#This originally opened with showing one of the deliveries but it was going on too long without being the real point of the chapter.

[autumnalwalker]

Empty Names - 21 - Old Flame

Author's Note: In which Eris gets a phone call from her ex, hunts down an eldritch horror and gets backstory trauma put on display. And backstory happy stuff too. Lots of Eris backstory this chapter all around. I think this might be one of my favorite chapters I've written so far for this story, even if it did come out more like three chapters in a trenchcoat. Maybe one of these days I'll go back and split this chapter and the other overly long ones into separate parts/posts to be more digestible. More spoiler-y commentary in the tags. Wordcount: 16,606 Content Warnings: Fantasy fight scene violence. Blood. Trauma flashbacks. Loss of sense of self. Suicide mention. Mild body horror. Brief mentions of sex and kink without detail.

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For all the pocket dimensions Eris has passed in and out of, somehow these past few days have been her first time leaving the country while, strictly speaking, remaining on Earth.  Their last mission - somehow the word feels less silly when Road is around - involved helping a young man sort through the collection of cursed and haunted artifacts filling the house he’d just inherited from some mysterious distant uncle.  The unlucky heir had found the experience harrowing enough that he took the amnestic Road offered him afterward, but that still left a couple dozen dangerously enchanted items in need of proper disposal.  Eris had been able to call up Preacher from her monster hunter contacts for a good old fashioned Catholic exorcism on a few, others were handled by Road and Ashan performing some more esoteric rituals, and three were set aside for storage in some basement of the Bridgewood Manor for Sullivan to take care of.  That all left seven objects that Road insisted would be best handled by returning them to their rightful resting places.

Hence the current international road trip with Road while Lacuna and Ashan stayed behind to watch the office.  When Road had said they could just about get anywhere on the planet in three hours or less, Eris had taken it for a boast.  After seventy-two hours of making more jumps through bridges and pocket dimensions than she’d previously made in the seven years since she first found Crossherd, she’s reminded that Road doesn’t make boasts.  France, Peru, Kenya, Romania, India, Korea… and who knows how many other countries they technically passed through for a few minutes between bridges in between those stops.

“So, what’s the fastest way from Seoul to Vancouver?” Eris asks Road as she climbs into the driver’s seat of her van.

The third-to-last artifact on their dropoff list - a spirit of a blacksmith haunting the last sword it ever made - has been picky about who it will allow itself to be passed down to.  It’s been insistent about being in the hands of “a true craftsman of its bloodline,” and so far none of its descendents in its home country that she and Road have talked to have made the cut.  Hopefully a cousin in Canada with a 3D modeling job and a resin printer for making tabletop wargame miniatures will satisfy the spirit more than a restaurant owner who’s long since given up doing his own cooking.

“If we were walking, there’s a noodle place I know a few blocks away that’s in six different cities and once.  Depending on what we order and how fast we eat, we could probably get there in twenty or thirty minutes.  Driving through, probably best we go back through the bridge we came here from, then a series of brief transits from Mumbai, to Dubai, to Cambrai, to Quebec, to Vancouver.  Should be about an hour if traffic is good.”

“Rhyming our way to France, and then making the French connection to Canada?”

“It might be silly, but it works,” Road says with a chuckle.   “Bridges and pocket dimension links have sprouted up from stranger things.”

“Are you sure we’re actually on an achor world?  This has been a whole lot of holes and folds in space we’ve been going through.  It’s all starting to make the firm bedrock of reality that everything’s tied down to feel more like a sponge.”

“Now you know why the powers that be in Crossherd and similar hub dimensions are so insistent on the Masquerade.  Not even most people in the know Backstage have any idea just how… loose… everything really is.”

Eris stays silent for a bit to let that sink in.  And to concentrate on driving in a city with street signs in a language she’s had scant opportunity to practice since her parents kicked her out nearly a decade ago.  She knew better than to expect anything familiar here, in the birthplace of a grandmother she’d never met that looked nothing like how it would have back before that grandmother met her grandfather and moved with him back overseas.  A grandmother she herself probably looks nothing like.  Allegedly her father had taken more after his father and passed that on to her.  Still, both the arrival and the leaving of this city brought an irrational twinge of hope that she might glimpse something of one of the heritages her parents had been so weirdly insistent about cutting out of their lives in favor of a futile attempt to blend in and assimilate.  She’d gotten the same feeling when stopping in India on this trip too, and nothing had come of it there either.  It’d probably be the same if she ever went to Mexico, although that unmet grandparent had supposedly been a second generation immigrant.

But hey, on the bright side she’s driving again, even if it is in city traffic at the moment.  Between Crossherd’s walkability, the trees at the Bridgewood Estate, and the unexpected lack of monster corpses in need of disposal since joining up with Road, she’s barely been behind the wheel in the past two months.  Fortunately, the heavily refurbished van turned out to be just about perfect for transporting a pile of cursed artifacts that were too volatile to shove into bigger-on-the-inside containers.  Maybe one of these days when they all have some downtime she’ll talk the others into a more recreational road trip somewhere.  It’d get Lacuna out of her basement lab and would probably be a brand new experience for Ashan.

“By the way,” Road says at a red light, snapping Eris out of her traffic-induced musings, “I’ve noticed these past couple days that you’ve been changing up how you refer to me mid-conversation.”

“Just going with what felt right.  My bad for not running it by you first though.”

“No, no, I’m just surprised is all…  How could you tell?”

“There’s this thing you do with your voice.  Your body language and posture too, but mostly your voice.  You’ve got three or four different modes of presentation, I guess you could call it, that you’ll settle into as a default for most of the day and shapeshift your jacket to match, but then throughout the day in shorter bursts you’ll shift in and out of those other modes while your appearance stays the same.”  Eris raises an eyebrow at him before turning her gaze back to the traffic that’s begun moving with the greenlight.  “Am I wrong?”

Road lets out a laugh that peters out into a bemused sigh.  “You’re the first person I’ve met other than Sullivan to pick up on that,” she says to Eris.  “It feels nice to be seen like that.  I knew you were the right one to bring along on this trip.”

“I’ve been wondering about that actually.  Why did you pick me for this?  Sure, I’ve got the van, but we’ve got one in the office’s garage that we’ve still never taken out for a spin and I know you know how to drive.”

“Partly I figured you would be the best at resisting any influence our backseat passengers start acting up.”

“I’d think the wizard would be the ideal choice for that.”

“Sure, he has his defenses, the same as any other properly trained mage, but even before putting this team together, I’ve always felt you were strong-willed enough not to need such techniques.”

A rapidly shifting sky seen through bloody water.  A sense of peace and warmth despite the icy depths.  A steady fame from the tip of a white wand.  Active thought flowing out to feed the fire.  Smooth skin where a scar should be.  A flood of lost memories.  A sun held between her -

Eris pushes the memories of helplessness back down.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she replies.

“And I wouldn’t be so sure of selling yourself short,” Road says.  “Nevertheless, the bigger reason I asked you to come with me for this is that you know how to talk to people.”

“Eh, my Spanish is fluent and my German is passable, but we just saw that my Korean is rusty as Hell and my Hindi is even worse.  I never did get around to learning French beyond a handful of tourist phrases, and I don’t know a lick of Romanian.  Again, Ashan seems like the better fit with the translation charm.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“You’re right.”

“Then why play dumb?”

The van reaches another intersection just in time for the light to turn red.  

Eris turns answers over in her mind.

Why?

Reflex?  Humility?  Habit?

Why would that be a reflex?  When did that happen?  How did she let it?

It’s been a long time.

Was it when she started hanging out at a bar full of adrenaline junkies with a deathwish?

Was it when she chose the bloody rush of killing monsters with her bare hands over college despite her scholarship qualifications?

Was it when she got accused of secretly being a boy and on drugs for being too good at sports in junior high?

It’s been a long time.

The light turns green.

“I guess I’m not used to anyone wanting me around for much other than to be the big strong one who’s good at hitting and breaking stuff,” Eris answers.

“Again, you’re selling yourself short.  Do you think that’s what Lacuna wants you around for?  Or how Ashan sees you when the two of you linger in the kitchen after the rest of us leave?”

“Those are personal relationships, it’s not the same thing.  Besides, Sully’s made it abundantly clear what he thinks of me and what I got hired to do for you two.”

“He has, hasn’t he?  I’m sorry about that, I really am.  Sullivan, for better or worse, has some consistent blindspots with his biases and isn’t half as good at reading people as he thinks he is.  Especially anyone that’s even remotely similar to him.”

“Okay, now that’s a low blow.  He and I are not alike”

“I mean it as a compliment, really.  I’ve never met anyone so loyal or so fiercely protective of the people he cares about.  I see that in you too, except you still have it in you to have some compassion for anyone outside those close to you.  And, of course, you’re both incredibly skilled at doing violence and enjoy it, even if the reasons are different.  But you’re both more than that too.  Even with this mission he’s the one who’s been doing the genealogical digging and messaging me with suggestions of where to go and who to take these artifacts to, despite that taking time away from his ongoing investigation.”

“Speaking of that,” Eris says, “what have you had Sully working on that’s so secret?  Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t think I’ve seen the guy since the office opened up.”

“You don’t know?”

“Obviously not.  And every other time I’ve asked something’s conveniently come up for you to change the subject.”

“Strange.  I could have sworn I told you.  It must have just slipped… my… mind…  again…”

A handful of times, on particularly bad nights, Eris has sat with Lacuna when she just sort of shut down.  Those instances were always rough, but seeing Road of all people do it out of the blue like this is chilling.  Like the sun going out and revealing that it’s just been a big light bulb hanging from a poorly-painted ceiling this whole time.  

Lacuna never snapped back to normal abruptly enough to make Eris question if she'd just imagined it though.

“Anyway,” Road resumes, “remember our first mission as a team?”

“It’s barely been two months.”

“So it has.  Regardless, he’s been investigating what caused a dragon and a Culescun bone ship not outfitted for inter-world travel to get drawn into a crossover point and try to occupy the same space at the same time.  More specifically, he’s been tracking down whomever it was that blew up the nearby lighthouse shortly after we left and trying to figure out if they’re connected to a different case of an unknown party picking off and stealing the contraband from inter-world smugglers.”

“He’s what now?”  Eris asks, keeping her tone carefully level.  How is this her first time hearing any of this?  “Is that why we’re playing cursed delivery service right now?  So we can be bait?”

“In all honesty, that thought hadn’t occurred to me.  But now that you mention it, there are worse plans.”

Another red light.  The last intersection before the turn into a series of side alleys for the bridge.

“We can come back to that after you explain everything you thought you already told me,” Eris says, “but for now, what was that about the lighthouse bl-”

A custom ringtone that Eris hasn’t heard in years plays over the van’s speakers and cuts off her question.  She doesn’t need to look at the caller ID displayed on the dashboard console to know who it is.  A part of her is surprised the caller still has her number, but then again, Eris still has hers.  And the two of them do still speak from time to time.

She considers letting it go to voicemail.  Or even hitting the button to hang up altogether.  She has more important things to focus on right now than a phone call from an ex who might have been trying to flirt with her a week ago.

An ex who wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.  An ex who, if she really wanted to get back together, would more likely rope mutual friends into arranging a “chance meeting” where they would “just so happen” to have the opportunity and reason to do something romantic together like walk through a botanical garden, fix an engine together, or fight each other until they can barely stand.  An ex who would drop everything if Eris were the one to call.

Godammit.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Eris says to Road before tapping the green call icon on the dashboard screen.  “Yo, Gretchen, I’m driving right now with Road, so I’ve got you on speakerphone.  What’s up?”

With any luck, knowing Road’s on the line should keep Gretchen from trying to dredge up old relationship history that Eris is even less in the mood to deal with right now than normal.  And if it really is an emergency, it will be good to keep Road in the loop.

“Great,” Gretchen’s voice says through the van’s speakers, “that saves me the trouble of making a second call.  Do either of you know anything about non-euclidean, shifting, tesseract-esque architecture of the sort Lovecraftian horrorterrors like to make nests in?”

“I know that eldritch-warped spaces should never be entered without the proper training and precautions,” Road offers, “and even then they’re incredibly dangerous to go into alone and nigh-impossible to find your way out of without an anchor back to realspace.”

“Right.  Pretty much what I already guessed then.”

“Gretchen,” Eris says in exasperation that hasn’t yet turned into concern, “for the love of God, please tell me that’s not where you’re calling from.”

“Not yet it isn’t, but I am camped out inside the theater department of a Midwest liberal arts college staring at the door to a dressing room that was bigger on the inside when I opened it to chase the tentacle monster I’ve been hunting.”

“In that case,” Road says, “I would strongly advise closing the door, waiting an hour, and then checking to see if it’s gone back to normal by then.  The eldritch aren’t mere beasts to hunt.”

“Not happening.  I’ve already tagged this one so it can’t fully escape the world into voidspace.  It’s my quarry to claim, and while I really would love the assistance if you want to come jump into the proverbial eye of terror with me, I’m going after it either way.  And before you start lecturing me about acceptable targets, I’ve already verified that this one’s not sapient; it’s just a passing scavenger that stopped by to feed on the psychic torment of undergrads going through finals week.”

The traffic light turns green.

“Give us an address and we’ll be there as soon as we can,” Eris says.  “Don’t you dare go in there alone before we arrive.”  She just had to turn this into an ultimatum, didn’t she?

“Thanks E, I’ll text it to you.  Be seeing you.”

The call ends, and the ensuing text message arrives immediately enough that it was almost certainly typed up in advance.  Eris taps to display it on the screen and glances at Road.

“Do I still want to make this turn up ahead?”

“Do you really think she’ll really go in on her own if we take too long?”

“I hate to say it, but yes.  I’d know if she were bluffing and she’s not.  She’s leaving something out, but she’s serious about that.”

“In that case go three more blocks and then take twelve right turns in a row.  There’s a witch I know who owes me a favor.”

“Got it.  And thanks for helping with this.  I know it’s a detour from the current mission cleanup.”

“It’s practically on the way, and besides, there’s not a rush with the deliveries.  It’s not like they’re going anywhere if we leave them unattended for a short time.  Wrong kind of hauntings for that.”

“All the same, I appreciate it.  Things between me and Gretchen are weird, but I’d still rather not see her lose her mind trapped in some impossible labyrinth.”

“I wouldn’t want to see that happen to anyone.  Do you want to loop in Ashan and Lacuna?”

“Nah, someone’s got to watch the office in case something comes up.  Besides, it’s like two a.m. there right now.  Let them sleep.  Between you, me, and Gretchen, we should be fine.”

“Right you are,” Road says with a smile that shows more teeth than his usual.  “It’s been awhile since I’ve dealt with one of the eldritch.  This should be fun.”

Fun…  Yes, Eris supposes it will be once the hunt gets going.  No more effective way to forget her worries for a little while.  But first…

“Now about that exploding lighthouse…” Eris leaves the implied question hanging.

“I can give you and the others the full explanation when we get back.”

“You can give me the abridged version while I drive.”

“Fair enough.”

Eris could almost swear she hears them whisper something under their breath about it being refreshing to be called out.

*******

It has long been observed that artists, writers, performers, and other such creative types tend to have a statistically significant increased rate of contact with the extra-dimensional entities collectively known as “the eldritch.”  While the theory that creatives are somehow possessed of some special spiritual elevation or metaphysical sensitivity has been largely discredited, the actual cause of this phenomenon remains hotly debated.  The most popular theories are variations on the proposition that the act of creating art gives of psychic resonances that the eldritch can sustain themselves on similar to how deiform entities (more commonly known as “gods”) are sustained by - and by some indications potentially created by - sapient faith.  Others propose that the act of creation is a reshaping of our otherwise relatively stable baseline reality that either draws the eldritch in via a sense of familiarity to their own ever-shifting domain of existence or fascinates them with its alienness.

The most radical theories of why the eldritch seem to be drawn to art and artists is that they are not truly so different from us, and just find it neat.

Such is the potentially relevant trivia that runs through Eris’s mind as she picks her way down a dark hallway strewn with a web of tripwires and enchanted chalk drawings, trying not to catch any of the higher-strung wires on the spear strapped to her back.  Less helpful but equally persistent thoughts include stories of victims going mad from merely looking at the eldritch and irritation at Gretchen for setting all this up when she knew Eris and Road were coming to help.  And, Eris will begrudgingly admit, thoughts admiring the skill it takes to turn thirty feet of straight hallway into a virtual labyrinth to navigate.

“Okay, stop,” Gretchen instructs her.  Golden hair and golden eyes catch the glow coming from the one open door in the hallway while black leather and kevlar blend the rest of the monster huntress into the shadows.  Her spear, with its exaggerated bladed crossguard below the main blade, lies resting against the doorframe.  “Take two steps to the left, two steps back, another to the left, four forward, two to the right, and then you should be clear.”

“Was this all really necessary?” Eris asks as she catches up with Road and Gretchen in front of a door to a theater dressing room whose contents keep multiplying and folding in on themselves. 

“Maybe not, but I had the time waiting for you to get here,” Gretchen answers, “so I figured I may as well account for the possibility of this thing fleeing back outside once we find it in there.  These Lovecraftian tentacle monsters are slippery like that, this way we either catch it in there or we chase it back out here where it slithers headlong into a magic net.”  She flashes Eris a wickedly playful grin painted poison apple red.  “Besides, if you were to accidentally set one of these off it’d be fun to see how long it takes you to break out.”

“Lovecraftian is a slur,” Road points out without looking away from the threshold of the warped space, saving Eris from having to reply to that last part.

“Huh?”

“Old Howard Phillips was a racist xenophobe even by the standards of his time who thought air conditioning was unnatural and scary,” Eris clarifies.  “A guy like that was obviously going to interpret any contact with a genuinely alien consciousness in the worst possible faith, and whether it was coincidence or a failed attempt at breaking the Masquerade, he wound up having an outsized influence on the collective consciousness and how the eldritch have even been able to interact with this world over the past century.”

“I never did understand how the other hunters couldn’t see you were a giant nerd at heart,” Gretchen says.

“Not in a flirting mood right now, Gretchen.”

“Spoilsport.”  The word comes out as a joke rather than an accusation.

“Anyway,” Road says as they drop their duffel bag on the floor and begin rifling through it, “I think I’ve seen enough to get a handle on the situation.”  

“Do tell,” Gretchen says.

“At a glance this appears to be a fairly standard eldritch spatial warping, anchored enough to this world to be merely confusing instead of completely incomprehensible.  That said…” he pulls a scrimshaw carving of a deep-sea fish from the duffle bag and sticks his arm through the doorway, holds it there past the threshold for a few seconds until the bone starts glowing, and puts it back in the bag.  “Like I suspected, the space is psychically reactive, so we’ll need to be careful about mental feedback loops in there.  Luckily I have some countermeasures for that.  Just give me a few minutes to stabilize this portal so it doesn’t close behind us and we should be good to go.”

“Cool, while you do that…” Eris says to Road and then turns to Gretchen, “Gretchen, I need a word with you in private.”

“Not a lot of privacy in here, E, unless you want to go walk through the web again.”

Eris stalks over to where the person who coined that nickname for her and all it entails stands lurking just past the edge of the light spilling from the warped space beyond the door.  She comes to a stop close enough that the shorter woman has to crane her neck up to look her in the eye.  When she does, Eris can see that her pupils are dilated beyond even what this darkness should elicit.  Black circles that nearly reach the edge of their sockets with just the faintest rim of yellow iris and hardly any room for the white of sclera.

“We can whisper,” Eris hisses.  “And I am not in the mood for you to make a joke out of that.”

“What’s got you all worked up?” Gretchen whispers.  “A hunt with rare prey and working with Road?  I’d think you’d be enjoying this as much as I am.  Or has working with the celebrity hero gotten boring for you?”

“What are you leaving out?”  Eris prays that she’s wrong about already knowing the answer to her own question.  

“Perceptive as ever.  It always was one of your best qualities.”

“Stop dancing around the answer.”

“Tell me how you figured it out.”

“Do I look like I want to play this game?”  She used to love playing this game.

“You already know the answer.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“You want to hear me say literally anything else.  I want to hear you say it.”

A request with two meanings if there ever was one.

“Fine,” Eris growls.  “You called me.”

“Just that?”

“That was enough to suspect.”

“But there was more.  What are you leaving out?”  

That same wonderfully wicked smile that always accompanied every inside joke between them.

“If this was just about a hunt gone weird you would have called Road directly.  We all have their number, it’s literally posted on the wall at 121813.  And you certainly wouldn’t have turned it into a threat to go in alone.  You’re smarter than that.  You wanted me here, and Road’s an excuse at best and distraction at worst.”

“Go on.”

“You’ve always been good at setting up snares, but not even you could have rigged all this up in the time between the phone call and now.  You had these traps ready before you ever picked up the phone.  You prepared this for us as much as for your prey, but you made a point of helping us get on this side of them.”

“And why would I ever do a thing like that?”

“We show up and you’re lurking in the shadows like you’re setting up a dramatic reveal.  You love being dramatic, but that’s not your flavor.  You burst into rooms with flashy entrances and get all eyes on you.  You’re two thirds my size and take up twice as much space.  You’ve got a miniature bluetooth speaker hidden in your gear so you can play goddam theme music in a fight.  You don’t lurk for drama.  You only lurk when you’re hunting.  When you’re closing in on prey and waiting for it to get in position.  When you want to build up your own thrill of anticipation before you come down like lightning with all the flash and thunder that goes with it for your perfect moment.”

“But we’re on a hunt, aren’t we?  Why shouldn’t I be lurking outside the hole I’ve run my prey down into?”

“But the eldritch in there isn’t what you really want to catch.”

“My my, my.  E, are you calling yourself my prey?  I know you’re delicious, but -”

Eris reaches out and grips the flashlight clipped to Gretchen’s shoulder, twists it towards Gretchen’s face and turns it on.  There’s an unmistakable flash of eyeshine in the moment before those unnaturally dilated pupils contract into sharp vertical slits, leaving Gretchen more golden-eyed than ever.  A predator’s eyes.  A hunter’s eyes.

“Now who’s the dramatic one?” Gretchen purrs.

“You were practically showing them off when we got here.”

“They’re lovely aren’t they.  It’s amazing what autogenesis can do.  But what does it all mean?”

It’s the reason they broke up.

“I almost hit my tipping point on my last hunt,” Gretchen speaks up when Eris doesn’t.

The fifth fate of hunters.

“I changed, and it felt wonderful.”

To get so lost in the hunt, in the thrill of violence, that one becomes no different from the monsters they hunt.

“But then the rush faded, and it was horrifying.”

A recognition of identity that triggers a self-reinforcing feedback loop of autogenesis.

“That’s why I want you here tonight.”

Those who fight monsters and live are doomed to become monsters themselves.

“So you can help pull me back from the brink when I start to go over again.”

“Bullshit,” Eris says flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“You picked out a difficult and dramatic target for your last hunt that you knew had a reputation for making people lose their minds in the hopes that it would be a sure thing to seal you into the fifth fate, and then you called me up so I could witness you change and then tragically have to put you down the way you always romanticized and fantasized about.  Bonus points if I die too right after from injuries you inflicted.  Your perfect fucked up fairy tale ending.”

“E, that’s not the only way it has to go.”

“Oh, and me turning into a monster too so we can go on a mindless rampage together is so much more -”

“I’m done!” Road calls from the door.

Eris turns around to see them holding an intricately embossed knife in one hand and a smoking censer dangling from a chain in the other.  Behind them the doorframe is now surrounded by geometric sigils drawn in glowing chalk.

“Good.  So are we,” Eris says.

Road nods in misunderstood affirmation.  “Now then, then incense should ward off any eldritch influence to keep our minds stable and bodies intact, so we’ll need to stick together while we’re in there.”

“About that,” Eris says.  “Change of plans.  Gretchen is staying out here.”

“I absolutely am not!  This is my hunt!”  Gretchen shouts.  The sudden change in demeanor would be jarring if Eris hadn’t expected it.

“I’ve read up enough on these things and talked to enough wizards to know that getting out of weird space like that works best if you have someone on the outside as a lifeline or beacon to follow back.  Gretchen’s the one who set up all the traps out here, so best if she takes on that duty so she can manage them if the eldritch comes back out before we do.  Better to drive it back out and into her traps to finish it off here than to kill it in an extradimensional space that might well collapse with its death.”

“Oh, now who’s talking bullshit?”  Gretchen snarls.  Her teeth are sharper than they were three minutes ago.  “If anyone should stay behind it should be Road since they’re the one who knows how to keep the door open.  Just give us the incense to take with us and we’ll be fine.”  She shakes her head.  “But no.  You’re just trying to poach my prey.  Well, I’m the one who found out it was haunting this place!  I’m the one who tracked it down to begin with!  I’m the one who lured it into realspace!  I’m the one who tagged it so it can’t escape!  I’m the one who backed it into a corner!  I’m the one who kills it!  It’s mine!  My prey!  My hunt!  And you can’t take it!”

Eris rounds on her.  “Good God!  Would you listen to yourself right now?  You’re raving.  This isn’t you.  Not the Gretchen I know.  You’re on the brink and that’s the feedback loop talking.”

“And you know me so well, don’t you?  In spite of being too afraid of letting go of yourself to see what I see.”  

“I know that there’s more to you than just joy of the hunt, and if you go in there you’re going to fall over the edge and lose all of that.  And I am not going to help you commit an elaborate ego suicide.”

“It’s not-” Gretchen starts to say before getting interrupted by Road stepping between the two monster hunters.

“Eris, you’ve got a point about someone staying behind as a lifeline beacon,” Road says before taking Eris’s hand in hers to give her a crystal amulet on a silver chain, “but if it’s the hunter’s fifth fate you’re worried about then maybe you should both stay out here while I go in.”

“Me?”  Eris balks.  “I’m fine.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you are one hundred percent sure of that.  Tell me that if you go in you won’t wind up being the one falling over the edge when eldritch exposure starts eating away at your capacity for rational thought.”

Heat.  Rage.  Ecstasy.  The smell of smoke and steam.  A cloak of flames.  Hair alight like clouds at sunset.  A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

The contextless memory leaves Eris gasping.  She pushes it back down lest context arrive.

Road nods.  It’s the first time Eris has ever seen them look sad.  It’s unsettling.

“Gretchen’s liable to run in right after us anyway if we leave her out here unsupervised,”  Eris says.

“I would not!”  Gretchen protests.  “Not that you’re going to leave me out here.”

“Gretchen,” Road says, turning to her, “Eris is right.  You’re not well right now.  I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before firsthand, so I would know.”  He raises a hand to forestall another objection.  “I also know that, on some level, you know that too, or else you would have come up with a way to just get Eris here and not me.  You know how the arrangement I have with the 121813 crew goes; if I’m called in it’s not a hunt anymore and it’s out of the hands of whomever it was that made the call.  It’s out of your hands.”  Road steps back and gives one of  those warm, reassuring smiles of theirs.  “And maybe you even meant it earlier about wanting Eris to be here to pull you back from the brink.  Yeah, you two weren’t exactly being quiet by the end there.  But maybe you don’t have to be all the way to the brink for someone you care about to pull you back and help you.”

Maybe it’s the incense bringing her back down to her senses, or maybe it’s just Road being Road, but something in Gretchen relaxes.  Deflates.

“Maybe…” she whispers, eyes downcast.

“Now then!” Road says in a sudden shift from serious to chipper.  “You two obviously have a lot of baggage to unpack, so why don’t you take the opportunity to sort that out while I go sort out getting our squiggly visitor back to its home in the Void?  Alright?  Good.  I’m trusting you, and I’ll see you on the other side.”

And with that, Road turns on their heel and heads toward the door with a jaunty wave.  By the time they cross the threshold their jacket has finished folding and flowing outward to completely cover them in plated purple armor with green trim.  The incense smoke billows around them and trails behind, creating a pocket of stability in the chaotic space that was once a theater dressing room.  And then the bubble gets too far away from the door, the room inverts itself, and Road is gone save for a subtle tugging sensation coming from the amulet they left in Eris’s hand.

“So…” Gretchen grasps at the words to say next.  Her eyes remain downcast.

“So…” Eris prompts.  Her eyes remain trained on Gretchen.

“Is Road always…”

“Like that?  Pretty much.”

“And here I thought they were just doing a bit the couple of times I worked with them.”

“Nah, they’ve got that vibe going pretty much twentyfour-seven.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“For me or for them?”

“Both.”

“Eh, it’s endearing, and I’m not convinced they actually sleep.”

The silence of thoughts not yet formed into words descends.  Gretchen steps away from Eris to go lean on a section of wall that hasn’t been tripwired or graffitied.  Eris shifts her own position to keep herself between Gretchen and the door and pockets the lifeline amulet.  

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

Gretchen finally looks back up at Eris.

“I’m sorry,” Gretchen says.  “Like you said, I wasn’t really myself when I was going on like that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“It’s just… You know what it’s like.  The rush, the thrill, the anticipation.  The drumbeat in the back of your head that seems too loud to be simply your own heart.  The electric tingle down your spine that spreads through your whole body.  The way smell and taste start blurring together and your other senses all start feeding each other so that the whole world seems more.  The craving.  The memory of blood’s viscosity and the way a drop’s trail down the back of your hand catches on all the little hairs and gathers in the pores and creases.  The constant knowledge of how good the climax of the hunt feels.  Has felt.  Will feel next time.”

“I do.  All the more reason for you not to go in there.”

“It’s like that all the time now.  Even basking in that moment right after a kill, it only ebbs away to a murmur.  It’s enough to make you think it might not be so bad if you never felt anything else.”

“Only ever feeling one thing?  Sounds like death to me, and I’d rather die as myself.”

Gretchen’s laugh is soft and bitter.  “You always say that.  Have you ever stopped to think that it might be becoming more yourself, not less?”

“I have, but I’ve seen what someone becoming more herself looks like, and this?  What you’re talking about?  This ain’t it.”

“How do you figure?”

“Becoming more yourself is about letting yourself grow, and while you might shed some masks that were never really part of who you were in the first place, everything that makes you you is still there in some form, for better or worse.  What you’re talking about isn’t taking off a mask, it’s hacking off your nose, ripping out your tongue, and mangling your ears.  It’s becoming a caricature of yourself.  Maybe if this was a not wanting to be human anymore thing I could understand, but that’s never been what you wanted.  It was always that single perfect moment stretched out to infinity that you’d always wax poetic about.”

“How do you do it then?”

“Do what?”

“I’ve seen you in action E, I know you love it just as much as I do.  Maybe even more.”

“I’m not the one trying to accelerate losing my mind here.”

“That’s my point!  I’ve seen you covered head to toe in blood with a look on your face I only wish I could have ever gotten you to make in bed, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.  That’s not even flirting, it’s objective fact.  So how are you not the one rushing headlong into trying to feel that way all the time?  Where do you find that strength to resist?”

Eris shrugs.  “It’s not that complicated really.  I wouldn’t even call it ‘strength’ per say. I have other things I care about and I know that there’s more to me than being the strong one who rips out hearts and crushes skulls with my bare hands.  I love the hunt - and the kill - sure, but I don’t let my life revolve around it.”

“I could make an argument to the contrary, but…”  Gretchen takes a deep breath, throws back her head, and lets out a long exhale in time with sliding her lean against the wall down into a seated position.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe I should try to take a break for a while.  Find myself a new hobby.”

Eris crouches down to get closer to eye level with her and grins.  “I’d suggest gardening, but you and I both know your track record there.”

Gretchen’s laugh is sharp and sweet.  “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“You almost let a cactus die of dehydration before I stepped in.”

“In my defense, we were living in a humid area at the time.  I figured that would be enough for it.”

“Not in that case.”

The silence of familiarity lost and found changed descends.  Gretchen fiddles with the area on her arm where sleeve meets glove.  Eris cracks her neck.

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

Gretchen’s eyes drink in Eris’s presence, only flickering their focus to the open doorway behind her for a moment.

“So, finally got yourself a new pair of boots,” Gretchen observes.

Eris glances down, catches herself, and snaps back to watching Gretchen.  “You should have seen the rest of the armor they came with.  It was an offworld import, a real sci-fi space marine type look just a step shy of full on power armor.”

“What, did you order it in the wrong size and just keep the boots?”

Eris shakes her head.  “You know the trope of jumping on a grenade to save your teammate?”

“Yeah?”

“Replace the grenade with a miniature exploding sun conjured by a wizard.  It was hovering though, so instead of throwing myself on top of it I just sort of grabbed it with both hands and squeezed.”  Eris mimics the motion.  “The boots were the only part of the armor that were still salvageable after.”

“That’s my E, walking off a supernova to the face.”

Light piercing through skin down to the marrow.  Heat beyond pain’s ability to register.  Flame inseparable from flesh.  A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.  A soft bed.  The fog of painkillers.  A request for a mirror denied.

“Eh, that’s overselling it.  Remember the salamander den the Lor twins asked us to help clear out that one time?  Now that was some fire.”

“Yeah, in Yellowstone.  God, I can still smell the sulfur just thinking about it.  Was it you or Lornegna who had the dumbass idea to smash a hole in the wall to flood the cave?”

“That one was on Loreghaste for once, if you can believe it.  Not that they’ll ever admit to it.”

“Oh really?  I always took them for the reasonable twin.”

“You’d think that, but half the wild shit Lornegna pulls is something that Loreghaste said in passing earlier, knowing full well that they’ll take it and run with it.”

“Even plugging a geyser with that oversized hammer of theirs to turn themself into a human cannonball?”

“Okay, that one was one hundred percent Lornegna.”  Eris’s laugh is rough and mellow.  “Regular pair of menaces, those two.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

Eris gasps in mock indignation.  “Me?  A menace?”

“You got an amusement park shut down.”

“Miraclezone Fun Park had already closed its doors for four whole days by the time we got there, thank you very much.  You know, on account of all the mysterious deaths that got our attention in the first place.”

“Maybe, but derailing a roller coaster so that it crashes into the middle of an amphitheater certainly didn’t help their odds of reopening once the weird ape spider things that were eating the night shift employees were dealt with.”

“Says the woman who decided to draw the beasts out by plugging her phone into the sound system, turning on all the stage lights, and doing a solo dance number without realizing how many there were infesting the park.  You’re lucky my aim was good enough to take out half of them when I landed.”

“More like you’re lucky I was fast enough to dodge that mess.  I’ll hand it to you though, you made one helluva first impression climbing out of the wreckage, ripping off one of the coaster’s safety bars one-handed and using it as a club to lay into the rest of the… what even were those things anyway?”

“Some alchemist’s escaped mad science experiments.  It was in the Crossherd papers a few days later when the guy got bagged for a gross violation of the Masquerade after the cops showed up and found a bunch of dead eight-legged monkeys.”  Eris shakes her head in exasperation.  “I still can’t believe we didn’t get caught for that.”

“Fitzy’s always been good at covering for his bar’s patrons.  It’s half the point of 121813.”  Gretchen pauses, searching her memory.  “That night was your first time there, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.  You offered to buy me a drink and I was too busy trying to hide the fact that my arm was broken to turn you down.”

“Your arm was broken?”

“And a few ribs.  Did something to my ankle too, but by that point I already had a good grasp on how fast I heal and I was trying to look cool for the chick who was killing rabid chimeras with a spear in time with the bassline on metal music blasting from stadium speakers.”

“Speaking of impressive spearwork…”  Gretchen pauses just long enough for both of them to think of innuendos that are funnier left unspoken.  “Is that the new ice spear you mentioned the last time you were at the bar?”

Eris reaches back and traces two-fingers along the sigil-engraved haft sticking up over her shoulder.  “Sure is.  Intent-activated ice conjuration on contact capable of full encasement without long term damage after thawing out.  It is a bit finicky about which part of the spear causes the freezing, but that’s got its advantages once you get used to it.  Come to think of it, this thing would have been real handy back on the Miami job.”

“You mean the time some rich kid showed up at the bar begging for someone to do a live capture on his lost pet?  Oh yeah, that would have saved us so much time with that slippery little bastard.”

“Oh, be nice, it was adorable.”

“It was a blob of ooze capable of squeezing itself through a showerhead that had us running in circles around that resort all day like a slapstick routine.”

“But it made itself dog-shaped and licked the kid’s face when we got it back.”

“You are such a bleeding heart.”

“I wonder if I still have a video of that.  I bet Lacuna would love it.”

“Right, Lacuna…”  Gretchen trails off.  “How long have you two been together now?”

“We’re not a couple,” Eris says.  The sentence is practically a reflex by now with how often the mistake’s been made.

“Really?  Well crap, I owe Old Vic twenty dollars.”

“You made a bet with Old Vic?  That Lacuna and I were a couple?”

“Me and half the regulars.  Separate pool for how long until you bring her in to show off.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish right now.”

“I don’t even bring her up that much.”

“I was going by quality over quantity.  Seriously, have you heard yourself talk about her?  Adorably fragile little mess of a genius hacker witch that you protectively fret over who lets you indulge your inner nerd and play the experienced worldly butch while you teach her how to be a woman.”

“First off, I have never once in my life called Lacuna ‘adorable.’  Second, the witch thing didn’t work out for her and she hates being called a hacker.  And third, that whole description is infantilizing.  She is pretty smart though.”  In certain areas anyway, Eris bites her tongue from adding.  “She’s got a whole server farm set up and programmed to enchant stuff for her.  She’s the one who made the spear.”

Gretchen’s self-satisfied ‘You just proved my point’ look is as insufferably smug as ever.

“Look,” Eris says, “Lacuna’s like a sister to me.  Maybe in another life, if we’d met under different circumstances, then maybe, but I wouldn’t trade what we have, given the choice.”

The silence of sore subjects and inarticulate hope descends.  Gretchen pushes herself off the wall to sit a little closer to Eris and leaves one hand resting in the space between as a clear invitation.  Eris shifts her own position to meet Gretchen’s without touching.

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

“Old Vic says it’ll be behemoth season soon on his homeworld,” Gretchen says without meeting Eris’s gaze.  Looking more past her than at her.  “He invited me and some of the other regulars to come join him there when it does.”

“Sounds like a party,” Eris says, keeping her eyes locked on Gretchen’s hands.

“It really is, to hear him tell it.  A solid week of festivals before and after the culling hunts.  Dancing, feasting, games, rituals, all that good stuff.  Not many offworlders get invited, but we wouldn’t be the only ones, so it’s not like we’d be intruding either.”  

“I hope you get to enjoy it.”

Gretchen raises her hand until her fingers brush Eris’s.  Her fingers curl slightly.  Eris’s curl into them.

“Obviously, you’re invited too, E.  It’ll be the first words out of Old Vic’s mouth the next time you show up.  I know you’re busy these days with your new crew, but you really should think about joining us.  It’s a once in a lifetime hunt for anyone without a triple-digit lifespan.”

“Whatever happened to taking a break from it all?”

The curled fingers become clasped hands.

“That’s the best part.  Imagine, one final hunt grander than anything we’ve seen before or ever will see again where we’ll bring down walking mountains and flying rivers of scales.  One last hurrah to get everything out of our system, and afterwards once everyone else goes home the two of us could stay for a while and take a real vacation for a hard reset.  Spend a month or two in some tranquil hidden elf village, get in touch with nature, calm down from the hunt.”

“Make a fresh start.”

One of them rises to her feet.  The other follows.  It is unclear who does which.

“Reconnect.”  The word is said in unison.

Gretchen places her free hand on Eris’s shoulder and rests her head on Eris’s chest.  Eris places her free hand on Gretchen’s wrist and rests her head on Gretchen’s.  A foot wraps around an ankle.

“If I could give it up,”  Gretchen whispers, “do you think things could work out between us again?”

The silence of past actions considered.

“Think about it, E.  Has anyone else ever been as good with you?  No one else has for me.  And it was just that one thing between us.”

The silence of chance weighed against choice.

“What if, for each other, we really could get out, E?  Have one last hunt and mean it.  And if it does call us back again, then if we’re both trying to avoid letting it consume us and watching out for each other, who knows how long we might last?  Maybe we could even keep each other alive long enough to get tired and settle down.”

The silence of exceptional circumstances accounted for.

“E… What if neither of us had to die young?  What if we got to grow old together?”

The silence of a conclusion reached.

Eris pulls Gretchen further into their embrace.  They both lift their heads, faces nearly touching.  Brown eyes stare into gold.

“Oh Gretchen, you always knew how to say what I needed to hear.”

“E-”

The embrace becomes crushing.  Gretchen’s pained gasp at the vice grip on her hands and wrists is made shallow for want of air.

“Never were good at lying though,” Eris laments.  “You know that stun gun you still keep strapped to the underside of your wrist isn’t enough to take me down, right?  Or was it going to be the retractable blade in the toe of your boot going for my Achilles tendon?  Come to think of it, that lipstick’s the poison apple red I bought for your birthday that one year, isn’t it? ”

Gretchen’s laugh is hard and sour.  “Could’ve been all three at once.”

“Still wouldn’t have worked.”

“Can you blame me for trying?”

“No, and that’s the problem.”

“One more thing to say in my defense?”

“It won’t make a difference.  You’re not getting through that door.”

That same old deliciously wicked grin.  For the first time, Eris gets the feeling she’s not on the inside of the joke.

Gretchen intones a quick chant with no literal translation and looks up.

By reflex, Eris looks up into the uniform shadows of the ceiling.

The sole set of graffitied warding sigils that Gretchen neglected to point out earlier light up the ceiling’s shadows.

By reflex, Eris dodges to the side of the blade of light that comes piercing down.

Gretchen slips her hands free of her gloves and out of Eris’s grip.

By reflex, Eris lunges to grab her again.

Gretchen reaches over Eris’s shoulder and grasps the haft of the enchanted spear with intent.  Ice spreads from the points of contact where the spear is strapped to Eris’s back.  The sudden conjured weight causes Eris to stumble and then - when the ice encases her hips and shoulders - to fall.

It is only one third of a second that Eris is on the ground.  By two thirds of a second Eris has shattered the ice, rolled to her feet, and unslung her spear in a single motion.

It only takes Gretchen one half of a second to reach the open door to the eldritch-warped space and collect her own cross spear that she left leaning next to it.  She wastes a quarter of a second turning around to look back.

“I’m sorry E, but I’m not as strong as you are.”

Having finally turned around to see the door, Eris realizes that sometime while she’d been watching Gretchen the space on the other side had grown more chaotic until it gave up all pretense of resembling a room, now looking like nothing so much as the white noise of television static.  She almost reaches Gretchen in time to stop her from stepping through.  The tip of the spear brushes against the back of Gretchen’s knee mid-stride, freezing it and dropping her to what passes for the ground on the other side.  And then the feet of distance between the monster hunters becomes miles and Gretchen’s receding black and gold form is swallowed by the static.

Eri swears, pulls the lifeline amulet that Road gave her out of her pocket, and drops it on the floor.  She figures that as long as it stays out here in realspace, then Road can always get out and come back with Ashan and Lacuna to pull her and Gretchen out later.

She wastes no further time on hesitation before running into the static after Gretchen.

*******

Eris is hunting.

A chill wind howls across a moonlit prairie.  The rush, the thrill, the anticipation, are almost too much to bear as she chases down a pack of lupine shadows.  One falls to a spear.  Another is caught by its tail and dragged to the ground.  A third turns and raises itself on two legs to face its hunter.  Its claws meet with only open air.  Her claws meet with its heart.

There is a disappointing lack of blood.  They are naught but shadows afterall.

The pack’s lone survivor sprints for the treeline, wild with fear, only to find a chainlink fence between itself and safety.  She is still half human, and her eyes are fully so when she looks back at her hunter.

There’s a name Eris should remember and call out at this part.  She doesn’t, but what does it matter?  It’s just a beast.

What was she hunting again?  It doesn’t matter.  It’s all just prey in the end.

High above, tiny flames swirl and writhe. Its watchful eyes are blinded.

The chainlink fence rattles and shrieks when she tears it down and stalks between the support struts of the rollercoaster.  The drumbeat in the back of her head seems too loud to simply be her own heart.  Perhaps it is the music pounding from that amphitheater over there.  Eight-legged shadows leap from support strut to support strut and skitter along the tracks above.  What an annoyance, that noise is luring her prey away from her.  

A freezing from the spear, a few good kicks, and a mighty heave are all it takes to knock out the nearest pylon and set the entire rollercoaster around her crashing down.  The music of the collapsing metal all around her is enough to drown out the metal of the music from the amphitheater, but the drumbeat in her skull is louder still.

She steps on one of the wretched chimerical shadows trying to free itself from the wreckage as she stalks toward the alleyway behind the amphitheater.

Oh, yes, that’s right.  She’s hunting Gretchen.  The snake, the spider, her lioness.

Amidst the wreckage, tendrils of flame coil around a thorn that will not burn.  Its teeth cannot piece this.

The alleyway is awash with the scent of buzzard meat, skunk perfume, and pine scented car air freshener emanating from the dumpster at the far end.  An electric tingle runs down her spine and spreads through her whole body as she walks past the garbage truck that has taken her to so many trailheads with signs of new quarry within the dream-born city.  The shadow that erupts from the refuse is all horns, claws, spines, and teeth.  It is long enough to wrap itself around her, heavy enough to pull her down to the ground when it does, and vicious enough to keep wrestling with her even after she snaps off its saber fangs.

She recalls a dim memory that this thing once hurt her badly enough that she called for help to return to her home lair afterward.  The one who answered should never have had to see her like that.  She will make this shadow pay for that.

By the time she realizes the shadow is dead and gone, the pavement is shattered, the dumpster is rent in twain, and the engine of the garbage truck she was once responsible for is totalled.  There is no proper satiation to hunting shadows.  All chase and fight, but no release.  She retrieves her spear and vaults over the wall at the end of the alleyway.  Perhaps when she finds her true prey at the end of this she will bring satisfaction.

No, that’s not right, she’s supposed to be searching for Gretchen, not hunting her.

Behind her, the flame lashes out at a person-shaped hole.   Its claws have fought against the other’s for so long now.

Moonlight reflects off the lake and into the whispering of the trees that brushes against her cheek to welcome her home with the scent of blood in her mouth.  Smell and taste blur together as her senses begin feeding into one another until the whole world seems more.  Was she really even alive before this?

Her oldest dance partner rises from the lake to greet her on the shore.  The one who tried to hunt her and in failing to do so taught her the joy of being the predator rather than prey.  Their dance begins again.  As it always has.  As it ever will.  Her dance partner is a gaunt and stretched out figure of tongues and teeth that still resembles a man.  Her dance partner is a beast of scale and shell with jaws that bite and claws that catch.  Her dance partner is a cacophonous evolution of forms between as the two of them drive one another to learn and adapt with each dance.

Her dance partner is a mere shadow, frozen in a block of ice and thrown into the back of her van to be stowed away and forgotten.  She has long since grown beyond it.  She slams the rear doors of the van shut.

And yet still the hunt always cycles anew.  She is always hunting.

Beneath the water, the ancient flame roils against a timeless knight.  Its arms will crush the misbegotten parasite and then the thing beneath.

The air in the candlelit cavern smothers like a damp blanket.  A drop of blood trails down the back of her hand, catches on the tiny hairs, leaves bits of itself gathered in the pores and creases, and falls from her fingertip into the crystal clear pool the same as any other drop from the cavern’s stalactites.  It seems the shadow of her old dance partner left her with a final parting gift.

She approaches the cavern’s shrine and the wounded shadow praying at its moldy offering plate skitters away.  She weighs whether it is worth pursuing but is distracted by a shambling pile of bones.  The bones snap and crunch so pleasingly and the soft shadow beneath rips apart so delightfully.  But when the bones are ground to dust and the shadow they failed to protect are gone she is still hungry.

The wounded shadow taps a pattern on the ground.  Its eight eyes are not human at all but they hold fear all the same.

There’s a kindness Eris should offer at this part.  She doesn’t, but what does it matter?  It’s just a beast.

Still not satisfied, she turns her attention to the shrine and the small, forgotten god it venerates.  

Blood and hearts and bones and stone and ichor and mold.  What would a god taste like?

In the reflection on the surface  the upturned offering dish, a thousand tiny flames flare to a thousand stars.   Its song echoes in triumph over the foolish nothing that thought to hurt it.

The air in the desert tries and fails to sap the moisture from her body.  Neither the heat of day nor the chill of night can touch her through the craving.

Feeling like the only person in the world, she lingers in a space only ever meant to be passed through until she hears the howl of an almost-human voice that almost sounds like a song.  Feeling the weight of her spear fall from her hand, she steps out beyond the edge of the parking lot pavement to the edge of the edge of the furthest lamplight, that twilight border between known and unknown.  Feeling no need to announce her presence, she locks eyes in the dark with a shadow and utters a growl that almost sounds like words as she circles her prey and blurs the line between beast and self.  

There are only claws and teeth for the thing whose face is almost human.  A stinger strikes through the air with a whipcord whistling but is a step too slow.  An inhuman growl from a once-human throat accompanies the tearing sound of a sting ripped free from its tail and plunged into its owner’s neck.  Deed done, she retrieves her spear and walks back to the truck whose cargo has been her excuse to travel the land’s liminal spaces for prey like this.

She opens the door to the sleeper cab and finds herself face to face with a squawking peacock.  

The avian incongruity leaves Eris shocked enough for the bird to shuffle out past her and take to the wing.  She blinks.  Waking up to find a peacock in her cab wasn’t even the same year as hunting the manticore.  That was in Vermont and this was in Arizona.  Why are those two memories mixed together?

Wait.  Memories?

Cautiously, she climbs into the cab.  Something about it feels too small, but otherwise all is as it should be.  Neatly made bed in the back, movie poster from her old bedroom on the ceiling, air plant hanging from the rearview mirror…  The mirror!  Her reflection!  Her eyes!  She turns and flees into the dark tunnel in the back of the cab until she can no longer feel that awful piece of glass staring at her.

No.  This isn’t right.  She’s not…

Somewhere in the long darkness, a core of flame is trapped and pinned.   Its heart withers in fear and thrashes until the instinct to survive leaves nothing but…

Rage.  

There has ever been constant knowledge of how good the climax of the hunt feels.  Has felt.  Will feel next time.  And few things have had are having will have a death so sweet as the pile of garbage before her that calls itself a man.  It is not even fit to be prey, but the righteousness of ending it will more than make up for that.  It has captured, enslaved, and sold the innocent.  It has hurt one of her own.  It has arrogantly tried to summon the sun itself.

She swallows that sun.  Lets it burn away that which is not needed and bring light to what remains.  Its fire erupts from her scalp to become her hair and tumble down past her shoulders.  Its core melts down the flimsy scraps of armor and becomes her carapace.  Its hunger welds with hers and becomes yet more fuel for the hunt.

Her charred lips pull back nearly to her ears in what is both a snarl and a grin and in any case is all teeth.

The flash of her brilliant metamorphosis alone was nearly enough to dispose of the garbage, but not quite.  What is left of it continues to cough and twitch on the steaming ground.  She walks over to it and raises a foot in anticipation of a heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

No!

This is not her!

This has never been her!

This can never be her!

Upon her shoulder, a gentle hand removes the thorn.   The flames dwindle to embers and scatter.

Eris is not hunting.

Eris is searching.

Eris is herself.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Out of the corner of her eye, Eris catches sight of a tiny flickering flame amidst the endless static that surrounds her.  It darts out of view and she turns her head to follow it.  Rather than finding the flame in the middle of the white noise once more, she finds herself in the middle of a living room she hasn’t seen in nearly a decade.  It’s been even longer since she last saw the mottled green-brown shag carpet sticking up around her boots.

“But why do I have to only speak English at school?”

Eris turns around to find a family of shadows standing in the soft morning light that shines in through the bay windows.  Outside, a schoolbus waits on the suburban street for other small shadows to join the ones already piled inside and blurred together.  But these shadows in the room with her now are far more interesting.  A mother, a father, and a child with a backpack.  Even just as silhouettes she knows them.

Her mama.

Her papa.

Her.

“Because,” the shadow of her papa answers the shadow of her childhood, “that’s all any of the other kids speak and it’s important for you to fit in.”

“But I already don’t fit in!” Eris’s shadow whines.  A petulant response, but a true one.  She remembers this conversation - or at least the impression of it - from her second week of first grade.  Even by then she was acutely aware that none of her classmates looked like her.

“If you really wanted me to fit in, you would have given me a normal name,” she and her shadow grumble in unison.  Her shadow’s parents don’t seem to hear that part.

“All the more important for you to make an effort,” the shadow of her mama admonishes.  “Just because you’re perfect as you are, that doesn’t mean everyone else is ready for it.  So until that’s different, blending in is safer.  You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“But then why do you make me practice all those other languages that we speak at home?”

“They’ll be useful when you’re an adult and trying to get into college and find a job,” her shadow’s papa hastily answers.  “Now hurry before you miss the bus.”

Eris’s shadow ducks her mama’s kiss on the forehead and turns away from her papa’s hug.  Her shadow only pauses for a moment, just past the door’s threshold when she hears a pair of “I love you’s,” in two different languages.  She smiles for a moment at the tears that don’t quite form and didn’t manage to back then either.

Then she remembers where she is and what Road said about psychically reactive spaces.  Eris has never been good at keeping psychic entities out of her mind, but she’s consistently found herself to be very good at telling and resisting when they’re trying to change or insert anything.  Save for that one time with whatever Lacuna did, but she tells herself that’s because she was intentionally letting her most trusted friend poke around in there for the sake of healing.  As for the looking, she tells herself that she has nothing to hide or that she’s afraid of being thrown in her face and used against her.

She follows her shadow out the door.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Her shadow is taller now, taller even than the shadow of the boy she just knocked down.  She’s in the eighth grade and she’s just gotten in her first fight in the middle of the school cafeteria.  Not that it was much of one.  One punch and the boy was down on the floor rolling and clutching his nose.  

Eris made a point of forgetting the boy’s name a long time ago (it was Justin) but everything else is burned into her memory.  After a year of taking rumors and accusations in silence this last bit of harassment finally hit the tipping point.  And damn, had it felt good to finally let it out.  She can’t see the creeping wild grin on her shadow’s lack of a face, but she can feel the temptation to mirror it.  Now’s the part where her shadow’s nonexistent eyes should be flickering to the fleck of blood on her knuckles.  There’ll be an intrusive thought to lick it, just to see what it tastes like.  Not that she will, but it suddenly occurs to Eris to wonder if what she is now was always in her, even back then.  

Was she always a monster in waiting?  She dismisses that intrusive thought for what it is and turns around and walks for the door as the shocked silence permeating the cafeteria erupts into chaos.  She turns around before she has to see the horrified look on the shadow of her best friend at the time.  Dylan.  

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Her shadow’s in third grade and Dylan’s shadow is teaching her how to talk with her hands.  It’s after school and they’re sitting at his parents’ kitchen table, homework already done.  When his family moved in down the street last summer their parents got together and started setting them up with playdates in hopes that the two misfits would at least have one friend apiece going into the new school year.  

Eris smiles and signs the alphabet along with them.  Her shadow mastered it months ago, much to everyone’s surprise, but at this point it’s a game for the two of them to see who can get through forwards and backwards the fastest before they move on to anything else.  Eris is only halfway through the reversal when the shadows finish their game.  She’s gotten rusty these days with only video calling Dylan two or three times a year to catch up and get the latest news on how her folks are doing.

Eris’s breath catches when she notices Dylan’s shadow addressing her - no, her shadow - with a simple thumb over palm with fingertips curled.  He’s got a more specific name sign for her these days and she’d forgotten that it used to just be an initialization.

When the shadow of Dylan’s mom walks in to get the cookies out of the oven, Eris remembers where she is, stands up, and heads for the nearest door.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Eris.”

“That’s not my… Present.”

Her shadow is in second grade and she has just given up.  If the teacher can’t even pronounce the shortened nickname she came up with correctly, then what’s the point of fighting it anymore?  May as well just go along with whatever people decide to call her than constantly struggle over something that doesn’t really matter.  She knows who she is regardless.

Eris opens the door and leaves the classroom.  She may not have anything to hide, but that doesn’t mean she has to stick around and give whatever’s manifesting all this a guided tour of her childhood either.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Is she really even a girl?”

Her shadow is in seventh grade and it’s unseasonably hot outside.  She’s sitting on a bleacher bench trying not to cry while the shadow mother of the girl who’s not accepting her apologies has it out with her mama’s shadow.  

It was an accident, really.  A car drove by and the glare got in her eyes, throwing off her aim.

“What girl can even throw a softball hard enough to knock out a tooth?”

It was an accident, so why isn’t saying sorry enough?

“Just look at her!  What girl her age is that tall or has shoulders like that?”

It was an accident, but the shadow is talking too fast for anyone else to get a word in.

“Or maybe she’s on steroids?  You should get your daughter tested!”

Eris tunes out the rest of the conversation while she slips on a pair of fingerless black gloves.  Just because she’s made her peace, that doesn’t mean she has any interest in sitting around watching this trainwreck all over again.  She traces the silver-stitched runes on the gloves with one finger.  Back of the hand then the palm.  Left hand then the right.  There’s no door to exit through on the softball practice field, so she’ll just have to make her own.  

Eris claps her hands together and twin jolts run through her palms and up her arms to meet at the base of her neck.  She throws her head back involuntarily at the shock and bares her teeth in a grimace that lacks any of the usual excited edge from using these.  The initial sensation fades as she crouches down low to the ground but her hands are tingling now and will be until she takes off the gloves.

One punch is all it takes for the ground beneath to crack and shatter into the white noise void for her to fall into.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

Her shadow is in her bedroom with the door locked.  She’s in her sophomore year of high school and staying up far too late on a school night in front of a mirror with a makeup kit she bought at the drugstore.  She meant to do this earlier, but her AP Calc homework took longer than expected.

Eris lands in the room, takes a look at the decorations, and shudders at that phase of her life.  All that work to be someone else for the sake of burying a reputation that never actually went away, just hid in the whispers behind her back.  She can still remember how alien her own body felt, soft from making a point of never exercising anymore after being banned from school sports, yet still too big to be fashionable.  Who was she ever fooling besides herself?

Her shadow hisses in frustration as she tries to figure out how to bridge the gap between how her mama taught her to do makeup and the styles in the magazine one of her friends that weren’t her friends gave her.  None of the models in the magazine look anything like her.

The room has a door, but punching a hole in the wall to step through into the static is more in line with Eris’s mood.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

Her shadow is in sixth grade and her teammates are all hugging her and cheering.  They just won their game.  For once she’s the star instead of the outcast.

Eris punches another hole in the illusion.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

“From whence comes the starlight in the Dark Forest?”

Was that Road’s voice?  This time the static doesn’t resolve into another shadow of a memory.

“Yo, Road!”  Eris shouts into the void.  “Can you hear me?  Gretchen’s lost in here somewhere.  Have you seen her?”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Not art.  Pigments.  Raw materials.  Kindling for the spark.”

“Road, who are you talking to?  I can hear you, but I can’t see you!”

“I’m glad to see you’ve calmed down now.  You gave me a scare when you ran off like that after I got that tag off of you.”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“I understand you need that, yes, and I’m sorry I had to be rough with you earlier, but you can’t go forcing what you need out of mortals like that.  It’s not good for them.”

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“I’d help you with that myself if I could, but I can’t.”

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“I’ll see if I can get her permission.  These things work a lot better when the mortal agrees to it, you know.  They can even help and cooperate.”

Eris scans the white noise all around her, but still finds nothing, save for a tiny flame that quickly gets lost again.  Or was that just her brain trying to find an image in the noise where there is none?

“Road, what are you getting at here?  What do you need me to do?”

“Hey there Eris, sorry to put you on hold.  I’m with the eldritch right now and I can see you and Gretchen, but I can’t get to you.”

“Is Gretchen alright?”

“Physically, yes, but mentally she’s not handling this place nearly as well as you are.  Nothing irrecoverable yet, but it’s… not good.”

“Where is she?  If you can see us both, maybe you can help me reach her.”

“The concept of ‘where’ is subjective at best right now.  Our best bet is going to be helping the eldritch get what it wants - maybe needs, communication is tricky - in exchange for it leading all of us out of here.”

“And if we don’t cooperate?”

“You and I will probably be fine, but it’s not too happy with Gretchen right now.  There’s a good chance it’ll leave her in here when this space collapses upon its departure.”

“Of course it isn’t happy with her,” Eris mutters under her breath.  “Fine.  So what does it want?  It sounded like you were saying something about art earlier.  Is it going to conjure up a paintbrush and easel for me, or am I about to get sent on another trip down memory lane?”

“More likely the latter, unless you’re a painter or musician on top of everything else.”

 “Nah, I was always more of a STEM girl before I dropped out, I’m afraid.”

“That’s something.  Gardening can be an art.”

Gardening?  Oh, right.  “Not what I meant, but go on, let’s get the brain probing over with.”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Yes, art.  But she’s going to choose what to show you, and you need to respect that she’s trusting you not to invade her privacy or touch anything.”

T̸̤͛r̶̭̲̥̠̫̼̒̐̌̀͆͂u̷̮̿̋̈́̆̈ś̷̡̬̝̠̮͙͊̿̓͘͘ẗ̷̘̙̲͋.̸̤͕̯̹̫̪̏̑̆͠

“Good.  Now, Eris, just focus on what art is to you.  What is the art in your life?  What have you created?  What have you experienced?  What have you shared?  Everyone has something.  Just let your mind find it and then let it flow.”

Eris nods.  Focus on art.  That shouldn’t be too hard.  She’s no artist, but she’s seen plenty.

She closes her eyes…

She is locked in a dance of death on the lakeshore with the hateful spirit of a thing that won’t stay dead.  She is using a tire iron to spraypaint the lifeblood of a rabid fae crossroads hound into a mural of autumn leaves on the side of a truckstop rest station.  She is standing on top of a moving rollercoaster and doing the on-the-fly math to calculate the optimal location and angle to hurl a broken flagpole in order to launch the ride, herself, and the dozen bloodthirsty ape spiders on the cars behind us into the amphitheater next door.  She is admiring her handiwork in the aftermath of a percussive demon exorcism that looks so very much like a tornado just tore through the gas station.  She is at the bar, arm wrestling two other monster hunters at once and winning.  She is at Doc’s clinic one of the few times she’s ever been hurt badly enough to need it and is thinking about how much the X-rays of her shattered arm look like a river delta.  She is holding the sun between her hands and feeling like God.

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“Yes.  Destruction, too, is an art.”

She is destruction.  She a hunter.  She is a beast.

She is gasping and trying  to open her eyes.  She is finding them already wide and staring.  She is afraid to look down at her hands.

She is something other than that.  She is something more than that.  She is something greater than that.

She is protection.  She is an avenger.  She is a shield.

She is still just violence.  She is a danger.  She is a threat.

She is unwanted.  She is an outsider.  She is a disowned child.

She is scared.  She is hypocritical.  She is…

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“E.”

She has never been only one thing.  She is what the world shaped her into.  She is what she chose for herself.

She is walking back home practicing the name sign Dylan came up with for her.  She is in the library reading a book on Greek gods and reclaiming a teacher’s laziness.  She is driving back and forth across the country, trying out a new name with the same initial at every stop.

She is in her parents’ kitchen, loving the rhythm of the name they gave her every time they ask her to pass the dishes or how her day went and the way that rhythm changes when the language shifts.  She is teaching that name to Lacuna.  She is sheepishly asking her best friend not to use that name afterall, but holding back tears over the fact that her friend took the time to master the pronunciation.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

She is planting seeds in the huge backyard garden with her papa.  She is hanging a tillandsia air plant in the sleeper cab of her truck.  She is watering the tiny balcony garden of her apartment.

She is working with her mama in her garage to repair the engine on the family car.  She is performing emergency roadside maintenance on her truck near a corn field.  She is renovating a barely-drivable van older than she is into something as new as the stage of life she just entered is.

She is watching a movie in the theater with her parents, eyes wide and hands full of popcorn.  She is crying in a motel a month after leaving home because that movie just came on the television when she was flipping channels.  She is lounging on the couch with Lacuna for movie night, excitedly explaining everything about that movie and the underappreciated nuances of the genre.

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

She is listening to her favorite song on the radio while driving down the highway.  She is singing her favorite song on karaoke night at 121813.  She is laughing as Gretchen unpacks a record player and puts on her favorite song for the two of them to unpack boxes to in their new apartment.

She is learning the four different languages her parents learned from their parents, still unaware that they aren’t all one.  She is learning ASL alongside Dylan, growing up together with something that feels all their own.  She is learning German from Gretchen, teaching her a few things in exchange and talking about how they’ll travel the world together someday.

She is learning to tie knots at summer camp and practicing over and over again with her eyes set on a merit badge.  She is tying a makeshift harness onto  a cool statue she found next to a dumpster to the side of her garbage truck so she can take it back home to her apartment.  She is in the bedroom with Gretchen, undressed and discussing the hypothetical logistics of trying to tie knots in industrial steel cable since she keeps accidentally breaking the ropes.

A̴̡͓͙̺͙͛̔ͅR̷̺̠̲̞͌͐̿̎̏͋T̷͇̣̹͖̐͛͘!̸̜͖̲̂͜

Eris is in a dark place that she does not recognize from any memory of her own.  The only light is a faint starshine spearing down through gaps in the canopy to create ghostly counterparts to the surrounding tree trunks.  Just at the edge of her hearing she can catch the sound of something lurking in the shadows.  For half a heartbeat, she spots a flash of gold.

Eris grins and shows what she knows is too many teeth for most people’s comfort.  Looks like that last set of memories got the desired reaction from the eldritch.

“Still hungry for more, huh?!” she shouts.  “Fine.  One last performance for the road!”

The nearest shaft of starlight becomes Eris’s spotlight as she takes the stage and steps into a ready stance with her spear.  She taps her foot in time with a remembered opening bassline from the track Gretchen always kicked off their exercises with.  She gets the rhythm down until she can almost hear it, and then starts the show.

Eris has heard of spears being called the oldest weapon.  She’s always felt it to be a dubious claim at best, when there are plenty of heavy and sharp rocks just lying around, but it’s true enough that the basic concept of “sharp pointy bit on the end of a long stick” is old indeed; old enough that just about everywhere you care to go has some variation on it.  She starts with the forms out of the illustrated Renaissance manuals that got Gretchen into the art to begin with.  She moves through the pike and lance devices, even though her own spear is too short for them.  She shifts to the staff swings, then the halberd techniques, then the peasant stick.  She works her way through the memorized Germanic style manual and moves on to the Italian.

In the dark, between the trees, a lurking presence closes in.  Eris keeps her view straight ahead.  The flashes of gold in her peripherals are enough to confirm she has her audience’s attention.

Eris skips across the globe to Filipino kali.  Stabbing their way around the world, Gretchen always liked to call the workout.  The point was never to master any given style.  Staves, pikes, lances, poleaxes, sibat, halberds, naginata, guandao, bō; it didn’t matter if the device, form, or kata was made with the types of spear the two of them happened to be practicing with in mind.  Martial arts were made for fighting people, and all that technique disappears when you’re fighting beasts.  It was about the novelty of finding new ways to move your body and learning all the ways the weapon can feel in your hands as an extension of yourself.  It was about acknowledging the human universality of finding interesting ways to swing a stick.  It was about compiling a wishlist of places to travel to one day.  

It was about an art the two of them shared.

“I know you recognize this,” Eris whispers. “Come join me.”

Eris traces her performance over Asia.  Through the Indian subcontinent and into Africa.  She crossed the ocean into the Americas.  She ventures into the Pacific, lands in Australia for a single stance, then returns to Europe where she started.  All along the way she feels the buildup of thrill for what comes after this opening act.  For what comes from having kept her eyes locked forward and back unprotected.

In the moment Eris stops moving, Gretchen comes down like lightning with all the flash and thunder that comes with it.  Eris steps forward and turns around, denying the lightning strike its perfect moment, its perfect kill.  

Gretchen is crouched low, modified boar spear impaling the ground instead of Eris.  She rips the weapon from the earth and sparks arc between the spear’s tip and bladed crossguard.  Her shadow cast by starlight and sparks is too large; it coils like a serpent and handles its weapon with too many arms.  Her face is furred, her neck is scaled, and her arms are chitinous.  She hisses and her jaw unhinges to expose her fangs.  She blinks, and she is simply Gretchen.  She blinks, and she is a beast.  She blinks, and she is something caught between.

Eris could swear that the trees and starlight are humming a reprise of the music in her head.

Gretchen lunges forward and Eris sidesteps.  She skitters sideways, as close to being on all fours as she can get while still holding her spear.  She strikes again and Eris parries.

Strike, retreat, skitter, strike, repeat.  Thus go the steps of the dance’s first movement.

A strike is parried.  A hand grabs a neck.  A body is thrown.

“Is this the best a beast can do?”  Eris calls.  “You’ll have to do better than that if you want your kill!”

Gretchen grips her spear with both hands now.  Circles more thoughtfully.  Thrusts with the full length of her weapon to maintain the safety of arm’s reach while she stays outside the light.

Circle, thrust, parry.  The dance’s next movement is a slow one, defined by distance and separation.

A thrust is dodged.  A boot drives a haft to the ground.  An icy speartip peels a scale off a neck.

“I know that’s not all you’ve got!” Eris shouts.  “You taught me better than that!”

Gretchen adjusts her grip closer.  Stands more upright.  Steps inward and swings her spear, catching Eris’s between the cross blades to see her opponent’s muscles twitch and hair stand on end until their weapons freeze together and pull apart in a shatter of ice.

Step, swing, shock, shatter.  This movement’s tempo is lively and its notes are loud as the words unsaid.

A cheek is cut.  A hand is slashed.  A fleshy palm emerges from broken chitin.

“Now that’s more like it,”  Eris growls.  “You made me bleed, now come taste it!”

Gretchen shakes her hands free of the coverings that got between her grip and her spear.  Settles into a stance meant for close-quarters footwork.  Rushes in too close to swing or parry and stabs.

Stab, redirect, cut, grapple.  The dance’s final movement is an intimate one.

Hands grab wrists.  Spearpoints rest at necks.  Eyes lock.

“There you are,” Eris breathes.  “I knew you could do it.”

Ą̸̥̥̘̪͈̗̥̬̒̿͂̐̌́̔Ắ̶̪̼̞̳̼͉̰̘͙̹̍̀͛̈́̿͘͘Ą̵̝̳͚͈̺̟̬̻̗̟̓R̵͈͍̙̘̰̽̀̚Ř̵͉̝͉͉͇̇͊̃̃́͗͝R̷̛̗̫̙̎͌͐̇̅̈̇̚͝͝T̵̜̘̻̓̈̓̋T̵̙̆͂̎́̆Ţ̵̥̗̩̲̂̆̄͊́̍̿̂̄͘͘!̴̤͓͔̫̼͙̰͚͇̀͋̉͌̀̒͝!̵̧̞̟̜̝̳̳͑̇̂̀!̴̡̨̬͍͚͉̮̈́̊͊͊͂̈́͛̈́

The two of them maintain their embrace, breathing heavily.

Gretchen attempts to move in closer still, but is stopped by the blade still at her neck.

For a moment, Eris considers letting the blade shift out of the way.  She was able to bring her back from the brink, so could it work?  Without that one thing between them, could they?  Looking out for one another, could they grow old?

Eris’s grip on her spear loosens.  Gretchen’s does the same.  Blades shift away from necks.  Distance closes.  Smoke fills the air with the smell of incense.

Eris blinks and sees Gretchen’s face anew.

That expression on her one-time partner’s face says all the reasons it could never work.  Pulled back from the brink but not yet fully lucid.  There’s still hunger there, and while it’s less bloody now, it’s still enough to draw her into an intertwined spiral if she were to let it.  She can picture it now: Overconfidence in their ability to pull one another back morphing into enabling one another to ever greater risks until they both fall at once.

Eris takes a deep breath.  Lets it out.  Lets go.  Steps back.

Maybe if they could both give up the hunt, but neither of them are that strong yet.

“Good job,” a familiar voice says from behind her.

Eris turns around and finds herself gazing into a person-shaped hole.  A suggestion of identity without truth or core.  And then it’s just Road, a smoking censer dangling from one hand and the match to the lifeline amulet dangling from the other.  A rock of stability in the middle of the chaos while the rest of the scene dissolves back into the white noise.

“Something wrong?” Road asks.

“No, just taking a minute for the incense to kick in and clear my head.  Thanks for that.”

“Of course, although you were holding up remarkably well without it.  Not many people could.  Speaking of...”

Eris turns back around, following their gaze to where Gretchen has discarded her spear in favor of curling in on herself and shaking with silent sobs.  Her words are barely coherent as Road comforts her, but Eris can make out enough to piece together a picture.  With the incense slowly clearing Eris’s own fog over the memory of what she’s been through since entering this space, not having a similar reaction is a matter of well-practiced effort, and she wasn’t the one who went through a near ego death.

Eris slings her own spear back over her shoulder, picks up Gretchen’s, and then offers her other shoulder to lean on.  The two of them follow Road back to the door to realspace in silence.  On the real side of the threshold, Eris spares one last glance back to see a swirling mass of tentacles, eyes, and tiny ancient flames.

*******

Eris leans on the outside of her van, surrounded by cursed and haunted artifacts and answering a wall of text messages and pile of voice mails through the glare of the late afternoon sun and listening to the hum of the engine.  It turned out they were in the eldritch warped space for the better part of a day and only the grace of the campus having just started its break between summer and fall semesters has saved them from some uncomfortable Masquerade-endangering questions from students and faculty that might otherwise have walked into a booby-trapped hallway and a door to nowhere.

“How’s she doing?”  Road asks.

Eris looks up from her phone.  Has she ever heard them approach?

“She’s sleeping it off,” Eris answers with a thumb cocked over her shoulder towards the back of the van.  “I’ll wake her up and get these loaded back in when we’re ready to head home.  How’s the eldritch?”

“Doing as well as it’s possible to tell with one of them,” he says.  “Communication’s always a bit tricky, but seems like no permanent harm done and no grudges held.  I had a good long talk with it about more responsible feeding habits, consent, safety, and the wide range in mortal tolerances to eldritch contact.  And I was able to talk it into helping with the cleanup in the hallway before it left, so we’re good on that front.”  She gestures toward Eris’s phone.  “News from the office?”

“Yeah.  A client came in this morning, but Ashan and Lacuna handled it.  Sounds like it turned into this whole thing with some fairy lord getting involved, but it all worked out.  They’re on their way back now with a changeling and their human counterpart, so we’ll have some more followup to do there.  I figure I can get the rest of these delivered while you handle that.”

Road smiles warmly and shakes their head.  “You should get some rest too when we get back.  You deserve it after today.”

Eris tries and fails to meet Road’s eyes.  A question burns.  She struggles to voice it.

“What was all that about starlight in a dark forest?”

“Oh, caught that, did you?  I guess you could call it a code phrase of sorts between people that do a lot of travel between worlds.  It’s also a question that should only be asked by those who already know the answer.  But that’s not what you really want to ask about, is it?”

No.  It isn’t.

Eris closes her eyes.  Breathes.  Opens her eyes.  Does her best to meet Road’s eyes.

“How much did you see?”

Road nods in understanding.  “Bits and pieces.  Enough.  I did what I could to keep it from prying too deeply or to shift its focus when it looked like things were getting too private.”

“And before that?”

“I was busy trying to subdue a panicking eldritch within a warped space under its control at the time, so my focus was elsewhere.  But,” they admit, “I did feel some of it.  I felt Gretchen too.”

“Oh.  I see.  Could you… maybe not mention any of that to the others?  Some of the stuff from when I was a kid I haven’t even told Lacuna about.”

“Of course.  I’ll do my best to forget I saw any of it.”

“Thanks.”

“And if it helps, I’ve seen firsthand what it’s like when someone completely unravels and loses themself, and I don’t see that ever happening to you.  Especially not after today.”

“That… does help, actually.  Thank you.”

It helps more than it should.

“You’re welcome.  You want to wake Gretchen while I get these boxes?”

“Sure thing,” Eris says, moving towards the van’s sliding door.  “Oh, but one more thing?”

“Yes.”

“I know you meant well, calling out to me when I was on the edge back there, but E isn’t a name for you to call me.”

*******

Gently as she can, Eris closes the door to Gretchen’s room and heads back downstairs.  She steps lightly over the one board she knows creaks so as not to wake the changeling and their brother sleeping in the other two guest rooms of the bed and breakfast above the office.  The thought crosses her mind that the creaky board might have been a security feature left in on purpose with all of Sullivan’s renovations on the building, but she doesn’t follow it.  She’s too tired and it doesn’t matter.

Lacuna is waiting for her by the reception desk.

“Hey.”

“Yo.”

“So, uh, didn’t get the chance to talk, really.  Since we all got back.  What with the clients and all.”

“I guess not.”

“So…  Are you… Okay?”

Blood between her teeth.  Hunting.  Names forgotten.  Burning.  Hunger.  A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

“Been better.  You?”

“Tired.  But what else is new?”

Eris nods.  What else indeed?  “The others head out already?”

“Yeah.  Bridgewood Manor.  Road mentioned Sullivan might be back soon.”

“I should probably be there for that.”  Eris leans on the reception desk.  She’s so tired.

“I’m sure they’ll fill us in.”

“Probably.”

Lacuna Looks over at the living room.  “We’ve got a couch.”

“Huh?”  So tired.

“If we’ve got guests, we probably shouldn't leave the office unattended.  So reason to stay here.  But all the beds are taken.  So couch.”

Eris pushes off the reception desk, staggers over, and throws her arms around her best friend.  She feels Lacuna stagger under her limp weight.  She feels a shaking hand stroke across her back.  She feels a chin rest in the curve between her shoulder and neck.

“Sis?”

“Yeah, E?”

“Do you think,” Eris’s voice cracks, “we could do movie night early this week?”

*******

“This one?”

“This one.”

“You realize it’s your turn to choose the movie, right?”

“I know.  And.  I chose this one.”

“...”

“...”

“I’m surprised this one was even on the shelf here.”

“I figured it’d be good to get a copy to leave here.  Just in case.”

“...”

“...”

“Sis?”

“Yeah, E?”

“Just this once, do you think you could say my other name?”

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

#This originally opened with showing one of the deliveries but it was going on too long without being the real point of the chapter. #I swear at this rate Eris's POV is going to have a quarter of the chapter count by half the wordcount. #writers on tumblr #writing #original fiction #urban fantasy #web novel #Writeblr #Empty Names #serial fiction #creative writing #literature #writers #fantasy #fiction #my writing #emptynameswriting #If Gretchen keeps this up she's in danger of becoming a recurring major character. #I worry this chapter loses a little bit in the Tumblr post formatting not letting me play with the alignment on the eldritch text #Just pretend the indented text is right-aligned for the eldritch and center-aligned for Road. #Not to stroke my own ego too much but I'm very pleased with how much this chapter builds on itself and prior chapters. #Recurring phrases imagery and such. And foreshadowing. #The long sequence of Eris losing herself to the hunt is all retellings of events that have either happened or been referenced earlier. #I'll confess I'm kind of nervous about having finally made more concrete references to Eris's ethnicity. #Worried about accidentally being disrespectful in some way. #Same with the inclusion of Dylan as an explanation of how Eris learned sign language. #I am pleased with how the childhood flashback segments turned out though. #And the “Art” flashbacks. And the last dance with Gretchen. #Mostly I think I just really like playing with repeating format/structure for paragraphs and sentences. #Makes me feel like I'm dabbling in poetry or something.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | first meeting

info;

♡ fandoms; The Boy, House of Wax, Halloween, Hannibal, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, slashers (general), DBD

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Vincent Sinclair, Micheal Myers, Hannibal Lecter, Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of blood/violence

The most random array of characters. All 5 are my bfs tho. Also this is written very very informally because it was originally just for myself lol.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire//

> approximateplotofthe movie. jpeg

> honestly you mind your own business once you realize it’s a doll but assume there’s cameras so mostly behave

> you find yourself naturally coddling his doll like a real child when you’re bored, speaking to him constantly

> even though you’re not doing much to upset him, weird things do start happening around the house

> he mostly wants attention

> you leave a note one day

> “dear brahm’s ghost; i’m sorry if i’m not doing a good job as a nanny. i’m really trying my best. I hope we can be friends”

> he scribbles a smiley face on it and you’re a little freaked out / excited

> when he finally shows himself you’re really stunned. but it makes more sense than a genuine ghost

> you’re in such shock that you just. keep going with the evening and make dinner.

> but even once you come to your senses, you end up more sad than scared

> “…they left you all alone. I’m so sorry.”

> he gives you puppy eyes

> “…I won’t do that to you. I promise. I’m staying.”

> he’s even more in love with you than he first thought. even if you’re going to make him shower six times before bed.

> to his chagrin you don’t help him bathe

> but you do kiss him goodnight

Vincent Sinclair//

> bo brings you to him

> at first he’s making some big deal, “special delivery” and all that

> you’re cute

> really cute

> and bo clearly knew you’re the kind of person vincent would like

> but he’s still got a job to do

> damn it

> “h-hey- wait- i can help you—?”

> that makes him hesitate

> “i’m an artist too. i can help with the sculptures. “

> …

>“i’ll be good. promise.”

> he didn’t need much more convincing than that

> bo is surprised he kept you but makes damn sure you’re not escaping

> but you don’t even try because you just feel so deeply for vincent, and he’s so gentle

> you weren’t lying about being an artist so you’re genuinely helpful

> he falls madly in love when you help him resculpt his mask

Micheal Myers //

> Meet because you wrote letters to him

> Not to interview him or as an obsessive fan

> At first out of curiosity, then as a sort of way to vent, because he never responds

> But as it turns out your letters are the only ones he keeps or even opens at this point

> So his psychologist wants you to meet him to see if you can get him to open up- of course there’s a cash incentive

> He doesn’t say a word from the other side of the glass.

> Obviously.

> But you treat it like a normal visit to a friend and just chat mindlessly a while

> And you’re so much tinier and cuter in person

> He wants to stab you so much

> But realizes that if he killed you, he might miss you

> Ew that’s a scary thought

> Still wants to make you scream tho uwu

> He escapes

> Because he’s Micheal Myers that’s what he does

> After his spree he finds himself in your house, bloodsoaked and honestly not all that sure what he’ll do when he sees you

> You don’t even scream, just give a tiny ‘eep’

> “…Micheal?”

> He regrips his knife so he can get it over with. You’ll just tattle

> “Oh gosh- you’re soaked from the rain. And all that blood-let’s get you a shower? I can get you some fresh clothes too,”

> He’s staring down at you in disbelief

> “…what? You thought I’d try and call the cops? I like talking to you.”

> There’s something very wrong with you

> It’s kind of hot

> He puts him knife away and follows you

Hannibal Lecter//

> you’re his patient lol

> at first he doesn’t have much interest in you outside of work

> but god, you’d be such a perfect subject to manipulate with that little authority figure problem you have

> and even though you’re young

> you do recognize some of the finer things in life

> mostly his artwork and cooking. you’re really good at inadvertently stroking his ego

> he starts diving into darker subjects in therapy

> you’re a bit of a morbid person under the sunshine-y exterior

> perfect

> he’s still chipping away at something big you’re keeping from him

> he could do some digging online and through your files but where’s the fun in that

> he gets you tipsy and then starts with the psycho babble

> you finally crack

> you killed some guy that was stalking you years ago

> god that’s hot

> you liked it, at least a little bit

> even hotter

> you licked the blood off your hands and it tasted good

> he’s in love ; good luck leaving

Thomas Hewitt //

> car trouble! it’s always car trouble

> honestly when you rock up to the gas station alone Luda Mae is thinking that it’s a shame the fridge at home is already full

> but you’re the sweetest little customer

> “your name is really pretty ma’am. ever since i was little i decided if i had a daughter, her name would be Audrey Mae”

> new plan, she’s playing matchmaker

> there’s just something about you that’s so gentle

> and mildly off-putting, like the rest of the family

> she brings you out to the farm to see if they have the car parts you need

> and to stay the night, if you really need to

> you run smack dab into Thomas in his old half mask walking in- even Luda expects you to recoil at the least

> instead you turn a bit pink

> “oh gosh- I’m so so sorry sir-“

> Thomas stares at you

> You just shyly introduce yourself, talking enough for both of you

> Luda Mae is already planning the wedding

> “That’s my youngest Tommy- why don’t you show em around? Alright baby?”

> Thomas is a bit hesitant but you’re so little and cute and smell so good—

> He’s already obsessed oops

#thomas hewitt #micheal myers #brahms heelshire #hannibal #hannibal lecter #vincent sinclair #house of wax #tcm #tcm 2006 #the boy 2016 #the boy #halloween #rz michael myers #rz halloween #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw the beginning #slashers #x reader #slashers x you #slashers x reader #micheal myers x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface x reader #y/n

[strangesem]

Dropping in with a request!

Could you do either Miles or Hobie (you can choose) with a Spider person reader who everyone thinks is scary and intimidating but actually just really quiet and shy?

THIS IS SO CUTE (and also very much fits my spider-sona 🤭)

hobie brown x intimidating but shy reader

a/n: I took a brief hiatus bc I’m trying to get my license but I’m back and more feral than ever

FIRST OF ALLL I feel like part of the reason people think you’re intimidating is bc of your spider-suit?

like maybe the mask is “spooky” or it’s super dark or what have you

and if you have good posture that would definitely make you seem sm more intimidating? like you’re just standing there upright saying nothing

even though you’re only quiet bc you’re shy, no one knows that!!!

except for hobie

tbh I feel like he originally approached you to annoy you or knock you down a peg?

but when your response was so quiet and soft he was like ?????

he doesn’t believe in consistency soo you’re basically his new best friend

but genuinely you would both bond so fast, largely due to how well your personalities even each other out

but also because no one else really talked to you bc you seemed “scary”

I also feel like you’d end up forming a trio with pavitr bc he’s too sweet to be intimidating by your “rough exterior”

and pav is the number one supporter of you two getting together I’m serious

“I can feel the tension, you guys should go to dinner after this”

“DID YOU SEE THE WAY HE LOOKED AT YOU? he’s in loooooveee”

speaking or pav; when you first met he *did* get jumpscared a little bit with how quietly you move around, and compared you to a ghost

it really stuck with hobie bc he immediately started calling you “ghostie”

(you’re crushing way too hard at that point to care let’s be real)

once you get together he’ll probably start spending more time in your world; just chilling at your place

teasing you occasionally about how nervous you are to even just open your door and talk to a delivery guy (he WILL do it for you if you ask though he doesn’t care lmao)

he’d also want you to spend a bunch of time in his dimension bc he wants you to go to his shows! go to all his favourite pubs with him!!

but if that’s all to overwhelming for you, even just lounging in his bed is more than enough to appease him

he likes that it smells like you after you leave

also!!! he definitely would want his partner to wear his clothes

if you’re bigger and his “normal” shirts don’t fit you comfortably? he’ll steal some oversized shirts and wear them a bit before handing them off to you!

hobie loves loves LOVES taking part in conversations where people are talking about how intimidating you are bc it’s hilarious to him

peak comedy even

“nah they’re a little cutie pie; couldn’t hurt someone if they tried”

“[spider-sona name]????”

miguel absolutely despises you both though bc hobie’s full time job is already being a menace to him and then you just stand off to the side and stare? WHISPERING TO HOBIE??? he can’t.

peter b parker though? he LOVES you guys. you’re his otp and she will sometimes point to show mayday what “true love” looks like

#not proofread #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk #spider punk x reader

[rebelfell]

so right, it's wrong

continued from x

where its halloween and eddie feels guilty for hooking up with his best friend's ex...except are you still his ex? 18+, MDNI

“Stupid. This is stupid. This is so, so stupid.”

Eddie mutters to himself as he skulks up the driveway towards the front of Steve’s house. His costume was hot and itchy on his skin, the pants suddenly feeling too tight and his shirt and vest threatening to choke him despite their looseness on his frame. The fencing sword tied to his hip poked him with every step and his boots were more like cement blocks he was dragging to the threshold as he rang the bell.

The idea to dress as characters from The Princess Bride had been in the works for ages—ever since Steve heard about the contest KQRX was throwing, offering free concert tickets for a whole year as the prize. Originally, it was going to be all three of you, but that was before the break-up, before Tina’s party…before Eddie considered selling his soul for another night with you.

It felt wrong even going through with all this, considering how involved you’d been.

It was you who helped Eddie scour seemingly endless thrift shops for the perfect pieces of his outfit while he was pinching the inside of his arm to stop himself thinking about dragging you into one of the dressing rooms and kissing every inch of your body. And it was you who watched as he and Steve practiced their “sword fight” out by the Harrington’s pool—looking debilitatingly, unfairly, cute wrapped up in a flannel, correcting Steve when he botched his lines and making a pink blush dance across Eddie’s cheeks when you praised his delivery.

Steve was convinced there was still a good chance of winning even with just the two of them, and Eddie didn’t have it in him to protest. He was still trying to figure out how he was going to look his friend in the eye after what happened.

You and Eddie hadn’t spoken since Friday night. 

There had been tons of parties all weekend, as was typical whenever Halloween fell on a Tuesday. He probably could have found you if he’d had the balls to go looking. He knew well how keen you were to dress up at any and every opportunity for your favorite holiday.

And he wanted to call you, he really did. He must have dialed all but the last digit of your number about a hundred times since that night.

It was driving Wayne up the wall.

“Boy, if you ain’t gonna dial that phone, stop gettin’ its hopes up. If you don’t leave it alone, I’m gon’ knock you upside the head with it.”

But if he did call, what was he supposed to say? Hey! Thanks for sucking out the very essence of my soul through my cock? How about I return the favor sometime? Sound good?

Yeah, sure. That would go over great.

So instead, he’d hidden in his room. He’d worked on campaigns for Hellfire in between his pacing in front of the phone. And instead of going to your friend Ella’s party Sunday night, knowing how likely it was you’d be there, he’d gone over to Gareth’s for a slasher movie marathon. 

Nothing like senseless bloodshed and gore to kill a perpetual boner. Not that it did.

Even hours of b-tier horror couldn’t stop him from thinking about you. The whole night kept playing on a loop in his mind. The way you straddled his lap and moaned into his mouth as he grasped at your hips to grind you against him. The way your mouth fell open in a wanton gasp as he kissed his way down your neck. The way you slinked to the floor and released him from his boxers that were stretched to their absolute limit. The look in your eyes as you spoke, low and sultry.

“I know you want me, Eddie,” you’d cooed at him, teasingly kissing at his weeping, sensitive tip until his head was thrown back and his eyes rolled back into his skull. “Show me how much.”

“Is that seriously the best you could do, Munson? Come on!”

Steve’s voice rings out harshly the second he opens the door, jerking Eddie out of his trance. 

He huffs at the sight of Eddie’s mustache, or rather lack thereof, placing his hands on cocked hips. He makes an annoyingly good Dread Pirate Roberts in a billowing black shirt with a deep v-neck that reveals a patch of his dense chest hair. His black pants are tight, showing off muscled thighs and he’s already got his mask wrapped around his head, his own sword in hand.

“Not all of us are part werewolf, Steven.” Eddie snipes as he stalks through the door and pushes past his friend, guilty eyes averting.

“Whatever, maybe we can fill it in or something. Oh, honey! Perfect timing!”

Honey?

Eddie’s head whips around to see you floating down the staircase, the swishing of your skirt around your legs halting as Steve holds out his hand and tugs you into him.

“Shit, babe, you look hot,” Steve says, planting a wet kiss on your cheek that made you smile and caused Eddie’s stomach to lurch.

“Hot” didn’t even begin to describe you tonight. You looked…like a princess. 

There was no other word for it. His heart was hammering behind his rib cage as his eyes roved over you, eager to take in every detail he could. Your dress was almost exactly like the one from the movie and even with the big sleeves and a long, flowing skirt, it failed to conceal the shape of your body underneath. It hinted at the curves there, teasing Eddie with the memory of them. Was it really just a few days ago his hands had roamed so freely all over you? Had feasted on the dip of your waist and the fullness of your hips?

You peer at Eddie curiously, subtly stepping back from Steve as you’re tucking a piece of your long wig behind your ear. “You look nice,” you say.

“Except the obvious,” Steve sighs. “Can you do something about his mustache?”

“Yeah, sure,” you breathe, your eyes never leaving Eddie’s, your head tipping towards the bathroom. “Come in here where the light is better.”

With a gulp and a nod, he follows you while Steve heads for the kitchen to make another drink, and probably check his own reflection on the way. 

Eddie is dead silent as he leans on the sink in the half-bath off the foyer. He clutches at the edge of the countertop, sweaty palms threatening to slip out from beneath him at any second. With any luck, maybe he’ll hit his head on the porcelain and the concussion will get him out of this.

You’re quiet too as you root around inside a small pouch filled with your make-up until you exhume a brown eyeliner pencil. You place your fingertips gently on his chin, holding his face steady as you color in his upper lip with short, soft strokes. The feather-light touch and the way your eyes focus so intently on him makes Eddie’s heart race and he feels certain you can see it’s about to beat straight out of his chest.

“You okay?” you whisper. “You’re shaking.”

Eddie nods, neck stiff and his body rigid with you standing so close to him. He swallows thickly, his throat clenching with the question he’s dreading. But he has to ask. He has to know.

“So, you guys are—are you, like…back together?”

“I don’t know yet,” you say, your voice small. “Maybe. We’ve been talking about it.”

“Since when?” he asks, and the sound comes out harsher than he meant. Your eyes flicker, the light from the sconce over the mirror shining in them.

“Sunday night. We ran into each other at Ella’s party.”

Fucking shit. Of course you did.

“I thought I might hear from you,” you add quietly. “Or maybe see you, but…”

You lick your lips, glancing away from him as you cap your eyeliner and tuck it back inside your bag. Your tongue wets the gloss you’re wearing and makes it look even shinier. Fuck, he wants to know how you taste tonight, what flavor it is that’s on your mouth.

“I…I…”

Eddie’s mind swims with all the words he wants to say, but they get snagged, unable to come out. Because what exactly is he supposed to say when all he can think about is pinning you against that door, hiking up your dress and filling your hot, slick core with his fingers or his tongue or his cock until you’re screaming his name loud enough for the entire town to hear?

Except that’s never gonna happen. Because he’s not Westley. He’s not the hero here. You’re not his heroine and you never will be. There’s no version of the movie that ends with Inigo and Buttercup riding off into the sunset together.

“It’s fine, Eddie. I get it,” you say softly. “We can forget it ever happened.”

Eddie sighs, the heft of his frustration punching it out of his chest. If that’s what you want, of course he’ll do it. He’s been pretending not to be in love with you for a long time already. 

No sense breaking the streak now.

You lean around him to collect your bag from the sink and the smell of your perfume is like a punch straight to his gut. He takes one last deep breath of you as you zip your bag shut and reach for the knob on the door.

It creaks as you crack it open and you pause, chancing a glance back at him. "You really do look handsome," you tell him.

And then you leave. You head for the kitchen and go back to your boyfriend who's waiting for you. Back to the only version of this movie there is.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson stranger things

[rip-quizilla]

We Could Be Beautiful: Dead Girl Walking

Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

🔹An AU in which you and Eddie are both actors in a community theater production of Heathers: The Musical🔹

Word count: 1.6K

A/N: Just an idea I’ve had rolling around in my head for a while. This will probably become a series of short blurbs within this AU, taking place between the auditions and the cast party following the final performance of the show.

Tags: mutual pining, unconfessed feelings, allusions to sex, passing mention of suicide (pertaining to the plot of Heathers), references to Heathers: the Musical, song lyrics

If you’d like a visual for the scene described from the original musical, click here

🔹divider made by @k1ssyoursister 🔹

You took your role as Veronica’s understudy seriously. 

You’d copied down every stage direction, every line, every director’s note- you’d made sure you were prepared. Now, the ultimate test would determine just how prepared for this you really were.

Barb, the actress playing Veronica, had warned you that her sister might go into labor early, and that had been exactly what happened. That meant she would be in the delivery room on opening night, and every program in every audience member’s hand would have a little insert with your picture on it, alongside your name followed by “-will be playing the role of Veronica Sawyer.”

Already, you had managed to make it to the first quarter of the show. “Beautiful” had gone without a hitch, and you’d gotten through “Fight for Me” without your voice cracking. But next was “Dead Girl Walking,” and you were just about ready to fling yourself in front of a bus. Or drink some drain cleaner. 

You hadn’t rehearsed this song with Eddie yet; you knew the words, knew the blocking, knew exactly which note you were expected to sing and every riff you had to hit. But standing behind that velvet curtain as you waited for your cue, you were practically on the verge of a panic attack. When you finally had to enter the stage, you channeled it all- the panic, the nerves, the terror of what comes after tonight.

I need it hard

I’m a dead girl walking

I’m in your yard

I’m a dead girl walking 

You’d watched him sing this song with Barb so many times, and each time you’d wished it was you- now, you had your chance. 

Sorry, but I really had to wake you

See, I’ve decided I must ride you ‘til I break you

Tonight I’m yours, 

I’m your dead girl walking

Get on all fours, 

Kiss this dead girl walking

You knew Eddie’s wide, wet eyes were those of an actor. The eyes of JD as he watches the girl of his dreams. Still, the heat and want you felt right now wasn’t Veronica’s- it was purely yours. So you let it feed Veronica’s words as you held his face in your tender hands and told JD the things you wished you could say to Eddie.

And you know, you know, you know

It’s ‘cause you’re beautiful

You say you’re numb inside

But I can’t agree

You were the one in the blue blazer now. Tonight, he was your JD, and you were scared shitless that when your lips hit his in a stage kiss that was supposed to have so much fire it set the stage ablaze, it might feel a little bit too real. 

So the world’s unfair

Keep it locked out there

In here it’s beautiful

Let’s make this beautiful

Eddie- JD- gazed at you with all the wonder and adoration of a man on his knees for a generous god. His head shook gently, bewildered by his luck as he delivered the next line. “That works for me.”

Then your lips were on him, and for a second you let yourself pretend he was kissing you back and not Veronica. His mouth was warm, his hands hungry as they roamed over your clothes and subtly squeezed until you felt your blazer’s polyester pucker.

When you pulled away for your high note, you gazed into his eyes and saw nothing but truth looking back at you. That fire you’d been feeling all this time was reflected in his eyes tonight. Sure, maybe it’s the stage lights. Maybe he’s just a really good actor. Maybe you’re fucking obsessed with him- but whatever it was, you felt wanted in those eyes. So yeah, you let yourself believe it. You let the script burn you alive.

Full steam ahead, 

Take this dead girl walking

Let’s break the bed,

Rock this dead girl walking

You were drunk on the awe in his gaze, the way he looked up at you like he wasn’t sure if you’d really just barged in through his window to ride him until he was a broken mess, or if you were a fantasy his mind had conjured to fuel his desire to belong to someone who would cherish all he had to give. 

Again, Eddie was a talented actor. You knew that was his interpretation of how his character felt about your character. Still, you let yourself fall into the script as you straddled his tense, shirtless body, his abs crunching under the blue stage lights in a way that made you salivate. You wondered what your spit would look like on his skin. 

You were far too horny to be professional. At least you weren’t so far gone that you couldn’t remember your blocking. 

No sleep tonight for you,

Better chug that Mountain Dew

Your heart fell into your core upon hearing Eddie’s whimpered ‘okay, okay’ in character, needy and submissive beneath you. 

Get your ass in gear,

Make this whole town disappear

His eyebrows pulled together, voice stronger and raspier as it ripped from his chest. ‘Okay, okay!’ His fingers snuck underneath your skirt, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your ass. You wished it was real. 

You eyed him like a predator eyes a kill, determined to stay in his head until he needed you for real. You ran your palm over your cheek, brought your other hand up to fist in your hair, and pretended both hands were his.

Slap me,

Pull my hair,

You grabbed his wrists forcefully, bringing them up one by one to grope each of your tits. 

Touch me 

There (left tit)

And there (right tit)

And there 

To punctuate the final syllable, you couldn’t stop an involuntary writhe of your torso into Eddie’s hands as he grasped your white button down (which was actually a snap-up) at the chest and pulled hard, simultaneously pinching your nipples through your bright blue bra and ripping open your blouse to showcase the swell of your chest for the whole audience to see. You didn’t notice them, though- you noticed the way he looked at your chest like it was the second coming of Christ. You witnessed that fractional widening of his eyes, the way he was entranced by every move you made as you writhed in his lap. 

And no more talking

Love this dead girl walking

Eddie’s voice was lightning in the wake of thunder, bright and jagged and beautifully raw with power as he crooned a harmony to your lead as the song drew to a close. This song wasn’t an easy one to sing; had you not been so distracted by how it felt to have Eddie’s hips between your thighs you might have been nervous that you’d flub your high notes- but you didn’t. In a moment of sheer improvisation you did what just felt right, and that meant grabbing Eddie by hair at the base of his neck and wrenching his head back as you rolled your hips into his.

You knew your blocking was to arch your back away from him, but instead you brought your face close enough to his that it’s possible his mic picked up your perfect, clear falsetto as you pleaded, ‘Love this dead girl walking’ with the cadence of a lover asking, begging their beloved ‘don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop’. Eddie’s eyes registered your improvisational choice, and maybe you imagined it but behind those big brown button eyes he seemed to come alive with you, sitting up even further and digging one hand into your soft, hot skin while the other flexed against the stage floor to keep him balanced. His little ‘whoa, whoa, hey, hey, yeah yeah’s were short and breathy, sounding more like moans and whimpers as he rolled the sturdy bones of his hips into you as you matched his rhythm. 

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend. If you didn’t have blocking to follow, you might have kissed him again, might have bitten his lip, might have reached for his belt buckle with reckless abandon and let a summer’s worth of pining win over in your mind. Instead, you channeled that passion into the way your hips ground into him with the fervor of a woman with nothing to lose. 

Together the two of you finished out the song with heavy breaths and belted lyrics. You writhed. He thrusted.  ‘Love this dead girl,’ your voices intertwined in a desperate dance for release from the tension between you that, at some point, had grown thick as two oak trees planted near enough to forget where one ends and the other begins.

‘Yeah!’

Your hand on his chest splayed out over faded ink. Your hips swiveled against his groin.

‘Yeah!’

His hand fisted in the plaid fabric of your skirt. That wasn’t in the blocking- had they added that? Was this improv?

‘Yeah!’

Using the grip on your skirt, he tugged you further into him as his hips bucked up just enough to bounce you on his groin and shake your exposed cleavage. Without thinking, your hand flew into his hair, grasping the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck and tugging sharply back. You weren’t supposed to do that. 

‘Ow!’

It wasn’t supposed to be a moan, but that was definitely what you would call the sound you pulled from Eddie’s mouth. A soft yet sharp, breathy moan that existed somewhere in the valley between pleasure and pain and definitely sounded more sexy and less funny, which is how it was supposed to sound. You saw Eddie’s eyes go wide as he too came to this realization. 

No matter; if you played it off, no one in the audience would know the difference. You let go of his hair and flung your hand into the air above you, reaching for heaven and belting out your last ‘Yeah’ into the stage lights that lined the rafters above you. Your back arched, and you felt one final push of Eddie’s pelvis into yours, weaker this time as he too came down from the endorphins that ravaged every thought in both your mind and his. 

Taglist (people I've been talking to about this since the idea spawned): @ghost-proofbaby, @the-unforgivenn, @munson-blurbs, @hellfire--cult

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #heathers the musical #veronica sawyer #jason dean #eddie munson #Spotify

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Charles LecLerc: Best Christmas Present Ever

Formula One Masterlist

word count: 900

prompt used: the best christmas present ever

Charles could hardly calm his excitement when your Christmas present got delivered today. He watched with a smile as the car was slowly lowered into the driveway, still in shock that he had actually found the thing and couldn't wait for you to see it. The car in question was your grandfathers 1999 Chevy Corvette that had been signed by Richard Petty and held a lot of memories to you, he remembers how sad you were when you told him about how your grandma had to sell the car off after his death to help pay some of the bills that were left over after his death.

He thanked the delivery person and did an inspection of the car once more than he saw it in person compared to the numerous photos he had seen of the car. The only thing that was missing was Richard Petty's signature which the owner had said it had melted off over the years which Charles hoped was okay with you because you could always get Richard to sign again. Feeling satisfied with himself and needing to calm down his nerves before he had to go pick you up from work. 

He finally got the text that your were about to get off from work and he made his way outside to cover up your present so you wouldn't see it until he was ready for you to which he was planning on giving it to you today. After everything was situated with the car, he made his way over to your workplace to pick up feeling even more nervous to show you it. He pulled up to your work place and smiled when he saw you walk out the door and over to your side of the car which he had already opened for you. 

"Hi Cherie, I missed you today. How was work?" He asked placing a kiss on your lips. 

"Hi Amour, I missed you too. It was good but tiring." You said giving him a tired smile. 

"Well I have something for you, it's one of your Christmas presents and I'm really nervous for you to see it." He said making you look at him confused. 

"Christmas present? Charlie its only the second week in December!" You said making him laugh. 

"I know Cherie, I know! But I had to order it in time for it to be here by Christmas and there's no way I can hide this from you until Christmas. So can I give it to you when we get home?" He asked nervously.

"Of course baby, you've got me curious now as to what it is." You said giving him a smile as he kissed your hand before pulling out of the parking lot. 

You guys talked about your days and other things on the drive home until finally you guys reached your home where you saw a car that was covered up sitting in the driveway. The more you looked at it, the more it started to look like the outline of a corvette. 

"Is that?" You asked your boyfriend in shock.

"Go see for yourself." He said unlocking the door and watching with a smile as you ran over and tore the cover off the car. 

You were rendered speechless at the sight of your grandfathers corvette sitting in front of you, you ran a hand over the car making sure it was real and you weren't seeing things before turning to look at your boyfriend. 

"Charlie?" You asked shocked. 

"Yes it's his car, I spent the last six months searching for this car so you could have it because I know how much meaning it has to you. When I found it I bought it from the guy who was more than happy to hear that it was going back to the original owners family." He said wrapping his arms around you. 

"I can't believe it after all this time, it's finally back in my hands. I remember how upset I was with grandma told me we had to sell because me and him were always going on adventures in here. He was supposed to take me to prom in this and so much more and to have it back in almost perfect shape is amazing." You said drying the few tears that had fallen. 

"Well there is one thing missing. The owner said that Richard Petty's signature had melted off over the course of the years." He said looking at you. 

"That's fine, we can always get it signed again. Thank you, thank you so much babe for this, you don't know how much it means to me." You said wrapping your arms around him. 

"No need to thank me Cherie, I know how much it meant to you. I was so happy that I found it and was able to buy it from the guy. So would you said it was a good Christmas present?" He asked you. 

"It's the best Christmas present ever actually, I love you Charlie." You said pressing a kiss to his lips. 

"I love you more Cherie, merry Christmas." He said smiling at you. 

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic

[lunaekalenda]

Kento Nanami is well-known for being the head of the most important business of Tokyo. A cold, strict, workaholic man who seems angry to the world. The newspapers talk about him and the media roast his attitude. Although he's handsome, well-ported and polite in extreme, all the social media influencers that like to rant about him as a way to earn money ask the same question:

Who would be able to date the Cold King?

"Who would be able to date? Goddess, I'm not a robot." Kento sighs, taking both cups of steamy tea from the kitchen counter and walking towards the couch. You put the phone down, receiving the tea and a forehead kiss from your husband as he surrounds the sofa to sit by your side, arm opening for you as you snuggle up against his body.

"It's true that you barely smile on pics or meetings" You agree with the post, making your man sigh and drink a long sip.

"Most of the times I don't even wanna be there." He says. He puts his cup on the coffee table, that shines with the reflections of flames, consuming wood on the built-in fireplace. You copy his movements, only to be able to hug your husband with both arms, leaving a kiss on the spot his unbuttoned shirt leaves naked near his chest. He sighs, his hand caressing up and down your back, fingertips dancing on your hips and back to your waist.

"Hm? You don't? Do you have better places to be at?" you tease him. His hands grip your waist stronger, taking your body to his lap, making you laugh.

"So funny, my love." he murmurs. Your legs rest on both sides of his, and his eyes and hand travel to the anklet he bought for you less than a month ago. Embodied with tiny pearls and a "K" in a large fan of colored gems. His lips curve on a smile. "This might be the cheapest jewelry piece I have ever bought you, and still, you don't take it off." You smile at him too, your hands on his cheeks, your thumb caressing his bottom lip sweetly.

"Maybe because it has your letter." you whisper. Kento smiles widely. You know that anklet wasn't cheap. As any other thing he ever bought for you. "And, really, I don't need all those gifts." His lips press a chaste kiss on your thumb, his hands going back to their original position on your waist.

"If I work non-stop and I can't gift my most loved one everything they deserve, does it even worth all the work?" You hit his shoulder slowly, making him laugh. "You deserve a lot more, my love. I'm sad I'm unable to give you everything." His right hand travels up to yours, taking the one you placed near his lips, tangling his fingers with yours before kissing the back of your hand. Your wedding ring shines when he places your hands on the couch.

You don't like public attention, and Kento doesn't want to expose you to the shitty world of gossip magazines. That's why he has paid so many paparazzis so they don't follow him, how his trips and dates are always invisible to everyone, how his enterprise has bought the silence of almost all the newspapers and magazines, but still, some of them are hungry for an exclusive.

His lips touch yours softly, just a caress, before he leaves a peck on them. None of you move for a second when he parts, before you find him smiling back at you. "I love you." He whispers. You peck his lips this time. "I love you too."

Time passes by while you spend the evening by his side on the couch, in front of the fireplace, head resting on his thighs while his hands caress your body. Your expensive pajama, another of his gifts, shows under the velvety blanket he put on top of your body half an hour ago. He keeps reading his book, humming for himself and taking notes on the margins while he reads, but taking his hand back to your body once he's done.

"Love, what do you wanna dinner?" he asks, closing the book and directing all his attention towards you. "Should we cook? Do you want to have delivery?"

"We have all the time of the world. And your food is better than any delivery so... Could my perfect, handsome, talented husband move the action towards the kitchen?" You whisper. Kento rolls his eyes before slapping your ass jokingly. Then, he stands up, taking the blanket away from your body before standing up, taking your body sweetly against his. Your arms get tangled on his neck as he lifts you easily, your lips finding his as he walks towards the kitchen, blindly walking around your exclusive apartment, reflecting yourselves in the clean marble floors and the huge windows that show a panoramic of Tokyo. Kento easily finds the kitchen, leaving you on the counter, stealing another kiss from you when he parts with a smirk.

"Time to cook, my love."

You pout towards him. After all, he's the one that took private classes with that five-star chef to impress you on your very first date, so his cooking always taste like a piece of heaven.

"Can't I just sit and look how you do? You look really really hot while cooking, hm?" Kento smiles again, rolling his sleeves up as he gets close, a brow raised in a silent joke. "And I'll make sure to reward you for your amazing work." His lips curve in a side smile when he pecks yours again, unable to let you go, in need to press his lips against you until he needs air.

"I'll be waiting for that reward."

"We'll see if the cooking deserves it." You tease. He points at you with a wood spoon before talking.

"It will, my love. Of course it will."

a little drabble for @dreamcastgirl99 <3 i hope you like it!

#nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #kento nanami #nanami x you #nanami fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami fluff

[untitledmemes]

Untitled Christmas Prompts

'Tis the season to be jolly! An assortment of prompts and starters for a variety of Christmas related situations. You decide who is Muse A and who is Muse B. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

[ Work ] Muse A found out that they have to work on Christmas day. Muse B shows up to spend the day with them.

[ Single ] It's Muse A's first Christmas alone. With Muse B around, it's not going to stay that way for long.

[ Lap ] Muse A gets home after a long Christmas day, only to find Muse B dressed as Santa in their living room. They motion for them to sit on their lap.

[ Expectation ] Muse A turns around, only to find Muse B waiting right behind them, holding a mistletoe over their heads and an expecting grin on their faces.

[ Taste ] Muse A can't go home for Christmas, so Muse B surprises them by making their favorite Christmas dish for dinner—the one that reminds Muse A home the most.

[ Double ] Muse A wears the proudest smile as they give their gift to Muse B, sure that they made the best, most original choice. It was only they opened their gifts together that Muse A found out Muse B got them the exact same gift!

[ Tease ] Muse A dons a brand new holiday themed lingerie, having planned out an very sexy Christmas eve for themselves and Muse B. They sit in the living room, expectedly waiting for Muse B to return home.

[ Warm ] Muse A and Muse B sit in front of the fireplace, drinking a hot beverage and getting to know each other better in this cozy setting.

[ Cold ] Muse A, the more experienced of the two, takes Muse B to go ice skating.

[ Dare ] Muse A and Muse B buy each other the ugliest, most bizzare Christmas sweaters they can find, daring each other to wear it for the entirety of Christmas day in public.

[ Celebrate ] Muse A throws a Christmas party! Why? Because all they wanted to get to see Muse B again.

[ Tree ] Muse A arrived late and all the trees are sold out! When they tell that to Muse B, they do everything in their power to get them one in time for Christmas.

[ Snow ] Muse A and Muse B got into a friendly competition: Who can build the best Christmas snowman this year?

[ Crumbs ] After baking too many cookies for their volunteer work on Christmas, Muse A decides to make a personal delivery of what's left to Muse B's house.

[ Ouch ] Muse A and Muse B find themselves meeting in the last place they'd expected on Christmas eve: The hospital.

[ Watch ] Muse A and Muse B decide to watch a Christmas movie marathon together.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #rp prompts #rp starter #rp starters #memes #starters #prompts #roleplay meme #roleplay prompt #roleplay starter #roleplay memes #roleplay prompts #roleplay starters #sentence meme #sentence memes #sentence prompt #sentence prompts #christmas memes #christmas starters #christmas prompts #christmas roleplay #christmas rp #holiday memes #holiday starters #holiday prompts

[avocado-writing]

Request if I may:

Aziraphale is getting excited about getting his hands on a rare original copy of a book, but for the first time ever, your angel is being oh so very secretive about what it is.

Aziraphale is busy when the delivery arrives and being curious you open the packaging.

Your angel has gotten a copy of the karma sutra. Well, you need to try it out to make sure it's an authentic copy of the book.

notes: nothing too graphic in this one but still…

rating: M

pairing: aziraphale x reader

Aziraphale has a secret. 

This much you know. He’s trying to hide something and it’s not fooling you for a second: the constant pacing in front of the windows, peeking out of the shop’s front door. You’ve asked him what’s got him so antsy but he swears up and down he’s fine. 

You know better. He’s about as subtle as a brick to the face when he’s trying to keep something under wraps. So you watch him from behind your novel, keeping him under your surveillance without his knowledge. 

Ahh, he is so easy to find out. 

You see the way his eyes widen when he spots the postman coming towards the shop, the quick exchange of a parcel for a signature. The way he tried to hurriedly hide it in his storeroom - the old one with the wonky latch which never shuts properly. Honestly, you’d be a fool not to look. So, when he’s busying himself making a cup of tea for five minutes, you take the chance. 

The packaging has been ripped open — most unlike your angel, he’s usually careful when unboxing his mail. He likely wanted to confirm the contents and then squirrel it away; as you peel back some of the cardboard you see why. 

Oh. Oh. 

It’s old. Far too old to be delivered by such usual means of postage you’re sure; but it seems to have been secured quite thoroughly. You know the Karma Sutra is widely read but you don’t think you’ve ever seen a copy in real life. But here it is. In your hands. 

Hmm, you can see why Aziraphale was hiding it.  

“Where are you, my dear? I have your cup of —oh.”

Aziraphale catches you. Of course he does. Damn that storeroom door, always swinging open. You’re caught red-handed, book in your grasp and eyes wide. His eyes go wider and his cheeks a bright pink. 

“Oh, erm, right. It’s not mine! Well it is, I was just… I was ordering it for a customer, and I…”

“Aziraphale,” you say, trying to hide your smirk, “you’ve never ordered anything for a customer in your life.”

“I… well… no. I suppose not,” he confesses, dropping his gaze to the floor. He begins to fiddle with the bottom of his waistcoat, a sure sign of his nervousness. You tread over towards him carefully, holding the book so gingerly someone might mistake it for an explosive. 

“Aziraphale, it’s alright. There’s nothing wrong with having it, you know. I suppose I’m just a little surprised. Did you want to… study?”

He clears his throat and nods, still unable to meet your eyes. 

“Yes. A little. It’s the book for it, you know.”

“Well that’s true. I just don’t quite understand why.”

When his cheeks go even pinker, and he looks like he’d rather discorporate than continue standing in front of you for a moment longer, you realise. 

“Oh my god, it’s for me, isn’t it? It’s because of me,” you blurt out, totally unable to keep the idea inside. Of course it is; you’re so obtuse. You’ve been seeing Aziraphale for a couple of months with nothing more than a couple of hot and heavy kisses to show for it - which you were fine with! Being an angel, you weren’t sure he was a sexual being at all. But now to find out he’s not just interested in it but he’s actually doing research to make sure it’s good… 

Oh. It’s delicious. It’s all so delicious. 

Seeing as he appears to be rooted to the spot you finally close the gap and press a kiss to his lips. He seems surprised by it but welcome, gently pressing himself against you as you take him in your arms. 

“You know, I’d be more than willing to be your study partner. Right now if you want…”

In answer to that the shop is closed immediately and the two of you retire to the bedroom. Learning to fuck from a book is perfect for your angel and, by god, is he a thorough student. 

taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan @lxsm2@clarina04@wtfhasmy-lifecometo@mrgatotortuga@wereallbrokenangels @night-affiliate @silcosmoke@kimqueenofhell@chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t@am-i-obsessed---maybe@bakerstreethound@darktealrat @chaospossum

#aziraphale x reader #request #Good omens x reader #michael sheen x reader

[srbachchan]

DAY 5581

Jalsa, Mumbai                    May 28/29,  2023                 Sun/Mon 9:55 AM

🪔 .. May 29 .. birthday happiness to Ef Prakash Chovhan from Fiji .. love ever from your Ef Family .. 😘

And to Ef Anjana Sridhar .. their Wedding Anniversary on May 29th .. our greetings .. 💕💍

The day passes away and the hope of being in time for the Blog passes away too .. much anticipation took place among the TV for the IPL and finally, I think today will be the play for the Final .. 

No sides .. may the better win .. 

So last day yesterday at the shoot location there is ever the doubt on whether the work done was within the acceptance limits of the Director .. and when in doubt a request to do it again .. that granted, when you go  back to the original you find that the earlier seemed better or perhaps in better condition of an audience acceptance .. 

Originals are originals .. and through and time and test have been accomplished enough to state that the one done originally was the better .. 

Many a times Directors have dictated to their crew silently to record rehearsals as well, as the Artists rehearse a scene before the cameras go on .. and I would tend to agree that the first take or the first attempt at the scene is perhaps always the best .. we are never able to give a copy a better copy ..

the copy a better copy .. ha !

and the original lives in our lives, undeterred and without any disturbance to obviously be quite the best ..

so do not ask which one was my original because I shall not have knowledge of it .. nor any remembrance .. 

strange is it not ... I notice and see a great many that have achievements on their broad shoulders, remember each detail of their ‘journey’ -  ahh .. a word I cannot adhere to , simply because it has become an expression used by all so reverentially that it seems they were out on an expedition - yes, each life is a journey, but can we call it something else .. journey is NOT an original .. just as the oft used expression these days ..’my bad’ when they do some mistake or error .. !!!

Expressions and languages change over time .. and we accept them or learn to accept them .. but the original remains the original still ..

its the brevity of express that has overtaken all our communication .. the faster the sooner the quicker you express and move on is the norm .. 

so the kid talks so fast you can hardly make out what has been expressed .. the broadcasters speed of delivery is to inform all in limited time frame and move to the next .. 

guy does brilliant on the pitch and is called for a personal reaction and it is an exercise of a prerecorded humanoid .. !!! they deliver in speed and have relevance of thought and word .. uffff .. how do they do it .. I try but fail .. after a few seconds the cerebrum wants to stop and does .. 

aaaahhh ...  the vagaries of age and time ..

.. and it ends in the love of the well wishers .. and the apprehension whether they shall be there or not is ever present .. 

the gate opens and the love pours out and the heart and mind are set at rest .. yes they are there and they do show their love ..

and back to the grind of life .. 

.. to rush now for work .. on something that is not a new project but a new thought .. soon to be out ..

My love 

Amitabh Bachchan

[rickmymanrick]

one rule | chapter one |

[rick grimes x original female character slowburn]

summary: unbeknownst to them, best friends glenn rhee and daphne ayala spend the last 48 hours of normalcy they’ll ever have before their lives are changed forever.

note: this story will include a Shane Walsh romance BUT it will be unrequited. Do not worry. This is VERY unedited but I wanted to get at least one chapter out. We'll get into the events of the show by the next chapter. also, acab. the plot calls for this small bit but acab forever.

Tap, tap, tap-tap-tap!

The light pattern on my door stole my attention from the array of papers scattered across the coffee table.

I tried to scan the last sentence of the page quickly.

Suddenly, a loud TAP!

"Delivery!" A high-pitched tone squeaked from the other side of the door. I grinned down at the document and rushed to open the door. I heard someone clear their throat and opt for a more caveman-like growl. "DELIVERY—"

I laughed, swinging the door open and narrowly avoiding my best friend's fist. If I'd taken any longer, he would've banged the door down with his knocks alone.

I went for the box of pizza in his grasp and placed a fleeting kiss on his cheek before rushing over to the kitchen island.

"Wow, no 'hi? How are you? How was work?' Is this what society has come to?" I heard the door shut and a flurry of movements. I didn't bother to look up from my current task.

"Glenn Rhee," I began in the sweetest voice I could muster. "Hi. How are you? How was work?"

"Great! Got cursed out by some asshole for doing my job today," said Glenn pleasantly, accepting the beer I held out for him.

I smiled at him through my mouthful of pizza. "That's fun. What was it today?"

"Got to this dude's house 29 minutes after he ordered," he chewed on his slice aggressively. You'd think he would hate pizza from the amount of shit he has to go through at work.

"You're an expert at what you do, Rhee."

"That free pizza comes out of my paycheck," Glenn scoffed. He clearly took the 30-minute rule very seriously.

"Did he leave a tip?"

"No."

"What an asshole."

Glenn nodded at the mess on our coffee table. "Looks like you've had a busy day."

I rolled my eyes at his dramatic cringe. "'Member the car chase that was all over the news last week?"

Glenn nodded.

"Got assigned to the case. The cop that got shot, he's not doing too hot right now," I told him, grabbing my second slice. I picked off a pepperoni and shoved it in my mouth.

I resisted the strong urge to eat the rest of the pepperoni on my half of the pizza. I eyed Glenn's half distastefully—I would never, ever appreciate pineapple on pizza. I'll die on that hill.

He took a large swig of his beer. "That's a pretty big upgrade from petty theft, Daph."

"Yeah, I guess it is." I tried not to focus on the subject of my investigation, gulping down a large amount of beer.

"Have you made any progress?" I appreciated Glenn's interest.

"Well, it's definitely not the officer's fault. They had every reason to believe that there was only two people in that overturned car." I eagerly crossed the living room and snatched up my half-written report. "The KCPD failed to inform the responding officers so I mean, technically Grimes can sue."

"Grimes?" Glenn raised his eyebrows in recognition. "You mean super hot hip-swaying cop?"

My ears felt hot. "That's the one."

My heart pummeled to my chest the more I thought about it. Out of all the people that could've been wounded on the field, it had to be Officer Rick Grimes, a coworker of mine that I saw pretty often around the precinct. I was fully convinced he had fully forgotten about my existence seeing as our respective lines of work didn't cross paths too often. We'd only interacted a handful of times in the last three years I'd been working at King County PD, but that didn't stop me from noticing him as soon as I got hired.

It's unfortunate he's married-- Rick Grimes was the most attractive man I've ever met and of course, Glenn was the first to know about it. I wouldn't deny that he was, without a doubt, my work crush. I mentally cringed at the thought. I felt like a teenage girl again.

The sudden sound of the news filtered in from Glenn's bedroom.

There was a split second of pure fear that flashed in Glenn's eyes and I gave him an amused smile. "We gotta change that tv one of these days."

He quickly snatched up another slice and shoved it in his mouth. "I'm busy, Daph. Can you please go turn it off?"

I poked his side before moving around him to enter his room. His tv had started turning on by itself almost every day since he bought it in July.

"Your 30-day warranty is almost up, Glenn!" I pointed out loudly, reaching for the remote that was thrown on his bed. "Where did you buy this haunted shit from aga--?"

"Several cases have been reported across the continental US, leading us to believe that this new virus may be more serious than we thought. Joining us here from Atlanta is CDC virologist Dr. Edwin Jenner, giving us the latest updates—"

Glenn strolled into the room just as I finished raising the volume. "Your beer is getting hot—what's going on?"

"Thanks, Anne. As of today, August 26th, the President of the United States has declared a national emergency due to the spread of the Wildfire-10 virus. The CDC has been in constant communication with the White House and we expect President Milton to announce a mandatory evacuation this afternoon in his address."

Glenn and I eyed each other in confusion.

"Evacuation?" The New York reporter responded in equal confusion. I faintly heard someone behind the camera that the mic must've picked up – "How is a whole country going to evacuate?" – and I would've laughed if I wasn't so damn confused right now.

"It's hard to say, Anne, we're not entirely certain which states will receive this order but what we do know is that it's imperative that we do our best to avoid leaving our homes for anything other than work and necessities. Practice social distancing and listen to the advice the CDC has been giving you for the past week.

"And for those viewers who might've missed it, do you mind recapping the earlier update given to us by CDC director Holt?"

"Sure," Jenner smiled. It made me feel uneasy. "This is an extremely life-threatening virus that could very well spread more rapidly than other illnesses we've seen before. The CDC has been working diligently with other health organizations across the globe, primarily The Primrose Team in France, and we can confidently say we're working on an effective vaccine."

"Thank you, Dr. Jenner. To all those watching from home, this isn't a cause for mass panic. Soon, the world will resume just as we know it..."

But something told me it wouldn't ever be the same.

"Ayala! How's my favorite girl doing?"

Ah, the oh so pleasant voice of my favorite coworker greeted me the second I walked through the doors of the precinct.

"Doing just fine, Walsh. How about you?" I forced a smile on my face. I didn't hate Shane Walsh... he was just... too chirpy for this bright hour. In fact, he was too witty for any hour. My natural reaction to his presence was usually automatic irritation.

"Just fine myself, pretty lady." There it was. The relentless flirting. I had gotten a break when his partner first ended up in the hospital -- my heart sunk at the reminder -- but now that it had been a month or so since, he's slowly started to resume his regularly scheduled programming. Partner or not, shooting or not, Shane Walsh would forever be a manwhore.

I entertained him sometimes. It was just a bit of harmless flirting for the most part. He knew where the line was, which is more than I can say for a lot of other men.

I dropped my briefcase on my desk and Shane crossed the space to hover right over my work area. I threw myself down onto my seat with a small groan.

My head was pounding. I closed my eyes and rubbed the back of my neck tenderly. A shuffle of movement caused me to end my massage much faster than I wanted to.

I opened an eye, swearing to the heavens above that if Shane was still hovering with that stupid grin on his face, today would be the day I finally resort to violence.

The shit-eating grin was surprisingly not looking back at me. Instead, it was a sympathetic smile with a steaming coffee in his outstretched hand.

I snatched the damn thing before he could change his mind.

"You're a lifesaver," I moaned. "Seriously Shane, you might just be the best cop in Georgia. Have I ever told you that?"

"No, but I've heard it once or twice," boasted Shane. I rolled my eyes. It certainly wasn't from the chief.

"You're unbelievable, Walsh," I shook my head with a laugh. I eagerly sipped from the coffee and then wanted to kiss the everloving shit out of this man.

I scorched my throat but I didn't care. "How do you know the way I like my coffee?" I gaped.

Shane shrugged. "I'm observant."

"Clearly," I said. "Thank you. I needed this."

"That's one mean hangover," said Shane with a smirk.

I tried not to spill my coffee as I leaned forward to look at my reflection in the little desktop mirror I had. My hair turned out pretty nice today, it wasn't very frizzy or anything and sure the darkness under my eyes was a bit more prominent but nothing too out of the ordinary. I leaned back when I was satisfied with my look.

"Vanity doesn't suit you, sweetheart," Shane said lightly. "I was only teasing. You look as beautiful as you did yesterday, and the day before that, and the week before that."

"Do you not have anything else to do other than flirt with me?" I joked. Secretly, I didn't mind it all too much. Shane wasn't a bad looking guy, especially with the grown-out hairstyle he was currently sporting. I'm a sucker for long hair.

"As it turns out, I actually don't--" I rolled my eyes again and logged into my computer. "--partner."

I slowly shifted my gaze from the computer screen to Shane.

"Talked to the chief today. She didn't mind switching it up for this week. I was getting sick of Stone over there--" we both looked over at the grumpy guy who acted like happiness was a first degree crime. "-- and besides, you're prettier to look at--" I shoved him off the edge of my desk. He stumbled a bit and corrected himself quickly. "-- you're easier to work with, Jesus."

"What do we have for today then?"

Shane grinned.

For the next eight hours, I'd spend most of it in the car with Shane. I wanted to say it was a miserable time but it wasn't. Shane wasn't too bad once he stopped purposely being obnoxious. We mostly talked about the most interesting King County cases over the years, bonded over subs from some gas station just outside of our area of jurisdiction, and after the first five hours, Shane had started to talk about his personal life.

"I told Lori-- maybe it's time she starts preparing Carl for the worst. You know, just in case. Man, Rick - he's my best friend, my brother - you know - but it's been a while. I'm tryin' to avoid Carl some pain."

"I understand," what else was I supposed to say? "It isn't an easy situation."

"No," Shane agreed. "And let me tell you something, it's only gonna get worse. This whole virus thing going around - if it turns out we gotta evacuate soon, who knows how far Rick will be transferred?"

I felt bad for the way my heart sank at the prospect. Rick has a wife and a child. Where he gets relocated and the progress of his recovery shouldn't matter this much to me. Maybe I wouldn't feel as bad if I wasn't harboring this silly little crush.

It was nearing 4 o'clock when Shane and I finally clocked out, walking side-by-side towards the parking lot. I noticed his car was parked on the far opposite end and began to say my goodbyes--

"Hey, you don't happen to have any plans tomorrow, would you?"

"I don't think so. They didn't put me on the schedule last minute, did they?" I asked, somehow missing the growing redness on Shane's cheeks.

"No," he said quickly. "I - well, uh - I was wondering if you - "

I froze, clutching the satchel that was thrown over my shoulder and suddenly feeling just a bit uncomfortable. I could tell this wasn't work related.

"Uh, I don't normally get nervous like this," he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "You and me, dinner tomorrow? We can go to that Italian place you said you really like - "

"Ilio's," we chorused. It was the bare minimum, but I couldn't help but smile at the fact that he was actually listening earlier.

Oh why the fuck not? Shane wasn't a bad looking guy, and with the imminent threat of quarantine around the corner, I could use a night out before we were forced to stay away from society for God knows how long.

The longer I thought it through, the more nervous Shane became. It was honestly quite entertaining and I reserved my response for just a bit longer just so I could watch him fidget in his spot.

I finally spoke. "Pick me up at 7, then."

A look of surprise flashed across his face. I couldn't blame him - I had been rejecting every single one of his advances for the past three years we'd known each other. He was a dedicated guy, I'll give him that.

Laughing at his expression, I began to walk away before I could regret it.

"I'll call you!" He finally said. I could hear the smile on his face.

I threw him a thumbs up without looking back. I was a few steps away from my car when I suddenly recalled him mentioning something about visiting Rick tomorrow afternoon. "Let me know how Rick is doing!" I glanced back to make sure he heard me.

Redness spread across my cheeks when I saw him still standing in the same spot, staring at me with a dazed look.

I pushed a curl behind my ear, the wind wasn't on my side today. I waited for a response and it seemed he hadn't processed what I said. "Will you?" I pressed.

"Hm? Yeah, yeah, I will!"

"Okay," I smiled. "Bye!"

Before he could respond, my phone began to ring in my back pocket. I fished it out and pressed it against my ear, holding it against my shoulder as I searched for my keys.

"Hey," I greeted, unlocking the car and shifting into drive as soon as the engine turned on.

"Daph, you on your way home?"

The call connected to my car and I saw Shane finally getting into his car as I drove out onto the small street. "Yeah, I am. Why?"

"We gotta start packing."

"Um, why?"

"Turns out, we're in the evacuation zone."

I caught my last glimpse of Shane, realizing our date would likely be rescheduled.

Glenn continued. "It's more serious than we thought."

Great.

next chapter...

#rick grimes x original female character #rick grimes x daphne ayala #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x oc #rick grimes #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #twd #twd fanfic #glenn rhee #shane walsh #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x original female character #shane walsh fanfic

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Just Another Night at Sparky's

(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)

(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)

(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)

(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart. 

Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to). 

Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner. 

Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books. 

They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near. 

Tonight was no different:

“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”

“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”

“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."

“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table. 

(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)

The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude. 

“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”

“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”

“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.” 

Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”

As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.

On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another. 

On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)

Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.

The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.

Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their  jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.

The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.

(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)

Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.

His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. 

Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.

His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.

He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.

Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things. 

It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.

For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.

He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.

He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.

He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.

It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.

Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)

The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.

From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.

So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity. 

People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds. 

Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.

Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills. 

Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)

Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that. 

After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting. 

“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.” 

Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.

“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation. 

Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel’s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”

“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.

“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”

“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.

Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off. 

“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”

That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds.  Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”

(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)

The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight. 

Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight. 

Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.

A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.

Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”

Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.  

“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five. 

Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.

Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.

“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features. 

“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.

Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight. 

With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.

Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.

Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.

“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”

Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."

“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.

Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.

“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”

“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.

“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.” 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart. 

“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”

Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises. 

“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.” 

“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement. 

Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it. 

At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome. 

He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . . 

Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—

Speak of the devil. 

The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.

“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”

“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again. 

Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”

Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on. 

“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.

Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”

Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ. 

The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm. 

After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.

“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick. 

Something seemed off. 

It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers. 

But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again. 

Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”

Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.

“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”

Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids. 

“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think. 

Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.

“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.

“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t. 

Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason. 

And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in  gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better. 

“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.

He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least. 

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.” 

Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales. 

Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."

“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”

“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug. 

“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”

Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?” 

“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!” 

Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).

Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.

“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried. 

Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”

Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.) 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!” 

“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”

“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”

Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”

“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.

Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling. 

“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”

Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself. 

“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.

Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded. 

“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to. 

Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside. 

Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face. 

Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.

A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.

“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?” 

Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”

“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.

Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”

“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned. 

True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”

Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.

Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”

“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked. 

“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”

Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.

“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”

Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.

Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.

Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”

Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate. 

Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”

“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.

“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.  

“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.

“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”

Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”

Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”

“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”

Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”

Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white. 

Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”

“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”

Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.

Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.

With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.

Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051

#my writing #my stories #fnaf movie #fnaf movie spoilers #ness the waiter #waiterpat/ness #matpat #egopats #matthew patrick #jack the cabbie #cabbie!cory/jack #coryxkenshin #kenshinegos #cory williams #mason kingsley/nightguard!mark #mark's abandoned-nightguard-cameo-character #markiplier #mark fischbach #tw food/drink #tw eating/drinking #tw implied trauma #tw mentions of blood #tw mentions of past violence

[codenameredkrystalmatrix]

Colours (Savage Opress X Reader)

Their colours change as he spends more time with you. He changes as he spends more time with you. (Cross-posted on AO3)

Red

When you found him at a wreckage site on Phu, his burning eyes and scowl told you he wasn’t the friendliest being. While he was passed out, you tried going through what was left of his flight log. The only pattern was that there was no pattern…

“Listen. Either you come with me, or whoever you’re avoiding catches up. And between and me, you don’t look ready for what they could be packing.”

A nod.

You’d bluffed well, and for your reward, were now the caretaker of a raging Zabrak male. His name (which you found out when he just about screamed it at you during a rant) made sense. Savage Opress. Any conversation you tried to have was shut down either with silence or a snarl.

He would stare daggers into your back while you worked. You couldn’t help the way your palms broke out into sweats. Things were getting out of control when you realized you could barely even pilot your own ship with him nearby. It was just…overwhelming. You’d thought it over and had decided that it would really be better if you both went your separate ways. At least, that was the original plan.

A bone-chilling scream echoed through the rooms. You jumped out of your cot, knocking your head against the wall in your wild twisting. Swearing, you doubled over and stayed put until you could stop seeing stars. But the screams weren’t letting up. Every urge in your body was telling you to get back to bed, huddle up and forget you heard anything. This was too much for you- how could you help? His health was none of your concern. Nothing would save him from whatever demons were-

“Hey! Wake up!”

You didn’t quite know how you’d gotten there so quickly, but you dismissed it. His eyes snapped open, and immediately the pupils narrowed. Sitting up from the floor where he’d been thrashing, he slumped. You realized your hands had found their way to his shoulders.

“Bad dream?”

He rose and silently sat cross-legged in another corner. Whatever he was running from, it haunted him. In such a state, you didn’t have the heart to leave him alone.

“I can’t afford any parts for this ship, got that? So, you better stop denting my floors.”

Still nothing. You huffed, returning to your room. Cargo deliveries  had just gotten a little more complicated.

Black

If there was one thing that was certain about your fellow traveller- he knew his way around combat. He’d slash his way through opponents with speed and brutality that made you shiver. The problem of running into a couple of goons was often resolved in seven seconds- maximum. But for the bigger fights (like intercepts by rivals of your clients), he’d put himself in serious danger, and sometimes narrowly miss death.

In the dim light of the medical room, his eyes were flat and dark after times like those. Half-closed, and drifting in and out of awareness, they seemed almost lifeless. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest showed he lived. You tried to be gentler with him, asking how he felt after he’d fully awakened.

“I live.”

“How about I help out a bit? I know a couple older tricks.”

“I will tend myself.”

“You pass out halfway through it.”

Another stare, so you continued. “That won’t help. I’ll do it, so you get back into fighting form quicker.”

He didn’t object- either to you patching him up, or to you rubbing some cream in so slightly older injuries healed better. After one such session, you saw him looking at you.

“You cannot feel the Force.”

“Nope. Why?”

He couldn’t answer that. There was just…he wasn’t sure what to call it. The Dark Side only offered anger to suppress the pain for a while. There would be no true healing for him. But this...what he felt around you... was not unfavourable.

His skin was soothed with the creams. He slept more deeply with the scent of herbal oils lingering in the room. Savage found himself stretching his limits, battering his body to be melded together again under your touch. Something prevented him from drawing on the full depth of his anger. So, he avoided meditation altogether. It had always been a waste of time better spent in combat.

“I swear- it’s like you want to get killed.” You griped, working some ointment into his lower back after a more serious run-in.

“It would not be something I avoided.”

He regretted speaking, as his words caused your hands to still.

“Savage? You…”

“I am tired.”

“You…I…Savage. You’re…”

The Force within you reached out to him, begging in ways words could not articulate to not say that. It stretched to someplace within his hearts, hurting for him. What…was this? Turning to look at you, he tried deciphering your intent, but found nothing that the Force had not revealed. A little tremulously, you laid a hand on his chest.

“I’m really sorry.”

And, if he were almost any other being, Savage Opress would have broken down into tears. As it was, he simply closed his eyes.

Brown

Once he noticed, it was impossible to ignore it. He liked that little path in the Force that bent around the shape of your being. It reached out to him- like what he’d imagine a loth-cat’s tail would be like wrapped around his soul. Not the insidious coaxing of Mother Talzin, or the durasteel-cold of Count Dookoo. And not the white-hot mass of rage that had pulsed from his brother. It was quieter. He could feel the fear that most beings did around him, but something just under that drew him in. He stayed with you more to sense it.

You noticed his thoughtful silence. Maybe some air would do him good. “Would you like to come to the markets with me?”

A silent stare. Not pointed, but not exactly welcoming either. He did, however, nod after a bit. After that first trip, he made it a habit- standing as soon as he saw you with your bags. He’d lift things too heavy for you and offer protection. Well, “offer” wasn’t quite the word. It was more that he’d stay at your side and chillingly glare at anyone who stared at you for more than 3 seconds. During one such trip, you saw a parent walking with their child. 

“Ever thought about it?” You cocked your head in their direction. He looked up at the sky, eyes less harsh than they used to be, but distant. Something…heavy came over him.

“I kill.”

“You killed. You can stop.”

His head darted down to you, expression asking.

I can?

He seemed surprised that he could be anything besides a monster. That left you with food for thought once you re-boarded.

After another unsuccessful meditation upon leaving your side, Savage stood. He looked to the corner of his area, where you’d left a costly lotion. What little rage he had mustered faded away, bringing clarity. It wasn’t that he’d been prevented from using his anger. It was that there was less anger in him to be used. Should he be worried about that?

He'd ignore it. He’d only wanted to be strong enough to fight alongside his brother. Dark power meant nothing if it could not bring him back. In any case, he felt too tired to tread that path any longer. There was another he wanted to wander down.

You worked around and with each other, settling into a routine over time. Savage served as your very-effective bodyguard and co-pilot, working the guns as needed. Your financial situation stabilized, and improved. So, it was time for a little treat.

“Ta-da!” You walked in with two boxes. “Gotcha some stuffed puffer pig.”

You sat in the opposite seat of the cockpit, passing him his food. If you hadn’t been so busy enjoying your algae crisps, you may have caught the surprise on his face, that melted into satisfaction as he ate with you.

As you took his box from him to throw it away, your shoulder brushed against his. A pleasant thrill caught him off-guard. He must have reacted outwardly, because you glanced at him.

“Everything ok?”

Catching your free hand, he guided it to his chest. Another floaty feeling. He leaned in and manoeuvred himself until you were nestled against his chest the way he’d seen others do. Unease, worry that you would break away. But despite that, every cell within him sang.  

“You could have just asked, Savage.”

And when you tightened the embrace, he became convinced there was power in you that the Jedi and Sith could only dream of. Something that somehow both weakened him and eased the tension from his body. You couldn’t respond to any of his questions when he asked, and he could tell you were being truthful about your lack of Force-sensitivity. He let it drop, content to experience the effect you had on him.

Yellow

Sometimes you’d brush fingertips. Other times, his hand fit itself in the small of your back. Others, he’d simply stand behind you, fascinated by the soft curves of your body against himself. You’d glance back, and…was that a smile on his face when you teased him? Even the way he moved was shifting. His predator’s stalk was slowing- stretching into a smooth, easy stride that often directed towards you. Something fond peeked through his once-impassive stare.

Once, as you sat in the cabin, he took one of your hands to the base of one of his horns. Under his guidance, your fingertips rubbed the flesh at the point where they started to jut out. His torso relaxed, and carefully- making a choice and surrendering to a wish- he laid on your thighs. You continued slowly, in awe of what this gesture was doing to him. When he looked at you, his eyes seemed to hold the beginnings of peace. You beamed.

He…could cause happiness? Savage could not for the life of him believe that he was the reason for those looks. He wanted to see them all the time. Was there more he could do? After cycles of deliberation, he approached. He reached forward, forward, but then stopped. Was this a mistake? What if you frowned or glared at him? His hearts squeezed. He couldn’t remember if, before this, his hands had ever trembled.

You took them halfway. Thumbs slid along bruised and cybernetic knuckles alike. Then, with all the gentleness in the galaxy, you stretched up and kissed his cheek. A gasp, and his eyes widened.

“I’ll take it slow.”

Over time, many more caressed his cheeks, forehead, nose and, eventually, his lips. Every time, he’d close his eyes, letting relief flow through his jaded body. His meditation sessions grew once more, but with the addition of this beautiful creature sound asleep in his lap. He felt himself smile when you were like that. It was no longer the Dark Side that fuelled him.

Days were spent stealing embraces while you worked. Fingers always lingered more than what was strictly necessary. During lazier times, you’d set the ship to autopilot while you relaxed in the cockpit. He’d have you snuggled against him, planting the occasional forehead kiss. And as you responded gently along his neck and shoulders, he’d hold you just a little closer.

Nights were spent on his bed, where scented oils were massaged into his aching muscles. Contented rumbles would fill the ship, and, with either tenderness or near-unbridled passion, he’d kiss every inch of you in gratitude. Instead of nightmares, peaceful blackness waited on him as he closed his eyes.

…o0o…

If there was anything you loved about him, it was how close he kept you. Be it the way his hand always found yours as you walked together, or the way his arms steadied you in your weakest moments. In your current position, his organic arm was wrapped around your torso as you laid on his chest. The cybernetic one had been taken off- something he did only when he was sure he could have a long, peaceful moment with you. And that he’d had- being able to rest after a successful delivery.

Harsh lines made up his face, but with a relaxed expression that softened you. Reaching out, you traced the path of the bridge of his nose, then across to his cheekbones, along his jaw…

His chest vibrated with a hum. You giggled at that, and the corner of his mouth turned up. Savage rolled over to straddle you. The pads of his fingers skimmed your wrist, and he left a tender kiss to the nape of your neck. As he pulled back, those eyes finally opened to the colour you saw most in recent times. The colour of the flowers you’d decorated his horns with after you’d raced through a field. That of the bracelets he’d given you as a declaration and a promise. That of the new sunrise of hope in your lives.

Beautiful, burning, heart-melting…

Gold.

#x reader #fluff #star wars #savage opress #savage opress x reader

[spinningbuster98]

Castlevania Symphony of the Night Part 3: Regional Differences

So...to go back for a second to the fact that I’m playing a translated Japanese version, let’s talk about cut content!

There are a couple of things that were cut from this game when it was released overseas, mostly minor objects that would have required some further localization which the team probably didn’t wanna be bothered with

For starters: there are 2 hidden familiars in the original version that are not present in western releases (PSP port notwithstanding)

In the hidden room where you’d otherwise find the Holy Sword you instead find the Nose Demon! He’s essentially a reskin of the normal Demon familiar you get later on, except he’s got a funny face and voice lines. Supposedly he’s based on a popular japanese comedian of the time, so I assume that the reason he was cut was because the joke would have flown over us westerners’ heads

In the room where you’d find the Sword familiar you instead find the Half-Fairy. She works exactly like the normal Fairy except she has different voice lines....and a very cool easter egg attatched to her: if you sit on a chair and don’t move for a couple of minutes she will sit on Alucard’s shoulder and there’s a chance (it’s random and she would not cooperate with me at first here) that she will then start singing this beautiful little melody which I’m going to show off next time :)

I’m going to assume that the reason this one was cut is because not only would they have to translate the song but also have someone sing it and given the quality of the english voice cast yeah forget it

There are other, minor differences, such as the ghostly priest in the Cathedral actually having a voice line where he does a little prayer while he’s totally mute in the international release

Speaking of the english voice cast I guess I’m sort of obligated to talk about them eh? Well let’s go over them!

Rober Belgrade as Alucard should not work for all intents and purposes, mainly because the actual tone of his voice is the literal opposite of his japanese va (same guy who voices Zero in Megaman X btw): Alucard is supposed to be an elegant, refined yet coldly stoic prince, so a soft voice that can still command respect fits him, while Belgrade is far too baritone. Yet despite this he still ends up sounding iconic because he’s pretty much the only person in this cast who genuinely tried to do his best. It’s a case where the voice itself shouldn’t fit but the delivery of the lines saves it

Dracula’s va (same guys who voiced the protagonist of Silent Hill 1 btw) sounds like he was convinced he was supposed to perform a parody of a Shakesperean play, he sounds so over the top he ends up sounding funny. The voice itself does not match the artwork nor the general idea of Dracula as this dark and intimidating figure

I don’t wanna harp on too much on Richter’s va (same va as Chris Redfield from RE1 btw) since the man died a bunch of years ago, but....yeah he was clearly reading his lines in the opening. He gets a little better in the rest of the game but that’s the extent of it

I’ve heard folks say that they can’t stand Maria’s younger sounding voice in the PSP port because she “doesn’t sound mature enough”, to which I ask: You do know she’s 17 here right? Granted I used to know girls in High School that had relatively deep voices, but Maria here straight up sounds like your average sultry sexy lady, much older than what she’s supposed to be, while she’s actually supposed to be a more mature version of her Rondo self: still pretty upbeat and cheerful but with more maturity on her

Lastly let’s talked about flimsy localization!

One of my biggest gripes against SOTN for the longest times was the number of secret moves and features the game does not tell you about

Some of these I’ve never minded because they’re minor and I can understand why they’d be secret, for example the secret moves that some weapons can perform? Just a cool little thing that you can accidentaly find out on your own while fumbling with the controls (which happened to me). The ability to use any spell without buying them at the shop by just knowing their commands? Well late game spells destroy the early game so of course it’d be a secret, plus again you can discover this accidentally on your own. The Shield Rod spells? Well those HAD to be secrets. The Wing Smash? That...I’m more salty about because Alucard’s flight is slow as sin without it but whatever

My real issue was always with the High Jump and the Skill of Wolf power ups, mainly because you had to find the correct relics for them...but then the game wouldn’t tell you how to actually use them (technically speaking you can still boost with the wolf after acquiring thePower of Wolf Relic, but no version of the game, not even the Japanese one, tells you how to do it with this Relic alone. Tbf it’s a very simple command, just double tap either left or right, but the Skill of Wolf Relic actually allows you to immediately run on a whim with no build up, thus allowing you to use the ability much more frequently)! Not only is this dumb because, while not strictly vital, these moves speed up exploration big time (especially in the Inverted Castle) but also because it made the feeling of discovering these relics pretty moot.

That is until I played the japanese version! Turns out that in this original version the in-game relic descriptions for these two actually DO contain the button inputs for how to use them. Just to be sure I even briefly played through an untranslated japanese rom and lo and behold!

I may not be able to read kanji, but I can recognize arrows meant to represent button inputs!

So thank you english localization for making me think for over 10 years that Sotn was more cryptic than it actually is :)

#youtube #akumajou dracula #castlevania symphony of the night #my gameplay

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Mukami Family 5th Eternal Blood Vol.3 & Vol.4 Animate Tokuten Drama CD “A Certain Day at the Mukami Household

Original title: ある日の無神家 [コウ・アズサ編]

Source: Diabolik Lovers Mukami Family 5th Eternal Blood Vol. 3 & Vol. 4 Animate Tokuten Drama CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kimura Ryouhei & Kishio Daisuke

Translator’s note: This CD was very...random lol. I did not expect a power tower to be inside Kou’s package AT ALL. Honestly, the most tricky thing about this CD  was to make sense out of all the background noises and get an accurate mental image of what is going on. This is definitely the kind of CD where I wished there was some kind of visuals to help me with that.

*Ding・dong*

…

*Ding・dong*

Kou: …Hey! The doorbell’s ringing! I’m kind of too busy to open the door right now!

…Nobody’s around? Geezー Guess I have no other choice. 

 Kou gets up. 

*Ding・dong*

Kou: Yeah, yeah…Who is it? 

He opens the door. 

Kou: …Oh. A delivery. You need my signature, right? …Wait! It’s huge! Whose package is this…? Let me see…’Mukami Kou’...For me!?

The delivery man asks for his signature. 

Kou: Ah, my signature, right? 

*Scribble* 

Kou: This’ll do, right? …Just leave it there for now. I’ll figure out what to do with it. 

*Thud*

Kou: Thanks!

The deliveryman leaves.

Kou: I’ll get in trouble if I leave it out here in the hallway, huh? That being said, there’s no way I can carry such a large package all by myself…

Azusa: …What’s wrong? 

Kou: Uwah! …Azusa-kun!? You’ve been standing there!? Don’t give me a scare!

Azusa: Oh…My bad. 

Kou: Perfect timing though~!

Azusa: Eh? 

Kou: I actually just had this huge package delivered to me. I can’t carry it on my own so help me out, will you?

Azusa: With package you mean…this? …Mmh, sure. 

Kou: Well then, let’s carry it to the living room right now! You hold that side, okay? Ready? …Three, two, one…!

They lift the box. 

*Rustle* 

Azusa: Uu…It’s even heavier…than I expected…I wonder what would happen…if I were to rest it on the floor…I’m sure my hands would get crushed underneath…hurting them…Fufufu…

*Rustle rustle* 

Kou: Ah, hey! Don’t tilt it! You can think about that sorta stuff once we’re in the living room, okay!? 

Azusa: Okay, gotcha…

*Rustle* 

Azusa: I’ll carry it to the living room, okay? 

They start moving towards the living room. 

*TIMESKIP*

Kou: Ah…I’ll pu it down here, okay? Ready…Go! There!

*Thud*

Azusa: There…

*Thud* 

Azusa: Phew…

Kou: Ah~ That was so heavy. I’m glad we managed to get it here but what now?

Azusa: What’s inside this package? 

Kou: No idea. It’s a package for me so I guess I’ll open it.

Azusa: Mmh.

Kou opens the package.

*Rustle rustle* 

*Cling*

Kou: I knew it…I mean, I kind of had a feeling it’d be this.

Azusa: …? 

You walk up to them.

Azusa: Ah…

Kou: Oh, M-neko-chan, you were at home? You should have answered the door earlier then. 

You apologize. 

Kou: Answer the door next time if you’re just going to say sorry now…Wait, are you listening?

You ask about the huge package.

Azusa: Kou got this, apparently. 

You ask who it’s from.

Kou: Or rather, it’s the prize I won at a variety show the other day. I gave them permission to deliver it to my private address because there’s not enough room at the agency but I had no idea it’d be this large of a package. 

You ask what it is.

Kou: You’ve never seen one of these, M-neko-chan? This is a power tower. They’re running a little behind on the trends though.

Azusa: How come you know about this, Kou? 

Kou: Who cares. Anyway, this doesn’t fit the aesthetic of my room and Ruki will definitely get upset if I leave it here in the living room. Guess I’ll throw it out before anyone else finds out. 

Azusa: Mmh. I believe that’s for the best.

You protest. 

Kou: Eh? Why would it be a waste when I know I won’t use it?

You explain. 

Kou: I don’t care if it was a prize or not. It’d just use up space and get in the way, right?

Azusa: We won’t get anything out of it by placing it here.

Kou: Yup, exactly! Besides, can you imagine Ruki using this thing to stretch every morning?

You shake your head. 

Kou: Right? 

Azusa: I…can’t imagine it either. 

You frown.

Kou: If you’re that persistent about it, why don’t you give it a try? Then tell me what you thought of it! If you’re very positive about it, I might just change my mind. 

You hesitate. 

Kou: I mean, if you don’t want me to throw it out, you better try and change my mind quickly. So come on, give it a try. You can’t help her, Azusa-kun. Just stand there and watch. 

Azusa: Mmh…I understand. 

*Rustle rustle* 

Kou: …What’s that~? Having trouble reaching it, perhaps? I mean, the bar’s up pretty high after all. Maybe you should try jumping into the air to grasp onto it? 

*Thud* 

Kou: Come on, M-neko-chan! Jump a little higher! That should be easy for a kitty like you, right?

*Thud thud* 

*Cling* 

Kou: Wow! Great job~! …So, how does it feel, hanging down from it? 

You explain. 

Kou: Heeh…Now that you mention it, your back does seem perfectly straightened. Seems like someone has taken a liking to it, huh? 

You nod. 

Kou: I see. Then why not stay like that a bit longer? While we’re at it, I’ll turn it into an even better experience for you~ One sec, okay?

Kou steps away for a few seconds. 

Kou: Sorry for the wait. You’re still hanging onto the bar, right? 

*Thud*

Kou: It’s impossible to read without a stepping stool after all. …Now if I do thisーー 

*Rustle rustle* 

You ask what he’s doing.

Kou: Huh? I’m using this rope to tie you to the bar. This way you can keep hanging on it even if you let go, see? …All ready!

*Rustle* 

Kou: Ahahaha! Now you can truly get the full experience! This device, you see…

*Rustle* 

Kou: I wonder if it’s meant to improve these back muscles? 

*Rustle rustle* 

Kou: Aah, I see~ I guess you train them by wriggling around like that~ Then do you think it’d improve these muscles as well? 

*Rustle* 

Kou: Fufu, what’s wrong, M-neko-chan? You’re twisting your body from left to right~

You protest. 

Kou: Heeh…It doesn’t work to improve the neck muscles, you say? Then maybe you should make even bigger movements! …Like this!

*Rustle rustle* 

Kou: Fufufu…Does that tickle~? …Right, right! If you move your whole body like that, it might really work wonders! I’ll tickle you some more, okay? 

*Rustle rustle*

Kou: Fufufu…Ahahaha! Ah, right! I just had a glorious idea! I need to get something from my room so hang on! …Azusa-kun, she’s hanging down like that to fix her bad posture so let’s both try our hardest for her sake, okay?

Azusa: I see…Gotcha. 

Kou runs off. 

Azusa: …I wonder what has gotten into Kou all of a sudden? He seemed to be having a blast. 

You reach out to Azusa.

Azusa: …Yes? You want to ask me something? 

You ask Azusa to help you out. 

Azusa: Why do you want me to let you down? It’s for your own good, isn’t it? 

You explain. 

Azusa: It hurts? Then…I’ll let you down right away, okay? 

He walks over and starts untying the rope. 

*Rustle rustle* 

Azusa: …Hm…Huh? It’s been tied with a really complex knot…

*Rustle rustle* 

Azusa: Oh…You want me to put you down on the floor? …Mmh. Sure. 

*Rustle*

Azusa: Oh…I wonder if I could use this lever to change the height of the bars? 

*Cling cling* 

Azusa: Is this good? Can you reach the floor with your feet now? 

You nod. 

Azusa: Mmh. …Hey. How badly do your wrists hurt? 

You explain. 

Azusa: A numbing pain? In that case…I should really try and remove the rope. 

*Rustle rustle* 

Azusa: I’ll start with this side, okay? …Ugh…

*Rustle rustle* 

Azusa: Eve, are you alright? Your arms must hurt, huh? I promise I’ll untie you at once. 

*Rustle* 

Azusa: Ugh…Uu…

*Rustle rustle* 

Azusa: Hm…

Azusa continues to struggle with the rope. 

Azusa: Oh…!

The power tower nearly tips over.

*Cling* 

Azusa: …Ugh…That was close…My bad, Eve…Ugh…

Azusa tries to fix it back in place. 

*Cling* 

Azusa: Phew…

Kou: Ah! Hey! Azusa-kun, what are you doing!? I told you not to touch it but you’ve lowered the bar!

Azusa: S-Sorry…I just couldn’t watch her in pain. …Ah, by the way, Kou. What did you bring with you? 

Kou: My phone! I figured it’d be fun to snap a couple of pictures of her! I was even going to show them to Ruki-kun and Yuma-kun afterwards but that plan’s been kind of ruined now.

You beg Kou to untie you. 

Kou: Yeah, I know. I’ll remove the ropes right away. Ah-aah~ Boringー 

Azusa: I’ll help untie you as well…

*Rustle rustle*

Kou: Huh? That’s strange…It’s not coming loose at all…Ugh…

Azusa: What will we do…if we can’t untie the knot…? 

Kou: I’m sure we’ll find a way somehow! Come on, tug onto this rope together with me!

Azusa: Mmh…Okay. 

Kou: Ready, go!

They both tug onto the rope. 

*Rustle* 

Kou: …Phew, it’s loose!

Azusa: Haah…We did it. 

*Cling cling cling* 

You lose your balance as the power tower nearly falls on top of you.

Kou: Ah…Uwah! watch out!

Kou stops it just in time. 

*Thud*

Kou: …Phew, made it on time…

Azusa: Eve, are you alright…? 

You nod. 

Azusa: …Ah. …Hm?

*Rustle* 

Kou: …Ah. Don’t tell me…the thing we’re stepping on right now is…Ruki-kun’s precious book, isn’t it…? 

Azusa: Yeah. …The pages are all creased…

*Rustle* 

Kou: Oh no! We’ll be in serious trouble if he finds out! We have to get rid of all evidence before he gets home!

Azusa: E-Eh…? But…How do we do that…? 

Kou: We untied you, so you should fix this for us, M-neko-chan!

You tell them there’s nothing you can do. 

Kou: Gosh, you’re so useless! Ruki-kun could be home literally any second now!

They can hear the front door opening in the background. 

Azusa: Ah…Aah…W-What do we do…? Seems like he’s home…

Kou: Uwah…We have no other choice but to run then! Come on, you two! Hurry up!

Kou starts running away.

Azusa: Run…? But where do we go then? 

Kou: That doesn’t matter! Anywhere Ruki-kun can’t find us!

You ask him what to do with the power tower. 

Kou: I don’t care about that thing right now! If I had known this would happen, I would have thrown it out as soon as I had the chance!

Azusa: If Eve no longer needs it, let’s get rid of it. 

Kou: Oh come on! Let’s just run before Ruki-kun gets here!

Azusa: Ah, wait…!

All three of you make a run for it. 

ーー THE END ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #kou mukami #azusa mukami #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers drama cd #drama cd

[jasbaklonbri]

My issues with the Avatar Live action show. (Spoilers)

before I get on with this… rant I guess, I want to stress that I do not “Hate” this adaptation, I actually think it’s pretty…. decent. Mixed in terms of being an adaptation but as its own thing i do think it actually is good. If a newcomer gets introduced to the franchise through this show, I’d mostly be okay with that (though would still stress to watch the original, especially hinting about the rest of the story if they’re really invested) before I go into my biggest problems I should quickly list its positives.

The characters, for the most part, are done well, they meet the core criteria of what made the original characters so beloved. The acting, for the most part, is good, overall the cast does a really good job at their respective roles. Costumes are amazing, sets, while not exactly 1:1, are still overall awesome. soundtrack is really REALLY good, stellar work all round. The action is not only great, it’s BRUTAL AS FUCK, it does not shy away from the themes of war and death and I love that 😈 some of the expanded editions to the lore are really interesting, big shoutout especially to the inclusion that zuko’s crew is also the battalion he defends in the war room, that was actually brilliant 👌 on top of that, references and inclusions of stuff from expanded material I mostly really liked, from the comics, to legend of Korra to even the kyoshi novels. As for the writing and story…. I can accept no adaptation is perfect and there will be changes, I think it follows the moments of the show decently and that the writing is… adequate. overall rating for me is a decent… 6/10… almost was a 7 but… no.

okay now for the stuff that sucked!

The Characters that weren’t good:

Aang is not bad in this, character wise and acting is overall good, Gordon Cormier does a good job, he looks and sounds the part. My issues are how the character is written. Ill get into more about his biggest issues later on as it mostly has to do with writing and a few particular scenes, but for now I’ll harp on how repetitive and annoying his dialogue can be sometimes, way too many times has the character had the same “guilt scene” which hits the exact same beats: he sees devastation, he says “this is my fault”, he’s reassured it’s not. Again and again.

sokka is awful in this. And to be honest it’s not really the writings fault, Ian Ousleys portrayal does not do it for me, his line delivery is too monotone-ish, his emotional delivery is lacking, he has the same blank facial expression throughout the show. He has a decent one liner here and there, but the comedy and character is MILES away from the over expressive, hilarious and badass original.

zukos actor is decent just enough, and honestly it’s a little unfair to compare Dallas Liu to Dante Bascos performance, but admittedly I felt he was comparatively more underwhelming at times. Though if anything I was more annoyed at the look of his Scar. Don’t get me wrong, its leagues more noticeable than it was in the god awful movie adaptation… but it’s still not great. Remember how grotesque his scar is in the animated show, even at a distance, his skin is shrivelled, he can hardly open his eye, even his ear is half burnt off, they could of gone all out in showcasing his disfigurement, the greatest source of his self shame and most brutal showcase of his fathers cruelty and abuse… but no it’s just a dark red patch around his eye, it’s not even ugly to look at. Disappointing.

Bumi, while acted and portrayed really well by Utkarsh Ambudkar, is written very badly. His motivations have completely changed from the original, and no it is no where near as good, unlike in the show were he “toys” with Aang to teach him lessons about the journey ahead of him, offering wisdom and compassion to his old friend, keeping his identity a secret allowing Aang to realise who he is, making an emotional reunion when he realises another piece of his lost past is still alive: here Aang finds out immediately it’s him, and Bumi instead is pissed and petty that Aang left to the point HE TRIES TO KILL HIM, completely disregarding the point of the message and character from the original show. Oh and not to mention the ending scene with him, but again I’ll get to that scene later.

finally, biggest problem I’ll harp on the characters themselves is the diminishing, lack of focus and editing of the three protagonists flaws. Aangs childish immaturity, kataras inexperience, Sokkas rudeness and distrust. There are reasons why the show took these out or didn’t focus on them, but in my opinion this was a huge mistake to do. Character flaws are integral to character growth, throughout the original show we see the characters learn and grow with and out of said flaws to become more rounded and stronger characters, Aangs journey to embrace his destiny and responsibilities, Kataras growing wisdom and strength, Sokka accepting his wrongdoings becoming more open minded and accepting. Diminishing these ultimately take away a lot from these characters and it does them and the fans a huge disservice to outright ignore them at times.

Aang and Kataras bond is there… but it’s Seriously lacking!

I’m a Kataang shipper. Before I go into detail with this I think it’s important to point out a certain bias I might have with this, but regardless of any opinions about the original shows romantic themes, I’d still argue that Aang and Kataras relationship is one of the core and integral bonds of the original show (the others being Katara and Sokka, Zuko and Iroh, Aang and Zuko and Zuko and Azula (book 2 onwards) so getting this right is in my opinion important to any adaptation. Overall their relationship is fine in this iteration, but MAN it’s just not as good.

Imagine my utmost disappointment When in this version: Katara is not the first person Aang sees when he wakes up! Now I know that seems like a petty thing to harp on but really think back to the original show, how beautifully written their friendship was, how they constantly support and empathise with each other, how Aang is a source of Kataras hope, how Katara is an emotional rock for Aang when coming to terms with his loss and grief. All of it starts with the foundation of their first meeting in that first episode. After a hundred years of sleep, Katara accidentally discovers Aang (with Sokka) and rushes to save him, the first person Aang sees as he opens his eyes is her, he immediately, and essentially asks her out. Katara introduces him to her village, she’s enamoured by his playful attitude and abilities, there are hints of a blooming crush between them (mostly from Aang) they promise to explore the world together, they go penguin sledding, until finally, when Katara realises and breaks the truth about Aangs 100 year absence and slow realisation that everything and everyone he knew is likely gone, Katara tries to reassure him mentioning there may be a bright side: Aang responds with “I did get to meet you”. all of that build up and setup of the friendship (and budding romance) of our two leads is masterfully established in one, 23 minute long episode. Really think about that. It takes the original show 1 episode to set the core points of the two lead’s relationship in what takes this show AN ENTIRE SERIES TO PROPERLY ESTABLISH! Not only is all of that practically absent in this iteration, but plenty of scenes and moments are either missing or lessened, Such as when Katara calms Aang out of the Avatar state, or how they begin to train and learn their waterbending together (more on THAT later), cave of two lovers is now given to Katara and Sokka?? (really missed the point of that episode) or how about the mutual understanding of each others grief through their own grief, oh yeah that’s another thing, in this version Katara, nor Sokka for that matter, ever mention to Aang that their mother is dead?! Not once. I don’t even think he ever knows, or maybe he finds out off screen? Big thing to not mention guys??

Now there are plenty of scenes in the show that do help build up their friendship here, but by missing core scenes, especially those from the first episodes, it just makes it harder for the show to establish that bond towards an audience, and again just pales in comparison.

No statue room???

I’ll be a little more brief here, but the fact that this moment is completely missing infuriates me. You have the quintessential moment where Aang is in full view of the scope of his legacy, a monument to hundreds of all the past avatars, a moment for our characters and the audience to visually realise the weight and burden that Aang Carries upon his shoulders… and you completely take it out??? What the actual FUCK???

Kyoshis premonition almost ruins the show! as awesome and badass as Avatar Kyoshi was in this version, this one tidbit is by far not just a weird addition, it’s arguably one of the biggest fundamental flaws of the show, not as an adaptation, but the show in of it self. The idea apparently (according to behind the scenes comments) is that kyoshis premonition to Aang of the northern watertribes destruction is to give him more of an assentive to head “straight to the point”, removing the unnecessary detours and filler of the original. The problem with that is even for that reason, this addition is completely pointless, because Aang already has enough assentive to head to the north: LEARN WATERBENDING!!!

In the original show after Katara and Sokka save Aang from zukos ship in the 2nd episode, they establish that they must find Aang a water bending master so he can begin his first step in becoming the avatar, in fact rewatching the first few episodes, AANG MAKES THE SUGGESTION FIRST TO KATARA SO SHE CAN MASTER HER WATERBENDING! Even the god awful movie understood that that was enough reason to head north! And if you really want more reason and imperative for them to get there as soon as, why not just reiterate that there is a WAR GOING ON! The attack on the south, the genocide of the air nomads, accidentally bringing an invasion to Kyoshi island, these are all good enough reminders for the Gaang to showcase the need for Aang to head to the known one place in the world where Aang can possibly master an art integral to achieving his destiny. But even worse than that, this addition seriously hurts the show going foward, because now, after Aang has been shown the impending doom destined for the north, he STILL detours from it, not once but twice! (And according to one gossiping bartender, possibly a few more times!!) in an attempt to try to showcase his nobility and compassion to always help those in need, every time he decides to stop to help a new problem, HE IS LITERALLY RISKING THE DESTRUCTION OF AN ENTIRE CIVILISATION!!! Priorities dude!!! It’s not like he’s given a time frame, for all he knows this premonition could happen at anytime, it could be already happening??? It is by far one of the biggest, if not THE BIGGEST flaw of the show.

Muddying the rules of the spirits and spirit realm

Aside from kyoshis future sight, too many instances does this show, in an attempt to expand ideas of worlds spirituality, often just make things more confusing. Another example is when Aang accidentally drags Katara and Sokka into the spirit world, which even with the reasoning they give it makes no sense whatsoever and it only serves an excuse to combine moments from other episodes into one. Or how about when wan shi tong… for some reason… explains that spirits can only talk to the avatar and only they can communicate with and talk to spirits… except that rule is completely ignored when Katara and Sokka can clearly hear what koh is saying? ooops???

Hai Bai has no agency or resolution in his inclusion here, he’s not even the central threat despite HIS forest being burnt. Instead of going on a full rampage against humanity for their destruction, he’s now just really angry about being wounded? Instead of hai bai kidnapping people, it’s now Koh, who while still really creepy in this version, his abilities are now greatly diminished. Instead of his lightning quick speed to remove the faces of anyone who show any ounce of emotion in his presence, here he can only prey on negative emotions, and is never shown to be especially fast (except the two jump scares). again it just pales in comparison to the intensity of the original scene.

Kuruk should know why his advice is horseshit!

while I like the inclusion of some details of the lore outside the original show, using it during Aangs scene with Kuruk significantly hurts his first scene, because now we have the writers completely miss the point and lessons of Kuruks life. Kuruks advice to “walk the path alone” to “distance himself from his friends” is not just obviously poor advice on its own, but considering that the past avatars are aware of events after their death, it especially doesn’t make sense coming from Kuruk! Avatar Kuruk HAD friends! the kyoshi novels go into detail about his closest companions as well as his secret deeds of hunting dark spirits. Yes Kuruk did it in secret and inadvertently and purposely distanced himself from the people he loved so that he could in his mind protect them, and that’s excusable because Avatars never have hindsight about some of the consequences of their actions, in fact past avatars often use their mistakes and their consequences as advice and warnings to the current avatar. KURUK SHOULD BE ADVISING THE EXACT OPPOSITE!!!

One of the major consequences of pushing his friends and keeping secrets was that when he eventually died mysteriously at a young age, his companions felt they had failed in their mission to serve and protect their friend, pushing one of them, Jianzhu, to fall into a path of political meddling and corruption, and being consumed with keeping his power and influence through back handed tactics like kidnapping, torture, intimidation and murder, eventually becoming Kyoshi’s earliest nemesis and one of her greatest enemies (highly recommend reading the Kyoshi novels 😍) Not to mention that Kuruks “advice” leads to an incredibly forced scene and trope where our hero attempts to push Katara away and “nobly distances himself to protect his friend”, only for the advice to be immediately ignored a few minutes later, making it entirely pointless.

AANG NEVER LEARNS WATERBENDING???

yes, through the entirety of BOOK 1 WATER, Aang never learns waterbending! Katara offers to show him some techniques she knows in one scene, but for some reason he’s hesitant to take her offer, which would have been interesting to explore, except they never really address it?? Worse even when they finally reach Pakku in the north, all that happens is that he’s kind of scolded for not starting his training, but not once is it seen or mentioned by pakku that he’ll teach him ANYTHING. If there’s enough time to have Katara shown water healing lessons as well as arguing and fighting Pakku to teach her combative techniques, WHY THEN DOES EVERYONE IGNORE TRAINING THE GOD DAMN AVATAR!!! The fate of the world rests on Aang learning the 4 elements, but for some reason they completely leave it out?

Now Katara is mentioned to teach him in the future like in the original, but the problem now in this version is that while Katara is gifted and talented, unlike the original show she’s never formally trained (outside of healing lessons) by Pakku or a master to warrant her to become Aangs official waterbending teacher. They are literally leaving the training of the most important person of their time to an AMATEUR!!!

a baffling diversion?!?!

Finally my last big problem with the show is the handling of the ending scene. Take in mind that the fire nation sends an entire fleet, no, hundreds upon hundreds of ships to invade, subjugate and snuff out an entire civilisation, and to take out the avatar, once and for all. Also consider the sheer loss of life and devastation that was unleashed by the ocean spirit upon them when zhao murdered the moon spirit, they got hit back hard and then some, honestly it was spectacular to watch! The problem, according to Ozai: “it was all according to plan”…..

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK?!?!?!

apparently it’s revealed that the North Pole wasn’t the “real target”, but instead a “clever ploy” to instead… invade Omashu?? First of all, who are you creating a diversion for??? We don’t see earth kingdom soldiers coming to assist the fight in Agna Q’ela? It’s not like we ever see waterbenders helping to defend Omashu when we were there earlier, it’s not like anyone outside the protagonists was aware of Aangs premonition (oh by the way why didn’t Kyoshi warn Aang it was a “diversion”??) WHO ARE FUCKING TALKING ABOUT???

and again, just to reiterate, you are saying you sacrificed an ENTIRE INVASION FORCE, big enough to destroy a whole society, which led to a huge loss of life and ships which YOU CLAIM was “to be expected”…. In order for you to take one city???? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING JOKING??? That’s not just bad writing, that is beyond STUPID!!! Oh and just to add, unlike in the show where Bumi willingly surrenders to avoid the destruction of Omashu, instead opting to wait for the right opportunity to free it later, saving his people doing so, here we see him bruised and bloodied after a siege! Yeah, one of the most powerful earth-benders in the world is taken out offscreen!!! CHRIST ALL BLOODY MIGHTY!!!

okay… rant over… 😮‍💨😮‍💨

#avatar the last airbender #aang #atla remake #kataang #avatar