeah, I’ve got nothing.

Back with Jack, and Duma has found him.  Jack asks how she found him, but the writers don’t want to bother to explain the unexplainable, so Duma ignores it, and tells Jack exactly what he wants to hear, “It wasn’t your fault… it was a mistake. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve redemption.  I know, heaven knows, your mother knows that you have a glorious destiny.”

Puppy!Jack: I do?

Duma: You couldn’t save Mary Winchester, but you can save so many others, even heaven itself. You could make the world so much better.  And think how happy that would make Sam and Dean.

Oh you complete bit... 

Jack visits the office of a Dr Tate, who seems to write books on “the hidden agenda of religion.” and “imagine there is no heaven.” I quietly sing “above us only sky…” as Dr Tate asks (without looking up), “You’ve come about the leak in my bathroom?”   We switch back to Jack, and Duma has appeared suddenly beside him, and can I just say, Duma has to the be the quietest angel ever, not a single flap of wings to announce her presence, very similar to my other favourite angel Zachariah.  

She says “hardly.” (to the question about the leak).  She has a conversation with Dr Tate about his beliefs, which don’t seem to match with Heavens - in that he doesn’t believe in Heaven.  Duma tells him, “in more civilised times that was called heresy, and those ideas were an affront to heaven.”  

Dr Tate: If there were a heaven.

Puppy!Jack (enthusiastically): Oh… there is, I’ve been there.

Dr Tate: I see!  And I suppose you saw god?

Puppy!Jack (sadly): No… but he is my grandfather

Dr Tate: Huh… so that would make your father…

Puppy!Jack: Lucifer.

Duma: “Dr Tate, heaven is not unreasonable, you can avoid divine retribution by announcing to your considerable audience, that you’ve had a revelation, that everything you’ve written to date is false, that God is good...”

Dr Tate: Security!!

Or he tries to call security, but Jack TK’s the phone away and turns him to salt. Jack smiles when he’s done and the puppy thinks he’s done something good, but he’s done way worse than pee on the rug. Bad Jack, very, very bad!  

Once again, Dean is off to the side and Team Sastiel (also known as Team Save Jack) are sitting together at a table.  Castiel has updated Sam and Dean about his trip to heaven. Sam’s on board, “So the angels, they’re going to help us?”

Castiel: I was promised every effort would be made to locate Jack.

Dean (to Cass): Oh, heaven promised? Great. (to Sam). Well, we should take that to the bank.

Castiel: Jack’s powers could also be a threat, it serves them to help find him.

No shit Sherlock.  But it also serves them to find him and use him.  What were you even thinking?  But it’s that time of the season you try to help by doing something dumb that’s going to backfire spectaculacularly, so what can we all do, but accept it?

Sam says he’s been looking for anything weird and reads from his laptop telling them a university professor was turned into salt.  Dean asks why that sounds familiar and Castiel answers that it’s biblical.  The thing is, Dean’s been shown to know the bible, as has Sam so I would think they would know this common story - maybe not others, but this one for sure.

Sam goes on to explain that the professor was an atheist, that wrote a bunch of books trying to disprove god and heaven.

Dean: Okay, so you think an angel iced him.

Castiel: No ordinary angel could do something like that.

Switch to Dean’s thinky face.

Sam tells them there’s another, a few hours later a woman (a fake faith healer according to the headline) fell into a crevice that had opened up and she was killed.  Dean asks, “Like a sinkhole?”  Sam said, “That’s what I thought too, but a witness said it was more like a fissure opened under her feet then closed back up with her inside).

Castiel quotes from the bible and says its 26:10

Sam says she a tv evangelist under investigation for stealing thousands of dollars through fake charities.

Dean: So… either Chuck came back, which that ain’t gonna happen (sledgehammer anvil warning or spoiler alert) or…”

Castiel: Jack

Jack’s back in heaven with Duma who tells him he’s done excellent work.  That working together they can bring the glory days back (or words to that effect). Jack is only interested in one thing, “Sam and Dean will like that?”  Me: *pets.  Duma responds, “Words can’t begin to express how Sam and Dean will feel.” Me: Oh, you betcha. (wait, was I just channeling Donna?). Duma brings him to a room.  She wants Jack to take a human soul and forge it into an angel.  Wait, what?

Duma: What do you say?”

Me: “I SAY YOU ARE MAKING THIS UP AS YOU GO ALONG.”

Well, I don’t so much say it as shout it. Sorry about that outburst.  Angels came well before humans so I’m really looking forward to the explanation for how on earth a human soul can be made into an angel.  

Duma tells Jack that the room she’s brought him to is where his grandfather received prayers. She leaves him to make himself available to hear prayers.  

Jack sits on the throne and the more I see the throne, I can’t help but wonder if Dean is going to end up on that throne running heaven and Sam’s going to end up on the dark throne running hell.  I’m usually wrong, but I’ve just always got that feeling, from the speech Chuck gave once to Dean, “You, Sam, others that are the chosen, will have to find a way.  It’s why I saved you years ago.  You’re the firewall between light and darkness.”  Anyone that knows IT, knows there’s always 2 firewalls at either side of a connection.  Sam would be the firewall for Darkness (Hell), Dean would be the firewall for Light (Heaven) and the earth in between would be safe from both (because angel or demon, they are all dicks). Hippychick does meta... badly so we quickly move on!

Jack sits on the throne and hears many thoughts at once, until one voice comes through louder than others.  We switch to that voice, which is a woman delivering a prayer to a congregation. She tells them that “Pastor Aimes is coming by to discuss The Book of Samuel.”  Everyone seems very happy with that, so it’s obviously a group of Sam fans.  Jack flaps in and is invited to join them. Jack introduces himself and he’s ditched the name “Winchester.” He’s just “Jack”.  He asks them if they meant it when they said they wanted to go to heaven. They nod enthusiastically.  He asks if they wouldn’t mind becoming angels. Again, everyone is all on board the angel train.  The leader saying, “that would be a dream.”  Jack says it doesn’t have to be a dream, and shows his powers, and he’s his father’s son, because we get a lightning display outside the church and then Jack glows golden, his wings appearing as a shadow on the wall behind, before returning to normal.  He asks them to come with him to heaven.  

Pastor Aimes arrives.  Jack says he’s taking his friends to become angels, and would Pastor like to join them.  Pastor Aimes – who unfortunately for him missed Jack’s display of powers - is dismissive (while at the same time wondering why the audience and leader are in a trance).  Jack kills Pastor Aimes by having him be eaten by worms which is a bible reference to King Herod. Anyway, it’s a gruesome death.  Jack smiles because he’s doing such a good job and Sam and Dean will be so pleased with him.  He leaves with the congregation.

Oh wait, the pastor’s not actually dead, he’s in hospital, all bandaged up, so Sam and Dean - and of course Castiel because Chuck forbid they do what they used to do on their own any more without him being forced into every scene to avoid the meltdowns from his fanbase – pose as FBI and ask him what happened.  He tells them the congregation were taken to heaven to become angels.  They both look at Castiel who looks a little uncomfortable. Sam shows a photo of Jack and Pastor Aimes confirms that was who he saw. He explains that Jack waived his hand and cuts opened up and worms crawled out. He tells them that “he (Jack) said he was carrying out heaven’s orders and that I wasn’t a believer.”

Dean: Well… feel better.

Oh Dean.  Empathy!

They go outside the room to talk and Castiel quotes again from the bible.

Sam (surprised): So…this is another bible thing?

Seriously?  Seriously Dabb?  In your penultimate episode, you have Sam fucking Winchester look dumber than a bunch of rocks that he’s not already made that connection himself?      

Dean wonders what the hell is going on (probably with the writing for both he and his brother in this episode so far) and walks away.  

What the hell do you mean what the hell is going on? This case is probably the easiest you’ve ever worked on.  Jack has been misguided by heaven into carrying out their work.  Duh!

Sam is the last to leave and we see that the worms are still coming out of Pastor Aimes, and that’s a horrible death.  REMEMBER THIS DEATH FOR LATER!

Dean and Sam are arguing back at the bunker and whatever other issues I have with this episode, it certainly isn’t the scenes Jared and Jensen are in.  They once again show why I even continue to watch this show which is why this scene is in it’s entirety.

Dean: I didn’t want it to come to this either, but I know that that kid’s head is not right, and now that heaven has its hooks in him, we don’t have a choice.

Sam: Come to what?  What are you talking about?

Dean: Stopping Jack once and for all

Sam: Okay, fine, say I agree (said very much in a way that I don’t agree), Dean he can’t be killed.”

Dean: No, but he can be contained.  

He opens the door to a room in the bunker and Sam walks in behind him asking, “How are we supposed to do that?”

Oh Sam, as I said, dumber than a bunch of rocks this episode, I really, really feel for you. You are capable of making these connections, but have just been slapped with the dumb stick.

Sam looks at the room for the first time and sees a tarpaulin over something that can only be…

Sam and Dean are standing across from each other. Dean pulls off the tarpaulin to reveal the ma’lak box.  “With this.”

Sam: Are we seriously talking about locking Jack in this?

Dean: No, we’re seriously talking about not having a choice, we can’t kill him, okay, and this is warded to lock down an archangel.

Sam: Yeah… so… so what… we…we just… force him inside (Sam’s very uncomfortable right now).

Dean: No, no, he goes in here, it’s gotta be his choice.

Sam (stating the obvious): He’s never going to go along with that!

Dean: Maybe…

Me: Dean don’t do this, please do not do this, asking him to lie to Jack will destroy Sam.  You know how he feels about this.

Dean: But he might, he might if he only has to stay in here long enough to finish the spell to fix his soul.

Dean’s turned away from Sam for this next bit so Sam can’t see his face, but we can.

Sam: The spell?... What spell?  There is no spell!

Dean: We know that.

Sam (sighs): So, you want to lie to him.

Dean: No, but I want zeppelin to get back together (I think that’s what he said?), but what I need, what we need, is to stop Jack.  Big difference, but here’s the deal, we’ve both got to sign off on it. This might be our only shot and if he even catches a whiff that this is a scam, he’s off in the wind.”

Sam: Exactly, but how do you think he’s not going to know something’s up?

Dean: Because you’re going to be so damn sincere.

Sam: Me?  Why me?

Dean: Because you’ve always been in his corner, you’re his go to guy.  Sam, if you reach out, he’ll come.  If I do it, after what happened to mom, I could lose him.  (Sam looks away).  I will lose him.

Sam closes his eyes, he’s really not happy. But as I mentioned right at the start, regardless of what they are planning or what Dean is asking Sam to do, this is a fantastic scene between Jared and Jensen and the best thing about the episode so far.  Are we surprised?  

We see someone that looks to be homeless, warming themselves by a fire in a garbage can.  Turns out that he’s an angel near the sandpit portal and looks to be guarding it – presumably guarding it again since they now have Jack and don’t want Castiel to get anywhere near him.  Castiel demands the portal to be opened. And this is what I don’t understand – who let Castiel in to heaven earlier in the episode?  He can’t get in without the portal being opened and Duma would have told people not to open it for him, so how did he get in?   They just change it as and when they either need him to enter or not, it’s frustrating.  Anyway, the random angel tells him that heaven is closed.  Castiel says no, he was just there.

Random angel: I’m sorry, I said that wrong, Heaven is closed to you.

Angel fight!

Or not, as we switch to Jack in heaven with the people he abducted earlier.  He’s bringing them out of their trance one by one.  Me: Isn’t there a faster way that could maybe have freed up 5 minutes for something else?  No?  Okay then.

The random angel appears in the throne room, he’s tossed aside to reveal... Castiel behind him.  

Duma: Castiel! Good news… I found Jack

Puppy!Jack: Cass, look, I’m making angels!!

Castiel: Yes, you, umm… Duma, a word!...  Now!

Badass!Castiel alert.  Love him.  

Back at the bunker, Sam tells Dean he doesn’t think the plan is going to work. (translation for non Sam fans or people in denial: he really doesn’t want to do this plan)  

Dean: One way to find out

Not getting out of it, Sam prays to Jack, who we switch view to, and Jack is hearing Sam’s prayer. “Jack… I hope you can hear this… bad things happened but we’re family, we’re your family, and bad things happen in families… we want to talk with you, that’s how we can all get through this, that’s how we can all move forward.” (I think that’s a record, 3 family references in a single sentence - go Dabb!)

Back in heaven, Castiel accuses Duma of using Jack to solidify her hold on heaven.  That she’s “establishing a reign of terror… stripping heaven of its mercy”. Duma: “Well, Heaven never really had any mercy Castiel, you know that.”  She tells him that she’s saving Heaven, she’s saving our kind (angels) and she is saving the world.  God complex, (Season 6 and 8 or 10?)  Zzzzzzzzzz

Sam’s still praying: “Jack, we want, we need, to see you, our mother would want it, your mother would want it…”

My mom voice: Sam “whatever your middle name is” Winchester!  You did not just bring Jack’s mother into this mess!

Duma and Castiel are still talking, thankfully not for long, back with Sam: “Jack, we just want things to be the way they were, are you hearing this?”

Jack says he is.

Castiel says to Duma that he’s getting Jack out of here.  Duma stops him saying she’ll end Ma and Pa Winchester’s special heaven if he does anything.

She doesn’t get a chance to do the Thanos snap because Castiel ends her with an angel blade. Yes! Where have you been hiding?  Hmm?  I’m so done with Castiel trying to live and work and act like a human crap, he’s a fucking powerful angel and I hate what the show and fandom have reduced him to, this poor, little wooby that’s been reduced to human problems. He isn’t anything of the sort, which is why his story ended long ago.  Anyway, kicking my stuck record player once again, Badass!Castiel (which is the only Castiel this blog accepts) goes to find Jack.

Back at the bunker, Jack has not appeared, Sam says, “I guess he didn’t hear it.”  (is there a little relief in that statement Sam, hmmm).

A flap of wings though announces Jack’s appearance and he says, “I heard, and I was so glad.  I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”  He turns to Dean who looks like he wants to rip Jack’s head off, “I’ve been working with the angels to purify the world, oh and making angels…”

Okay, I’m going to kudos this one because I’m actually feeling for Jack here, he’s like a literal child, and he feels he’s done good (because Duma told him he was, and it would make Sam and Dean happy).  And all he wants is to make Sam and Dean proud of him for doing good and we’re meant to feel bad about what Sam and Dean are contemplating doing.  It’s horrible, this is a child they are going to put into a tiny, dark box and lock the door on. We’re supposed to stop and think about that.  But from Sam and Dean’s perspective, Jack isn’t just a child, he’s the most powerful being on the planet and he’s killing innocent people because he’s completely malleable to influence, he’s killing people because he doesn’t know any better. He’s killing people because he has a temper and can’t control it.  And they’ve got no idea how else to stop him, other than the box.  

Dean imo isn’t thinking straight, and not just from grief from Jack killing his mother.  Even before Mary died. Dean’s been affected by the things Michael did while wearing Dean’s body and using Dean’s hands for murder and we haven’t seen that come out yet, but from Dean’s perspective, it’s always been about eliminate the monster, which in his opinion, Jack has turned into and needs to be dealt with like any other monster.  

And Sam, as I’ve mentioned in a separate post, he’s going along with Dean because he doesn’t want to let his brother down again. He doesn’t want to make the wrong choice like he did with Ruby.  He’s never going to let his brother down again by choosing someone over Dean (Sam’s view of things, not mine), so his only choice is to trust Dean. He’s also struggling with decisions he’s made this season that he feels has led to the deaths of several people (unfairly imo), but it’s heavily on his mind and he doesn’t trust his judgement anymore so he’s looking to someone else to call the shots, unfortunately, that someone else is equally broken and equally not capable of calling the shots.  And screw anyone that is hating these boys right now because you haven’t been watching the season which has led up to this!

Kudos to Jensen, Jared and Alex as this is a great scene between the three of them.  Alex is so child-like, Jensen is barely containing his rage and Jared is alternating between being scared of Jack and really not being happy about what they are doing. Fan fiction or not, the show has portrayed that Sam feels a father/son relationship with Jack (moreso than Dean I would strongly argue).  I’m both an Aunt and a mother and I can say that although I love my nieces and nephew, it absolutely does not compare to a parent/child bond. Putting this scene in it’s entirety as it’s that good.

Jack: Yeah, I make angels… (Dean fake smiles), but, I really missed you guys.

Dean: Yeah, us too, right Sammy…

What I love about this scene is that during it, Sam got up silently and had been walking around the back of Dean.  Dean had his eyes on Jack the whole time, but he still knew that Sam had moved from the table and where he is now.

Dean: …Tell Jack how we want to clear things up, you know, between us

Sam looks like he’s walking up to the gallows as he’s moving closer to Jack. This is horrible to watch, but hey, for the first time in a few episodes, it’s actually great television no matter how painful!

Jack: I know, I know things have been bad, and… and if it helps, I regret it.

Now, since this was said in a similar tone to “I regret having that fifth cookie”, it’s not going down all that well with Sam and Dean so Sam and Dean just look at him and he continues, “The… accident.”

Sam (looks briefly back at Dean): The… accident?

Jack: What happened to Mary… she kept talking about my soul, that I didn’t have a soul, and she kept pushing…

Dean: Oh… so, she made you do it

Jack: No, it was me but, I didn’t want this “no soul thing” to become an issue between us. (Sam looks back at Dean who is trying very, very hard, not to react). I guess I… snapped.  Before I knew it, it was all over.

Dean: It… being the accident

Jack (steps forward): I wish it didn’t happen

Dean: yeah, Jack, so do we, but… we understand, and we forgive you, you know for the uh… accident.

Sam (moving closer to Jack and he’s close to losing it): That’s what you want, right Jack, I mean you’d, you’d like that?

Jack: I’d like for things to go back to the way they were.  (He sighs and smiles), I knew you’d understand.

Dean: So, if we told you that we were close to being able to fix your soul, we just need to keep you safe, until everything is ready… you, you’d be okay with that?

Jack: Safe?  What do you mean? 

Dean: Well, you could hurt other people, have another… accident.

Jack: Oh

Sam: We want to keep you safe Jack, that also means we have to… keep you safe from yourself (Sam reaches out and tentatively puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder), you know just so that nobody gets hurt, just until we get you better.

Jack looks at the hand on his shoulder and then at Sam and Dean and we (and likely they) are not sure if he’s going to have another “accident”, but he doesn’t, and they lead the lamb to the room with the box in it.  Dean tells Jack that the best feature of the box is that it’s warded so keeps Jack’s powers below “the meltdown level.” Sam does that enthusiastic parent thing where they try to make a bad thing sound good, “Yeah, so you can’t hurt anyone, and nobody can hurt you!” (doesn’t that sound wonderful Jack?!)

Jack says he understands, but I’m not sure he really does.  He goes into the box anyway.  He asks Sam how long before he can come out.  Sam answers, “not too long, (he looks nervously at Dean then back at Jack), Jack, we got this.” (Narrators voice: Sam does not have this, he’s close to breaking point).

Everybody is smiling (or grimacing) and Jack says, “Okay” and lies down in the box which Dean quickly closes and locks.  Sam closes his eyes and walks out. He can’t handle it.

Jack’s in the box and he’s calling for Sam and Dean and I can’t.  Sam and Dean are outside the room and they can hear him and it’s just awful. And it’s the panic room all over again, with a lot less space.  Fuck Dabb for this, seriously.  

Sam and Dean are finally drinking from the bottle of scotch mentioned earlier. I get an empty glass and join them because really, did we really just do this?   Sam asks Dean what they do now. “Just go on with Jack locked up in there forever?”

Dean: We have to

Sam: I don’t know if I can do that.

For those of you that think Sam’s went along with this plan without having the intention of finding some way to help Jack get out then I feel sorry for you, you are missing out on a great character. Sam will absolutely be spending hours upon hours not sleeping to do research to get Jack out of the box, while working on Dean to accept getting Jack out of the box (so he’s not seen to “betray” his brother again which Sam as I mentioned earlier will not do).  And similarly with Dean, he’s broken and not functioning and shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions right now, but Sam doesn’t trust himself, so what can you do? 

Dean doesn’t answer that, just appreciates the whisky Ketch left.

Sam: you know I never thought it would end like this, with Jack.

Dean: Sammy, we knew from the beginning it was a long shot with him.

Sam: Yeah, but long shots are kind of our thing

Back to the coffin and Jack’s still calling for them, “Guys, I don’t think I like this.”

You know what Jack, neither do I.

Hallucifer is with him, telling him he got played. Jack tells him they said he should trust them.  Hallucifer tells him that trust is a two-way street, that if they had trusted him, they wouldn’t have locked him up.

Castiel is back, he updates that Jack had been manipulated into doing what he was doing by Heaven (well duh again!), That Duma had told Jack that by doing those things, it would please Sam and Dean.

Dean: Oh, so now it’s our fault

Castiel: I’m just saying it’s urgent that we find him and tell him

Sam: Cass, he’s here.

Castiel (eyes narrow): What?

Dean: He’s locked up, safe, he’s in the ma’lak box

Castiel: No!

Dean: And that’s where he’s going to stay

Sam and Castiel look at each other.

Hallucifer is still working away at Jack and it seems to be working.  He tells Jack there is no coming back from killing their mother, so the box is it for the rest of time. Jack gets pissed, his eyes glow and we see the box shaking… but it doesn’t break.

Castiel: Even after hearing what I said, you want to keep Jack sealed in a living death.

Dean: He agreed to it, because deep down, I think he knows it’s best

Castiel: No, you’re doing what Duma… you are manipulating him!

Back to the coffin, Jack turns to Hallucifer who says, “Bring it.”  Eyes glow, warding seals glow and Hallucifer laughs.

Sam: Cass…

Cass: What?  You just want to forget about him.

Dean: I wish I could forget about him, after what he did, and you know what he can do, this is our only play…

Loud banging noise is heard by all three, the bunker is shaking, emergency lighting switches to red, alarms blare, they run to the room with the box, with Castiel in the lead (but how does he even know which room Dean had the box in? – even Sam didn’t know).  

Anyway, as we look into the smoke, yellow eyes appear first then Jack moves forward.

Sam: Jack…

Wow, let the meltdown ensue in the tags!  

Last cliffhanger of the series next week, loads of meta already, I’m on Team: Dean will try to kill Jack, Sam will try to stop him, Chuck will appear to sort it all out and Castiel will be sacrificed.   My prediction for Season 15 is that Dean will be told to sort out Heaven and Sam to get a grip on hell. And I will be way wrong, but it’s fun guessing where all of this is going to end. 

#spn spoilers #14.19 #jack in the box #spn critical #anti castiel #anti dabb #just in case

[dememarquette]

INITIATION

Adria's promotion came without precedent. You can call Ashwater the trial run, but that was do or die. This? This is procedural. Her own unit. A task force specially designed for beating up monsters- and no, she's not returning to HBO.

Her run-in with the demonic ring and Invidia was exactly what the city needed to see. It was a story built for the presses. Executed with the idyllic mixture of good sleuthing and novel ass-kicking, her stunt hit the news cycle with a vengeance. After that, funding was on board and the tax dollars came rolling in. Ashwater ripped the band-aid off supernatural phenomena, and the rest of the world was waking up. This began with Modena, and it'd launch with Adria. It was only right that she'd be in the first team on the field. She earned the pioneer position. No one else had a résumé that could compare, and the better part of America that wasn’t composed of undead abominations was there, cheering her on. And if you asked her? Glory reached its pinnacle with her office. Watching her name's stenciling peel onto the glass was a vindicating moment. She came from a town most GPS’s have mapped as Corn. The office was a symbol. It culminated all those long, restless hours of knowing she could be doing better while she was stuck signing off parking tickets. ....Even so. It wasn't a twist she was expecting. Don't get her wrong- she was honored. Thrilled! But saying she was vanguard in a new and exciting development of law enforcement seemed... Well, braggadocious. And when she was feeling awkward about the incessant waves of praise, Demetrius was there to both confirm and fix it by making it actually bombastic. At around the fifth time of him repeating the title of her newfound position with accents slaughtered from various James Bonds, she came around. Adria Kyriakoulopoulos, lead investigator of Modena Paranormal Investigation Unit. It had a ring to it. Secretly, Adria found herself repeating it in the mirror too. She couldn't ask for anything more badass. And with all the boring set-up and paperwork out of the way, her new badge came with a celebration. City-funded. This was an induction of an entirely new branch- there's no way history would be made quietly. Modena knew how to party and anyone who was anybody in law enforcement or civil service was there. It had it all: catering from businesses city-wide, open bar, and live music. No one knew how this would shape the city, country, or future so everyone wanted their foot in the door. (Including Julia, who regrettably did not make the guest list.) Ashwater's sweethearts arrived as a pair. 'Fresh to death' didn't cover it. Demetrius spent hours picking at his suit the week before, and even longer getting ready this morning. Adria would have just snagged something off the rack, and spared the sales team (yes, team) the headache but that is strictly forbidden in Demetrius' company. She was roped into the tailored route too, only a little bit against her will. Without her braid, she leaned into her new snipped cut. This made her ensemble riskier than her usual formal affair. It flaunted an open back: sheer in all the right places, and hugging her curves where it mattered. It was a tasteful parrotail that cropped at her knees, confirming both that she DID have legs, and it was out to drive Demetri crazy. If he hadn't confessed to Buzzfeed, he would have given himself away tonight. It was all eyes on her. While they separated to schmooze as the party started, he always found his way back. "Congratulations detective." He bumped into side. He toted a flute of champagne in one hand, her waist in another. "How's it feel to be living the X-files?" "Overwhelming." She said, with a small smile. He found her mingling on the outskirts of the crowd, enjoying the buzz of party-goers without actively participating. Socializing of this magnitude required breaks. "This, I mean. I think I'm better at punching monsters than cocktail parties." "Maybe you should've thought about that before wearing that dress. Everyone's watching." It was true, but only somewhat for the reason he meant. Adria had been dodging conversations all night. The ones she couldn't escape usually started with 'How do you do it? What's it like?' and her responses were always along the lines of 'You stab some. Others you have to decapitate, sometimes burn, but it all depends-...' They weren't exactly the edge-of-your-seat anecdotes the masses were hungry for, and she wasn't theatrical enough to give a good statement. Still. It was exhausting, but fun. "How about you? Are you having a good time?" "Of course. Though, people keep thinking I'm jumping back into the ring too. Like me? In a cop uniform? Please." "Aw, really? Modena needs you on call," She smirked. "What if we encounter a big bad guy and desperately need lamp post across the street shot out?" "Ha ha. Don't forget, you're the one who gave me lessons." She nudged his side- not to take credit since he's turned down six lessons since, but in general contentment with the moment. Demetrius had gotten over his reluctance about Adria making herself a bullseye to the otherworldly, and the both of them were loosening up. She felt great, she looked great, and now that Demetrius was 'allowed' to go on record being her plus-one? She couldn't ask for more. Life was good. "I understand you're hiding out by the gross appetizers for anonymity, but would you like a drink Detective Kyriakoulopoulos?" "Sure." "And what would you like?" "Surprise me." "Oho, you won't regret that," He winked. "I will be right back." That cocktail turned into two. Then three. And when Liam was on the phone? Four. Between the second and third they cha-cha slid to the floor. People knew better to butt into their moment, or were informed ‘courteously’ by the princess of the hour. From that point on, the party might as well been just the two of them, and that suited both just fine. The DJ's had fun with the playlist. Records ranged from fan-favorites, ironic Halloween staples, to radio smash hits. And though they were getting tipsier with each passing song, it went unsaid that the obligatory slow jam up next was a redeeming moment for their last disastrous slow dance. It wasn't a scar that necessarily needed healing but it certainly felt nice to amend it. Her head settled on his shoulder. At the first romantic strum, their eyes shut and fingers laced. They fit into one another naturally. Uninhibited and undisguised- just the two of them in their own world. It was perfect. This sublime peace lasted thirty seconds. Adria heard it before he acknowledged it: a grimace and low whine barely audible over the tender notes of the piano. She withdrew from his chest to find his brows set in deepest degree of apologetic she'd ever seen. Horrifying. "Deme-?" "Excuse me- sorry." He stepped back, panicked. "One moment. One- hrrk-" He darted off. Couples swayed around her, picturesque under the dreamlike strobes. At the height of the night, Adria was alone. She stiffly excused herself from the floor. Plopping into a seat off the side of the stage, she nestled among the lamenting women in heels and elderly. The plan was to wait and flag him down, but Adria is not patient. She had nerves of acid: caustic and thorough. Sitting on standby lasted all of five minutes, and when disaster thoughts started eating her alive, nothing was stopping the cop from barging into the men's bathroom. Social propriety be damned. "Deme?" She kneed the first stall in, then the second. "You in here? Deme?" "Uuugh." "Deme!" Adria shoved into the third only to jerk back like she stepped on a mine. "Jesus. What did you drink?!" "Same thing you were." He said miserably into the bowl. Monster pastries weren't looking too cute on their callback, and neither was he. His pristine bangs moments before were mussed, tangling with his fingers as he supported his head in his hands. His collar was undone, and he slouched on the seat like it was the only thing keeping him from the floor. "Don't tell anyone I can't hold my liquor." She dropped to his side, rubbing his back. "Are you okay?" "Been better." "Stupid question- should we go? I can call Liam. I'm going to call Liam." He groaned, rueful voice echoing in the bowl. "I don't want to ruin your big day." "I've had enough 'Congratulations on being good at killing things' for one night. It's fine-!" The door squeaked. A random attendant walked in, popping their moment. "Uh-?" Adria poked her head out the stall. The look was damning on her knees, "Hey we’re occupied, all of them!" "Aren't you-? But- this is the men's-" "What'd I say! Go!" Flustered, he bolted and found a potted plant somewhere else. Deme looked over his shoulder- pitiful, but in good spirits. "Pretty sure you were the one breaking the law, officer." "It's my party, I can kick people out of the bathrooms if I want. C'mon, let's go." She hefted his arm around her neck. After one more false alarm, they headed back to her place. He desecrated one taxi en route. After narrowly doing the same to her doormat, he spent spent the night in her bathroom until ultimately retiring to the couch, garbage bin in hand. Adria peeled herself off at around 8. Fiddling in the kitchen gave her something to do. It was nonsensical but she still found a way to take blame. Making breakfast felt like fixing last night. Demetrius wasn't conscious for a good while after, and when he did wake up, she was going to send him back for another eight. He looked like garbage. His blonde hair looked like he slept on a balloon, and the dark circles that rimmed his eyes suggested he'd been sucker punched for symmetry. It scared her enough to where he got the first word. "I'm taking the week off," He declared. She forfeited a plate. "That's a bit of an overreaction for a hangover." Not that she disagreed. She had been ruminating alone for hours, therefore amply prepared. Breakfast came with a tall glass of water and an Asprin. His Starbucks order was already queued up, but overall the effort wasn't necessary. He looked down at her offerings queasy, like she was out to poison him. "Is it? Doesn't feel like it." "I mean. Can you even do that?" "Sure. I can get a substitute." She revoked the waffles without hard feelings. "I don't think your fan-base will like that." "We've already gone over this. You're more than a couple notches higher on my priority list." She stopped mid-turn. Nowhere was she in this equation. "Me? What does this have to do with me?" He shrugged, poking at an egg on a side plate only to watch it tear. Technically they were past the awkward feelings, but it always had time to rear its head. It didn't suit him, and when he looked as pathetic as he did right now? She took it personal. "I dunno. I never get to see you anymore." "What? We spent all weekend together. Where is this coming from?" "You're going to be working all the time..." "It won’t be different than it has been!" "Except when you slip off radar undercover?" His gaze locked with hers. Unable to look away, she receded back into her seat. "Or when you have to investigate some nocturnal freak, and you sleep through the day? You're always going to be busy. And with the new unit, I won't see you until next year." Troubled, she found it hard to argue. Everything was too new and intimidating, but to have problems arising before day one on the field? No one knew what they were dipping their feet into. Especially not her. "Yeah well." She frowned, slumping a little too. "...Is this going to be a problem?" His apprehension melted, eyes widening at the unexpected outcome. "What? No." He compulsively he reached across the table. He snagged her hand in his. "Nooo. This is my way of spending more time with you. At least the first week, while everyone's ansty." "...I'm not antsy. Are you antsy?" "I'm not antsy." He said, putting more effort into faking the lie than actually lying. Somewhat soothed, she rubbed a thumb over the back of his palm, catching onto where this was going. Or at least, she thought she did. "I guess what I'm saying is- you go get all the stress of saving Modena from Godzilla, and I'll be here to hear all about it." "Yeah." "...And maybe we can think about condensing our living situation when you're comfortable." She blinked. What he meant took a second to sink in. And while it was clear as day, it still had to filter through a wall of disbelief before she allowed her heart to be set. "...Really?" "Maybe..?" He smiled, hopeful. - - - The next day she dove into work. Far from anxious, she was energized. The future never looked so bright. And gross! When she wasn't pinning apartments for consideration, she was drawing big fat X's across hot spots on the map. Turns out when you're looking for monsters, it's easy to find them. Ghosts, vampires, banshees. Or the lesser known critters like something called the 'Gowrow' slinking around the Great Lakes. This wasn't Ashwater, this was large scale. These were pockets of creatures that have been here for centuries with roots as old as the cities themselves. They owned the properties, they ran the shops. Some accusations were thrown around that they were running for office. (The department was determined to not get political just after it inception. Or at least, not while everything was circumstantial.) Nevertheless, she was kept busy. And after a long day's work of pouring over night cam footage and house calls regarding suspicious smells, she'd come back to her apartment, where Demetrius was. "-and then I kicked down the door. They screeched, just like the things under Minnie's house, do you remember?" "I do. But do you remember when you were satisfied doing traffic stops?” He countered. “I sure don't." She propped her legs across his lap, still working a towel through her hair. It was impossible to tell if the notably short shower was a result of the four feet lopped off her head or the chipper mood. "Right? I really feel like this is good for me." "I can tell. Look at your eyes. It's like Stephen King with a nightmare. I don't understand it but if it's working for you, I'm glad." She grinned. There was no denying it. Being a detective was exciting but this was the next step. "And what have you been doing?" "Hey," He warned. "You can't seriously be expecting me to follow-up after a house elf drug bust." "Try anyways." She teased. He drummed against her knees. "Hm. Well. I spent the day laying the groundwork for community events later this year. How does a Oops I Did it Again themed confession night sound?" "Awful." "Right? I'm excited. I didn't get too far, though. Still feeling off." She draped the towel over her shoulders. "You know Ian got sick at that party too." "Yeah? Figures he's a lightweight." She rolled her eyes when he actually meant it. "Martina's cousin, too." "Huh...maybe it was something in the food?" "Maybe." She thought. Though she had eaten off his tray until it came to fishy hors'devours with names she couldn't pronounce. But an eleven year old wasn't touching salmon mousse cups either. "You rest easy then, okay?" "Aye-aye." - - - After her first couple days, beginners luck wore off. It's not that they weren't getting intel. Everyone had their stories. Tip lines rang off the hooks- it's just they weren't getting anywhere with them. Adria would try to make rendezvous with a witness, and they'd disappear. Stake-outs weren't active. Shops of interest shut down, and their owners went on holiday. Work plateaued. Overnight Modena's horror problem was drying up and leaving the department to scratch their heads. "What is going on?" Adria brooded into her steering wheel. Her partner, Peter, shook his thermos as if its contents hadn't gone cold ages ago. "They heard you were taking the city by storm and decided to pack up. "Yeah right. They couldn't get enough of me in Ashwater." He shrugged. For once, he had no wise aphorism to offer. They sat in the car for another uneventful four hours before turning in. She had nothing stranger to report than the ridiculous outfits people will be caught in public in. She came home that night, wound up and irritable. "Every day can't be a winner," Deme consoled. She was stabbing into leftovers like she'd injure the abstract concept of Modena's Lack Of Supernatural Crime by proxy. "Yeah, but nothing? It's like they fell off the face of the Earth. I get it, these guys are supernatural or whatever but that doesn't mean you can just disappear." "Except that it might?" "Unlikely!" She threatened him with a fork. He surrendered, two hands in the air. "You're right! So what now?" "We got one more place to check out for the Dover Demon problem." She said. "This little diner. The owner's story didn't match up with the rest of the accounts so we were going to ignore it as some guy seeking his five minutes of fame, but I guess we have no choice." "Good luck." The next day he turned up dead. "Jesus Christ." Adria held her nose. What smelled worse? The body, or the rotting lunch meat? The answer was both. All of it. The corpse was affixed to the ground with every utensil in the shop. It looked like the killer's intent wasn't to kill but to perforate. Blood spattered like a blender without it's top, leaving a scene so grisly that you'd have to be a true skeptic to believe this was done by a human hand. Adria wasn't one. It screamed occult, and when the crime scene turned up without any physical evidence despite being a snuff film outtake, it was safe to say everyone was onboard with that theory. It was awful. Aggravating, to have another lead go cold before pursued but the part that Adria couldn't get over was the timing. This guy had been shouting crazy nonsense for months. He published columns in Fortean Times. The FCC banned him from radio bandwidths- and this was all long before the unit popped up! It's only now that something felt threatened enough by him to off him? It didn't sit right. While forensics grasped for straws in the alley behind the shop, Adria left early. "What are you doing home?" Demetri blinked. He was fitting the key to her door. Startled, he offered a confused peck as she shouldered out of her jacket. The way she shoved it onto the rack was already a glaring indication something was wrong. The gun belt, thankfully, was set down with more delicacy. He shut the door quietly behind him. "...Are you okay?" "Today was a bust." "Again?" "Yeah. The guy was dead. The last witness!" "Jeez..." "Before, the case hadn't escalated to homicide. This is- all this!!- ugh." She sighed, attempting to expel the drama with her lungs. She was done with it. Demetri couldn't say anything comforting. Not in a way that mattered because she was just going to get angry if she thought about it too much. The scope is limited, but the eventual toll this could take on the city's faith in the MPI was a problem. How could anyone promise protection against the vague and general idea of Monsters? Before it was under control? There was no reference for handling these issues either. Other teams in the unit were having the same problems, if not worse. They actually looked to Adria for guidance. It was the helplessness that pissed her off. He sensed this. Settling onto the sofa, he patted the spot beside him as a tense reprieve from pacing. "...What now then? You can't just scrap it." "I can't." She took the bait. "But I guess we have no choice but to backtrack, and wait on the lab. I have a stack of cases that need my attention. Getting somewhere on one of them might inspire me." "Other cases?" She looked over, in the middle of combing through her hair with her fingers. He was rapt, but it was something about the way he asked. Maybe in the vein of jinx- superstition perhaps. She didn't know what prompted her to reply the way she did. Even doing it felt ridiculous, but Adria had spent enough years ignoring her gut and paying egregiously for it to not give in. Just this once. "We're also working a case on vampires.” She said. “There are suspicions of them at the casino." It wasn't a lie exactly. There were actual accusations, but they more or less seemed fabricated. "Reports say they’re taking care of people that can't pay up. A traffic light camera caught something promising, of all things. Can you imagine?" "Does this mean more undercover work?" He asked, with a salacious wiggle of his brows. "I'm not going blonde again." "Psh no. But black might be fun. Mysterious~" He shut one eye, picturing it between the angle of his thumb and finger. "I almost want in on it. Almost." "Maybe. We're still thinking about it, but I'll let you know if we need a human sacrifice." She frowned. "Speaking of looks, you look like you're doing the whole vacation thing wrong." "Sorry- should I go get a tan on top of my apartment building?" She wanted to laugh but she was serious. He was jaunty as ever, but he didn't seem to be looking any better since the party. The spaces under his cheekbones were hollowing, standing out too much on his lean babyface. On topic, she wasn't sure vampires would want him at all. "Is all this worrying you?" She asked. "You can be honest." He averted his eyes, evasive. It was the manner he always did when she was broaching sensitive topics without adequate warning. She barreled ahead, anyways. This was about her own worries just as much as his. "...Between this and the move-in thing we talked about, I don't want you making rash decisions just because you're worried. And not for the right reasons." The misdirect he could handle. "Right reasons? Adria...I'm always going to be worried. But that's going to happen whether you're fighting boogeymen or pickpockets." He said. "You're doing great work out there. There's no way I want out of it, or to be across the city while you do it. We're a team still, even if we're no longer matching." She snorted. "We were never matching." "Even if I don't get to play with your transponder anymore." "You weren’t supposed to do that either-!" "You're no fun." The evening devolved in to pleasant, familiar bickering. The stress from work melted away, and the next morning it became clear her home life and work life had a funny way of staying in sync. There was a breakthrough. After locals caught police presence in the area, more came forward. There were plenty of people willing to corroborate the deceased was insane (and not in the right-all-along way), but a few recounted strange activity that morning. He closed up merely a half hour after open, denying the lunch rush. Regulars were peeved but chalked it up to his usual antics until around noon when the upstairs neighbor’s dogs started barking. She insisted her chihuahuas were well behaved, special, wonderful angels who would never make a fuss unless something was wrong. It was easy to assume she was also crazy until a peek through the building's air system where the dogs were barking left a trail. The vents tunneled directly to his kitchen. From there, there was new residue to work with. Not human, and not natural. Adria headed back to the office to type up her report. She left the long soliloquies exalting inbred teacups dogs out of evidence, but the rest looked promising. Jazzed from the progress, she hadn't noticed Ian materialize at her desk. "Hey-o." "Hello," She parroted, not paying him any mind. He knew her too well to be offended. Amused, he waved a hand between her face and the screen until she docked back on Earth. "I said, Hey-o~!" "Oh- OH, Ian! Hi." "Someone's invested." He peered at her screen. It was split between photographs of gore, and what looked like sparkly powdered sugar down the ventilation system. "Neat. Has anyone told you that you type loud, by the way? Really loud?" "I've heard that before." Her seat twisted. She opened her palms for a kit-kat. He always snatched one every time he passed the receptionist's candy bowl. "Did you come over here to file a noise complaint?" "No. Not today." He tossed it. She caught it, flawlessly. "I was actually wondering if you got anywhere with the Victory Spire case?" "...Victory Spire?" "The casino?" She had heard him the first time but it wasn't registering. The case, as far as it concerned the police department, had been tossed out. There wasn't any evidence of missing persons or undead activity. Camera footage was flimsy at best. It was one of the first files put before them when the unit began, and seemed to be nothing more than people rallying against recently turned gambling legislation, and finding any reason at all to disparage it. Calling it paranormal was topical, and a red herring. "No?" She hesitated. Perplexed, Ian looked down at his paper. Adria never felt the urge to snoop more than she did now. Ian was dealing with his own workplace drama, extending from the fuzzy lines of where monster rights began and end, and nullifying actual evidence by acting too hasty at a scene. His interest in what's on her plate was unwarranted, much less cases she made up last night. "Huh." He rubbed his chin. "Okay. I must be confusing it with last night's Buffy marathon." "Must be..." He shrugged it off. "Oh well. Catch you later, alright?" "...Seeya." Following that weird encounter, Adria hit the brakes. Shutting it down her computer, she threw her on jacket and tore out of the building. She was a cop, but today had no problem breaking the speed limit. This time, to Demetrius' place. She racked her brain at every stop light. The pounding radio was shut off so she could think clearly, but it always came back to one conclusion. There was no situation she could come up with where he'd be in the same room with Ian. Or text. Or communicate at all unless a call to Adria's office accidentally misdirected, and even then she was sure Demetrius would over-act or hang up the phone. Them shooting the shit about case files wasn't feasible. But an office error wasn't making sense either. She had to ask. Where her newfound detective skills benefited her ability to lie, Demetri's exemplary talent stagnated. She knew- knew- she'd be able to tell. This would happen after a quick pit stop. She decided to surprise him. And by surprise, she did it in the general way police officers know how which is with an unannounced police raid. She didn't have a warrant, but she did have take-out. "Deme!" She bumped her hip into the door. It swung shut behind her, leaving her to waddle into his sleek bachelor pad with arms full of pretentious salads and deli sandwiches. To her immediate alarm, his apartment was dark. At first, it didn’t look like anyone was home until a confused 'Adria?' piped from the next room. He wandered out into the hall, bewildered and fixing his tie expertly without looking. While she knew he could do it blindfolded and handcuffed (lord knows she couldn't get one of those undone on her own, this coming from awkward experience), doing it in the dark habitually was...odd. "Uhhhh," She dropped the bags onto the dining table. "Did you miss your power bill? Is that why you've been crashing at my place?" He snorted, flicking on the lights one by one. "What brings you by?" "I had another bad day at work," She lied into dinner. Amazingly, it helped when caught off-guard. "Thought I’d spoil us to get over it. Also I didn’t want to cook." "Ohhh…” He cringed. "Unfortunately I just ate...Mind if I pop it into the 'fridge?" Adria was skeptical. It hadn't truly occurred to her until he said that, but from this angle, it looked like he hadn't eaten in ages. She usually knew when he riding the latest diet trend. More often than not, she was dragged into it herself, but that wasn't the case here. "Not at all..." He dipped into the kitchen. Time fleeting, she shot to her feet. Normally she was comfortable enough at his place to do whatever she wanted, whenever, but today was cloak-and-dagger. If her gut was speaking to her before, it was screaming now. Something was wrong. What exactly it was? Adria didn't know. She was going off zero probable cause, only the certainty she'd find her answers tonight. With that in mind she stalked down the hall, bounding towards his room. That felt like the right place to search, but she didn't manage to get that far. She stopped at the bathroom. It was dark. Those lights were off (of course) but what seized her attention was the mirror. It was veiled. A towel, tossed over the glass. This was weird in most contexts, immeasurably disconcerting in this one. Shooting one paranoid glance behind her, she pared a corner. Slow. Dread eased her movements to a crawl as reminders from every horror film said she'd regret what she found underneath- Nothing. The towel anticlimactically dropped to the sink. Underneath was a mirror. Just a mirror. She leaned in, scrutinizing her reflection like she'd find discrepancies with a squint. The Adria staring back at her moved as she did, at the right time, and the right way. The mirror itself behaved like any hunk of glass should, if not ever-so-slightly more flattering than what you'd get at IKEA. She opened her mouth to ask, this investigation taking bizarre, silly turn but as she did, Deme passed. "Adria?" She strangled a scream. Reflexes yanked on her nerves to slam the door just as he checked his room. "Oh, jeez." He muffled from the opposite side. "You scared me-!" She slid down the door. Words failed her. It had been a glimpse. A split second of him passing the glass, but it was enough for adrenaline to kick it into high-gear. That wasn't Deme. It was more reminiscent of a medical diagram. One of the nervous system, in the graphics that looks like spaghetti noodles trailing back to the brain. Similar, but on crack. Instead his skin puckered around the lines. Fat, discolored veins breaching the flesh, wiring into his face. His eyes were black masses, darkness for the ducts to filter into. "You okay??" She kept both hands fastened over her mouth, hitting the lock with her elbow. He was out there acting normal. The concern in his voice sounded so painfully real that if she had missed it, she could've gone the whole night none-the-wiser. Was she supposed to forget what she saw? How was she going to get out? Could she be convincing talking to her infected boyfriend? She couldn't. God, she knew she couldn’t. Her stomach revolted at the thought- those lines were ridged like grubs. Unable to summon the courage to reply, she tried to think rationally. She had her phone with her. Meaning, she had Martina. She wasn't the best at opening these conversations, but frankly clarity wasn’t on her mind. [7:36] Check your cousin in a mirror. She sent, ominous. Martina replied back as one would when issued that esoteric request. [7:37] What?? [7:37] Do it. Just do it. Silence. She nervously fidgeted as Demetri's concern continued through the door. "Adria...? Do you need anything? Meds?" "N-no!" She stressed. "I'm fine!" "Are you sure?" "Positive!!" Outside, Demetrius seemed to be catching on. What that meant only spelled out more trouble for her. "Oh- don't mind the mirror thing! They were doing roofing renovations." "Makes sense!" She called back. It totally did not. She diverted attention to her screen. It vibrated with the response. [7:41] Oh my god. what do I do?? whats wrong with him??!! [7:41] Don't do anything yet. Don't overreact either. I'm going to call Moreau STAT. With that, she exited the bathroom like a SWAT drill. Deme watched her whiz past. Had he been any closer, he'd have been hockey checked through the wall. "Uh-?!" "On call!" She said, rushing through the front. Gun belt was snatched at last possible second. "With what??" "More gambling vampires!" The door slammed. She shuffled down the hall like her life depended on it. For all she knew, it did. Moreau was on the other line before the elevator was down one floor. "I need you to look something up for me." The next call was to Martina. - - After one very brief and distressing phone call, her ex-office mate was corralled into a hotel. Following what they'd seen, it didn't feel safe to go home. It didn't stop the reminders, though. Deme's texts went unanswered. She sent his calls straight to voicemail, and after enough of them she smothered her phone completely. Martina hadn't stopped rambling, frantically trying to articulate what she saw in her baby cousin. "Angel looked like- like- a monster. Those things? I saw them move-! Like a hose, when you switch the water on-" Martina hadn't made the transfer over to the new department. She felt her skills were best spent against humanity's worst, so dragging her into this mess hit Adria with an intense wave of guilt. But after what Moreau said? There was nowhere else to turn. "I know. Deme too." "How-??" "Moreau thinks it's something called the Amazonian Saginata. It only develops in males." Her fists tightened on the wheel, composure paper-thin. "It takes over the body's nervous system post being ingested." Martina retched. "Ingested?" "Y-yes. They operate off the host's memory, making them mostly undetectable because they have all the information. But they're parasitic in nature, and they're kind of like bees, with hive-mind." "What?" She reeled. "How do we fix it? Can we fix it?" "Yes. With salt." "Salt? What do you mean salt?" "Salt is actually repellent for a lot of these things. Witches, demons, spirits-" She chewed her lip. In Ashwater she had it on hand at all times. In Modena, she’d need to pick the habit back up. "So we need it blessed?!" Adria had asked the same thing. "...No actually. just regular salt." Martina's horror shifted to confusion. "I think...Demetrius knows the most. We start with him." - - - They were armed as much as they could be with a condiment: four tins of Morton Salt shoved into Martina's purse, with half a can dissolved in a water bottle. Resolve steeled, Adria finally returned Demetri's call. "Sorry for everything. I got in over my head." "Are you serious? That's your excuse?" He fumed. She had to hold the cell away from her ear. "I was worried sick! I couldn't even get two words out of you! Or a text? What, were they right outside my door?!" She stifled a shudder. Martina was silently chanting 'ew ew ew' passenger side in her cruiser. The last thing they wanted to hear was how much a bug wearing her boyfriend was missing her. "I know. Listen, I'm sorry, but you know my job! I'm heading back to your place now. Or are you at mine?" "Still at mine," He heaved a sigh. Adria recognized it as same one he had at the hospital- angry, but relieved. It was almost impressive if not viscerally disgusting. “Okay. I’ll be there in five.” "I'll leave the light on for you." He derisively joked. "...Thanks." The call dropped. The ladies issued themselves a terse pep talk after parking. Their plan of action was foggy, but this was Deme they were talking about. A seatbelt's won a fight before. Two trained officers of the law could handle it. Maybe with a little struggle, but it'd be a piece of cake. They hoped. There wasn't a plan B. Outside his apartment, Martina stood off to the side. Her purse was readily accessible over her shoulder while Adria's anxious expression took center-stage at the peephole. She knocked and waited. There was a short shuffle from within before he opened up. "I hope you don't mind I brought Martina over.” Adria breached the threshold. “She was called to the scene with m-" Everyone froze at the characteristic click of a gun. "I do, actually." From around the corner, a familiar face stepped out. His gun was aimed directly to Adria's forehead. "Ian?!" "Drop your weapons." He ordered. Then, pointedly to Martina. "And knives." "I mean really, Adria?" Demetrius rubbed his eyes. "I thought this was going to be private. Weren’t you the one having issues about our personal lives on screen?" "You invited Ian!" She balked. Ian gestured for them to step inside. His sight never left Adria's head, and her mind wasn’t forgetting his range scores. The man was a bonafide sharpshooter, and his quick draw was unparalleled. He whipped his pistol, a nonverbal cue to get on their knees. Both complied. Adria tried to think, her train of thought shooting off into five different directions. If she got close enough for a gut punch, she could disarm him. If one of them distracted, the other could tackle him. If- Demetrius caught on before Ian. His face split into a smirk as he took a leisurely step backward, thunking right against Ian's barrel. "Little warning~ Deme may need this, but I don't." Adria paled. The pistol was point blank. She was willing to risk a bullet, but not in Deme. Martina swore under her breath, but Ian-parasite was already looking done from the melodrama. "Do we have you listening now?" "Yes..." She resigned. "Good, because we're only going to ask once.” Deme said. “Me and this asshole here? We're here on an assignment. You-" "I'm not an asshole," Ian frowned. Demetri paused his manifesto. "Yes. I know you're not. But you know how it is-" he vaguely gestured his head, like it was an obvious reference. Ian seemed to understand, pensive. "...Yeah, I do think you're an asshole too." “Great.” Adria was about to lose her goddamn mind. "ENOUGH bonding!" She shouted. "What do you want?!" "Right. So here's the deal. We want your unit to dissolve." "You're poking into dangerous territory and destroying our ecosystem." "Which I doubt you care about, since you decided you owned the place. Kill all the locals, and where does that leave us?" He asked, waiting for answers from his audience. "That's right- preying on your citizens. Guess what? We don’t want them either. We’re fine working with immortal folk. But scare them all out of town and what do you get?" Deme lifted his button-down. His ribs underneath were looking ghastly. Layered over it, Adria imagined what it'd look like in a mirror, fleshy valves waving between his bones. "Say, how much longer do you think this one’s got?" "We can't do that..." She whispered. Suddenly it was coming together. Demetri's espionage, Ian's detrimental rookie mistakes. They were working in tandem to discredit the branch. "It's not in our power." "You hear that? She says she can't." "That's unfortunate." "You know that decision comes from people a lot higher up!” She argued. “We need time-!" "Now that's an excuse. This kind of thing? It doesn't need time." He said, disappointed. "We can try to do this procedurally. Or we can destroy the agents one by one. Your choice." Martina and Adria looked to eachother but weren't going to be given time for counsel. "It’s eaaasy. Make the calls, babe." Demetri winked. "Fine!! Okay, fine." She said. "I will quit. Right now. If Ian quits too, that will only leave two agents..." Demetri's brows lifted, encouraged. "-You can’t run a whole unit off two, and they aren't going to find replacements that quick. They'll shut down the department, especially with how things have been going lately. No one has to die." "Oh? Is this true?" He looked to his consprator. Ian nodded, taking this news just as well. "Yeah. Sounds solid." Three were on the same page. The forth- "NO!" Martina shot up. Ian's aim instinctively drew to her, treating her as hostile. "This is terrorism! Do you think the city is always going to buckle under? Just because a couple of bug-guys scare us?!" "Martina-" Adria begged. "Don't ‘Martina’ me! I can't believe you! Giving up like this!" Adria flinched. Shame was already eating her up from the inside. It didn't need echoed in real time. Seeing this, Deme was compelled to move forward, but restrained himself. Fortunately, Ian took pity too. Without any physical gesture or decree, the priest received the motion to go swipe the girls' guns off the floor. The cop hoisted Adria off the ground. Martina’s eyes darted between the three of them. "What? No! What are you doing with her?" "Getting this over with," relented Ian. "You can chat her ear off later." “What?! Bring her back!” Ignoring her, they absconded to his porch. The glass shut behind them. Martina shifted back to the priest, lip curled. "You're disgusting," She spit. "Even my cousin? A child? What are you doing with him?!" Deme fiddled with the pistol, disinterested. This wasn't the same issue as the one he practiced with in Ashwater. His already stunted learning curve was further impeded. "Well we don't control who joins us. I thought that was obvious." "What does that mean?" "It's random." He looked up. "Who knows how many more of us are out there? And how many more there will be? Don't bother guilting Adria, by the way. This was going to happen regardless." Deep down he couldn't shake the impulse to protect. Martina wouldn't see it that way, just like he didn't see her ankles move. Her toes touched ground, poised for a runner's start. "It's not like we wanted to do this, you know." He went on. "We just have to. Give us credit." She would- Depends if this worked or not. Meanwhile on the porch, Adria dialed. "Hello, Chief Brian, uh. Sir." She stilted, shivering in Modena's night air. "This is Detective Kyriakoulopoulos." It was 11 PM. By some miracle, she got ahold of the police commissioner. Ian loomed. His demeanor relaxed into a easy but attentive lounge against the wall. No code words were going to be used. He knew them all, making this conversation tricky. She kept that in mind, but she wasn’t out to convince. Just buy time. "I don't mean to call you this late, but I need to discuss my employment. The MPI-..." She watched Ian's weapon. His gun was trained to her lower stomach for a long and painful death, but otherwise he played it casual. He was ready to take the phone, standing idle to toss in his own resignation for convenience. Before she got to the good part, a disruption triggered in his head. He pivoted. Alert, his arms swept to the apartment. He shot a round through the glass. Her eardrums threatened to shatter with the door. A mere second prior, Martina had tackled Demetrius. He wasn't as skilled as his partner. The priest's trigger finger pulled, but he neglected to remember the safety. The gun ticked, but she had him grounded before he knew what was going on. His counter fizzled, as one expert maneuver had him flipped onto his stomach, with an arm contorted behind him. "SHIT- hey! IAN, HEY-" Ian was synced with incredible precision. He was operating through drapes but the blind shot was enough to rattle both women. "Enough!" He warned, cloth billowing. "Let him go or I'll kill him!" Martina flinched. The bullet pierced the wall, and though it was random, it was one too close for comfort. This wasn’t going to plan, but one thing they went over in the car was that the parasites were capable of seeing through multiple sets of eyes: Demetri's, and Ian's. One point of view was wriggling under a petite woman, and the other was ripping down curtains to put her in his crosshairs. No one was watching at Adria. She dropped her phone. In the same movement, she ripped the cuffs off her belt, and slammed them onto Ian's wrist. He fired one more wild shot before Adria nailed him in the gut. The bullet ricocheted off the ceiling while he went down. Before his weight took her with him, she shouldered him into the banister and locked him there. His other hand was free, the armed one. He swung. His wild arc struck Adria across the face and the force knocked her back into the door frame. She held back a cry as shards of glass embedded into to her skin, shredding her palms. His focus left Adria to turn back to Martina. Her head was staring perfidiously down the sights of his glock. That took priority. “NO!” One well aimed kick to his knee caps fixed that. Ian buckled, howling in pain as his pistol hurtled to the asphalt. It narrowly missed a pedestrian. He was disarmed, but it wasn't enough. In what looked like the shutdown of his sensory systems, he forgot his busted kneecap to pulverize his wrist instead. It jerked like a jackhammer, showing no signs he'd hesitate to break every tiny bone in his hands. Out of options, Adria struggled to her feet to deliver a violent uppercut to his jaw. One shot, and he was out like a light. Demetrius didn't put up enough of a fight to merit the formality.  - - - In an extraordinarily sensational newsbreak since its inception, the MPI resulted in an investigation of its own. All male attendants were called into the station and screened. The state never had to issue warrants based on a endo-corporeal parasite infection before, but there was no time like the present. It'd be the first of many arrests to break records. Meanwhile the culpable catering team was triangulated, tracked, and charged. Guilty parties were arrested (and dissolved, literally) while victims were admitted into the hospital. Modena's most menacing epidemic since tuberculosis was easily treated with limb restraints and a routine saline drip. It worked like a charm. The purging stage of detox was as gross as one could figure. Vomiting bugs was literally Adria's worst nightmare. While she loved and supported Demetrius to death, after their attempt at self-medicating went south, she did so from a distance. He wasn't technically awake so she refused to feel guilty. The detective relied on the staff to update her on his progress, and when he no longer hissing at the idea of S O D I U M, they gave him the all-clear. He stabilized in a state of disorientation. His brief was carried out in the most euphemistic, unrevolting manner possible. It wasn't pretty, but he got the picture. All he had to hear was 'bugs.’ He knew Adria was worrying herself into hyperdrive, and that made his own anxiety take a back seat. Their golden rule was only one person could be a wreck at any given time in this relationship, so when she walked in he put on his best game face. Her eyes widened, surprised. A few hours in the PCU did wonders. While still on the frail side, he looked so much better. (Adria didn’t, but it wasn’t nothing a few stitches couldn’t fix.) "My hero~" He cooed. She resisted the urge to use her compact. That bug had worked her over too well this past week. Consider her faith shaken. "Do you remember anything?" That was her cop voice. Amused, he tilted his head. "All of it." "All of it?" "Yup. Or at least I think I do." Demetrius punched a button. The backside of his bed levitated him up to a seated position. "It's weird, actually. More like a surreal dream. Well, nightmare, I guess." "You guess?" "Yeah. Nightmare. I don't enjoy have bugs wiggling around in my intestines but I didn't think that needed said." She'd taken a seat on the edge. Unsatisfied, he cinched her closer by the waist. "Why? Does this mean you're not going to tell me about your day anymore?~" "I certainly have good reason not to." She pouted. She wasn’t upset with him. Her apprehension wouldn’t last, just like the weirdness didn't. Already the were falling back into their normal rhythm- but that was the whole problem, wasn't it! She couldn't tell what was or wasn't him! And with that considered, one detail had been troubling. Gnawing at her, since this whole damn situation came to light. "So...did you mean that whole moving in thing?" "Hm?" "It offered- uh. Maybe nevermind...” "...Moving in together?” He offered. Her facade instantly crumbled, leaving evasion in its wake. Maybe a little disappointment. He was quick to remedy, “No. No, I meant that.  It didn't get that out of nowhere...” “Yeah...?” “I mean. I was going to ask, but.” He sank. “I going to find the right way to do it.” And it decided for him, in the exact opposite way. He had hoped she'd forget about it. It would've been easier. A reset maybe, so he could pitch it again with flair in mind. But before he could suggest- "I accept." She dropped into his chest. Burying her face, she squeezed him so tight his vital signs monitor went off the charts. (It was actually from the dislodged IV, but both liked the romantic idea better.) He grinned, petting the back of her head and letting his eyes drift shut. Perhaps it was easy for him to say, but everything turned out pretty okay. Most of it would be on her to fix. Later. For right now, this. "You know..." He murmured into her hair. "I might have bug breath, but are you sure you don't want a kiss commemorate?" Her response was muffled into his gown. "No."

#ashwater #adria #story