#like the supernatural brain rot isn’t helping either | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anthropwashere · 4 years

Text

deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/

@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.

Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—

(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)

—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened.

You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.

You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.

You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—

(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)

—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.

When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you?

Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.

Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.

Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—

(can’t)

—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—

(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)

—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.

But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way.

There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be.

You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—

(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)

—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.

You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—

(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)

—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.

He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.

But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits.

Sure you managed to outwit him—

(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)

—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—

(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)

—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.

Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—

(unluckily?)

—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—

(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)

—so you stop.

Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.

You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—

(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)

—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off.

It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.

Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.

You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.

When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.

What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?

You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—

(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)

—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.

But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—

(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)

—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day.

That kind of thinking should worry you, probably.

But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that.

Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.

People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?

But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.

Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—

(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)

—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.

Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—

(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)

—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.

For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—

(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)

—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.

What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.

It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.

Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—

(you)

—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—

(you)

—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—

(you)

—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—

(you)

—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.

After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.

Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real.

Sam Manson—

(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)

—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]

In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—

(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)

—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]

Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.

Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone.

Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.

Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?

You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?

You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—

(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)

—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.

What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—

(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)

—well, you might as well be different species.

Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—

(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)

—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.

You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—

(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)

—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—

(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)

—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.

Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.

Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.

Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.

If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—

(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)

—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.

Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.

After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—

(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)

—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.

Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—

(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)

—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—

(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)

—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.

But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.

She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.

You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.

She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.

Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—

(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)

—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on?

What could cause something like this?

It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.

Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks.

Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.

Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.

No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.

Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—

(somebody)

—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.

Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—

(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)

—oh.

You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.

But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.

Except it never does.

You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?

They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.

The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.

But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.

They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—

(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)

—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]

Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.

#danny phantom #my writing #deadfic #past me did present me dirty with all these FUCKING italics #you can take my 'danny's got serious anxiety' headcanon from my cold dead hands

66 notes · View notes

missinghan · 4 years

Text

「 what am I // stray kids 」

❖ genre : sci-fi; superpower au; platonic relationship au

❖ word count : 3,9k (bullet points only)

❖ warning : explicit language, most likely ain’t scientifically true at all

❖ summary : superpowers manifest in certain individuals once they hit puberty and naturally, those odd abilities will vanish as soon as adulthood occurs; but how will those teenagers protect themselves from the curiosity of science?

❖ a/n : this isn’t a proper fic since I don’t think I’ll actually write smth decent out of this but I don’t want the idea to rot inside my dungeon either- so yea, bear with me through this character intro post(?)

— bang chan ↠ locating ability-wielders & teleportation

· sometimes when he’s running errands for his parents, chan can feel a distinct ‘zing’ ins his bones if someone else with unusual abilities is nearby and can describe their power perfectly to the t; he ignores it at first but learns to make do with it eventually; can teleport another person with him and also needs to calculate carefully before teleporting because he once ends up in the middle of a freeway instead of school resulting from lack of sleep.

· looks intimidating but is the first to talk to a new kid in class and show them around as he’s president of the school’s student council; smiles and laughs a lot once you get to know him, and is also very caring, reliable.

· he wishes to apply for a music production company after his college graduation but his family turned the idea down almost immediately and sent him to a boarding school in Europe.

· chan starts taking notice in strange things at his new school after the first few weeks; for example: how they unreasonably force students to have a daily health checkup, how their food taste like medicine most of the times, teachers don’t really seem to care about what they’re teaching and some of his classmates mysteriously ‘move away’ whenever security shows up at their dorm in the middle of the night.

· after finding out where they actually are via photos of students being locked up inside cells, arms and legs chained up like domestic animals, injected with odd substances on a daily basis which were taken by an anonymous individual, chan secretly packs his stuff and decides to ditch this so-called boarding school for good.

· he works hard to hide his identity ensuing flying back to his hometown for a solid three weeks and the fact that there are more people cursed with supernatural abilities begins dawning onto him; cutting off contact with his family completely, moving from one crusty apartment to another every month, chan tackles this crazy idea of assembling a group consisted of extraordinary people to give him a hand with creating a safe environment for the ‘gifted’ youths.

— lee minho ↠ collapse

· law major, quite the loner, raised by a single mother; didn’t have much since little but his mother’s love and affection make up for everything.

· looks intimidating, is actually intimidating; the only person he talks to in college is his dance coach, doesn’t like school nor has many friends; his slightest glare is as cold as a wife trying to win custody of her children in court.

· minho can make his surroundings crumble and fall apart with his mind, which shouldn’t be confused with telekinesis since he can’t physically move objects to his will; this deadly power is triggered whenever he’s experiencing extremely negative emotions like fear or anguish and he’s not (still isn’t) very good at getting a hold of it.

· a group of suspicious men shows up at his house one day as he returns home from dance practice; they claim to be an agency looking for up and coming talents but by the way that his mother is staring at the ground nervously with her legs trembling, his institution tells him that something’s off.

· he firmly declines their offer with a stiff “I’m uncertain that I’m the talent you gentlemen are looking for, but you should know that when the cops are here to fill out their reports, I’m gonna be very helpful, as helpful as possible.”

· “what other random merry of fucking misdemeanors are going to pop up once they go through your records? domestic violence? illegal substances and weapons possession? human trafficking?”

· with a gun to her head, his mom scrambles to her knees and begs him to go with them, admitting that she’s already signed the contract; if he follows their orders and agrees to become an experimental subject, she won’t have to worry about any financial problems for the rest of her life.

· in the heat of the moment, they ultimately force him to activate his power for the very first time; as a result, his house collapses, the death of his only family and the group of men following suit.

· “I’m too late.”

· chan manages to find minho under the aftermath, severely injured and is hanging by a string of life so fragile that can only be saved after undergoing a twelve-hour operation at the hospital.

— seo changbin ↠ sound waves manipulation

· a good student, reputable within his social sphere at school, and comes from a pretty well-off family.

· changbin is able to bend and control sound waves to his advantage; whether it’s simply for his musical instruments or moving objects around, he can also use something as minor as his own heartbeat when he’s emotionally unstable; using the ability continuously for too long can give him severe migraines and potentially damage his brain to a degree if he’s not mindful of it.

· he stays up late at night to write and produce his own songs, keeping it a secret from his parents; posts his own songs on a SoundCloud account, or performs even live at a random underground club under the alias SpearB if he has the chance to.

· an organization full of outlaw scientists comes across a video of his performance on the web, analyzing how he can enhance the beat, his vocal cords without the help of any form of technology, and just like that, he easily tops the list of their targets.

· having no choice but to do what they want when those men hold his parents hostage inside his family’s mansion, changbin gets sent to the same boarding school as chan but they’re being observed in different buildings for his power is on the more useful and dangerous side; hence, his classes consist of a smaller amount of students and they are put through checkups more constantly.

· he doesn’t really pay attention to the skepticisms that reek off all over the place as he’s too busy being homesick and studying because he fully believes that the harder he works, the more obediently he acts, the sooner they’ll let him go; all hell breaks loose when those photos are scattered everywhere, from the hallways to the bathrooms; changbin takes advantage in the riot to get himself out of there as quickly as he can possibly run to the airport.

· changbin swears to never trust anyone again until chan and minho find him sleeping inside an abandoned grocery store with a pistol inside his sleeping bag, two daggers concealed in his sleeves at all times.

· “are we seriously going to contain some headass who was this close to blowing my brain out of my head?”

· “huh, funny, last time I checked, you almost smothered me to death under a gigantic block of cement when I was trying to save your life.”

· “who are you guys and how the hell did you get in here? I don’t recall not locking the door.”

— hwang hyunjin ↠ permeation & memory manipulation

· a true theater kid, meaning he knows almost everyone but every single student at school knows him; naturally, becomes the Prince after playing one too many male lead roles because of his godly features; rather well-mannered and diligent though he doesn’t look like it.

· mistaken to be a player by every new batch of freshmen that only ever gets to watch him practicing his lines from afar, swooning tremendously whenever he ties up his hair; always carries a camera around, doesn’t like to have too many friends but if you get close enough, he’s probably the most fun to be around, won’t ever judge your questionable life choices.

· hyunjin’s ability allows him to walk right through walls as well as any other solid matters but it will drain his stamina painstakingly, causing him to run short on breaths after using his power to change his costumes faster between scenes; the thicker the wall is, the more strength it takes for him to pass through completely.

· he can also erase a certain chunk of memory from someone’s mind but he needs to physically touch them; has only used this ability one time to wipe his existence out of a childhood best friend’s mind before moving away from his hometown.

· his interest in photography sparks the moment his uncle comes back from a business trip and gives him a toy camera, it’s nowhere near the real ones but the ten-year-old hwang hyunjin sure takes it very, very seriously; after a decade or so, he has replaced it with cameras that actually work and developed quite the talent for taking photos of sceneries and people (jisung is his number one victim but he can’t care less as long as he looks decent and that hyunjin won’t save any crack ones to blackmail him).

· suddenly gets a sketchy summer scholarship to a boarding school in London (the same so-called school that Chan and Changbin went to), his mom encourages him to go after looking it up on the internet without knowing the chances of her own son being exploited for twisted science is shockingly high.

· and the culprit who takes those photos during a wandering around school after curfew is none other than hyunjin himself; he knows damn well posting those photos means getting himself into trouble but heck, his conscience forbids him to leave this hell-on-earth place without alerting these innocent people.

· so the night before those photos are spread everywhere, in every corner, every edge of the building, hyunjin smashes his camera completely with a baseball bat and burns the broken bits in the school backyard; he tries getting through those sleep-deprived men in their fifties who aren’t likely paid enough with his ability and flees.

· surprisingly, he comes rushing into his best friend’s house right after his horrendous flights only to find him being surrounded by three mysterious men.

— han jisung ↠ plunder

· the jokester of the class, takes great joy in stressing the living daylights out of his professors with irrational questions that aren’t necessarily relevant to the lesson, procrastinates, and sleeps through lessons like there’s no tomorrow but still keeps that shiny ‘A’ on his report card nonetheless.

· being friends with hyunjin results in occasional admirers here and there for him but he does kinda have his own fandom base after being pulled upstage out of the blue in the middle of last year’s spring music festival, musing him an opportunity to show off his rapping skills; because of that event, he takes writing music more seriously with the stage name J.One.

· if jisung is being honest, he hardly uses his power since it’s basically taking over anyone’s body and mind for a maximum of five seconds meanwhile his own body is immobile; and if any physical effects occur (for example, a basketball hits him on the head spontaneously), he’s obligated to endure that pain for that person until they become conscious of their own body again.

· he’s not a creep, he swears.

· and who knows? what if his body gets kidnapped within those five seconds?

· hyunjin and jisung know about each other’s ability but don’t really discuss nor talk about them because they don’t find walking through walls or temporarily possessing someone’s body cool.

· well, that’s that until chan, minho and changbin show up at his house the same day when hyunjin returns from his summer exchange program with a cut lip and bruised knuckles.

· “han jisung, you’re going to have to come with us unless you want to live inside a cage for the rest of your life.”

· “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

· “we’re trying to protect you, smartass, you’re far too dangerous to be roaming the streets so freely.”

· “....me? I’m dangerous?”

· jisung not knowing the slightest bit about his own ability downright baffles chan—he’s only scratched the surface of it at this point; his true potential is if he’s taking over another ability-wielder’s body, he will then take their power for himself; and jisung can’t remember the last time he properly uses it either.

— lee felix ↠ imperfect invisibility

· initially lives in Australia but after finding out about his ability, he moves to Seoul with his parents to live a quieter, more covered-up life without being surrounded by too many relatives.

· an absolute sweetheart, smart, kind, honest, a little slow to read in between the lines at times; can concentrate relatively well on an empty stomach, but gets drowsy quickly after eating, especially big meals.

· lix is also homeschooled up until high school in order to avoid any unwanted situation; later on, applies for a course that can be taken online for the most parts at an average-ish university to not draw so much attention.

· since he stays at home most of the time, he spends lots of time playing different video games, experiences random cooking recipes without burning the house down, and teaches himself how to dance through online tutorials, getting awfully good at it fast partially thanks to his natural flexibility.

· he can disappear from a single person’s field of vision for as long as he wants to but it’s still limited and considered flawed since felix can only disappear from the sight one person of his choice at a time; although it can come in quite handy whenever he gets shoved into a dark alleyway by random people varying from cheap pickpockets with a box-cutting knife to muscular men dressed in black.

· learns boxing during middle school so he can still kick asses to preserve his own life.

· felix once punches jisung in the gut and slaps hyunjin in the face with a cabbage after seeing them follow each and every one of his movements the moment he steps out of the supermarket—he’s got used to listening to people’s footsteps over time.

· “okay, first of all, ow, and second of all, why did I get the punch and he got the cabbage?!”

· “oh, don’t be such a baby.”

· “you two don’t look like those balding dudes in money-dripping black suits...what are you on? crack? what do you want from me? money? food?”

· “of course we’re not balding men in their forties! I take personal offense to that! and please, who do you take me as? a total creep who only ever knows how to follow people with his stupid sidekick tagging along for background noises?”

· “HEY! I NEVER AGREED TO BE YOUR SIDEKICK!”

· “well, it’s time you fucking did then, han.”

· “you know, I suppose this is the part where you two put me to sleep with some kind of drug and bring me back to your excuse of a headquarter.”

· “oh, did you bring the anesthetic pills?”

· “I thought Changbin gave it to you, no?”

— kim seungmin ↠ time-leap

· born in a middle-class family, very studious but also enjoys playing baseball during retreats, takes time to open up to people so he has more acquaintances than close friends but he doesn’t mind, that way he has more time for himself.

· definitely and never will be the kid who lets his classmates take advantage of his wit, he does do a good chunk of every group project but makes sure everyone has at least one decent thing to do (low-key loves bossing people around); can be pretty distant at first, but he just weirds people out after getting closer and doesn’t hold grudges.

· seungmin is capable of bringing himself back to a specific past event to alter the future outcome though it won’t work most of the time unless he really, really has to for safety purposes or the situation gets out of hands; time-leaping won’t activate if he wants to retake a test but works like a charm when he tries to save a kid on the street from a car accident.

· actually does deep, proper research into other ability-wielders and often stays in school during nighttime to read the news, articles or anything that he can find on the web to learn about how that one cryptic boarding school in Europe that’s accused of abusing their students got shut down all of a sudden, the students never return and family members never bother to look for them.

· hence, he adapts to hiding his ability and himself fairly well—never takes the late-night buses, doesn’t try to become close and bond with other people, asks his parents to change the door lock every month, burns bills each time he purchases something but he tries not to go out as much as possible.

· seungmin has seen hyunjin use his power once by accident but decided to say nothing about it; eventually finds chan’s headquarter (which is just his crusty apartment) by following jisung and hyunjin after their practice hour, baffles them all a little but joins in no time.

· after asking hyunjin to erase his parents’ memory about himself, seungmin gives everyone a hand for their plan of building a school and campus, completely safe and under the radar for other ability welders until their adolescence is over; he time-leaps back to back in order to collect as much information about lottery tickets as he can.

· another flaw occurs when he travels to the past for the third time: his eyesight gets weaker and weaker every time he time-leaps so he starts wearing glasses as a temporary resolution but chan stops him when he tries to do it for the fifth time, saying that they would rather work hard for a little longer than have seungmin lose his vision forever.

· after over a year or so, they successfully repurchase an education organization and officially establish an exclusive academy for ability-wielders, reaching out to those individuals before scientists can get a hold of them.

— yang jeongin ↠ superhuman speed

· the quiet kid who most likely won’t talk unless the teacher asks him to answer a question or someone tells him to let them copy his homework; has his earbuds in most of the time to pretend he can’t hear what people are saying so he won’t have to interact with them.

· joins after you when chan finds him hitting a wall head-on at an abnormal speed while trying to save a kitten in the middle of the streets.

· jeongin has extremely enhanced agility and reflexes but he still lacks accuracy for he is naturally a clumsy person; therefore, changbin tells him to wear a protective layer under his uniform so even in the worst-case scenario, he can jump off a building and make it out with minor scratches.

· reluctantly buys lunch for every member of the student council (aka 00 liners + you) on a daily basis although he can’t really see which kind of sandwiches he’s grabbing at and they end up being mushy most of the time.

· and for those people who say his resting face is scary, he’s mainly just frustrated because of his friends.

· also usually is the one who returns with the most injuries because of his own ability—he always flees like his life depends on it to save jisung’s ass from being hit by a truck and hyunjin’s camera from being crushed (the sole purpose of the student council will be explained more thoroughly later).

· has single-handedly saved everyone inside a bookstore when a sudden fire breaks out.

· minho scolds him and felix a lot for spending too much time at the arcade after school instead of doing their required tasks.

· acts all tough and mature since he’s the youngest of the squad, loves to make fun of jisung for his height but still is and probably will always be a complete child who hates eating vegetables with a passion; gets yelled at a lot whenever there’s a BBQ party since he only ever eats meat.

· “corn? why are we raiding the Asian market for corn at one AM?”

· “an outdoor, wholesome BBQ isn’t complete without corn, duh.”

· “do you want to get us caught?!”

· “oh please, they’re going to show up either way.”

· “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE!”

— y/n (reader) ↠ telepathic manipulation

· president of the student council, stubborn, slightly less bossy than seungmin, appears to be apathetic and cranky mainly because you can’t sleep that well; with that being said, you don’t feel too tired during ungodly hours when people are tossing around in the comfort of their bed but snap at irritating people a lot in the morning if they’re making too much noise.

· your ability allows you to control people to your will, from something as meaningless as slamming their head through a wall to life-threatening actions like forcing them to point a knife at their own throat; it’s somewhat similar to jisung’s power though you don’t have to physically feel what your target is going through and you don’t need to worry about taking over their body.

· the only downside to it is that you easily fall asleep the moment you set your target free.

· minho is the one who gets you out of the laboratory where your parents were working on a huge, secret project about individuals with supernatural abilities for an unknown organization; you’re unfortunate enough to become their first-ever experimental subject which only nourishes resentment slowly, gnawing at your sanity while you’re dreading each day behind those cold metal bars.

· perhaps joining the student council is what makes your life less depressing, perhaps; you’re far too busy facepalming at the beautiful monstrosity of their friendship and feeding them ensuing returning to the dorm after school since those boys only know how to eat, cooking is too much for them to comprehend (albeit felix).

· when your family was still… normal, your parents sent you to martial art classes every weekend so like felix, you don’t actually need your power to save yourself from some random mobsters on the streets.

· you’re also the only person who eats vegetables properly and even tries to incorporate more fiber into their diets but as always, they never listen, especially hyunjin when it comes to green onions.

· don’t have the best reputation in the academy because the idea of letting the new girl with a seemingly useless ability become president of the student council isn’t very appealing to many people, and it doesn’t help when every member of the council is exclusively allowed to drop out in the middle of a class to ‘collect’ any ability-wielders that chan manages to locate that day since he’s always worn out with changbin and minho from boring paperwork as well as other businessy stuff.

· even when your ability is considered almost perfect, you’ve only used it once when you thought minho was going to sell you off to another place and almost made him put a bullet through his own brain; you’ve refrained yourself from using it since that day.

123 notes · View notes

ieattaperecorders · 4 years

Text

Something’s Different About You Lately - Chapter 4: No Security

Jon and Martin deal with some things that have been gnawing at them.

Read on Ao3

Martin drew his coat in closer, wishing he'd worn more layers. He'd been in such a hurry to leave that he'd thrown on his coat, socks and shoes right over his pajamas. But that was before he'd spent what felt like more than half an hour in the cold night air, feeling foolish, wondering if he ought to have taken the time to dress properly. Or charge his phone, it would have certainly been nice to have that as a distraction.

Well, too late now. He was there, standing outside the Institute and waiting for Jon to arrive. Hopefully with an explanation.

Eventually, Jon appeared at the end of the block. He was carrying a backpack, one of the big, padded ones favored by hikers, and it seemed like an odd thing for Jon to have. He wasn't exactly the outdoorsy type as far as Martin knew, but he supposed that people could surprise you. He leaned out from behind the column and waved so he was more visible, and Jon's face took on a measure of relief.

"Ah, good." Jon closed the distance between them in a quick jog. "Everything all right? No, ah, pest problems on your way out?"

"Didn't see any worms, no." Martin said. "Maybe they're shy about the cold."

He hadn't meant for that to come out sounding so grumpy, but Jon didn't seem to notice. If he saw anything odd about how Martin was dressed he gave no sign of that either, he was oddly energized.

"All right." Jon said, "there's a motel about three blocks that way. Nothing luxurious, but it's open, and according to online reviews it doesn't have bedbugs. You're booked for three nights there, you'll just have to show identification."

A dozen objections fought their way through Martin's brain. As little as he wanted to go back to his cot in the archive, wasn't he staying there because it was safer? What if Jane found him at the motel? Also, he couldn't afford to move into a motel!

"Wait, I can't just- - " he began.

"It's been paid for," Jon interrupted, anticipating at least one of his concerns. "And - and since it's work-related I used the Institute expense account so, don't worry about that."

Martin raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound . . . true. "Since when do you have an expense --"

"And it's already paid, so there's no point in arguing." Jon said firmly. "I'm sure you could use a good night's sleep, now, off you go."

He gestured back towards the direction he'd come from, as if shooing Martin away. It was the gesture as much as anything else that made Martin dig in his heels.

"Wh- - no! First tell me what's going on!" Martin protested. "Why did I suddenly have to leave? What - what is all that for?" He gestured to the backpack.

"Martin, please!"

Jon seemed to catch himself raising his voice, and stopped. He took a deep breath, pressing his palms together in front of his face, then continued in a slow, controlled tone.

"I promise, I'll explain things tomorrow morning. But right now, I need you to go to the motel, and spend the night there, and not come back to the Institute tonight. Can you do that for me?"

Martin pressed his mouth into a hard line. Frustration and worry and an embarrassing desire to just do what he asked because he sounded so earnest wrestled in him. It may have been sheer physical exhaustion that won out in the end, because after a moment of silence, he reluctantly nodded.

Jon stood there, looking expectantly at him. Already feeling like he was making a mistake, Martin walked a few steps past him, then turned.

"Three blocks this way?" he asked, not really needing the clarification.

Jon nodded. "There's a neon sign out front, it'll be obvious."

". . . See you tomorrow, then."

He continued down the block. Whenever he paused and glanced back Jon was there, standing outside the Institute and watching him walk away, which only added to the strangeness of it all. Eventually Martin stopped turning and just looked at the ground in front of him. Everything about this felt wrong and weird and maybe it was just because he'd started accepting "wrong" and "weird" as descriptors of his life nowadays that he was going along with it.

Especially where Jon was concerned. Everything was weird where Jon was concerned.

Was it something personal Jon had with Jane Prentiss? That could explain why he'd believed Martin's story so readily when he was ordinarily such a skeptic. Did he have some past experience with her, a personal vendetta? Had he come here tonight for revenge?

Martin slowed his pace and looked back again. Jon was nowhere to be seen, but from where he stood, Martin noticed lights inside the building being turned on.

Hell with it, he thought, and headed back towards the institute at a jog.

* * *

Jon looked forward to being able to set the backpack down, just carrying it from the train station had made his shoulders ache. He'd been buying CO2 for days, he'd intended to take another week or two to sneak supplies into the Institute more gradually. But he was ready enough. And he wasn't letting this continue for another night.

He'd known these months were hard for Martin, known about the anxiety and paranoia, but this? Was the Hive singing to Martin just as it had sung to Jane? And had it always sung to him?

Was this new? Jon couldn't imagine how his actions so far might have altered events to cause it. Then had it been this bad the first time around? Martin hadn't ever mentioned hearing these things, feeling these things before. But then, he wouldn't have at the time, would he? And later, during those quiet nights in the cabin where they'd speak softly to one another about things too fragile for daylight, these early days had already begun to feel distant. Other nightmares, other traumas that were more immediate had overwhelmed them. It might be that he just never mentioned it.

It didn't matter. Whether this was a new development or not, it wasn't going to go any further.

He wondered if he ought to have walked Martin to the motel, rather than leaving him the way he did - all alone, downtown in the middle of the night. Then he shook his head, dismissing the thought.

"For God's sake, he's not a child whose hand you need to hold," Jon muttered to himself. "He's a grown man who's survived one supernatural attack already. I'm sure he can manage three blocks on a well-lit street on his own."

If there was a part of him that just wanted to have walked Martin there, just to spend a few quiet moments with him before facing this, well, it wasn't relevant now. That moment had passed, and he had to focus on the task at hand. He couldn't fail. If he died now, Elias would just start his plans over with a new Archivist, probably Sasha, and that was unacceptable.

He had a plan, he had the memories of a man who had wandered the tunnels a thousand times. He had fire extinguishers, torches, a hatchet from a hardware store, and, - just in case - a corkscrew. There would be no security in the building until six am, so no one else would be in danger. And he was months ahead of schedule, their numbers would still be low. Jon could do this. He found the right spot and began working.

It was difficult - the wall that had crumpled into rot when he'd slammed his palm against it the first time seemed stubbornly well-built now, taking several cracks with the hatchet just to open a few inches of space. When the hole was barely big enough for a fist Jon pulled back and hesitated, waiting for any reaction. None. So he went back to swinging until the hole was big enough to step through

Warily, extinguisher at the ready, he shone the a torch into the darkness beyond. The tunnels stretched down as expected, but besides that there was nothing. No quick, squirming movement, no Prentiss. He took as thorough a look as he dared, shining the light in every crevice. Nothing at all.

Was he too early? Surely the awful things were there, but how far along were they in their own preparations? Doomed to fail or not, he needed their ritual to be put down as they attempted it or the Corruption might continue to attack the institute, making further attempts in ways that Jon couldn't predict. All he really had on his side was his knowledge of their movements, if he lost that - -

"Jon, what--"

He leaped back and screamed, spinning around. Martin stood by the door, flinching from his reaction. Jon leaned heavily on his desk, every nerve lit up with shock.

"Martin," he growled. For the first time since the new memories, he found he was really, truly angry with him. "What are you doing here!? I told you to leave."

"I know! I know! But- -" Martin held his hands up defensively. "It's obvious that something's going on here, and I don't know what it is you're doing with - - with that - -" he gestured at the hole. "Or what your history with Jane Prentiss is - -"

"I don't - - you need to go - -"

"And I know you think I can't help with whatever this is- -" Martin's voice rose in pitch, fast and nervous. "But I could if you'd just trust me enough to tell me what's happening- -"

"Please . . . " Jon glanced uneasily back towards the hole. How far into the tunnels did sound carry? Would the noise of their talking attract something? "We can't - - I can't do this now - -"

"- - And anyway, this is my fault, isn't it?" Martin lowered his hands, a tremor entering his voice. "I'm the one they followed here. If . . . if they're here because of me, I should - - I want to help . . . ."

There was a moment of silence, then Jon sighed - shoulders sagging, anger melting off of him. He looked at the person in front of him and wondered who he really was.

He tried to remember. Had Martin's voice been so full of sorrow and self-reproach when he'd apologized for losing him in the tunnels? Had that small, quiet furrow been in his brow when he'd tried so valiantly, so fruitlessly, to make Jon and Tim speak to each other again? When he'd confronted Elias, had he taken that same stance Jon saw in him now - determined, stubborn, but hands trembling at his sides, anticipating the worst? Or was it foolish to even ask these questions, to look for someone who wasn't yet real in the face of a person who was?

"Martin . . ." he sighed, "this isn't your fault. This is - - well, it's bigger than either of us. And - -" he rallied again, stepping closer and trying to turn him physically towards the door. "And I'm sorry but - - this just isn't the time for a heart to heart. You have to get out of here before - -"

The two of them froze. It was hard to tell who heard it first, but they both recognized it. The wet, sticky, crackling sound of a thousand squirming bodies.

"Jon . . . ." Martin whispered, staring over Jon's shoulder.

He turned just in time to see it start - - tiny, silver things dripped from the edges of the hole in the wall, swarming over the floor with impossible speed. They seemed to multiply, doubling and tripling before their eyes, and Jon grabbed an extinguisher, pressing himself in front of Martin.

"Get back," he shouted. "Get back. Run!!"

To his relief, Martin ran, bolting through the door. The sound of his footsteps vanished back into the hall, and Jon gave silent thanks to the fight or flight response. He wouldn't have far to go before he was out of the archive and safe, and in the meantime Jon would give the crawling bastards reason to keep their attention on him.

Refocusing, he opened the valve of the extinguisher and pushed forwards, spraying everything that moved. The worms died off en masse, the slow ones thrashing and going still, the quick ones retreating back into the tunnels. He slung the regrettably still heavy pack over his shoulder and pressed forward - he'd need to find Prentiss, get to where the circle of corruption had been forming and put it all down.

Jon was barely a few feet into the tunnel when something felt off. He glanced around, eyes peeled for anything crawling. Something wet and cold hit the back of his neck, and pure reflex made him bring a hand to slap it. It wriggled under his palm, fangs biting down - not deep, not yet, but god it hurt. Swallowing panic, he pinched the squirming body between his fingers until it stilled, jaws releasing, a foul-smelling fluid leaking onto his hand.

There was a tense moment as Jon wondered where the worm had come from. There was a far worse moment as he realized that he hadn't yet looked up.

Deep inside Jon rested the echoes of a thousand fates worse than death, horrors he had witnessed and fed upon in another lifetime. There was a part of him that knew these things so intimately, understood there was a shape and a rhythm to them and knew what had to happen next. The thing that would be his doom was waiting for him to realize it was there, to understand, to feel that fear all the way to his core. A part of Jon knew, all things considered, the worst thing he could do at that moment was look up.

Unfortunately, that part of him did not control the muscles of his head and neck, and instinct is hard to resist. Jon turned his face up towards the writhing carpet of bodies that covered the tunnel's ceiling, and as one the worms rained down on him.

His reflexes were still not enviable. He narrowly avoided being buried alive, but dozens landed and Jon staggered back towards the hole in the wall, shaking and clawing at himself. They were on his arms, his throat, slipping down the neckline of his shirt and latching on to the tender skin below, and more were advancing from behind.

Idiot. He'd acted as if they were ordinary creatures, mindless bugs that would just crawl one way or another, not capable of setting a trap. He should have known better. He did know better, but he'd charged forward like a fool, and now they were on him and in him and for each one he pulled out two more were burrowing down. He couldn't let this happen, they couldn't have him, he couldn't die now but the pain was blinding and the panic was frothing and his hands were too slow and there were too many - -

A cold, white cloud enveloped him, he chocked once then instinctively stopped inhaling. His mind was a chaos of don't breathe in and get them out and can't see can't see can't see. But the horrific sense of invasion, of violation, of gnawing, growing vileness spreading into his body stopped. The sound of gas dispelling stopped too, and there were strong hands grabbing his shoulders, dragging him towards the door.

Jon stumbled along, blinking through the pain. Still digging at his skin, pressed with a need to pick and pull the rotten things out of himself. His eyes were tearing from the CO2 and from pain, everything was blurry and confused. He strained to see if there were still worms coming (yes) where they were coming from (everywhere) and who was pulling him to safety (he already knew, of course he knew, he had known from the moment the gas hit him.)

Still half-blind, Jon felt himself being let go and heard a door slam, but he barely registered it. His ability to think was quickly narrowing to a single point of revulsion, the need to get them out of him now. He found what he needed in the pocket of his bag, and painfully, messily, did what he had to do. At the end of it he was bleeding and his wounds were screaming agony but they were empty, thank God, and that was enough.

His vision cleared enough to see Martin a few feet away, shoving some sort of cloth under the door to block the cracks. He looked frightened, very frightened, but he had a single-minded focus turned towards keeping a barrier between the mass of parasites flooding into the next room. When the door was secure he turned to look at Jon, and his face went ashen.

"Oh my God . . ." he breathed.

It took Jon a moment to realize that ah yes, he probably did look gruesome. Swaying on his feet, dotted in holes with a bloody corkscrew in his hand.

Jon looked down at it, then back up at Martin. A strange, stupid smile spread across his face, and quite against his will he began to laugh. It started as a weak, breathy sound but quickly ran away from him and soon he was shaking with it, knees wobbly, tears trailing down his face. The look of confusion and fear on Martin's face got worse, and Jon wanted to stop, he did, but it just wasn't possible.

He truly was a fool. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that Martin would run to safety and leave him behind?

Jon sank to the floor, the moment of mad laughter passing. Martin pulled hesitantly from the door and took a step towards him.

"Um. . . are you . . . all right?" There was an uncertain note in Martin's voice, and Jon suspected he wasn't just referring to his wounds.

Still trembling a little, smiling like an absolute idiot, Jon nodded. "Respiratory acidosis," he muttered. "Must be. From breathing in the gas."

"Oh." Martin glanced nervously at the door, which held for now. "Is that serious?"

"I'll be fine." Jon shook his head, tried to take a measure of himself and see how accurate that actually was.

The pain was distracting, but not debilitating. He doubted he'd be able to do much with his left arm for a while, but they hadn't gotten to his legs. Which meant that he could run, and he could use a weapon. Which meant that this wasn't over. He slid the bag off his shoulder and pulled out another extinguisher. There were four more inside, it would have to be enough.

"Here. You're stronger than I am," he said, holding the bag out to Martin. As an afterthought, he added, "I imagine."

"Oh- - ah, all right?" Martin took the backpack, confusion writ large across his features. "Look, I don't know how long the door will hold, we should - -"

Martin was turning towards the exit, gesturing for him to follow, and that wouldn't do. Jon reached out and gripped his arm with a bleeding hand.

"No. Not that way," he said, taking a few steps towards the hall. "Over here. There's another way in."

"Another way into what?"

"That passage beyond the wall, the one they were pouring out of. You saw it, correct?" Jon asked. Martin nodded. "There's another way in, but we'll have to hurry. As you said, that door might not last."

"Excuse me?" Martin gaped at him. The poor man had surely assumed they'd be fleeing the building, but that would have to wait. "Why are we going towards where the worms are!?"

We, Jon thought. He felt a manic grin spread across his face.

"To finish this," he said, looking back over his shoulder. "You said you wanted to help, didn't you?"

He took off before Martin could protest, something rising in him that he couldn't name. It felt like a laugh or like a scream, but it was silent and blinding and bright. He was running, and he was bleeding, and he heard Martin catching up behind him. And Prentiss could be anywhere and they weren't safe, weren't safe, and no place in this world was safe. But if Jon couldn't send Martin out of danger he could at least keep him close. And he knew - oh, he knew - that if he ran, Martin would follow him.

* * *

Jon had lost his mind, there was no doubt about that. But Martin was the one running after a madman, so he probably didn't have room to judge.

They ended up in another room where Jon started knocking at the wall, listening for something. Upon finding it he wordlessly grabbed a chair and used it as a makeshift battering ram, smashing open another hole. Martin wondered what it said about him that, despite the real, horrific danger they were in a part of him was still worried about getting in trouble for all the damage they were causing to the building. But that part of Martin wasn't powerful enough to keep him still when he heard the door down the hallway splinter and burst. He hurried to join Jon in pulling away sections of damaged wall - which seemed like it wasn't a proper wall anyway, just a thin layer of plaster - and in a moment they were down the dark passageway, running again.

The tunnel dipped and swerved and turned like a maze, but somehow Jon seemed to know where he was going. He grabbed Martin's hand at the first turn, pulling him to the left with no explanation beyond "this way," and didn't let go after that. Martin quickly lost track of the turns, and found himself hoping that the ‘run your hand along the right wall' trick really worked, because he had no idea how they were going to get back if it didn't.

It was scary, god, it was terrifying. But it was also a little bit thrilling? Running around in these mysterious secret tunnels that had apparently just been there, hidden under Martin's feet the whole time he'd been at the Institute. And it was downright surreal seeing Jon like this, guiding them along based on some direction or intuition Martin couldn't fathom.

When they'd first met Jon had been sharp and stern and so intimidating. After a while, Martin had decided that much of his manner was an act, beneath which was someone odd and a little awkward but well-meaning. Now it seemed there had been another layer under that, and this one Martin couldn't figure out at all. Breaking into the Institute in the middle of the night, going after supernatural infestations? He was like a character from an action movie.

Well, Martin reconsidered, as Jon stumbled ahead, muttering under his breath, maybe not one of those big budget action movies. Some sort of indie film, or maybe a satire.

At one point Martin noticed that a few spiders had crawled onto the back of Jon's neck. Four of them, big ones, too. Jon hadn't noticed them yet, and Martin wondered if he could shoo them away without alerting Jon, knowing what an arachnophobe he was. But then a sound from down the tunnel distracted him, and when he looked back at Jon the spiders were gone. So he stopped thinking about it.

Eventually they reached a large chamber and Jon held an arm out to stop Martin from going any farther. He really didn't need to - the room was full of worms. Martin felt nausea roiling up in him as the smell hit his nose, and he froze in place. Weirdly, they didn't react to Jon and Martin's arrival, didn't seem interested in them at all. They were too focused on doing. . . something. Something that involved wrapping around one another in a huge, growing circle.

Martin had no idea what they'd stumbled into - - horrific possibilities of worm reproduction had barely even entered his mind before he was ready to run. But Jon shouted for him to start spraying gas into the room and he realized with a sinking sensation that this place was what they had been running towards all along. They emptied the remaining extinguishers into the room until they were sure that everything was dead. Jon nodded with satisfaction and took off running again, and Martin was once more focused on keeping up.

He sensed that they were going back to the institute. Even lost and disoriented, some intuition told him they were returning to light and warmth and surface, away from the dark damp of the tunnels. Relief washed over him as they clambered through the hole in the wall and out into the hallway, escape finally in sight.

That was when they ran into Prentiss.

It was as if she'd been waiting outside the door, ready to pounce. Martin acted on reflex, throwing an arm around Jon's frame and pulling him into the nearest room. He turned the lock and pressed himself against the door just as he heard Jane slam against it heavily. Jon was once more operating under some indecipherable internal logic, rooting through boxes, overturning files and moving furniture. Martin didn't even ask. He just dug his heels in and braced himself against the door as Jane thudded against it. This wasn't the steady knocking he'd come to dread after a week in his apartment, no. This had force behind it. Could she break the door down if she tried?

Just as Martin asked himself that question, the knocking stopped. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for . . . well, he wasn't sure, honestly. What he heard was Jane stepping back and moving down the hall, which should have been a good thing, but just made Martin more anxious. And as he leaned against the door, straining to hear, he felt something cold drip onto him.

He manged not to scream or thrash or fall to the ground. He pulled away from the door and saw the crack that a small handful of worms had wriggled through. He also saw the small handful of worms that had latched onto his arm. He didn't need to see the small handful of worms that had latched onto his head and neck to know and feel exactly where they were.

Biting back panic, silent to keep from screaming, he went for the front pocket of Jon's bag. His hand closed over the corkscrew - and God, what did it say that Jon had gotten the exact same idea as Martin for how to get them out? He held the sharp end to his face, grimacing in anticipation.

Something spoke. It said, please.

Martin stopped moving, hand an inch from his cheek.

Please . . . .

There hadn't been a voice, not really. It wasn't sound, not something he'd heard in his ears or even inside his mind so much as felt it deep in his bones.

Please . . . I need you.

They weren't words, but the meaning they carried was as clear and articulate as any language. More so. There was no doubt about what was said, he understood it, understood its need in a way words and knowledge and intonation would never be able to convey.

We need you, a second voice joined the first.

It hurts, the voice was pained, and formless, and demanding. It's so harsh and so bright here, this cruel and sterile scrutiny. It's so cold, and you are so, so warm.

Warm and dark, full of heat and hiding and dark, damp things never to see the light. We need your heat. We need your limbs and your stomach and the gently gurgling secrets of you.

Please. We need your heart. It hangs so soft and tender between the lattice of your ribs.

We need your throat, pink and heavy with words unspoken. We can give it new language, a tongue understood by everything warm and wet and living.

Time was moving syrup-slow. The panic that had lit Martin's veins grew sluggish. His thoughts crawled. The voices came lovingly, hungrily, and he made no move to dig them out.

They pulled at an emptiness in him. Something that ached whenever he had looked at other people and sensed they were a world he couldn't be part of. He felt something whisper that the painful hollow inside him could be filled. It spoke of movement pouring into him, eating the parts that hurt, filling him until he could no longer remember being without it. The thought made him shiver, but with it came a strange, growing warmth.

It should hurt more, some sensible part of his brain observed, so many of them burrowing into him. There was pain, yes, but it was distant and dreamlike. Almost satisfying, the not-quite-pleasurable feeling that compels you to pull at a sore tooth, to pick at a scab, to squeeze a pimple. The more he listened, the deeper the voices went, the closer he felt to that wonderful moment of release when the boil finally splits.

We need you, they said. We need all of you, every inch.

So cold so hungry so hurt so alone.

Open and blossom and bloom and rot.

You're ours. You're ours. Let us give you our song.

Martin heard a crash, and the sound of Jon shouting loud enough to shake his focus. Revulsion at what he'd been thinking washed over him, and he dug the sharp tine into his face as quickly as he could. He repeated it until the tiny, terrible things that had been crawling their way into him went silent.

It only took a minute, but it was a very, very long minute. Martin backed away from the door, a trickle of silvery bodies still coming from the crack at the top.

It looked as though Jon had been dumping the contents of file boxes onto a table, piling paper statements out of order on top of one other until he'd made a small pile. He'd knocked over a cabinet - the crash Martin had heard, probably - and used it to climb on top of a second one, a crumpled wad of paper in one hand, lighter in the other.

"Closet door's on the opposite wall," he shouted, barely even glancing at Martin. "Get ready to run!"

The lighter flicked on. The flame caught the page in Jon's hand, and he held it at arm's length, waiting for something. For a moment, Martin didn't understand. Then the fire alarm went off, and he understood horribly well. Jon dropped the burning pages onto the pile, which caught and began to spread. He leapt from the cabinet, stumbling, and movement returned to Martin as he realized what the room would soon be filled with. They reached the door in seconds, scrambling inside and slamming it shut just as CO2 flooded everything.

A scream ripped through the air, one Martin felt more than heard. Thousands and thousands of things without mouths, screaming as one. It flooded him, crescendoed, then died out, leaving his knees weak.

There was shuffling in the dark, he heard Jon shift and knock against something. As awareness of his body slowly returned to him, Martin felt a light bulb dangling near his head. Reaching up, he pulled the cord. Light filled the small space of what looked like a janitor's storage closet. Jon was on his hands and knees, he'd removed his jacket and was stuffing it in the crack beneath the door.

"Not a perfect seal against the gas, but hopefully good enough," he muttered. He turned to glance at Martin then, and his face fell, he looked suddenly heartbroken. "They got you too? I didn't even see. . . ."

"Oh. Yeah," reflexively, Martin reached up to touch his face and was punished by a sharp stinging pain as a finger brushed one of his wounds. "Got them all out, though."

Jon stood and looked at him searchingly, frowning. "Are you sure? Certain you got them all?"

"Think I'd know if I missed one." Martin grimaced. "It's not exactly a subtle sensation."

Jon hovered a hand in front of Martin's arm as if to grasp it, but didn't make contact. He looked at him with a strange intensity. "And you definitely didn't . . . let any of them stay in you?"

"Sorry, what?" Martin balked.

"Answer the question, Martin." Jon's gaze was steady and serious.

"No?" Martin's tone must have been uncertain, because Jon's frowned deepened, so he tried again. "No! Of course not!"

". . . All right." Jon nodded solemnly, "I trust you."

With no further explanation than that, Jon turned to examine the rest of the room. He clambered onto an overturned bucket, bracing himself against a shelf that was so unsteady Martin had to bite back a reflexive warning to be careful. He stood nearby - there was nowhere to stand that wasn't nearby, it was big for a closet but still a closet - hands half raised so at least he'd be there to keep Jon from cracking his head if he fell. Jon stood on his toes and examined the vent near the ceiling.

"It's giving out air," he announced. He placed a hand on Martin's arm and stepped down, using him as support. "There's no CO2 vents in any of the closets. As long as the seal on the door holds, we should be all right here." He paused, considering something. "You aren't claustrophobic, are you?"

"Not really." Martin said. "You?"

"A lot more than I used to be." Jon smiled ruefully. "But I can handle this fine."

Jon sat down heavily on the overturned bucket, exhaling with the effort. He no longer looked anything like the hero from a movie of any genre. Just tired, and small, and very, very chewed on.

Martin glanced around, began rummaging through the shelves. Jon lifted his head and looked curiously at him, but said nothing. After a moment, he found what he'd been looking for and held it out with a triumphant grin.

"First aid kit," he said, as if the red cross on the bag wasn't clear enough. "Thought there might be one in here."

"Oh, thank God." Jon said. "Does it have painkillers?"

Martin unzipped it, taking stock of what was inside. "Yeah, in little packets. Aspirin and acetaminophen, you got a preference?"

"Either. Both," he held out his hands. "Please," he added.

Martin passed him two acetaminophen packets, then sat on the floor and ripped two open for himself. The half-sweet sensation he'd felt a few moments ago had solidly turned back into deep and gnawing pain, and he swallowed them pills dry. He then took out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and some squares of gauze and turned back to Jon, who was at the holes in his own arm with grotesque fascination. He seemed miles away. Martin cleared his throat and he turned, blinking at him.

"Here . . . let me do the ones on your face." Martin said. "We should get those disinfected as quick as we can."

Jon frowned. "You need tending to as well . . . you're bleeding."

"Yes. But you've had your wounds open and bleeding and exposed to God only knows what for a while now." Martin reasoned. "We should do you first."

Jon wavered. For a moment it seemed like he might protest. Then he shrugged and leaned forward, silently accepting. Martin dabbed at one of the wounds which was already an angry red at the edges, and Jon immediately flinched back, a sharp ah of air as he breathed in.

"Sorry. Probably stings a bit."

"Mmnhmm."

Jon leaned in again, this time only tensing slightly as the gauze touched him. Martin moved his fingertips carefully over the ridges of Jon's skull and the place where his jaw and neck met. He used up one square of gauze after another, tossing the used one into a tray that was probably used for painting, bloody and stained with something Martin didn't want to think about.

"Do you think they're still out there?" Martin asked after a while.

"The worms? Unlikely." Jon said, glancing towards the door. "We took care of the ones deep in the tunnels, and the fire suppression should have taken out the rest. There weren't really a lot of them."

Martin gave Jon a look.

"What?" Jon asked.

"What exactly counts as a lot of worms to you?"

"Fair enough," he smirked. "I suppose what I mean is, I think the CO2 got them all."

Martin shook his head and dug around in the kit, finding bandages and medical tape. "I never thought I'd see you of all people start a fire in the archive. . . ."

"Hmm, yes." Jon got a strange sort of smile on his face, something wicked and satisfied, and he muttered to himself. "Hope that one hurt." Then he cleared his throat and looked back at Martin. "Anyway. . . you heard that scream. It sounded. . . " he paused, searching for a word. "Terminal."

"Yeah. Wish I didn't hear it, but yeah." Martin shivered. "S'probably gonna be in my dreams for a while."

Martin finished covering the damage on Jon's face and neck, then passed the kit to him so he could take care of the rest himself. Jon did so haphazardly, scrubbing at the marks on his arm hard enough to make Martin wince, though he said nothing.

"The real danger now is the CO2." Jon continued, tearing open a bandage with his teeth. "It'll take some time to disperse enough for us to get out. Do you have a phone?"

"Battery's dead." Martin said. "Wasn't able to charge it. You?"

"Dropped it while running, I think. No matter," he shrugged. "Won't be more than a few hours before the morning staff gets in and sees the state of things. If they're smart they'll call the ECDC, who'll come in looking for survivors," he smiled wryly. "Then we'll have all the fun of quarantine to look forward to."

Martin stared. Jon shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

". . . What is it?" He asked.

"Who are you?" Martin gestured in Jon's direction, trying to indicate, just, all of him. "Five weeks ago I couldn't convince you that no one is ‘naturally' suffocated by cobwebs, and now you're coming in the middle of the night to fight a worm queen like some sort of academic Van Helsing!"

"Ah. I . . . " Jon glanced off to the side, "I believe the original Van Helsing was actually a professor of some sort, so . . . ."

"Whatever!" Martin threw up his hands. He was exhausted, and confused, and he didn't know why he was shouting except that he'd been too nervous to shout while they were running for their lives and now it was all coming out. "You show up with a bunch of gear and start knocking down walls and finding hidden passageways! How did you even know they were there? And what was with that phone call, I mean, why tonight? What do I have to do with it all?"

The rare sight of Jon looking speechless might have been more satisfying if Martin wasn't hoping to get answers from him. He looked down at his fidgeting hands, avoiding eye contact, and was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, it was in a different voice. A dark, measured tone, as if he was reciting something.

"It is not the patterns that enthrall me, it's what sings behind them," he intoned. "Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me."

"Wh- what?" The strange, poetic words tugged at Martin's stomach, bringing up a deep, disquieting nausea that made him itch everywhere.

". . . Jane Prentiss. She came here sometime before - before she became what she was." Jon said quietly. "She gave a statement, spoke of something like the melody that you described. Something that frightened her even as it lured her closer. That got inside her and twisted and changed her until . . . well. You saw her. Twice now."

Martin felt cold. He didn't like what he feared Jon was implying. Does it sound like it's for you? he'd asked.

"First she heard them sing to her." Jon continued. "Then she resisted. Then she was drawn in. Then she gave herself to them."

"So . . . so you're saying they can do, what, mind control?" Martin asked, unsteadily.

Jon shook his head. "I don't think it's direct as that. It's more of a slow corruption. Or a call. Or a wearing down of resistance. By the time you realize you're changing, you've already changed. Too far gone to be saved," he said, looking into the middle distance. "That's, ah, how it seemed from Prentiss's statement, anyway."

Martin was quiet. Jon unwrapped some fresh gauze and dabbed it with disinfectant. He gestured Martin towards himself.

"Come here," he said.

Martin leaned forward reluctantly. After seeing Jon scour his own wounds he braced himself for a similar treatment. But Jon's touch was remarkably light and careful as he dabbed at Martin's face. Even the sting of alcohol wasn't so bad - it made him feel cleaner, less worried about whatever horrid traces those things might have left behind in him.

"Is that going to happen to me?" Martin whispered. "What happened to Jane?"

"No." Jon said firmly. "No. We aren't going to let them have you. Besides, the worms are all dead now."

"But do we know that?" Martin asked, worry tightening around his chest. "How can we be sure?"

He half expected Jon to just insist they couldn't have survived the CO2, ignoring everything about them that didn't make natural sense. Instead, he paused and considered.

"Well. We can keep watch. If there are any left, their only means of ingress are the vent and under the door," he nodded at both. "If it came to that, they'd only be able to get through a few at a time. We could probably take care of them with something heavy. And when the ECDC arrives they'll seal off and fumigate the building, so as much as one can ever be certain things like this have been destroyed, we will be then."

Martin nodded slowly. All right. That was reasonable enough.

"And . . . if you do ever hear them again . . . ." Jon added after a pause. "Hear or feel something strange, you can talk to me. I promise I'll listen. Ah, Tim and Sasha too, you can, you can come to us for help, you know?" He looked down, changing out the square of gauze. "I think that isolation makes this sort of thing worse. From - - from what I've read. In the statements."

He added that last part so hastily Martin couldn't help raising an eyebrow. His guess about Jon having some past experience with Prentiss, or at least something like her looked more likely by the second. But so did the sense that there was something big there, some raw emotion Jon didn't want to touch. Martin decided not to press it.

Jon placed a hand against Martin's jaw, gently tilting and angling his face as he needed it. He leaned in with the same look of focused concentration Martin had seen on him while reading, brow crinkling, mouth turned into the smallest hint of a frown. Jon's face was very, very close to his, and Martin closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to worry about where to look. He tried to cover his shyness with a laugh.

"You know," he said, "if I didn't know better I'd think you were saying there might be something, I don't know, not-normal about these person-devouring parasites?"

Jon sighed heavily, pulling back. Martin opened his eyes just in time to see Jon roll his.

"Yes. I realize these things are not natural," he fished around in the kit for bandages. "And I've always believed in the supernatural, even before I came here. The skeptic act, it - it felt safer at first to just deny everything, I suppose. But lately I think it's just done out of habit."

Jon frowned, pressing a clean bandage onto Martin's neck. "Still. Perhaps it's a habit I'd be better off discarding."

He reached down and tugged the collar of Martin's t-shirt to the side, exposing the flesh over his shoulder which was pocked with tiny holes. Martin looked hard at the opposite wall as Jon tended. When the last of them had been bandaged, Martin expected him to pass the kit back and let him handle the bites on his arms himself. But without a word he pulled out a new square of gauze and gently took Martin's wrist, moving his arm to rest on top of Jon's knee and turning it to show where it was hurt. He touched Martin so carefully, so gingerly, and Martin couldn't think of a thing to say as Jon resumed his ministrations.

"Probably is better. Discarding the skeptic act, I mean," Martin eventually said, grappling for something to fill the silence, "I almost didn't want to tell you about Prentiss at first. Was pretty sure you'd say I was losing it. Or, I dunno, lying to get out of work."

Jon winced, and he immediately regretted bringing it up. It was such a petty thing. Not worth discussing over a month later, especially not at a time like this. For a while Jon was silent, focusing on Martin's arm while Martin wondered if he'd just spoiled what might have been a moment of connection. Then abruptly, Jon turned to look him in the eye.

"I owe you an apology, Martin. Probably several apologies. This job I've taken on, I - I don't think I was prepared for it at all. It certainly wasn't what I'd expected," he said ruefully. "I've been frustrated and - and confused, and afraid, and I've been taking it out on you. Which isn't fair at all."

Jon's eyes flicked away from Martin's face, and he turned to stare nervously at the floor.

"I don't - " he sighed. "I don't, ah, dislike you, Martin. I've been lashing out, and you've-" he winced, "well, been a convenient target, I suppose. Which is inexcusable, absolutely inexcusable, and I'm not trying to justify it, but -" he spoke slowly, his voice earnest. "You should know that it's been nothing that you did. It's really had nothing to do with you at all. It's entirely me and my own failings, and I'm sorry for that. I just . . . hope that you can forgive me."

"Oh. I mean, ah . . . sure?" Martin said it unthinkingly, as reflex, just reacting to the fact that he was being apologized to. But after a moment, he added, "yeah. Yeah, it's all right. I forgive you," and realized that he meant it.

Jon seemed immensely relieved, he looked at Martin and smiled. Martin felt a soft little twinge in him and smiled back.

"I'm . . . very glad to hear that." Jon said. "Because I think there's something wrong with this place. I don't just mean - " he gestured around them, indicating their current situation " - Jane, the worms. I mean the whole archive. I have a feeling that things are only going to get worse from here." Jon tilted his head, looking at Martin sincerely. "And if they do . . . I think I'm really going to want you in my corner."

Martin felt heat rise to his face in a familiar way that he couldn't ignore. And God, what a mess he was. Getting weak-kneed over his boss while they were locked in a supply closet waiting for a decontamination team to rescue them. But Jon's face angled towards him just then, in the close, stuffy air. His voice intense and serious but his expression so unexpectedly delicate, soft and hopeful. It did Martin in. He chuckled awkwardly, trying to clear the tension.

"Oh! Well, sure," he laughed. "I mean, that's my job, right? Assisting the archivist."

Jon got an odd look at that, but after a moment he smiled. He glanced back at the vent and sighed. "I think we're going to be waiting here a while. You should get some rest if you can."

At the words get some rest, perhaps just the concept of rest sinking into his mind, Martin felt himself sway. The adrenaline had passed, and while his wounds were still hurting the painkillers had taken the sharpest edges off.

"'If I can' being the key bit," he said.

"Mmm." Jon glanced disapprovingly around at the small room. "Not exactly the most comfortable surroundings, I suppose."

"Every time I close my eyes I feel something crawling on me."

Martin had meant it lightly, even jokingly, a sardonic complaint about the bizarre situation they were both in. But when he said it Jon looked at him with sudden concern. Not the quick, searching worry from when he'd asked Martin if there were any worms left, something less urgent, more quiet and sad. Martin shifted uncomfortably, about to say that he didn't mean it, he knew they were dead and it was fine. But before he could speak, Jon got down from the bucket he'd been sitting on and moved closer to him. He leaned against a shelf, legs out, his small body forming a third wall around Martin's corner.

"I can see the vent and door from here. I'll keep an eye out, and if anything comes through rest assured I'll make enough commotion swatting it to wake anyone."

Martin laughed once, a quick, short breath. "I bet. Um," he fidgeted. "We could take shifts? That'd be fair."

"Told you. I keep odd hours." Jon waved a hand dismissively. "I've already gotten some sleep tonight, which, unless my guess is wrong, you haven't. Besides, it should only be a few hours before someone arrives. Don't see the point in splitting the time up."

"If you're sure."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep, Martin."

His voice held a familiar annoyed creak, but softened with something friendly, even affectionate. Martin pulled a few drop cloths off a pile and stuck them where the walls met, giving him something to lean more comfortably against. He was slumped against the wall of a storage closet, the sores on his face and arm still ached, and it was far from comfortable. But when his eyes closed and his mind conjured images of squirming things, he felt Jon's presence next to him. Someone was there keeping watch over him, someone who'd see if anything got near, and that was enough to make the crawling feeling fade. For the first time in a long time, Martin was able to drift, his skin calm, his mind settling. A moment later, he was asleep.

He didn't dream much, and what dreams he did have were echoes, brief half-images and sounds replayed from their flight through the tunnels. But there was one moment when he dreamed of opening his eyes, half awake, still there in the supply closet. He'd slumped over onto Jon in his sleep, but Jon didn't seem to mind. He sat with Martin laying across his lap, one arm draped over him protectively, an easy smile on his face. Then the dreamless darkness took Martin back.

Just a dream, of course. When he truly woke he was lying on the floor and Jon was standing, banging on the door and shouting to the emergency workers outside.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jonmartin #time travel au #the canon typical worms are strong in this one

38 notes · View notes

mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Dead Things || Morgan & Kaden

@chasseurdeloup

Just two friends having a walk in the woods. Guest-starring Ashley the Zombie!

It surprised Morgan that Kaden would choose her to walk in the woods with to let off steam and vent safely. It seemed like the sort of thing to do with a girlfriend, but maybe Regan and her denial blinders were a little much for him just now. And for all the times Morgan had been driven to sign off on him with a ‘fuck you’ on her lips, she did consider them to be friends of a certain kind. He was kind at heart, kinder than he let on even to himself. He had his anger, which Morgan still couldn’t quite fit her head around, but if his life had been anything like Deirdre’s, he had plenty of reason to be. She’d wished he had suggested a place a little less spooky than the woods, but it wasn’t like she could enjoy anything from the counter at Coffee Plus. Morgan reached out with what senses she had and tried to remember the comfort they’d once given her. The sanctity of nature. Never judging, always open to her. The soft earth, ready to take her body back some day. Did it welcome them now? Did either of them know how to fit in a space as simple and open as this?

“Shucks, Kaden,” Morgan teased, “I didn’t think you’d ever ask me to meet you like this. If you’d given me more time I’d have made us BFF bracelets.” She elbowed him gently as they walked. “What’s been up with you?”

There had been a few moments of calm in Kaden’s life the past week. But something about it felt more ominous than comforting. Even though it was a new moon and it should be the calmest time of the month, something felt off. He couldn’t say what. Maybe he just wasn’t used to peace and quiet. Hell even most of his assignments had been normal. It was possible that was why he felt the need to lean into the weird of hanging out with a supernatural friend. Though, to be honest, he was short on non-supernatural friends at the moment. And no matter how many times him and Morgan went head to head over things, there was something, enough easy rhythm, especially when sharing the realities of having banshee girlfriends; a strange commonality and bond he never expected to have or share with anyone else. Leave it to White Crest.

The mention of friendship bracelets pierced through him as he thought of the stupid leather braclet on his wrist. His nose scrunched a little even though he tried to hide it. He hadn’t planned on bringing up Celeste. Or having to dwell on death for a moment. Hopefully she didn’t catch it, assumed it was an overreaction to her elbow. “Well I’d say a friendship bracelet with me is a death sentence but I guess that’s not a problem is it?” Putain. Fine. Just fucking lean into it. Why not? “I figured we could both use a non-carcass walk every now and then.” He gave a small shrug. “And nothing much. No clue what the fuck I’m doing with my life but I guess that’s just what White Crest does to you.”

“Wow. I was kidding, but I didn’t think you’d give me literal stink-eye,” Morgan said, rolling her eyes. “What, are you afraid the big bad world isn’t ready for us? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” She pretended to be scandalized, gasping and clutching her imaginary pearls, but she could feel herself skirting close to a kind of truth that lay between them. They couldn’t exactly gather round a foosball table with his hunter friends anymore than she could bring him to a movie night with Remmy and Skylar. Granted, her friends wouldn’t ever try to kill him, but that wasn’t a path she should be going down when they were supposed to be enjoying each other’s company critter-free. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she huffed. “Every walk I take is a carcass walk.” She turned to face him, tilting her head so far to one side it threatened to dislocate her neck. “If you have beef with the dead, you really came to the wrong zombie.” She smirked, her smile growing wider as she kept their pace along the path, backwards now. She righted her head and rolled her shoulders. That had helped with muscle strain before, right? “You’re too easy to mess with sometimes. But, I can be serious if you need to talk about big things. Life isn’t for having all the answers, though. It’s not a performance, you know? We learn things. We try. We--”

An animal roared in the distance. It didn’t sound like any creature Morgan knew, but what else could it be? She looked over at Kaden. Did he hear that too? She turned in the direction of the sound. Something was lumbering through the underbrush, something big.

Kaden let out a sigh through his throat. “Very funny. I’m just saying my quota of friendship bracelets from dead girls is officially one. Spot’s taken, you’re too late,” he said, elbowing her back. “So quit your dramatics.” If anyone was going to be okay joking about death, it was Morgan. He knew that much. Honestly, it was nice to have second that he wasn’t just fucking sad about it all. And it was only a second because he looked over to see her fucking head turned around like some kind of horror movie. “Putain de merde, do you have to do that?” His face scrunched in disgust as he turned it away from her. It definitely didn’t turn like that, thank god, but it wasn’t quite enough to avoid the fucking scene of her putitng her head right. His mind flashed to Bea’s head in a jar and if he didn’t feel sick before, he sure did now. “At least warn me before you do.” Yeah he knew that wasn't going to happen.

Unsurprisingly, she had a deep answer to his dumb question. Or he was pretty sure she would have it hadn’t stopped paying attention as soon as he heard a wail. Inhuman, for sure. His stomach dropped. Again. She wasn’t going to like this. At least not if his suspicions were correct. Without thinking, his hand reached back to the knife in his pocket and he positioned himself between her and the rustling in the foliage. Another roar and the creature broke through the bush. A decaying, hungry zombie, shambling towards them. He leapt to act. There was only one thing to do with a monster.

“I didn’t even break anything,” Morgan grumbled, pouting. “And isn’t it good for me to have a positive relationship with my new body? Don’t you want the best for me, Kaden?” But, honestly, it was probably a good thing he hadn’t become completely inured to how dead dead-bodies could be, especially hers. Positioning herself in proximity to human existence was a losing game, but for Kaden...maybe it was the best he could do right now. “I want the best for you too, obviously,” she added, more sincerely.

But the moment was shattered by the figure that leapt out from the underbrush. Morgan recognized her at once. She had only seen her ruined face a few days ago in the cemetery with Rio. “A-ashley--?” She moved forward, but Ashley’s face was too rotted and glazed with hunger to give any intelligible response. She groaned from somewhere deep in her hungry belly and shambled forward, one arm half raised with want. Animals didn’t last long on a dead stomach, even the feast they’d given her, but Stars, she’d hoped Ashley would have at least lasted longer once she was herself again. Her path was clear, but Morgan wasn’t going to go any easier on her now. “Ashley don’t--!” She jumped into her path, holding her by the shoulders and digging in her heels. But Morgan had fed too recently since the last time they’d met, and her muscles were quickly meeting their limit. “Kaden! Help me!” She cried.

There was no doubt in Kaden’s mind what was headed towards him was a monster. The decaying hungry zombie was nothing more than undead bones and decay searching for flesh and organs to tear into. His knife was ready and he was prepared to run in and take care of the situation before this became a problem when Morgan put herself in front of him and started speaking. Did she just say a name? “Wait, do you know that thing?” His stomach fell watching the shambling gaunt body. He wanted to pull Morgan away and just get this over with but she ran towards it and put herself right in harm’s way. Sure, she was a zombie, too, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get hurt ever. Putain.

He ran over and wanted to tear her from the threat but it was clear she was fighting her hardest to keep it at bay. Which didn’t exactly bode well. Kaden ran around behind the monster and grabbed its shoulders, pulling back. He’d have to find a way to cut off its head, a knife seemed impractical but it would have to d-- Before he could even consider that, the zombie rounded on him and lunged for his neck. Fuck. He raised his hand and threw a punch in its decaying face, trying to get it away from him. But it was fucking determined. His eyes went wide as he watched the teeth come closer and braced his arm to try and keep it away. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Her name is Ashley!” Morgan snapped. What had she been doing this whole time? Sure, the animal food she’d been given wasn’t going to last long, but she’d had time to hunt or buy or even steal something. Did she not know how? Did she not feel like she could? Morgan gripped the zombie tighter, wrestling against her brute force-- and then she whirled on Kaden, teeth bared.

“Don’t hurt him!” It was the stupidest thing she could’ve said. Ashley didn’t even have enough brain cells to string together who she was. There was no way anything like pleading was going to work right now. Morgan barreled into her from the side, sending them both sprawling to the ground. She pinned her to the forest floor by the shoulder, but Ashley roared and wrenched herself up before she could make her position any more secure. The flesh from Ashley’s arm came straight off and Morgan stared helplessly as the dead limb lay in her grasp. “Shit,” she hissed, scrambling back to her feet to follow the hungry zombie. She was making a beeline right for the hunter and Morgan wasn’t sure if she’d be able to tackle her in time if he didn’t move. “Kaden, get back!” she cried.

“Her what?!” Kaden yelled as he pushed his forearm into the monster’s neck. Putain, it didn’t matter what flesh the teeth connected with, just that they did. His stomach flipped furiously. The thought of being undead was far worse than the threat of death. He may be immune to werewolf bites, but zombies and vampires were still on the table. He could feel his pulse pounding in his chest. And fuck, he’d like it to keep fucking doing so. Desperately, Kaden took his knife and rammed it into the monster’s guts over and over, intestines and rotting flesh tumbling out of its side. It was barely holding itself together anymore but all the same, he was fucking panicking just a bit.

Before he knew it, the monster was thrown away from him by Morgan’s body. Okay. Alright, He had to find something to behead it with. Something more effective than a knife. Shoe lace? No, that would take too long. Morgan could only keep it at bay so long and he had a feeling she wasn’t about to try and kill her “friend.” “I thought you said not all zombies fucking knew each other,” he grumbled as he pulled his belt from his pants. Not great, but it would fucking do.”Mo--” Kaden was about to yell at her to get out of the way but he didn’t have to, the monster was lunging at him all the same. He didn’t listen to his friend and kicked out at the zombie and went to wrap the belt around its neck.

“I just fucking asked her!” Morgan was running as fast as her legs would take her. She could do this. Kaden was bound to have something to restrain Ashley with until they could get her food again. He could hunt her as many deer as she needed. She just needed to get the two of them apart long enough for him to understand what the plan was. She grabbed Ashley from behind, tugging her back as hard as she could by her shirt and wrestling an arm around her neck. “What part of ‘get back’ was hard for you?” She grunted at Kaden. “She’s just starving!” She dragged Ashley back several paces, grimacing as she wriggled and bit at her skin. Her grip loosened as Ashley took a deep chunk out of her arm, and it was all she could do to push the zombie off her feet as she stumbled free. “Give me that,” she said, pulling on the belt in his hands. “You need to run for some fresh deer, or brains, or--fuck!” She hit the ground hard. Ashely’s hand was around her leg, pulling her down with a strength Morgan couldn’t compete against with her humanity intact. “Kaden, what are you doing?”

Kaden really didn’t give a shit if this zombie was hungry or not, but Morgan sure did. And it was hindering him from doing his job. She seemed to insist that she knew this monster and it was very hard for him to care when all he saw were teeth coming towards him, hell bent on tearing into his flesh. “Deer?! You think deer are going to solve this?!” He was just about to solve this his way when Morgan yanked the belt away and he was once again without a way to take care of the problem quickly or easily. Putain. Morgan was down and while deep down he knew that the other zombie couldn’t really hurt her, he didn’t want to risk it. But he had no confidence that Morgan could keep the zombie contained on her own. Kaden reached over and pulled the zombie away from his friend. Or tried to. All he got was a fist full of flesh that had pulled off the bones. “She’s too far gone, Morgan.” The monster turned and hands wrapped around his arm as it pulled at him, teeth coming dangerously close once again. This time he was ready and had his knife braced against its neck. The closer it came to him, the more of its head he hoped he’d sever. It was hungry alright. Hopefully starving to death.

“I don’t know, maybe two of them?” Morgan wrestled with Ashley on the ground. It shouldn’t have been this hard to overpower a woman who was falling apart, but she was still fierce enough to knock Morgan’s bones out of place every time she thought she had the upper hand. And Kaden wasn’t running. Morgan didn’t know how to get it through his thick skull that what she needed wasn’t a rescue, but zombie tofu. “You’re too far gone,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just get her something--no!” Kaden’s knife glared in the twilight around them, slicing deep into Ashley’s neck. Morgan reached out for them from the ground with her broken arms. “Stop! She doesn’t know what she’s doing!” She popped them back into place and scrambled up. Ashley’s neck had been sawed away down to the bone, so fragile and bare for all her thrashing. No one should look like that, she thought. No one’s bones were meant to be bared that way, with rotten flesh staining the surface brown and dripping over the rounded ends. The body protected the bones. All of this was wrong… “Kaden, don’t!”

The knife cut deep into her neck and the stench that came from the rotting severed neck was enough to make him gag. Kaden held it back and kept pushing the knife through. It slid and slipped through what was left of the muscle and then the bone. The monster backed off and started to crumple away. One last whack with the knife and there would be no way for it to regenerate. He was about to do it when Morgan spoke up. All of the fear he felt before was burning away with anger. “No.” It was all he said before taking that final chop to her head, the tenuous connection between the body and it finally removed. All that was left was two piles of disgusting decay. It smelled like the reverse garden in the back of Regan’s apartment, maybe worse. Even before the head was gone, there wasn’t much keeping this together.

“We should burn what’s left.” He frankly didn’t give a shit if she was okay with that or not. Now that he had a moment, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Morgan had said earlier. All of it. “Just get her something, huh? Something to eat?” He could feel the impression of the knife handle pushing into his palm as he gripped it tighter. “Like what? Me?!” He was so close to getting bitten so many times and here she was concerned about a fucking monster. “You knew her, didn’t you? Met her before? You knew her name.” His voice raised louder every fucking sentence. He kicked a lump of decayed flesh away from his shoe. He wanted to kick the fucking corpse but he didn’t feel like trying his luck. “You knew she was like this and you let her--” There was so much he wanted to scream about that he couldn’t even pick where to fucking start. He threw the knife blad first into the ground, making sure it fucking sank in instead. “Morgan what the fuck?!”

“No!” The cry was barely a sound in Morgan’s dead throat as Kaden lobbed off the woman’s head. She stared, mute and trembling, at the remains of her body. All the magic that had been holding her together was gone. There were only masses of green and purple rot and the poor bones that couldn’t hold themselves together anymore. Kaden was yelling, but Morgan couldn’t hold on to any of his words for more than a few moments. “I--I met her once,” she said faintly. “I got her some food. I fed her. It was just...a stupid faun, and the butcher’s whole stock of brains and organs. She...she was scared. I think she was scared. But I don’t know why she didn’t…” Take care of herself. Feed herself. Come up with something better than roaming the woods. Morgan shuddered, thinking of how deep her pit had to be for her to choose living this way, to run away from people who wanted to help. “She ran away before I could do anything more.” Her eyes filled with tears as she finally looked at Kaden, teeming with his hunter rage. “I wasn’t going to let her hurt you. She wasn’t even trying to hurt you, she was just...I don’t know. She was lost, Kaden. Haven’t you ever been lost and stupid?”

“You could barely hold on to her! And your fucking help before led to this!” Kaden said, pointing that the pile of decomposed flesh and bones. “She wasn’t trying to hurt me, she was trying to eat me. I was fucking two seconds from getting bit. A couple of times.” A chill ran through him. There were few fates he could imagine that were worse than being undead. Morgan had adjusted or what-fucking-ever she wanted to call it, but it was the last thing he wanted for himself. And he wasn’t immune. He rolled the muscles of his shoulder blades back, trying to ground himself, pull back. “Lost and stupid was going to fucking kill me, Morgan. If I didn’t-- She was going to eat me. You fucking saw that, right? Putain, if I didn’t have hunter strength--” He gave a small shake of his head. He was so fucking sure she didn’t see it or didn’t care. “What if she came across someone who wasn’t us? What if-- She would have killed them. That’s not some ‘lost stupid’ mistake,” he spat out. “That would be murder. Fucking murder, Morgan. You fail at rehab with monsters and it ends in murder.” He took a deep breath and reached donw for his fucking knife. He wanted to just leave. “This isn’t some fucking game you get to play at.”

“She is not a monster!” Morgan cried, her voice cracking in her stiff throat. “She was a person, Kaden. Not a ‘this’ or a thing or a--whatever else someone told you she is! She is like me, Kaden! She’s just as much of a person as me! It’s not her fault what her brain does to her when she’s starving, we don’t even know how much of a choice she had! And now we’re never going to because you couldn’t see past the end of your knife long enough to think of a better solution!” She pointed at the body, shaking her head furiously. He couldn’t even feel bad for her. He couldn’t even mourn what he’d taken away from the world. He couldn’t even see her. “That’s murder, Kaden. Not your hypothetical hunter crap. That.”

“That. Wasn’t a person. Not anymore. And it was going to kill me. I’m really glad to know a pile of rotten flesh is worth more to you than--” Kaden couldn’t even finish his sentence. It hurt too much to hear out loud. And he knew the fucking answer already. How often had he seen supernaturals value each other’s lives over human’s? It made him sick. Potential zombie life valued more than a living, breathing human. “There was no time for a better fucking solution. And your attempt at a better fucking solution however long ago your little intervention was clearly didn’t work. She ended up like this.” He was ready to walk away and be done. He was so fucking tired of being told he was wrong for fighting for human life.

“Yes, she was! Ashley was sick, Kaden! People get sick and say and do hurtful things when they’re sick all the time. And we don’t murder them for it, we put them in hospitals! And plenty of your people, your fucking humans do them stone cold sober!” Morgan backed away from Kaden, her insides crawling with disgust. He seemed to come so far and when they were joking around or having their heart to hearts everything between them could feel so nice. She always forgot that to him she was just an exception to a rule about creatures, worse than the dogs he wrangled up for his day job. “But, you know, good job. I’m sure it’ll make a great story to tell all the guys over a beer someday. You showed that starving girl who’s boss all by yourself. If you don’t mind, though, I’m gonna pass on whatever you have lined up next.”

“Sick? What the fuck, Morgan? Sick?!” Kaden was walking away when he heard that, but he turned on his heel to walk back to her. Were they even talking about the same fucking event anymore? Had she even been there just now? “A starving girl? Is that how you think of that?” he shouted pointing once again at the pile of decomp between them. “That was a zombie. Who was very fucking hellbent on eating me.” The more she spoke the clearer it was to him that she didn’t get it. That she saw no value to him or what he did, what had to happen, the reality of things. She had some rose colored zombie glasses or something, he couldn’t figure it out. “You know what, have fun on your walk with your friend there. Because it’s apparently not me. Hope she’s better fucking company. Considering she was higher on your fucking priority list.”

#dead. things #wr kaden #wr chatzy #wr kaden chatzy #wr

13 notes · View notes

cheetahsprints · 4 years

Text

My mask is growing heavy, but I’ve forgotten who’s beneath

The only thing louder than his own breathing is the sound of his footsteps pounding on the asphalt. He’s put quite a distance between himself and his pursuers, yet he can’t stop. Not the burning of his lungs, the aching of his legs, nor the sharp pain present in his ribs is enough.

Finding out he was a quasi-immortal clone around fifteen years ago has its benefits as well as a heap of existential confusion; regardless, he can’t risk becoming a disease carrier.

Goddamn capitalism making him work at a hospital during a shitty apocalypse. He’s not even an essential doctor or anything! They won’t let him do more than tedious stocking and organizing, since he still needs to finish an online degree.

What finally stops him is a hand shooting out from the darkness and pulling him into the void.

It is not a normal hand. Dib can barely see beyond his hand-made, modernized plague doctor mask, so he reaches out and wraps his hand around the other. The hand has three fingers and impossibly silky skin. He rips the hand from its grip on his shirt and stumbles backward. After a moment of fumbling - that he feels strangely embarrassed by - he gets the mask off. A pair of ruby eyes bore into him.

“Z-Zim.”

Zim tilts his head. There’s a vague muffled sound, but Dib can’t understand. His mouth is covered by a bright pink mask near to the color of his old uniform, It has black straps that converge from a split and disappear around either side of his head. There seem to be bolts at the corners, and they must have caused fresh wounds because dark green blood is dripping down. On an odd instinct, Dib reaches out to wipe it away. Zim catches his wrist.

He nods to the side. Dib allows himself to be dragged through the alley. Zim ducks under a pair of criss-crossed boards nailed on a doorless doorway. Dib narrowly avoids smacking into them, forehead first, and he almost faceplants into the floor. He bites his lip hard to keep from sneezing due to the amount of dust.

Zim warily eyes him. He is completely without his disguise, though it didn’t really hide much. Zim releases his wrist and marches onward. Dib follows him up a set of stairs. He takes stock of the room they finally stop at. There’s a telescope in the window partially covered by a curtain; it doesn’t look like a recreational telescope. A suitcase lays open with an array of extraterrestrial high-tech rays and such. Near the possible entrances there are metal pieces with three round holes and signs that proclaim Caution: shoots fire. Dib almost scoffs at warning one’s enemies before he realizes what kind of enemy they must be intended for.

Unlike many of the movies Dib has watched, Zombies are fast fuckers. They seem to have heightened hearing and smell, but thankfully they have poor sight and worse reflexes. They’re more flammable than a human usually is, due to something secreted from the pores. Though they are undead - clinically dead then shockingly came back to life - their hearts do beat. However, they won’t cease until their heads are completely removed - even a gunshot right between the eyes won’t be permanent, only slow them down.

They also have memories. If one formerly knew a zombie, they might try to trick them, say things they might’ve said to the point where it becomes too uncanny. It takes a few days for the flesh to rot, the eyes to cloud over, and for them to begin ripping apart anyone who comes close. They don’t eat brains, rather going for the heart and liver, leaving the rest behind. Some will tear off ribs and use them as weapons.

Nothing could have truly prepared Dib for any of this. He thought he was prepared for anything supernatural. He wasn’t.

It takes a minute and for Zim to flick him on the head before he realizes he’s been rambling most of his knowledge of the Infection out loud.

“That’s how it started,” Dib mumbles. He may be going a bit mad. “ They thought it was just… an extremely bad strain of the flu. Then it spread and it spread… then the dead came back…”

Zim’s eyes narrow. The blood on his jaw has dried.

Dib begins to impersonate his voice, waving his arms around as he says, “You’re probably thinking, stupid big headed Dib, I know all of this, in fact I know so much more than your dim-witted human worm brain can comprehend!”

Zim stares at him. Then, he nods. He slowly sits on a barren mattress that’s crooked at the far corner of the room. He covers his eyes with his hands. Dib slides in beside him. He wraps his arm around Zim’s shoulders. Zim melts into him.

Shakily he says, “If nothing else, we have each other.”

“Stinky human,” Zim growls, barely audible. “I wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t stayed on Earth for you. Disgusting.”

“You love me asshole.” And Dib loved him lightyears beyond logic as to a comprehensible or defendable reason. Dib does him the favor of not mentioning he stayed on Earth since he had nowhere to go upon finally having the epiphany his Tallest disowned him a long, long time ago. Dib is the first person to actually care about him, and as far as he can tell, Zim couldn’t help himself but be drawn to that. Dib figures he isn’t much different.

“Hmph.”

5 notes · View notes

nellie-elizabeth · 4 years

Text

Supernatural: Our Father, Who Aren't in Heaven (15x08)

I'm screaming.

Cons:

Buckleming episodes usually piss me off, but this one was actually really great. It was still plagued with the same pacing problems I always see in their episodes, though. A lot of great stuff happened here, but it didn't necessarily have a ton of room to breathe. Some of it did - the Cas and Dean stuff, the Michael and Adam stuff. And maybe that's the most important. But it might have been nice to have a longer beat with Rowena, or a bit more buildup with Eileen and the case. For an episode written by these two chuckle-fucks, though, I'm honestly really, really impressed.

Donatello is an okay-ish character, but his presence here felt mostly unnecessary. Didn't we have enough to juggle, without introducing him into the mix? Eileen, Cas, Rowena, Chuck, Michael, Adam... there's a lot going on here. It probably could have been done without him.

Pros:

I really don't know where to start, so let's start with Eileen. Just the fact that she's in this episode warms me from head to toe. She's... actually in the show. She's here, in the mid-season finale, where important Plot Stuff is happening. She's a real player in events, and after she came back from the dead, she stuck around in the bunker. Like she's... really in the show, you guys. Three episodes in a row!

On a more specific note, I love that Sam followed her and Eileen called him out on it... this could have been really creepy but I think they played it right. Eileen died and came back to life, and Sam is just starting to develop this relationship with her. It makes sense that he might be a little overbearing. And Eileen's reaction was pitch-perfect. She's a little annoyed, a little amused, but also maybe a little touched? And Sam takes the criticism to heart, realizing that he's probably overstepped. Later, when Eileen has a case that she needs to go on, to help an old friend, she goes to Sam and tells him, and he tags along. This seems like a good arrangement - Eileen isn't being stupid and running off by herself for no reason, but Sam is also respecting her boundaries and letting her approach him if and when she wants help with something.

We've also got Dean giving his seal of approval to the relationship, telling Sam that if he wants to do the family and relationship thing, Eileen is probably a good way of going about that. She's a hunter, she gets the life. And, as Dean says... Sam could do a lot worse. And Eileen could do so, so much better. I honestly think this little conversation was important to include. It's not like Sam needs Dean's blessing to start a relationship with Eileen, but... let's be honest, guys. Yes he does. Not literally, but can you really imagine either of the Winchester brothers being able to foster a healthy and lasting relationship with someone who didn't meet the other brother's approval? The codependency issues here are clear, and not to be discounted.

So then let's move on to Rowena. I loved her return here. It was totally unexpected, and totally brilliant. As I mentioned above, I really could have used more of her. The brief moment where Sam wants to hash out their last moments, and Rowena brushes him off, could have felt weightier. But the fact that we even got to see her again was such a gift. And what a natural end for her character! Queen of Hell. It fits, especially since I think we've pretty much confirmed that we won't be seeing Crowley again before the end. She got to show up looking like a boss-ass bitch, save Sam, Dean, and Castiel from getting their asses handed to them, shout orders, try to help them find Michael, assert her dominance and her happiness in her new role, and even try to kick Dean and Cas into gear, as she notices that they're clearly in some sort of "tiff." As brief as her return was, it certainly packed a punch, and I loved it so very much.

Cas and Dean's strained relationship right now is giving me life. This is the most Destiel-adjacent content we've gotten since Season Eight, and with the two of them returning to Purgatory, we're bound to get a lot of material in the new year, as well. The thing that I like so much about their story arc this season is that... there is a story arc. Dean has been cruel and dismissive of Cas in the past, and Cas has made mistakes, and circumstances have conspired to keep Castiel out of episodes as he goes off on his own quests... none of this is strictly new. But what is new is the narrative weight being placed on it. This is a slow-burn conflict that's going to have to have meaty screen-time to resolve. They had a serious fight, and it's actually affecting both of them in their actions.

Both Jensen and Misha are pulling out all the stops in giving this conflict the weight it deserves. There are so many delicious moments. They make their plans and discuss their options, but they can't even meet each other's eyes. There's the moment after Cas forces Michael to confront the truth, and Dean comes in and says "maybe you went too far." It's a gentle remonstrance, and he's clearly trying not to ruffle Cas' feathers. I loved the way Jensen played that, like he needed to talk to Cas about what went down, but he wanted to be careful not to antagonize him. When Rowena confronts them, they both do the typical thing of pretending everything's fine, still refusing to look at each other.

But the moment where my heart just squeezed in my chest was obviously when Dean cut his hand in order to do the spell to get to Hell, and Cas healed him, his hand hovering over Dean's fist without touching. Dean's hand unfurls and for a moment their fingers are centimeters apart, but they never touch. Many a meta has been written about the intimate way that Cas has always healed Dean, and how that juxtaposes to the way he heals other people. And in this moment, they don't touch, and it speaks volumes. I seriously have to ask the question - why was this moment in the episode? Sam could have been the one to cut his hand, or Dean could have, but then could have wrapped it up and moved on. It's not like we haven't seen Sam and Dean brush off wounds like this and ignore them before. This was a weighty, intentional moment. We lingered on it. I am alive, y'all.

Now let's turn to Adam/Michael. This is so amazing, and not at all what I think anyone was expecting when we found out Jake Abel was returning. Sure, Adam is a little pissed off at his brothers for leaving him in the cage, and sure Michael is still going on and on about being God's favorite, but even as so much has stagnated for these two characters, we've also learned what they've been up to in the cage for the past decade. They've made an arrangement. Only one body, but two brains... so they agree to share, more or less peacefully. Sam and Dean were shocked when Michael let Adam come to the forefront to say hi to his brothers. But the two of them seem to be... buddies. Adam is able to speak freely to Michael, to express his opinion that the Winchesters might have a point. Even though Michael can't quite listen to him in this instance, it's clear that he gives real consideration to Adam's opinions.

Adam was introduced on this show such a long time ago, and it would have felt disingenuous and annoying if we'd spent too long on the whole "you let me rot in hell" business. Of course that's something Adam would be thinking about, but it's not like Sam and Dean really knew him all that well. He doesn't seem to place much weight on his status as their brother, and I can't really blame him for that. He's had to forge his own path, and he's done so by becoming friends with the angel who is possessing him. I love that glow-up for Adam.

And Michael... he has to have his heart broken the same way Sam did when he found out that Chuck has been playing them all along. I loved the moment when Cas forcefully made him confront the truth, because of course it was too much, of course it was overwhelming, but ultimately it pushed him to understand that his loyalty to God is not worth the pain and suffering he's been through. And so, in much the way that Chuck knew how to cage Amara, Michael knows how to cage Chuck. He's willing to help by passing that information along. It's a spell, of course. And the most vital ingredient is something that can only be found in Purgatory. What with Sam and Eileen dealing with Chuck elsewhere, it's going to be up to Cas and Dean. They must return to the place where their epic romance really took off and began to slowly murder us all!

Chuck has Eileen and Sam right where he wants them, and even worse, Dean and Cas don't know. This is going to create great drama, as well as opportunities for our two couples (shut up and let me have this) to spend time together as we go in to the back half of the season. My heart is really starting to break, thinking about how little time we have left with this show!

I feel like this review could get out of hand very quickly. In many ways, this felt understated for a mid-season finale. Nobody died, the status quo didn't really shift all that much. But I actually liked it better for all that. Things are in motion. Character dynamics are being explored. This is a good season of Supernatural, y'all. Fingers crossed they can stick the landing!

9/10

#review #supernatural #supernatural review #spn #spn 15x08

13 notes · View notes

assistant-archivist · 5 years

Text

Unwelcome

Written statement of Garrett Jennison, October 16th, 2019

My mother has been dead for twelve years, so you can imagine my surprise when I came home to her cutting up what looked like freshly baked brownies in my kitchen.

I live alone, so it was already strange enough to come home to… Anyone, really. My first thought of course was a burglar. Then the smell hit me. What kind if burglar bakes pastries in the middle of a robbery? I grabbed a shoehorn - not a very good weapon, I know, but it was the best thing I had immediately available - and proceeded to the kitchen.

I swear I nearly had a heart attack when she-... When It spoke.

“Hello dear,” My mother’s voice greeted me as I entered the room. Of course I knew that it wasn’t really her, but for just a moment, a childish hope filled me. My mother’s death had been very sudden. Brain aneurysm… While she was baking brownies, actually. It had hit me really hard, and I had never quite gotten over it. Maybe that’s why It decided to target me.

My second thought was that I was hallucinating. I eliminated that, though, because it seemed very improbable. I had never experienced hallucinations of any kind before, and my mental health was doing quite well up until this whole… Ordeal. My next idea made me question my own sanity a little, though, I will admit.

For just a second, I wondered if it was a ghost. Now - I’ve never been one to be… Superstitious. I’ve never been a believer in the Supernatural. Even as a child, I was never afraid of ghosts or monsters or demons… Well, until now, that is.

You know, hindsight being 20/20 and all, I should have just left. Maybe it would have decided I wasn’t worth It’s time and left me alone…

But, too late to change that now. I’ve made my bed, now I have to lay in it.

“Who are you?” I demanded. Little did I know, I should have been asking ‘What are you?’ It’s not a person, no matter how much it looks or sounds or acts like one. It’s not a person.

A smile that I suppose was meant to look kind spread across Its face. It’s voice was bittersweet. “What, you don’t recognize your own mother?” A shiver ran down my spine and it felt like the room got twenty degrees colder.

I would have loved to say of course I recognized her, I was happy to have her back, oh how I had missed her and how is she here now and all those pleasantries… But I just couldn’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to really believe this thing wearing my mother’s face - Maybe literally, I don’t know. I still don’t know what that thing was.

There was just something off about this thing. It’s smile, the way it spoke, I couldn’t place it at the time, but it just… It had an almost… Predatory aura. Like a wolf dressed up as a bunny rabbit. I still can’t say exactly what set off the alarm bells, just something about this thing made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It didn’t have too many teeth - they weren’t sharp either, it’s eyes looked normal… Nothing looked immediately wrong with it, but I could just… I could sense, as ridiculous as that sounds, that there was something wrong.

I feel ridiculous writing that. I’ve never believed in that kind of shit, but here I am. Saying I fucking sensed something. I’ve always sort of looked down on people that talked about that sort of thing, that claimed they’d had paranormal experiences, y’know. I thought they were ridiculous, overly paranoid - Sorry, this isn’t what I came here to tell you about.

I think it’s worth noting, the longer I stood in its presence, the fouler the brownies smelled. I looked at them once the thing was gone - Well, okay, I looked at them two days later. I couldn’t even bring myself to enter the kitchen for a little while. They were rotted, like an old fruit or something, and they smelled like death. I don’t know what that thing put in them, but I became infinitely more glad that I hadn’t eaten them. I threw out the whole pan, my apologies. Looking back, they might have been able to help prove my story.

Anyways… I knew that something was… Out of place, with my supposed mother. I knew I had to get it out of my house, I just didn’t know how to do it. It turned out to be surprisingly easy, but for a moment, I wondered if I was going to die. I guess that’s what fear does to you, you get irrational, jump to conclusions, worst case scenarios and all that. I wasn’t sure what to do, at that moment I really just wanted to get out of this encounter alive.

“You aren’t welcome here, leave my home please.” I said. I’m sure my voice was shaking and quiet. I already don’t like confrontation and confronting what I thought at the time must have been a demon was even more terrifying. I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I vaguely remembered something about uh… Vampires, I believe? Something something can’t enter without permission something something, I was desperate, you know. I thought maybe that sort of rule was universal to such unpleasant creatures. If it hadn’t left at that moment I would still probably believe it was a demon.

It’s already disquieting smile faded from Its face unnervingly slowly. It gave me what I think was supposed to be it’s best imitation of a uh, disappointed look. But really it just looked like the thing was glowering at me. The way it left was… Honestly a little bit comedic, looking back, but at the time I was too shaken to do anything but stare. Its eyes never left me as it… Walked? I think it walked, it might have floated… Either way, it stared right at me, scowling the entire way, as it moved out of my kitchen and then backwards out my front door. It strode - I think - down my front steps, and disappeared down the sidewalk.

I was out of my kitchen in two strides and I slammed the door shut behind me. I wouldn’t go back in there for another two days, like I said, and by the time I had the guts to enter the room again the brownies were… Decayed, is the best word I can really use for it. They were disgusting, and the smell was putrid. Unfortunately I didn’t think to even take a picture before I threw out the dish. It had been my mother’s favorite one, the uh - The pan they were in. I was sad to see it go. Angry, too, that that thing had had the nerve to defile it with whatever wretched trash those brownies really were.

I went a few days - Four I believe, to be exact - without any more encounters. Granted, I didn’t exactly give the thing many opportunities to get to me. I sped to work and back home each day, and I didn’t dare linger outside for more than the moment it took me to unlock me door and check the sidewalk. I even uh, I even barricaded my backdoor. I stuck a chair under the handle and a broom across the whole thing. I didn’t want to take any risks, and even if a couple piece of flimsy wood wouldn’t have stopped the thing had it decided to return, it gave me a little piece of mind. Enough to get to sleep at night, at least.

Next time I ran into the thing it was at my office. I’m an editor for Mint, by the way. I got in a little earlier than I normally do, there was practically no line at Tim Hortons so I didn’t have to wait. Getting in five minutes early may have been what saved me, to be honest. If that thing had caught me off guard, alone in my office… It may be just fear talking but, I don’t think I would have walked out of there alive.

When I arrived, it was talking to the receptionist. The… That monster was still wearing my mother’s face. I’m glad I had never showed David - David Huxley, he’s the uh, the receptionist - a picture of my mother, else he surely would have asked questions. Well, he would have asked more questions.

The thing was leaning over the desk, tapping on idly on the surface of it with a couple fingers. It was smiling that alien smile at him, poor David looked about ready to bolt. As soon as I entered the room the thing’s head snapped up, looking at me over its shoulder. The way its neck bent was… Peculiar. It looked just a little too loose - I’m sorry, I really don’t know how else to describe it.

David looked relieved that it’s attention was no longer on him, but he peered up at me with concern in his eyes.

“Garrett!” It exclaimed in what I assume was meant to be a joyous tone. It sounded ecstatic, like it could barely contain its excitement, like it had been plotting and anticipating this meeting for a long time and it’s plans had finally come to fruition. “How are you darling?” For a brief moment, I honestly thought it’s voice had come out garbled or uh, distorted would probably be a better word. David appeared to have heard something off in it as well, he looked back at the thing standing at his desk. I remembered he used to carry pepper spray with him, paranoid about muggings and such - he tended to leave late and he didn’t want to be caught unawares. I wondered if he still had it, or… If it would even do any good against the thing.

“I have a present for you!” I don’t think I have ever felt a dread like that in my life. “How about we go to your office for a little privacy?” It wasn’t a question, I knew that, it was absolutely a command. For a second, David looked as though he would jump up and physically prevent me from going anywhere with It if I’d tried. He’s become a good friend of mine since this, I’m lucky to have him. So far, he’s the only one that really believes me about all this.

“No uh, I have to speak with David, please. Privately - It’s important, regarding my meeting with Ms. Paisley?” Ms. Paisley - Julie Paisley, a fellow editor - was away in Europe doing research for a piece about international stamps. I was hoping David would get the message that this was a dangerous and malicious being.

He stood up and practically dragged me into a different room. The conversation was short, I won’t recall the entire thing here. All that was said really was a brief explanation that we needed to get that thing out and the formation of a haphazard scheme to do so.

For context, our office is on the third floor of the building. The second floor is offices as well, but the first is just a shoddily put together food court. We ushered the thing down to the first floor with an excuse about ‘Ms.Paisley is on her way and we must be ready the moment she arrives.’ I suppose it’s lucky for us that this thing was monumentally stupid. It was certainly annoyed, insisted that it only needed a moment to speak with me, surely I could spare just a second, really it’s quite important - I thought it would lash out at the both of us as the elevator door closed, separating it from us.

David was white as a sheet, I’m sure I was too. I honestly thought I was done with it, I didn’t think it would turn up again. Anyways, David and I locked ourselves in my office until the rest of our co-workers arrived. Neither of us saw it again for the rest of the day, fortunately. I suppose it got tired of waiting to catch me off guard and left.

It was another few days until I saw it again, this time it didn’t speak to me though. I saw it standing in a park, staring at me from across the street. I was getting coffee on my lunch break - The sight of this thing panicked me so much that I nearly left before I got my order.

I’ve seen it a few times since, each time it’s been watching me from a ways away, and each time it has that daunting smile - Sneer, really, it doesn’t so much smile anymore as it does sneer at me. I wish I knew why it picked me…

It doesn’t appear that it has any intentions of leaving me alone, I fear for my safety - And for that of those around me, as well. I’m afraid it’s going to come for David or Ms. Paisley to try to get to me. I don’t want any of them to get hurt, I wish they weren’t involved at all. Both David and I have recently invested in a lot of salt - For the lines, across thresholds and all? I’ve even put salt lines on the windows in my office. My co-workers may think I’ve gone mad, but it’s a little bit reassuring, at least. God… I don’t even know if salt lines would stop this thing.

I’ve come not just to tell you this story, but to ask for help. I need it to leave me alone, I need whatever this is to be gone. I know you don’t do things like that yourselves but I was hoping you could direct me to someone that does, or at least tell me what this thing is so I can take proper precautions against it.

End of Statement.

Archivist Notes:

Similar statement logged several years ago - 1972, Statement of Helen Brady - former researcher suggested the Corpus Furem Vampiris. (More to be added on CFV later)

Account of mother’s death is accurate. David Huxley was contacted and interviewed - Fully corroborated the story of Mr. Jennison. Gave us an account of his experience with the supposed CFV:

“The thing gave me the chills. I don’t know how else to describe it aside from unnerving. It’s expressions and the way it talked seemed off somehow, but I couldn’t quite place what was wrong with it. On top of that it didn’t actually tell me who it was, it just said it was here to see Garrett, not even Mr. Jennison, called him Garrett. Normally people at least tell me their relation to someone if they’ve come to the office to see them - Oh and it showed up at… 7:45 am? Which was strange. I wasn’t sure why anyone was looking for Garrett at work that early. Most people have the decency to wait till 9 or something at least.

Anyways, while it was talking to me I just felt very uncomfortable. Something in me was telling me to just get out of there, come up with an excuse and get away from this weirdo. I didn’t want to just leave it there to intercept Garrett though. I guess I’m sort of… Superstitious, maybe. I’ve always kind of believed in you know, paranormal things. I just didn’t want to let it catch him alone, in case it really was something malicious, you know? I guess I made the right choice, heh. It was probably the scariest experience of my life, but I’m glad I stayed.”

Further investigation is required, supernatural control professionals to be consulted and referred to case.

#horror #fanfiction #fiction #short story #story #writing #the magnus archives #TMA #I swear to god Ill explain myself with the CFVs soon

1 note · View note

ravens-rambling · 6 years

Text

“Prove it”

A/N: I’ve actually had this written up a while ago but kept forgetting to edit it out but I finally got some spare time today and decided to get this done! You have no idea how much fun this au is to write its ridiculous. BUT in any case here’s our adorable pappy and lo-lo meeting our slightly ambitious but adorable all the same princey!!

I’m thinking of writing how they met Virgil and then Thomas after that? And I already know how Deceit’s gonna play into all of this and I really want to write their backstories cause yes I thought that far ahead this Au isn’t destroying my life nah what are you talking about!!!!!!

Here you go anon!! I hope you like it! And I’m having a good night thank you! Love you too sweetie!! Hope you're having a good day/night as well!!

Prompt 33- “Prove it” from dialogue prompts which is still open!!!

Based off of this post from @yourhappypappypatton

summary: All Logan wants to be is loved, for all his life he’s experienced hatred and fear for what he is. Luckily fate has changed for him as he met a certain vampire a few years back. But during one winters night, he met a unexpected and rather loud creature that sent certain feelings through him. Does this boy harbor same feelings towards him or does he run away like all previous humans before him? Only time will tell...

WC: 4,352

ships: Romantic Logince, Platonic Logicality

warnings: Blood, Body horror, mentions of bone, feelings of fear, pinned down, uuhhhh i think thats it??

Tag List: @punsterterry @frostedlover (Since you two wanted to be tagged in this au!) @fandydandyfanders @221b-quote

It was a late winters night when the two monster family members became three.

The wind was howling against the tall leafless trees beating against the walls surrounding him. The snow was piling as he tried to walk through it with some luck. His cape battered and thrashed against the wind and snow but still, he continued on. He might have had a major breakthrough in his current experiment and he wasn't going to let any snow stop him, it wasn't like it could affect him or anything anyways.

Though at the thought of a certain vampire being upset with him made him gulp.

When Patton gets angry it's not pretty that's for sure. And he always hated it when Logan leaves in the middle of the night without telling him.

But he couldn't wait for him to come home! He had to get to his library now! Course he could..whats the word.. 'call' him on his...'phone'? Was he right on that? He wasn't sure. The curses thing won't start up for him. He wasn't sure what buttons to hit or even what to do. Patton had shown him how to turn it on and how to work it but it was awkward and honestly, he had more important things to concentrate and remember then how to work the blasted thing. He's busy with more pressing matters then that at the moment. So instead he left it at home and would face with the consequences later on.

Maybe he could even get back home, (when did he start calling it that?) more like Patton's place, in time before Patton gets back? And nobody would be the wiser.

A prick of irritation was in his mind as he recalled how overprotective Patton can be. It was strange to him having somebody around after over 200 years of solitude.

But at the same time..nice?

Sure Patton can be overbearing and overwhelming at times in his niceness and cheeriness but..he was the only person who didn't run away at seeing him those few years ago. Every single human he came across, even the supernatural ones, always ran away from him with terror in their eyes shouting at him on how much he's a freak and should be burned. Course he learned, later on, thanks to Patton, that he appeared more scary and frightening cause of his rotting flesh. With help from Patton he learned that he could replace those limbs and according to the vampire he looked less scary, more like a human, which made Logan smile at the time. But back then he didn't know that, he didn't even think about that, and the words of those horrified strangers hurt him so much so that he locked himself away to his books and experiments for centuries.

But Patton? He didn't even flinch at his sight. He only smiled when he first saw him. Even gave him a hug! The first physical contact he's ever had if he had to be honest. It was..nice.

It was nice having him he soon came to realize.

It was nice having somebody to talk to.

Now he came to realize why some of his books on the mental state of mind said to interact with people cause now he seemed happier, or at least Patton says that he acts happier even if he himself can't really tell the difference since he's never really been happy.

But putting all that aside he took a deep breath as he arrived at his library feeling the certain familiarness draft over him causing his small smile to grow wider. Being in his library sent a certain peace to him that no other place has. Though at the same time a dread.

In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think if maybe Patton was some dream that his brain played on him. Maybe when he gets back to his place he won't know who he was. He would scream and throw things at him, just like those people. And he would be forced to go back to his lonely life once again. That this place would be his prison once again.

No.. He can't give in to his negative thoughts. He's just being illogical now and there is no time for that, the back of his mind told him. No Patton would be there as always to greet him with a hug or at the very least a smile. He won't be alone again.

As he walked through the large door though he stopped in his tracks there was something in the shadows, he could feel it. And as he lowered his breath to the bare minimum he could hear something breathing. It was a heavy almost gasping for breath. At first, he thought it was a bear, he's come across those from time to time around or even in his place, it won't be the first time.

But as he listened closely he could hear that it sounded almost..human like but at the same time wolf-like? He stalked forward keeping close to the walls and making as little to no noise as possible to not spook the creature.

As he got closer to the breathing he could make out a solid form in the darkness. It wasn't a wolf that's for sure.

It stood on two legs and it looked almost human-like. But there was something about the way that it was breathing that really did make it seem wolf-like. Whatever the case he had to get it out of his library his books and experiments is at risk if he lets it run rabit.

If it was a human maybe he could scare it off like all the other humans he met. With that in mind, he got closer to it before stopping.

He smelled...was that blood? He hasn't smelled a lot of blood over the years so he must have forgotten what it smelled like but he was certain of that irony tang that it was blood. Maybe the human was hurt? Whatever that didn't concern him.

"Whoever you are leave before I make you." His voice was rugged, even after befriending Patton after years upon years of not using his voice he knew his voice would always sound like that.

The creature harshly turned around his beady eyes glowing through the darkness. Logan gulped, this wasn't any normal human that was for sure. Those eyes were..animalistic.

A sudden feeling spiked through him, a feeling he didn't understand before suddenly he felt his back hit the solid ground harshly. His breath got knocked out of his new lungs as he tried to pull the creature away from him. Now that it was closer he could see its large fangs, could see the fur covering its body, and could see that its face was wolf-like even to the pointy ears. And finally, it's large claws was holding him down and digging into his flesh.

Thankfully he couldn't feel it for if he did he knew he would be crying out in pain by now.

Normally he won't have any emotions, or it would be a prick of emotion here and there, but right here and now he felt..fear. That's what it was. True fear for the first time of his life. Not just normal fear either, fear that he was going to die.

He wasn't scared of death. How could he? Being an immortal being that was created by body parts with really only one weakness, his heart, he didn't think much about death.

But underneath this creature, he truly thought he was going to die. He was terrified that the last thing he was going to see was the fangs of this creature as it rips his chest open and digs into his beating heart.

No, he had something to live for. He had Patton and though it had recently occurred to him, he truly did care for him even if he doesn't show it. He thought of him as a great friend, one that he would put his life in the line for.

With a burst of strength, he didn't know he processed he pushed the large creature off of him and before the furry creature could stand up he started to run to his experiments. He knew he had something that could work against it right? He had to.

But just as he was about to run down the hallway he heard a creak of a door opening and a voice, a very familiar voice.

"Lo! I told you to tell me when you come to your library! You gave me a heart attack when I came home and you weren't there! And you must have come out here in the snow my gosh what-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as the creature lunged at Patton.

As Logan turned around he saw claws and fangs digging into Patton's precious flesh. He heard Patton's screams as he tried to wiggle away, as he tried to fight back. Something in him snapped as he saw Patton's precious blood go flying through the air.

But before he could even move his body the vampire let out a loud, rumbling, scream that seemed to shake the very ground beneath him that caused Logan to freeze in place and he could have sworn the creature as well.

Before either one of them could react Patton gripped the creature so tightly that his knuckles were white and with one throw he threw the creature against the far wall right next to Logan. He expected the creature to stand back up but as he glanced over his eyes wide with horror and fear he saw that the creature didn't stand up again. Rather he hit the wall so hard that there was a large crack going towards the ceiling.

And Logan had only a moment's warning before the ceiling collapsed on the creature, luckily getting out of the way just in time. There was no way the creature could have survived that..right?

His wide eyes whipped towards Patton who was now breathing heavily and getting to his feet. There was blood dripping from his arms and torso but that didn't cause Logan alarm. What did was the fact that Patton's eyes were glowing red. Something he's never seen before and he could have sworn that even in pure darkness he could see that red piercing through. And what made Logan even more scared was the pure murderous glare that was nestled in those red eyes.

He was honestly scared now of Patton.

Gulping he mumbled quietly, "P-Pat?" He winced as his fearful voice echoed through the large room.

Patton turned towards him still breathing heavily though at seeing Logan's terrified gaze his own eyes went wide.

Realization dawned on the vampire as he slowly calmed down taking deep breaths. Those red eyes went back to his normal blue ones with the more breaths he took. That murderous gaze quickly went away replaced by his normal cheeriness. Soon he looked like his normal happy Patton giving him a wide smile as he hopped towards him as if nothing happened.

"Well, now that was certainly something Huh! I am bone tired now I don't know about you!"

Logan was...dumbfounded. Patton had that much strength hiding in the happy facade he always had up. Were vampires normally this powerful? He never got to know.

He still was scared of Patton if he had to be honest and took a step away from him as he came to his side which earned a heartbreaking look from the other.

"Lo? You're okay?"

"I...um..y-yeah... I just um..let me go check on my experiments...Make sure it doesn't wake up alright?"

Patton gave a slow nod as he tried to not run away. He had to scramble away some of the rocks in his path but luckily it didn't take long before he was in his room. Luckily nothing happened in this room, he didn't care about the entrance anyways. As soon as he saw that he drew a shaky breath and collapsed to his chair.

That was...terrifying. That was the most emotions he has felt in..ever actually.

And in those emotions was now fear of his only friend. He didn't know Patton could do that. But why was he scared? It was Patton for Pete sake! Patton who was always cheerful and was never scared of him so why should he be scared of him. There was no reason to be. Sure he posses some..scary qualities but he does as well. They were supernatural beings there is going to be scary parts to them but that doesn't rule them out as automatically terrifying and scary as he should know out of anyone.

Those thoughts rattled around in his brain as he tried to take shaky breaths to calm down.

Finally, he stood up bottling up all those pesky emotions one by one and started heading back. The creature should be dealt with properly before it wakes up. This is no time for emotions he could go through them later if he has to.

But as he entered the large room once again he did a double take. The large rocks were now pulled away from the creature exposing that the creature was..now a human? He didn't have any fur or well clothes for that matter now.

He turned towards Patton who had a mix of uncharastically disgust and relief.

Logan hesitantly unclipped his cloak and slowly went over to drape it over the unconscious boy's body noticing the now bloodied leg the wound looked weird he had to say. It looked almost like a pitchfork went through it but it was just a singular wound. He wondered what happened to this stranger. But he didn't want to touch it in fear of him waking up. Instead, he went over to Patton's side who was sitting down on the floor still glaring at the boy.

"Do you know this creature?" He noticed even his voice is a bit too stiff.

Patton glanced over to him his expression softening for a moment before breathing out a heavy sigh, "Yeah... He's a werewolf."

"A werewolf? I've read of those before but I thought it was folklore something to scare innocence."

Patton smile a bit, "Well most would say that about vampires and Frankestines monster right?"

"I..suppose so."

Silence engulfed the two Logan wasn't sure what to say now to bring back the normal Patton as he was uncharastically silent and still glaring at the boy. Questions were zooming through his mind but he wasn't sure if he should ask them in fear of upsetting Patton even further. He maybe should ask him them later once he fully calms down. But he knew he had to do something, this was becoming unbearable, to break the said silence he leaned forward and pointed at his wounds.

"Your bleeding. Are you going to be okay?"

Patton breathed out a small part of his normal smile returning, "Oh yeah I will be I'll just need more blood soon..unfortunately..." He glanced over to Logan finally before gasping and drawing closer, "Lo! Your bleeding too! And you just got a new torso... Will you be alright?" It was like he just noticed it...

"Oh yes, I don't need blood to function remember? I will need to get a new torso soon though losing this much blood won't be good for it. And new arms... It'll start to stink soon."

Patton giggled slightly, "We don't want that now. I'm glad your alright though Lo. I was scared that it hurt you."

The edge of Logan's mouth twitched upwards, "I'm glad your alright too. I've come to realize, as it was holding you down, that um... I do like your company, Patton. It is rather nice and I would be...sad if you were to disappear. Or sorry..die?"

"Aaawwww!" Patton had stars in his eyes as he looked up at him drawing his hands close to his chin. "Lo! That's the nicest thing you've said to me! Your my hero you know that?"

Before Logan could even open his mouth Patton surged forward and gave him a hug sucking the breath from him. Always, every single time Patton gives him a hug, he always freezes unsure how to handle it or how hugs worked.

As he was still processing it a cough came from the shattered wall. Instantly a low growl came from Patton as he drew forward he seemed ready to attack the creature again. But as the boy lifted his head another cough came from him as he turned around so he wasn't on his stomach. He brought a hand to his must be sore head as he blinked around him.

A beat of silence before another cough as he looked down on himself to see the cloak draped over him and sighed. When he looked up to Patton and Logan he looked...frightened, almost like a little kid lost from his parents. It sent a certain sadness through him to see that expression on the young boy's face. And when he saw the blood that was coming from both of them his eyes instantly went wide with terror.

"Oh, gods I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean... Shit... I thought nobody would be out here... Are..are you two okay?" He honestly sounded terrified, not because of them two but because..of himself. He recognized that look, that feeling of being scared of himself, of being unsure what he is capable of. And it sounded out of character from him, even Logan could tell.

But as those eyes looked to him he could have sworn his heart missed a beat. Even though his hair was everywhere and with bits of rocks and rubble in them and dirt and even some bits of blood stuck to his bare body. Every bit of him shouldn't have been appealing but to Logan...he wasn't sure how to put it. He even felt a slight heat rush to his cheeks and ears. But he shook his head, he wasn't sure what these emotions or whatever they are, this was no time for that.

Instead, he stood up and placed a gentle hand on Patton who looked conflicted at the moment. "What's your name?"

"R-Roman..."

"Roman... What a strange name. Well, in any case, this is Patton, who's a vampire. And I'm Logan, I guess you could say I'm similarly to Frankestines monster. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Though well I hoped we would have met under different circumstances but here we are. And yes we are fine you didn't damage us so we can't function if that's what you mean. And I suppose most people think my home is abandoned or at least haunted so I've heard so that wasn't your fault. Are you okay? I saw you were bleeding from a strange wound there."

That seemed to shake Patton out of his trace he was in as he smiled brightly going forward to help Roman up and to tie the cloak around him and to help his bleeding leg setting him up on some rocks and dressing it quickly. Though Logan noticed there was something off about his smile, and even his movements were jerky. And he didn't think it was the fact that he lost a lot of blood.

As Roman stood up leaning on one of the boulders he looked to both of them again before tilting his head, almost like a dog. "Wait... Repeat that?"

Logan couldn't stop himself from taking a sigh of irritation. Thankfully Patton repeated what he said which seemed to click in Roman's head.

Though he didn't expect Roman to suddenly laugh so loudly it echoed through his library. He pointed to Logan, "Wait you mean to tell me your Frankestines monster! You must be joking! A vampire I get, I've heard of you guys before and to be wary of you. But Frankestines monster? Are you sure your not this vampires plaything and he just twisted your mind to think your that weird monster?"

Logan simply blinked for a few seconds at this weird reaction. He seemed completely out of his mind. Do vampires normally do that?

When he looked to Patton he seemed to be holding in anger just barely but he shook his head, "No, kiddo most vampires don't have...play things I can assure you. No, he really is Frankestines monster, well very similarly at least."

Roman laughed again shaking his head, "I highly doubt that!"

This flamboyant boy was getting on his nerves, for the second time today he couldn't control his emotions. This boy hurt both of them and he thinks he will just stand around and take this? Sure he was almost happy that he didn't run away but he obviously couldn't tell what he was, his limbs was new after all and he was okay at stitching them together so he properly did look like a normal human. Though his job was poorly as he just recently discovered he could do that but that's beside the point, and in any case, Patton told him he looked human enough so that was enough for him.

But still, now he was upsetting Patton again and he won't let that stand. So he took a deep breath and crossed his arms, "I am Frankestines monster or well kinda! You're a werewolf it's not that hard to believe!"

Roman smirked and raised up an eyebrow, "Alright smart guy. Prove it."

That made Logan chuckle as he gripped one of his arms. He was going to regret this later when he has to redo the precious stitching that caused him hours to do but to prove to this boy that he was right? He'll do that any day. He already had to replace them anyways soon or later might as well put them to good use.

Patton moved towards him with slight concern, "No Lo don't it's fine if he doesn't believe you. Don't worry about it."

But Logan didn't respond. Gripping his arm tighter he pulled roughly and he heard a snap of his stitches and a moment later he was holding his arm with his other hand. There was lots of dried blood dripping from that arm as well as a bone sticking out but he didn't feel a thing.

The color drained from Roman's face as he looked on in horror. For once Logan smirked at the sight drawing closer to the frozen boy, "Don't be so snarky next time. And this-"

He smacked Roman across the face harshly with his detached arm, "Was for hurting Patton."

Romans eyes were still on him, on his arm, as he was knocked backward stumbling over his injured leg.

Patton rushed forward to catch him, "Lo! You didn't have to do that! I don't think he knew what he was doing when he was like that!"

Logan blinked at him then shrugged, "Well then that's for being snarky. You're happy now? Now if you excuse me I have to reattach my arm and get this stitched up and look for new body parts. I don't know what you want to do with him Pat but it doesn't concern me much."

As he turned towards the hallway once again he heard the boy finally speak up and it was a whisper as if he was afraid to speak loudly, or that he couldn't.

"W-What...is that...? It's...a freak.."

That word... Freak...he was fine with being called an 'it'. That didn't concern him. But freak... That sent a wave of hurt crashing through his heart and body. His grip on his arm tightened so hard he knew his nails were digging into it by this point as he drew in a shaky breath. He could feel eyes on him, he wasn't sure who it belonged to but he didn't care. He had to get away now before his emotions ran wild even more then it has already or he would start crying.

Sure that word hurt him but it never sent him like this before. Maybe it was that it came from that boy that sent his heart beating faster? He wasn't sure but now he felt...heartbroken he think is the term.

"No, he isn't. He's just like you and me. Now here let's go to my place to fix you up how does that sound?"

A hint of fear went through him as he thought about the boy changing back to that creature and attack Patton but if he was correct they only changed at the full moon correct? Logan could see the faint traces of the sun through his windows and the damaged ceiling so at least he won't have to worry about that.

Even so, Logan wasn't sure that was such a great idea since he seemed to not like this werewolf but he knew it was his best option. After all, it wasn't safe for humans around his place and he couldn't go free now knowing about him and Patton now.

He thought of all things that maybe a werewolf would understand him... He thought wrong he supposes.

As he turned the hallway he sneaked one last glance over his shoulder to see with a heartbreaking glance towards Roman and Patton. His vision grew blurry as he thought none of them saw him.

But he was wrong in thinking that as Patton stole a glance over his shoulder as he closed the huge door seeing that tearful gaze and sighed deeply.

He hoped he could comfort his friend but he had to keep this werewolf busy for as long as he can.

And with that, he shut the door behind him with a loud bang. As he turned around he plastered on a smile to his face as he tried to keep up with Roman's questions as best he could trying to ignore his heavy heart and the sense of dread and fear that crept up his spine at remembering what those all familiar claws has done to him in the past.

#logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan #roman #patton #romantic logince #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #my fics #and yes there is a reason why patton is very...wary of roman #ive even thought that far into this au #*hint hint at that last sentence*#I LOVE THIS AU ALRIGHT???????????#sanders sides au #monster au

33 notes · View notes

briangroth27 · 6 years

Text

Stranger Things 2 Review

Stranger Things’ second season went up on Netflix last weekend and I loved it! Every episode felt full, many supporting characters from Season 1 got a turn in the spotlight, and the tone recaptured the first season’s perfect blend of dread and comedic moments that endeared me to the realistically-drawn characters. This was the television season I was looking forward to most this fall, and it did not disappoint!

Full Spoilers…

I really liked that Dustin (Gaten Matarazzo), Lucas (Caleb McLaughlin), and especially Will (Noah Schnapp) got to take center stage among the kids; it was smart to flesh out the rest of the central ensemble and it feels like we’ll be going into Season 3 with everyone on relatively equal footing development-wise. In particular, Will being absent for much of Season 1 made his time in the spotlight a crucial gamble that paid off in spades: Schnapp is just as great an actor as the rest of the show’s cast! That said, I missed Mike (Finn Wolfhard), Nancy (Natalia Dyer), and Jonathan (Charlie Heaton), who all felt like they had less screentime this year than last. While the latter two weren’t doing nothing—they had a crucial subplot that felt like the natural outgrowth of how the people of Hawkins ignored Barb’s (Shannon Purser) death—it didn’t require them to do much that we needed to see onscreen, so it felt like they vanished a bit. Perhaps Wolfhard, Dyer, and Heaton had other commitments while Season 2 was in production, but if that’s the case, I wish their plots had been more economical to cover more ground in the same amount of screentime.

Season 2 definitely felt like the natural continuation of Season 1’s events; branding this as Stranger Things 2 instead of Stranger Things Season 2 gives the impression that it’s a sequel instead of the next season in a TV series, and it definitely feels like it. I’ve seen some criticisms that said the joy of discovery wasn’t present this year like last season, but I’m willing to part with it in favor of reuniting with familiar friends on a new adventure. I like sequels and I’m always game for more time with characters I like. Though the threads may not have been as balanced as they could’ve been, I liked that everyone got to go off on their own adventures before reuniting in the climax. Mixing up the character interactions and moving new people into the spotlight provided some great fresh pairings, like Lucas/Max (Sadie Sink), Dustin/Steve (Joe Keery), Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown)/Hopper (David Harbour), and Will/Joyce (Winona Ryder)/Bob (Sean Astin). As nice as it was to see familiar locations like the junkyard come into play again, it’s time to flesh out more of Hawkins’ geography, as it’s starting to feel a little claustrophobic. New locations like the arcade definitely help, though. I loved that the Upside Down was creeping into Hawkins at an accelerated rate, creating some great imagery with the rotted pumpkin patches, decaying forests, and vine-covered tunnels just beneath its surface. Hawkins looks like the quintessential 1980s Hometown, USA, so corrupting it like this is great symbolism. However, I would’ve liked a greater exploration of the townspeople’s inhumanity and grime just below the veneer of wholesomeness the town projects. So much of Stranger Things is inspired by Stephen King as it is—the Duffer Brothers originally wanted to do IT, but couldn’t—so translating the brilliant parallel between societal evils and supernatural ones in IT’s Derry to Hawkins would’ve been a smart way to give the Upside Down’s corruption a little more weight by contrasting its evil with the evils of the real world. By no means does the Upside Down have to control the citizens to make them evil—that would be a copout—but seeing that some of the people are horrible in their own way would bring an added layer of dread to the town and further cut off our heroes’ sources of help. Billy (Dacre Montgomery) and his father (Will Chase) are a good start, but surely they aren’t the only bad people in town.

I loved how communicating through lights evolved into the map of tunnels beneath Hawkins and hope that distinctive Stranger Things aspect continues to develop in the years to come. Joyce seeing the Mind Flayer in a VHS tape’s distortion was very cool too. The CGI was excellent throughout the season, particularly when it came to the Demodogs. There wasn’t a moment as creepy as Hopper cutting open the Will dummy and pulling out cotton in Season 1, but then there wasn’t any moment in Season 1 that matched that high point of weirdness either. Even so, the horror aspect was great here! It felt like several supporting and even a few main characters—including Hopper and Steve—could die at several points. I wonder if the season-ending Snow Ball was supposed to represent that the heroes don’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell of escaping the evil pervading their town (or maybe that’s just my love of puns). I wasn’t a fan of the year-and-a-half wait for this season and don’t look forward to another long hiatus, but if Stranger Things becomes an annual Halloween tradition for the next 2-3 years, I’m definitely on board. I was impressed that the trailers didn’t show much from the latter half of the season; that was a nice surprise!

I loved all the 80s references this year, with things like the Aliens movement detector sound effect being incorporated into the score during some of Dr. Owens’ (Paul Reiser) scenes and a riff that sounded like Gremlins’ theme song while the kids were chasing Dart in the school. The kid-friendly Halloween songs they used while trick-or-treating, like “The Monster Mash,” “Ghostbusters,” and “Spooky Movies,” made me think of Halloween when I was a kid (it’s a shame they couldn’t use “Thriller” in more than one excellent trailer, though!). The Police’s “Every Step You Take” was the perfect note to end on, given the government watching everyone all season, the Mind Flayer watching the Snow Ball, and how creepy that song actually is. The show’s orchestral score once again conveyed the feeling that this was a lost miniseries from the 80s perfectly. The fashion in Eleven’s Chicago adventure made me think of the 80s X-men/New Mutants comics, which was a cool peek at 80s punk style completely removed from Hawkins’ small-town world. The kids’ homemade Ghostbusters costumes were awesome, as were Max’s Michael Myers costume and Steve & Nancy’s Tom Cruise & Rebecca De Mornay (from Risky Business) outfits. While the characters played out scenes adapted from Gremlins, ET, Stand By Me, and even Jurassic Park, it never felt like nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake or inorganic to what the show is. The Goonies reference in Bob’s guess about what Will’s map led to was fun too. As pointed out in the behind-the-scenes series Beyond Stranger Things, having the kids play Dragon’s Lair and Dig Dug were cool hints at the direction of the season, since Eleven would go up against a “fiery” monster in the gate room/its “lair” and several characters ventured into the tunnels under the town. The kids’ science class learning about Phineas Gage was also a cool way to foreshadow what happens to Will, since Gage’s personality changed after his brain-damaging accident. I’m looking forward to the Back to the Future references next season, since it’ll be 1985. With the Upside Down monsters being so plant-like, maybe we’ll get Little Shop of Horrors references in Season 4/1986?

Possibly the largest controversy of the season dealt with Eleven’s solo trip to Chicago in episode 7. I liked the episode, but it shouldn’t have aired in the middle of a cliffhanger: it disrupted the flow too much. Without Eleven in the preceding episode at all, they could’ve split “The Lost Sister” up and cut back and forth between Chicago and Hawkins in both “The Spy” and the reconfigured Episode 7, just like the earlier legs of Eleven’s journey were interspersed with the events in Hawkins. If the contrast between Chicago’s punk scene and Hawkins’ wholesome appearance were too extreme to cut back and forth, “Lost Sister” could have been placed before “The Spy.” I agree with a comment I saw on IGN’s “Lost Sister” review, which pointed out watching it first would show Mike and Hopper in danger before we knew what was happening (Mike screaming “it’s a trap” would spoil the twist, so just show him struggling with the guards and not saying that line), which would be a cool teaser. Either of those solutions would’ve been better than the jarring—but still engaging—side trip to Chicago taking up an entire episode in the middle of a Demodog swarm.

Eleven/Jane Ives Though she was sequestered from the rest of the main cast for most of the season, I liked a lot of what they did with Eleven/Jane this year. I loved the secret family she and Hopper built. Their conversation about being “halfway happy” in compromise was bittersweet and I liked seeing how they figured each other out, both in real time and in flashbacks to the start of their hidden family. Moments like their father/daughter arguments were relatable, things like Eleven wanting to go trick-or-treating as a ghost and awkwardly laughing at Hopper trying to dance were fun, and her psychic temper tantrum felt both realistic and worked as a reminder that she is definitely dangerous. Regarding those fights, it was smart to allow Hopper and Eleven to be angry with each other, but never to let them get to the point where they truly hated each other. That made them coming together again in the end believable instead of a last minute moment of civility that was supposed to make up for nine hours of hatred.

Eleven being instantly jealous about Max and Mike seemingly having fun together didn’t work as well and annoyed me a bit—especially since she knew he’d been calling her every day for nearly a year—but she’s a kid who’s been locked up and abused for a long time and you don’t have to look past her time with Hopper to see she isn’t perfect or eternally understanding, especially when it comes to seeing beyond appearances. Meeting her birth mother (Aimee Mullins) and learning as much as she could about her was emotionally satisfying and it was cool to see Terry Ives was as much a fighter in the end as her daughter. I felt Eleven’s side story in Chicago was a worthy use of her time that brought her to a place where her vengeance and feelings weren’t as important as those of people she didn’t know—she discovered empathy for strangers when she considered orphaning Ray’s (Pruitt Taylor Vince) kids—and that was a great development for her character. I just wish she hadn’t continued to shun Max once she got back to Hawkins; the two of them having a talk would’ve been better, because shutting down Max’s attempt at being friends undercuts much of the understanding she found in Chicago (not to mention at that point, she was yet another person shutting Max out, which had become repetitive). Along with bonding with Max in Season 3, I’d love to see Eleven and Will finally get to interact and become friends (and maybe even step-siblings?) when he isn’t trapped or possessed. Developing a friendship between the two would be a smart outgrowth of the many parallels between them—Eleven was even mistaken for Will at several points in Season 1—and I’m sure their connection to the Upside Down would be a powerful bonding factor. I loved that she got to shut down this year’s invasion by finally closing the gate she’d opened in the first place; the Mind Flayer will definitely remember both her and Will, so perhaps they’ll face its early attacks together.

Mike Wheeler At first it seemed like Mike wasn’t given much to do this year beyond being angry/depressed about Eleven vanishing and concerned about Will. I understand the reasoning for both—I think he actually was experiencing the “anniversary effect” of PTSD Dr. Owens thought Will was going through—but I would’ve liked to see more variety to the writing in his scenes. Then I watched Beyond Stranger Things and realized Wolfhard’s understanding of Mike this season is brilliant: he can’t impress his friends by constructing D&D maps and running campaigns since everyone’s into video games now, he can’t lead a quest to save Will (until Byers’ major episode at Halloween, though even then, Joyce leads that charge), and he can’t even find Eleven, much less help her or have her as his secret friend. I love that this builds him missing Eleven into a larger problem of him losing his place as leader of the team. Matarazzo also pointed out that while the kids struggled to find someone to talk to about what they’d been through with the threat of the government hanging over them, Mike was the sorest about being the leader who’d saved the day and couldn’t talk about it with anyone. With this in mind, the entire season focusing more on Will, Dustin, and Lucas becomes something of Mike’s view of his friends after losing his place in the group. I agree with a comment I saw elsewhere that wished Mike had gone off to find Eleven on his own, meeting up in Chicago; as impractical as that might’ve been for a kid in real life (but not in a movie), it would’ve given his feeling of being out of place a direction instead of watching as Joyce, Hopper, and Bob worked out how to help Will. That said, I absolutely loved how angry Mike got about Steve telling the kids they were on the bench during the climax, as that’s exactly what his dad (Joe Chrest) had been saying in lectures earlier in the season. That was a moment where his need to have a place and function in the group coalesced with the plot perfectly, since he (and the other kids) had literally been left out of the plan to defeat the Mind Flayer.

Still, Mike wasn’t one-note in his struggle to belong this year and Wolfhard played all the sides Mike showed very well. Mike essentially eulogizing Bob by knowing he helped found the AV Club was a glimpse at a distinct texture to a relationship we didn’t see onscreen, though I assume Mike and Bob interacted at least a little while Mike was hanging out with Will. I liked the brief scene of Mike almost having fun with Max in the gym, even if otherwise constantly shutting her out wasn’t a good look at all. He doesn’t have to be perfect, but I would’ve liked more reason to not let her in than what I took from it: a girl in the group reminded him too much of Eleven. Perhaps she represented too much change happening to the party in general: if she joined, he thought she’d be another person moving him out of relevance within the group (particularly considering how invested in her Dustin and Lucas were). I liked Mike reclaiming his position a bit with Will, comforting him after his Halloween episode and propping up his courage as their spy; those felt like great moments of their friendship we didn’t get to see much of last year since Will was missing. I’m sure they felt like old times for Mike as well: finally he got to be the old Mike, at least to an extent. Mike screaming at Hopper and even attacking him for hiding Eleven for nearly a year was another great scene. I didn’t see that reaction coming and both actors delivered powerful performances. Mike’s dedication to calling Eleven every day was touching and, as pointed out on Beyond Stranger Things, I liked that they got to be reunited in two very different contexts at both the besieged Byers house and the Snow Ball. Unlike Nancy and Jonathan, this may imply Mike and Eleven’s friendship/relationship is stronger than just being pulled together in times of tragedy and high drama (not to say a middle school dance is without drama!).

Dustin Henderson Not only did Dustin have a love triangle to contend with this year, but he also found a pet from the Upside Down and discovered an excellent, unlikely surrogate brother in Steve. It was also great to get a glimpse of his home life and I hope we see more of his relationship with his mom (Catherine Curtin) next year. I liked Dustin’s friendship with baby Demodog D’Artagnan—and that it had a payoff in the end—but he shouldn’t have lied about his cat’s death to his mom. Allowing her to go on searching for it when she clearly loved it so much was a little cruel and the exact thing Nancy and Jonathan spent the season fighting. Watering down the truth would’ve worked here; he could’ve just said a wild animal got it. Dustin comparing lying about keeping a dangerous animal to Lucas bringing Max in on the Eleven secret didn’t seem equivalent at first, but then I remembered that anyone else finding out could lead to everyone’s death by cover-up. I liked Dustin’s resigned position that he’d accept being removed from the party for his disloyalty especially after he was the one to enforce the rules of reconciliation when Mike and Lucas had their falling out in Season 1. I also appreciated him accepting Lucas and Max getting together instead of flying into a jealous rage, which wouldn’t have been in-character or fitting at all. Matarazzo’s explanation that Dustin thought discovering a new species of slimy lizard would impress Max because his mom laughs off the things that excite him—so he thinks that’s what all girls like—was a cool example of Dustin’s inability to see what’s in front of his face when he’s overcome with excitement, much like he doesn’t consider the somewhat obvious truth about Dart’s origins. That Dustin got a heroic moment at the end by standing up to Dart so the others could flee was great; that made up for the danger he put them in earlier.

I loved Dustin’s brotherly bond with Steve and this was my favorite new bit of chemistry of the season. Pairing Dustin with Steve while they were both heartbroken and on the same ends of love triangles worked well to bond them. I’m also glad the series’ format allowed for leisurely scenes like Dustin and Steve strolling down some railroad tracks discussing hair products. Character bits like that go a long way to not only endear the characters to the audience, but they also show us what they’re like in (relatively) normal circumstances. I want more of these moments for every character in the coming seasons. I liked Steve trying to give Dustin advice about girls, even if he was wrong that acting like you don’t care about women makes them like you (Nancy moving on after Jonathan didn’t make a move for a month proves this). On the other hand, he was right about reading the electricity between you and someone you like, and trying to explain that to Dustin was a funny moment. Steve driving Dustin to the Snow Ball and giving him some parting courage was a perfect culmination of their brotherly arc. I loved Dustin’s “Steve” hairdo and while his walk around the dance continually getting shot down was sad, Matarazzo acted it so well! I also love that Dustin’s reaction to being shot down wasn’t played as though Steve was wrong about being confident, but (according to Matarazzo) that he’s not Steve Harrington. That’s not only more tragic, but it perfectly references Dustin’s insecurities about not being Mike’s best friend like Will and Lucas are because he only met the guys in fourth grade. I hope Season 3 has Dustin finding the confidence to live up to his own potential, rather than just being the best person he can in relation to someone else’s standard. If he’s infected with the spores from the tunnels and they corrupt him in some fashion, that may be the perfect vehicle to force that confrontation on him.

Lucas Sinclair Like Dustin, I enjoyed getting to see Lucas’ home life a lot. Lucas’ sister Erica (Priah Ferguson) was an especially hilarious addition to the cast and her attitude played off Lucas’ perfectly; here’s hoping she returns in a major way next year! His parents’ (Karen Ceesay, Arnell Powell) advice about women was humorous as well. I thought it was funny that the most nuclear families, the Sinclairs and Wheelers, feature parents who don’t seem particularly involved in their kids’ lives at all, though I was happy to see the Sinclairs seemed much happier together than Mike and Nancy’s parents. Lucas navigating how to handle his crush on Max was a fun plot that added depth to him and their banter was a lot of fun as well. He also proved Steve’s advice wrong by giving Max what she wanted and showing her he cared about her. I liked their bonding moments, particularly on top of the bus in the junkyard. Watching Lucas practice lines in the mirror before the dance was also great! His argument with Mike about the coolness of Winston from Ghostbusters was good, and I totally missed that Winston has the “Judgment Day” speech in the film and Lucas gets to call the climax of the season Judgment Day.

I like that Lucas is constantly the most grounded and practical of the kids (like Winston is among the Ghostbusters, now that I think about it); McLaughlin even said that if Lucas had found Dart instead of Dustin, there wouldn’t have been a second episode with the lizard in it. That characteristic plays well off of what the rest of the kids bring to the group, particularly Dustin, and McLaughlin performed it excellently, never coming off as a jerk, even when he was trying to be the voice of reason. One thing I would’ve liked to see more of from Lucas, however, is a reaction to Billy’s racism. It felt like he understood why Max wouldn’t let her brother see him (even if he didn’t vocalize it) and it was terrifying when Billy attacked him in the season finale, but I wanted them to dig into it more. Watching Lucas process and deal with any of the “there’s a certain kind of people you don’t hang around” talk from Billy would’ve added a great deal to his outlook and character. The Sinclairs seem to be one of the few African-American families in town, so is this relatively normal for him, or is having it thrown in his face something new? If he and Max had a real, out-in-the-open conversation about her brother, how would that have gone? He doesn’t seem to have any misgivings about pursing an interracial relationship—he might be too young (and too wrapped up in his crush on Max) to consider the ramifications yet—but would his family? Would the rest of the town? This is an area where the Duffer Brothers could absolutely have taken a page from Stephen King and drawn real-world horrors—particularly in a small, Midwestern town—as parallels to the rot of the Upside Down. The Ghostbusters costume argument brought up the assumption that Lucas was “supposed” to be Winston (and Mike couldn’t) because he’s Black and briefly touched on the issue of race, but the kids sidestepped it for the most part. Billy’s villainy would’ve resonated more if Lucas had scenes dealing with what he represented, and even moreso if it turned out Billy hadn’t just brought racism to Hawkins, but it had always been there.

Will Byers Some reviews have said Will’s plot felt too similar to his predicament last year—communicating through lights/crayons, being captured by the monster, etc.—but I liked the variations on the theme this year. The map of corruption in the town was both a cool visual aspect and a great expression of Will’s own infection, as the Mind Flayer had also wormed its smoky tendrils into his body. I loved that his connection to the Mind Flayer was a double-edged sword that rarely actually helped the heroes, unlike his Christmas lights last year. I totally expected Will to be a conscious solider against the Upside Down this year—particularly with Eleven absent from much of the action—so twisting it to make him the spy for the monsters and leading several soldiers to their deaths was brilliant! This was an especially cool reversal of how honest we know Will to be, even to the point of telling Mike the truth about what he rolled against the Demogorgon in the first episode when he didn’t have to. Making Will the Mind Flayer’s eyes also created a cool obstacle for the heroes: they had no safe haven unless he didn’t know where he was. No conversation about Will this year would be complete without pointing out that Schnapp is a fantastic actor: he did an excellent job of playing his attempts to be a normal kid with his friends, the loneliness of his post-Upside Down captivity, the pure terror/sadness of what was happening to him, the Mind Flayer’s pawn, and even the villain. His reaction to the soldiers burning the vines in the tunnels, the interrogation scene in the shed where he’d first disappeared (nice callback!), and his exorcism scene were particular standout moments for Schnapp (and all the actors involved). Mike, Jonathan, and Joyce sharing their memories with Will to bring him back to the surface was a powerful, incredible sequence! I’m glad the Duffers didn’t go with their initial idea of making Will slip into “evil Will” flashes where the Mind Flayer took over his body—and even killed Bob!—as that would’ve taken his possession a little too far.

All that said, the girl asking Will to dance at the Snow Ball by calling him “Zombie Boy” didn’t work for me, particularly as we were told he was very sensitive about that term. It would’ve helped if they’d established that Will was interested in any of the girls before having one ask him to dance just so he could be partnered up. The first season hinted that he might be gay—Joyce evaded Hopper’s question about whether bullies’ taunts about him being homosexual had any basis in fact—and making Will deal with that bigotry next year would be another way to bring real-life horror into Hawkins, especially in the mid-80s. Will being stunned at the girl’s proposition was cute—and it was probably just a throwaway moment to get Mike alone for Eleven’s entrance—but they could’ve had Will just be content with the normalcy of a dance instead (which would’ve contrasted Dustin’s lap around the gym nicely). Who Will is in normal life when he’s not being directly tormented by demons is definitely something I hope we get next year, since we haven’t gotten to see much of him being himself. I’m also eager to see what he brings to monster-hunting without the benefit of a connection to the Upside Down. Maybe if someone else is the Upside Down’s target, Will can step up as the person with experience and guidance in surviving it. It’ll be interesting to see how Will grows after having survived such an intense connection to the Mind Flayer as well, and how that shapes his outlook on the real world. Maybe surviving that horror could actually help him cope with any anti-gay hatred he faces, if the Duffers choose to reintroduce and expand on that aspect.

Max Hargrove Max was a great addition and I hope she returns next season! Sadie Sink held her own with the rest of the cast, bringing an equally natural feel to her character and a fresh attitude to the gang. It’s good to have more women in the cast and it’s neat that she, not one of the guys, is traditionally the “coolest” of the kids. I liked the guys being bewildered at the “wonder” of a girl liking video games and skateboarding (even if they forgot Nancy was willing to dress up as an elf with them just five years earlier), but I was also glad Max never acknowledged any strangeness about her liking genre stuff: of course girls have always liked it too! Max being genre savvy was a cool way to incorporate a few criticisms about certain nostalgia aspects of the first season when Lucas told her the truth about Eleven and the Upside Down. However, I hope that’s where the meta commentary ends. A little bit goes a long way for me, so Max writing Lucas’ tale off as a derivative story worked as an in-joke while also making sense given the context of what she’d seen, but I don’t think I need any further commentary from the fans voiced on the show. Max’s arc this year mainly focused on wanting to be accepted as part of the party and it worked well without needing to make her the audience’s eyes too much: the show didn’t assume you hadn’t watched the first season (we didn’t even hear Lucas tell her the truth). At the same time, she was thankfully never presented as an annoying girl trying to worm her way into their secret club. We can all relate to feeling like we don’t belong and wanting to fit in, so it felt original that Max had to struggle even to be accepted by the “nerds” of the school. These aren’t bad kids—and of course there are extenuating circumstances with the government threat—but it was a nice change of pace from the popular kids being the ones to exclude everyone. That she’s a girl trying to hang out with a bunch of guys also felt like a timely reference to the fact that she is a girl who likes nerdy things and there’s a lot of absurd pushback (to put it lightly) facing vocal female fans nowadays. Once she was in with the party, I loved that Max was totally in; these are her friends and it was clear she’d do anything to help them.

Next year I hope Max and Eleven bond as friends. Their spat this year shouldn’t have lasted to the end of the season as it was and I hope Eleven comes around between this season and next. I also hope Max finds a family among the party, particularly as she has it much tougher than anyone else in terms of her home life; maybe coping with and surviving that abuse is something that can bond her and Jane. The clear abuse she’s suffered at Billy’s “overprotective” hands was scary and portrayed well without being too graphic. I loved that she stood up to her brother to save Steve and Lucas in the end, and that Billy’s a little afraid of her now. I’m interested to see how their relationship develops because they’re good together (though the story told on Beyond Stranger Things about the origin of their kiss—that it wasn’t in the script until Ross Duffer realized the idea of a kiss freaked Sadie Sink out and its addition led to her having even more anxiety about it (and McLaughlin felt weird about it too)—is troubling, so I hope there was more conversation about the kiss’ addition than we heard and that this is the last time something like that ever happens). If she and Lucas are still together by the time Season 3 starts—and hopefully they are; they have great chemistry—I’d like to see how she deals with a small town’s prejudices about interracial dating as well. That prejudice could also be an obstacle unique to the two of them that the Duffers could play up. Max and Erica seems like it’d be an amazing pairing as well, so hopefully we get to see them interact! We got a lot of older brother/younger brother interactions over the past two years, so getting to see Nancy taking on an older sister role with both Eleven and Max (and Erica; why not?) would be great too.

Eight/Kali Prasad Eight (Linnea Berthelsen) and her crew of misfits and castoffs (Kai Greene, James Landry Herbert, Anna Jacoby-Heron, and Gabrielle Maiden) had an 80s X-men/New Mutants vibe that I liked a lot, particularly once Eight took on the Professor X role and trained Eleven. I thought their sisterly relationship was well-written and acted, and I liked that Eight was such a contrast not only to the rest of Eleven’s found family, but to everything she knew from the lab and Hawkins. Eight’s quest to kill all the former employees of the Hawkins facility, regardless of the effects on their families, has been criticized by some as one-note, but I think it makes her a great parallel to Eleven. I loved that Kali is the person Eleven could’ve become had she not met her friends or spent so much time with Hopper. I really liked her point about allowing Eleven not to take revenge on the people who hurt her, but warning Jane never to take her choice away. I feel like that’s the nuance other reviews are asking for. Eight is driven to violence by revenge, but she does care about her crew, did care about Eleven, and respected her enough to allow her “sister” to make her own choices. It’s only when Eleven stops her from carrying out her own wishes that they have a problem from Eight’s point of view.

The degree to which Eight has been changed by meeting Eleven was left as an open-ended question in Season 2, so seeing how she reflects on Eleven choosing not to kill will be very interesting. Were her eyes opened by Jane’s empathy epiphany, or will she see Eleven as a weak victim who can’t do what’s necessary to prevent others from being hurt? There could be no redemption for the lab workers in Kali’s eyes, but I wonder if we’re being set up for a redemption arc for her. I fully expect her to track Eleven down next year, causing problems for Jane’s new lease on life in Hawkins. Just as Eleven is allowed to reenter society around Halloween 1985, Eight finally finds her and upends her peaceful life? Sounds about right. I also wonder if Kali will locate the other test subjects and continue building the X-men vibe by recruiting them to her cause. If a portion of Season 3 were Kali and her Brotherhood coming to town and the heroes there having to deal with them instead of the Upside Down, I’d be all for it. I’m glad Eight has an entirely different set of powers and I wonder what abilities the others might have (given the Stephen King inspiration, one is totally a pyrokinetic). On the other hand, as much as I’d like to meet those other kids, I feel like it would shift the show too far away from the established cast to bring on a nearly equal number of new characters…unless Netflix wants to make the seasons longer from here on out, of course. I’d have no problem with that! Perhaps a standalone miniseries about her recruiting them could work between seasons as well. Kali’s illusion-casting was cool, especially the electric butterfly and bringing Brenner (Matthew Modine) “back” to manipulate Eleven. I wonder how that could be used to illuminate the other characters’ inner thoughts and fears if it were used against them.

Steve Harrington I loved that the hints of the good guy Steve is from Season 1 were vindicated here; he was only the jock asshole on the surface/to impress his friends last year and he does have a heart…and really does love Nancy. I thought it was a nice twist that he was genuinely hurt not because she didn’t want to party and act like teenagers with him (and even that suggestion was his attempt to do whatever he could to make her feel better), but because she said their love was bullshit. I also like that despite his clear sadness, he put Nancy and her needs first by driving away from the Snow Ball at the end of the season (unless he’s just acting like he doesn’t care…I hope not, though). Nancy being supportive of Steve taking care of the kids along with his lack of drama about her and Jonathan makes me think that they can develop a friendship next season and I hope that’s the case. I definitely agree with Keery that there’s no need for a physical confrontation between Jonathan and Steve over Nancy; if anything, the three of them just need to discuss where they all are. I love that this is a second love triangle that didn’t explode into angst or fighting, but mature acceptance.

I knew Steve was a good guy despite his mistakes back in Season 1, but I had no idea he’d be such a surprisingly great scene partner for the kids, especially Dustin! Keery seemed to have a blast with the kids and played the big brother role perfectly. His and Dustin’s brotherly relationship developed excellently—even if it started because Steve just happened to show up at the Wheelers’ when Dustin was there and was totally a last resort—and I hope it continues into the coming years. Hopefully even though Dustin failed to be Steve Harrington at the dance, Steve will be there to console him and help him out in the future (even if not all his advice is spot-on). As I’ve seen elsewhere, Steve having no qualms or embarrassment about being a babysitter was cool of him and totally unexpected. There wasn’t even a second thought to him protecting the kids, like when he got Max out of the way to fend off the Demodog while they were trapped in the old bus. Waking up after being beaten by Billy and thinking Mike was Nancy was a totally surprising—and hilarious—moment. I hope there are many more humorous moments like that as we get to see him interact with the kids more. It was also neat to see Steve totally over his position as “king of the school,” much less concerned with being cool than the guy who bent to his friends’ peer pressure was. I wonder if that maturity will take him to college next season, or if he’ll hang around town. I hope it’s the former; he could always just come home from school when things start happening again. Being away and coming back home will provoke more change in him than sticking around town treading water, so I hope that’s what they do with him. It’d definitely be good to see what he wants out of life too.

Nancy Wheeler Nancy’s one of my favorite characters and while I liked her hunting human monsters this time—and outsmarting the government by intentionally getting herself and Jonathan captured so they could get a confession on tape—I wish we’d seen more of her this year. Though Nancy getting to shut down the government project for Barb was cool, I do wonder if her and Jonathan’s quest was a little undercut both by saying all the agents who were around when Barb died and Will disappeared are gone (if that’s true) and then most of the current staff getting killed by Demodogs. It’s true the government got a public black eye and the project has been permanently shut down through Nancy and Jonathan’s efforts (and Eleven shutting the gate), though. I wouldn’t mind a Season 3 that had no military component and just had those in the know in Hawkins against the Mind Flayer as it tries to return. Maybe it would’ve been better to shut down the lab at midseason to free up Nancy and Jonathan for more interaction with the growing Upside Down threat. Specifically, I wish she’d been around to help Steve and the kids hunt Demodogs; Nancy would’ve been useful in the junkyard, the tunnels, or as backup for Eleven and Hopper (though I get the narrative and emotional reasons you’d sequester those two one final time). That said, Dyer was great with what she got, be it romantic comedy with Jonathan, her turmoil over what Barb’s parents (Cynthia Barrett, Aaron Munoz) had been put through for a year, or helping to drive the infection out of Will at the end. Nancy thinking she and Steve were at fault for Barb’s death was a great, tragic bit of self-inflicted guilt, no matter how wrong she was: it was Barb choosing to wait around after Nancy told her to go home that got her killed, not Nancy and Steve sleeping together. I loved that Nancy accepted the rifle from Hopper when they were being swarmed by Demodogs, she was the one who used a hot poker on Will, and that Jonathan turned away from his hurting brother to find comfort in her arms, rather than the other way around. The show is very good about crafting strong female characters and I loved that they subverted gender norms by making Nancy and Joyce the ones willing to do whatever it took to save Will, while Jonathan couldn’t.

Dancing with Dustin and giving him a pep talk at the Snow Ball was a sweet, perfect moment. What a great nod to Dustin’s crush on her in Season 1, back when he offered her their last slice of pizza and argued that she “used to be cool” (even if his then-current assessment had been that “something was wrong” with her). I like that she also tried to get Jonathan to socialize more, snagging him an invite to the Halloween party and even suggesting he might meet someone there. I wish we’d seen more moments of friendship between the two of them to further develop their romantic bond, but the fact that they’d grown apart over the past year worked too. I’ve certainly had life get in the way of keeping in touch with friends, so that felt realistic (particularly in an era without social media). The Snow Ball left things a little unresolved as to whether Nancy and Jonathan were together-together, and I’m game whether the show wants to explore that relationship or not. Perhaps Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve need to find themselves separately a bit more before any pairing can healthily take off. I’m very interested to see where Nancy goes now that Barb has justice and she can finally move on. What are her interests and goals in life? We know she doesn’t want to repeat her mother’s decision to settle for a perfect nuclear family, so what does she want? The similarity between Murray (Brett Gelman) and Nancy—their need to “pull back curtains”—would be an interesting direction to explore in the future. I don’t want her to go full-on conspiracy theorist like he is, but perhaps she’ll become a reporter. Whatever direction she takes, I’m excited to see her journey towards becoming more self-aware continue.

Jonathan Byers It felt like Jonathan got the least to do out of anyone—his incorporation into Nancy’s quest to help Barb’s parents felt more tangential since Will did come back, for example—though I did get the impression that he’s grown a lot since Season 1. I think this year’s Jonathan is in a much better place to be in a relationship, unlike last year when ending up with Nancy would’ve felt like the clichéd loner “good guy” (with a stalker streak that was never a good look) “deserved” to get the girl at the end of the horror movie just by virtue of not being a jerk. This season, he seemed more settled in his home life and comfortable with how things had been going; Jonathan generally felt healthier this year, since he didn’t have to be the guy looking after his family to as great a degree. Heaton was good at showing us lighter shades of Jonathan like that. Jonathan and Nancy’s earlier monster hunting connection and mutual impulse to watch each other’s backs as they got justice worked to play up their connection and stir the tension between them. While I still would’ve liked more development in their romantic relationship, the moment where he and Nancy compared scars and talked about their friendship vanishing was a fun bit of reconnection. I also liked that at every turn, Jonathan was right there with Nancy insisting they weren’t together and looking for ways not to share a bed with her; it would’ve been cheaper if the hotel only had a single room available or for him not to offer to sleep on Murray’s couch. I liked the Temple of Doom homage with Nancy and Jonathan (unsuccessfully) fighting the urge to sleep together; that was fun! I’ve seen this pointed out elsewhere, but if they are together at the end of the season, then I wonder if their relationship really can survive normalcy and times when the world isn’t ending. Whether they can or not, that would be something interesting to explore.

While I liked Jonathan’s reaction to Will’s predicament once he got back into town and his attempts to help his brother were great, I would’ve liked to see him react more to not being there for Will and Joyce. That was such a drive for him in Season 1 that removing him from the equation could’ve yielded a bigger reaction once he realized what he’d been missing. That said, I wonder if the fact that everyone survived without him—and were more capable of doing what needed to be done than he was—will lead him down a path where he doesn’t feel as needed for his family’s survival anymore. We started to see this in Season 2, when he trusted Will to take care of himself while trick-or-treating and Jonathan let himself go to a party. Where will Jonathan go if he doesn’t feel like he has to be the one to care for his whole family? I don’t want him to feel guilty (and especially not emasculated) that he couldn’t face Will’s pain or turn up the heat, but I’d like to see what he wants to do with a clean slate and the ability to move forward, trusting Joyce to handle things and Will to fend for himself.

Billy Hargrove Billy was the final form of every 80s movie bully (and everything Steve seemed to be on the surface last year) and while Dacre Montgomery did a great job making him a constant predatory threat, there didn’t seem to be much complexity to him in the writing. Just like Henry Bowers in IT, Billy made for an intimidating human villain, but while one scene showing us a glimpse of the parental abuse that drove him to be so psychotic is appreciated, it’s too little too late. In a movie that’s more forgivable, but with nine hours to tell the story it doesn’t quite fly. I’m also glad the Duffers don’t think Billy’s abuse at the hands of his father excuses his actions, but only shows where he learned that hate. I liked Billy crying and then suppressing it after his dad left his room—Montgomery’s acting was very good in that scene—but none of this redeemed him for me and honestly, I don’t need to see him redeemed. I also don't think his reaction to being drugged and threatened by Max is equivalent to Jonathan knocking sense into Steve in Season 1. Steve realized what he did to Nancy was wrong and took steps to change right away. He even showed up at the Byers house at the end of the season to apologize to Jonathan, not to find Nancy to win her back. Billy’s violence-induced "respect" for Max is not at all the same thing as the violent moment that made Steve reevaluate his life.

Making Billy a racist on top of everything else would’ve worked better if they’d given Lucas a moment to reflect on why he couldn’t hang out with Max, if Max had a realization about why Billy acted the way he did, or if anyone had confronted Billy about it, forcing him to try to justify himself (not that there’s justification for that). As it was, he was terrifying both whenever he’d threaten Max and when he came after Lucas, but it seemed like there could’ve been more explored with him and the racist angle felt like just one more horrible thing about him. It’s possible Billy’s anger also comes from repressing his own homosexuality, given his reaction to what his father called him and the vibe he gave off when confronting Steve at the end of the season. If Billy is gay, then 80s-era prejudices against both he and his step-sister’s burgeoning interracial relationship could work to bring them closer together (if he can work through his anger issue and develop real respect for her; there’s no excuse for the way he acts). Dacre Montgomery doesn’t think Billy is racist or homophobic, but while he may not be playing either of those aspects and I could be misreading Billy—Montgomery definitely knows his character better than I do—the script left it too open-ended to dismiss as a possibility. I’m not sure his interpretation lines up with what we saw of him “protecting” Max either; if he were so concerned about her and who she hung out with, it wouldn’t have taken his father threatening him to get him to go hunt Max down. Whatever is driving Billy’s anger, we also should’ve seen a happy moment between Max and Billy to show us why her being a “constant” in his life was a good thing in his mind. I do agree with Montgomery that Billy’s insane amount of insecurity about being a man (and the man) is probably a large part of what’s feeding into his anger and lashing out; his early insults and attacks on Steve over no longer being the “king of the school” and getting dumped by Nancy definitely speak to that. As uncomfortable as the scene where he flirts with Mrs. Wheeler (Cara Buono) was, I liked the scene immediately after where Montgomery’s expression revealed it was all an act. That was the one bit of trope subversion his character got this year that reminded me of the undercurrents Steve got last year. Either way, I’m definitely interested to find out what “sinister” plans Montgomery and the Duffers have for Billy next year; how much worse can he get?

Barbara Holland I always thought Barb was fine; neither dull nor the perfect, slighted best friend some parts of the internet made her out to be, but analysis like this (and check out great analysis of all the characters here and here) and a rewatch of Season 1 left me seeing her as a judgey, jealous friend who couldn’t handle Nancy starting to pull away. She may have had good intentions in being protective of Nancy, but when it came time to face Nancy’s decisions, she couldn’t deal with what Lucas and Dustin overcame with Mike and Eleven (and because of her death, she never got the chance to learn from and grow out of her mistakes like everyone else did). That said, it did bother me that no one in town cared she’d gone missing except Nancy and her parents, so tying up that loose end here felt appropriate. It was sad her parents spent a year thinking she’d just run away or something, and moreso that they were spending all their money—even having to sell the house—in the search. I was satisfied with the justice Barb got here.

Joyce Byers Winona Ryder was great once again and I’m glad her efforts to save Will were listened to this year. There was a definite sense that she had more control and influence over things and, as I’ve seen pointed out elsewhere, it was great to see her take charge of getting answers about Will’s health rather than having to force Hopper to investigate or needing to justify her methods (like when she bought so many boxes of Christmas lights). Like Nancy, I’m glad Joyce was the one willing and able to do anything to save Will from the Mind Flayer’s influence, even though it hurt him. It was also cool that Ryder got to explore a healthier Joyce this year; she was understandably pushed to the limits of her sanity last year, so seeing her as a veteran of the Upside Down and its attacks on her family was a great bit of development. Moments like her concern for Will when dropping him off at the arcade felt relatable as well; even if he hadn’t been abducted by monsters from another dimension, her concern for his medical condition felt like something any mother would express (and his exasperated desire for her to see him as a capable person rather than a kid needing protection was spot-on too). The one area that felt a little lacking with Joyce’s portrayal this year was that she didn’t seem to even notice Jonathan was gone. Of course she was consumed with worry for Will, but an acknowledgment that Jonathan was missing would’ve been nice and some reaction to what he’d done with Nancy would’ve been better, since taking on the government could’ve had direct and deadly results for their whole family.

I liked her relationship with Bob; it brought out a new, almost carefree side to Joyce that we hadn’t seen in her interactions with Hopper, which are almost always fraught with tension over supernatural goings-on. At least at first, it felt like her relationship with Bob was a window into who she possibly used to be. David Harbour’s assessment that Joyce had a relationship with Bob because he seemed to be the safe, dorky father figure is probably accurate, but I would’ve liked to hear what Ryder’s thoughts on it were. The Duffers saying she would’ve left town with Bob had he lived gave his death a bigger tragedy, but I feel like she has a stronger connection to Hopper so I’m more invested in seeing where that goes. I’d also like to see Joyce interact with the other parents more; does she have friends anymore? It would help if she could talk to them about what happened, so perhaps the government facility shutting down will give her at least some ability to discuss a watered-down version of what she’s been going through. It’d also be cool to see what Joyce’s dreams are and what she hoped her life would turn out like. That could bond her with not only the younger kids in the face of so much danger, but the teens as they’re about to go off to college and forge lives for themselves. An attempt to build her life beyond her job at the store and as Will and Jonathan’s mom would also definitely be welcome.

Jim Hopper The change in Hopper from the start of Season 1 to the beginning of 2 (to say nothing of his journey through the rest of the season) was immense, going from a man barely holding it together and caught up in the memories of his dead daughter to a far healthier man building a life for his new surrogate child. Hopper and Eleven’s familial connection was an excellent aspect of Season 2 and one I never thought I’d love so much. Like Joyce being concerned about Will even during a benign trip to the arcade, Hopper and Eleven shared a lot of realistic parent/child moments that grounded the supernatural strangeness of their lives. Glimpses of their happier moments were excellent and, as Harbour pointed out on Beyond Stranger Things, very “dad” things like Hopper trying to guilt Eleven into coming out of her room to share overdue Halloween candy were played perfectly. Life lessons like the fact that even well-meaning parents can let their kids down worked very well too. Eleven’s psychic tantrum felt like a real argument between a parent and a child—even if amped up by her powers—and the push and pull between what was best for her development and what was safest for her created an excellent tension for Hopper to deal with; Harbour played it perfectly. His apology to an empty cabin was excellent and their reconciliation in the truck on the way to the facility was outstanding too. They need each other to build a new family out of their fractured lives and I can’t wait to see how that develops (particularly now that she’ll be able to leave the cabin safely within a year); I was very happy to see that she’s now legally his daughter. I absolutely loved his “You did so good, kid,” moment after she closed the gate and Hopper carrying her out of the gate room was a brilliant connection to Brenner carrying her out of the tank after her early tests with the Upside Down (that was a callback I completely missed!).

I’m glad Hopper didn’t go full-on nefarious Men in Black like the end of last season implied, instead just helping to cover up things in town without any qualms about setting the government straight the moment he realized they weren’t living up to their side of the “keep the Upside Down sealed” bargain. I like that his maybe-relationship with Joyce is seemingly back on track by the end of this year and I wonder if they’ll actually get together next season (or between seasons). If they were to get married, Eleven and Will as step-siblings would work really well given their shared traumas with the Upside Down. Hopper being absolutely done with the kids’ D&D allusions was perfect, so putting as many kids around him as possible would be hilarious! Has Joyce been taking Mike and Will up to have playdates with Eleven? Do all the kids regularly trek up to Hopper’s cabin to hang out with Eleven on weekends and play D&D? Did someone get an NES? I would love it if Hopper and Joyce actually enjoyed playing it just as much as the kids will (I remember my parents playing my Sega Genesis X-men game by themselves often, so the adults being into a video game or two isn’t outside the bounds of reality). I’d also be interested to see if sheriff is the end of Hopper’s career path or if he wants more out of his work. Could he be recruited into further government projects into the supernatural, or will he do something smaller, like running for Mayor of Hawkins? I hope the spores in the tunnels didn’t do anything to him, but I can’t see the Duffers letting that go so easily, especially since he’ll be directly in Eleven’s (and possibly Will’s) orbit. Perhaps that experience with the supernatural will be a way to bond him and Eleven even closer and give her a chance to directly rescue him.

Bob Newby His name literally being “newbie” may have been on the nose, but I liked Bob and the distinct flavor he brought to the character mix. His innocence and sense of discovery created fun clashes with the other characters’ temperaments, like when he was decoding Will’s map. He almost felt like a glimpse into what any of the kids could’ve become had they not had these run-ins with the supernatural. His tech and puzzle-solving knowledge were fresh skills some shows would’ve just randomly given to Mike or the other kids simply because they’re nerds—as if that means they know everything about all nerdy things—so I was glad the Duffers gave them to a new character. Those skills made him invaluable and allowed for a very tense escape from the government facility. I felt he truly cared about Joyce and her boys, which was refreshing to see, and he bonded well with Will. I liked the tragedy that his well-meaning advice about facing your fears was the absolute worst thing he could’ve told Will, and that Will trusted him enough to listen. Bob’s suggestion to move the family to Maine was a cool, sly Stephen King reference; they probably wouldn’t be any safer there! I was sorry he died, but I wish they hadn’t shot it with such a tell; instead of Bob and Joyce having a moment of relief that he’d escaped, having Bob continue running for his life and getting snagged by the Demodogs anyway would’ve been a bigger shock.

Allies I was shocked Dr. Owens turned out to not only not be morally gray or outright evil, but genuinely cared about Will, Eleven, and the others. That was a great change of pace from the stock government scientist and a clever subversion of Reiser’s character in Aliens. I believe he truly did believe doing whatever was necessary to stop the spread of the Upside Down was the best course of action, but once it came to harming kids, he was done. I respected that. I expected him to die, so his survival was a surprise and I hope he continues to be an ally in Season 3 and beyond. The government trying to burn away the infectious Upside Down infestation was a great way to make them problematic in that they were still running tests, while proving they weren’t completely oblivious to how dangerous it was (even if they had no idea how far it had spread). That was a cool split between their deal with Hopper and their own interests. I’d like to see what the larger government wants with the Upside Down testing, though. Are they thinking it could be used as a way to “teleport” behind enemy lines? If an army battalion (or just one operative with a nuclear weapon) entered the Upside Down in Hawkins and punched their way out in Moscow, for example, that would be a powerful military advantage that could clinch the Cold War for the US. Eleven and Eight’s powers both seem to be in the same vein as Cold War psychic experiments (and it all started as part of Project MKUltra), so elaboration on specific goals there would be cool too. Maybe some of the test subjects didn’t escape and are government-backed child soldiers now. If Jane being number eleven means she’s the latest and youngest, there’s no telling how old the earlier subjects are now.

It’s always good to see Mr. Clarke (Randy Havens), the kids’ science teacher. He didn’t have as big a role to play as the kids’ source of science this year, but all his scenes were great. I love that he’s so into science and always seizes the opportunity to pass on that love and curiosity to the kids. I’m not sure if I want him to learn about the Upside Down or not, because the kids’ flimsy excuses are entertaining. He’d have his mind blown by what they’ve seen, however, and that could be fun in and of itself. I also wonder just how much the kids are overlooking due to not having a background in science that could be useful to fighting the Upside Down. Officers Powell (Rob Morgan) and Callahan (John Reynolds) gave welcome returns as possibly the least effective cops (Callahan far moreso than Powell) on TV. I love how small-town they are in their all-too human reactions to things, even if they’re rarely helpful as law enforcement. As fun as they are, I wonder if there’s a way to preserve that quality while subverting the trope of the bumbling detectives. Ted Wheeler is still totally useless, but while I can almost see why Karen would be attracted to Billy after knowing him on his best behavior for two minutes, I wish we’d gotten more depth to her than a joke about bored housewives. Both of her children were gone from the house for days and she barely seemed to care (even if they did give flimsy sleepover excuses). I’d like to see her build a friendship with Joyce instead of continuing to just be an oblivious parent; there were hints that there was more to her in Season 1 and I hope there’s a return to that in Season 3. Digging into the Karen she wanted to be instead of the one who chose the safe life could be a revelation to Nancy—and Nancy venturing into a role in a male-dominated field like investigative reporter a boon to Karen—and I’d love to dig deeper into those dynamics.

Conspiracy theorist Murray Bauman was a nice nod to the fact that other people are taking note of the strange things going on in Hawkins. I liked his rundown of the myth Eleven accidentally created about herself and his complete misreading of Hopper’s dismissal as naiveté, not being in on the conspiracy. Other shows might have had him be so keyed into the mysteries that he’d suspect Hopper’s smokescreen right away, so his total obliviousness in that area felt fresh. His stunned reaction to what was really happening—much bigger than anything he’d imagined—was great too. His plan to water down the truth about the lab was cool as well; a clever way of holding off on letting everyone know about the Upside Down while still being rooted in human behavior. It didn’t feel like the plot was forcing them to keep their mouths shut about monsters just because doing so would change the whole show’s status quo, but like there was a real reason to. Explaining it like this was also easier to swallow than revealing the truth and then having people go back to disbelieving once the government said it was a lie, in an odd way. Even with the explanation that Murray has an obsessive need to expose secrets and illuminate the truth, his investment in the love lives of two teens he’d just met was a little unnerving. He didn’t come off as creepy, I guess, but just weird. I don’t need to see him return—with the government shutting down the facility, he’s served his purpose—but becoming something of a journalistic mentor for Nancy, if they go that route with her, could be cool.

I wasn’t too enamored with the members of Kali’s crew. They were fine foils for Eleven’s friends and definitely brought a distinct flavor to the show, but nothing Kali couldn’t bring by herself. With so little screentime to split among so many new characters, they didn’t feel as fully-formed as they could’ve been. I might’ve cut a few of them or combined their traits into fewer characters. Still, it’s good that they were so diverse; that was a realistic contrast to life in Hawkins. I definitely appreciate that there was an even gender split in the crew too. Perhaps given more time with these characters, I’d like them better.

Enemies I really, really hope Brenner isn’t still alive. He doesn’t need to be. Now that Eleven has discovered and come to terms with as much of her past as possible, bringing him back would feel like a step backwards. Through her interactions with Eight—who acted the way Brenner wanted his subjects to, even if she aimed herself at him instead of the government’s enemies—and Hopper, it feels like Jane’s already defeated the ghost of Brenner’s influence and his physical return wouldn’t be much of a fight for her soul. Now, if Eight shows up in Hawkins and uses an illusion of him to manipulate/terrorize Eleven, that could work. Then again, Millie Bobby Brown’s reading of Eleven’s relationship with her Papa as a warm one—because he was the first person to hold her and she felt there was care there, despite the abuse he inflicted on her and her mother—adds so many layers to the conflict that I hadn’t considered before. Her assertion that she wouldn’t channel her anger or fight as much without Brenner having been in her life is also a fascinating look at Eleven’s survival skills and her ability to make a positive out of the abuse she suffered. I’d like to see Eleven deal with that, but I wouldn’t want them to take her will to fight out of her hands or give him too much credit; I believe she’d be a fighter with or without Brenner in her life, since her mother certainly was in the end and would’ve taught Jane that instinct had she been there to raise her. Brown’s interpretations of their relationship almost make me hope he is alive. Almost.

The Mind Flayer was an imposing step up from the Demogorgon (just for fun, check out this incredible cosplay!) and the Demodogs were cool underlings. What’s going to happen with the Demodog Dustin and Steve put in the Byers’ fridge? It seemed dead, but they do like the cold… At any rate, I love the mythology of a being that’s so ancient even it doesn’t know where it came from, like Dustin theorizes the Mind Flayer is. The show is digging into Lovecraftian themes and I love it! Of course, if they’re going full-Lovecraft, it may also mean the Mind Flayer isn't necessarily evil, just that it’s a force of nature that wants to survive. That’s more interesting. Dustin assumes it wants to control everything because that’s what the D&D character wants, but nothing says he has to be right. Or maybe controlling everything is how it survives, so it needs to continue corrupting everything to perpetuate its existence. If all the beings it’s controlling die, how can this psychic monstrosity continue to inhabit any world?

I hope the Mind Flayer is defeated in Season 3, opening up 4 and 5 for new, even more terrifying threats. I feel like the next step beyond infiltrating the town is burrowing into the people (particularly as we know psychic interaction is possible through Eleven’s watery middle-ground void; that’s where she first met the Demogorgon), which could be cool. Though again, I don’t want the Upside Down to be the source of evil people in Hawkins. Perhaps the Mind Flayer already has a foothold here through the smoky portion of itself that was possessing Will. I wonder where it fled to… If Upside Down beings start taking over Hawkins citizens—or even just altering their perceptions to harm our heroes—that could be the perfect time to bring back the similarly-powered Eight.

Though I would’ve liked to see more from Mike, Nancy, and Jonathan this year, I thought the writers did a great job of fleshing out the rest of the cast and expanding the story from where they left it in Season 1. They didn’t lock themselves into cliffhangers or open-ended scenes in the season finale this time, so they can do pretty much anything they want. I’m definitely optimistic about where things could go in Season 3 and beyond! We need to see these characters in their status quo so we can see how it changes when the supernatural elements return, so I do hope we get a little more of their normal lives next time; maybe a more expanded season would help. What are the characters’ lives and relationships going to look like in a year? What have the Mind Flayer and the other denizens of the Upside Down been planning? It feels like the stage has been set for a huge showdown and I can’t wait!

6 notes · View notes

driveneed17-blog · 5 years

Text

13 people share the creepiest thing that happened to them that made them question reality.

Even if you don't believe in the supernatural or the undead, you have probably at least heard a story or two that made you question the ways of the world. Hell, maybe you've even experienced one first hand. And perhaps any of these tall tales could be explained through science or coincidence, but hearing a good ghost story is always worth the chill it sends down your spine.

The people of the internet have spoken and offered up their creepiest stories. Try not to get too scared reading along! And consider us shooketh.

1. Rotfled7 might be going bananas

I had two bananas, connected at the stem part. Broke them into two, ate one, threw out the peel, came back for the other one and it’s gone. I live alone. Either I have a rotting banana somewhere in my apt or I’ve gone crazy.

2. jefuchs has a tale that is as adorable as it is creepy

My cat hated me for the first seven years we had him. He was a feral that was tamed by my wife, and only accepted affection from her. My wife assured me that this was common for ferals.

Then one day he suddenly warmed up to me, and wanted my to pet him. We've been best friends ever since.

This was approximately four years ago -- about the time that my wife's brain cancer was becoming aggressive. Even before we were aware of it. She died two years ago.

It's like he knew it was just going to be the two of us one day.

3. Miss_Awesomeness has a mystery man on her hands

When I was a kid between 8 or 9, I used to wake up every night to headlights coming through my bedroom window. The lights would then would stop and turn off, not as if a car drove by but as if they were turned off. Then the long shadows of a man, as if were looking through my window would pass by and stop in front of my window. I would lay really still and pretend nothing happened, every night for months. Eventually I convinced myself it was imagination. Now that I think back it stopped when my stepdad moved in (my mom was single) but I was convinced it wasn’t real.

Across the street lived my best friend-whose mom was also single- and she refused to sleep in her bedroom. Her window faced my window. She told me years later it was because every night a man would park in her side yard and walk over to my yard. The long shadows were from the light in her yard. She eventually decided it was my dad checking on us and never told me until I was a teenager. It wasn’t my dad (I asked him).

So I thought I was crazy and hallucinating for years and perhaps I wasn’t or two kids were having were odd dreams at the same time every night.

4. This story from MyopicInsanity gave us chills

I'm the type of person who keeps my bedroom door closed and locked all the time, no matter what even if I'm home alone. So like a year ago, it was 1 AM and I had decided to get a glass of water before going to bed. After coming back in my room I swore that I closed and locked my door. After about 30 minutes of me dozing in and out of sleep, I suddenly felt all the ambient noise completely dissipate and immediately got that "something feels off" feeling. I got up and saw that my door was wide open. It scared the shit out of me as I was home alone. I've just chalked it up to being a one time mishap on my part.

5. InnocuosCyanide experiences some serious Haunting of Hill House shit.

I used to live in an apartment kind of place on campus, with three other people. We all had our separate bedrooms, but shared a living space. It was on the seventh floor, to give a better idea.

Once, I woke up at around 2AM to find that my phone was automatically playing a song. I closed the app, but it happened 2-3 times again. I would have put this down to my phone being weird, but then one of my roommates told me the exact same thing happened to her as well. This wasn't all. A few days later, I woke up to a beeping sound coming from my phone and when I checked, it was apparently a sound recording. The duration showed as 0.00 though, which meant that it shouldn't technically play at all. I deleted it immediately.

Another time, my roommate and I were watching a movie and had stayed up till 3. It ended and she went to sleep. After a few minutes, she burst into my room and asked me what I was doing. I was confused because I was just lying in bed, reading. She said that she heard very weird noises from the window, which she assumed I was making, to scare her or something. I went to her room and it sounded like heavy breathing/sighing. I told her it is just the wind. We opened the window and saw that the trees etc were completely still.

6. SourJellyfish had a rude ghost as a coworker

I worked at a small retail shop that sold mostly small accessories and clothes. I have never really believed in ghosts but my coworkers always swore the place was haunted. Lights would flicker randomly and canvases would fall violently to the ground despite my efforts of proping them up so that they didn't.

The thing that really made me question everything happened when I was closing alone at night. We had a sunglass display in the middle of the store. Just a flat glass shelf with a bunch of sunglasses laid out nicely on top. I walk past it to the register and hear this huge crash. Look back and all of the sunglasses were on the floor. It looked like somebody just took their arm and dragged it across the shelf pushing them all off. There wasn't anything above the display so nothing could have knocked it off. I don't have an explanation for it.

It was right as I was about to close too. He was a rude ghost.

7. ScubaTwin is apparently clairvoyant, but nobody believes them

I dreamed it was dark, raining and I was in the woods walking towards a camp fire. There were 3 men around it whom I had never seen before. One was wearing a shirt and pants with huge white and black horizontal stripes on it such as a prisoner might wear. I could not figure out why I was not scared in my dream.

Fast forward 10 months later, we're hunting and camping. A friend brings along 3 of his friends that we had never met before. I have to go to the bathroom (buried a 50 gallon drum and put a seat on it) and my husband walks with me since it's dark. We start back and it starts to rain. We get to the clearing and there are his 3 friends around the fire - one wearing the outfit described above. I wasn't afraid in my dream because my husband was behind me and I just couldn't see him.

No one believes me.

8. Whoaaaa, what? (via TheFailSnail)

I was playing with our dog in the living room. At the time I was around 9 years old. We we're doing our usual "only play like this when mom isn't home else she'll tell us to stop" type of playing.. so basicly playing fetch in the living room. At 1 point I threw the toy which caused it to ricochet out of the living room into the kitchen. Frans (our dogs name) chased it and disappeared around the corner to get it. At that exact moment the front door opened and mom walked in with Frans on a leash after a 2 hour walk over the beach and dunes..... I tried to explain, but can't. I played with him for at least 15 minutes in ... apparently.. my imagination, but I just don't believe that.

9. sjvmi87 reminds us that kids can be creepy as hell

Talking with my son when he was 3 or 4 years old while he was playing with a Darth Vader toy in his mom's lap. Talking about the Wiggles or Barney or whatever. Completely unprompted, he said nonchalantly "Dingo cold. Dingo cold." and goes back to playing with his Star Wars toys. I asked him what he said and he denied saying anything with a giggle.

My wife very clearly heard him say "Dingo cold" too.

I never told him about my childhood best friend, "Dingo", being killed in an avalanche ten years earlier.

10. ThatDudeTrees is a door whisperer.

At least six times in my life I've gone home I know I locked the door but when I'm about to put my key in the door opens like someone was expecting me but no one's there ... It's happened at my mom's house my house and other ppls houses. I was helping my buddy move into his new house and when we came back with more stuff I had to pee so I ran to the front door and it opened ... When he came in he said he locked it before we left ... Don't know what it is but maybe it's a super power

11. A v casual ghost story from illogicalfuturity.

Me and my cousins seeing the same woman in white floating in our grandpanrent's living room.

Grandma said that it was her friend who died during WWII.

12. Good luck sleeping tonight after reading this one from Rukyah.

Sleep paralysis. A few years ago, I was dreaming I was talking to a friend of mine, so far, nothing weird. But then, for some reason, I realize that I was in a dream and the person I was talking with technically wasn't my friend. Suddenly, their appearance turned to black and I felt them pushing me down and holding me down in my bed. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. At this point my cat woke up and jumped on me as if to protect me. Then, the dark silhouette or whatever that thing was vanished and I woke up. I swear I had red marks my shoulders where that thing was holding me down in my dream.

13. Did CyperiaRose travel to another dimension???

My wife and I had a 2 hour drive back from st louis to our home during which both of us lost time, "woke up" 3 hours later still an hour and a half away from home only having used enough gas to go that half hour and our gps showed we had been driving our normal route. We still have no fucking idea what happened but we know we hadnt pulled over and that neither of us had any memory between taking an exit and seeing this onw particular billboard for a restaurant we always pass. Still freaks me the fuck out.

Source: https://www.someecards.com/news/news/creepy-stories/

0 notes

miss-m-calling · 6 years

Text

Trick or Treat 2018 letter

Dear writer,

Hello and thank you for writing for me. I’m very excited to read whatever you come up with.

Regarding tricks and treats: for tricks, a story in the general tone of the canon would be great; if you want to introduce a more clear-cut trick element, spookiness, ambiguity, menace, some darkness, maybe some violence if the story wants to go there, a dark supernatural element (e.g., what may or may not be a haunting) even if the canon’s realistic, rather than extreme grimdark where everyone dies or gets raped and dismembered.

For treats, a story in the general tone of the canon would be great; if you want to introduce a more clear-cut treat element, humor, silliness, crack, a maybe-supernatural element (e.g., this is definitely not a haunting right?), something mildly hopeful, rather than teeth-rotting fluff.

Requests:

American Gods (TV)

Laura Moon, Mad Sweeney

Fic, trick or treat

I ship it. Yes I do. I also love their snarky road trip in and of itself. They’re both such assholes and so fascinating, even if they mellow toward each other a bit in the last two episodes, and all the gods/magic/resurrection stuff swirling around them begs to be explored further. Plus she’s half his size yet can and does beat him up with literally one finger, and then there the angst of he having killed her and then brought her back.

Please give me either missing scenes from the road trip (with or without Salim, whom I like too) or something post-S1. Laura discovers (how? you decide!) that Sweeney gave her back the coin after their accident -- whatever happens next, some punching may be involved. Wednesday’s big war finally comes, and “don’t you dare die on me, you asshole” is a line either Sweeney or Laura (or both) might say to each other. Or something exploring living death. Magical bargains. Meetings – smooth and harmonious, though let’s be real, with these two it’s probably the opposite – with other Old Gods and assorted supernatural beings from various cultures. What kind of favor did Sweeney do for Ostara that would be worth her bringing someone back to life as repayment? What other powers might Sweeney have (he doesn’t seem on a par with someone like Wednesday and Ostara, nor does he consider himself to be entirely like them)? How long can a dead wife keep going before she’s “soup”? What other superhuman abilities might dead!Laura have? Can the dead do magic? Laura asked “What does Wednesday have to lose?” and the answer is...? (Yes, give me that sweet poetic justice.) Sweeney basically stops calling her “dead wife” (or anything else) toward the end of S1 -- there comes a time when he (has to) call her by her actual name, and that’s a tricky moment for them to navigate. Or, Mad Sweeney is not his actual name, since true names have great magical power; Laura discovers or learns his name, from someone else or from himself; what does she do with that knowledge? Also, my perfect AG spinoff would basically be Sweeney and Laura tooling around America, looking to get her resurrected (whether they succeed in this or not is up to you), stealing ever more ridiculous vehicles, arguing/fighting and having those pesky moments where vulnerability and genuineness creep in – and fucking. So I’d be down for porn, but only for these two characters together, not one of them with a third party. If it helps your inspiration, you can find some of my meta and lots of tag-burbling about these two here.

I have read the book, and while I prefer the show characters, you can use or riff on book material if you want. With reference to one of my DNWs, for this canon, describing Laura’s physical decay is totally fine.

Cabin Pressure

Fic, treat

Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, Arthur Shappey, Martin Crieff, Douglas Richardson

I just want more canon-y stories with their loopy humor and their weird yet loving family dynamics among the crew. Shenanigans in mid-flight or in the tedium which precedes and the tiredness which follows them. Someone smuggles (knowingly or not) an exotic animal on-board, legal, security, medical and/or slapstick chaos ensues. A mechanical, passenger- or smuggled-goods-caused problem arises and is solved during a journey. More games played on board GERTI. While I DNW holiday settings or themes, I can see comic potential in Arthur getting overly enthusiastic about Halloween (remember Arthur at Christmas?). Playing around with a specific destination, like in many episodes, would be a plus. If it helps inspire you, my favorite episodes in terms of tone and content are: Douz, Gdansk, Johannesburg, Limerick, Ottery St. Mary, Uskerty, and Xinzhou.

For this canon, I’d prefer either gen or, if you want to go there, Douglas/Carolyn, which is a ship I always thought had potential – they understand each other very well and trust each other most of the time, but they’re both also snark-masters, tend to look down on anyone not as smart or quick-witted as they (Arthur being the sole -- occasional -- exception), and are really good about keeping their defenses up against other people.

Justified

Boyd Crowder, Rachel Brooks

Fic, trick or treat

For Boyd, a moment in canon or post-canon, during his likely-lifelong incarceration, where we get to see him work one of his schemes. For Rachel, case fic or friendship fic, and you can definitely throw in Raylan and/or Tim and/or Art. Model Marshal Rachel gets stuck doing the early morning prisoner transport or handling walk-ins (bonus points for telling me how she earned this punishment from Art). Banter is always a plus.

And if you wanted to tackle Boyd & Rachel or Boyd/Rachel, well. I would love that. Their few brief interactions in canon always left me wanting more. Boyd trying to pull the wool over Rachel’s eyes and her not having it. Having to work together or Rachel needing to use Boyd as a informant, and possibly how the hostility might shade into flirting and how Rachel might feel about that, given Boyd’s past (even if, as Raylan said, Boyd’s too smart to really believe in white supremacy, there’s still his lifelong criminality). The beginnings of a good working relationship or friendship or affection, and how frustrating and difficult that would be, because they are who they are. Or the later stages of a relationship, when somehow they make it work, however tense it gets at times.

Specifically for trick fic, there be somethin’ spooky in them there hills. Maybe it’s just the usual bunch of hillbillies with more firepower than brains, maybe it’s something genuinely eldritch. Marshals and/or local crime lords walk right into it. A Lovecraftian riff would be great, as would an actually-mundane case of crime happening under cover of supernatural goings-on.

DC New Earth

Thessaly

Fic, trick

I nominated this character under The Sandman’s canon tag, but it got moved to the DC New Earth umbrella tag.

Thessaly is my favorite Sandman character and one of my favorite characters in general. I love that she is not always or even often likeable, but she is always compelling, intriguing, hypercompetent, ruthless, fearless, and sometimes foolhardy. Her solitary ways and commitment to her own long-term survival, without the reader ever figuring out what – other than the desire for more life – drives her, fascinate me, as does her humorlessness coupled with everything that’s fantastic and supernatural about her. I’d love to see her do more chilling magic (invent dark, bloody rituals and tell me about them, by all means), go on adventures in the Waking, Dreaming, or still other realms*, get into a jam (maybe the Moon tries to claim her? Or she obtains a magical artifact and its owner isn’t happy?) and get out of it in her own way. Or Thessaly interacting with other Dreaming denizens (say, snarky Matthew, or the three guardians of the entrance to Morpheus’ palace, or the Second Corinthian with all his identity issues). Or give me glimpses of Thessaly’s past, over the many millennia she’s been around. Or, she must have moved from other worlds or planes of reality, possibly at their final destruction, to our own, just as she moves to Barbie’s dreamworld and survives its destruction; what were those worlds like, or where might Thessaly go once this world is gone? Does she outlast or out-trick the Moon in the process?

One thing I would appreciate you not dwelling on is Thessaly/Morpheus – I don’t mean retcon it out of existence, just don’t dwell on the actual relationship, which I always found somewhat improbable. Exploring Thessaly’s hurt and anger after the end of that relationship is fine. I have also read the Thessaly spin-offs, so you can riff on those if you want (what does she do with all the dead crowding her at the end?), but please note that if you describe Thessaly, I prefer her frumpy, self-composed design in Sandman over the Lara Croft-lite of the spinoffs.

*Fusion suggestion: if you wanted to send Thessaly into the world of Jennifer Haley’s play The Nether, I would be there with bells on. If you are unfamiliar with The Nether, it’s a science-fiction play about literally living on the Internet (easily handwaved into a kind of magic or a living dream) and how that influences people’s sense of self – be forewarned that the play’s not explicit but is pretty damn dark.

Likes:

I love pre-canon, canon, post-canon, canon-divergent, and “missing scene from canon” stories. I love character-driven and plot-driven stories equally, and I love fics which mix humor and angst/serious business when appropriate for the canon.

I love character studies, characters at work and play, stories about group dynamics, family dynamics (including constructed families), professional partnerships, friendships, alliances, rivalries, intimate couples, UST-ridden couples who are not just UST-ridden but connected in other ways too, etc.

I love irony, snark, 5+1 stories, bittersweet endings, hopeful endings, happy endings, canon-fitting crack, worldbuilding, characters who are their own worst enemies as well as those who learn to get over themselves, characters with conflicting values which may or may not be reconciled/resolved in a believable and IC way, characters who treat each other with respect and as equals even if they hate/annoy/can’t stand/love to dislike each other.

I especially love workplace stories (this can mean anything from an office/procedural setting to anything that revolves around the canon world in which the characters live) in which the characters are competent and dedicated to the job, and while they may not be exactly friends and they may well irritate one another, they still manage to rub along to get the job done and maybe even grow to care about one another (much to their surprise and sometimes reluctance/discomfort). Or, if they can’t get along, show me why not and what’s preventing them from finding common ground.

In terms of ship dynamics, I love (where it fits the characters) banter, competitiveness or antagonism shading into attraction (this tension need not be resolved), bickering yet loving couples, faithfulness, characters who are serious about their romantic interests, characters who think they are much better at flirtation than they actually are, characters forced to work together only to prove much more compatible than they initially assumed, fics which mix an exploration of characters’ professional and everyday lives with shipping. A dynamic I cannot resist is shipping a couple who are incompatible in some important way (they are ideological enemies, cop/criminal, spies from opposite sides), and while they love and want each other they’re also not willing to change sides or surrender/compromise their identity for the other’s benefit, and how they might (or not) make their relationship work anyway.

I don’t have any very specific likes for smut, other than smut fitting the characters – show me how their canon dynamics spill over into the bedroom (or other place of congress). I also like sexual scenarios that subvert expectations a little and surprise the characters themselves (e.g., the person who’s usually quiet or more passive taking charge, the more aggressive person goes with it possibly snarking or commenting on it as long as they can). And I like sexual scenarios that contain an element of competition, antagonism, oh-god-this-is-a-bad-idea-but-we’re-going-for-it, not wanting to admit feelings or show vulnerability except oops it happens anyway, whether the characters acknowledge it or not, or just people getting way more into it or being more affected by it than they thought they would. Oral, vaginal, anal, manual (ifyouknowwhatImean) – it’s all good. You can go as veiled or as explicit as you like, but please avoid excessive medical jargon – I don’t find a lot of mention of “penis” and “clit” sexy.

DNWs:

Kinks, MPREG, A/B/O, knotting, D/s, incest, underage, genderswap and genderbent characters, non-con, dub-con, torture and abuse (this and non-con/dub-con can be mentioned if the story needs it, but please don’t dwell on it in loving detail or subject any of my requested characters to it), dwelling on bodily fluids (mentions of gore and come are fine where appropriate), toilet humor, character bashing, soulmates and soul marks, major character death (unless it’s canon), pregnancy and children as the lynchpin of the story (unless strictly canon appropriate), characters agonizing over/analyzing/dwelling on their or others’ sexuality as if it’s the sum total of their existence, secondary characters acting like shipping the main pair is their be all and end all, fluff and schmoop, OCs (except in small roles and/or for worldbuilding purposes – I just don’t want a fic in which OCs are the heroes, while my requested characters are cameos), issuefic, explicit or implicit reference to current events or politics in the US, fic written in the first or second person, holiday or wedding setting or theme, AUs which have nothing to do with canon (cop characters working in a coffee shop, high-school janitor characters in space, etc.)

#dear author letter #trick or treat exchange

0 notes

mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

A Brainful Process || Morgan &Rio

@3starsquinn

Cemetery field trip!

(Contains: zombie and animal gore)

Cemeteries were safer to visit in Morgan’s idle house than the woods. In cemeteries, most of the company was resting six feet under, and those that weren’t had a tendency to wave at Morgan as she walked by, content to leave her alone, one still soul to another. Some even warned her when it was better to turn back home. There’s a girl with the stake that comes by around now, a ghost might say. Or, we don’t like you that much. Cemeteries were safer, yes, and yet somehow tonight Morgan still found herself tackled to the ground, wrestling with a one legged zombie who, for all her wild hunger, really knew how to use her strength to her advantage. “Uh--a little help, maybe?” She called, appealing to one of the spirits nearby. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” the old man said, and drifted off to watch her struggle somewhere else. “Okay, okay, ok--ow!” The zombie woman bit into her shoulder, moaning with hunger. Morgan kicked, trying to knock her off balance enough to shift the weight between them like Mina had taught her, but it was a lot harder when the opponent didn’t have much of a mind for sensing pain. Morgan set her jaw and lashed out to struggle with the zombie woman again. “We got this,” she grunted. “You’re gonna be fine, you just gotta stop trying to eat me!”

Cemeteries had scared Orion far before he knew ghosts and spirits existed. He supposed he always knew they were real. Growing up learning about werewolves and Fae made pretty much anything believable. If his parents had bothered telling him about Santa, Rio might still think he was real. But he had always thought of ghosts in the more creepypasta YouTube sense. That they haunted others. They were crazy stories that made things colder and flipped on lights. Not the kind that possessed other humans and drained their life force. But ever since Rio had learned about the Dybbuks and other evil spirits, Rio hadn’t been able to get them off his mind. Rio began pulling books about ghosts and spirits. The more he read, the more intrigued he became with some of the accounts of sightings. Winston and Ricky must have really gotten to Rio. Without even realizing it, on his way home that night he was taking a detour and heading towards the cemetery. For no other reason than pure stupidity, if Rio had to guess. Once he was within range however, he started hearing voices. The hairs on his arms stood straight up and he immediately began shaking. At least, until he realized that the voices weren’t ghosts or spirits but a person. A person that sounded like they were in danger. Rio picked up his pace, beginning to job before breaking into a sprint towards the cemetery, stopping only when he finally spotted the source of the voice, a woman being attacked by another. “Hey!” Rio yelled, trying to sound more dangerous than he actually was, “Let her go!” Rio began moving towards the two slowly, freezing when he finally realized who the victim of the evening was, “Professor?”

The sound of another voice made Morgan’s dead body go stiff. Fuck. The last thing she needed was human company, or some hunter about to stumble upon a two-for-one deal. “W-we’re fine!” She grunted, finally grappling the zombie woman to the ground and pinning her down. “She’s--she’s just---uh--” Morgan struggled for a good lie. The woman was in literal pieces, her skin sagging off her bones and pockets of bare muscle spreading bursts of dark, grotesque color. And the person was coming closer. “Having an attack! Nothing to see here--Rio?”

Morgan saw him through the edge of her vision and didn’t know whether to be relieved or agitated. She hadn’t told Rio the ‘sudden loss in her family’ that explained away two weeks worth of missed classes had been her own. She hadn’t told any of her students. Funny enough, that still wasn’t a conversation she felt like having. But there wasn’t going to be any fooling him. He was too much of a supernatural scholar to not see the obvious, at least when it came to the woman thrashing and groaning under her. “Hey!” She said brightly, panic tight in her smile. “How weird and amazing to run into you here! I’m fine, she’s fine, we’re both fine right now, completely. But you should really stay back and um, maybe grab some rope? And some fresh brains?” She was convinced, maybe falsely, that she had enough confidence to sell everything she was saying without the need for questions. Then the zombie woman rocked against her weight and threw her off, driven by the pull of fresh meat.

For a long moment, Orion just stood from a distance and stared at Morgan and the woman clawing at her. This didn’t make any sense. Why was Morgan being so casual right now? Was this some sort of fever dream brought on by the lack of sleep? “Uh” Rio hummed, drawing it out for far longer than any of them needed. “Both fine. Right.” He realized, maybe many beats too late, that he had still not moved from his spot. Until now, he had stared at the sight as if it was a horror scene in a movie. “Brains?” Rio asked, touching at his head instinctively before realizing that Morgan probably had a rope and brains here. Because this was a zombie. A zombie. A ZOMBIE? It took this long for the fear to finally rush into Rio’s body and he immediately started fidgeting, the usual skin crawling feeling worming its way through his body. “Oh my god. A zombie! I’ve never met a zombie! I’m going to do something now.” Rio spoke aloud, as if that was going to finally motivate his body to follow the commands. Apparently it worked, his feet finally inching across the grass and towards the two. “What do you want me to do with these things once I have them?”

Morgan’s thin smile fractured with dismay. As much as she was relieved Rio wasn’t some guns a blazing hunter trying to get more goo for their collection. But she didn’t know if this was really the time for scholarly curiosity either. Maybe more like run and take action time. Move faster NOW time. Morgan dove for the zombie again, tackling her to the ground and pressing down with all her weight. She looked up at Rio, pleading for his help. She could keep the zombie pinned down for now, but she wouldn’t be able to help the dead woman with just her hands alone. And, shit--of course Rio wouldn’t have anything on him. He wasn’t Kaden, for crying out loud. Morgan looked around them, mind racing to keep up, to stay ahead of any panic. Maybe this was the time for scholarly curiosity. “The plan!” She said, forcing as much confidence into her bright voice as possible. “The plan is you...find something that will do instead of rope. Um...your belt! And uuh…” She looked around her with dismay. “My belt!” It was a lot daintier, meant for her small waist as decoration rather than supporting any weight. “And we are going to bind the zombie as tightly as we can. Because, fun fact: zombies have a much higher pain threshold than humans! Whatever would hurt for you won’t hurt for them, so that’s not something to worry about when they’re...like this.” She swallowed thickly and forced another smile as the zombie rocked and struggled under her. “When her limbes are secure, we’ll get her some of the food from my bag--” what was supposed to have been her lunch, “--and give her some of that. And then...more, probaby. From...somewhere else. I’m not...actually sure from where yet, but--fun zombie fact 2: decomposition and ‘rabid’ behavior is a symptom of starvation and not, necessarily, the zombie’s natural state! With sustainable access to food, your average zombie isn’t much different than a human, by outward appearances anyway.” Now if they could work on this together without Rio wondering too hard about how she knew all this, it might actually be easy. Or at least, not hard.

Okay, obviously it was clear that Morgan was preoccupied right now. Trying to hold back the woman- er uh the zombie from munching on either of them. Ignoring the swelling excitement as well as the far more palpable fear that was building inside of him, Orion tried to put aside any jitters and listen to Morgan’s instructions. He was lucky he had worn jeans today instead of the usual joggers or track pants, and that he was embarrassingly skinny for his age and height, so any pair of jeans that he wore usually required a belt. He pulled the belt free, hooking his pinky around a belt loop to avoid his jeans dropping. God, that would be embarrassing. “Okay uh- my belt is good. And your belt is uh- still attached to you.” Rio called, still standing a few feet back. He was not incredibly comfortable with the idea of undoing his teacher’s belt, but he supposed there were… strange circumstances.

“This is great!” Rio tried remaining positive, his voice cracking at the end of his sentence. Although Rio greatly appreciated the information on Zombies, a species he had not done much study on. He was familiar with a couple of culture’s depiction of zombies in their own lore, but from what Morgan was describing, they differed quite a bit. “I am very happy to help and I am totally going to keep my cool during this time.” Rio said aloud, probably trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Morgan. He slowly inched towards them, holding his arms out with his belt gripped tightly in both hands. “Do uh- you want me to do this? Or you? Is the whole thing about a zombie bite still true?”

Jeepers, this was going to be tricky. The zombie woman was beginning to thrash, dragging her and Morgan across the ground inch by inch. The closer Rio got, the more she wriggled her head, gnashing her rotting teeth. Morgan shifted position, pressing her knee down into the woman’s back. This was really not very seemly, but she couldn’t think of another way that would keep the zombie from hurting anyone long enough to feed properly. “We got this, we got this,” she murmured, still racing for ideas. “We got this!” She declared. “You are doing a great job, Rio! Just grab her legs and I’ll get the arms, and we’ll bind them up together. No worries!” She grabbed one of the zombie’s arms, then the other, wrestling against the woman’s frustration. “But, uh, yeah, about the bite. Fun fact, that’s--fuck!” The zombie woman’s teeth bit into her hand, grazing the cuff she used to hide her real scar. Morgan finished wrangling the arms with a grimace and whipped off her belt to fasten her arms together so the wrists would come more easily. “The bite thing is real,” she said, looking down at the wound in her hand. “But don’t freak out, Rio, okay? It doesn’t matter if she bites me, it’s you I’m worried about. Uh, get her wrists and ankles together?”

Orion could do this. He could totally do this. He did not love the idea of grabbing onto this woman, zombie or no. But Morgan seemed convinced that she would not feel the pain and that they were not going to harm her. That was what Rio wanted right? What was some tying and gagging if it meant helping her and others not get hurt? That was totally something that Rio could get behind. Grabbing onto her legs was surprisingly easy. Hunter strength and all made wrangling the woman’s legs surprisingly easy. At least, until the zombie bit Morgan. Rio dropped the legs immediately and began screaming his head off. At that moment, he wasn’t sure what was happening. Would Morgan turn into a zombie? How fast was the process? Was there something he could do to stop it? Rio had seen some zombie shows. How they amputated the body part that had been bitten to stop the spread. Even the idea made Rio light headed. He definitely couldn’t do that. Finally, Rio contained himself again, grappling the legs again and holding them. What the heck did Morgan mean that she wasn’t worried about herself? Was she immune to the bite somehow? “I- I don’t- uhhhhh” Rio’s brain broke for a moment, but he forced himself out of the slump. Grabbing onto the woman’s wrists and easily pulling them back to meet the ankles and wrapping his belt around them. “Oh god- Oh god. I hate this. I’m really bad at this. I think I’m going to puke. Are you okay???”

“Rio! You cannot puke on this woman!” Morgan shrieked. Oh dear. This wasn’t calm. This was the opposite of calm. Could she breathe? Was that ever going to work again? She missed the time when all she had to do was tell herself to breathe and her body would start to right itself back into something right and normal. But the quiet was too great and there was too much happening at once. “I’m fine! I’m not even bleeding!” Mostly because she didn’t have any circulation. “Just--just hold her steady and don’t turn into a zombie!” She scrambled over to her bag and prised open a tupperware full of brains, a blend, as it happened, but even a smidgen of person in there probably wasn’t going to get this woman back to normal. They’d have to take her somewhere better, or get better to her. Morgan stuck the tupperware under the woman’s nose and watched, grimacing, as she moaned and wrangled herself closer to fit as much of it in her mouth as possible. Morgan sat back and deflated. That would keep her busy for, what, five minutes? “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am fine though. I’m…” Morgan shook her head and sid off the cuff, showing Rio her old scar, a perfect oval in the shape of Remmy’s mouth. “I’m already bitten and dead, Rio. Say, you didn’t happen to bring a car here, did you?”

“I’m not going to puke on her!” Orion yelled back, unsure why he was even still yelling. Stress. He totally blamed stress. He needed to calm down. Take a chill pill or something. That was all thrown out the window when Morgan tried to reassure him by letting him know that she wasn’t bleeding. “How are you not bleeding?” Rio was right back to freaking out now. But Morgan seemed more together than Rio was. She was in the right state of mind to fish out something from her bag and give it to the tied up woman. “Is that… brains?” Rio asked, the most calm he had been since showing up here. He examined the mush curiously. Everything seemingly clicked into place when Morgan showed off what looked like an old, already healed scar. She was dead? “You’re… a zombie?” Rio muttered aloud, needing to hear the words to actually begin processing it. A moment of fear passed through him as he considered that Rio had just willingly walked into being part of their midnight snack. But he pushed the thought away quickly. That couldn’t be. This was his professor. They had talked about books and the supernatural together. “Woah. You’re nothing like the old Haitian story of zombies.” His head tilted curiously as he examined his teacher to try to pick out any defining details. By all accounts, she looked human to him. “Hmm… interesting.” Rio nodded, and then grimaced at the next question, “About that… I don’t really have a car right now. It belongs to my parents and I’m not really talking to them right now and- y’know what? It’s a whole thing. Clearly we have other things going on right now. Maybe I can call my friend Blanche. Or one of my roommates! Maybe they can help us? Or uh… Where are we taking her anyways?”

“Wow, kid, that’s really one heck of a compliment,” Morgan deadpanned. “But...yes. I got hurt really bad and I died. Two months ago now. That’s why I missed so much school towards the end of the semester. I died, Rio.” She looked down at the woman gnashing her teeth at the brain bits in the tupperware. “But I have people who help take care of me. I can stay fed easily. I have a home. I have a girlfriend that loves me. I even have magic pills for my new zombie physiology that help manage all the depression I’ve got over dying. I don’t know which of those this woman is missing, but whatever it is, she’s still a person. She’s as much of a person as I am. Does that make sense?” She looked at him earnestly. Rio was a good kid. Rio didn’t believe in hurting people. He had to get it. Maybe it was hard to see the woman in her own right. Even Morgan couldn’t do that. She didn’t know her name or if she was happy before she died or how long she had been dragging herself out of bed. She could only see her pain. She had to be in so much pain to have sunk this far. The days of starving had to have been excruciating. With this kind of decay, maybe it was even weeks. “I was thinking of getting her to the butcher’s, but I don’t know if their stock will be enough for her. It’s worth a shot, if we can keep her from getting noticed. “Unless you wanna do a run? You got venmo, Rio?” She asked. The brains were almost gone, and of the two of them, Rio was the one most in danger. And this wasn’t his problem, now that she was mostly subdued. “You don’t have to, you know. I can take this from here.”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say at this moment. Clearly, Orion had no idea what he was doing. He had grown up knowing about the supernatural. He loved learning about them and yet despite this he still had just barely scratched the surface. He knew nothing about Zombies, or real zombies at least. “Wow. I’m uh- sorry? That doesn’t sound like a good thing. But you don’t look dead.” Rio tried, he didn’t think that helped redeem him. “Okay that was probably a bad thing to say too. But despite all that… I’m really glad that you have a good support system, y’know? That must have been a really difficult thing to go through and… well I’m really glad things seem okay now. At least, hopefully everything’s okay.” And Morgan seemed dead set on helping this woman right now. And though the woman tied up seemed a little… murdery right now, Rio believed that with some help she could end up like Morgan seemed now. Completely put together. “I believe you. And I’m in. Let’s help her. Uh- I can run somewhere and get stuff… I don’t know what to get. But tell me and I’ll figure something out.”

“Well, you can tell that to my necrosis whenever I wait too long to eat my wheaties.” Morgan mumbled. You can test my pulse too, if you want.” She held out her hand, the bite standing out as a heavy shadow on her pale skin. “And no, you don’t need to be sorry--” But Rio was. He was just a kid doing his best with problems way bigger than himself. “But thank you. I know you mean it well.” She stared at the woman writhing in front of them again. She could see, too clearly now, what hunters did. A raving thing, a disaster they needed to triage before it got out of hand, a monster… “I can venmo you. A hundred dollars so should be able to buy out the brains at the butcher shop, whatever other weird organs they’ve got. That’s a start.” And while he was out she could maybe scrounge up a deer. They wandered through near dusk in little clusters, and it was the time of year when fauns were left to hide in the tall grass while mothers hunted. If she was quick and lucky, she’d be able to nab one for this woman to have. And maybe then, maybe if they were lucky, she could be okay. Morgan wrenched a hand through her hair and took out her phone to send the money over.

Orion laughed, happy that despite the horrible events that had clearly befallen his teacher without him even knowing about it, she could maintain some level of humor. “Don’t worry. I believe you. It’s uh- definitely not my first rodeo with the supernatural.” Even if he didn’t quite understand, he did believe. “Um right. I got it. Give me…” Rio paused, checking his phone for the time, “Twenty minutes. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

One of the good things about being a hunter? Superhuman endurance. Rio was definitely not in shape, but he could run for a while without having to stop. From here, he was pretty sure that it would be more efficient to get a car. If he could run home and borrow Ricky’s truck then he could get to the butcher shop and back without too much trouble. So he ran towards their house as fast as he possibly could, not letting anything distract him.

It worried Morgan how much animals still trusted her. The faun was too scared of the moaning woman six yards ahead to move. Morgan was able to settle down near it, still as death, and when it came over to sniff her out of curiosity, she took its neck and snapped it. The head dangled limp from the body like a toy that had lost all its stuffing. She carried it back to the woman and did not have to wait for her to wriggle and strain against her bonds trying to eat it. Morgan took out a knife and sliced the creature open neatly so she didn’t have to fight. Then she walked away enough yards so the smell of it wouldn’t compel her to steal a starving woman’s meal and licked blood and skin from her hands.

When Rio finally returned, Morgan was perched atop a large cross marker, stained with blood for all that she’d tried to keep herself clean. “Just unwrap everything for her and drop it where she can reach,” she called. “And then, you know, come over here so you don’t get bitten.”

Buying brains from a butcher was perhaps the most uncomfortable Orion had ever been. Despite this incredibly odd request, the butcher didn’t seem to think much of it at all. Which could only mean that this was not an uncommon request that he received. Which probably implied that Morgan and this woman were not the only zombies in town. It hadn’t occurred until now that Morgan could have been the one that turned this woman. But no. His Professor wouldn’t do that. Not unless she had to for some reason. Right?

Rio drove back to Morgan mostly in silence. He hated driving the truck. He didn’t trust himself with a big car. Plus he could barely see while driving the thing and hated ruining Ricky’s seat and mirror placement. But desperate times. Rio parked and hopped out, extending his arm so he could hold the brains at a distance from himself. “I’m here!” Rio yelled out, stopping when he noticed that Morgan had blood all over her shirt. Oh no. “What happened? Are you okay?” Rio asked. Despite this, maybe because he was too trusting just as Athena had always insulted him with, he followed Morgan’s instructions. Unwrapping the brains and tossing it to the tied up woman before hopping away and standing close to his professor. He could smell the blood that stained her. It was fresh.

“It’s okay, Rio,” Morgan said. “What do you think I’m gonna do, die again?” She smirked. A beat later, maybe too late, she wondered if that was maybe a bad joke. Rio knew about the supernatural, but maybe not about death. He hadn’t studied zombies before in his big secret library. He barely seemed comfortable with hauling brains and organs over from the butcher. Morgan sighed with a grimace and tried again. “I killed a faun for her. I didn’t think that was something you needed to be around to see. Brains sustain zombies best, but freshly dead meat is…” Her stomach grumbled, twisting. “Like candy on Halloween. You can’t not have any.” She looked down at him, still clinging to her perch. Her fingers had worn notches into the rock, worrying at the grain to keep from breaking off Bambi’s leg and going to town herself. “It’s just how we’re made,” she said quietly. “When the mother comes back to see if her faun is still around, I’ll try to get her too, if our friend isn’t back to herself yet.” She hesitated a moment, wondering if they had crossed into over sharing territory, if this was already too much for one troubled kid to bear in one night. “You don’t have to watch, or be around for any of that,” she said. “This is just another Tuesday for me, but it was a lot to get used to. It still is. You’ve been a big help, though. If all this turns out okay, it’s gonna be because of you. Because you cared.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “You uh...you can ask me questions, if you have any. I know all this is...strange. And lived experience can tell you certain things a book can’t.” She offered him a smile, her fear weighing on her softness. Please don’t think less of me for this.

Orion laughed nervously. Was that Morgan being offended? Or Morgan making a joke. A few seconds later and Morgan smirked at Rio, hopefully confirming that it had been a joke instead. “A faun.” Rio repeated, mostly to himself. He was still processing. Rio appreciated the information. He was taking mental notes, making sure to remember all of the information that he was learning about zombies. Maybe he would head back to the building tomorrow, start digging through his books for some information on the undead. The whole thing seemed like Alain’s side, but Rio knew better than to trust a hunter’s point of view when it came to the supernatural. Rio knew from personal experience that those teachings were biased. “I don’t- I usually don’t do that well around blood. But uh- I don’t want to make you do this stuff by yourself.” Morgan opened the board for questions. And boy, did Rio have questions. Way more questions than he possibly knew how to order and ask. “I- I have questions. But right now seems like the wrong time, y’know? With her… in the state she is in.” He sighed. Just another person in this town that has been through some awful experience that Rio wasn’t able to help prevent.

Morgan nodded and watched the woman eat. It might’ve been faster to let her have her hands back, but Morgan remembered the complete haze around her mind when she woke into her feeding frenzy. She hadn’t even known her own name, much less ‘eating people bad.’ If the wrong person had been in the room, she probably would’ve done everything she could to tear them to bits. “Anyone tell you lately what a good kid you are?” She asked. It was a rhetorical question, but she hoped nonetheless that someone was encouraging his generosity. Even if he could probably stand to get less squeamish. In time, the groans of the woman changed. Morgan gestured for Rio to stay back and made her way slowly over.

There was hardly anything left of the faun, but just enough that Morgan couldn’t stop herself from reaching into its ruined skull and scooping out its small black eyes and the thin tissue of its cheek muscle to munch on. She knelt down near the woman, still working the flesh in her mouth. “Hey,” she said, gently as she could with her mouth half full. “Can you talk? Are you good now?” The woman groaned and dashed herself into the red stained grass, angling her mouth for the rest of the faun. “Okay! Not feeling the impulse control. That’s okay! But I’m gonna need like...one intelligible word before you get this carcass.”

“Mmmhh. Aaarr...oh..k-kay.”

Blessed universe she was okay.

Morgan went around and loosened her bonds enough for her to wriggle free and stepped back as she held the faun and the scraps of flesh she hadn’t devoured yet as if they were all the treasure in the world. “You...shouldn’t...have done this,” she panted.

“I don’t see why not, Morgan replied. “What’s your name?”

The woman sucked the last remnants of life from the faun’s ribs and reached for a scattering of brain bits to shove into her mouth. “Ashley,” she said at last. “I didn’t--” She paused to swallow. As she wiped the mess from her chin she caught sight of the blood and mess on her hands, matching Morgan’s and then some. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not any of this, you idiots.” And then she was sprinting downhill, stumbling and falling over her own feet but never stopping, the dead animal still tucked in her arms. Morgan reached for her, but caught only the edge of her torn hiking vest. It fell right off, like it had been waiting to all along.

“It hurts sometimes, being like this, Rio,” she said, hanging her head as Ashley disappeared from sight. “Even when you have everything you need, it can still hurt.” There wasn’t any point in tracking her down again, not when Rio could get hurt, and he had done so much already. She willed herself to look up and gave him the saddest apologetic smile. “Sorry you got sucked into this. What were you up to before anyway?”

Orion felt the heat burning his cheeks as the blush came on. Good kid. They weren’t unfamiliar words, not anymore. But they still warmed him each time he heard them. He supposed being starved for acceptance and praise did that to a kid. “Uh- I get told that more so recently than ever before. But uh- Thank you.” Whether or not she was expecting an answer, Rio thought it would be rude to just not thank her for the compliment.

Over time, Rio witnessed first hand how the almost primal hunger seemed to die down from the woman. Slowly, her eating became less frantic and more of that of a human that had not eaten in days. Morgan was fearless, strolling right up to her. Though he supposed death probably helped to quell many of the fears that Rio felt right now.

The zombie- Ashley- seemed confused. Scared, even. And despite what the two had done to help her, Ashley took off the moment she was comprehensive and scurried off down the hill, leaving Rio and Morgan by themselves. And all of that fear and anguish that Rio could see in Ashley’s face, must have been similar to what Morgan had been through. Her words were raw, her smile doing nothing to mask the sadness or pain present in her voice. This was her life now. Something she was forced to deal with in order to stay alive. Or re-alive, which wasn’t actually a word but would have to apply for this situation. “You helped her. Even though she couldn’t see it right now… you just protected people from potentially getting hurt. And you protected her from making a terrible mistake. That’s… incredible.” Rio breathed, realizing only now that he had been holding his breath the entire time. “I was just at the old Scribe building, heading home for the night when I heard the noises outside the cemetery.”

“Stars, I hope so,” Morgan sighed. She didn’t feel like she had done much. She had hoped to at least talk to someone else like her for a little longer, to ask what she really needed to get by for longer than a day or two. Who did she have? How had she starved so badly? All she had to go on was one torn up hiking vest and a name. She pushed the thought of Ashley to the back of her mind. Maybe she could put out a call online or ask the ghosts in the cemetery to keep an eye out, just in case she turned up here again or...something. But for now she was as good as lost.

Morgan exhaled. Without the need for air, her body retained most of its tension from the past hour until she worked consciously at it, slumping and rolling her neck and shoulders and arms. “You helped too, Rio. I wouldn’t have been able to manage her by myself. Come on,” she urged gently. She held out an arm, beckoning him close, imagining a one armed hug to calm his nerves. Then she saw the blood on her hands and thought better on it. She let it fall limp at her side and wiped it down on her skirt. “I appreciate that you tried. That counts for something. Let’s get you home, okay?”

#brainful process #wr rio #wr chatzy #wr rio chatzy #wr

13 notes · View notes