#AM I SEEING SHIT OR IS THAT A WHOLE SECTION OF PIPE JUST GONE

[savageboar]

if anyone here knows cars. did someone steal part of my fucking exhaust. id rather you steal the whole fucking car.

#AM I SEEING SHIT OR IS THAT A WHOLE SECTION OF PIPE JUST GONE #is there a carblr tag #carblr #???? is this why my trailblazer sounds like a fucking diesel suddenly #im gonna shit #it looks like the exhaust system but im not a car expert (yet maybe) so im....what? #THAT DOES LOOK LIKE A PIPE MISSING A SECTION TO ME. IDK #hades.txt

[chrisevansszn]

A Quick Fling. 🥵

2k word!

18 & up only!

Short story!

Tonight, a group of you and your coworkers are going out to a bar. A group of about eight for a fun night out.

It was a local bar in Boston called “Drink”. You put on a cute black dress and some   Gold YSL Opyum pumps. You arrived at the bar around 9:30PM, and the crew was already there. Devin booked a corner in the VIP sections so you all could hang out and chat with no problem. You walked to the section and everyone seemed to be staring at you. Probably because you rarely wear a dress and heels.

“Hi everyone”, you said walking up.

The crew consisted of Devin, Jordan, Michael, Jesi, Matt, Jake, Christina, and Chris. You all have been working as detectives for many years together. You all are practically family.

“Ok Y/N. I see you!”, Matt hollers out.

“Matt cut it out please!”, you blushed so hard, but you were seriously wearing that dress. It was hugging every curve on your body.

Your section came with its own waitress, so you ordered a vodka and cranberry. You found a spot between Jesi and Chris. You chatted up with both until your drink came. It was strong just like you wanted.

“Y/N I don’t think I have ever seen you in a dress since working with you for five years.”, Chris says.

“I know. I am honestly not a dress girl, but I figured I would throw one on.”

“It looks nice.”

“Thank you, Chris.”. You smiled at him.

The conversation turned into work and included everyone. Cases, unsolved murders, the whole nine. The waitress brought over a round of shots for everyone. Everyone then decided to go to the dance floor. The music is good, and everyone is gathered around dancing. You noticed how good Chris is looking in his flannel shirt. You make your way a little closer to dance next to him.

You finished your drink mid dance and decided to go to the bar to get another.

“Can I have Cosmo please?” The bar tender nodded.

“Hi beautiful.”

You looked over and saw a strange man next to you. Way older and not your type. You smile and give a dry hello. He continues to talk to you and you really are trying to ignore him. Come on bartender!

“Are you single beautiful?”

“No, I’m not. I actually have a boyfriend.”

“Well, where is he then? Leaving you here all alone.”

“I’m right here.”

You turn around and see Chris.

“Yep. Here is my man.” You fake smile again. Chris sits on the seat next to you. The man gives you and Chris the side eye. He isn’t buying it. You turn to face Chris and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Chris gives you a smile. He is trying to keep from laughing.

“Baby did you order another drink yet?” You ask.

“No, I didn’t. I can’t stop admiring you in this dress.”

Chris grabs you by the waist and brings you closer in between his legs. What the fuck is he doing?

“Not in front of everyone Chris.” You give him and look and pull away a little.

The man next to you is still staring. Chris laughs. Chris turns quickly and orders him another drink and he turns back around facing you. The eye contact you both are making is nothing like you two have ever done before.

You have to play the role. You step back between Chris’ legs and lean in. He grabs you again and takes you in his arms. You both sing the song that is playing to each other and catching a vibe. You lean in and give Chris a kiss on the lips and you feel him grab your right ass cheek and squeeze.

Now you’re doing too much sir! You like it….not going to lie.

The kiss wasn’t long but enough to make the man walk away. Chris didn’t let go either.

“You can let go now Chris.”

“What if I don’t want to.”

You paused…

“People will talk, and you know that.”

He giggled.

“I will let go this time.”

He releases you. You didn’t want him to. You both take your drinks back to the VIP section and sit. The rest came over shortly behind.

The group continued to drink and dance in the VIP section until the bar closed. Everyone was drunk off their ass and Uber’s were called. You went to the ladies’ room while everyone walked out. A few minutes later you walked out and saw Chris standing close to the exit.

“Chris did you call an Uber?”

“Oh yes, but I wanted to wait on you. I didn’t want you to be by yourself. You know?”

Damn. What a great man!

“Oh, thank you!”

“Feel free to join my Uber ride. We stay pretty close to either other.”

“Sure.”

You both walk outside and notice everyone else was already gone. Your Uber finally arrived. Chris opened the door for you, and you climbed in. He followed suit. The Uber pulled off. You wasted no time.

You leaned over.

“Why don’t I just go home with you instead?”

You rubbed your hand from Chris’ left knee up to his thigh, and then softly across his dick. It had been a while and some pipe is exactly what you needed.

Chris gave you THE LOOK. He took his middle finger into his mouth and licked it and turned and slid his finger up your vagina. You sighed softly. Oh…you are going to give Chris all of you tonight. He penetrated your folds and took everything for you not to moan.  He then took his fingers from your vagina and leaned in a little closer. Chris then stuck the same finger in his mouth to taste your waterfalls never once breaking eye contact from you.

The Uber arrived at Chris’ place and you both hope out. He has a nice ass farmhouse on some acres. He grabs you by the hand and you both walk to his front door. You could hear a dog barking from behind the door. Chris unlocks the door and uses his leg to block his dog from running out.

“Dodger back.”, he says gently.

He pushes the door open and allows you to walk in first and then closes and locks the door behind him.

“Hi Dodger.”, you give him a gentle rub.

“Come on Bubba..bedtime.”

Dodger follows Chris down the hallway. Your guess is to another bedroom.  You take off your heels in the hallway…fuck it. You could barely walk in them anymore. You see Chris coming back down the hallway.

“Do you want some water or- “

You instantly grab him and kiss those pink lips. He kisses you back so passionately and pushes you into the nearest wall. You grab his dick outside of his pants and you can feel it getting longer. Chris begins kissing you on your neck and lifts up your dress and grabs your ass and squeeze.

“That ass is perfect.” He says to you. He takes you by the hand and leads you into his bedroom.  You push him down on his bed, and then unzip your dress as he watches you. He sticks his hands down his pants and begins to rub his dick.  Your dress drops to the floor revealing your perfect breast and laced thong.

“Spin around for me sweetheart.”

You slowly turned so Chris could see every inch of your body. His are fixated on you, all of his attention is yours. You grab one ass cheek and squeeze it just for fun.

“Holy shit.”, you hear him whisper.

You walk over to him and softly kiss his lips. You move over to his cheek, down to his neck, and a quick lick on his right ear. You could hear his quiet moans. You unbutton his red and blue flannel revealing the muscle shirt underneath. His tattoos peeking out and is necklace hanging. A complete turn on. Chris takes off his flannel and muscle shirt revealing his body that is literally a canvas. Tattoos everywhere! Time to kiss them all. You push Chris back on the bed and climb on top.

You move slowly down kissing and licking each tattoo along the way. You unzip is pants and pulling out his long hard dick. He was ready for you, but first things first. You licked Chris’ dick from the bottom up to the tip. You can feel his hands in your hair and hear him take a deep breath. You take his entire dick in your mouth. Up and down, you got giving Chris that super sloppy 6000! You are giving him the two-hand action in the process.  

Your puss is throbbing. You wanted penetration immediately. You slid off your thong and climb on top. You slowly sat down on that thick dick and threw your head back. It was everything you needed. Up and down, you went while Chris had one hand on your ass and the other holding your breast. You let out moans.

After some time, Chris grabs you by the waist and flips you over. Now he is on top. He completely comes out of his pants and underwear. He pulls you to the edge of the bed and enters your walls again. As he strokes, he leans over you and gently grabs you around your neck and slightly chokes you. THIS IS YOUR FAVORITE! You’re are literally nose to nose with each other. You stick out your tongue and gently lick the outside of his lips. He giggled.

He then takes his dick out of you and begins to devour you like no one else had. His cooch eating game CANNOT be touched. While he’s eating your soul, he then sticks two fingers inside of you. Your back arches.

“Y/N you taste so fucking good.”

He then flips you over and pulls you up on all fours. He teases you with just the tip in and out, in and out.

“Chris give me your dick now.”

“Say no more baby.”

He rams his dick in your puss from behind and lets out a few moans. Faster and faster, he goes and harder and harder. Your mouth is stuck open and your eyes roll back. Chris continues to fuck you in different positions: on your back, from the side, on your stomach. Who knew he would be able to go so long!

You finally heard him say. “I’m fucking about to nut.”

He groans but not too loud, and you orgasm at the same time. He lays next to you and kisses your shoulder. Chris’ dick was so fucking good. You get up and go to his bathroom to clean up. You walk out and start putting your dress on.

“Wait, where are you going?”, Chris asked.

“Home.”, you say while grabbing your phone to order an Uber.

“Why don’t you just stay for the night?”

“That’s how people catch feelings. This is a business transaction.”

Chris busts out laughing.

“If you say so Y/N.”

He walks up to you and kisses your neck.

“Come to the kitchen with me, so I can get you a bottle of water. We drank a lot tonight.”

You all did. You didn’t even both putting on your heels because you could barely walk without them. You follow him to the kitchen, and he hands you a bottle of Fiji. You phone dings letting you know your Uber has arrived. Chris walked you outside and opened the car door.

“Text me when you make it home…please.”

“Of course. Goodnight Chris.”

“Goodnight Y/N”

He closes the door, and the Uber takes off. You left your panties behind.

Maybe he will call you up soon to come back and pick them up….

I hope you enjoyed! Follow for more! 💛

#chris evans #chris jamal evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #cevans #marvel #andy barber #defending jacob #captain america #stevenomad #fanfiction

[pixieungerstories]

Quarentine - 1

They always say ‘buy the worst house on the best block that you can afford’ and god knows this place was a total shit hole.  1200 square feet on an overgrown lot surrounded by McMansions.  Hell, I paid less for the place that the land was worth.  I’m amazed someone hadn’t bulldozed the place years ago.

To make a long story short, I did not look a gift house horse in the mouth.

I mean, it wasn’t a total write off.  None of the windows were smashed.  There were mature fruit trees in the backyard.  If you ignored the weeds and rotting fruit, there was a lot of potential.  The plumbing was lead pipes and the electrical was knob and tube, but I know people and I could trade favours to get that replaced.  The foundations were good and the roof barely leaked.

I spent the summer camping in a tent in the back yard and slowly getting the place winterized enough that I could move it.

It was still a creepy ass house when I did.  It had a boiler.  I had no idea how to deal with that, but I was learning.  And I learned how to ignore the whistles, hissing and banging sounds that went with having a boiler.  The old rads were cast iron with pretty little details in the corners.

There were holes in the plaster, but I just ignored them.  It wasn’t worth fixing when I was going to gut the place and put up drywall eventually.  It just made it easier to get at the plumbing.

I started just living in the kitchen and ignoring the rest of the house.  I had disconnected the rest of the electrical and plumbing and was using that as a home base while I renovated outwards from there.

There is nothing quite as creepy as sleeping in a sleeping bag on what were probably asbestos tiles in an old house that makes the weird noises that old houses make.  I kept reminding myself that they only seemed louder than normal because the place was empty and there was nothing to muffle the sound.  The shrieking had to be the upstairs window that didn’t quite shut properly.

I had the feeling that something was watching me and prayed to god it wasn’t rats.

I was in this for the long haul.  Get up, shower at the gym, go to work, come home, renovate until it gets dark, shower at the gym, camp out in the kitchen.  Not exciting, but satisfying.  Let’s face it, this was the only way I was ever going to be able to afford a house.

When the work from home order came, I had to actually get a phone line installed so I could have internet access.  Me, my laptop and a kitchen table I rescued from the curbside a while back.

The creepy feeling was worse.  I told myself it had to be the isolation kicking in.  I skyped with my best friends at night to make up for it.  The power was still a bit dodgy and kept going out, but that’s what laptop batteries and cell phones are for, right?

I was sure the cough was from the dust.

The guy delivering groceries left them on the sidewalk instead of the porch.  It was fine.  I understood completely.  I hadn’t done much work on the outside of the building at all. 

I realized I was sneezing a bit when I started having to use toilet paper as kleenex.

I was fine.  I was young and healthy.  I didn’t have any sick days at work so I was determined to just push through.

I tried to get more rest.

I dreamed about something laying a cool hand on my forehead.

The grocery store was out of thermometers.

I mean, did it really matter if I had a fever?  I wasn’t leaving the house to share with anyone.

My cough got worse overnight.  I was vaguely aware of someone lifting me up and holding a cup of cool water to my lips.  I was so fucking thirsty. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” I mumbled.  “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I won’t,” a rumbling voice assured me.

I didn’t remember making soup, but I jolted into awareness sitting at the table with a steaming bowl in front of me.  Chicken noodle out of a can.  It’s not that hard to make.  I’m sure I could add water and heat in my sleep.  Apparently, I just did.

I was so cold that night.  I don’t know where the extra blankets came from, but they were there in the morning.

I don’t know how I ordered a bed while I was sick, but it was there and on my credit card.  So was the mattress and sheets.  It must have been the fever talking when I ordered them.  I would not have picked out anything that old fashioned looking.

How did I get all this stuff up to the second floor bedroom?  I’m sure I don’t remember stripping the paint off the closet doors.   I must be losing my mind.  I slept, I ate, I stopped logging in at work.  I just needed to concentrate on getting better.

By the time I was able to stay awake for more than an hour at a time, the city was shut down.  I was confined to my house whether I liked it or not.  I was suddenly glad my fever addled brain had ordered a bed while I still could.  

The watched feeling was worse.  I ordered some rat traps with my groceries.  I didn’t catch anything.  They didn’t take the bait.  I swear I heard snickering when I checked them in the morning.  That was a new sound for the boiler to make.

“I am losing my mind,” I repeated to myself.  Then blushed when I realized I had said it aloud.  “And yes, I also talk to myself,” I added for good measure.  “At least it is some sound,” I muttered.  “I should turn on some music or something.”

Work was officially shut down but I still had the dumpster outback.  I spend my awake time cleaning out the other rooms.  The advantage of living in a construction zore was all the dust masks.  When I needed to actually go out, that might help.  In the meantime, I carefully sorted through the things the previous owners had left behind.  Some of it was just trash, but there were some old photographs, lost buttons, even a single antique earring.

“No chance of finding a pair, I bet.  Still this could be made over into a necklace or something.”  Shit.  I was talking to myself again, wasn’t I?

I still got tired easily.  I dreamed about my mom stroking my hair as I slept.

The footprints I couldn’t explain away.

I had taken down a section of wall and spent the day carrying out the chunks of plaster before microwaving a pizza pop and tucking in early.  In the morning there were footprints in the dust.  They weren’t mine.  They were huge and it was hard to believe they were human.  Weird long toes, with the claw tips a little in front were not what I was expecting.

That was the first time I had wanted to leave the house.

I grabbed my stuff and made it to the front yard before I was spotted by a passing patrol car and ordered back inside.  I had no idea how to explain that I thought there was some sort of monster living in my house.  I was shaking as I went back inside.

“Hello?”  I called from the doorway, ready to run.  I had no idea where I could even run to.  “Um…  Is anyone there?”  I don’t know what I was expecting.  “Hi?  Um ….  I bought the house, I didn’t know there was any … thing living here.  I have been trying to fix it up.”

“I know.”

Fuck.  The scratchy, rasping bass voice was not what I was expecting.  “I … uh…  I can go back to camping in the yard,” I suggested.

“No.”

I waited to hear if he (?) was going to say anything else.

Apparently not.

“Uh … no I can’t stay here?  Or no, you don’t even want me camping in the backyard?”

“If I didn’t want you here, I would have had many opportunities to get rid of you.”

Shit.  That wasn’t ominous or threatening at all.

With a low chuckle the voice asked, “Did you mean to say that out loud?”

I froze and tried to remember what I had said.  Oh.  “No, that was an accident.  I’m not used to having anyone around to hear me.”

“I always hear you.”

I closed the door and went out to sit in the garden for a moment to think about that.  I ended up pacing, swearing and wishing for a cigarette.  I hadn’t smoked in years.    The sun started to go down and the bugs came out.  I was being eaten alive outside.  Going inside was scary but he was right.  He had lots of time to …

I flung open the door.  “Did you order furniture on my credit card?”  I demanded.

The laughter that rang out was a whole other level of creepy.  I shivered and thought about going back outside.  The door pulled itself closed behind me.  I spun to look at it and didn’t see anything.  I could hear something breathing. I turned again.  Nothing.

“If we are both going to live here, can we at least agree on some ground rules?”

“Like what?” was almost purred in my ear.  Looking around wildly, I still couldn’t see anything.

I was shaking now.  “Is there a way for you to be less scary so I don’t have a heart attack?” I squeaked.

There was nothing but silence.  Still my sense of the presence suggested it was gone.

I didn’t sleep that night.  I would just start to nod off then jerk myself awake and look wildly around the room.  I never saw anything.

Six am, my alarm went off and I could smell coffee.

All the dust had been swept up.

“Hello?” I whispered.

Nothing.  I had coffee and cereal and tried not to think about my surprise roommate.  I was so tired, I passed out at my computer in the kitchen at some point that morning, only to wake in bed upstairs in the afternoon.  “I don’t want you to touch me while I’m sleeping,” I mumbled, painfully aware that there was dick all I could do to stop it.

“Alright,” the voice said, coming from somewhere in the direction of the closet.  “But don’t fall asleep at the table then.”

I breathed a faint sigh of relief.  I wasn’t expecting the next part.

“You need to eat something now.  You are still recovering.”

There was a can of soup heating on the stove.  My breakfast dishes were gone.  I found them clean and dry in the cupboard.  “Thank you,” I whispered.  He didn’t reply.  As I ate lunch, I was psyching myself into going upstairs to look in the closet.  The door had been painted shut when I got the house, but at some point had been stripped down to the bare wood.

I hadn’t worked up the nerve by the time I was done eating.  Or washing and drying the dishes.  I found myself at the bottom of the stairs staring up at the second floor.  Did I really want to see what was in that closet?

No.

But it would be better to look during the light of day.

Eventually, I made it up there.  I put my hand on the knob and tried to turn it.  It didn’t budge.

“You want rules?” the voice growled behind me.  I spun, there was nothing there.  “Do not open that door.  Do not come into my space.”

I went from trembling from nerves to bolting down the stairs in an instant.  I nearly tripped, but felt something - him? - catch me and set me on my feet.

“Careful,” he purred.

I spent the rest of the day in the garden again.  I was still out there when the sun went down and the back light turned on.  Then the kitchen light and for a moment I could see something outlined against the antique curtains I hadn’t replaced in the kitchen.  I tried to remind myself that he wasn’t necessarily that big.  He might just be closer to the light and casting a bigger shadow.

I didn’t believe it, but I tried.

I crept back into the house like a scared child who wasn’t sure how angry their parents were going to be after they had done something wrong.  I turned on all the lights on the main floor and stayed in the kitchen away from the stairs.

“Planning on staying up all night?”

I jumped.  “How are you always behind me?”

“I live in the shadows.  Go to bed.”

“Um…  I was thinking, that should be your room, really.  Your closet.  You picked out the bed.  I can just camp down -”

“No.  Go to bed.”

“Do you really think I’m going to be able to sleep in a room with a closet that must not be opened?  I have read Blue Beard, you know.”

“So have I.  The wife gets the house and lives happily ever after.”

“The last wife does,” I pointed out.  “The first dozen or so didn’t.”

He chuckled at that.  “We made a deal, remember?”

“Are you teasing me?  What deal?”

“I don’t touch you in your sleep.  You don’t sleep in the kitchen anymore.”

“How big are you?”

The lights flickered and went off.

“Do you want to see me?”  he purred, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck.

“Not in the dark,” I squeaked.

“Go to bed.”  

The light snapped back on, leaving me blinking.

I spent the night sitting on the bed with my back pressed against the headboard trying to see the whole room at one.  Eventually, I fell asleep.

My alarm did not go off at six.  It had been turned off.  The coffee was ready but not turned on when I went down stairs.  The air smelled faintly of solder.  There was a post-it stuck to the coffee maker.  Fine copperplate handwriting told me:

I have replaced the plumbing

I stared at it dumbly.  I had replaced the plumbing to the kitchen sink and the downstairs powder room and had been washing out of the sink since I had been forced to stay home.  The only other plumbing was down to the washing machine in the cellar and the upstairs bathroom.  I pushed the button on the coffee maker and slowly crept upstairs.

Sure enough the stack of copper pipe waiting in the other bedroom was gone. 

Well, not gone.  I could see it installed through the holes in the walls.  I turned on the tap to the sink and sure enough, I had water.  I now had an upstairs, working bathroom with a clawfoot tub.

And no walls.

“I don’t like the idea of you watching me bathe,” I called out.  Then I felt like an idiot because if whatever it was had voyeur tendencies, it could have been watching me for months.  I tried all the taps and the toilet.  Everything worked.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, unsure if I was talking to myself.

“You’re welcome.”  It was the least creepy, most normal thing I had heard from him.

----

When I got back downstairs, there still wasn’t coffee but there was a new note:

Humans who do not sleep start to hallucinate

I crumbled it up, threw it across the room and jabbed the on switch on the coffee maker.  Nothing happened.  I growled as I plugged it in.  The power went out.

“Oh come on!  Withholding coffee is cruel and unusual punishment!”

“Sleep.”  It sounded like the whole house had murmured that last bit.

I wish I could say I handled it gracefully, but I didn’t.  I stomped back up to the bedroom like a petulant child.

I woke to bright sunlight streaming in through the window.  The house was quiet and it felt empty for the first time in days.  I had a bath and washed my hair and I felt better than I had in days too.  Clean and dry and dressed, I bounced into the kitchen to try and turn on the coffee again only to see my laptop snap shut.

It was with a lot of trepidation that I opened it.  I was expecting a ridiculous online purchase which is why I stared dumbly at the screen unable to process what I was seeing.

It was a CGI woman with her hands tied to something over her head being railed by a monster who was fingering her clit with one hand and fondling her breasts with the other while her belly distended in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Ugh!  Dude!  You can NOT watch porn on my laptop!” I shrieked as I frantically tried to close the window.

“Would you rather I watch you?” he asked calmly from somewhere to the left of me.

I breathed out a shaky breath.  “OK.  Let’s talk about private browser windows and how not to get a computer virus.”

When I got to the end of my tentative explanation, I asked, “Do you need … some alone time?”

There was another house shaking howling laugh.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“You need to eat.”

That brought up a whole other issue.  “Do you?  Eat I mean.  Do you eat?  What do you eat?”

“Don’t worry about me.  I am not going to eat you.  Unless you ask nicely.”

I blushed even further but got out a pan and a skillet meal from the fridge.

I spend the rest of the afternoon weeding the garden.  I came in when it got dark, heated up my leftovers from lunch and tried to figure out what to do with myself.  The nap had meant that I wasn’t tired for the first time in days.

I wondered what he would do if I watched a movie.  I hunted through the cupboards and found a bag of microwave popcorn from before the virus started.  Right! I thought.  Bowl of popcorn, a movie, skype with a few friends.  Pretend none of this was happening.

I wasn’t surprised when the lights went out.  That was just a thing now.  My computer was still illuminating a bubble around me and B99 was still hilarious.

I wasn’t expecting the bed to dip next to me.  That once again raised the question of how to deal with him around others.  I hit the mute button.  “What are you doing?” I asked icily.

“Not touching you.  What are you eating?”

“Human food.”

“Hmmm.”

I unmuted my computer to answer Penny’s question about how stir crazy I was going.

“12/10 on the looney toons scale,” I offered.

She just laughed.

All of the popcorn was gone.

“Ah hell.”

“What’s wrong?” Penny asked.

“All my popcorn is gone,” I grumbled.  I didn’t add that I had more than half a bowl left a moment ago.  Not eating me, I reminded myself.

“That sucks.  Need to pause and get more?”

“I don’t have anymore.”

She just laughed, “But do you still have toilet paper and hand sanitizer?”

I chuckled, “Toilet paper, at least.”

“I should go.  It’s getting late,” she said with a yawn.

“Yeah.  Good night.”  After Penny signed off, I just let Netflix autoplay the next episode.

“Do you need to sleep?” The whisper seemed to come from the direction of the closet but the bed was still dipped under his weight on my other side.

My heart leapt to my throat.  “How many of you are there?”

“Just me,” he purred too close to my ear.  I flung myself away from him and toppled out of bed.  Two hands caught me.

Two other hands caught my laptop.

I stared as it was placed back on the bed a little way in front of me.  The hands on my arms were cool and smooth.  “What are you?”

“I am me.  I have not asked your name.  You will not ask mine.”

“My name is on the mail.  And my credit card.  You know my name,”  I pointed out keeping my eyes locked on the screen, fighting the urge to look around.

“Nonetheless.”

This wasn’t going to work, but I had to try.  “I would like to be alone now.”

The bed shifted as the weight was removed from the side.  The black shadows that could be fingers moved from my computer.  The voice said, “Good night” from the direction of the closet.  

I sat frozen.  “In the morning, I’m moving the bed to another room.”

“Why?”

“Because the closet is yours and it’s scary being here with you,” I admitted.

“I have never done anything to harm you.”

“You scare the shit out of me multiple times a day.”

There was a long pause before he replied, “And yet you haven’t left.”

“The city is on lock down.  I can’t leave.”

“Hmm.”  

I jumped as my laptop snapped shut.  I fumbled in the dark trying to find it on my bed, “What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Taking this downstairs.  I will not bother you tonight.”

“What-” I started to say, then snapped my mouth shut as the realization that this may be his ‘alone time’.

This time the “Good night,” came from the bedroom door.

In the morning the only thing in my browsing history was netflix.  This was less comforting since I had shown him how to clear the cache.  I told myself at least the keyboard wasn’t sticky.

#quarantine #oh my god they were quarantined

[crearuru]

Bravely Default II, Martha x Adelle Chapter 1?

Spoilers for Chapter 3 through the end of the game chapter 6. Word count: 3,113. A lot. Like a lot. I'd count but tumblr wont let me copy paste the whole thing at once and its 4 am

Everyone knows Rhimedhal's winters are colder than the deepest ocean, and that the freezing winds could cut with a fury matching the most skilled skilled of mages. Of course, reading about it was one thing, but to a certain fairy from as sheltered and temperate an environment as Mag Mell, the thought to dress properly for the cold came far too late.

I knew it would be cold, but this is just ridiculous! If my wings were out they'd freeze before I could even get off the ground... Adelle pondered if keeping her disguise intact was worth the freezing cold. Surely, no one being around would allow her to drop her guard... but could she ever truly know who was watching? She'd set out to find her sister knowing she would need to lay low, but dressed for warmth as she was, and with such low visibility, she admitted she desperately needed shelter. She couldn't risk alienating herself from any nearby humans who might spot her braving the storm.

Even the monsters are hunkered down, she thought bitterly to herself. And where was this Rhimedhal town supposed to be, anyways? Surely she should've reached it by now... But she had to keep moving. Had to find somewhere to rest. The wind buffeted her, the ice it carried leaving shallow slices across her exposed midsection. The blizzard had arrived so suddenly, and her memory of the beautiful, gentle snowy night that it interrupted was far from a priority now. Leaving the Wayward Woods was something she needed to do, for her sister, but it was too late to return and beg for more supplies. She wondered how she would ever find those flowers she promised to bring back for her dear friend if she froze out here.

Is that... A cave? A section of darkness ahead, when the blinding white snow clung to everything else brought Adelle's heart a renewed vigor. She would not fall so soon into her journey, not to something as simple as the weather. As she tucked into the Serpent's Grotto, she lit a small fire and set up a tent. She would need to hunker down until the storm passed, which could take anywhere from hours... to weeks. As she regained feeling in her extremities, she realized the wind would blow out her fire if she did not go deeper.... and monsters within the cave may ambush her if she did not take caution. But first... she needed rest. Just an hour or two, and she would be fine. She wasn't in direct path of the wind, for she was behind an outcropping in the cave. She had some time to recover before pressing on.

And so, Adelle slept. Cold, hungry, and exhausted... But not alone. She dreamt of brown hair, of eyes locked upon her with a determination that matched her own, of flashes of silver and pink just out of the fire's light...

And the subject of these dreams knew she was there. Martha had asked Master Gwidyion if someone was coming, and he more than confirmed it. But was the stranger friend, or foe? That is what Martha set to find out. As she prowled the Grotto, her jaw firmly set, her eyes sharp and focused, she wondered if this visitor understood the ground upon which they trespassed. Were they here for the Lord of Dragons? To help? To harm? Master Gwydion had been sick for a while, and Martha worried he may not have much time left. Gwilym was next to inherit the position, but he was young. Needed time. Martha had served Master Gwydion for most of her life, as did her father before her, and his father, and so on. To neglect opportunities to extend his time on Excillant would just not do.

Having taken care of a few troublesome spirits, Martha reached the entrance to the cave. She saw a gray haired girl, in blue and grey, around her age, who she was surprised to see had not succumbed to the cold. Wearing a short shirt and loose pants in a blizzard? Sure, Martha wasn't exactly the picture of bundling up right now, but that was the result of the Dragoon asterisk! She wouldn't leave her midsection exposed to the cold if she weren't the Dragoon guardian, especially not going out into the blizzard full force. Looking closer, she noticed the girl was cut up something awful. The ice in the air had done quite the number on her face and torso. Foe or not, Martha knew she wouldn't likely make it without treatment. Not without some severe frostbite, at least. Eyeing the girl curiously, she picked her up and set her upon her broad shoulder. They would both do nicely with a warm cup of the good stuff in Gwydion's chambers. Then maybe she could ask about the intent behind her trespass.

Adelle opened her eyes to a brightly lit room, filled with greenery, sunlight coming in from the top of the chamber. It was so... warm. She smiled for a moment, content and warm, before feeling the bandages upon her face and stomach.

"Where... Where am I?" Adelle wasn't really expecting an answer, but she heard a calm, regal voice echo in her head.

"You are safe, child of... No? How very... interesting..." Looking up, Adelle saw a massive, silvery dragon, looking down upon her with piercing, yet gentle, red eyes. He seemed almost to take up the whole chamber, and yet he did not feel imposing. The weariness in his voice softened his aura considerably. Her mouth agape, she patted herself along her upper and lower back, wanting to ensure her wings were still hidden. After reassuring herself she would have felt herself revert to her true form, she turned her gaze back to the dragon. "Are you a..."

Martha, piping up from beside the massive beast, let out a quick laugh. "A dragon? Why yes, he is. This is Master Gwydion, and I am his guardian and caretaker, Martha." The brunette smiled, and despite the protective aura seemingly emitting off her, it was a kind and sincere one. But there was an edge to her voice as she continued, "You are trespassing on sacred ground. None are permitted here, in order to keep Master Gwydion, Lord of Dragons, Lord of Rhimedhal safe. State your business, or I'm afraid my act of bandaging your wounds may go to waste."

So it was Martha that bandaged these... Adelle idly traced her fingers along a particularly long stretch of red on her bandaged torso. She must have got cut up worse than she had thought from that ice. "I thought dragons were supposed to be creatures of myths to-" she caught herself. She did not want to find out if humans still carried murderous intent towards her kind. She had heard they would lie, cheat, betray and attack. But this one had bandaged her wounds...? "I thought dragons were supposed to be creatures of myth."

Gwydion's laughter rang through the chamber. There was no malice in it; it was a laugh like that of one who has reconnected with a long lost friend. "I am not the only one here who could claim connection to myth! But, I shall keep this secret for the time being."

Shit, Adelle thought, he's onto me. But at least... she turned her head to look at the woman beside the massive dragon. She definitely appeared to be human. The village fairies had told her that humans had "genders"; "males" were broad and deep of voice, "females" supposedly higher and... Well, there were many differences purported between the two. Adelle observed Martha's strong arms, her tender grip on her spear, the sparkle in her eyes. She couldn't see anything that would help her confirm or deny the accounts of the village fairies. "Men" were "he", "women" were "she"... Maybe asking along those lines would help her keep things straight for maintaining cover.

"Martha?" The brunette looked deep into Adelle, unblinking pools of emerald green. There was caution given towards the fairy in disguise, although she of course had no reason to believe Adelle was anything other than human. Rather, she suspected her motives for coming here. Perhaps there may be something she could do to-

"Martha!"

Martha snapped out of her brainstorming of ways to prove good or ill will for a moment. Her gaze had been returned this whole time.

"Yes?" She asked Adelle through her teeth. Surely no one would come to kill the Lord of Dragons without so much as a winter coat, right? But that brings up the question of what kind of person could make it this far into the Rhimedhal region without freezing to death or prepping properly. The girl's fortitude was certainly-

"Are you-" Adelle caught herself. She needed to phrase this in a way that wouldn't make her look like someone who doesn't know what a "woman" is. "What are your pronouns?"

Martha took a moment to process this. Just what kind of girl gets all cut up in the ice and wind, collapses on sacred and forbidden ground, gets brought to see a dragon, a DRAGON, a deity on earth, and takes the time to ask someone's pronouns before addressing any of the above! Was she trying to strike a nerve? Had she simply forgotten to shave? Martha knew the Dragoon outfit might make her look like a tryhard, some had gone so far as to whisper she was a... a... there were some rather unkind statements going around about her appearance since she'd been dressed in Dragoon, but she was a priest! ....a priest... Right. And should priests not assume sincerity until proven otherwise?

Martha took a breath, then let out a long, slow exhale. "I appreciate your consideration in not assuming. It's quite... modern of you. But, as I've drilled into the townsfolks' heads already, I am a woman. She/her is fine... What about yours? And your name? I can hardly dance around saying it forever."

Adelle was no better off than she had been before. She knew fairies couldn't tell men and women apart, but had she commited a faux pas? Maybe humans and gender weren't so straightforward as the texts implied. Gender was certainly seeming more and more to be more trouble than it was worth. She looked herself over, then at Martha. They both had similar figures, would it be a mistake to use she/her as well? Fairies had "Queens", and "Ladies", which texts about humans her sister Edna had shown her seemed to line up with she/her. She'd planned to go by that set since she set out, but seeing a human be so testy about it was giving her second thoughts.

"My name is Adelle. I am... also a woman. She/her is what I use as well." Phew. Nailed it. Martha's face had softened, and her cover wasn't blown.

Martha was perplexed. Something about Adelle's response gave her pause, but she was at least glad that she hadn't been incorrectly assuming. Those who live in Dragon's Grotto should not throw stones.

"So, Adelle... What business leaves one so woefully unprepared for the cold as yourself frozen half to death on the Lord of Dragon's doorstep? Why didn't you go to town first, or button up?"

There it was. Her first test of her cover story. Heavens only knew how the human would react if she found out Adelle was a fairy.

"I'm... A travelling mercenary. I'm looking for my sister, Edna. She ran off from our hometown, and stole some... very important town heirlooms. Leaving town is not something one normally does, but I needed to track her down. I need answers."

That should be good enough for Martha, right? Adelle stared intently at her, just waiting to see how she took the bait. She hated lying, but... There was a lot more in her future. She would just have to suck it up. She noticed the light shift as she looked over Martha, the twinkle gleaming off her armor, the tail protruding from her back that swayed as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, the tone to her voice that reminded her of the wind through holes in trees, or water running down the river, the way her emerald eyes looked like the bottom of her favorite crystal clear, mossy lake. She looked so much... prettier, than she expected humans to be. Humans were supposed to be scary, and while this one had indeed made implications of a threat, she had not attacked. She had even bandaged Adelle's wounds...

"Adelle, are you listening?" Adelle snapped out of her trance. "What, Martha? I just responded, d-didn't I?"

Martha shook her head, her long brown hair falling in front of her face, obscuring a soft grin. "I said, what hometown would leave you unprepared for the cold? You could have frozen to death."

"We're... An isolationist town. Not on any map. We stay in one place, so I was not expecting the cold to be so... Penetrating. Reading about it is different than the real thing.

"What do you mean, reading about it? Have you never seen snow before?"

"No, I'd only ever read about it."

Martha's heart sank for the poor girl. The snow and cold were bitter, and deadly if not respected, but to live a life without snow... Without seeing the mountains in spring, as the snow atop the permafrost melts and feeds small rivers... It simply would not do.

"That settles it. As soon as this blizzard ends, I need you to do me a favor."

Adelle hesitated. She really needed to get back to finding her sister. There's no telling what could go wrong if she couldn't track down the asterisks. Though, Martha's outfit seemed familiar somehow...

"I need you to go east, and collect some herbs for Master Gwydion. His health is fading, and these herbs can extend his time left on this plane. But if you bring them back, we will each bestow upon you a favor.

Gwydion spoke, softly but firmly: "I believe I know the service you wish me to provide, Martha. I can provide it. Adelle, if you can bring me these herbs, I will have enough strength left in me to scout for the potential whereabouts of your sister. There are some familiar feelings your presence brings that reminds me of Martha. I'm certain your sister will provide that same trace."

Martha was unsure of the "energy" her Master was talking about, but she did feel an attachment to Adelle. She was quite pretty, yes, but it was more than that. Her asterisk... Adelle and the Dragoon asterisk both gave Martha a sense of.... she.... she couldn't find the words for it. She had guarded Gwydion for years, for juuuuust under a couple decades, even, but the Asterisk was a recent acquisition. The Archbishop had given it to her just a half year ago, and it had given her a sense of self that mere satisfaction with one's purpose could not.

"Master Gwydion is correct, for the part I know he can provide. But I have something to provide as well. If you retrieve the herbs we need, I will show you a beautiful sight. You must see the snow from the way I can see it."

Adelle was confused. The way she could see it?

"And until the blizzard dies down... I hope you don't mind me offering, well, your own offering, but i rummaged through your tent before bringing you in here, and well... I saw you brought firewine."

Damn it! Adelle cursed herself. She knew she should've remembered to take a swig before passing out. No wonder she looked and felt so cold. Not to understate how cold it was outside, but firewine definitely would've helped warm her up inside the cave.

"Would it be alright if we shared a bottle? I see you've definitely stocked your supplies before this journey, oh ho ho!" Martha winked as she said this, to indicate the teasing nature. She... Some part of her wished to extend goodwill towards this trespasser. She had not yet made a move of hostility to Gwydion, nor his son sleeping near his tail, and she was, frankly, dying for company. Tending to the dragons was her life's work, and she would not trade it for the world, but living on sacred ground was terribly stifling to one's social life. The pleasures of the flesh, such as fine food, wine, even the touch of another human's hand on hers... She missed them. If only she knew Adelle wasn't a human, ah?

Adelle's stomach rumbled. She was cold, but no longer freezing. The innermost chamber of the cave was warm enough to support plants, but the chill from her stint outside had yet to fully leave her. She dreaded to think of what she might let slip after partaking, buuuuuut.... It was good to get some practice in. If she really planned on getting work to support her sister-hunt, she would need to get as much practice in with humans as possible.

"What the hell, sure. To a hopefully well spent winter?"

"To a winter well spent, indeed." Martha began to pour them each a glass, and they began to dine. There was fresh meat, berries, fruit, and edible flowers (Martha understood the meat, but wondered how anything else could be this fresh at this time of year). A few glasses in, they both loosened their tongues some. Martha told of the years spent training for the role of Guardian from a young age, and Adelle came up with fantastical stories about the escapades of her and her best friend from Mag Mell... She of course left out any identifying details of fairy status, or names. Flight stories were out as well. Humans walked everywhere. It was slow and exhausting. They dranks and sang, ate, partook in games, danced... and danced, and danced, and danced. There was something about their eyes meeting, the tipsy laughs they shared... Adelle thought that maybe humans aren't as scary as they were led to believe. She knew her sister loved humans, and she could see why. Spinning Martha around until she got dizzy was a real hoot. But when the night was done, they did not retire to bed, so much as fall down one after the other, asleep. Gwylim tried to wrest at least Martha to her usual patch of moss, but they had collapsed over one another and were snoring soundly. Surely, if Martha had reservations about Adelle, they would be gone on the morrow.

#marthadelle #bd2 #bdii #bd2 martha #bdii adelle #bd2 adelle #bdii martha #bd2 spoilers #bdii spoilers #wlw #faepril #bd2 fanfic #bravely fanfic #bdii fanfic #martha #adelle #bravely default ii #bravely default 2 #bravely default 2 spoilers #bravely default ii spoilers #yes im tagwhoring i stayed up until 4 am writing this

[theunquietgwyneth]

Adventures with a rift

*based on a dream I had so if it doesn’t make much sense that’s probably why*

A new day dawns in the house, the self-named “House of Chaos”. The Doctor sits on the couch watching television while Gwen finishes drying her hair upstairs. The days always pass the same way recently. No excitement, no adventures. I can see the Doctor is getting restless, he’s repainted the fence twice and hoovered the whole house three times. 

Suddenly the Doctor springs up from the couch and flies across the room to where I’m standing in the doorway. “Do you feel that? The earth’s sort of… bouncy. It’s like living inside a bouncy castle.” I look down at my feet and realise he’s right. The ground is doing something it shouldn’t. It’s moving. 

“Gwen!” I yell upstairs, praying she’s turned off the hairdryer and can hear me. “Don’t you two ever stop arguing?” She responds, annoyance dripping from her voice. I curse internally, only Gwen would assume I’m arguing with someone at a time like this. “No we don’t but that’s not the issue right now” A few loud, angry thuds later, Gwen is standing at the top of the stairs looking rather uncomfortable out of her usual clothes. Dressed in a bright pink top, a thin black cardigan and black jeans, the doctor double-takes upon seeing her before mumbling out “you look nice” to which Gwen simply looks slightly uncomfortable. “Right no one is talking, this is uncomfortable. The floor is moving, is no one concerned?” Gwen looks down the stairs to the floor I’m standing on which now resembles a liquid as opposed to a floor. She turns to look at the Doctor, slowly making her down the stairs which are also slowly changing to a liquidy mess. 

A noise from behind me catches my attention and I turn to see a mess of blue and purple appearing in the back garden. “Doctor- Doctor I-” He turns to me, following my line of vision until he sees what I’m seeing. By this time Gwen has made it downstairs and is also looking outside. “Shit” she mutters under her breath.  Watching both their expressions change I start to wonder if I should be concerned. What Gwen says next tells me I should be.   

“There is a rift in your back garden. A rift is in your back garden.” Gwen announces, sounding slightly terrified. Before I have time to question what’s happening the Doctor is in the back garden, scanning the so-called rift with his screwdriver.  As Gwen and I make our way outside, struggling due to the moving floor, the Doctor is looking at his screwdriver, concern etched into his face. “How long has this been here?” he asks, sounding more serious than I’ve ever heard him. “I- I don’t know it’s never appeared before, maybe all my life?” Fear crosses his face and Gwen pipes up “What does it mean? What’s happening?”. Her voice gets a little higher with every word and the fear is audible. “Does time ever feel… different? Like it moves faster or slower than everywhere else?” the Doctor questions and I can see Gwen wondering what’s happening. “Yeah, I guess, I just assumed it was me but it does feel odd” The Doctor looks around as if trying to figure out what is happening here and Gwen is chewing her sleeve nervously. “How old are you?” the Doctor demands turning to face me. Gwen steps in front of me, sensing the rising anger coming from the Doctor. I squeeze her hand gratefully and smile at her. “I’m 19, I turned 19 a month or so ago” I respond. The Doctor stands for a moment as if trying to understand something. 

“This is a rift in time… through there could be the past or the present, any day in any time period that was or ever will be” the Doctor starts before Gwen cuts him off. “We get it okay? We’re not stupid now what do we do about it!”. The Doctor stops for a second, looking slightly shocked at Gwen’s outburst. “What? Not used to being spoken back to?” I question, enjoying myself in spite of the situation at hand. Gwen looks slightly shocked but before she can speak the Doctor answers me. “No I’m not but right now that’s the least of my concerns. I need information, I need answers, I need- I need. I need to know more about this rift before it’s too late. Right now no one needs to get hurt by this, it’s small, inconsequential even but if it spreads then it won’t be those things anymore. It will be a problem.” 

Gwen looks at me and for a second I’m confused but then it hits me. “The folder” I whisper and she nods. The Doctor’s eyes jump back and forth between me and Gwen, eventually settling on me “Wait there,” I tell him, turning to run back inside. As I’m leaving I hear the Doctor tell Gwen that we spend too much time together and begin to question what we do together and just for a second I wish I could stop to hear her response but right now that’s not important. Entering my bedroom, I desperately try to recall the location of the folder I’m thinking of. “Under the bed” I mutter before dropping to my knees and looking under my bed. “Bingo!” I think to myself, grabbing the folder and running back downstairs. 

As I exit the house I see the Doctor look at me with a confused look on his face and Gwen won’t meet my eyes but I decide it’s a problem for another day. “I’ve been making notes in here since I was five, I don’t know what made me start but maybe it has something to help close this rift in it? There’s a whole section of just numbers.” I say, handing the folder to the Doctor. He looks at me confused but before I can do anything else he starts to flip through it. Muttering to himself, he flips through pages and pages of writing. I struggle to meet Gwen’s eyes. “You okay?” I question quietly. She nods but before I can question her any further the Doctor turns to me. “What is this?” he demands, pointing at something I’ve written. “That’s a 2, 4 and a 9, it’s the date I wrote this,” I tell him. He stops for a moment and I use this opportunity to speak to Gwen. She’s chewing her sleeve again, never a good sign. 

“Gwen, what’s happening here?” I ask gently. She shrugs, “I don’t know, he talks a lot but none of it makes sense. He says it has something to do with you and that this was always going to end this way but truthfully I don’t understand half of what he’s said. I just hope that it has everything he needs in it.” I take her hand, squeezing it gently. The Doctor turns back to look at us and hands me his screwdriver. “You need to push that button and point it at the rift, it’s already programmed to close the rift but you have to do it.” Taking the screwdriver I turn to face the rift, trying to hide how scared I am and do as the Doctor says. The rift gets smaller and for a second I think it’s over but then it stops shrinking. “Keep going,” the Doctor urges. I shift position to show him that I haven’t stopped. “Something’s missing, it’s got to be or that would’ve worked” I hear him say and from his voice, I can tell he is running his hands through his hair as he speaks. 

Gwen speaks up, so quietly I almost don’t hear her at first. “Have you put anything in today?” she whispers. I shake my head, realising I haven’t had the chance to yet. The Doctor gasps, “numbers, I need those numbers. And that screwdriver” I hand him the screwdriver and stop for a second. “Um- um I don’t know” I whisper. Gwen grabs my hands, looks me in the eyes and whispers “I love you okay? You can do this” She leans in and kisses my forehead. I smile at her, not knowing what to say and she smiles back.

Turning to the Doctor I take a breath and reel off a list of numbers and words that I don’t remember thinking. The Doctor plays with the screwdriver before handing it back to me. “As you were, “ he tells me. Taking the screwdriver from him I point it at the now tiny rift and push the same button as earlier. The rift shrivels up smaller and smaller before seemingly turning in on itself and disappearing completely. 

“Is it gone?” I hear Gwen ask. Still staring at the spot the rift was in, I sense that there is movement behind me but I keep staring. I can hear the conversations, I hear the Doctor confirm it’s gone and Gwen sighs in relief but I still can’t seem to move. “Is she alright?” I hear the Doctor ask and Gwen responds but I can’t make it out. Suddenly I find myself moving and yet I keep staring at the spot. Entering the house snaps me out of my reverie and I realise Gwen is carrying me. I glance around, looking for the Doctor. The Doctor appears in my eye line with a look on his face I don’t quite recognise. It almost looks like fear, maybe apprehension. But as quick as it appears it goes again. Gwen puts me down on the sofa and I instinctively pull my legs up, allowing her to sit also. The Doctor sits on the floor, one thing that quickly became clear when this house-sharing situation began, is that he doesn’t do well with conformity and that extends to sitting on chairs. 

For a few minutes, silence reigns over the scene. Then the Doctor speaks. “Are you okay?” he asks, hesitantly. I sit up, trying to come up with a witty response but there’s nothing. “I don’t know” I respond truthfully, realising how shaky my voice sounds but not caring enough to do anything about it. I sense movement from the end of the sofa and realise Gwen is shifting, seemingly unable to sit still. “Do you two know something I don’t?” I ask, sitting up. The Doctor has a look on his face and it’s not one I like. “If this involves me in some way I’d like to know. That was not human and you are both sitting here keeping things from me” I snap. Gwen looks taken aback and keeps glancing over at the Doctor. 

The Doctor sighs and gets to his feet. I shift position, steadying myself and preparing for the Doctor to speak. “Before I start, I need you to promise me that you won’t blame anyone for this, not me, not Gwen, not yourself. Because this is no one’s fault.” I nod, reaching out for Gwen’s hand which she takes. “So, how to explain this” the Doctor starts. I glance up at him but I find myself unable to meet his gaze. “You’re right, that’s not human. It’s a rift in space and time. And all that means is somewhere in the whole wibbly-wobbly earth timeline something has gone wrong and the rift tries to compensate for it. Now obviously you can’t leave that wide open like that but they need a specific set of numbers that correspond with some other numbers that are part of the rift to work together to sort of mesh everything back together and repair that rift or else it just gets bigger. Usually, the person who opens that rift knows what they’re doing and has the numbers to close it. But this one was different, it’s been sort of building up for years and using you in a way. Not necessarily as a bad thing but someone has been using you to note down the numbers needed to close this thing. Now I’ve been around you long enough to be certain that this hasn’t damaged you in any way. You’re not part alien or monster, you’re as human as Gwen is and that’s what’s confusing. But it’s a good thing. You’re the same person as you would always have been, the only difference is that you just saved the world by writing down some numbers and words” The Doctor pauses for a second and it gives me a chance to process everything. Gwen doesn’t look as shocked as I feel and for a second I think she must be in on this. Then she speaks. “What, and I cannot stress this enough, the hell are you on about?” I can’t help but laugh at her comment and even the Doctor manages a smile. 

“Did Jack not teach you anything?” the Doctor teases. Gwen scowls, “My first day he left Owen Harper alone with a young girl who had been taken over by alien pheromones that made her so irresistible I sort of snogged her.” She responds and the Doctor’s face takes on an expression I’ve never seen before, but Gwen continues before he can speak. “Don’t worry though, Owen got what was coming to him. She’s fine, back home with her friends, she thinks she had a little too much to drink one night and doesn’t remember a thing” The Doctor looks Gwen up and down and a glint appears in his eyes. “Don’t suppose you remember the creature's name do you? I’m assuming Jack bothered to tell you what you were up against if he even knew” he asks. Gwen nods, “I have notes on most of the creatures we faced, they’re a bit sketchy when it comes to the 456 because, well Ianto kept the best notes and he’s, well he’s not alive anymore but all the others I have records of” The Doctor nods and I cough quietly, trying to remind the others that I’m there. They turn to me and then back to each other. “Let’s do it,” they say in unison.

#doctorwho #gwencooper #torchwoodxdoctorwhokindoff #dreams

[moth-and-raven]

CHAPTER FOUR

The rest of the day passes in a haze. Loud cheers met Nadia’s announcement and Portia slipped into the rush just in time to board the carriage, tear-stained but determined to fight through it.

I must have been imagining things. I don’t want to think poorly of Julian, but I have to face facts: people will do and say anything to keep themselves off the gallows. He’s smart. He’s charismatic. He knows I’m working with the Palace. I can’t help but think he was just trying to endear himself to me, taking advantage of how obviously attracted to him I am. I can’t blame him for that. It’s my own fault for chasing what was a pathetic pipe dream from the start.

I retreat to my room after we return to the palace. It’s not unreasonable, considering I haven’t slept much in the past few days. From my bed, I watch spots of sunlight creep across the ceiling until I fall asleep. At least it’s dreamless this time.

Portia comes to get me for dinner in the late evening, when the sky’s turned purple. She’s itching with curiosity, peeking at me from the corner of her eye the whole way to the dining hall. Before we enter, she clears her throat.

“So, um.”

“It was nothing.” If I keep telling myself that, maybe it’ll hurt less. “Did you—?”

“Safe and sound. At least as much as he can be.”

“How long had it been since—?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth just like he does. “Ten years, give or take. The last time I saw him was right after his apprenticeship. He came back to Nevivon for a few months while he was figuring out what else to do. I was only sixteen, so he must’ve been… twenty-five?”

The same age I am now. I didn’t realize he was that much older than me, though I suppose it makes sense. He’s lived quite a life. Yet more reason for him to see nothing of interest in me.

Portia pushes on: “What will you say to—?”

“I’m not telling her anything.” I shake my head and look away. “I don’t have anything to tell her anyway.”

That’s not a lie. I may know more about him now, but nothing pertinent.

“She’ll ask.”

“I know.”

I must not be doing as good of a job hiding my sadness as I thought I was, because Portia rests her hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. I don’t have it in me to say that whatever she’s imagining isn’t true.

I can’t do this.

“Could you tell Nadia that I—” Humiliated, I choke on my tears. “I'm— I’ll be in the library.”

I’m already around the corner by the time she agrees. I don't know what I’m going to do there, but at least I’ll be alone. Again.

I may not remember beyond the last three years, but I know in my heart that I’ve never been loved like I am in my dreams. I probably never will be. With all the beautiful people out there, who would choose me, the fat twenty-five-year-old virgin so gullible she falls for every man who looks at her twice? What could I possibly offer someone like him?

Nothing.

Painful, empty nothing.

I end up at the library eventually. At least I can navigate the palace better than I could the South End. My tears have almost stopped before I feel the metal arc of the crescent moon still hanging around my neck and break apart again. I manage to reach an armchair, nestled in an alcove near a half-flight of stairs, and curl up in it as best I can to weather the storm.

I’m so ugly when I cry. Thank god no one can see it. No one ever should.

When the waves settle and my breath doesn’t feel so foreign in my lungs, I press my palms to my eyes and sigh heavily. I have a headache now, as I always do after I cry like that. I know I should be hungry, but I’m not. I don’t know what I am.

But I made a promise. To Nadia and to Julian. Even if I never see him again, I’ll help him as much as I can. And with all of his research, all the palace staff who knew both him and Lucio, all the magic echoes swirling around waiting for someone to hear them, I think I can help him a lot.

------

I was always more comfortable at night. I sleep a little bit, curled up in the armchair, but it’s not very comfortable and I wake up sore. I’m glad I came to the library, though: Julian’s desk is a mess of torn papers and marked-up books, underlines and strikethroughs and question marks in the margins, and I have so little time to piece it all together. If I hadn’t slept yesterday away… yesterday. I shouldn’t be thinking about yesterday. It was nothing. It is nothing.

He’ll be nothing if I can’t figure this out.

Portia brings me something to eat in the very early hours, right before dawn. Without saying a word, she draws up another chair and starts sorting through things too. She can read his handwriting much more easily than I can.

And Count Lucio’s name shows up. And again, and again. Lucio’s temperature rising. Lucio says wine tastes metallic. Alchemical fluid in Lucio’s prosthetic turned red, wouldn’t survive replacement. Observations in clipped clinical speech, but scrawled with ever-increasing desperation. Lucio spitting up blood. Lucio not sleeping, complaining of bad dreams. Lucio too weak to eat, still alive.

Notes on the dissection of a beetle, a cross-section of a human brain, a map of the palace with large red Xs over half the rooms in the east wing. Peeking over my shoulder, Portia points at them.

“That’s the Count’s Suite. He had the whole wing, actually. No one goes up there anymore.”

I straighten up, my joints crackling from the hours I've spent hunched over. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Nadia had the whole thing blocked off. It’s really dirty, from the— all the ash and stuff. And people say it’s haunted.”

“By Lucio?”

“I guess. One of the other housekeepers swears they saw the ghost of a weird guy at the top of the stairs once. That it looked right at them with spooky red eyes. I think they’re full of shit, but maybe it’s worth a look?”

There could be a thousand things worth a look. If I had more time… “I don’t know. I have a couple spells that might be able to pin down a ghost, but I’ve never actually tried them.”

“If it is Lucio, though, wouldn’t he be able to say who killed him?”

“Hm. That’s true. Is the wing locked?”

Portia grins and fishes in her pocket. “Not if you have keys.”

The main staircase is close to the library. I feel the air get colder as we approach, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck start to stand up even before Portia unlocks the corridor that leads to Lucio’s bedroom. It’s eerily quiet, all gray and black, luxury gone to ruin in the wake of a disaster. I’ve seen reproductions of burned-out buildings that look like this, after heavy battles. It crosses my mind that destruction of that caliber had taken extremely powerful magic to accomplish, not the actions of a single man weakened by pressure and long hours in the midst of a plague. Julian can’t even do magic. He said as much during our long conversation at the Raven. I can’t imagine anything else that would do this much damage without bringing the entire palace down.

Interesting.

Cinders crunch underfoot. Charred paintings watch us pass. A primal fear creeps along just behind us, whispering then asking then screaming at us to flee. I can feel my heart in my throat and adrenaline in my blood, every sense heightened. Tattered curtains move at the corner of my eye: I’m terrified to look and even more terrified not to.

But I can tell without bringing magic to my hand that there’s nothing here. At least nothing that wants to make itself known. There’s just a spark of pure rage somewhere deep inside the wing, but it doesn’t want to be seen. No ghosts, no goats, no ghost goats. No spooky red eyes. Just soot and smoke stains and three years of neglect. The fear lurking in the back of my mind isn’t supernatural, just the normal human mistrust of the dark and abandoned.

We go all the way to the end of the suite to no avail. Part of me thinks I should stay, but I’m getting tired now and the idea of sleeping in these rooms isn’t appealing. Portia takes my sigh as an admission of defeat and pats my arm. It was a distant hope anyway.

Near the end of the corridor as we leave, a small glimmer catches my attention. If I hadn’t been looking that way to start with, I never would’ve noticed it.

“Hey Portia, what’s in there?”

She lifts up the lantern and peers into the room. “Bath chamber, I think.”

We see it at the same time, as the light catches the red gleam again: falling from the sink are drops of blood. More of it trickles across the floor. The walls are stained from it, up to the window.

“What the fuck?”

My sentiments exactly. What is this? It can’t be actual blood, can it? This is the top floor of the palace. Is it bubbling up through the plumbing?

“Nadia’s gonna want to know about this,” Portia says in a small voice.

“Wait. Let me check it out first.”

She turns to look at me, pale in the lantern’s glow. “This is way beyond whatever my brother might have done. It could infect the whole palace!”

“Do you think it’s infectious?”

Portia frowns. “Did you… Were you in Vesuvia back then? During the Plague?”

There’s no point in lying. “No.”

“Neither was I, but I heard about it. Before I left Nevivon, some sailors docked and told everyone what they’d seen. People died so quickly, there wasn’t space to keep their bodies. And they were all red, their eyes and their fingertips, everywhere you could see veins.” She shudders. “I can’t believe Ilya worked with it and… and…”

She must’ve been so scared, knowing that he could die any day.

“You know that big ugly crematorium out in the bay?” she asks.

“The Lazaret.” Everyone knows about that. You can see it from shore, a jagged silhouette reminding everyone of the toll the Plague took on the city. I don’t like looking at it: it makes my heart ache.

“Yeah. Even with that, there were too many bodies. So many people… There was a rumor that the Palace stored the extra ones, until they could be burned.”

“Where would they have been able to keep them?”

“Dunno. But there’s a huge tunnel system under here, all the way down into the cliffs. And the dungeon’s really big.”

I’d wondered how Julian could escape the prison cells, when the only way out was through the palace itself. Tunnels would explain that, I suppose. “So do you think there’s still something tainting the water?”

Her eyes are wide in the dark. “There might be. Kinda like here, no one’s been in the dungeons for ages. Probably since then.”

I frown. It’s unlikely, but I can’t deny the evidence right in front of me. I take another step into the washroom and trace the flow towards the wall. Some of the stones are loose now, after years of water damage. There’s more than enough room for it all to drain away between them.

Weak dawn sunlight floods the horizon as I stand up and glance out the window. I can see most of the city from here, out across the harbor to the Lazaret and down through the South End and directly into the lush gardens below.

And beyond the gardens, flowing from the palace along the channel of an aqueduct, is a stream of blood red.

------

Nadia scowls at the dripping red water, then summons her bodyguard to her side and dispatches them with a whispered order. Both Portia and I follow her out of the wing, but Portia splits off at the base of the stairs to see to her duties while Nadia invites me into the dining hall for breakfast.

A massive, gaudy painting hangs over the table, eyeing us as we pick over the array of egg dishes and sliced fruit. It depicts a celebration scene, I think, presided over by a muscular blond man with his arms spread wide over a crowd of adoring citizens. Nadia notices me looking at it and chuckles.

“Admiring my late husband’s art sense, are you, Reyja?”

I don’t want to offend her, but I think Count Lucio should’ve stuck to partying. “It’s, um, very vibrant.”

“That was typical of him,” she laughs. “Ostentatious to a fault.”

People don’t talk about Lucio much, unless they’re cursing his name for all the damage he did to the city with his warmongering and overspending. I’m trying to solve his murder, but now that I think of it, I don’t know much about the man himself. “What was he like?”

Nadia grimaces. “Much as you’ve heard, I expect. Loud, brash, insolent. Committed to his life of luxury. I would not have married him, had I been sober when he proposed.”

She must catch my surprise, because she fixes me in her dark eyes and raises a brow as if daring me to judge her.

Of course I won’t. “How did you two meet?”

“He was visiting Prakra,” she says. “To present himself to Empress Nasrin, my mother, as the Count of Vesuvia. He had been in power for some time by then, as I recall. I believe he told me that he’d first come to this city nearly twenty years before, on a mercenary contract.”

“He wasn’t from here?”

“No. He was of the Southern tribes.”

That’s confusing. “How did he get to be Count?”

“The former Count grew quite fond of him. Lucio was named his heir shortly after he arrived, and took the throne shortly after that. He spoke often of the battle in which he lost his arm—” She points at the painting. Lucio’s left arm shines, gilded in gold leaf. “—the same in which Spada was killed.”

Lucio may have been bloodthirsty, especially fond of the fights to the death at the coliseum Vesuvia used to be famous for, but everyone knew his roots as a successful mercenary. Even in his forties, when he died, he was strong and virile.

Which was why his death came as such a shock. Who would’ve thought such a man would die in his bed, ravished by sickness and weak enough to fall to an unskilled assassin?

“What about the Plague?” I ask quietly. People talk about Lucio a little bit, but no one discusses the Plague at all, as if the mere mention of it will cause its return.

Nadia nods. “It appeared nearly overnight, five years ago. No one had seen its like before. To my knowledge, nothing like it has been seen since, either.”

“Do we know where it came from?”

“I’m afraid not. Little is known of it, save that it killed thirty thousand of my people in two years.”

Her people. Nadia may have been Prakran by birth, but this was her city now.

“I had been visiting my sisters when it struck,” Nadia continues, gaze unfocused as she looks back through her memories. “As such, I was forbidden from returning until we were certain it had passed.”

I remember the parade that welcomed her back, but I didn’t realize she’d been gone that long. It’s been less than a year: she must be so busy, trying to pull Vesuvia together again. No wonder the search for her husband’s murderer hadn’t been her top priority until now. “I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head, looking at me. “Understand this, Reyja: if the Plague has not truly left the city, and what you and dear Portia discovered today is proof of that, then the search for Doctor Devorak must be set aside. I am eager to see justice done, but one man’s life, when weighed against the lives of thousands, will not tip the scales. I hope I may rely upon your services regardless of that outcome.”

Her visit to the shop feels very far away. I’m attached to this now, however big it gets. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you. I have sent Yazakh to fetch an expert on the Plague from their estate. I hope they will return soon, but in the meantime, I urge you to rest. We may have much to consider in the coming days.”

I take a small pastry with me when I leave the table and make my way back to my room. I don’t doubt that she’s right, but even with this additional set of problems, I can’t keep my mind away from Julian. Thoughts of him cloud my head as I lay down for a nap and they’re still there when I wake up. My stomach isn’t happy with me, swirling with guilt and humiliation and anxiety, but I don’t know what to do about it.

The expert still hasn’t arrived when I go up to Lucio’s suite to check. I pass the library on the way back and my fingers fly to the silver moon pendant still around my neck, following the divot Julian’s own nerves wore in the metal. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look through his notes while I wait, if I can concentrate enough to get anything useful out of them.

I can’t.

When the sun sets again, I give up. Another day gone, and I’ve only discovered more things to do. I need something to focus on, something with a solution, something… something that might distract me from the fact that I’m no closer to clearing Julian’s name.

I can follow that water, if nothing else. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but maybe I can learn where it’s going. And I can get out of the palace, maybe work off some of this nervous energy. And I won’t be surrounded by pieces of him, distracting me from my mission. It’ll be perfect.

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

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#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #reyja north #julian devorak #moth & raven

[galadrieljones]

As You Were (Chapter 4)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in, what feels like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret. While there, they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, and who have recently endured a terrible tragedy on their family farm. Amidst their joint desire to find hope for the future, the two groups decide set out west together, changing the course of the story (as we know it), and the very course of their lives.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second game. Joel lives.

Chapter 4: The Trench (Pt. 1 and 2)

“I’m scared of ending up alone.”

1.

She walked along the river, and she found him sitting on the grassy bank, with his feet in. He still had his boots on. “Don’t,” she said, crouching beside him. “You need to take off your boots first.”

“No you don’t,” he said. He smiled. “Come try it out.”

She sat down, but she didn’t put her feet in the water. The river bank was wet anyway. It was getting her jeans damp. She didn’t feel like taking off her boots. “I thought the whole point was to be free,” she said.

“You can be free any way you like,” he said. “That’s the definition of freedom.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said.

The big blue sky cast out above them as opals. There were no clouds. No anxious metal sounds. There were no fears.

“I know you’re pregnant,” he said. He was staring at his boots in the water. “I saw the test.”

She looked down at her hands. Everybody was always doing that. “You saw it?”

“I didn’t mean to. You left it in the trash. Where did you even find one?”

“Amy,” she said. “She had some, from the Wal-mart. I had to pay her with two chickens.”

“Pretty good deal, considering.”

“Are you mad?” she said.

He looked at her with his brown eyes. Sometimes they could be hard as bolts. Today, they were soft. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because we didn’t mean it,” she said. “My dad is gonna kill me.”

“No he won’t,” said Will. He took her hand and pressed his thumb against her knuckles. “Nobody is gonna die.”

Mom. Don’t go back.

“Cici?”

She opened her eyes. When she looked around, she realized it was morning, well past the break of dawn. She had fallen asleep on the couch. She was looking at Joel now. He was standing in the middle of the living room, wearing a new tee-shirt but the same jeans. He had a rifle on his back, and a shotgun. He was looking confused. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry. Hi.”

“You sleep down here last night?”

“Yeah,” she said. She put her feet on the ground, her face in her palms. “I was just reading, pretty late. I guess I must have been so tired. I slept through the night.”

“Well that ain’t so bad,” said Joel. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “I was just, uh. I was gonna head out, with Noah. He’s gonna show me the work that needs doing on the perimeter. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “You said you’re going with Noah now?”

“Yes, ma’am. He says it shouldn’t take past lunch.”

“I’ll have something ready,” she said. Then, she looked around. “Is Ellie still asleep?”

“No,” said Joel. “She’s out, feeding the chickens and gathering eggs.”

“Oh. Okay, well, good.”

“I think she likes it here,” said Joel, glancing out the window. “She ain’t never spent time outdoors like this before. It’s good for her.”

“I’m glad,” said Cici. She was still sort of out of it. She got up and started walking to the kitchen. “Did Noah make any coffee this morning?”

Joel kind of paused. He seemed taken off-guard but he hid it well. “Noah didn’t mention any coffee,” he said.

“He probably just forgot,” she said, putting a kettle on the stove. “We scavenged a couple big bags from the roastery in town, a couple months ago. I mean, it ain’t fresh, but it does the trick. I can make you some, if you like. It’ll just be a minute.”

Joel walked over to the table. He leaned against one of the chairs. “Uh, sure,” he said. “Sure, that’d be fine.”

“You look dumbfounded,” she said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” said Joel. “Everything’s, uh, just fine. I just—I ain’t had coffee in a while.”

“How long?”

He glanced down at his watch, which she had noticed early on. It was broken, but she figured there was a good reason he must have kept wearing it, or else it could have just been habit. Grown men were like that, she knew. They just got to doing things for so long sometimes, they forgot why or how. They just kept doing it till they died. “Years,” he said.

“Well, you’re in luck then,” she said. “Would Ellie want some, or is she too young?”

“I don’t think she’d like the stuff,” said Joel.

“Noah doesn’t either,” she said.

Ellie came inside a moment later then, as Cici was boiling the water. She was holding a whole basket full of eggs and looking very pleased with herself. Noah followed behind her with his familiar shotgun set on his shoulder.

“Look at all these eggs,” said Ellie, holding up the basket. “Joel, do you see this?”

"I do.”

“Very good haul,” said Cici. The kettle was whistling. She started pouring the water over the grounds, through a cone, into a mug for Joel. “I’m just making Joel a quick cup of coffee, before you boys head down to the perimeter.”

“You guys got coffee?” said Ellie, sitting down at the table. “Holy shit, Joel. You must be freaking out.”

Joel then gave her a little bit of a side-eye. “I am not freaking out. Though I will admit, it’s a treat.”

Ellie started counting the eggs, one by one. "Anyway," she said. "What do you guys think you’ll see when you go down there? Is it pretty gnarly?"

“Hopefully we'll see nothing,” said Noah. He picked up an apple, from a blue porcelain bowl on the counter. “Hopefully we’ll just finish the trench, reset the mines, and be done.” He took a bite.

"Good," said Ellie.

“I’m just happy to see the two of you out of danger,” said Joel, sitting back in his chair. “Whatever I can do. This place deserves a second chance.”

Cici just focused on the coffee. She wanted it to be good.

When they got outside, Noah took Joel out to the crow’s nest where he wanted to pick up a small canister of gasoline and a lighter and some other stuff, including the replacement mines, and a true blue improved explosive. That one, said Noah, was more or less just some parts his mom had made for a fancy pipe bomb, plus a proximity sensor. He had them up there stored in a backpack. When they got up to the top of the ladder, Joel notice the Pearl Jam poster and did a double-take. In some ways, being on that farm in the middle of nowhere, it felt like he had stepped through some sort of time warp.

“My dad liked them,” said Noah, reading his mind, pocketing a book of matches and loading his 9mm, which he then holstered in the waist of his jeans. “That was his.”

“That’s a blast from the past,” said Joel.

“What year were you born?” said Noah.

The question was surprising, and direct. Both Noah and Cici had these unfiltered ways about them in which they could sit in complete silence for multiple moments at a time, but then, out of nowhere, abruptly come to the truth, simply asking and saying the things they meant with very little pretense or warning. “Uh, 1984,” said Joel.

“Dang,” said Noah. “You’re as old as my Uncle Nick.”

“Who's Uncle Nick."

“My mom’s step-brother," said Noah. "He was old enough that he was in Iraq.”

“What year?”

“2004, I think, was the start of his first tour."

Joel took a deep breath. He had his hands on his hips as he was nodding his head to the memory. “Yeah, I knew a lot of guys that enlisted,” he said, “after 9/11, in 2003. At the time, it seemed like there was something to fight for. It wasn’t that uncommon where I grew up.”

“Did you enlist?” said Noah.

“No,” said Joel, glancing back to the poster. It was a silkscreen, from a concert in Madison, probably back in like 1996.

“Why not?”

“I thought about it, but I had—well, I had other responsibilities at the time.”

Noah just stared at him, unclear.

“Let’s get a move on,” said Joel.

It took them about twenty minutes to get all the way to the section of the perimeter that needed maintenance. Noah said this was an especially vulnerable spot, as it pushed right up against the woods, with a wide frontage to the Kickapoo River just a few miles away on the other side. To get there, they had to follow the creek, which was overgrown in some parts with a great deal of bramble. At some point, they emerged and then had to walk through about five acres of arable land that had gone to seed. There was also a fairly overgrown apple orchard, and a field of actual, farmed corn, plus a stable, in the distance. Most of the trek was downhill, but the sun was hot that day. They were cooking.

Noah didn’t talk much. Joel was getting a little apprehensive about what, exactly, it was they were going to run into out there. He knew they were going to finish digging a trench, and he knew they would have to navigate their way through a live minefield, using the map that Noah had stuffed in his back pocket. He trusted the kid, and he trusted Cici, but he still had no idea what the hell he was doing. Part of him was worried about getting a leg blown off. The other part was amped up, just in case they were set to run into a horde. There were a lot of trees out there, and he didn’t really understand how it was they had kept this place fully booby-trapped in such an organized fashion for so long all by themselves. But then he thought about Bill, back in Massachusetts and suddenly, based on his most recent memories of a life lived with Tess, in which the two of them survived mainly by navigating the loopholes of a fully-fledged but decaying QZ, he began to realize that perhaps the kind of hard work he was used to, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t that difficult at all.

“You know, I asked your mom yesterday,” said Joel as they scaled down a shallow ridge overgrown with prickly shrubs, “about whether y’all had some idea of what’s been causing the increase in activity out here, with Infected.”

“What did she tell you?” said Noah.

“She told me to talk to you.”

When they got to the bottom of the ridge, they walked a little further out, through a meadow with a dry well. Up ahead, finally, they saw it—the minefield. It was on the other side of an electric fence, about ten feel high. The fence had barbed wire spooled along the top, but it didn’t seem to be properly electric anymore, as there was a huge hole cut in the links, which they took turns squeezing through.

“You know how I told you, the water, coming in from the Kickapoo, the Bad Axe, some other major tributaries off the Mississippi, it’s ain’t safe?” said Noah.

“Yeah,” said Joel.

“Well, one day,” said Noah—he had a machete, which he was now using to hack through some of bramble on the other side of the fence, “about a year and a half ago, we heard a distress call from the Amish. There used to be a whole huge family of them on the other side of them woods, over north. They didn’t use the radio, but they had a hand-powered siren, which they would use to signal any threats in the area.”

“These the Amish that got the scrapyard?”

“Yeah,” said Noah. “They were called the Lapps, before. Anyway, when the siren went off, my dad and my uncle went over there, and some of the other guys in the area that we knew. They thought they were gonna find maybe some reavers, or a small horde, wandering in from the town. But when they got there, it was like, the whole entire family was turning. Every single one of them, like dozens of people, infected, at the same time. It was insane, my dad said. It was starting to rain, so my dad and my uncle, they just herded them all into the barn and locked them in, and then they came home. They said it was bizarre. If one person gets infected and starts turning other people, why did the distress call come in so late? Why weren’t there more dead? Everybody was just sick, they said. All at once, as if they'd all been infected at the same time.”

Joel was focused on his footing, stepping through the tall grasses. There were so many grasshoppers, you couldn’t count. “Did you figure out what caused it?"

“Eventually,” said Noah. “We were used to using a well, which draws on a aquifer, under the ground, for our water. But the Amish, after the Outbreak in 2013, they apparently started hauling their water in straight from the river, fished it all the time.”

“Spores in the river?”

“In all the rivers,” said Noah.

“How?”

“All the tributaries coming into the floodplain, they’re all contaminated. A couple of travelers came through not long after the outbreak at the Lapp farm. They said that every city up and down the Mississippi, and on a major tributary, everywhere is going nuts with Infected. They said that, in LaCrosse, you could see the Cordyceps, growing right off the banks. There was something going on.”

“Jesus.”

“So like a year ago,” Noah continued, “all of us—me, my mom, my dad, and my uncle, we went up to LaCrosse.” He stopped in his tracks then, took a long drink of water from a canteen in his backpack.

“What happened?” said Joel.

“We got cornered by a horde before we could make it into the city,” he said, “in a church just south of Shelby. There was a fire. My mom and me got out, barely. My dad and my uncle didn’t. By the time the two of us got back to Viroqua, the rest of the Amish in the area had either abandoned their farms, or turned. The whole town, anybody left in this part of the Driftless, they were almost all of them gone. Dead, turned, or gone.”

Joel felt heavy, blindsided. He looked at his boots in the tall grass, getting wet from the river marsh. When he looked up now, he could see it there, in its glory: the minefield. Just like a long, flat expanse of grass that spread out, stretching around the property, maybe about twenty yards deep. On the other side of the minefield was the trench, and then a whole lot of trees, growing up the side of a wooded ridge. “Everything you just told me, that’s all true?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ, kid.”

“I know.”

“You said there are others in the area. The Amish who got the scrapyard. Some of them survived?”

“Yeah,” said Noah. “One of the families had been on a supply run, eastward, during the outbreak. They came back, and they stayed. They still live over the hill. There are a few others, a couple families here and there. My Aunt Amy, she was married to my Uncle Nick, she left a little bit after we got back from LaCrosse, went down to the Quad Cities with her daughter. They had family down there, on Amy’s side, in Moline. We’ve tried to keep tabs on what’s going on down there, but it all went dark a while ago. I have no idea if they made it.”

“So you think the Infected, they’re coming down the river, with the spores.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t know why, or how, the water became like it is? Because it ain’t like that in the northeast. Spores infecting people through the water supply is news to me.”

“We don’t know what’s causing it,” said Noah. “We know there’s something going on in LaCrosse, but we’ve never gone back.”

Joel took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry, son,” he said. “I am. That’s a tough hand.”

“Thanks,” said Noah, shaking his head. “But I doubt it’s any worse than your sob story, or Ellie’s, or any of the other sob stories you must hear traveling around these days.”

“That don’t matter,” said Joel. He regarded Noah, whose cynicism was familiar to his own. “In the grand scheme of things, one loss might seem meaningless, but just because a lot of people are dying that don’t mean the people that you lose, that their lives held any less significance to you when they were still alive. You get that?”

Noah was just staring at him, as if the words he was hearing were foreign, or new. He did, however, nod stiffly, and then he looked away. Joel didn’t know if it had gotten through. He just felt for the boy.

“All the shit we need to do, it’s up there,” said Noah.

Joel squinted past the minefield toward the trench. “It looks like it’s nearly finished.”

“It is,” he said. “The Infected tripped two mines and one bomb yesterday. We’ll clean up the trench, and then we'll replace the explosives. With you here, it’ll be fast.”

“What are the odds we’re gonna run into Infected out there at that trench?” said Joel. “There’s a lot of trees.”

“I don’t know,” said Noah. He took the map out of his back pocket, unfolded it. It was hand-drawn in blue pen. “They hang out in there sometimes, because it’s cool. They get lost, and then they freak out if they hear you. Just like, stay alert. And while we’re in the minefield, follow in my footsteps exactly so that you don’t blow up. We’ll go slow.”

Joel sighed profoundly. He closed his eyes, gathered his courage, prayed to the good lord nothing would happen, knowing it was fruitless, but doing it anyway. “Alright then," he said.

2.

By noon, they had finished the trench. The sun was high, and they were both sweating and starving, ready for some respite. Joel watched Noah assemble the pipe bomb while leaning against a shovel in the shade of a lavish white oak. Noah had about him a sense of precision that suggested he had been doing this sort of thing from a very young age.

“Where the hell did y’all learn to do all this?” said Joel. His gray tee-shirt was almost soaked through with sweat. He was dirty and he could feel the sunburn on the back of his neck.

“My Uncle Nick,” he said. “The one who was in Iraq.”

“That what he did over there?” said Joel.

“Yeah,” said Noah. “It was basically his whole job to disarm these things. He also went to some African countries after his initial tours for demining operations.”

“Goddam. That’s some brave business.”

“Still took a zombie apocalypse and a church fire to kill him,” said Noah, digging out an impression in the dirt with his bare hands. “Fucking clown world.”

“You’re telling me,” said Joel. “You almost done?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m gonna go take a leak,” said Joel, looking around. “You good?”

Noah nodded, working carefully. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” said Joel.

After showing her how to sheer a sheep that morning, Cici showed Ellie all the different, easy parts you need to make a perfectly compact pipe bomb. “You can take it with you anywhere,” she said. “You can make them fancy, but they don’t need to be fancy. This gets the job done.”

They were out in the shed, which was more or less a workspace. It was all full of guns, assembled and in pieces, hanging on the wall, and in piles. There were axes, machetes, and two grindstones. There were shelves and shelves of different sized containers and wires, all colors and lengths, lining the walls. As Cici worked, Ellie sat on the tool bench, watching, rapt, by the good light coming through the window. “Where did you learn to do all this?” she said eventually.

“From my step-brother,” said Cici. “He was an EOD specialist in the Army.”    

“What’s that stand for?”

“Explosive Ordnance Disposal.”

"That’s insane,” said Ellie. “Back in Boston, we had some demolition training, but it was basically just like, how to make five different versions of a Molotov cocktail.”

“Those work pretty well, too,” said Cici.

“Later, I met this guy, Bill—he knows Joel—and he had basically trip-wired this entire little town where he lived. He showed Joel how to make nail bombs, too.”

“Nail bombs are not that much different than what we’re doing here,” said Cici. “Maybe a little cruder.”

“Seems a lot cruder.”

“So how do you like it?” said Cici. “Traveling with him? With Joel.”

“It’s okay,” said Ellie. She rested her chin on her knees. “He’s kind of...terse. Just sometimes though. He doesn’t talk much. When he does, I don't know. It’s okay. He seems a little stern, I know, but he's really not that bad.”

“He said you lost some people, back east. In Boston. And in Pittsburgh. I just—I wanted to say I’m sorry. That must have been really hard, and really scary.”

Ellie looked down at her Converse. One of them had come untied. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s not really...easy. I guess.”

“No, it isn’t.” Cici completed the pipe bomb, set it neatly on the workbench between them, like a cake. She didn’t press for details, on Boston, or Pittsburgh. “Voilà,” she said.

Ellie was oddly comforted. “That’s so freakin cool,” she said.

Back at the house, Cici got Ellie started on making a new loaf of bread. Meanwhile, she sliced up a fresh loaf from the pantry and set about making sandwiches.

“So, you go from making bombs to making sandwiches, huh?” said Ellie. She was standing at the counter kneading the dough. It was squishy, she thought. Weirdly satisfying.

“Pretty much,” said Cici. She had prepared four tall ham and cheese sandwiches, on sourdough. Simple fare. For the them, and for Joel and Noah. “Sometimes, we watch movies. Maybe we can watch one tonight.”

“This is my kind of living,” said Ellie.

They smiled at each other.

But then.

“What the fuck was that?” said Ellie.

They heard the mines going off, one by one, well into the distance. A rapid succession. Too many.

"Cici?"

“Shit."

"Was that the mines?" said Ellie. "Are they okay? What the fuck?"

In the trees, Joel zipped up and resituated himself. The thicket out there beyond the trench was quite beautiful. The nature sounds were almost deafening but in a way that suggested an earthly innocence. Joel was used to wearing a backpack, but with a home nearby, he didn’t really need one that day, so he felt light, despite the sweat and the physical exhaustion. Oddly enough, it had felt good to dig and to use his strength for something productive. Rather than killing, he was building for once. It had been a long time. He took the shotgun off his shoulder and checked the rounds. The sound it made was metal and ran in cacophony to the ongoing symphony of the trees.

He’d gone out maybe only ten yards or so, from Noah, who he could no longer hear but he could still see, through a crack in the foliage. He had made sure not to get beyond sight. Ready to head back, he put the gun strap back over his shoulder and took a step, breaking a twig beneath his boot, and the sound should have been innocuous, but instead, it seemed to trigger a familiar, inhuman noise nearby, and then that seemed to trigger another.

Joel swore under his breath, pumped the shotgun, and waited. He stood very still and listened to the cicadas clicking off in the trees in that ongoing rhythm, and out the corner of his eye he then saw something woman-shaped dart between a break in the foliage. If he truly parsed the noise of the thicket he could hear their heavy, frantic breathing. It was stalkers.

In slow silence he backed out of the thicket and made his way back to Noah at the trench. Noah was finishing up his wiring of the pipe bomb to the motion sensor and said something about how they were pretty much all set to go, whenever Joel was ready. Joel shushed him.

“Fuck,” said Noah, in a whisper. He picked up his shotgun off the earth. “What is it?”

“Stalkers,” said Joel. “I caught sight of one, but there’s more.”

"If we stay quiet, we can—”

But it was too late. They heard unsteady footsteps coming up the thicket. Raising their guns, they waited. A runner, looked to be a man, dressed in fishing gear stumbled out of the trees, bloodied up, shivering and afraid. Joel and Noah tried to stand perfectly still, but it saw them, and they were backed against the minefield, and it was no choice. Joel blew the thing’s jaw clean off. It dropped to the soil in silence, but the sound of the gun brought the stalkers out of the trees.

“Follow as close as you can,” said Noah.

“I will. Now go.”

It happened fast. As they navigated the mines, the sounds of the Infected in the woods rose up behind them in a maelstrom. There were way too many, maybe two dozen, must have been dormant in there, fucking lulled under the shade. When they got to the fence, Joel and Noah slipped back through the other side, turning around to watch a whole shitload, gnashing through the trees and descending upon the perimeter in total disorganization. Several fell into the trench, and the rest tripped the mines, plus the brand new pipe bomb, causing loud explosions that shrouded the whole field in a cloud of dust and smoke.

Joel and Noah hit the earth. It was so loud, Joel could feel the ringing in his ears vibrating in his teeth, and when, as he caught his bearings, he finally looked up, realizing it wasn’t over, Noah was dragging him to his feet, shouting something incomprehensible. Then, GET BACK. Scrambling into the tall grass, Joel watched as Noah lit up the canister of gasoline with a couple rags and chucked it as far and hard as he could past the barbed wire spools over the fence. When it landed, it blew to high heaven and in its wake, the sounds of all the Infected leftover from the mines turned to chaotic agony. There were birds dismounting from the trees in all directions, squawking. Then, a deadly quiet.

“Fucking shit,” said Noah, stumbling backward. He fell to his hands and knees, coughing from the dust.

As the ringing died down in his ears and in his molars, the afternoon seemed to crack wide open. Joel was on his back, staring up at the clear blue sky. “You okay?” he said.

Noah was heaving now, out of breath, covered in the detritus from head to toe. He walked over, held out his hand, hauled Joel back to his feet. “Yeah,” he said. “You?”

“I’m okay,” said Joel. He dusted himself off, still coughing and waving his way through the dust. He tripped forward to the fence and pressed into it, trying to make anything out at at all in the minefield. He could see some of the blistering bodies, smell the explosive energy, the roasting, human carnage. It was horrific. Then, he saw the trench. “Goddammit,” he said. “The whole thing is pulled up again.

Noah was keeled over, squinting out at the trees. “This place is fucked,” he said, more to himself than anything. “Lets get the fuck out of here.”

Cici took the walkie out of her back pocket. She shouted into it for a while, but nobody answered. She then rushed them out of the house.

"Where are we going?" said Ellie.

"Crow’s nest.”

Up the ladder, Ellie felt like she was just blowing in the wind, no direction. But Cici had kicked into some sort of military high gear. She was holding a sniper rifle, which Ellie did not remember seeing her grab. She then handed Ellie a loaded rifle of her own, which had been hanging on a hook by the door. It felt heavy and wooden, but Ellie understood it. Cici asked if Ellie knew what to do.

“Yeah,” said Ellie, shaken. “Joel showed me. In Pittsburgh."

She then handed Ellie a pair of binoculars, told her to watch the horizon, westerly. Ellie did as she was told.

The sun was hot. There were no clouds. The sky was big and blue, as a gem. She spotted a few plumes of smoke at the perimeter, but she didn't see Noah or Joel. If she couldn't see Joel, she didn’t know what she was supposed to be looking for. All those explosions had sent her into an adrenaline-baked sort of panic, so that when Cici finally got Noah on the walkie, Ellie was so fucking relieved, she let go of the binoculars so that they thudded to the floor. She felt stupid, picked them up immediately, but then closed her eyes and felt an unexpected flood, again. Like she wanted to go home. Whatever that meant. But it was really powerful. She thought she might puke. She held it inside. “Holy shit,” she said.

“We’re okay,” said Noah over the walkie. “Infected ambushed us at the trench. But it’s done. Over.”

“Thank fucking god,” said Cici. “Me and Ellie got the scope on your location, just in case. Over.”

“Thanks,” said Noah. “I’m pretty sure they’re all fried. But they took the trench with them, and a bunch of the mines. We had to light up the rest with gasoline. The whole section is fucked up, even worse than before. Over.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Cici, hanging her head. “Okay. You boys just get back here. Over.”

“Okay."

Over.

Ellie watched then as Cici set down the walkie and leaned, slowly, against the rifle, almost struggling to keep her balance. She had her eyes pressed shut, as if praying. Her blond hair was braided over her shoulder, but the plaits were all loose now. “Fuck,” she said, in a whisper.

"They're okay," said Ellie.

But Cici was talking to herself then. Not in a crazy way, just a stressed way, almost like she had forgotten that Ellie was in the room. “I can’t do this anymore,” she was saying.

"That’s my fucking brother," he said.

She was not okay, in the radio tower.

"Screw it."

Ellie went over to Cici and placed her hand on Cici’s shoulder. She didn’t want to be standing there alone anymore, and the smell of the smoke was starting to waft in with the breeze.

#the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #tlou fanfic #ellie tlou #joel tlou #as you were #cw: #violence #new banner!! #pirated that font good and plenty #<3

[brokendevilwrites]

Nerd!Verse but make it Anya.

I’m going to split this particular ask up into sections as there was lots of questions and they weren’t in order chronologically, but also I wanted to write some little bits before I went back to work.

Anyway: Nerd!Verse presents...Anya.

Also very aware I don’t know my own timeline for this verse so if shit is out of place just, like, ignore it? Thanks loves.

[Find NERD!VERSE here.]

What does Anya say to Clarke after Lexa takes her back? from this ask

Lexa falls through the door around noon. 

She’s covered in rain and tears and regret and Anya ends her Skype call almost immediately, throwing out a harried excuse to her agent, and she barely makes it to Lexa in time before the brunette is dropping to her knees. Sobs rip through the girls rib cage and Anya can’t do anything but fucking stare at her. 

(She’s seen Lexa cry before; granted Lexa was six and she had just landed face first into some gravel at a pretty high speed. They never were allowed to ride their bikes down the hill after that…)

When she finally gets her act together Lexa has stopped heaving out sobs like they’re physically hurting her and she willingly stands up with Anya when the woman wraps her arm around her. Together they make it to the bathroom and Anya runs a hot bath for her friend, complete with the designer bubble bath stuff she was asked to advertise, and she helps Lexa to undress. It kills her to see her friend shake and she wishes she could un-hear the shaky ‘thank you’ that Lexa gives her as she removes her bra for her. Nobody should hurt like this, Anya thinks. 

As Lexa sinks into the hot water she seems to relax a little. There are still tracks on her cheeks and her lips are chapped and Anya doesn’t even have to ask her friend to explain what the hell is going on. 

She already knows. 

Clarke has done this before and Anya told Lexa she would do it again. She’s always been wary of the Griffin girl. Not to be mistaken with not liking her. Anya liked Clarke well enough and she thought she complimented Lexa greatly but she didn’t think they’d last and she hates that she’s right. 

They were too different.

Eventually one of them was going to break and Anya always knew it would be Clarke. Lexa was so deep in love she would have sacrificed herself to the Gods before she ever thought of upsetting Clarke. 

With gentle strokes Anya washes Lexa’s hair and she hopes the water is helping to warm her up. The weather is bitter outside; she’d wrapped up in several layers that morning to get some pastries for breakfast and she was on her second coffee to defeat the chill when Lexa had stumbled in, all heartbroken and sad and so unlike the girl she knew. 

Anya loses count of how long they stay there but when Lexa finally moves her knees are numb from where she’s been kneeling and Lexa’s cheeks are pink despite the now cool water. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” Lexa says and her eyes look so, so, tired but Anya knows that it’s not her body that’s tired. She refrains from saying anything about it being early afternoon, or that sleeping won’t help, and stands up with Lexa. Her friend looks so lost that Anya finds herself reaching for a towel and holding it wide. The action clearly snaps Lexa back into action and she bites out “I’m not a baby,” with an offended scowl.

“Get in the fucking towel, Woods,” Anya rolls her eyes but there’s no heat behind it, no malice. There never is. Lexa gives her a smile but it’s barely there before it fades and she steps out of the expensive claw-footed tub--a present from Anya’s dad when they moved in--and right into the towel. 

Anya wraps it around her friend and ignores the marks on her shoulders and her neck that tell the story of where she was last night.

“I’m ordering Chinese for dinner. Make sure you’re awake.”

;;;;

Anya clears away the cold Chinese when she wakes the next morning and puts it into the fridge with a note letting Lexa know that it is hers.

;;;;

Two days later she throws it away.

;;;;

To everyone else Lexa seems fine. 

She emerges from her bedroom on the third day looking like death and gulps down two cups of coffee and finishes a bowl of oatmeal. By the time Anya checks on her to see if she wants to go and meet Lincoln for some drinks she looks human again.

Lexa has always been amazing at putting on a show. She was incredible at it at high school, it was how she made her way to the top with such precision, and it’s clear that she’s a damn expert at it now.

During drinks it comes up in conversation that Clarke broke up with Lexa and Anya braces for the breakdown but Lexa takes a sip from her cocktail and shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, like she didn’t retreat for two whole days over it, like Anya hasn’t lost sleep.

“Is she okay?” Lincoln asks when Lexa goes to the bathroom and Anya stares at the space Lexa had been sitting in.

“I don’t know.”

;;;;

They go out one night and Anya gets so phenomenally drunk that she doesn’t realise that Lexa takes Clarke home.

She finds out the next day when Lexa slams around the apartment, nearly breaking a coffee cup with a picture of the moon on it in her temper, and Anya pauses her show to stare at her.

“She asked me how many girls I’ve slept with since we broke up,” Lexa gives as an answer and it makes Anya’s eyebrows fire up into her hairline. Lexa has barely been able to eat a full meal in the weeks since the breakup and Clarke is asking bullshit questions like that? “That’s not even something I’ve thought about but it’s something she thinks about me. Is that who she sees me as?”

Anya shrugs and unfollows Clarke on social media. 

;;;;

Weeks ease into months and soon Clarke’s name stops feeling like a grenade in Anya’s mouth. 

Lexa smiles again and she laughs in the way she used to and things seem to have settled. It’s on one of those nights--when Lexa is laughing and her eyes are bright--that she encourages Lexa to delete Clarke from social media completely. She’s been complaining about Luna non-stop and Anya is sure Lexa thinks they’re dating and she just wants to protect her best friend. 

Besides, how is she ever going to move on if the first thing she checks in the morning is Clarke's Instagram?

“There,” Lexa slurs happily around her wine glass and she drops her phone onto the couch triumphantly. It makes Anya happy to see Lexa so free, so carelessly her again, and she almost cheers in happiness. Almost. “She’s gone.”

And just like that...Lexa is sad again.

“She’s gone. It’s really over.”

Anya sighs and goes to the freezer to grab some ice-cream because Lexa is still heartbroken and Anya is her best friend.

;;;;

“Is Lexa here?”

“Who?”

“Anya, please,” Clarke begs. It’s pitiful, Anya thinks. She’s trying for the wounded look; big eyes, pouting lips, broken body. But it’s not going to work. Anya isn’t in love with her. In fact, Anya can barely look at her and Clarke is damn lucky she doesn’t slap her in the face right there. “I just want to talk to her. Please?”

She doesn’t spare Clarke another glance when she shuts the door in her face.

;;;;

Lexa crawls into her bed at about two am and Anya already knows the conversation that’s going to take place. 

“She’s going to break your heart again.”

“It’s mine to break,” Lexa tells her firmly and Anya agrees but it doesn’t mean she likes it. “You don’t have to understand, Anya. You don’t even need to like her. But please respect my choice to love her.”

Anya turns over in the bed. The sheets are satin and they feel nice as she turns which is lucky because expensive sheets put her in a good mood even if Lexa is making Anya angry enough to frown. 

Which she tries hard to not do. 

Any facial expressions tend to lead to wrinkles and she’s not about to lose out on a contact with the highest bidder just because Lexa is a dumb fucking lesbian.

“I’m on your side, Lexa. Always. But you think with your heart too much,” Anya tells her and that’s that. 

Talking about feelings isn’t exactly something they do.

;;;;

They’re having a games night and everyone's invited. Lexa and Anya host. Obviously. Their apartment is bigger than anyone else’s by miles and it makes sense because they also have two spare bedrooms. One is used as Anya’s dressing and filming room, whenever she’s doing something for YouTube or Instagram, and the other is storage but both have beds in and a place for people to crash.

Lincoln arrives with Octavia first. It’s kind of amazing how their friendship group remained so perfectly intact from high school. Anya has been friends with Lincoln and Lexa for as long as her memories go back and she doesn’t know how the dynamic would work if they had never met Octavia in freshman year. Costia had long since broken off from them but Anya still notices the likes on their pictures--only if Clarke isn’t in them. She definitely noticed that. 

Lincoln immediately heads to the ridiculously large TV and switches on the Sports Channel and loses himself. Lexa sends an amused look to Anya from where she is cooking up some tapas for the night. It’s always been like this and Anya finds herself at her most comfortable around her people.

And then Clarke arrives.

Clearly she doesn’t hide the annoyance on her face quickly enough because Octavia laughs around a mouthful of chips and Lexa quickly kisses Clarke to distract her. 

;;;;

Clarke wins at Scattergories like she always does but Anya finds she doesn’t really mind because Bellamy brought a bottle of wine that was delicious, but everyone else thought was awful, so Anya shared it with herself. Clarke is a lot easier to handle when she’s three-quarters into a bottle of wine and, really, Lexa should be thanking her. 

A ring interrupts them and Clarke excuses herself with a glance to her phone. Lexa uses the opportunity to pipe up, just as Anya is pouring her final glass, and honestly Lexa should have known what was coming as Anya finished the bottle off. 

She can’t be blamed. 

“Can you please be nice to Clarke?”

“I haven’t said anything!”

“Exactly,” Lexa snaps and she just looks at Anya like that answers everything. Anya stares at her as she sips her wine slowly and waits for her friend to continue. “Everyone else is including her but you’re completely being ignorant.”

“Maybe everyone else is being ignorant to how she dumped your ass and we had to fix it.”

When Lexa gets angry she twitches her jaw and it’s the first clue that Anya is pushing it too far. But the thing is, Anya wants to go too far. She wants Lexa to react. Besides that first day, where she completely broke, Lexa hasn’t really shown any type of emotion and Anya was born for the fight.

Clarke broke her best friend and Anya doesn’t think it’s fair that Clarke started this damn issue  without a single idea of how she was going to end it. It’s not fair that Anya picked up the pieces and Clarke gets to enjoy the finished product.

Just because Lexa’s forgiven her doesn’t mean she has to.

“Anya,” Lexa warns but then Clarke comes back in and immediately notices the tension. Anya can feel the stares of her friends but she’s never backed down from anything in her life and Lexa isn’t an exception. “Stop. My decisions are my own.”

“You make your choices. I make mine,” Anya shrugs like she isn’t fighting with her best friend. She can sense Lincoln tidying away the games as a way of distracting the rest of them and not for the first time she’s glad for his emphatic nature. Her eyes flick to Clarke, and she almost smirks at how the blonde flinches back slightly, but she continues regardless. “Difference is your choices are going to ruin you.”

“Enough.”

Anya breathes out laughter through her nose but she’s not amused. There’s no point in even trying to get Lexa to acknowledge what Clarke did--twice--because when Lexa sets her heels in then there is no moving her. It’s a flaw that’s going to get her into danger one day and Anya will be there to pick the pieces up once again.

“Maybe I should go?” Anya hears from Clarke and Lexa looks at Anya with so much fury that it makes Anya’s head spin with how quickly she can soften her features when she turns to Clarke.  

Anya practically growls. “Stop with the damn victim card,” she spits out because she’s so tired of everyone pretending that what Clarke did was okay. She broke Lexa’s heart for no fucking reason and then when she decided it was too hard being single she wriggled back into Lexa’s life and forced forgiveness from someone who wasn’t even fully over her. “I’m allowed to dislike you, Griffin. I don’t have to be your friend. Not everyone is going to think you’re amazing and that’s life. Lexa might have forgiven you but I remember what you did. The quicker you figure that out, the better.”

;;;;

For the first time since she bought their apartment Anya sleeps in a different building.

When she wakes up Lincoln is sitting on the chair next to the sofa and he nods his head at the bottle of water on the floor next to her. She takes the aspirin that lay next to it and thumps back into the pillows, a hand over her eyes, and she remembers why she hates Lincoln’s apartment. They have floor to ceiling windows that capture the light at all times of the day but they don’t have coverings for them and Anya wonders if this is what torture feels like.

“How much of last night do you remember?”

Anya groans. “All of it.”

“That sucks,” Lincoln says but he doesn’t sound like he feels bad for her. “You were an asshole.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you going to say sorry?”

Anya just groans louder.

;;;;

Lexa doesn’t speak when Anya finally comes home and it’s such a full circle that Anya nearly laughs. She spots her reflection in the mirror next to the door and she’s glad she isn’t due to do anything until Tuesday because she looks ill. 

“We’re not kids anymore,” Lexa says and the way her voice has levelled makes Anya pay attention. Lexa has only ever really been angry a handful of times that Anya can remember, she doesn’t usually lose her cool, but for the first time in their friendship Anya is actually worried she’s taken it too far. “You’re not my mom. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. And if you’re unhappy with the decisions I’m making then I need you to talk to me. Throwing a tantrum is for children, Anya. We’re adults.”

Anya clicks her jaw in annoyance and says nothing.

“You’re my best friend. I need you to be on my side for this.”

“I’m the only one fighting in your corner,” Anya scoffs and she decides right then and there she doesn’t have time for this. Lexa can sleep with whoever she wants, she can fall in love with whoever she wants, and she can have her heart broken as many times as she wants. “I’m not about to pretend that what she did was okay just so I can spare your girlfriends feelings. She didn’t spare yours when she said you didn’t make her happy anymore. She didn’t spare them when she asked if you were sleeping with other people.”

“We’ve spoken about that. I’ve forgiven her.”

“Good for you. Forgiveness is the first sign of weakness,” Anya snaps before she takes a deep breath and wonders when she became her father. “You’re asking me to respect your decision to forgive Clarke, right? Respect mine that I can’t.”

“My relationship isn’t your business.”

“No. But you’re my business,” she says and Lexa stops at that, her eyebrows high. “You and Lincoln and Octavia. You’re all my business. I’ll protect you all exactly the same way and I’m not going to apologise for that because I know you’ll all be there when I need you too.”

Lexa nods and just like that they agree to disagree on the topic of Clarke Griffin.

---

Summer arrives and the tension lifts.

Anya tries to be civil around Clarke and, in turn, Lexa doesn’t try to push for everyone to get along. A lot of the time the easiest way of dealing with it is with avoidance and it’s working out for everyone so far. There’s no point in fixing what isn’t broken so Anya doesn’t speak to Clarke and Clarke doesn’t speak to Anya and it seems to work because their little group of friends intertwines enough that they never really have to interact.

Lexa has certainly been happier since forgiving Clarke and it’s so clear to see that denying it would be ridiculous. She hates being wrong but she secretly hopes Clarke proves her wrong about this.

“Thank you,” Clarke says as Anya stands in the kitchen of her apartment. She’s dressed in tiny shorts and a tight top and Anya wonders if she’ll be able to record the stuttering mess that will be Lexa when the girl sees her girlfriend. When Anya says nothing and takes a drink of water, Clarke continues. “For being there for Lexa. For looking after her. I didn’t do too great at that last year and I’m just really glad that she has someone looking out for her the way that you do.”

Anya doesn’t say anything and Clarke nods like she kind of expected that, her fingers curling in on themselves a little, and Anya watches.

“Your relationship isn’t my business. I’d never tell Lexa to choose and I never have,” Anya finally says and her glass makes a dull noise as she sets it on the white counter. “But I also know I should probably cut you some slack.”

It’s the closest Clarke will get to an apology or an acceptance and the smile Anya gets in return lets her know how happy Clarke is about it. “I won’t hurt her, or me, again.

“Don’t promise me. I don’t care,” Anya says with a cool tone and it makes Clarke laugh. 

;;;;

Lexa smiles at Anya later after whispering with Clarke about something and Anya knows it’ll be fine.

“Are you going to follow her on Instagram again?” Lexa asks later when they’re putting away dishes. Anya takes a plate from the rack and puts it in the cupboard, taking her time before answering.

“Absolutely not, no.”

#verse: high school #verse: nerd Clarke #verse: popular lexa #clexa fic #character: anya

[thatboomerkid]

PORTALS

We open weird portals to the Underworld and pull the Damned out for cash [part 1]

Hellcrashers Fiction by Nonbinary Bones

I broke open the factory door with a crowbar and entered a decrepit manufacturing plant. The soot-covered facility went bankrupt years ago and still leaked chemical waste into the “Mighty Missisip’” several decades later.

For a brief moment, the only noises were the icy wind racing over the waterfront and the soft ticking sound of the van’s engine behind me. The side panel of the van slid open.

“Sweet baby Jesus, it’s colder than a witches’ tit in a brass bra out here!” Felix exclaimed.

I nodded my agreement as a mechanized lift lowered my co-worker’s wheelchair to the ground.

Jackie hopped from the passenger seat, her military boots crunching on the wooden timbers of the boardwalk.

Sections of the greasy promenade had rotted away, revealing the polluted harbor below. The rancid waters stank of dead fish and petroleum. A huge rickety crane loomed overhead, its base squatting in the water, rusting its way towards oblivion.

Jackie opened the back of the van, rooted around, then pulled a bulletproof vest on over her tank top. She held another vest out in her grimy hand. I took it with a grateful nod.

Vasquez put The Club on the steering wheel, a sunshield on the dash, and began inspecting his gear. He may have been an OCD prick, but he knew how to plan a job.

New Kid hovered nearby, hands in his pockets.

“Hey Bitchnugget, try doing something useful for a change!” Felix jibed.

We grabbed our camping gear and entered the factory. Light filtered in through broken windows from sodium streetlamps outside. The center of the room was illuminated, but darkness clung to the corners. Conveyor belts and walkways filled the cavernous space like a real-life version of Chutes and Ladders. The air reeked of grease and metal. Rusted machinery spoke of long years of disuse.

Felix accidentally rolled right through a pile of animal droppings and cried out in disgust at getting shit in the tire treads. His shouts echoed in the gloom.

I dropped a duffel to the floor and opened it up, revealing a cache of weapons. We divvied up the contents so each of us had gas masks and guns.

“Alright everyone, huddle up.” I said. Everyone gathered in a semi-circle. “Vasquez, give us the rundown.”

“Today is a standard snatch-and-grab. Our target is named Aurora Laura.” He held up a centerfold spread ripped from an adult magazine. The lewd pose didn’t leave much to the imagination. “Real name Laura Brown. Originally from Omaha.” He squinted at the glossy pages. “Measures 34B, Waist 25, Hips 26. Likes puppies and men who aren’t afraid to show their vulnerable side.”

The New Kid blushed, Jackie snorted, and Felix grinned.

“We have reliable intel that the client’s Dearly Departed is being held in a Domain known as Hotel California. Basically, it’s worse than the worst ‘No-Tell Motel’ you’ve ever imagined; word on the street says each Dweller gets their own room, so we’re searching door to door.” He sighed.

The rest of us groaned out loud. “The floor-plan tends to change on its own, so watch out for that. This isn’t Scooby-Doo: we do not split up under any circumstances.”

“If you see something valuable on the way out, grab it. And I’m talking something portable. Smaller than a breadbox. We don’t want another incident like last time.”

Vasquez looked pointedly at Felix before continuing.

“Garrett, you’ll pop the Cherry for us.”

I nodded in response.

“We go in, acquire the target, and get the fuck out of Dodge. Any questions?” Vasquez looked at each of us with an upraised eyebrow.

New Kid raised his hand like a schoolboy.

“Why am I not surprised?” Felix asked the ceiling.

“What’s a Cherry?”

“It’s a door, Kid. A gateway Down Below Where The Bad Men Go.”

“Oh, right.” he said, blushing.

“Okay then, let’s get to it.” I said.

Past wasp’s nests and sticky linoleum floors I found a door with an “Employees Only” sign on it. The door-frame sagged, dislocated from rotted walls heavy with mildew. The door had warped over time so even though it was unlocked I almost couldn’t get it to budge. The factory door bore battle scars and boot prints from a hard fight with someone who lacked a crowbar. Someone like me. Busting open the door revealed a tiny office containing a desk, chairs, and an empty safe. Nothing worthwhile. I closed the door again.

From my backpack I took a jar of a milky yellow fluid and a barbecue basting brush. When I unscrewed the lid, a nasty rotting smell wafted out. My nose wrinkled in distaste as I began painting the door hinges in slime.

“What the Hell is that?” inquired the New Kid over my shoulder.

“Kid, Crashers never say the H-Word. Never. Not even Topside if we can avoid it. I told you this before we started.” I said.

“Aw, come on! That’s some superstitious bullshit!”

“I mean it.” I glared at him. “Watch your fucking mouth or you’ll jinx the whole Crash. Do not say the H-Word.”

“Sorry. What the heck is that?”

“Ever hear of ‘bukkake’?” I replied.

“No?”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, but why are you doing that?”

“This particular Cherry won’t pop until the hinges have been lubed with actual body secretions. And before you ask: no, spit won’t cut it. Just be grateful the gateway doesn’t need it fresh.”

“Are they all like that?”

“No, some of them only open at midnight or you have to make a cat cry in pain. It depends on the Cherry.”

“Can I ask you a question?” the Kid asked, shuffling his feet uncertainly.

“Another one? Sure, Kid. Ask away.” I replied patiently.

“What makes a Cherry open where it does? I mean, if they can open anywhere how come a gateway doesn’t open up in the middle of Times Square? Or in a daycare?”

I paused for a long moment, considering.

“Rust and despair. Plants need water and sunshine. Mushrooms need shade and shit. Cherries need rust and despair. Simple as that.”

When I finished painting the hinges the door creaked open on its own, this time revealing a rickety wooden staircase down into darkness. Felix cracked a couple chemical glow sticks and shook them. They began glowing with a golden-green light and he tossed them through the doorway.

I grabbed the handles behind Felix’s wheelchair and edged it closer to the Cherry.

“Hey careful with the merchandise, peasant!”

“I ain’t afraid to kick a cripple downstairs.”

Felix stood up on the other side of the portal.

“What the fuck? You’re just faking?” Kid asked in an angry, disbelieving tone with eyes wide as dinner plates.

“No, Cuntpuddle.” Felix said, rolling his eyes. “My legs don’t work Topside, but they work just fine in the Nether.”

“Topside?”

“That’s just a slang term for the world we live in. Topside is the place that the Damned covet beyond all else and the rest of us take pretty much entirely for granted. Don’t know what you got ‘till it’s gone, as they say. It’s the world you see out your window, where we get born, fuck around, and die. It is what it is and for the most part it’s a pretty okay place to be. For the most part.”

“But how can he walk on the other side of the gate?”

“I don’t know Kid, but as soon as you figure it out let me know.” I said.

We turned on our lights and the five of us moved slowly downwards, footsteps echoing in the gloom.

The staircase was built out of salvaged boards, no two of which were the same; different lengths, different colors. There were fourteen steps exactly, but the topmost step was smaller than all the others and bright red. A last minute addition to avoid Unlucky 13 perhaps.

My nerves were on edge as we descended. Every little creaking step telegraphed our movements to anything lurking nearby.

At the bottom of the stairs we found a diseased and barren wasteland. The ground was black and filthy like the Athabasca oil sands of Canada. My throat and lungs ached. Noxious smoke filled the air and made breathing a chore.

I saw a hundred burning fires lighting up the distant mountains. That made me real tense. I’d watched “The Hills Have Eyes” once and the things down here would have put cannibal mutant rapists to shame.

Glancing backwards, I saw the staircase slowly disappearing like it’d never existed.

----------

In front of us, our destination was uncomfortably close. Squatting less than two hundred yards away was a dilapidated motel modeled after every circa-1940s cheaper-than-shit roadside inn on “the wrong side of the tracks” but worse. The walls had been marred by fire. A flickering red neon sign stuttered “VACANCY” into the night. On the porch was a screen door creaking back and forth on its hinges as if begging for relief. Acid rain tinkled weakly against the corrugated tin roof.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Hotel California.” I said.

Inside, we found rusted pipes leaking raw sewage and rotting the stucco. Fungal blooms spread over paper-thin plywood with the texture of rotten leaves splintering at the softest touch. Nearly every window was boarded up over the remnants of razor-sharp glass.

We searched room to room, seeing some of the sickest things you’ve never imagined. Things that can’t be unseen. It took us almost three days to find our target. I think the New Kid must have puked twenty times during that stretch.

Sleep was damn-near impossible for a variety of reasons. The moth-eaten sheets were stained yellow, constantly and consistently damp with every body fluid imaginable.

Thanks to the AC units mounted in the walls, most of the rooms were freezing cold and when I say freezing cold I mean actual people covered in actual ice. Never thought I’d see someone with their own urine frozen in an icicle hanging from their crotch.

Some of the rooms were blazing hot, literally cooking the inhabitants alive.

“Mmm! Smells like down-home cooking!” Felix quipped as he caught a whiff of scorched human flesh.

The ice machine down the hall never actually worked until you were attempting to sleep at which point it spontaneously turned on. It wouldn’t do a damn thing when you wanted it to but it would happily and loudly make the sound of a thousand blenders grinding away at a fistful of pebbles as soon as you laid down.

The first night we were camping in one of the motel rooms when the old TV in the corner suddenly turned itself on, self-tuned those old rabbit ear antennas covered in foil, and scared the ever-loving crap out of us by blasting some repugnant program at maximum volume.

The New Kid unplugged the television from the wall, but it stayed on anyway, causing him to start pounding on it angrily.

“Kid, quit making such a damn racket.” Vasquez said.

“Okay, fine.” the New Kid huffed, throwing himself down on the bed. “So here’s a question.”

“Jerkstain, your entire life is one big fucking question.” Felix quipped.

“Where do those shows come from? Is it something the Hotel made to screw with us?”

“Actually, that is a good question.” I said, busily stripping, cleaning, and reassembling my rifle. “I’m fairly certain those shows are piped in from CRT.”

“CRT?”

“It’s another Domain in the Big Bad. Except instead of a motel imagine a sewer filled with television sets and bad wiring. All the TV channels are fucked-up versions of the worst shows ever made.”

“Yeah Dickcheese, if you survive this job maybe someday you’ll get to go there!” Felix said, holding out a flask.

The Kid ignored the jibe but accepted the flask and took a swig of whiskey.

“For example?”

“Okay, you’ve seen the show ‘Survivor?’ Now imagine it’s more like the Hunger Games except the contestants hunt and eat each other to survive.”

“Jesus…”

“Trust me Kid; you really don’t want to watch anything on that boob tube. Here’s a question for you, Kid. How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Well… I dropped out of high school and started getting into trouble, hanging out with a bad crowd. One night my gang broke into a moving van and the cops spotted us. So I ran and made it into the basement of an abandoned meat packing plant. Found a door leading to a hallway made of baby teeth. The cops following me got eaten by a monster made out of tumors and barbed wire. Bought me time to get back Topside. After that, it was only a matter of time before I found more Crashers. What about you guys?”

“Back in the day I was a long-haul trucker until I went into the wrong goddamn gas station. My partner never really came out again. I found that I’d lost the use of my legs when I dragged myself out of the Pit. I figure if I keep Crashing I’ll find a way to make them work permanently.”

“How about you?”

“Me? I’m in it for the money. Cold, hard cash. This ain’t no charity; I got bills to pay. When I do a job, I expect to get paid.” I said.

“Amen to that, brother.” Jackie said, tilting a bottle in my direction with a nod. “The bigger the paycheck the better.”

“How about you Vasquez? How’d you get into this line of work?”

“I’ve been doing this my whole life, man.” Vasquez replied.

“Say what now?”

“When I was a kid, I was a refugee. My dad brought me to the U.S. from Cuba on a raft made out of old plastic barrels he lashed together. I think I was about nine, maybe ten years old at the time.”

“You’re a Cuban?”

“Cuban-American to you, gringo. I’m a Hialeah boy, born and raised. Before ‘95, if a Cubano set foot on American soil they got the chance to apply for residency status a year later. Lucky for us, we made it ashore before we got picked up on Miami Beach. Dry-Feet, they called us.”

“Dad got a job working graveyard shift at a gas station and I started going to school. I always walked down there by myself to bring Dad a soda and we’d sit and chat for a while. One night I’m going down there right before bedtime and there’s all these police out front with that yellow crime scene tape strung up across the door. The cops say that the robbers put lit matches all over him before they killed him.” He takes a long swig from the bottle.

“So Mom couldn’t afford the rent without Dad, and after that we were sleeping rough. Couch-surfing, church pews, shelters, and sidewalks.”

“My God…” Kid said.

“God? God can’t help us, man. See, Satan led his army to storm the Gates of Heaven and drove God and the angels out. The demons smashed his palace of blue-moon marble into dust and Satan sits on the Throne of Heaven. That’s why our world is so fucked up.”

“So Dad’s spirit came to me. He was bloody and there were these tiny flames burning all over his body. He told me that demons found doors to our world. That’s why the gates keep opening, man.”

“Dad told me that he was joining God’s secret army of angels to take back Heaven. He told me that I needed to learn to fight. To stay strong and smart, so I could count on myself, no one else. To fight back against evil. So I went looking for the gates. You look hard enough and long enough, eventually you find something. And I did.”

“Man… is it worth it?” the Kid asked.

“That’s not the right question.” I said.

“Huh?”

“The real question is do you censor yourself or not?”

“What do you mean?”

“Option A: you say the things you ought to, and shut your mouth on what you actually think. You wear the clothes you’re told to wear, go where they say to go when you’re told to go there, do the things they tell you to do. In return, you get the job, the girl, the two-point-five kids, a white picket fence, and a dog. You get to eat three square meals a day, get laid occasionally, and probably enough money to get you everything you need, some of what you want, and a bed to sleep in with a roof over your head. You’re a slave but you’re comfortable.”

“Option B: you get nothing. You get fuck-all and you’ll like it because you’re free. Go where you want when you want and do what you want to do when you want to do it. Comfort means fuck-all because you’ll probably get arrested, get your head kicked in, or both.”

“So my point is do whatever you want to do because I really don’t give a shit, Kid.”

We sat there silently for the rest of the night. There was really nothing more to say.

It was the second night when the New Kid decided that he actually did want to watch something on TV. Scrambled Porn Sally was pole dancing and the fuzzy static bar was right where you didn’t want it to be.

We found the Kid staring and slack-jawed, his nose touching the flickering television screen. His eyes were watering and blood trickled from one nostril.

I shook him out of it and he mumbled a quiet “thank you.” Every so often I’d catch him stealing glances at the television when he thought I wasn’t looking.

If you were still so exhausted that none of that kept you awake, the phone rang and room service cheerfully provided a complimentary wake-up call just as you were nodding off.

Then there were the cock-roaches. Behind one door we found one of the Lost covered in chittering insects. Carnivorous, angry little bastards about three inches long and sporting chitinous dicks.

The moment it was dark the cock-roaches came scuttling out to bite a hole in your skin, pump their nasty bug-dongs in the bleeding orifice, and lay eggs in your flesh. After a few minutes, the cock-roaches deposited a load of eggs and goop into the poor bastard which then burst open and made a new swarm.

Hiding in every nook and cranny, they skittered into hiding beneath the bed and in the closet when illuminated by a flashlight mounted on the barrel of an AR-15.

The New Kid squashed a couple roaches beneath his boot and the rubber sole began to sizzle. “Damn it! That burns like battery acid!” he shouted.

“Then don’t do that.” I calmly said.

On Day Three we found a Damned that swore up and down he’d seen our target. We’d bribed him with a little baggie of black tar heroin that offered a brief respite from his torment, so we felt confident the intel was solid.

We were moving through the darkened hotel hallways, guns at the ready. The Kid was on point with Vasquez watching his back. Felix and Jackie were in the middle while I was behind the squad.

“This scary-ass motel reminds me of that movie ‘Identity’ with John Cusack. You ever see that shit?”

“Is that the one where Cusack delivers a bag to a creepy motel out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Nah, man. That’s ‘The Bagman’ but it did have a creepy motel.” he said.

“Okay, so is Identity the one where Cusack has to stay in a haunted hotel room?” Jackie asked.

“No goddammit, that’s ‘1408.’ Identity is the one where there’s like a dozen people stranded at this motel in the middle of nowhere and they start getting killed one by one.”

“Okay, first of all: why does John Cusack stay in so many scary motels?”

“Typecasting?”

“And secondly, why are we talking about this while we’re standing in the scariest motel ever?”

“Third question.” I interrupted. “Do you two ever shut up?”

We entered Room 303 and finding it completely thrashed, lingered in the doorway. Mattress slashed, threadbare blankets ripped, and every stick of furniture broken. The stench in the room was overpowering. The source was easy to spot; a cadaver lay rotting amid scattered toys on the floor.

“Rock and roll.” Felix said glibly.

We slowly searched the room.

“Dude check this out!” Felix excitedly waved his latest find: a teddy bear stitched together with human skin, complete with male genitals and real eyeballs too. Just looking at it gave me the creeps.

Giggling, Felix waved the bear inches from the Kid’s face. “Come here and let me give you a big old kiss!”

“Ugh, it’s blinking at me.” Jackie said.

“You’re coming home with me little buddy!” He stuffed the doll into his backpack.

We heard a scraping sound inside a large armoire in the corner with the doors shut. Everyone went silent immediately. Vasquez pointed his gun at it.

“Come on out of there slowly, and you won’t get shot.”

There was no noise or movement of any kind in response. Felix sighed before moving very slowly towards the armoire. He pulled the door open quickly, surprising the woman crouched inside. She was covered head-to-toe with bleeding holes from the cock-roaches.

“Climb out of there slowly, with your hands up.” Vasquez said. The woman seemed to comply with Vasquez’s order, her palms open and weaponless.

The Kid hesitated for just an instant when she sprang at him. The woman grabbed his hand, pointing the gun away from herself and he fired out of reflex, the blast ringing in our ears. He tripped over the corpse on the floor, falling backwards. His head hit the floorboards, dazing him momentarily.

She straddled him, clawing his face and howling like a banshee until Jackie stepped forward and bashed the other woman upside the head with the butt of her rifle. The woman collapsed to the floor, clutching her bleeding skull.

“Oh God, don’t kill me, don’t kill me!” she sobbed as she cowered and covered her head with both arms.

“Quiet!”

The woman shut her mouth instantly, but her body visibly trembled and her eyes welled up. Occasionally, tears ran down her face, leaving twin trails on her filthy cheeks.

“Damn guys, isn’t that a little harsh? I mean, look at her. She’s scared and she’s hurt!” said the New Kid.

“Look Kid, I explained this before but let me make it perfectly clear. She isn’t a person deserving of respect and dignity. She’s a very bad person who did very bad things and ended up in a very bad place.” I said.

“Yeah, but-“

“Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the Down Below deserves to be here. No one wakes up down here for being an atheist, or being gay, or for smoking weed when you were sixteen.” I continued.

“Every single person in the Bad Place committed at least one genuine act of pure, unmitigated evil.” I counted off a list on each finger. “Rape, murder, torture. Shoot, I’ve even been on a job to collect a Wall Street banker who stole people’s retirement accounts then blew it on hookers and cocaine.”

“The point is that they did something that caused pain and suffering to others and whatever they did was enough to earn a ticket Way Down to Hadestown.” I pointed to the woman crouched and shaking on the floor. “That includes Little Miss Sunshine here.”

“You try anything like that again, and I’ll shoot your hands off. You run, I shoot your feet. Am I making myself clear?” Jackie said to our target.

“Yes.”

“Is your name Laura?”

“Yes… how…?”

Felix gripped the woman roughly by her chin and held her face up. Vasquez pulled out the centerfold and looked back and forth from one to the other.

“That’s a positive ID on the primary target.” Vasquez said.

“Great, can we get the Hell out of here now?” said the New Kid.

“Goddammit Fucktard, we told you not to say the H-Word!” Felix yelled angrily. He grabbed the Kid by the straps of his flak jacket and shoved him back against the wall.

The New Kid stammered out an apology, but we all knew the damage had already been done. By all rights, we could have abandoned him right then and there. We could have left him to die, but for the time being, we still needed another pair of hands to finish the job.

“We need to get out. Now. We have definitely overstayed our welcome. Bag her up.” I said.

Felix and Jackie grabbed the target by the arms, holding them together and Vasquez locked handcuffs to her wrists. The Kid shoved a black bag over the target’s head despite her protests.

Prize in hand, we made our way out of the motel room just as fast as we could.

----------

At long last we made it to a stretch of blacktop. Abandoned vehicles filled the road and we cautiously threaded our way around them. Each vehicle was rusted or gutted, and most of them had corpses for passengers. The Damned turned their rotting heads to watch us pass, reaching weakly out to grab us.

Dead weeds stuck up wherever they could find purchase in the cracks. We found that the road had been melted, cooled, and reformed. Several Damned had been submerged in the asphalt, arms outstretched as if surfacing from beneath a pool of black oil. Their cries were muffled but still audible. There were impressions left behind in the asphalt after it had released its prizes to the scavengers who came later.

“Hey, do you hear that?” Jackie asked.

“Hear what?” said the New Kid.

“Sounds like something scraping on metal. Listen. It’s coming from over there.”

Obscured by the tinted windows of a camper shell, something moved in the back of a rusted pickup sitting up on cinder blocks. The New Kid crept slowly up to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate.

A sleek, obsidian hound with a human head launched itself out of the back of the truck. Its fur was black and glistening, with a body built for speed like a greyhound but with the face of a man. It opened its disjointed jaw and roared like a mountain lion, revealing rows of serrated shark teeth.

Like a heat-seeking missile, it hurtled itself at the Kid with every intention of clamping its jaws around his throat. He brought his arm up to block the hound’s attack and the beast locked its fang-filled maw around his limb.

The creature snarled, shaking the Kid like a rag doll, intent on tearing his arm off in a gout of blood. Claws tore his clothing, and the Kid screamed in pain as triangular teeth began to puncture holes in the flesh of his arm.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a short length of wood. He scrambled for it in the dust with his left hand while the dog savaged his right arm. The New Kid finally managed to wrap his hand around the sturdy board and brought it down on the canine’s square-shaped head in a sweeping arc. There was a loud crack as the board connected, but he could’ve been smacking it with a flyswatter for all the good it did. He struck the sharkdog in its human-shaped face with the board over and over again. The New Kid tried shoving the end into the monster’s mouth to pry it open, but the beast refused to release his bleeding arm.

The moment I saw an opening I shoved my old Ka-Bar knife right into the side of its head. The beast shuddered and died, collapsing in a heap on top of the Kid. He wiped blood and gore off his face and looked up with bleary eyes.

“Told you not to use the H-Word.” I said.

We stopped beside a rusting Quonset hut for a quick break. Jackie dug around in her backpack for a pack of smokes and her lighter. Felix went to take a leak on the other side of the building.

I took a swig from my canteen. The water in the canteen had a sharp taste of iodine from the purification pills I’d dropped in: not unexpected from reclaimed water, but always tough to stomach.

Vasquez sat the package down beside the Quonset and removed her hood long enough for me to give Laura a drink of water. She gulped it down gratefully before we replaced the hood on her head.

I mentally inventoried the remaining water. We all had plastic bottles in our packs plus had the canteen on my hip. I’d read somewhere that the best place to store water was inside ourselves. While I understood that intellectually, I couldn’t help but be daunted at the prospect of making our way across the desert without any water tucked away for later.

Rations were running low too.

We were still many miles away from an exit Topside, and the Bad Place was always full of surprises.

“Hey Garrett. Got a minute?” Vasquez beckoned me over to the side of the building. “You know what I just realized?” he asked.

“That simultaneous revelations aren’t a thing?”

Vasquez leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We are now standing in the Tollway.”

“Route 666?” I asked.

He nodded. “I didn’t recognize it before because there’s no tollbooth and no signs. But one of us is going to pay the toll. You know who I mean.”

I looked over at the New Kid. He was nursing a knot on the back of his head and his face was still all scratched up from Laura’s fingernails. The New Kid removed the sopping bandage wrapped around his arm. The wound where the sharkdog had bit him was black with infected tissue.

Together, we coldly calculated his chances of survival and came up short.

The New Kid was taking a leak on the side of a rusted Quonset hut while Vasquez and I decided his fate.

Rumbling engine noises heralded the arrival of a flat-black sedan on the horizon. A vehicle of generic make and model, the police cruiser had clearly driven through “You-Know-Where” and come out on the other side.

Jackie and Felix grabbed our target and the five of us hustled behind the Quonset, hiding as quick as we could and praying we weren’t seen. The New Kid wasn’t so lucky. The dumb fuck stood there with his dick in his hands and didn’t notice the police cruiser until it was too late.

The battle-scarred vehicle came to a stop, engine idling. The dented drivers’ side door opened and a bipedal male wearing a khaki uniform emerged from the dark interior of the cab. At first glance he may even have passed for human except that every inch of skin was horribly burnt and mutilated. Steel-toed boots crunched on the gravel as he approached.

The Trooper peered at the Kid through his mirrored aviator sunglasses. One hand rested on the nightstick tucked into his belt.

Unsure what to expect, I kept my hand near my pistol just in case.

“You live around here, boy?”

“No sir. Just passing through and found the place like this.”

“I find out you’re lying to me, we’re going to have a problem, boy.”

“Understood.” Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of scarred flesh beneath his shirt.

“Alright then. Just so long as we have an understanding between us.” The Trooper looked around at the horizon almost as if he’d forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation. His gaze settled back on the Kid. “What’s your name, son?”

“My name?”

“Don’t play dumb now.”

Without warning the Trooper pulled a baton from his belt and smashed the Kid with a merciless blow. He doubled over in pain, clutching his belly.

The Trooper loomed over the Kid, lightly smacking the baton in the palm of his palm.

“Looks like you in a heap of trouble here, boy.” the Trooper said with a pronounced Southern accent. He pronounced “here” like “he-ah.”

“You look healthy, don’t have the shakes. No sir, I can tell just from lookin’ at you. You a young man, your back is strong, and you got all your parts in working order, yes sir. You got your whole life in front of you. Seems to me you’ll make a fine slave.”

“You’re gonna dig for us with your bare hands, until your skin is gone, and you dig until your finger bones are worn down to lil’ nubbins. Yessuh, and I’m gonna beat you so bad you’re gonna thank me for the privilege of diggin’.”

The Trooper raised the baton to smash the Kid over the head.

Shots rang out as I unloaded my Glock 9mm into the Trooper’s head, blasting him over and over again. Bullets shattered his aviator shades and tore holes in his khaki uniform before the Trooper fell to the ground. We ran up and Jackie fired her shotgun point-blank into the Trooper’s face before checking on the Kid.

“That seems like overkill, Jackie.” I said with a smirk.

“Overkill is nothing but a word.”

“That stick looks like lacquered hickory but felt like rebar covered in nettles.” The Kid hissed.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. If one Trooper found us, more are on the way.” I said.

The crew hurried into the Cruiser while the target went into the trunk like a piece of luggage.

“Buckle up.”

“I don’t want to.” the New Kid pouted.

That nasally whine was the last straw. Ice water flowed through my veins. It must have showed on my face because when he saw my expression he recoiled.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want. I ain’t your brother, I ain’t your dad. Lately I ain’t even a nice person. If you don’t do what I say when I say I will knock you the fuck out and make it happen. Now buckle the fuck up.”

He buckled up.

I shifted the police cruiser into drive and stomped on the gas. Nothing happened. “No.” I stomped on it again, shouting louder each time. “No, no, no! I do not believe this horseshit!”

“Is it a Ford?” Felix joked.

Aggravated, my forehead hit the steering wheel. The Troopers were bearing down on us fast. I stomped down on the gas out of frustration and the Cruiser lurched forward. Surprised, I looked up and the vehicle died again, whiplashing our necks. “What the-?”

I closed my eyes, gripped the wheel, and stepped on the gas. The Cruiser moved forward slowly.

“Guys, you’re not going to like this.”

An hour later and my heart was still hammering in my chest and I was white-knuckling the wheel. Vasquez sat right beside me, giving me directions as I drove pedal-to-the-metal with my eyes shut tight.

Bullets pinged off our vehicle and I ducked out of reflex. I could barely hear the gunshots over the roaring engines and police sirens.

“Can’t this piece of shit go any faster?!” Jackie screamed inches from my ear. Jackie turned in her seat, firing a few potshots at the other cruiser.

Felix rooted around in the Army surplus duffel bag and pulled a homemade pipe bomb from the bottom. He lit the fuse with a cheap gas station lighter, let it cook for a moment, then lobbed it out the window at our pursuers.

His throw fell short, and the pipe bomb landed in the middle of the road.

Whether it was Luck or Fate or God deciding to finally give us a break, the second cop car drove over top of the pipe bomb, straddling it with all four tires before it went off.

The police cruiser lifted off the ground, bursting into flame and sending two Troopers screaming into oblivion.

“Keep driving, let’s get as many miles away from here as we can before this thing runs out of gas.” Vasquez instructed.

The sun was setting, and already a cold wind was sweeping down from the hills. Within an hour the temperature would drop by fifty degrees. Sleeping in the exposed cab of the police cruiser would prove to be a very uncomfortable option that night.

And the next night.

And the next.

Four of us left the New Kid hogtied and blubbering in the middle of the road. None of us said a word about it, but we all knew our offering was accepted because we found an exit Topside within an hour.

To this day, I don’t know what dragged him screaming into the desert. But the toll had to be paid.

----------

We delivered the package to a seedy film studio on the outskirts of Las Vegas, Nevada. On the soundstage was a set built out of plywood and made to look like a teen girl’s bedroom: painted pink and full of stuffed dolls. Stage lights hung from metal bars where the room’s ceiling should be, and several cameras were aimed at the bed from different angles.

We were escorted by a couple of hired goons. Low-rent thugs with chrome-played Glocks tucked in the waistband of their jeans.

Vasquez led the way past the stage lights and cameras. Jackie and I flanked the package, while Felix rolled behind with a sawed-off shotgun cradled in his lap.

“You know what the worst job here would be?” Felix asked.

“What?” I sighed.

“Janitor. Can you imagine cleaning this place every night? ‘Excuse me sir, can you lift your feet? I’m trying to mop here’.”

“Jesus, Felix.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“Every night you have to clean it! You can’t imagine the smell!”

“Sure I can.” Jackie retorted. “Like a warm turtle tank probably.”

Felix chortled loudly.

Our customer was a loathsome weasel named Bob Gunkel. He was fat, slowly sliding his way to four hundred pounds. He came out of his office wearing a Hawaiian shirt with huge sweat stains under his pits. He wiped cheese puff dust off his hands, leaving long orange fingerprints on his khakis. The very sight of him made my skin crawl.

“Well? Did you bring her back to me?”

Vasquez pulled the black bag off the package’s head.

“You did it! I have to admit, I had my doubts when I heard you could bring her back but you actually did it!” Gunkel caressed her with his meaty fingers and the expression on his face looked like he was already creaming his pants. She flinched away, but we’d kept the ankle chains and handcuffs on for a reason.

“Laura, sweet Laura, I know I got carried away the last time we were together, but I promise you this time is going to be different!”

Vasquez gripped my arm before I even realized my fist was clenched.

“Sir, not to interrupt, but if you’ll just pay us our fee we’ll be on our way and leave you two alone together.”

“Of course!” He snapped his fingers and one of the goons retrieved a couple of greasy fast food sacks, handing them to Vasquez.

Vasquez checked the paper bags and the wads of cash inside. Jackie and I watched the goon squad to see if their hands moved towards their pistols.

“Are we good?” Gunkel asked.

Everyone held their breath for a moment.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Vasquez said. “Let’s move out, team.”

“You lovebirds have a real nice time now, y’hear!” Felix called on the way out.

Later that night we were sitting in a strip club called Sin Bragas working our way through our second bottle of Don Julio Blanco.

On the asphalt, neon-drenched streets of Topside, we're nothings and nobodies. Between the fast food and taxes, the bad gas station coffee and the past-due child support payments, we’re just pieces of soiled human garbage. In a world of drugs, traffic, radio, politics, smoke and mirrors, we’re little more than dirty, disposable pawns.

Yet amongst the freak show outlaws and leather-clad outcasts, the occult cabals and deranged sickos, the demon summoners, the adrenaline junkies, and conspiracy nuts who make up the heart of the Hades-diving fringe, we’re death-defying, bigger-than-life rock stars.

Every form of fame has its own form of groupies. There are women who sent marriage proposals to Ted Bundy when he was on Death Row, for God’s sake.

Most of us had a scantily-clad woman hanging on an arm or crawling in our lap. Jackie was busy showing off her new tattoo, flexing biceps as big as my head. Her upper arm shined with fresh ink depicting a sexy Devil Girl straddling a black spade with the number “13” in racecar red.

“Well, I gotta go drop the kids off at the pool. Felix said.

Vasquez rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb towards the hallway behind him. Felix rolled his wheelchair to the men’s room. I followed.

When I stepped into the men’s room Felix was pounding on the handicap stall door. “As if my life wasn’t hard enough!” Felix shouted.

I was standing at the urinal when one of the local yokels came in. I recognized him as the hillbilly at the bar telling racist jokes to the stone-faced bartender.

Now, every man knows that there are unspoken rules of men’s room etiquette. When you’re first and there are multiple urinals on the wall, you’re supposed to take the spot furthest from the door. When you come in second, you take the spot furthest from the first guy. What you don’t do, what you never, ever, ever do is stand at the urinal directly adjacent to the first man. That’s a surefire path to an ass-kicking in my book. Of course, this mullet-wearing motherfucker decided to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

“You guys are Hellcrashers, aren’t you?” he asked.

I didn’t respond.

“Dude, you guys just go down to Hell, kick Satan in the balls, and rescue the souls of big-tittied single moms. Man, that’s fucking awesome. “What’s it like being a Hellcrasher, bro?”

“Ever hear the one about the guy who wouldn’t shut the fuck up with his dick in his hand?” I curtly replied without looking at him.

“Um, no?”

I reached up and grabbed the hair on the back of his head then slammed him face-first into the tile. His nose broke and he crumpled like a wet paper sack, hitting his chin on the urinal on the way down to the floor. I hosed him down with the contents of my bladder for good measure.

“That’s what it’s like.”

I was washing my hands when I heard Felix shouting.

“Hey! Can somebody toss me some toilet paper? I’m all out of shit tickets over here!”

I left the club without a word.

#hellcrashers #fiction #Not pathfinder

[testifytime]

HI BB ITS DAVENT. Diagnose my lore, ardent. tell me who I am as a homestuck troll and kid. tell me all.

- Bloodcaste/lusus/chumhandle as if you were a Homestuck troll (+lore)

You’re a rustblood with a ferret lusus. Your chumhandle is tenaciousGearhead. 

You live in a commune with a few other rustbloods who’re pissed off with working for the highbloods. It’s not much, admittedly - just a small block of half-destroyed flats that the drones have already declared empty - but it’s a small community that looks after itself, and you kind of like it that way. It’s a lot easier than living in the city, or trying to hide in the sewers whenever the drones appear, that’s for sure, and it’s actually pretty freeing, all things considered.

You and your ferret lusus like to go out and search through the ruins for things you can bring back to the commune - and for yourself, of course. There have been plenty of art supplies, craft supplies, weapons, cutlery, furniture, heck, even whole ass statues that you’ve found! You do tend to push the boundries of what you can get away with (which definitely includes breaking into a highblood house or two and stealing whatever shit you can get your hands on if you think it’ll go unnoticed and unmissed), but you enjoy the chaos. And, hey - you haven’t had to buy anything for at least three years. That’s pretty sweet.

When you let yourself rest, you like to alternate between writing and drawing. It’s fun to experiment with the supplies you’ve managed to collect together, though your favourite method (of both writing and drawing) is definitely through the husktop you managed to steal from a blueblood. It’s one of the state-of-the-art ones with all the cool art programmes unlocked for free, and at least a dozen or so different formats, fonts, and codes in the writing programme to make anything you write about ten thousand percent more exciting. 

Outside of your commune, you’re pretty good friends with a few people online! You think you might have a weird sort of pale thing going on with them? Or at least definitely one of them, but then, she’s just pale sunshine all around. Oh, and maybe a blackrom thing for another, but he’s just a teasing dick who likes to steal your men. You love to make things for and with them, and have even been encouraged by them to get back into more... frivolous things. No, nobody can see the folder you’ve got on your husktop labelled “selfship”, and they DEFINITELY can’t read the fic you’ve labelled only with three sweatdrop emojis. Still, it’s fun, and you love being able to spend time with them. 

Your ferret lusus is kind of an asshole. He’s bigger than a normal ferret, but still small enough to slip through pipes and through small cracks like he’s made of water; keeping an eye on him is IMPOSSIBLE. Sometimes he goes outside and comes back with things, and you’re not even sure where he got them from? But he’s the best partner in crime to have, ever, so you let it slide. Most of the time.

- Symbol/guardian/chumhandle as if you were a Homestuck kid (+lore)

Your symbol is a CD and your guardian is your older bro! Your chumhandle is temperedGallant.

You live in a pretty basic one-floor bungalow with enough space for you and your bro to move around without ever really seeing each other. There’s his room, your room, two bathrooms (for some reason), a huge kitchen, a smaller living room, and a garden that leads out into a woods you’re maybe just a little scared to explore. It’s a little lonely at times, but you love having the space to just do weird shit whenever you want. 

Your room is a cluttered mess of the things you like, most of which revolves around writing and drawing. Your proudest pieces line your walls like a memory of your achievements, and remind you daily of just how much you’ve improved - a sort of timeline of your growth, if you will. You don’t exactly do the same thing with your writing, but you’ve got all your old fics saved on your laptop. It’s kind of hard to get rid of them. You also haven’t read them in a while. You don’t really intend to, either - just in case. 

You have an entire section of your room dedicated to shit you collect. It’s not exactly the most impressive thing you’ve ever seem, but it’s nice; flowers that’ve bloomed in your garden, weird fungi you plucked off of the huge dead tree that drapes over your bungalow like a guardian, little stones that you thought just looked cool. It looks a little cottagecore, if you’re honest, which is pretty alright by you! You started to try making a blanket or something to tie it all together, but... yeah. The less you think about that? The better.

You have a few friends online you like to play Minecraft with and talk to almost daily. It’s pretty fun, honestly, if sometimes a little too vulnerable for your liking; every now and then you gotta rickroll a bitch to detract away from talking about your feelings for too long. You wouldn’t give it up for the world, though, and you love that there’s so much that keeps you together. You’re worried that it won’t last, but you try not to think about it too much. You’re pretty sure at least three of them wouldn’t let you think about it too long, anyway. 

Sometimes, you try to edge towards the forest at the back of your house. It’s big, and dark, and extremely imposing. Past the first few rows of trees, you can’t see anything - not even a path to follow. Sometimes at night you can hear the leaves rustling and it sounds like something calling to you, and more than once you’ve stood just on the precipice between the garden and the line of the forest, goosebumps running up and down your arms. You’ve never gone in. You’re not sure if you’d ever come back if you did. 

#heartless prince rambles #Anonymous

[pixieungerstories]

Quarantine

They always say ‘buy the worst house on the best block that you can afford’ and god knows this place was a total shit hole.  800 square feet on an overgrown lot surrounded by McMansions.  Hell, I paid less for the place that the land was worth.  I’m amazed someone hadn’t bulldozed the place years ago.

To make a long story short, I did not look a gift house horse in the mouth.

I mean, it wasn’t a total write off.  None of the windows were smashed.  There were mature fruit trees in the backyard.  If you ignored the weeds and rotting fruit, there was a lot of potential.  The plumbing was lead pipes and the electrical was knob and tube, but I know people and I could trade favours to get that replaced.  The foundations were good and the roof barely leaked.

I spent the summer camping in a tent in the back yard and slowly getting the place winterized enough that I could move it.

It was still a creepy ass house when I did.  It had a boiler.  I had no idea how to deal with that, but I was learning.  And I learned how to ignore the whistles, hissing and banging sounds that went with having a boiler.  The old rads were cast iron with pretty little details in the corners.

There were holes in the plaster, but I just ignored them.  It wasn’t worth fixing when I was going to gut the place and put up drywall eventually.  It just made it easier to get at the plumbing.

I started just living in the kitchen and ignoring the rest of the house.  I had disconnected the rest of the electrical and plumbing and was using that as a home base while I renovated outwards from there.

There is nothing quite as creepy as sleeping in a sleeping bag on what were probably asbestos tiles in an old house that makes the weird noises that old houses make.  I kept reminding myself that they only seemed louder than normal because the place was empty and there was nothing to muffle the sound.  The shrieking had to be the upstairs window that didn’t quite shut properly.

I had the feeling that something was watching me and prayed to god it wasn’t rats.

I was in this for the long haul.  Get up, shower at the gym, go to work, come home, renovate until it got dark, shower at the gym, camp out in the kitchen.  Not exciting, but satisfying.  Let’s face it, this was the only way I was ever going to be able to afford a house.

When the work from home order came, I had to actually get a phone line installed so I could have internet access.  Me, my laptop and a kitchen table I rescued from the curbside a while back.

The creepy feeling was worse.  I told myself it had to be the isolation kicking in.  I skyped with my best friends at night to make up for it.  The power was still a bit dodgy and kept going out, but that’s what laptop batteries and cell phones are for, right?

I was sure the cough was from the dust.

The guy delivering groceries left them on the sidewalk instead of the porch.  It was fine.  I understood completely.  I hadn’t done much work on the outside of the building at all. 

I realized I was sneezing a bit when I started having to use toilet paper as kleenex.

I was fine.  I was young and healthy.  I didn’t have any sick days at work so I was determined to just push through.

I tried to get more rest.

I dreamed about something laying a cool hand on my forehead.

The grocery store was out of thermometers.

I mean, did it really matter if I had a fever?  I wasn’t leaving the house to share with anyone.

My cough got worse overnight.  I was vaguely aware of someone lifting me up and holding a cup of cool water to my lips.  I was so fucking thirsty. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” I mumbled.  “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I won’t,” a rumbling voice assured me.

I didn’t remember making soup, but I jolted into awareness sitting at the table with a steaming bowl in front of me.  Chicken noodle out of a can.  It’s not that hard to make.  I’m sure I could add water and heat in my sleep.  Apparently, I just did.

I was so cold that night.  I don’t know where the extra blankets came from, but they were there in the morning.

I don’t know how I ordered a bed while I was sick, but it was there and on my credit card.  So was the mattress and sheets.  It must have been the fever talking when I ordered them.  I would not have picked out anything that old fashioned looking.

How did I get all this stuff up to the second floor bedroom?  I’m sure I don’t remember stripping the paint off the closet doors.   I must be losing my mind.  I slept, I ate, I stopped logging in at work.  I just needed to concentrate on getting better.

By the time I was able to stay awake for more than an hour at a time, the city was shut down.  I was confined to my house whether I liked it or not.  I was suddenly glad my fever addled brain had ordered a bed while I still could.  

The watched feeling was worse.  I ordered some rat traps with my groceries.  I didn’t catch anything.  They didn’t take the bait.  I swear I heard snickering when I checked them in the morning.  That was a new sound for the boiler to make.

“I am losing my mind,” I repeated to myself.  Then blushed when I realized I had said it aloud.  “And yes, I also talk to myself,” I added for good measure.  “At least it is some sound,” I muttered.  “I should turn on some music or something.”

Work was officially shut down but I still had the dumpster outback.  I spend my awake time cleaning out the other rooms.  The advantage of living in a construction zore was all the dust masks.  When I needed to actually go out, that might help.  In the meantime, I carefully sorted through the things the previous owners had left behind.  Some of it was just trash, but there were some old photographs, lost buttons, even a single antique earring.

“No chance of finding a pair, I bet.  Still this could be made over into a necklace or something.”  Shit.  I was talking to myself again, wasn’t I?

I still got tired easily.  I dreamed about my mom stroking my hair as I slept.

The footprints I couldn’t explain away.

I had taken down a section of wall and spent the day carrying out the chunks of plaster before microwaving a pizza pop and tucking in early.  In the morning there were footprints in the dust.  They weren’t mine.  They were huge and it was hard to believe they were human.  Weird long toes, with the claw tips a little in front were not what I was expecting.

That was the first time I had wanted to leave the house.

I grabbed my stuff and made it to the front yard before I was spotted by a passing patrol car and ordered back inside.  I had no idea how to explain that I thought there was some sort of monster living in my house.  I was shaking as I went back inside.

“Hello?”  I called from the doorway, ready to run.  I had no idea where I could even run to.  “Um…  Is anyone there?”  I don’t know what I was expecting.  “Hi?  Um ….  I bought the house, I didn’t know there was any … thing living here.  I have been trying to fix it up.”

“I know.”

Fuck.  The scratchy, rasping bass voice was not what I was expecting.  “I … uh…  I can go back to camping in the yard,” I suggested.

“No.”

I waited to hear if he (?) was going to say anything else.

Apparently not.

“Uh … no I can’t stay here?  Or no, you don’t even want me camping in the backyard?”

“If I didn’t want you here, I would have had many opportunities to get rid of you.”

Shit.  That wasn’t ominous or threatening at all.

With a low chuckle the voice asked, “Did you mean to say that out loud?”

I froze and tried to remember what I had said.  Oh.  “No, that was an accident.  I’m not used to having anyone around to hear me.”

“I always hear you.”

I closed the door and went out to sit in the garden for a moment to think about that.  I ended up pacing, swearing and wishing for a cigarette.  I hadn’t smoked in years.    The sun started to go down and the bugs came out.  I was being eaten alive outside.  Going inside was scary but he was right.  He had lots of time to …

I flung open the door.  “Did you order furniture on my credit card?”  I demanded.

The laughter that rang out was a whole other level of creepy.  I shivered and thought about going back outside.  The door pulled itself closed behind me.  I spun to look at it and didn’t see anything.  I could hear something breathing. I turned again.  Nothing.

“If we are both going to live here, can we at least agree on some ground rules?”

“Like what?” was almost purred in my ear.  Looking around wildly, I still couldn’t see anything.

I was shaking now.  “Is there a way for you to be less scary so I don’t have a heart attack?” I squeaked.

There was nothing but silence.  Still my sense of the presence suggested it was gone.

I didn’t sleep that night.  I would just start to nod off then jerk myself awake and look wildly around the room.  I never saw anything.

Six am, my alarm went off and I could smell coffee.

All the dust had been swept up.

“Hello?” I whispered.

Nothing.  I had coffee and cereal and tried not to think about my surprise roommate.  I was so tired, I passed out at my computer in the kitchen at some point that morning, only to wake in bed upstairs in the afternoon.  “I don’t want you to touch me while I’m sleeping,” I mumbled, painfully aware that there was dick all I could do to stop it.

“Alright,” the voice said, coming from somewhere in the direction of the closet.  “But don’t fall asleep at the table then.”

I breathed a faint sigh of relief.  I wasn’t expecting the next part.

“You need to eat something now.  You are still recovering.”

There was a can of soup heating on the stove.  My breakfast dishes were gone.  I found them clean and dry in the cupboard.  “Thank you,” I whispered.  He didn’t reply.  As I ate lunch, I was psyching myself into going upstairs to look in the closet.  The door had been painted shut when I got the house, but at some point had been stripped down to the bare wood.

I hadn’t worked up the nerve by the time I was done eating.  Or washing and drying the dishes.  I found myself at the bottom of the stairs staring up at the second floor.  Did I really want to see what was in that closet?

No.

But it would be better to look during the light of day.

Eventually, I made it up there.  I put my hand on the knob and tried to turn it.  It didn’t budge.

“You want rules?” the voice growled behind me.  I spun, there was nothing there.  “Do not open that door.  Do not come into my space.”

I went from trembling from nerves to bolting down the stairs in an instant.  I nearly tripped, but felt something - him? - catch me and set me on my feet.

“Careful,” he purred.

I spent the rest of the day in the garden again.  I was still out there when the sun went down and the backlight turned on.  Then the kitchen light and for a moment I could see something outlined against the antique curtains I hadn’t replaced in the kitchen.  I tried to remind myself that he wasn’t necessarily that big.  He might just be closer to the light and casting a bigger shadow.

I didn’t believe it, but I tried.

I crept back into the house like a scared child who wasn’t sure how angry their parents were going to be after they had done something wrong.  I turned on all the lights on the main floor and stayed in the kitchen away from the stairs.

“Planning on staying up all night?”

I jumped.  “How are you always behind me?”

“I live in the shadows.  Go to bed.”

“Um…  I was thinking, that should be your room, really.  Your closet.  You picked out the bed.  I can just camp down -”

“No.  Go to bed.”

“Do you really think I’m going to be able to sleep in a room with a closet that must not be opened?  I have read Blue Beard, you know.”

“So have I.  The wife gets the house and lives happily ever after.”

“The last wife does,” I pointed out.  “The first dozen or so didn’t.”

He chuckled at that.  “We made a deal, remember?”

“Are you teasing me?  What deal?”

“I don’t touch you in your sleep.  You don’t sleep in the kitchen anymore.”

“How big are you?”

The lights flickered and went off.

“Do you want to see me?”  he purred, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck.

“Not in the dark,” I squeaked.

“Go to bed.”  

The light snapped back on, leaving me blinking.

I spent the night sitting on the bed with my back pressed against the headboard trying to see the whole room at one.  Eventually, I fell asleep.

My alarm did not go off at six.  It had been turned off.  The coffee was ready but not turned on when I went down stairs.  The air smelled faintly of solder.  There was a post-it stuck to the coffee maker.  Fine copperplate handwriting told me:

I stared at it dumbly.  I had replaced the plumbing to the kitchen sink and the downstairs powder room and had been washing out of the sink since I had been forced to stay home.  The only other plumbing was the upstairs bathroom and the antique washing machine in the basement.  I pushed the button on the coffee maker and slowly crept upstairs.

Sure enough the stack of copper pipe waiting in the other bedroom was gone. 

Well, not gone.  I could see it installed through the holes in the walls.  I turned on the tap to the sink and sure enough, I had water.  I now had an upstairs, working bathroom with a clawfoot tub.

And no walls.

“I don’t like the idea of you watching me bathe,” I called out.  Then I felt like an idiot because if whatever it was had voyeur tendencies, it could have been watching me for months.  I tried all the taps and the toilet.  Everything worked.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, unsure if I was talking to myself.

“You’re welcome.”  It was the least creepy, most normal thing I had heard from him.

#oh my god they were quarantined #quarantine #monster quarantine #exophilia #nyctophobia #shadow monster

[doctortreklock]

(Not Quite) Touched By An Angel - September 15, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: I’m a guardian angel but really shitty at my -oh my gosh don’t walk into the street! (x)

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 1231

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

"Guardian," Dean said flatly. "You're putting me on Guardian duty."

Bobby looked unimpressed. "Damn right I am."

"But Guardian duty," Dean complained. "You know I'm crap at that."

Bobby's expression was leaving unimpressed and edging well into irritated. "You screwed up Matching so badly that we had to push back the Second Coming by three centuries." Dean flinched slightly at the reminder. "I will stick you where I damn well please and you're going to be thrilled I don't send you to patrol the sixth sphere. Now get out of my office," he demanded with a rough gesture toward the door.

Dean got.

Before he closed the door behind him, Bobby gave him one last warning. "If the Novak boy gets so much as one goddamned hair out of place, you'll be wishing I'd sent you straight to Limbo. Got it?"

Dean swallowed. "Yes, sir." He closed the door behind him before Bobby could level any more threats.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the door for a moment, letting his breath out in a controlled stream.

"So how'd it go?"

Dean jumped, swore, and opened his eyes to see Charlie standing a scant two feet from him, Sam hovering just behind her.

Then he sighed and admitted, "It could have gone worse." Dean started to walk down the hallway toward the nearest Section, which had the double advantage of taking him further from Bobby's office and of carrying him closer to the brilliant white hallways that housed the Heavens of departed humans and thus the chance of grabbing a cheeseburger and a beer.

"What happened?" Sam asked, worry evident in his voice as he and Charlie flanked him.

"I got transferred," Dean admitted easily.

"No shit," Charlie snorted. "After the Milton thing, I'd thought that would have been a given."

Dean threw her a mock scowl. "Quiet, you."

Charlie continued without pause. "I mean, you were meant to make a Match, but you sparked off, what, three blood feuds?"

"Five," Dean corrected under his breath, easily navigating their way through the winding hallways of Heaven.

"Five?" Sam shrieked. Damn, Dean had forgotten his brother had ears like a bat.

"Pipe down," Dean demanded. "It's not that bad; I'm sure it'll all blow over in a generation or two."

"A generation or--Dean!" Sam was practically hysterical at this point. Dean rolled his eyes at his overly concerned brother.

"It'll be fine," Dean said placatingly.

"I'm not sure of that," Charlie warned. "Anna Milton and Uriel Cohen were supposed to be the Abraham and Sarah of the Second Coming. Now you've made them the new Montagues and Capulets."

"Eh, I prefer Hatfields and McCoys myself," Dean offered. "It's a more modern reference."

"Dean," Sam protested.

"Shut it," Dean said, annoyance bleeding through his tone. "It's fine. I just got bumped off Matching. It'll all work out."

"What did you get moved to?" Charlie asked warily.

"Guardian," Dean said flippantly as they turned the last corner into the proper Section. Ellen had just told him about a wonderful little Heaven with a bar called the Roadhouse in it and he was dying for a cheeseburger that actually tasted like grease.

"Bobby thought that was a good idea?" Sam voice was skeptical, which Dean was somewhat offended at.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He shot his brother a dark look. "I can pull off Guardian."

"You just turned a love match into the backdrop for World War Three," Charlie pointed out dryly. "I can't see what could possibly have Sam so concerned."

Dean scowled at the pair of them. "You're both worrywarts," he announced. "It'll be fine."

"With your luck the poor sap will end up running into traffic," Charlie informed him. "Who is the unlucky bastard anyway?"

"Castiel Novak."

A few seconds later Dean realized that Sam and Charlie had stopped dead in their tracks at the name. He turned around to see them both eyeing him, Charlie with pity, Sam with horror. "What?" he snapped defensively.

"You are so screwed," Charlie told him.

"We're all screwed," Sam corrected her.

"What? Who's Novak anyway?"

"If Milton and Cohen were Abraham and Sarah--" Charlie started.

"Novak is Isaiah," Sam finished. "A crazy powerful prophet who's going to be churning out some very important prophecies."

"What?" Dean was aware his mouth was hanging open unattractively in surprise. "Why the hell would I get Novak after the Milton thing?"

"Because Novak's a trouble magnet," Sam informed him grimly. "He came online ten months ago and has gone through seven different Guardians since then."

"Really?" Dean asked weakly.

"Yep," Charlie said, popping the "p." "And not the usual ways either; no demon attacks or anything yet. Nope!" she continued. "They've all quit."

"What?" Dean asked, confused. "You can do that?"

"Apparently." Charlie shrugged. "He must have broken a entire funhouse of mirrors or lost a warren's worth of rabbit's feet because that guy is unlucky. Like, the dictionary definition."

"What kind of unlucky are we talking about?" Dean asked, a sinking feeling making itself at home in his stomach.

"He's been struck by lightning twice--"

"--fell in an elevator shaft--"

"--stuck in the middle of a lift bridge just when it was opening--"

"--middle of hunting season--"

"--locked out--"

"--identity theft--"

"--four times--"

"--twice--"

"--can't understand how he's still--"

"Alright!" Dean shouted, holding up his hands to halt the flow of woe coming from two sides. "I get it, okay? The guy's unlucky." Dean hesitated. "Why do you think I got him?"

"Punishment?" Sam suggested.

"Karma," Charlie said decisively.

"C'mon, be serious," Dean said. "If this dude's so important, there's no way the guys upstairs stick him with me. I mean," he waved a hand around. "Hatfields and McCoys!"

"Karma," Charlie repeated. "You've ruined the world, now the world is going to try to ruin you. Mostly by making you run yourself ragged keeping Novak alive."

"Punishment," Sam said again. "For us." At the questioning looks he got from Charlie and Dean, he elaborated a bit. "The rest of heaven has obviously failed at exerting enough social pressure to get Dean to fall in line," he explained grimly. "Exhibit A: the Milton Debacle. As our punishment, we now have to watch as Dean runs this whole thing into the ground and we have to start the prophecy business all over again as well."

There was a moment of silence.

"Well that's fatalistic," Charlie commented.

"Realistic," Sam corrected. "The odds of Dean actually succeeding here are slim to none."

"I like Charlie's theory better," Dean informed him. "At least then I'm only dooming myself and not the next millennium of human history."

"To be fair," Charlie said. "You sort of already did that with Milton."

"I need a drink," Dean sighed, running a hand over his face.

"I'm not sure that's going to be enough," Charlie said comfortingly. "But you're welcome to try."

"It couldn't possibly make the situation any worse," Sam added darkly.

"Ugh," Dean groaned. He turned and starting stalking off down the hallway again, knowing Sam and Charlie would be following.

Charlie and Sam were right, of course. Alcohol wasn't going to make the Novak problem go away. But, Dean thought as he found the right door and pushed it open, letting the warm light and laughter of the bar spill out into the hallway, that was no reason not to try.

#Resolution19 #Supernatural #reverse!verse #not sure if there will ever be more #but if there is it would be #destiel #the title's a bit of a cheat #but i'll let it slide #three and a half months left!!!

[yuki-setsu]

[Extra Fic] Stay With Me (Lance Whump)

[edit: lmao i can’t tumblr and accidentally deleted my original post so here i am reposting it sorry aklsfjaklfj]

hello writer’s block for my current WIP is kicking my literal ass so please take the original story i’d written for Day 5 of Lance Whumpmas :’) i finished this story, but then the actual story i posted for Day 5 came into my head and i ended up liking that one better so this has just been sitting in my folders oops;; the theme for that day was Burns hehe

The mission had just been to scope out an abandoned Galra site, to see if there was any useful information they could scavenge and make sure there weren't any covert operations still going on. With almost all of the rooms in the hideout rummaged through, Lance was starting to relax. They'd all split up to finish the task faster, and no one had run into any stray Galra soldiers. Pidge even mentioned finding some new information on a Galra supply route she'd been tracking. So far, so good.

Lance peeked into another room filled with darkened screens. It was pretty empty, save for a few abandoned Galra guns on the ground. Everything looked like it had been inactive for a while. He stepped inside, bayard still out just in case. Probably wouldn't find anything in here either, though.

“Pidge, did you get everything you need?” Shiro asked through the comms.

“Almost. A few more ticks.”

Lance sidestepped another fallen gun as Shiro spoke. “Sounds good. We'll regroup and leave once Pidge is done. Great work, everyone.”

Hunk cleared his throat. “I finished my section of the base, so I'll just... start heading back towards the exit.”

“Same here.” Keith added.

Lance hummed, light and soft. “Bet I can beat you both to my Lion even with the headstart you guys have.”

“Oh really?” There was a smile in Hunk's voice. “Challenge accepted.”

Lance peered at the broken screens and control panel, deciding to give them a few more seconds just out of the goodness of his heart. He wasn't a fan of the eerie quiet, but he'd take that over dealing with hostile Galra at this point. Hunk's footsteps echoed through the comms, and Lance waited one more tick before he started towards the door. He'd been so focused on the ambient noises in his helmet that he almost missed the low beeping that crept into his ears. But even when he stiffened up and focused his hearing, he barely heard it. He whipped around, eyes landing on an object the size of a volleyball sitting on the ground a few feet away.  The slight glow around it—which definitely wasn't there before—intensified with large crackles of electricity, and Lance only managed one step backwards, bayard raised to cover his face, before he felt it explode.

When Lance came to again, he was on the floor, his entire body feeling like it had been electrocuted. He couldn't even tell if he passed out, his mind hazy with pain. His body jerked as he tried to take in a full breath, each inhale not quite making it all the way. Any attempt he made to move his body failed miserably, but the effort hurt too much and he gave up trying.

“—at happened, was that Lance?!” Allura's voice crept in past the ringing in his ears, muffled and distant.

“He's not responding. I'm heading to him right now.” Shiro said, the urgency in his tone spiking up Lance's anxiety. He tried to speak—tell them he was fine, just a little dazed. But words failed him as he started to panic, the air starting to feel more like mud as it tried to pass through his lungs. His stomach burned every time he tried to take a deep breath. Breathing. He needed to focus on breathing right now.

A bunch of other voices rang out, overlapping in a way that made any sentence impossible to decipher. He heard his name a lot, though. Lance bit back a groan, trying to figure out what hit him. Something like a bomb, obviously. He figured his armor took most of the damage, but shit everything hurt.

“Shiro,” Lance gasped out, hearing the comms immediately peter off into silence.

And Shiro responded, his relief nearly palpable through the comms. “I'm here, Lance. I'm on my way. So are the others. I need you to tell me what happened.”

Lance tried to focus on the conversation, his vision blurring every few seconds. “Bomb... I think.”

“Bomb?!” Hunk cried out, panicked.

Had it been a bomb? Suddenly, Lance wasn't sure anymore. Another spasm drowned out any coherent thought he'd been gathering, waves of pain stabbing at every inch of his body. “Buncha electricity.” Lance groaned, hissing out a breath. “I can't—can't move. Hurts too much.”

“Don't move, I'm almost there.” Shiro said. He sounded calm, in control. Lance clung to it desperately, his mind needing a steady tether to grip onto. “Where does it hurt?”

Lance tried to move a hand, stopping at the jolt of pain that shot through when he did. “Everywhere.” An even bigger pain, this time near his torso. “Stomach.”

“I found him.” Shiro piped up, and Lance it took a moment of confusion to realize he was speaking to the others. “Give me a moment.”

A hand touched his shoulder, and Lance jerked in surprise, hissing when another flood of pain blinded him. The hand disappeared just as quickly.

“Sorry, I'm sorry, Lance.” Shiro spoke, his voice filling Lance's ears with surprising clarity. His vision cleared enough to catch Shiro crouched above him, face awash with worry. “It's me.”

It was a relief, to say the least, to see Shiro. The tension in his shoulders loosened just a bit, and he worked on getting air into his chest while Shiro continued to talk into the comm. Whatever Shiro and the others were saying was lost in Lance's head, all of the sounds melting into distant mumbles. Shiro's gaze kept alternating from him to something to the side of the room—probably at whatever it was that exploded. Lance felt a weight against his side as Shiro looked back at him, clearly speaking to him this time, and Lance did his best to try to focus back on the conversation.

“—n you hear me, Lance? I need you to stay awake, okay? Stay with me. The others are almost here.”

Lance nodded—or tried to. His body felt unbelievably heavy, like something big decided to take refuge on top of his chest. Exhaustion was probably starting to kick in, and Lance just wanted to close his eyes and sleep. But Shiro had asked him to stay awake, so he tried his best to push that feeling away.

“... 'm I dying?” Lance mumbled, feeling a bit regretful for asking the question when he saw Shiro's expression. Why would he even ask something like that? It was a terrible question.

“You're not dying.” Despite how he looked, Shiro's voice was surprisingly calm and confident. The weight against Lance's side grew a bit heavier. “Once we get you in the pod, you'll be fine. Just focus on breathing, kiddo.”

So he did. Shiro glanced up at the rumble of footsteps, and Lance suddenly saw Hunk and Pidge crowd his view of the ceiling. They glanced at him and then somewhere further down his body, the panic blatantly evident on their faces. He spotted Keith just a bit to the side talking to Shiro, although his expression didn't look too good, either. Despite what Shiro said, everyone sure looked like he was dying.

Hunk suddenly leaned over, so close their helmets nearly bumped. He smiled. “Hey, buddy. I don't know if you heard the comm, but Coran had a few questions. Are you able to move your neck?”

Lance nodded, turning it side to side at Hunk's request, albeit limply. Hunk looked relieved at that.

“Where's it hurting the most?”

Lance considered it for a second. He couldn't tell if the pain had receded anywhere. At least the spasms had stopped. “My stomach...”

Hunk nodded, grim. “You got a pretty nasty burn there, dude. But we can fix that. Can you breathe okay?”

The weight on Lance's chest hadn't gone away, his breaths still shaky as they rattled down his throat. His body burned with each inhale, the injury on his stomach probably irritated whenever he breathed in. “A little. It's hard.”

Hunk glanced at Shiro before he finally leaned back, the worried look back on his face. “We can probably move him, right? I don't think there's a spinal injury.”

Shiro nodded. “Get ready to head back to the ship. We're gonna go fast.” He glanced back down, looking a bit apologetic. “Lance, I'm gonna carry you, but it'll probably hurt.”

Lance had expected as much, anyways. He huffed out a breath, bracing himself. “Kay.”

Shiro straightened, and the weight against Lance's side disappeared. Oh, Shiro had been holding his hand. Lance couldn't really ponder much on it before Shiro scooped him up, and the pain in his stomach rippled through his body in furious waves.

Maybe he screamed, because Shiro muttered out an apology before sprinting. Everything was a blur during that time, and Lance honestly wasn't sure if he blacked out. But when he came to, he felt himself lying back on the ground, someone propping him up. He blinked the white spots out of his eyes, hoping that his now-frantic breaths weren't as loud as they sounded in his ears. They were in the Black Lion, from what he could tell.

Someone gently tugged his helmet off, and Lance was grateful for the open breathing space, his head falling to the side and against something hard. Paladin armor, he realized. Fingers carded through his hair, almost methodical in their movements.

“You're gonna be fine. Stay with me.” Hunk's voice drifted into his ears, and Lance felt himself relax a bit. Hunk mumbled little words of encouragement the whole ride back, and Lance could only lie there and listen, fully exhausted at that point. Before he knew it, they must've arrived, because Hunk suddenly moved to pick him up, the pain greeting him full force once more.

This time, Lance did pass out.

-

Lance woke up falling, although he felt someone catch him before he could instinctively panic at the realization. Sleep was still heavy on his eyelids, and he was glad that whoever was hugging him was basically holding up his entire weight. They finally pulled back, and Lance caught Hunk's beaming face, the others crowded up behind him with equal looks of concern and relief.

“Man, am I glad you're awake.” Hunk sighed, his hands still firm on Lance's shoulders. “You feel all better now? Not that I doubt the pods or anything, but...”

The fog in Lance's mind started to clear up, and he glanced down, catching the white of the healing pod suit. Breathing was fine now, the pain he'd felt before now a distant figment of his imagination. He looked up, a smile on his face. “All good, my dude. Maybe even better.”

It was like all the tension melted from the room, and the group stepped back a bit to give some more space. Lance straightened up, shifting his weight from side to side. “So, what hit me?”

Coran was the one who spoke up. “It seems to have been a Galra-crafted explosive. Set to detonate electricity should any intruders come after the base had been abandoned. For all we know, there could be more scattered around the base, but that was only one we detected.”

Lance huffed out a laugh. “Guess I was the lucky winner.”

Someone lightly punched his arm, and Lance caught Pidge scowling at him. “That's not something to brag about.” Her expression softened. “I'm glad you're okay, though.”

The smile on Lance's face grew before he reached out and tugged Pidge into a bear hug. “Aww. C'mere, you.” Pidge resisted for a half a second and then caved, returning his hug with surprising enthusiasm.

“We should get you something to eat after you find a change of clothes.” Allura piped up lightly. “Everyone can take the rest of the day to relax. We all need it. Especially you, Lance.”

“She's right.” Shiro said. “We can meet you in the kitchen after you're dressed.” He reached out, giving Lance's shoulder a quick squeeze. “You did great today.”

Lance flushed a bit, the embarrassment tickling at his stomach. “I didn't... really do anything.”

Pidge disentangled herself from Lance's grip as the group began to move towards the medical bay doors, although she still stuck close to his side. Hunk laughed, “Just take the compliment.”

Lance could barely think of a retort before another thought hit him. “Wait, I won the challenge right?”

Hunk blinked. “Challenge?”

“I bet Shiro and I reached the Lions before you or Keith did. So I won.”

Keith looked over at him, face scrunched in disbelief. “What? I can't believe you're thinking about that challenge after what happened.”

Lance clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Don't try to pretend like this win didn't happen, dude. Life—or-death situation or not, the facts stay true.” He glanced at Shiro. “Did we get to the Lions first?”

Shiro contemplated for a moment before he slowly nodded. “We... did. It was an emergency, so I ran pretty fast.”

Lance beamed, triumphant. “Haha! Winner winner, chicken dinner. Take that, Mullet!”

Keith didn't look at all convinced. “That definitely didn't count.”

“Did so.”

“The challenge should only count when any of the participants aren't actively dying.”

“Dude, just accept it. You lost. I won.”

Pidge groaned, grumbling under her breath. “I seriously can't believe you two are arguing over this.”

A few more seconds of bickering later, they agreed on a rematch in the near future, and Lance headed to his room to change, his chest lighter than ever. Despite the chaotic end to that mission, he felt happy and his heart felt full.

His stomach, on the other hand, felt pretty empty. Food couldn't come soon enough.

#voltron #vld #lance #shiro #keith #hunk #pidge #allura #coran #my writing

[khaelisfics]

Classroom War - Chapter 4

Paring: John Smith x Rose Tyler Chapter: 4/? Rating: T Word count: 2100 Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, University AU

Read on AO3

Tagging @doctorroseprompts for the fourth chapter of this University AU! :)

Hope you’re ready for it. Coming in five minutes, we can go together. Just need to get my prints. Dr Smith

She frowned at the message that popped up in the corner of her screen and gulped down her small sip of boiling coffee. She had no idea where they needed to go, and she didn’t know much more about the nature of that it. She checked her schedule of the day on her computer, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about her planning - same boring classes given to first year postgraduates, same annoying photocopying sessions, same nerve-wracking research for her article. Nothing that justified such a message and a visit from her archenemy. He must have gotten the wrong date, or better yet, the wrong person. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to deal with that contemptuous man. It was just that kind of day. An alarm clock that didn’t ring, a shower with no hot water, a car that broke down in the middle of a busy avenue. The last thing she needed was an insufferable git over her back.

She shrugged it off as a simple miscommunication and leaned back into her chair. Hopefully, time would fly. She usually wasn’t in any hurry to go back to her cold and empty flat, but that day was an exception. She was sure her exhaustion showed, no matter how well she had hidden the black circles under eyes with her miracle foundation. She was just as sure she looked completely dishevelled, that her clothes didn’t match, and she was almost certain she had forgotten to put her eyeliner under her left eye. Yes, it was most probable she looked like a downright mess that morning. It didn't matter. Just two lessons in an auditorium so big no one would clearly see her face, and then she’d scurry back into her office and lock the door. That was a good plan.

The mail bell chimed again, and while she expected another message from the same Doctor, the name of a very different sender appeared on the screen. A certain President Marshall.

“Are you shitting me?” she cursed through a whisper, eyes roaming over the message and a big ball of anxiety settling low in her stomach.

Dear staff,

I hereby confirm the annual meeting about the extracurricular trip budget will take place this morning at 9:00 in conference room 2.

Friendly reminder to all, no pipe dreams, part of this budget was allocated to the science faculty earlier this year and the funds are limited. History and languages will be favoured over physics and biology, but every proposition will be carefully studied.

Please do not forget to mail students about cancelled lessons.

I’ll see you all in 15 minutes. Good luck everyone!

P. Marshall

Her head shot up at the sound of the door opening, and she gaped at him. Doctor Smith, full formal suit with a matching tie, old chucks turned into black polished shoes, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a full stack of copies cradled against his chest and a computer case dangling in his hand.

“Doctor Tyler,” he greeted with a smile - a smile that disappeared when he noticed her appearance, replaced by pinched lips to keep a laugh in. “Oh my, did you get hit by a truck this morning?. That must have hurt.”

“Shut up, Smith, now is really not the time,” she snapped as she feverishly sifted through the papers in her drawer in the vain hope of finding something, anything that could save her.

“Quite right,” he nodded, clearing his throat to chase the persistent tickle that wanted to turn into a giggle. “I thought you’d have prepared better, you know, given I already won the main department budget. My centrifuge works perfectly well, by the way, thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t ask about your bloody toy, and shut the Hell up, I need to think.”

She looked at the time, realized there was only a few minutes left before they’d have to go, and realized there was no point in going to the meeting at all. She had nothing. She groaned into her palms as he put his copies down on her desk and plopped down on the chair with a grin she wanted nothing more but to erase it from his stupid face with a slap.

“Shame you didn’t know about the meeting, isn’t it?” he chuckled, proudly rubbing a hand over his stack of paper. “What city would you have chosen?”

“Don’t know. Milan, probably, they have the most amazing Latin section I know of,” she shrugged, staring at the desk as if she could picture her chances turning to ashes. “We did Exeter last year, because there wasn’t enough budget for that kind of activities, but.... Wait, hold on a minute.”

She squinted at him suspiciously, and her suspicions were only confirmed when his lips twitched and his grin faltered.

“How come you know I didn’t know about it, Doctor Smith?” she asked, much calmer on the outside than on the inside - inside, she was positively boiling and ready to explode.

“I meant, you forgot,” he hurried to correct, though it was obvious from his nervous shrug he had betrayed himself. “Or didn’t get the email, or didn’t read it. How should I know?”

He seemed to shrink on his chair when she rose from her own seat and leant towards him, eyes shooting daggers and whole body oozing anger. He tried to look away, but she was pinning him. He loved it when she looked furious, but that day, he believed he might have gone a step too far. She knew he had something to do with it and she wasn’t about to let him survive this, by the looks of it.

“Do you really think I would have forgotten about this?’ she seethed, dangerously close to his face. “That I would have missed the opportunity to get something I deserve so much more than you do?”

“Probably not,” he shook his head - and he was quick to put his computer case between his feet, should she decide to snatch it away from him and throw it against the wall. “But like I said, maybe you didn't read the email.”

“I read all my emails, just like every goddamned professor in this university, and you know it.”

“Then you didn't get it, so what? I'm not to blame, alright?”

“I receive every useless email about broken toilets and painted doors but I don’t receive the one about this bloody annual meeting?” she chuckled bitterly. “Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Well it is,” he huffed as a meager defense, folding his arms over his chest.

“Really? A coincidence? Come on Smith, say it. This is your doing again.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, crossed his hands over his stack of paper, opened it again. But no words came out. Either he insisted it wasn’t his fault when she was perfectly aware it was, or he admitted he might have played his part in this scheme when he was perfectly aware she would hate him for the rest of his days and beyond. He didn’t know which was the most dangerous. The worse was, to see the anger and the sadness in her eyes made him feel something he had never felt before - not when it came to the war they waged anyway. Guilt. Because this time, he knew she really deserved it more than he did. Of course, he would never confess that. And a faculty trip to Tokyo he had been planning for weeks was still involved, so part of him was very much eager to fight for it. But then…

She blinked several times as if to dry a tear or two and her knuckles whitened almost imperceptibly, fingers pressing hard against the wood.

“I’ve had a very shite morning, Doctor Smith,” she said with a dejected sigh before she let herself fall back down on her chair. “Please, just tell me it was you so I don’t have to believe a bloody email ruined the last chance I had of getting something out of this sodden university.”

He took off his glasses with one hand a fiddled with a corner of a page, doing his best not to look at her.

“No one received an email about this meeting, actually,” he started, carefully picking his words so it all wouldn’t end in a bloodbath. “It was decided at the half-term meeting three months ago. The meeting you couldn’t attend because you were on sick leave. But everyone else was there. For whatever reason, the President asked me to tell you about it, as if we’re mates or something, but I…. Forgot.”

“Forgot, or chose not to tell me just to rob me of the opportunity? Again?”

“I did want to tell you,” he assured her, hoping she would see the truth in his words. “I just… Wanted to wait a little so you’d have less time to prepare. You know you’ve always been better than me for this kind of stuff, and I thought it would be good to have a bit of a head start. And then, I really forgot.”

“So, you mean to tell me that during those three long months you’ve been working on your project, it didn’t occur to you just once that it would be good to, maybe, I don’t know, bloody tell me about it?” she stated much too calmly to his liking, her frustration obviously ramping up into the kind of quiet anger he knew didn’t bode well. “Tell you what, if you don’t want to play by the rules, then fine, we’ll both play by my rules.”

“How do you mean, your rules, Doctor Tyler?” he asked, shuffling nervously on his seat.

“Fear not, I am a woman of fairness and equality. Unlike you, it seems”

He watched, just a bit scared, as she rose from her chair and offered a mischievous smile he was quite sure wasn’t meant to be reassuring. She took a sip of her coffee, winking at him above the ridge of the cup, then slowly brought it up over his stack of copies.

“No reason why you can have notes when I don’t.”

He jumped from his chair with a loud shriek when he understood what her intention was, but it was too late. It was just a drip, at first, but a drip that turned into a steady stream splashing over the neat piles until it was swimming in a pool of hot coffee.

“Are you out of your mind?” he barked as he shoved her away, mindlessly wiping the top with the back of his sleeve. “I don’t have time to get more copies, you’ve just ruined half of my presentation, stupid woman!”

“And your suit,” she grinned, purposefully looking at the soaked deep blue material of his jacket. “Now, we all know Doctor Smith is useless without his notes, don’t we? All you ever do during your presentations is read. Boring. This will add some spice, won’t it?”

“I still have my slides, you won’t get away with this, Tyler!”

“Your slides? What slides?”

He looked up from the disastrous mess his papers had melted into and gasped, glancing down between his feet to make sure it wasn’t his computer case in her hands. He found out it was. She must have stolen it from him while he was busy trying to save bits and pieces of his notes - she hadn’t been wrong when she had said he was useless without his notes. So, if he didn’t get his computer back with his precious slides… He didn’t want to think about it.

“Doctor Tyler, this is my property and I demand you give it back, right now,” he ordered, pointing a threatening finger at her, a hard scowl spread over his features.

She simply raised an eyebrow, shoved the case inside a drawer, turned the key in the locket to secure it, and offered the key in the crook of her palm. Just as he was about to snatch it back from her, she threw it through her open window and faked a moan of apology.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor, it appears I’ve lost the key,” she smiled, mockingly tugging on her drawer to make sure it was properly locked. “I’m afraid we don’t have enough time to look for it, you’ll have to do without it. But surely the brilliant Doctor Smith doesn’t need slides to convince the committee of the utmost importance of a trip to Backwater-Upon-Moron to learn more about, what was it, ass fissioning?”

“You’ll pay for this, Doctor Tyler,” he growled, a low rumble in his throat. “I spent hours and hours on this and you’ve just ruined all of it.”

“You ruined it all for me the moment you decided not to tell me,” she shot back, picking up the soaked papers to throw them in her bin. “That’s all you ever do, ruin my career, ruin my faculty, day after day, you just stand in my way and make sure nothing good ever happens to me! I’m tired of you and your bloody childish pride and ambitions!”

“They are not childish....”

“You want to wank at night, oh yes, I’m so good at what I do, I’m the best, look at me, ‘m Mister Clever Scientist, king to the humanities peasants,” she continued in a high-pitched voice, as if she hadn’t heard his interruption, “then please, wank away all you want, but don’t expect me to give you a hand. I’m going to this meeting, and I’ll give it my best shot just because I don’t want to make it easy for you. Now get the Hell away from here and tell the President I’ll be five minutes late.”

“You can tell him yourself, some ginormous head case told me I’m not good at delivering messages,” he muttered, kicking the chair back under the desk. “I meant it, by the way. I really wanted to tell you. You’d better give me my computer back after the meeting, Doctor Tyler.”

“Sure, just find the keys, Doctor Smith. Now go.”

“With pleasure. Nutter.”

He made sure to slam the door on his way out, before he leaned against it, a heavy sigh flowing out of his mouth. She made sure to throw her empty cup of coffee at the door, before she leaned back in her chair, a tired moan flowing out of her mouth. Well, at least, neither of them would get what they wanted at that meeting, he believed. And, well, at least, both of them would make a poor impression on the committee, she believed.

He pondered for a moment if he ought to go at all. No notes, no slides, mouth full of anger and head full of resentment. No use in going. And Doctor Tyler was right, anyway. She deserved that budget more than he did. She was right. He should have played fair and square from the beginning, told her about the meeting and give her a chance, just like everyone else had, but he hadn’t. Because of him, she wouldn’t get her chance to go to Milan with her students, just like she hadn’t gotten her chance to get a few lousy books. He understood why she hated him. And she was right to.

Instead of taking the elevator to the conference room, he kept walking towards his office. That was a battle he didn’t want to fight, much less to win.

She pondered for a moment if she ought to go at all. No notes, no slides, blood boiling with frustration and head full of furious thoughts. No use in going. And Doctor Smith would go anyway. Even without his stuff, she knew he would be better than she could ever be. She had nothing. If he had played fair and square, she would have had her chances, she could have presented something worth at least part of that budget, but he hadn't. Because of him, she wouldn’t get her chance to o to Milan with her students, or anywhere else for that matter. Just like she hadn’t gotten her chance to get a few books and a modicum of money to revamp the department. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. She could blame him for not telling her about the meeting, but she knew he hadn’t lied, and just forgotten. Just another vile trick that had turned sour. And she had ruined his chances, too. He had worked hard for this, and she had destroyed all of it. She understood why he was angry. And he was right to.

Instead of preparing a sketch of ideas she could present at the meeting, she crossed her arms over her desk and buried her face in the crook of an elbow. That was a battle she didn’t want to fight, much less to win.

#doctorroseprompts #ten x rose #university au #enemies to lovers #trope #fun #humour #john smith x rose tyler

[inakua]

Unexpected

Request: In a world where Voldemort won, and people die on the daily, a rag-tag group of teens could change the fate of the war. Follow Dom Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy - squibs - and their best friends Rose Weasley and Kieron Zabini as they team up with the Muggle Resistance to bring down the Death Eaters once and for all.

Warnings: Blood, Swearing, Weapons (knives, guns etc), Death, Serious Injury, Violence, Bad Parent Relationship, Slurs, Bodies/Corpses, Hostages, Murder, Warfare. (I will always try and tag as many warnings as I can think of for each writing, if you read through and find something that I haven’t listed which may be a trigger for someone please send me an ask or DM me so that I can add it to this list, thanks!)

Pairings: N/A

Words: 3,973

A/N: Okay so this is an extract of a new fic that I’m working on, it will be called Unexpected, and probably won’t be posted on fanfic.net for a while but I just wanted to give you guys a brief taster :) Hope you enjoy, don’t forget to let me know what you think in the replies or when you reblog!

REQUEST A ONESHOT HERE

We've been here for 2 years now; me and Scor. Not much has changed, we're still best friends, still squibs and the war is still controlling our lives. Uncle Harry never won on the eve of the 2nd May 1998, they did. His side, the death eaters. It's been 20 years since the battle of Hogwarts.

20 years since Voldemort won.

20 years since all hell broke loose.

Families turned against one another, mother against daughter, father against son. The muggles didn't stand a chance once Voldemort took control, many tried to flee, some tried to fight but the majority were captured in the mayhem. Me and Scor were born in the midst of it all. Both into two completely different lives.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, son of Draco Malfoy - Voldemorts right hand man - and the late Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass was born on the 12th November 2002.  

Me? I'm Dominique Aveline Weasley, but everyone calls me Dom. I was born on the 19th January 2003 to worldclass asshole and half-veela, Fleur Delacour. My father, Bill Weasley, passed away just two years ago. 

We're similar like that, me and Scor, both of us have lost the one thing we held most dear; a loving parent.

When my mother found out I was a squib, she wanted nothing to do with me. The love she once had for me quickly turned into hatred. She was angry at my father, blaming him for my 'condition'. No daughter of hers was going to be a squib. Everyday I was ridiculed, blamed for the countless mistakes others would make, she concentrated all of her anger towards me and it quickly became too much.

In the end the only people I had left were my father, Rose and Victoire. On the 6th March 2018, my father went on a solo mission, the order needed information on a rogue death eater and he volunteered.

He never came back. 

The whole family was a wreck for days and it wasn't long before my mother started shoving the blame on me again. I decided that enough was enough, and took matters into my own hands. 

That's when it all started, when everything changed. 

That's when I met Scorpius.

****************************** "e eez dead and eet is all your fault! I loved eem and now e is gone, taken from me." 

Fleur was hysterical, people tried to stop her but to no avail.  She'd been screaming at me for the past hour. Blaming me for my fathers death, shouting profanities at me at the top of her lungs. I'd tolerated her up until now but the anger was starting to get the better of me. I couldn't stand here and take her shit any longer, my anger was flaring, I could feel it building up.

"My fault? How the fuck is this my fault?" I screamed, rendering Fleur speechless.

"Stop accusing me of something that was out of my control. I'm just as devastated as you Fleur, I love him more than words can describe, but you don't see me taking it out on anyone. It's not my fault that dad is dead, it's not my fault you hate me and it's not my fault that I'm a squib. When will you stop putting the blame for everything on me? I've had enough of you treating me like I'm nothing. I can't deal with you acting like this 24/7!" 

I could see Rose move into my line of vision, her hand reached out and grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to turn and look at her. My family were stood behind her, shock evident on their faces.

"Dom calm down, she's not worth it." Rose whispered in my ear. I could tell she was trying to help but I was fed up of everyone pretending that Fleur was this perfect angel. I was fed up with everyone assuming that she'd never hurt me, that she loved me as a mother is supposed to love her children. They needed to know the truth; they needed to know now.

"No Rose! They need to hear this," I hissed back at her through clenched teeth. I turned back to face Fleur. She'd turned as white as a ghost, time to let my Weasley temper loose.

"Did you really think they wouldn't find out eventually? Did you honestly believe I was going to let you get away with the pain you've caused me over these past couple of years. You've blamed me for everything that has gone wrong in this family, you taunt me and call me names. I'm your daughter you're supposed to be there for me, you're supposed to love me unconditionally. Instead you hate me, you hate me for something that I have no control over, do you think it's been easy for me? Do you think it's been easy living with the knowledge that my own mother hates me, that she hates me enough to blame my own fathers death on me? Dad and Rose were the only ones there for me, they were the only ones who stood up for me when you treated me like shit. I know how much you hate me, dad knew how much you hate me. Hell even Vic can see how much hatred you have towards me, everyone else may be oblivious but I know better and I'm not putting up with it anymore. I'm through with your bullshit Fleur. I'm done." 

I was filled with joy at the sight of Fleur cowering in front of me. I could see the guilt consuming her from within, with the pleasure of knowing that she felt guilty I stormed up to my room. Grabbed my bag and started shoving everything I could find into it.

I heard the door slam behind me and felt Rose put a hand on my shoulder, she knew what we had to do, we'd talked about this on many occasions. We had a plan, the only problem was if it would work.

"Vic was coming up the stairs behind me, she'll be up in a minute," Rose said, reaching into the pocket of her jeans to fetch her wand. She quickly shrunk my case and slipped it into her back pocket. Before Victoire could make it up to my bedroom, I pulled open my bed side drawer and stuffed the knife my dad had given me before he left in my pocket. Rose eyed me as if I was crazy.

"How else am I going to defend myself?" I told her, she shrugged before moving her eyes towards the door, anticipating Victoires entrance. 

She knew I was right, I'm a squib, it was the only defence I had. Victoire stormed into the room, her eyes red and puffy as she walked over to me, pulling me into a bear hug.

"Do you have to go?" She whispered in my ear, her voice raw and scratchy as she talked. I felt my heart break as tears splashed onto my shoulder. I loved my sister so much, I didn't want to leave her but it was for the best. I didn't belong here, not any more.

"You know I do Vic, I'm so sorry." My voice was filled with regret, she may be the older sister but she definitely wasn't the stronger one. 

She didn't like disobeying anyone and breaking the rules made her shudder; literally. She depended on me just as much as I depended on her. Victoire hadn't always been like this, she was just as feisty as me, up until about a year ago. 

Teddy Lupin was called out on a mission about a year ago, he never came back. He'd been Victoires friend since birth and about 4 years ago, they began dating. Many suspected him dead, but Vic refused to believe it, she'd kept her hopes up for a couple of months after his disappearance but eventually she had to face reality, he was gone. She was never the same after that, always following orders and never standing up for herself. It pained me to see her like it, but no matter how hard I tried she carried on wondering about like a little lost puppy.

"I love you Dom," Victoire wailed as I held her tighter, not saying a word, in fear that the tears gathering in my eyes would spill. She'd barely calmed down before clambering off me and hurtling herself towards Rose. 

"You know I love you too Rosie, I'll miss you!" 

"Love you too Vic," Rose replied, finding it just as hard as myself to fight back the tears forming in her eyes. 

"We have to make a move though, we don't want any one to notice our absence." Rose replied regretfully.

Victoire stepped back and watched us as we made our way to the window, Rose climbed out first, making her way down the pipe. I turned towards Vic before I left.

"Look after Louis for me," I whispered, before taking one last look at my sister and following Rose down the pipes. 

We ran as fast as we could, if the family found out that we'd gone before we reached the wards then we'd never escape. 

We stopped at the edge of the land, just before the wards. Rose pulled out her wand and began breaking a section of the wards so that we could get through and onto the other side. 

I turned around, looking at the building I was supposed to call home, but staring at it now, I realised that it had never been my home. It was more of a prison, somewhere that I couldn't escape, and I never wanted to see it ever again.

"I'm done. Hurry up Dom, we've only got a couple of seconds before the wards are put back up," Rose cried urgently, racing through the gap in the wards and pulling me with her, we made it onto the other side just as the wards went back up. All I could see now was the beach, the house I've lived in all my life wasn't in sight, and I could’ve never felt more ecstatic.

"We did it Rose, we actually did it," I cried in triumph, Rose jumped into my arms unexpectedly and I spun her around, crying with happiness. We stayed like this for a couple more minutes, just sobbing on each other, we managed to escape and it was the best moment of my life. I had no doubt in my mind that Rose was thinking the exact same thing, even though Rose was a wizard she still hated that place. 

When she was a baby her parents, Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ron Weasley, were caught in an attack by death eaters who were trying to kill Uncle Harry. They died protecting their best friend, leaving an 8 month old Rose orphaned. While she was still young, Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny looked after her but when she got older and they started having kids of their own, she was moved around between relatives. At the age of 11, my father decided that she could live with us permanently. By that time, Fleur knew that I was a squib, Rose stood by me and in return was hated by Fleur, she hated Rose just as much as she hated me.

"We should probably start moving," I told Rose, untangling myself from her embrace, "We don't want them to come after us."

"Not that they would bother," Rose said scornfully, picking up her wand that had fallen out of her pocket.

"Not that they would bother," I agreed. 

We made our way along the beach, eventually reaching  the woods surrounding the nearby village. We had to make sure that we were far enough away from the house before putting our plan into action.

"Over here," Rose called, we were looking for a good place to sit, where we were out of sight and not too close to civilisation. Nowhere was safe anymore, so we had to be alert. 

I made my way over to Rose, following her through some dense undergrowth and finally turning up in a small clearing by a stream. We were surrounded by trees and bushes, nobody would be able to find us here.

"We need to apparate to a little village just outside of Oxford, it's called Aston. I overheard the adults talking about it a couple of months ago, it's meant to be a safe haven for witches, wizards and muggles alike. The Death Eaters haven't attacked it yet so we should be safe," I told Rose, she nodded along. 

"I don't know what it looks like, how am I going to apparate us there?" she asked.

"Surely you don't think I expect you to apparate without knowing where we're going," I told her.

"Of course not but how am I going to know what It looks like?" She asked, obviously thinking I was stupid for bringing this up. I rolled my eyes at her lack of confidence in me, I tossed a small piece of paper at her, that I'd retrieved from my back pocket. She looked at it, realisation burning in her eyes.

"How did you get this?" She asked, holding up the picture I had of an alleyway in Aston.

"I stole it," I told her, "The adults were all talking in Uncle Harrys office about an apparation spot and he gave everyone a picture of it, just in case they needed to apparate somewhere in an emergency. I waited for them to leave and took one from Uncle Harrys' desk," I said proudly.

"You sneaky little bastard," she said, her eyes crinkling in amusement as she smiled at me.

"Why thank you," I said, bowing in appreciation, "I pride myself in that area of expertise."

"But, seriously, do you think this could work?" Rose asked, after slapping Dom playfully for her sarcasm.

"I'm not sure, but what do we have to lose by trying it?" I told her, hoping she'd agree with my plan.

"Oh I don't know," she said sarcastically," only a couple of limbs if we splinch ourselves."

"Come on Rosie, It's our only option. If we don't do this then we'll be living in this forest for the rest of our lives. I don't know about you but I'd rather spend my life back at that house than in this woods forever," I knew I was exaggerating but I really wanted to get away from this place.

"Fine." Rose snapped, giving up, "We'll apparate there."

"Thanks Rosie."

"Hurry up, I want to get out of this forest," Rose told me, studying the picture carefully and grabbing a hold of my hand. I felt the pull of apparation and before we knew it we were in the alleyway.

"I did it!" Rose whooped, punching her hand in the air. I clasped my hand over her mouth. Something was wrong.

"Stay here," I whispered to her, creeping down the alleyway and peeking round the corner. Nobody was there, where was everyone?

"Dom, I think you should come and see this," Rose called me, I turned to see what Rose was talking about. She was white as a ghost, her hands were shaking and she was pointing to the other end of the alley. 

I walked over to the other end, Rose following closely behind me, and gasped at the sight in front of me. 

Blood. So much blood, I stared at it with fear. How could they have not noticed before? People were running around frantically, screaming for those they'd lost. Death Eaters were everywhere, those who couldn't defend themselves perished. Sparks of colour were flying everywhere, people were dying. This was meant to be a safe haven, what was happening? 

"Dom, I can't -" Rose began but was cut of when she let out a strangled cry. I turned to see what she was looking at, a death eater was rounding up children, the youngest could've been only 4. 

He raised his wand, Dom could just make out what he was saying.

"Avada Kedavra"

A spark of green left his wand, hitting one of the girls square in the chest.

"No!" I screamed, watching as the girls body fell to the floor, her eyes were vacant, distant. The death eater laughed as her body hit the cold stones with a thump. I couldn't take it, I was filled with an indescribable surge of fury. 

Reaching into my back pocket I grabbed the knife, my fingers curling around the handle menacingly.

"Stay here." I barked at Rose, before charging out into the street, towards the death eater. 

I dodged spells that came flying in my direction, it was as if I'd been doing it for years. My eyes burnt with anger and my skin prickled, with what? Fear. Sadness. Anger. I couldn't be sure but it wasn't going away. 

I reached the death eater without any harm, he'd already killed another child, a boy this time. He had sandy blonde hair, and what were once baby blue eyes. He reminded me of Louis - my little brother.

The death eater raised his wand, preparing to kill another. Without thinking about what I was doing I ran up behind him and plunged my knife into his back.

He stopped, frozen. 

He turned around to face me, obviously not expecting such a hands on attack. why would he, when everyone else was using wands.

"What -" he never got to finish, because I pushed him harshly onto the cobbled street. His blood pooling around him, staining the stones red. 

"What - What are you - do - doing?" He asked, his face overcome with shock and pain.

"I just came here to kill you. No harm done," I hissed violently. I'd killed before, growing up in a world where Voldemort ruled and around every turn someone was more than willing to kill you, you had to make sure that you could defend yourself. Dad taught me self defence since the age of 8. I'd only killed two people, both Death Eaters, when they tried to attack me and some other members of the family while we we're taking supplies.

I watched as he took his last breath, his body turning pale, his eyes clouding over. I reached towards him, pulling my knife from his back.

I was just about to turn around and help the kids when a hot pink light hurdled towards one of the kids. I flung myself in front of the spell and hissed in agony as a deep gash was carved across my stomach. 

Just as I was about to get up I saw another spell flying in my direction, I ducked just in time and the spell hit a building above, sending bricks and debris flying everywhere. Luckily, nobody was hit. I turned around only to come face to face with a wand. There in front of me was a Death Eater, his wand pointed directly at my face.

"Hello there sweetheart," He sneered, luckily he hadn't noticed that I'd just clutched my knife in my hand, I was at the advantage.

"Hello to you to," I said innocently, as I drove my knife into his throat. 

The Death Eater fell and I was finally able to focus my attention on the group of children, they were all looking at me in shock. Some of them looked really scared but who could blame them, they'd just seen two other children die, me kill two men and get hit by a severing charm.

"Please, don't be scared," I tried to tell them, it wasn't very reassuring when I was covered in blood and had just stabbed someone in front of them. I looked over to the alleyway, to check if Rose was still there. She was watching, her eyes wide. I turned back to the children, I had to keep them safe.

"Please, come with me. I'll keep you safe," I tried pleading with them. Eventually, one of the elder ones walked over to her.

"Wh - why did you ki - kill them?" She stuttered.

"They were going to kill you, I couldn't stand by and watch you get hurt," I told her truthfully. The little girl nodded in acceptance before turning to the little group of 7.

"It's okay, she'll keep us safe," She told them, they seemed to listen to her and all of them looked up at me to see what they had to do.

"Follow me," I told them, I walked next to the group of children, hoping nobody would fire at them. Everybody seemed focused on their own battles and we had just made it to the entrance of the alley way when the girl who talked to me earlier screamed. I turned to see that a death eater had grabbed a hold of her and was pointing his wand to her head. 

"Let go of her," I hissed. Rose was behind me in the alley motioning all of the other kids to get behind her.

"You killed Goyle," he said, looking over to the body on the other side of the street.

I grinned, so it was his friend that I killed. Good. 

While he was distracted I ran towards him, he was only a meter or so in front of me, so he didn't have enough time to react. I stabbed my knife into his shoulder, he cried out in pain, I quickly pulled the knife back out and in the process he dropped the girl.

"Go," I shouted at her, pointing towards the alley way. She ran off towards Rose and the death eaters eyes turned on me, he was pissed. Great. 

"Sectumsempra," He shouted at me, a jet of light shot out from his wand and I jumped out the way, narrowly missing the curse as it went into the wall of a building, sending bricks flying everywhere. A piece of the wall hit my shoulder and I cried out in pain as I felt it embed itself in my flesh. 

The death eater was hit as well, he seemed to have been hit with more brick than me though, so I ran towards him, my knife out in front of me and aimed for his throat. I'd barely left a scratch when his fist came pummelling through the air, landing a punch on my jaw. 

I crashed to the floor and watched as he advanced on me, his wand out in front of him. In one final attempt to kill him, I threw my knife towards him. Before he could move out the way, it hit him in the side of the stomach and I grimaced in victory. It didn't deter him though, he was weaker but he could just about walk. He hobbled towards me.

"You stupid Muggle Bitch," He shouted at me, he thought I was a muggle? I did attack him with a knife and technically I am a muggle but with magical relatives. 

"You don't mess with Vincent Crabbe and live to tell the tale," he sneered at me, lifting his wand and aiming it at my face.

"Avada Ke-" He was dead before the gunshot reached my ears. The grip Crabbe had on his wand disappeared and I watched as it fell from his hand and clattered to the ground. I stood up, trying to ignore the pain my body was in. I walked over to Crabbe, rolled him over and pulled my knife out his abdomen. The man who shot Crabbe walked up to me, I looked around, the death eaters had gone. Some were dead on the floor and many were being killed. I stared at the man who was now in front of me, he offered me his hand.

"Scorpius Malfoy," He said, shaking my hand, I shook back and replied.

"Dominique Weasley."

#hp #dominique weasley #scorpius malfoy #rose weasley #weasley #malfoy #oneshot #hp oneshot #mine #my oneshot #next gen #next generation #next gen era #hp next gen #vincent crabbe #gregory goyle #crabbe #goyle #fleur delacour #dealcour #victoire weasley

[mubal4]

“This is pure snow!” – Charles De Mar, Better off Dead

 Not sure why this quote above comes to mind when I see snow, but it does, and I giggle.  This past Saturday, this quote entered my head often, I giggled, but then it got old. It was just everywhere :O.  Snow? In Arizona? In late May?  Yep – in the high country there was a ton of it.  The “plan” was to head up to Flagstaff to hike Humphrey’s Peak on Saturday, spend the night up there camping in a Yurt, get a good run in Sunday morning at altitude, and head home before noon.  Humphrey’s is the highest point in AZ, sitting just above 12,500’.  We’ve been up to Flagstaff a number of times, but I’ve never hiked Humphrey’s.  We did some of the San Francisco peaks that it resides in during the Stagecoach 100 race a few years ago but never got to the summit.  With the high elevation, climbing race coming up in July, figured this was a great opportunity to get some good training in.  However, just like most times, when you have a plan developed, it won’t be long until you get punched in the face.  (based on the pictures you can probably tell where this story is going 😊)  

 Friday night I got things all packed up, gear, snacks, water, clothes, wood, etc.  It was going to be low 30’s in the AM and warm up to about 68* during the day.  However, I was going to be above 8,000 feet most of the climb and it was scheduled to be windy.  When I was lining up the final details on the yurt, the dude that helped me indicated that above 11,000’ there is quite a bit of snow.  At that point I thought it was cool but didn’t pay it much attention to his words, but I did to some recon.  Sure enough, the forest service was saying that Humphrey’s Trail was closed & the road leading to the trail head was also closed (this should have been another hint 😊).  However, I was able to find Weatherford Trail that leads up to Humphrey’s, it would just be a longer day and more miles.  Figured I would be on the road by 7am and hiking by 9-930am.  About an hour into the drive Saturday morning, I was thinking about camping, the yurt, and hanging out by a fire under the stars; got pretty excited too, until I realized that I forgot my sleeping bag, blankets, and no warm clothes other than a sweatshirt.  “Oh shit, that will make things inconvenient.” Oh well, I had the hike to do first and would deal with that aspect later.  When I got to Weatherford trail head the sun was shining but it was windy and a little chilly.  I talked to Robin to let her know I was starting and off I went, shorts, t-shirt, long-sleeve, trail shoes, poles, and vest with some goodies. The climb up, as you can see from some of the pictures, was beautiful.  The views were great, the trail was in good shape, the Aspens were colorful, and you could smell the pines.  There were not many people out at this time but was able to catch up to this dude, Dylan, and we shared some miles for an hour or so.  We were moving at a good clip and climbing, but had not problems with the altitude, which was good.  I stopped a few times to take pictures and soak in the views as Dillon kept moving. It was just over 6 miles from the trail head to Doyle Saddle.  This is from where I took the title picture.  You can see Dylan off to the right enjoying a snack and Humphrey’s peak just over his head. It looks smaller because it is farther off in the distance.  We basically had to hike the face of the first peak, then switchback up the second peaks face then climb to the top of Humphrey’s.  You can’t make it out in the picture but from this spot you can see parts of the switchbacks and some of the trail across the face of the peak to Humphrey’s.  Sure, you can see the snow but at this point we had no idea what we were in store for. What’s crazy is on the drive up, coming into Flagstaff, you are looking right at the western slope of this range – very little snow.  Once I hit this saddle though, I was amazed at how much this opposite slope had. Then we got to experience it firsthand 😊!

 As Dylan finished up his snack, I got moving down the trail from Doyle saddle.  One of the pictures has a shot of the trail with snow to the left. This was like corridor with snow on one side where the trail continued to get smaller and smaller until there was no more trail, just footprints in the snow.  I stopped for a minute to wait for Dylan because he had done this hike before and was looking for his guidance.  When he caught up, I should have taken another hint, he had put on another layer of clothing and micro spikes on his shoes.  Meanwhile, I am standing there with t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes.  WTF?  We started moving forward, following the tracks in the snow, and estimated there to be about 6-10 feet in certain parts; yes, feet.  There were some sections, specially where there was avalanche areas that we think it may have been 15 feet deep. Dylan was a life saving for the next hour or so. We shared our stories, a few laughs, some frustration from the snow, potholing, and sliding.  A couple times, specially walking through 3 separate avalanche chutes, where our hind quarters puckered up.  There is one picture looking up at one of the chutes.  Yeah – dumbass me stopped in the middle, on the way through to snap that one – not a bright idea 😊.  After about an hour, where we covered a little over 1 MILE!!! Yes, it took 48 minutes to go one mile we hit a trail intersection.  Dylan said this was the last point where we would be able to bail out before hitting Humphrey’s Trail.  Once we hit Humphrey’s we would be good on the switchbacks but traversing the face of that 2nd peak was walking, what we can only assume because of so much snow, a glacier and we weren’t equipped for that today.  Dylan decided to bail and after climbing up an embankment of snow that was higher than the trail sign, we said our goodbyes. I came up to get to the top so I was at least going to try to see how far I can get so I kept moving forward. At this point, I was just on top of feet of snow and following the footprints. I made it another quarter/maybe half mile from where Dylan and I split, and the tracks ended.  I was about 2 miles and roughly 1,000’ feet from the summit. Unfortunately, I had to turn back. It wasn’t safe to go on, especially by myself, considering the conditions and not knowing what I was in store for. Figured I could try it again next month and definitely in August when I believe the snow will be gone.

 So, I turned back and was thinking about what route to take; follow Dylan’s path or trudge back the way we came originally; through more snow, more avalanche chutes, more sliding, more puckering 😊.  I decided to go the original way and this time that mile or so took me 53 minutes.  It was crazy but just couldn’t rush it because of safety and the deep ass snow!  When I finally got back to Doyle saddle it was incredibly happy to see dry ground. At this point, my feet were soaked and cold, my legs were all cut up, and I was beginning to get a headache (likely b/c I hadn’t eating).  So, I took a little spell, shoved a Clif Bar into my head and got ready to run this bitch back down to the car.  I was a bit disappointed that we didn’t get to the summit but was happy to know that I would be heading into town to Mother Road Brewery to pick up a case of Tower Station IPA, so I had that going for me which was nice.  At this time, Doyle saddle had a bunch of people just chilling out; some setting up camp, some grabbing lunch, and another group that was cordially enjoying a nice toke on the peace pipe 😊.  Even though we were spread out on top of that mountain the smell of cannabis filled the air and gave me a little pep as I started to descend; either that or the Clif Bar 😊.  The run back down was uneventful but incredibly scenic.  Some awesome views, passed a bunch of nice folks going up and down, connected with Robin on the adventure to that point and began thinking about freezing my ass off in the yurt over night or just heading back down to Phoenix.  When I got to the trail head, I had already decided it would be best to head home.  It was a longer day than I anticipated but could still be home by 7pm and have dinner with the family.  As I got cleaned up and packed the car, a truck slowly drove by, we both waved, but I couldn’t see the face.  They turned around, pulled up next to me, rolled down the window, and – it was Dylan. Had just gotten back himself and I thanked him profusely for helping me out up there.  He saw me come out of the trail head and knew I came down the way we went up.  He regretted his route and thought he should have done the same as me; it would have been good to have some company on the way down!  Overall, it was a great training day and awesome time on feet.  The adventure was epic, and I am already lining up dates in a few weeks to try it again.  Hopefully in August I can get at least Robin, if not the whole family (and Bear) to join me on the shorter route 😊.

 It certainly didn’t go as planned but did get in a good day and scored my case of Mother Road IPA!  After I picked up the case, I called Robin and told her I was headed home. She and the girls were going to order some pizza’s and have them for me when I got there.  We spent the night on the patio, having some slices, a few beers, and a great night together.  Until next time Mr. Humphrey – I will get to ya; in the meantime, let’s enjoy the pictures.

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