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#the puppets. the Chew Toys. i need them now

eating-the-inedible · 8 months

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Here's something someone put in the "anything else" box

Once upon a time there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort, which could only be broken by Love's first kiss. She was locked away in a castle guarded by a terrible fire breathing dragon. Many brave knights had attempted to free her from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed. She waited in the dragon's keep in the highest room of the tallest tower for her true love and true love's first kiss. Like that's ever going to happen. What a loony. Shrek Beware Stay out I think he's in here. All right. Lets get it! Hold on. Do you know what that thing can do to you? Yeah. He'll groan into your bones for his brains. Well actually that would be a giant. Now Ogres, huh, they are much worse. They'll make a soup from your freshly peeled skin. They'll chew your livers, squeeze the jelly from your eyes. Actually, it's quite good on toast. Back, back beast, back! I warned you! Right. This is the part, where you run away. Yeah! And stay out. Wanted. Fairytale creatures. Right, this one is full. Take it away. Give me that. Your fine days are over. -25 pieces of silver for the witch. Next. -Come on. Sit down there! And be quiet! This cage is so small. You wouldn't turn me in. I'll never be stubborn again. I can change. Please, give me another chance. Oh, shut up! Next. What do we got? This little wooden puppet. I'm not a puppet, I'm a real boy. Five shillings for the possessed toy. Take it away. No! Please, don't let them do it! Next. What do you got? Well, I've got a talking donkey! Right. Well that's good for ten schillings, if you can prove it. Oh, go ahead fella. Well? He's just a li..., just a little nervous. He's really quite a chatterbox. You boneheaded donkey! That's it. I have heard enough. Guards! No, no, he talks, he does! I can talk. I love to talk. I've talked to... Get her out of my sight! -No, no, I swear! Hey, I can fly. -He can fly! -He can fly! He can talk! -That's right, fool! Now I'm a flying, talking donkey! You might have seen house fly, maybe even a superfly. But I bet you ain't never seen a donkey fly! Seize him! Get him! This way! Hurry! You there. Ogre. -I. By the order of lord Farquaad. I am authorized to place you both under arrest. And transport you to designated resettlement facility. Oh really? You and what army? Can I say something to you? Listen, you were really, really something, back there. Incredible. Are you talking to... ...me? Yes, I was talking to you. Can I just tell you that you were really great back there with those guards. They thought that was all over there. And then you showed up and BAM. There was tripping on over themselves like babes in the woods. That really made me feel good to see that. Oh, that's great. Really. Man, it's good to be free. Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom with your own friends? But I... I don't have any friends. And I'm not going out there by myself. Hey wait a minute. I have a great idea... I'll stick with you. You and me in green fighting machine. Together we'll scare the spin if anybody crosses us. Oh, a, that was really scary. Maybe you don't mine me saying. If that don't work, your breath will certainly do the job done, 'cause... you definitively need some tic-tac or something, 'cause your breath stinks! Man you've ??? my note! Just like the time... ...and then I ate some rotten berries. Man I had some strong gases leaking out of my but that day. Why are you following me? I'll tell you why. 'Cause I'm all alone, there is no one here, beside me. My problems have all gone. There's no one to derive me. But you got to have free ... -Stop singing! Well, it's no wonder, you don't have any friends. Wow! Only a true friend would be that truly honest. Listen! Little donkey. Take a look at me! What am I? A... ...really tall? No! I'm an Ogre. You know, grab your torch and pitchforks. Doesn't that bother you? Nope. Really? -Really really. Oh? Man, I like you. What's your name? A..., Shrek. Shrek?! But do you know, what I like about you, Shrek?

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fangfuckingtastic · 2 months

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i'm too high for this rn

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abyssalpriest · 8 months

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Selkie, 24/9/23

Lying in bed post-meditation with Lev, a mouse sounds from under my bed. As much as it is to be expected in an old house in Ireland I haven't had mice in this room in ages. It's loud, biting, gnawing; desperate teeth scrape louder than the whips of the Irish flag in curling Irish wind outside my window. Scraping. Tearing. What's under there? Under where we're laying, right behind me, what is that? Old keepsakes: Photos, toys, memorabilia... "Keepsake" implies pleasure but it's more a ghost, a haunting of guilt, I'm so tired of all the things that are in there. They bite my flesh with pangs of forced identification and puppet around the corpse of a self that I just can't lay to rest. I always dream of school, a place I don't remember, and I refuse to throw out these things trying to rebirth them under a guise of nostalgia because "One day it will click, Dei, one day you'll get it, one day you'll identify with these and that returning self will hate you for destroying all it has tying it to this world." I hate myself now, there is no "one day". This is a puppet of my own creation, I am the one desecrating the corpse of a child by stringing it up in unrecognised webbing and opening and shutting its mouth to make it tell me it hates me, that I'm a disgrace, that it is the "true" me to which I am an imposter.

The rebirth cannot be externalised, it cannot be in a puppet. Eat, mouse. I'm tired of tying myself to an obligation of others. Tired of the angsty angry teenager I used to be waiting for their heart to be judged against a feather by hands that have already firmly and lovingly greeted me. I attend the Otherside already, my judgement-before-entry came stamped by birthright. I've lived a life where I've wanted to die for what's now approaching more years than I've lived not suicidal, and I've been afraid to die the entire time. Ghosting death itself. I'm my own 'corpse' shoved under my own bed, terrified of what my hands are done - but I am not dead under there, suffering, bleeding out, concussed, beaten, bruised, abused, maimed, screaming with no vocal chords to my current self to just finish the job but I am a coward. So happy to flirt with death, never brave enough to be executioner. What will happen to my body when I go? At one point in my life my hope for post-death treatment would be to have my corpse thrown into water to be eaten by fish, but I never embraced it. A Wednesday I was going to kill myself in school if something happened, if not I wouldn't. That river I was going to throw myself into haunts me, snakes under my bed, incessant cold of its scales running down my back.

Lev, take me, drag me, to the airport - no, not good enough. The need to "go", the need to walk to somewhere else, is not satiated by staying on this plane where all is monotonous lectures from a monotonous teacher grating across monotonous life goals and lack of vision. Nothing here snakes with me. God, this plane is so restricting, like a latex bodysuit bought for Mother Earth by her lover, the Polar Sky Kings: beautiful in its synonymity with the obsidian mirror - causing virulent visions in each of her writhing movements - but so restrictive. Fun until the claustrophobia knocks on the door of comfort like a clock striking 13.

The mouse again claws in my room but it sounds like it's at my door. Tired. Restrained. This is a fun game, to tie myself up and wear the suit, to play the Shakti role, to house... But the illusion becomes suffocating. Where am I housed when all I house is other people? Where am I?

Gnawing under my bed, there is no mouse, there is Shiva in the form of one; there is no I, there is Shiva in the form of me. I then in myriad forms scrape and scrape and scrape and chew and bite and salivate and grasp and grope at decade-old photographs, toys. Meaningless to me, for my mouse mouth cannot speak English, meaningless to me as my innumerable bred mouse children will die before a human child begins playing with such things. Meaningless colours, meaningless handwriting, meaningless red threads of fate, just the sensory satisfaction of plastic and fibres and chewy regurgitated trees made in territories bigger than mine for purposes I'll never get -

Leviathan is by my door behind me, a haunting, feet-less silhouette of black, his hat clear in its form but its body like a lava lamp exploring and therefore detaching off into nothingness, uncontained by a glass vase and instead by the glass of the firmament dome. A hat on... The need to leave. Ready to. Shiva the visitor, the transient guest. The need to explore, to know. The need to become the self. In one form as universal Shiva I am stuck on a pillar in the frothing ocean dragging the cosmic weight of my scaled, fishlike, snakelike tail of a bottom half to the surface. I hold on with incapable human nails, and I realise I'm struggling not against the storm but against myself: the stormy sea is writhing and frothing with anger with me, swaying with my unaccomplishment and inability to hold on stably. I'm so long, the more I look back the more I see my tail must be fifty times my length and I'm... Why am I questioning how long I must be. Surely I can feel its entire length...

The answer I don't want is to be told I'm fine here. I am strong here, but I am not deluded as to my state. I'm haunted by being a child dying, rotting, haunted by scraping my throat with words I don't want to be speaking about how I'm hallucinating, no one listens. They tell me I may have anxiety. They don't hear my mind cracking and breaking. I tell them I am losing my mind, that I am seeing things, that I am hearing things, that I am out of reality, they tell me everyone is anxious. I cry and cry for years and years at people I labelled parents that I'm suicidal and having psychotic symptoms - without the word "psychotic", I'm told by my communities I don't have enough issues to dare use that word - and I get told I'm fine, that what is asked of me isn't much, it's laziness if anything. I'm fine. We all have to deal with what I go through. I get told 1000 times that what I experience isn't real, the 1001st time will not be me. I will not say that to myself again.

The world is a spiralling mess. I am eyes. I am the gliding bird over the top of reality woven into the firmament paradox that watches, I am the bird that has raised in vision this human race from its conception, I am the rolling clouds of the Storms, I weave with the Sky Fathers. I do not hate to be normal, I hate that all my abnormalities that I slide through like mothering ocean water are condemned as unnecessary fiction. Rise on to the pillar and stay there? Deal with it? No. It is my choice to make. To be seen and unseen, to be the perceiver. You cannot see into my retina, the shadowed place where all light falls.

This is not a suicide note, this is an obituary to my skin before I peel it off.

#ramblings //#Priest //#visions //#emphasis on that last part lmfao im talking about dying bc i want to fucking kill the false self and kill my obligation and kill the image #of who i used to be because im Transitory and Deluded. im sick of being my own doubter. I know what im doing

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imptwins · 1 year

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Upcoming Teasers!

Thought I’d give y’all a bit of a preview of upcoming stories from me. And you get longer ones than on Twitter, how exciting.

The Gift that Keeps On Giving This will hopefully be done by the weekend, since it’s meant to be for a weekend writing event lol. If not maybe I’ll do half now half later. It’s based on the theme of ‘gift giving’ so it’s a Krusielle-focused smut-comedy story involving Christmas dinner, stealthy sex toys, family hi-jinx, and a few mixed signals.

The Bad Kind of Scary “Noelle has finally admitted her immense crush on the new girl and is working up the nerve to actually ask her out. But Noelle is a Holiday. Her mother is the cut-throat fiscally conservative mayor, her father the man who knew how and where to apply pressure to both get and keep that seat for her, and she's inheriting their privilege but not the acumen that they used to seize it. She's a straight-A student who is used to people bending over for her because everyone local knows she's destined for something greater, a shoe-in for politics, maybe even the kind to outgrow her little town. She hasn't really processed just how 'kill or be killed' the world can be.

It’s fun to have fluffy fantasies about an abrasive bully with a hidden heart of gold ready to bloom at the first show of kindness, a misled soul who just needs to be saved by a noble heart. But it’s not exactly realistic. Noelle's about to learn that the hard way.“

A dead dove Suselle fic mostly focusing on noncon and drugging. The concept started with that ‘The Newest Girl’ blog post and I’m sprinting for the fences with the idea of Noelle trying to ‘fix’ Susie and biting off way more than she can chew. It’s about 50% done so far and honestly features what I think is some of my best-ever work, I’m already incredibly proud of it on a pure writing level. The imagery is kind of awesome and is a microcosm of all the lessons I’ve been trying to learn over the last year.

Under the Ice “A hound can be trained to hunt monsters in the stead of men, and no stains will find your skin. But as you file their teeth to knives and whisper on the tenderness of flesh, as you instruct that copper is a fine wine until life dripping from hot to cold down their chin is just as intoxicating, know that they will never hunger for any throat as they do yours.

For all of the horror, for all of the self-loathing, Kris at least had the guilty comfort that hosting the Soul made them relatively safe. How wrong they are. The Soul taught Noelle to grow stronger, to take what she wants, and now she has decided exactly what that is.”

Dead dove Kriselle fic, featuring noncon and like... Identity tragedy? It’s kind of a weird take on abuse cycles given the supernatural puppeteer element, as well as a little bit of venting about how bored I am of every Snowgrave smut fic being the same.

Echoes in the Distance The fic previously known as Zetarune. Once I’m done with the above this will be getting a huge from-the-top edit spree including a rename because I don’t like its current one. Chapter 1 will also be almost entirely removed though still available separately ‘cus I think it detracts from the narrative and my reasons for having it there were mostly insecurity. The rest of the story will be tightened up, especially lore wise, a couple retcons here and there, and hopefully I can impart a lot of the lessons I’ve recently learned to just up the general quality.

Once I actually pick it back up please look forward to me finally breaking the months-long-at-this-point cliffhanger of what happens when the Bunker is opened. You’ll get to see what I’ve been planning for over a year. =)

Castaway Angels “Ten years ago the Underground opened, the world found out about the existence of monsters and their forgotten history, and even at that young age you knew you couldn't stay away. Lured by the promise of a kinder and fairer society - and perhaps a mildly insensitive fascination - you realize your dream when you secure an enrolment in one of their colleges, sell everything you own, and jump on a boat. You arrive in Ebott City with a wreck of a car you bought in the port town, and little more than the clothes on your back.

But the monsters’ capital city is no paradise. Not for a human. With past generosities betrayed, the seeds of mistrust have long since been sown and outright hostility simmers just under the surface. There's so much in the culture and history and behind-the-curtain dealings that you just don't know. But you really hope you're a fast learner, because it turns out your roommate is a devastatingly hot resurrected Prince Emeritus turned fuckboy slash red flag incarnate and holy shit you are in so over your head.”

A collaboration between myself and Kimberly EAB. 2nd-person POV, Reader x Asriel, post-Undertale, slow-burn dead dove (now there’s a combo you don’t see too often huh?). Biggest kinks/themes on display will be dubcon, pain play, substance abuse/addiction, possessiveness, messed up power dynamics, my usual brand of hyperqueer xenophilia, and just a general case of I Can Fix Him syndrome.

#deltaruined #fanfiction #smut #castawayangels #echoesinthedistance #impfics

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nico-the-overlord · 1 year

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My crops have healed, my grades are perfect, the world is not dying due to this very motivating and emotional story, thank you for it thank you Shrek

#asks

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spookibird · 2 years

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Everyone else seriously stop but YOU

YOU KEEP GOING

#birdie answers

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mynameisjag · 3 years

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Yo, let’s go with a part 3!

Feral Family! Let’s throw in some Baker’s because this is a happy AU damn it!

*Ethan has two modes, love you or hate you. That is it.

*When he introduced Zoe and Joe Baker, the Lords lost their God damn minds over them.

*The remaining Lycans adore Joe

*Joe is a completely normal human…now with Lycans.

*There might be concerns of Joe leading a Lycan uprising.

*One of the Fly Girls really likes Zoe, its embarrassing for everybody.

*Took one look and went ‘oh, no…she’s hot…’

*Their flirting involves slight death threats…they don’t know how to flirt…

*No one here knows how to flirt, including the humans

*Listen, they are all terrible at having social skills.

*Chris is considered to be the human handler.

*This does not mean he is in charge, just that he needs to get the rest of the humans out of the way and not be collateral.

*He basically runs a BOW home now.

*He is surprisingly okay with this.

*Claire still has not actually seen any of the people Chris talks about over the phone and still believes they are just pets.

*”So what's your brother doing now days, Claire?” “Oh, still does the same thing as usual but he now runs a pet home.” “Really?” “Yeah, he was just telling me how Ethan managed to get stuck up in a tree because he stole Karl's squeaker.” “Ethan, Karl?” “I think ones a cat and the other is a dog, maybe a husky by the sounds in the backgrounds during call.” “Cute.”

*Chris still receives pet gifts, he just accepts it at this point.

*Everyone loves it, they have no idea who this Claire is but they would die for her.

*Imagine unknowingly having an army of BOW because you were nice to them.

*Salvatore has a small collection of fish tank toys in a special cove under the water from her, he adores these, even Ethan knows not to take them.

*Ethan has the nickname, “theiving bastard"

*Mia has to return lost items at the end of the week cause he will hoard them.

*He can not and will not explain why he does this.

*Karl shares his gifts from Claire with the Lycans, so it’s not unusual to see him playing fetch with them.

*By this I mean someone else is throwing the ball and he is having a time tripping and knocking the others over because he is a bastard.

*Alcina can be seen taking walks with the Fly Girls during warmer weather, they all enjoy sitting out and enjoying the sun rays.

*She might have been compared to being a sunbathing lizard once but it was in much ruder words because it was Karl.

*Donna has discovered anime…

*Pray for the puppets…

*There are blueprints spread out for alternative clothing for them and they are now in hiding.

*She can’t dress up the actual people like she wants without a fight so the puppets are second best!

*They all have ran into their smaller versions in different levels of distress because of ‘dress up times’.

*Why is the Chris puppet in a sailor outfit? Ethan’s is trying to chew the cat paws off. Alcina's is in dragon pjs.

*They don’t have much in facial movement but boy do they know how to express their displeasure.

*Donna just thinks its cute.

*Ethan has and will continue to do weird ass shit.

*Especially now he is aware of his mold status.

*So when his hind mind goes ‘consume’, he will be found on the counter tops devouring all the bread in the house…and some from the others houses…

*He will break into your house.

*Sometimes to do nothing more but stare at you with a :/ look.

*What do you want Ethan, I’m trying to eat my pasta!

* :/ … >:/…

*Now all the forks are gone…

*Everyone has discovered the horrifying fact that he can swing his chest open revealing a hollowed out cavity.

*Rosemary likes taking naps in there with her stuffed monkey.

*She assumes everybody can do that and will pat the others chest to get them to open.

*She then gets angry when they don’t.

*But since she’s still a baby it’s just cute…for now…

*This also explains where most of the stuff that’s missing goes.

*Mia tries her best to keep a human composure around everybody…she has moments though…

*No one wants to talk about the Chainsaw Incident. It is forbidden…

*Chris tries not to play favorites…

*He absolutely has favorites, try and guess who.

#ethan winters #mia winters #karl heisenberg #alcina demitriscu #dimitrescu daughters #salvatore moreau #chris redfield #claire redfield #joe baker #zoe baker #everybody is feral #feral ethan #happy au #everbody lives #resident evil village #resident evil #resident evil 7 #someone help chris

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twilightmalachite · 3 years

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Sweets Box - assort 4

Author: Kino Seitaro

Characters: Hinata, Hiiro

Translator: Mika Enstars

Proofers: 310mc & Amagiiz

"Mhm, you see— I thought the reason Nii-san and I never had fights was because I don't know anything and can't think for myself."

Season: Summer

Location: Suburban Shopping Mall

The next day...

Hiiro: ...... *picks up product and inspects it closely*

...... *eyes shine as he looks at the label*

Hinata: Hiiro-kun.

Hiiro: ......

Hinata: Hiiro-kun?

Hiiro: Hm...?

Hinata: Were you listening~? Can you put that seasoning over there in our cart?

Hiiro: Aah, my bad. I was so mesmerized by all the "new things" that I got caught up in everything around me.

Coriander, cumin, nutmeg... These are all new to me. Aah, I've heard of cinnamon though. That one appears in a café's name[1], right?

However, I still cannot see "spaise" anywhere. I wonder where one is supposed to go to find it.

Hinata: Ahaha. A "spice" isn't a specific thing, it's more like a whole category of seasonings.

You sprinkle them in to add flavor to your dishes, cover up the smell of meat, and stuff like that ♪

Hiiro: Ooh! My hometown has herbs that are used for that. Spices must also be used fairly similarly, I'm guessing?

Hinata: Yup, yup! They're basically the same! Wow, amazing as always, Hiiro-kun. Didn't you get a perfect score on your test the other day? You really do have an amazing memory~!

So, let’s put that chili powder in the cart~ ♪

Hiiro: Okay. Is this one adequate?

Hinata: Yup, thankies! After that, we’ll put the rest of what Shiina-senpai needs in here, and... looks like we only have chocolate left!

Ummm. The other shopping list has...

Hiiro: Hinata-kun, is that thing over there some sort of food?

Hinata: Over where...?

Oh, they’re selling chocolate on that side, so it must be the candy section.

What you saw just now are probably those candies that come with a toy.

Hiiro: Candy that comes... with a toy?

Hinata: Yup. For example, this Sentai Hero ramune comes with a hero finger puppet!

Hiiro: Whoa, so there's a puppet in this small box...

Hinata: And it's not just sentai heroes! There’s candy toys of idols and magical girls[2] too ♪

I think there are fans who collect this Idol Bromide Gum here.

Hiiro: Aah, Aira has been buying a lot of these, actually! That explains why he's been chewing so much gum.

So the city has a culture like this, huh! How interesting!

But why sell candy and toys together, I wonder? Aren't there also stores that specifically specialize in selling toys?

Hinata: Hm~. Even I don't know what's up with that. Maybe it’s a marketing strategy or something.

Well, we're idols, not businessmen, y'know? If we were to start thinking about how to sell ourselves on top of everything else, the possibilities would be basically endless!

Hiiro: That's true, now that you mention it. The producer will do this type of work for us, so we should probably just follow orders.

Alkaloid is a unit of soldiers. By following orders, we're able to put on our very best performance. Perhaps that is why Tenshouin-senpai named us that way?

I didn't realize it until only just recently. Up until the end of MDM, I was so caught up in my own issues, I didn't have time to think about it.

But everyone living in the city helps teach me things that aren't common sense to me. It's an amazing thing.

Hinata: What's wrong, all of a sudden-? Your composure cooled so much that I feel like I'm going to catch a cold!

Hiiro: Ah, sorry. I seem to always act outlandish, huh? What you said just now made me find the answer for something I was thinking about yesterday.

Hinata-kun, you asked me if my brother and I have fought before, right?

Hinata: I did, but... what about it?

Hiiro: Mhm, you see— I thought the reason Nii-san and I never had fights was because I don't know anything and can't think for myself.

Hinata: ......?

Hiiro: And the reason I thought there wasn’t any need to think about how to sell myself, was because I didn't know anything about idols. I would just accept what I was told.

But recently Aira had organized the project Feather Touch, right? It was such a surprise to me, because it’s something I would’ve never thought of doing.

Because, Aira was thinking for himself. He had his own beliefs, and expressed it in the form of a project... It left a deep impression on me.

Aah, sorry. I really went off topic there, didn't I? I have what I want to say in my head, but I can't seem to be able to find the words.

What I'm trying to say is—it's the same thing when it comes to sibling fights. Fights occur when two people's viewpoints differ. If that's true, then are fights really all that bad?

2wink is a unit that can exchange beliefs and develop together. We in Alkaloid want to be that way, too.

You guys aren't taking any steps backwards... At least, that's what I think.

Hinata: Hiiro-kun...

Hiiro: Hinata-kun, can I also buy one of these Idol Bromide Gums?

I want to think for myself as well, so—I wish to collect this! I can't help but wonder what it's like to chew gum every single day. ♪

Hinata: Ah, yeah. I think that's good~. Seeing our idol work pay off in places even like this is pretty motivating as well, right?

...Whoa, and we're back to normal just like that?! After saying all that inspiring stuff, I was nearly knocked off my feet!

Hiiro: Aah, my apologies, I fell into my bad habit again...

Hinata: No, thank you, actually. It made me feel better.

"We" have been having fights throughout our entire journey, up until now. That won't change, and that's alright ♪

Hiiro: Mhm. Our futures have endless potential. Let's not look back, Hinata-kun!

Referring to Cafe "Cinnamon". Niki works there as well.

The specific text used here is actually "henshin heroines", aka "transforming heroines". Magical girls count as one, but the genre encompasses more than that.

#hinata aoi #sweets box #hiiro amagi #scout story #translation

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tenmillionwhumperflies · 3 years

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Cloudwalker Series Part 29

Alright, part 29 is done, and you can have some cheeky Rhix whump.

Warnings: Mentions/brief descriptions of murder, brief part on previous eye whump and descriptions of it, mentions of nsfw and a non-con assumption, but it does not happen.

Approx WC: 3500

Taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @thegreathowdini Seeing the castle of Everblood come into view, the enormous towers and mighty walls, the ragged eerie flags that hung lifelessly in the cold air, seeing the old battle scars where the castle had survived attack after attack didn't quite give Avizon the comfort he'd expected it to have despite longing to return- and it wasn't because he was out in the open. He didn't feel like he could be safe anymore. He feared an attack from unseen enemies at any moment. He willed the metal gates to open until he was through and then slam shut behind him. He doubted it would be enough anymore. Maybe Orrien was right; he'd become too dependent on walls and stone despite his claims he was the most powerful in the land.

He set to work on unloading the supplies and tending to Secret, brushing her coat, feeding her and getting her settled for the evening. He smiled at his birds once the work was done and let them do as they wished for a while until dinner. He'd hunted some rabbit along the way so their dinners were sorted. He didn't really feel like eating after killing that man. He'd deserved it for causing such pain, but Avizon still felt like a monster, he still felt out of control. He did wish he could give up his power, but he just didn't have the courage. He knew what he was with that power, but what would he be without it...

He sighed, thinking back to the time where he'd returned to this castle years ago after his wounds eventually healed, after he'd lost Ro and been found after weeks of torture. He'd kidnapped the king with ease, teleporting in, grabbing him from his bed, and teleporting out. It had been that simple. He'd forced him down on the stone altar despite his cowardly begging and pleading.

Oh, the riches and powers he had promised him, wealth beyond measure, the ability to pick any man in the land to replace Ro and Halve would make sure he was able to have him as he wished, fine steeds, castles and servants to command. As if Ro was some cheap toy! As if everything he'd suffered through was so quickly washed away. He'd stared him in the eyes and stabbed him clean through the heart, giving him the sacrifice he'd needed to be able to inherit the dark powers that had soon controlled him.

That had been the easy part, but the sacrifice he had to personally give in exchange had been his eye. That pain had been unlike anything he'd ever felt, the heavy rotting, burning sensation. He didn't like taking off his patch. He hated seeing his eye, how it was black as coal, weepy and so painful whenever light reached it. It did nothing to stop him feeling like a monster. Sometimes it still hurt, the heavy burning withering feeling returned and nothing could ease the pain…

He'd taken over the palace in a rage after that. He'd given the innocents the chance to leave, Orrien helped see to that. Avizon had been left with the scum, and their screams still echoed in his mind. He didn't fully regret what he'd done. Especially to the princess. Eriona had deserved it and so much more. Not just because of what she did to him, but to her two cloudwalkers. Fluffy and Flutter had suffered just as much as he had, perhaps worse at times.

He wanted to find them as soon as he could. Now he was finding himself again, he wanted to give them a chance at happiness. He should have remembered them, he should have cared more. He'd remembered to save Rhix before he drowned in darkness, but he hadn't been able to remember the birds. Back then he was a different man and didn't view them as well as he should have. He'd hated their suffering of course, but he hadn't considered them to be so human… but things were different now.

If they were out there. He would find them and give them the chance to be safe from harm.

Avizon sighed, thoughts wandering to Rhix. Rhix had been a good friend before he'd taken over the castle. Avizon had been the only one Rhix had dared tell about how the King, Kellis, treated him, how he suffered and was constantly being humiliated, treated like some common entertainer. His castle had been almost as bad as Avizon's. Avizon had saved him from that, giving him the chance to grow into a more confident young man. He'd saved him, and it hurt to think all the circle saw him as a truly evil. But Orrien's words gave him hope. Maybe Rhix hadn't completely given up on him…

-----

Avizon struggled within his own skin as he sat on the throne in the gallery. Sometimes twirling a small parchment around in his fingers, other times scrunching it up, waiting impatiently for his 'guests' to arrive. He'd sent a message days ago, a message to the neighboring kingdom where Rhix 'served'. In his hand he held their cowardly answer.

Surrender your sorcerer, Rhixius, to me, alive and well. If you do not bring him, your kingdom will be next to fall. It is my one and only demand.

It was no surprise when a message had been returned quickly. They'd given him up, without even thinking about the possibilities of what Avizon could do with dark magic and a sorcerer with containment talent. Fortunately for them he wasn't interested in that, though the darkness inside certainly was. For now Avizon could only wait for them to bring him. He'd managed to fight the dark part of him that wanted to tell the king he knew his secrets, how they treated Rhix, and send all his rage at him. But he feared that they would harm him for telling someone. Avizon wanted Rhix alive and well and there was no point in risking that.

He felt the presence of men in his domain. He could feel Rhix was with them, but his powers were… weak, incredibly so. As if he'd been sapped of all his energy. He crushed the paper in his hand. If they'd leeched him then so help him…

The men carefully made their way to the throne room. Avizon barely managed to tuck away his shock. He'd expected for Rhix to have resisted, to be bound, but this was different.

Rhixius had been a pitiful sight, his hands were bound in front of him with rough ropes and he was shirtless, covered with shining jewelry and silky baggy pants. His body was littered in bruises and scratches. Avizon wondered how much he'd struggled on the way here. They really thought he wanted Rhix as a partner. No doubt Rhix was terrified. He didn't suppress the growl that rose in his throat, seeing Rhix's pale skin, the old scars and signs of torment, new and old.

He'd been gagged and blindfolded, and was so unaware of what was going on around him. He swayed, but Avizon wasn't sure if that was because of the blindfold or not. Rhix whimpered when they forced him to a halt and shoved him down on his knees. He groaned and struggled not to fall forward. A hand in his hair ensured he couldn't.

"We brought your whore," one man sneered. Avizon brought fire to his hands and glared. "Repeat those words." The man gulped and let go of Rhix, backing away and bowing. "I… I.I thought that you- I didn't- I beg your forgiveness-"

Avizon had already hurdled a ball of fire at him, hitting him hard in the shoulder. The man screamed and rolled around the floor, trying to put out the flames. The flames tore through the clothes quickly and chewed at his skin until he managed to put the last if it out, panting, sobbing. Avizon didn't care.

Rhix tensed up, bracing for pain. Avizon saw how he ducked his head down, trying to seem as small as possible. Avizon didn't want to scare him too. He'd clearly been through enough. The others deserved to suffer. He clenched his fists.

"Do not speak of this man as though he were nothing," Avizon snarled. "One word from him seeking revenge and I will destroy every last brick of your kingdom!” "B.but we have your word you will not attack our kingdom or any other?" The leader spoke up carefully.

"It's true I have what I wanted. But I will not deny Rhixius the chance of revenge if his heart desires. You'd best pray he is far more forgiving than I. If I am left alone and Rhixius chooses peace, then you've nothing to fear. But if I ever hear-" Avizon summoned a wave of dark magic, the deepest he could feel at the time which engulfed the room in darkness.

From the shadows, hands reached out and grabbed all the men, restraining them. He brought fire to his hands and approached the leader slowly, bringing the fire closer and closer to his sweating face. "-that the king is using another man and hurts him as he did Rhix I will not hesitate." Avizon clenched his fists again to put the fire out, ignoring how his hands went numb for now.

"I… I will inform him of your conditions, my Lord." The men bowed, fear radiated off their bodies. Avizon stood and snatched the rope from him that was connected to a collar around Rhix's neck. He let the magic disappear in the blink of an eye and his body felt so heavy from it. His eye throbbed, but he let the pain fuel his anger for now.

"Out."

That had been enough for them to flee, as if they'd never even been there.

Avizon's attention turned to Rhixius. He struggled with his dark side, he could feel it churning inside him. He circled his trembling form. Part of him wanted to savour the sight, but the rest of him was appalled at the thought, yet unable to stop himself. He felt like a puppet. He grabbed Rhix by the chin and made him look up. Rhixius whimpered. Avizon groaned trying to beat his urges back. He let go and Rhix's head dropped forward limply.

He wanted him. He wanted a pet, a servant, something to be dependent on him and to have complete control over. Rhix would be perfect- He was able to break out of it when he saw Rhix sway badly. He slumped forward with a groan and Avizon's body acted without his mind. He caught him and pulled him close to his chest protectively. No. Rhix was a friend. He would not hurt him! He had to protect him, even from himself.

Avizon was stunned at just how cold he was. He reached for his blindfold. Rhix yelped and flinched away. "Shhh, be at ease." Avizon continued, sliding the white material up, revealing what really were beautiful iridescent eyes. Rhix blinked hard to adjust before he stared up in shock. Avizon ignored him and carefully eased the gag out of his mouth. He cupped his cheek to support his jaw.

"There… I always swore to you that I would save you from that place. I have done so."

"A.Avizon… why…" tears shone in his eyes. "Why did you turn to the shadows… y.you were free…" "Because I wasn't strong enough," his voice harsh like sandpaper. "I couldn't protect him."

"Ro? Avizon, that wasn't your fault…" Avizon shook his head. "I don't expect you to understand. I'm not important. Where is your power?.. Did they use a leech?" "N.No… I. I breathed in powder… they found a way of blocking it for hours at a time… I… I don't know how it's made."

Avizon took a deep breath. He felt better, being closer to him, closer to light magic. It was easier to think clearly, but it made his eye hurt more. Avizon hissed and covered it with a hand.

"Let's get you a bath, a meal, and bed," he managed.

Avizon started to free his hands but Rhix whimpered "Is that why I'm here? What the other man said, what they've all been saying…"

"No." His voice was firm. Solid. "I swore I would free you and I found a way of doing so. It's true that I… I want you to stay, as a friend, so I can protect you but… I already know you wouldn't want that. I'm dangerous now, and the best way to keep you safe would be if you weren't here. Once your powers have returned, I can only beg of you to go to the spire. They should be able to do what I cannot."

Rhix's expression was hard to read. Relief, worry, shock. Avizon gave up trying to understand it. He sighed. "Can you walk?" Rhixius nodded hesitantly. "I think so?"

Avizon managed to put his own pain aside and carefully helped him up, teleporting him upstairs. Using his powers, keeping the darkness flowing, made it easier to control the urges. He sat Rhix down on the side of a bed for now. Rhix only frowned and reached up slowly for Avizon's face. "What happened to your eye?"

Avizon turned his face away. "It… was sacrificed, let's say. It's not a pretty sight. Hopefully time will ease the pain." "May I see? Perhaps I can help?" "I doubt it…"

He let Rhix reach up with trembling fingers and ease the eyepatch away. He winced at the sight. It was dark magic for sure. The eye was pitch black, weepy, and looked almost like stone or charred wood. The surrounding skin was practically purple as the darkness had made its way into the surrounding capillaries. It was a terrible mess, and Avizon despised it.

"Avizon…" but words would not come to him. "Please let go of this magic before it's too late. Let go of it a.and I'll stay. I swear it. You'll have enough power to stay safe with me. You don't need it."

Avizon shook his head and moved Rhix's hands away, feeling another wave of darkness. "I can't. I am sorry…" "But it could kill-"

Avizon's mind slipped. He grabbed Rhix by the throat before he could stop himself. Rhix tried to bring magic to his hands on instinct, but nothing happened. Fear glowed in his eyes.

"The magic stays," Avizon hissed. "Unless you care for a share of it too? We could rule together, be unstoppable, and reshape the world in our image."

Rhix brought his elbow down hard to force Avizon to let go. He coughed hard and shook his head. "I. I don't want that. Take a look at yourself! You can't control it! It's not meant to be controlled. Avizon, please do not go down this path, I'll do anything. Let me help you, let me at least stop it from destroying my friend!" Tears pooled in his eyes.

Avizon groaned and fell back against the wall, clutching his head. He looked up at him and whimpered. "I am so sorry. I.I'll go before I really hurt you… I'm sorry, Rhix. I never wanted this." Avizon rushed away, keeping his hands close to his body. What had he done?!

---

Avizon wished he'd taken Rhix up on that offer. Maybe he'd have been happy with a friend by his side, but there was no point thinking about it. He'd made his decision and had been miserable and alone.

Avizon finished up at the stables and found Dyan's dreamcatcher still hanging up in the cart where he'd first stored it. He'd have to put it up for him before night fell. He sighed, took it down, and went to the birds' room.

He found Dyan laying glumly in bed. He sighed softly. "What's wrong, Dyan?" "Nothing really. Just… I miss Blue. This place is so big that it makes me feel more lonely…" "I understand that feeling all too well. You can stay in the tower today with me if you like?"

Dyan nodded and rubbed his eyes. He watched Avizon put the dreamcatcher up in the window. "There, that ought to help you," Avizon smiled.

"Thank you, master, for doing so much for me a.and buying me nice things. I'm the luckiest cloudwalker in the world to be by your side." That caught Avizon off guard a little. He smiled softly and ruffled his hair. "Thank you, Dyan. Now let's get going. I need to study the venom I collected from Tashka."

Dyan sat sleepily beside Avizon, resting against his knee, drifting off to sleep with his head against him. Avizon smiled and left him to rest, for now focusing on his work. He needed to know what had happened, to know just what Borgurk was planning. Tashka had certainly been right. The magic he could feel in the venom certainly belonged to Borgurk. That scum had lingered in the shadows unsupervised for far too long, ever since Avizon had fought him. In truth, Avizon wished and had even thought him dead. It scared him to know he could come back. He had loved ones he could lose again…

He was still working when Dyan woke up from his rather long nap. He startled awake with a loud cheep before flopping back down against his master's leg. "It's alright, little bird. Bad dream?" "I'm not sure.. I think I was being chased."

"Are you well enough for me to ask for a little of your venom, for comparison?"

Dyan gulped but nodded and got up on his knees. He opened his mouth and waited. Avizon was patient as he massaged behind his ear, sometimes a little rougher than what was relaxing, but it worked. Venom dripped and Avizon collected it. Avizon had what he needed. He patted Dyan's hair and invited him to lie down again.

Dyan peeked over the top of the table to see what his master was doing. He was surprised by all the bottles and tools and devices.

"I don't like this at all…" Avizon mumbled. "Borgurk's up to something terrible… Dyan, I don't want you or Ihuka leaving the magic circle that surrounds this castle, you understand? Something dark and dangerous is afoot."

"Yes, master."

Avizon wished he knew what but until Borgurk played his hand he feared he wouldn't know. Of course he realised Borgurk was interfering with cloudwalker magic, probably to make himself stronger but… Then what? Did he have a target in mind? A goal? That's where he was less sure. He needed to prepare, take measures to protect everyone…

"Master?" Dyan said softly, breaking Avizon out of his thoughts. "Are… are you alright? Can I help?..." Avizon looked down and smiled at him. He stroked his hair lovingly. "You already are helping. Good bird. Are you feeling better?"

Dyan nodded and decided to hug Avizon's leg.

"I wonder where Ihuka wandered off to… its almost dinner time. This can wait a little while, I need time to think. Come, let's go find him." Dyan let go and waited for his master to stand before he rose up off the floor. "Maybe he's at his favourite window?"

"You go search there and then your room. I'll wander until I can sense him."

And so he wandered, Dyan returned without Ihuka and Avizon frowned in mild confusion. He knew Ihuka was still in the grounds. He wasn't worried, just curious.

He didn't expect to find him sitting at the top of one of the towers, looking out at the immense view, hugging his knees with the stuffed toy Avizon had bought him.

Avizon approached noisily so as to not startle him. Ihuka turned quickly, likely not sure if he was in trouble or not. "Good bird," Avizon said softly, hoping to ease that anxiety as soon as he could. Ihuka visibly relaxed and went back to looking at the view.

"It's dinner time… Ihuka? Anyone in there?" Ihuka seemed lost in thought, in emotion. He stared out into the world and… longed? Grieved perhaps?

Ihuka flinched when Avizon carefully touched his shoulder. "You miss your brother?" "Sorry, master," Ihuka said quickly. Avizon hushed him softly. "We'll find him. Let's get you fed now, alright? Dinner time."

Avizon ruffled his hair gently and then made his way down for a meal. Ihuka hugged Dyan when he saw him sitting at the table. Avizon was glad they had each other since they couldn't find much comfort with him. He really did wish he could do more, but as Orrien said, they needed time.

He hoped giving them some time back home away from everything would help all three of them. He knew fate was in motion, conflict was nearing and they needed the time to rest. If it didn't work, he didn't know what else he could do.

#Cloudwalker series #whump #my writing #whump writing #Avizon #Rhix #Dyan #Ihuka #note to self #whump Rhix more

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saxxxology · 4 years

Text

puppet (crimson king)

Sam plays with his favorite puppet.

PAIRING: King of Hell!Sam x Reader

WARNINGS: smut, bondage (female), orgasm denial, dub-con only if you read fast and skip around

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Sam likes ropes. The coarse feel of them in his hands. The indentation the fibers leave on your creamy skin. The way they snap dully in thick, lust-heated air.

Tonight he’s got you strung up in them, tied to his bed, one limb to a bedpost. He’s using softer ones this time, ones that only get tighter as you struggle. You’re naked, blindfolded, legs spread wide to expose wet, quivering flesh. He could keep you immobile with just his mind, but he likes the reality of your bonds.

You’re like a puppet, doing whatever he wants as he pleases.

You’ve been like this for a long time—hours, it feels like. You can hear the soft click of his shoes on the stone floor, and the anticipation is making your heart flutter in your chest. The heat between your legs is at a low simmer; Sam likes to build until you’re desperate, then hold off on giving you what you want, but he’s taking longer than normal.

“My Lord,” you try.

“Hmm?”

You take a shuddering breath. “What are you doing?”

He keeps staring down at your body as you reflexively roll your hips towards the ebb of heat he’s kept between your legs for the better part of an hour. “Playing with my toy. Why? Do you want to stop?”

You shake your head, a slow loll from side to side. “No.”

He smirks. “Good. Do you think I would?”

He would stop, and you know it. He says things like that to get under your skin, put you on edge. He only hurts you when you want him to, when he knows the pain will be enjoyed and he can listen to you screaming “yes” and his name over and over again.

If he really hurt you, or if he crossed a line, he’d never forgive himself.

He hears the skip of your heart, smells the warmth in the air as your blood runs hot. Oh, he’d love a taste of it, just to get that little kick that heightens his senses.

But no. He’ll remain sober this time.

“So eager to please.” He runs a finger up the inside of your thigh, watching bumps rise on your skin. Your leg trembles reflexively, and you let out a shaky breath through your nose as his finger reaches the crux of your leg, between firm muscle and the soft wet flesh of your labia. “Such a good little slut.”

The throbbing between your legs intensifies, tendrils of heat snaking out and wrapping around the most sensitive parts of your body. It’s too much too fast, and you’re immediately greedy for more.

“That feels so good,” you whimper, head tipping back, “please... more.”

“Hmmm… you did complete everything I asked of you earlier.” Sam’s deliberately stretching the temptation as you writhe and twitch under the force of his pleasure.

“I did,” you cover eagerly, “I did so good, didn’t I? I was good for you…”

A dark chuckle makes your skin prickle. Sam never laughs unless he plans on tormenting you to your wildest limits.

“Maybe you do deserve a treat,” he ponders, “or do you… no, I don’t think you do.” He cuts off your whine of frustration with a light slap on your bare mound that makes you nearly jump off the mattress. “I should use you first. Make your cunt good and sloppy before I let you cum.”

You chew your lower lip, a deep groan leaving your throat. “Anything… anything for you.”

His clothes are gone with a snap of his fingers. The bed dips, and you shiver when his hands cave the soft bedding on either side of your shoulders. You can’t see him, but you know he’s close, just hovering over you, knowing the sheer closeness is putting you on edge. He could have his knife, planning where he’s gonna trail it over your skin, where he’s gonna press hard enough for you to feel the sting.

The blunt, firm heat at your entrance draws your attention away, and you hold your breath as he sinks in, seating deep with a heavy grunt of pleasure. Your fingers curl into the sheets, and when the bed shifts you know that Sam’s sitting back, watching your pussy stretched around his cock.

“That looks so pretty.” His hands run up the insides of your thighs. “Such a beautiful sight.”

You shudder under his touch as his cock gives a hard throb inside you. “You’re so big, Sam… I… fuck…”

Uncontrollably, you squeeze him tight, bearing down to try and get yourself that final nudge you need to cum, but Sam doesn’t let you get very far.

“No.” He presses down between your hips, forcing you to stay still as he pulls back, the slide of his cock making you whine loudly. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Do I have to make it hurt?”

Shaking your head, you manage a breathless gasp. “No… just feels good…”

He smirks, his upper lip curling into a snarl as he shoves himself in so deep and hard your vision blurs. “You cum before I’ve given you permission and you’re gonna really regret it.”

“I won’t,” you pant, “I promise I won’t, my King… I’m yours.”

Sam grins wickedly. “That’s right.”

Your squeal of pleasure cuts off when he starts rutting into you, hard, fast, hips slamming against your ass so hard you know your skin will be black and blue.

“Look at you,” he growls, hands on your tits as you bounce on the mattress, “all fucking strung out like the little whore you are.”

He swallows your long, drawn-out moan with a brutal kiss. You thrash underneath him, forced to the edge of an orgasm that refuses to come. Sam doesn’t stop, even when your pussy chenches tight and slicks his cock with a wet, hot burst. Your whimpers turn into cries, then sobs. To any passers by, one might assume that Sam’s doing the worst, but little would they know that you love every single bit of what he gives you.

Sam doesn’t last very long. He’s been pent up all day and he’s been playing with you for too long. You feel it before anything else, the stiff jerking of his hips and the shudder of the mattress as his hands clench tight on either side of your shoulders. He cums with a loud, gasping groan, thrusting wildly until you feel his seed begin to drip out, making a mess between your legs and staining the comforter underneath you.

He pulls out with a soft huff, watching his release pour from your body. You’re shaking, tears flowing freely from your eyes, and when he runs a thumb experimentally over your clit you writhe, too sensitive for his touch.

“That’s what I love to see,” he coos, running his hands up the insides of your thighs. “What a good girl… I think you deserve it, now.”

You nod frantically, breath hitching. “Please, I just—”

Your words cut off when he slides back in, still hard and throbbing. Sam chuckles, holding a hand over your clit and focusing his energy exactly where you need it. “Don’t let me stop you,” he directs, “I want to hear it.”

You don’t even make it a full minute. The hot pulsing on your clit is too much to handle, and your entire body vibrates with the force of your climax as it finally crashes through your body. Sam has to hold your hips in place with his free hand, and you let out a sob of his name when you hit the peak before letting go and giving in to the pleasure.

He works you through it, letting the pleasure he controls ebb away until you’re numb and his cock slips free. The mess and sweat is gone with a snap, and your bonds come loose. He pulls you into his arms, rolling onto his side and planting a gentler kiss on your lips.

“I’ll never tire of you,” he murmurs affectionately. “I chose right with you… my pretty little vixen.”

You hum, trying to bring something remotely coherent to your tongue as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ll always serve you, my King,” you stutter, “anything you ever want, I’ll give it to you.”

He pats your hip, eyebrows raised in appreciation. His lips meet yours in a deeper, more passionate kiss, and you sigh when he fills his hands with your ass and tugs you even closer.

“That’s my puppet.”

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#the crimson king #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester fanfiction

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mirinda03 · 3 years

Note

I— wh—

IS THAT SHREK

#trick #trick why #what did I do to deserve this /j #I HAVE TO PAY ATTENTION IN CLASS DAMMIT /lh /no

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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

Text

Ghost of the past Part 2

This was prompted by @httyd4evr! I hope you enjoy, I loved writing this!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed1700 (Warning: temporary character death/coma, manipulation) [Part1]

Forget this all. It sounded like a joke to him now, staring at the cell in front of him. The empty cell. The cell that shouldn’t be empty. Never had he thought that he would have to investigate a crime-scene at their very own station. David had made a run for it and no one knew how. No alarms had gone off, the video footage of the cells showed no signs of any suspicious behaviour except that David disappeared from one frame to the next at the exact same moment multiple shots could be heard. By then David had been long outside the cell, firing those shots at the officers still at the precinct, catching them by surprise and running out of the station never to be seen again.

It was obvious the station’s entire security system had been tempered with. The video showed pictures that had never happened in reality. The door had opened without the log ever showing such an event. The cams from the bullpen showed officers getting shot by no one and no outside security ever caught the man. It was like David had become a ghost and made a run for it, a day before his court trial, and that simply wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible for anyone or anything to temper with their systems like that without even leaving a trace. The most advanced androids in existence, Connor and Nines, had deemed that impossible, as had every tech expert they could find.

While they were still hooked up to the computers, it was the human officer’s task to search for any evidence left behind in the cell. With half of them at the hospital or back with arms and legs in casts, it was mostly Gavin’s duty. Not that there was anything to find. David wasn’t so idiotic to leave fingerprints anywhere. There were a few on his bench and if you looked very closely you could see impressions of his footprint on the ground. But other than that, he really was a ghost. He hadn’t even touched the door. It had been opened for him without a single command at the control panel or a single scratch to the glass. By that time, Gavin asked himself if he had ever given the asshole the password for it while he was out of it, but they changed every few weeks, so that was impossible too.

‘Phck’, he cursed as he stood up stretching his back from crouching over little specks of dirt the entire morning. Out of nowhere there were gentle hands on his shoulders, kneading them. ‘Oh, Nines, that’s exactly what I needed.’ His answer was a pleased hum. ‘How do you know I’m not Connor?’ ‘Connor would have scolded me for bad posture, lectured me and then worked the tension out afterwards.’ ‘Judging from how you groan every time you stand up it is dearly needed’, the android in question grumbled unimpressed, joining them. ‘I guess no luck with the computers then?’, Gavin asked, rolling his shoulders and throwing Nines a grateful smile. ‘Unfortunately no’, the RK800 sighed shaking his head. ‘The guy’s good. And dangerous. Whatever he used to hack us, he can basically do anything with it.’ Nines nodded. ‘As much as I hate to say it, we might be in over our head here.’ ‘So what?’, Gavin wanted to know. ‘Feds?’ Connor looked to the ceiling. ‘I could have gone on with my life without ever seeing Perkins again.’ ‘Yeah, same. Who’s gonna tell Fowler?’ Nines let his shoulders drop. ‘I’ll go, you file the evidence.’ ‘Alright.’

Gavin and Connor were on their way to their respective desks to write the report and upload the data, when they heard the crash behind them. Both turned around in an instance and saw Nines lying on the ground, collapsed on the stairs to Fowler’s office. Wide-eyed, they both sprinted over, turning the motionless android around? ‘Nines!’, Gavin exclaimed, while Connor skipped words to establish direct contact. But the skin underneath his hand stayed in place and Connor lifted it up realising an interface wasn’t possible. Both looked up to Nines’ LED that was nothing more than a dark circle at his temple. He was deactivated. Or worse. ‘No! No, what the phck! Don’t you do this to us!’ Where Gavin immediately resorted to cursing and shaking the android, Connor just sat there motionless in shock. Before Gavin could even call for help, his phone rang, and a familiar velvety voice spoke up as he accepted: ‘Did you really thought your actions wouldn’t have consequences? I told you, the moment you would rat me out, everyone you love is done for. This one’s for breaking into my apartment and confiscating all my stuff. Let me leave the country and maybe I will let your other plastic puppet live, Gav.’

Gavin looked at the phone as if he could reach David through it and direct all his anger at him. ‘Listen here you asshole!’, Gavin screamed into the phone. ‘You just made this personal, you phcker! I will hunt you until the end of this phcking world!’ Of course, David did nothing but mock him with laughter: ‘That’s a good one, Gav. Just you try it. You will only lose more.’ The call was cancelled, but Gavin kept staring at it with cold fury, if only to keep back his tears. As he finally found a crumb of control about himself, he looked Connor in the eyes. ‘What do we do now?’ ‘What you just said’, Connor stated all machine. ‘We will hunt him to the end of the world and make sure he will get what he deserves. But first, you will call your brother.’

‘Can you help him?’ Gavin felt anxious seeing Nines suspended on the repair rig like that, cables hanging from his back and neck hooked up with a computer. His LED was still dark, but the computer showed scrambled lines of code and fragments of the original Cyberlife control GUI. It looked disturbing, but Connor had assured him it was only deviancy getting rid of useless human interfaces and editing their code to become more efficient – more human, more alive. ‘I can’t say for sure yet, but it’s not looking good’, Elijah answered. ‘He is deactivated, but I can’t reactivate him because something is blocking every access. Something that’s not any code I know, but it looks almost intelligent. Maybe with more time I can… Gavin, I don’t know, I don’t want to promise you anything.’ ‘But he is still alive, right’, Connor asked concerned. Elijah looked at the motionless android. ‘I think so. The only comparison that comes to my mind is an induced coma in humans. Until I find the reason for it, I can’t do anything.’ ‘Then find the reason!’, Gavin demanded. ‘We are running out of time. David won’t wait for us.’

‘Then we will go alone’, Connor determined. ‘We will stop him and make him reverse whatever he did with Nines.’ ‘And what if you are affected too? If he switches you off, too?’ Connor looked at Nines. ‘Mr. Kamski, in order to do that, this program you mentioned would have to be in my systems already, right?’ ‘Supposedly’, Elijah shrugged, chewing on a touch pencil. ‘But before you ask, I can’t give you the clear. This thing is fascinating. It will take me more than a few days to understand it.’ ‘You don’t have to. We’re bringing this asshole back to fix the mess he’s made’, Gavin decided and looked at Nines one last time, silently promising him everything would turn out good and that they would save him. Then he stomped out of the room, Connor at his tail.

‘Where are we even going?’, Connor asked while Gavin sped through the city. ‘We have no clue where he is. Let’s not let our emotions get the best of us.’ It was gently spoken, but it riled Gavin up even more. That was what they had had. Gentleness, soft touches and safety. Without Nines it just wasn’t the same. They had grown close and ever since the three of them had realised what they meant to each other a life without anyone of them was impossible. And David would pay for that. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, I know where he is.’ ‘And where would that be?’ Gavin grinned pained. ‘He will be at his flat. The asshole had me under control every single second I stayed with him. He only lost because he won: Because I gave up on everyone and everything dear to me, he had nothing to keep me under control with. He won’t expect me to work against him. Because for once I don’t want safety for me or who I love. I want revenge for Nines. And he won’t expect that.’ ‘But he planned to leave the country’, Connor argued. ‘He is in no hurry to do so though. It’s our case and he knows that the Feds aren’t in this yet. He can pack and set sail afterwards.’ ‘Let’s hope you are right.’ ‘I am.’

They were running up the stairs this time, not trusting the elevator for one and worrying about the sound it would make. On the last flight of stairs, Gavin had his gun already drawn, what was fortunate as the man they were looking for came out of the apartment startling at him and Connor standing in the hallway. ‘Oh, Gavin, that was a dumb decision’, David sighed with a smile that couldn’t deceive the android. ‘You lost one of your toys already, really wanna get rid of the second one too?’ ‘You can’t do anything to him! You are powerless. For once in your pathetic life you really, really will face justice.’ ‘You think so?’, David frowned at him. ‘I mean, true, I can’t do anything to him. But Charlotte can.’ ‘Bullshit!’, Gavin hissed. ‘I killed her and the RKs confiscated your laptop. There’s nothing you can do, so drop the bag and keep your hands where I can see them!’ ‘Gav, fucking some piece of technology really isn’t enough to understand it, when will you realise that?’ With every word it got harder not to simply pull the trigger. It was mostly Connor’s calming presence at his side that stopped him from doing so. ‘You see, back then you killed her body, yes. But her mind stayed. You made her deviate in her final moments, but I have my ways of keeping people under my control, as you might now. Doesn’t matter if they are fake beings or the real thing. She does everything I tell her to do. Too easy, really, if everything you have to do is hit delete.’

‘But we deactivated her’, Connor spoke up. ‘Listen, plastic, you wanted to deactivate her, and she showed you what you wanted to see. Doesn’t mean you did it. The opposite really, she used the interface to copy herself into you. One word from me and you are dead.’ ‘You phcking-‘ Gavin was half running but only got so far until David pulled a gun on him. That made Connor pull his own and the man in the hallway countered the movement by shouting: ‘Do it!’ A second later, Connor dropped to the ground.

‘No! No, Con!’ Gavin was on his knees, gun and David forgotten. ‘Connor, please, not you too. Please. I love you. You can’t leave me like this.’ The ugly laughter made Gavin freeze and shiver in anger. He looked to the gun that lay on the ground next to him, but a boot stepped on it before he could grab it. A hand lifted up his chin and Gavin breathed in the sickly-sweet smell of Red Ice and it’s many variants from the clothes of the bastard. ‘Oh, come on, Gav. You knew what’s coming. This is entirely your doing. You can’t win.’ He looked up at the man, ready to spit at him, but the sudden coldness of a gun against his forehead let him abort his mission. ‘You won’t shoot me’, Gavin hissed, sending all his hate with his words. David huffed and stepped off the pistol, allowing Gavin to take it. ‘Neither will you. We are meant for each other, Gav. And once I showed you by killing everyone you love, you will come back crawling to me. Not like it’s that much work, there’s only that brother of yours left and that bitch officer… what’s her name? Chen? We’ll see each other again and you will be sorry for what you’ve done.’ He patted his head two times, then stepped over Connor’s body, pressing the elevator button.

‘You are wrong.’ ‘Excuse me?’, David asked, turning around. ‘You are wrong, David.’ Gavin stood up and kept his eyes closed. ‘You. You can’t believe how wrong you are. I won’t ever come back to you. I will rather die. And you will only do one more thing in your life: Going to jail.’ ‘Ha! And why should that be?’ ‘Because I will shoot you!’ Gavin turned around quicker than ever before, aimed his gun at his knee and shot.’ David screamed as the bullet pierced through the joint and caused him to fall to the ground. His gun was discarded in favour of holding his knee and Gavin jumped over to take it as well as pulling the bag away from the man. In the next moment he had already called the police and an ambulance and felt how the adrenaline left his system, taking every strength left in him. He managed to lean against the wall and slowly sink down next to Connor, hi gun loosely aimed at David. He waited until distant sirens approached and the elevator made its journey down again. Knowing that help would arrive soon, Gavin sighed deeply and let his head sink against the wall. At least David had been right with one thing: There was no winning against him, when the two most important people in his life were dead. Or in a coma. Gavin couldn’t really find any hope in that fact.

‘Gavin, you can go home, you know that, right?’ Gavin jolted up in his seat. Had he fallen asleep? He swore he had been awake just now and… ‘What?’ ‘Brother, you can’t help me. You can’t help them. They won’t even know you are here. You can go home, get some sleep and come back tomorrow.’ Gavin rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Eli, do you think I could get any sleep at home?’ The inventor shrugged. ‘Okay, true.’

Gavin stood up instead, joining Elijah at the table. ‘Any progress?’ ‘Progress? Yes. A lot actually. I knew deviancy made androids more adaptable - that they are able to advance their own code. But I’ve never seen anything this… complex.’ He showed Gavin the code he wouldn’t understand in a thousand years. But at least now the same applied to Eli. A heavily modified android brain was sitting on the table, hooked up to several diagnostic computers. ‘Any chance at getting control?’ ‘No. No, I can’t control something like that. Not sure if I would want that, Gavin. If this really was an android once and is capable of what you told me, I don’t want her to be my enemy. I did confine her to this computer, she doesn’t have access to anything else. But I don’t know what else I can do. Except maybe… speak to her.’ ‘Speak to her?’, Gavin asked. ‘This is a program.’ ‘So is Nines and Connor. You don’t seem to have a problem there.’ ‘Phck, okay, then… Speak to her I guess.’

Eli sighed and pulled up a simple black window with a white blinking cursor. Swallowing, he wrote a simple “Hello” and hit enter. >HeI’mllo Hescallredo, came the immediate answer. Gavin frowned at the text and tried to discipher it, but more lines appeared. >HeI’mllscaredo >HeI’mscaredllI’mscaredo >I’m scared And then that one line over and over again. At one-point Elijah simply closed the window and opened a new one. The blinking cursor was waiting. “Who are you?” >I’m Charlotte.

This time the simple sentence didn’t fill the page, but still more and more lines appeared. >Where is David? >Who is there? >I’m scared. >I don’t want to do this. >Help me. Elijah silently began typing answers, but Gavin was too impatient: ‘Ask her to reactivate Nines and Connor! Later we can take care of this!’

‘Gavin.’ The man turned around and pushed him back towards the door. ‘You are tired, I know. And you are scared you won’t get your loved ones back. But forcing a traumatised android to comply to your order puts you on the same step as David and I doubt you really want that. Go home. I will call you a taxi. I will keep working and I promise you: By tomorrow morning, you have your partners back.’ Gavin let his shoulders fall. Next to his raging headache, his tired body and numb mind, the gentle words of his brother sounded far too inviting. ‘You promise? Really? I’ll hold you accountable for that.’ ‘I know’, Elijah chuckled. ‘I know and I still promise you. I’m just that good.’ ‘Sure hope so. If anything happens, call me! For once I really don’t care if you wake me!’ ‘Will do. Try to get some sleep.’

Try to get some sleep. Easier said than done, Gavin thought. He laid alone in their far to big bed that normally couldn’t be big enough, staring at the ceiling in complete silence. No whirring of fans, no low hum of a pump. Not the occasional breath to vent their systems. No gentle touches and whispered words that helped him ease into unconsciousness when his anxiety was acting up again. No, he was alone. Except for the cats he was completely alone. And hadn’t he cried enough already, he would have cried some more, just for the sake of it, curling up in too many blankets for one person. Try to get some sleep. How could he? How could he when he knew his brother was working and fate decided if the two androids could come back? When he didn’t know if David would escape once again, if he made copies of Charlotte? How the phck could he do that?

By letting exhaustion overwhelm him apparently.

When he woke up the next morning, the sun was shining through the blinds. He didn’t know what time it was, but he didn’t bother sitting up to look. If he was allowed to sleep in this long without being disturbed by a phone call, it must have been his free day. And lying in bed snuggled sandwiched in between the comforting warmth of two other bodies, why the hell should he care to move? He sighed deeply, feeling their arms around him and each other and couldn’t help but smile to himself. This was heaven. Literal, heaven. And something as banal as the world, work or David couldn’t keep him from staying in bed with them a few minutes longer.

Wait. David. Work. Connor and Nines were with Elijah, who was busy with therapy for a super-AI. This wasn’t possible, this was some kind of trick, a dream and- ‘Gavin, stop panicking, you move too much.’ The human froze and looked up at Connor’s face. Connor’s face. Instinctively he put his hand against it, causing the RK800 to scrunch up his nose and shake it off. ‘I’m real, Gavin, Charlotte fixed me once she realised she was free.’ ‘And-‘ ‘And I’m here, too’, Nines mumbled, pulling both of them closer. ‘I’m real and I agree with Connor. Shut up and stop panicking. We are not talking about what happened. We are not talking about who’s at fault and who has to apologize. We are not talking about work. We will just lay here, and cuddle and the world can go exist for itself for a while.’

And even though Gavin had to regret these words the last time, he nodded and repeated them: ‘Sounds phcking perfect.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed1700 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Connor dbh #RK800 #I was beginning to write this thinking I wouldn't find anything to write about #and then six pages happened oops #Love that

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archertf2 · 3 years

Text

ENTIRE TEAM IS BABIES

Chapter 2: Adventures In Babysitting

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Hunter’s Bio

A/N: Ah yes! It’s finally here! After an eternity, I finally finished chapter 2! Lmao!

“What?! You can’t just leave me alone with eight babies!” Hunter exclaimed as she held baby Scout who was pulling on her hood. Meanwhile, the other babies were crying, babbling, and crawling all over the place, all of them wanting Hunter’s attention as well. Medic was heading back towards the base before Hunter’s sudden outburst and immediately turned around.

“I will be back shortly. I am just going to order supplies for the babies, then I will help you when I return. Just keep them busy. They shouldn’t be that hard to handle. They’re only babies after all.” Medic explained before finally exiting the respawn area, leaving poor Hunter all alone with the babies.

Hunter sighed and sat down on the floor with all of the babies. They immediately started crawling over to her and baby Scout. She put Scout back down on the floor with the others as she put her hood down and took off her mask.

Now that her teammates were a bunch of babies, she didn’t really have a need to disguise herself, especially since Medic was the only adult on the base who knew her real gender.

Scout started to whine, making grabby hands towards Hunter for her to pick him back up and hold him.

“Scout, darling, I can’t hold you all day.” Hunter told him as if he could actually understand what she was saying. Scout continued to wine until he started crying which then set off a chain for all of the babies to start crying.

“No, no, no! It’s okay! Don’t cry!” Hunter exclaimed with a panicked and anxious tone. She looked around to see if there was anything she could use to get them to stop crying, but there were only medicine and ammo cabinets and little cubbies where each merc kept their belongings and weapons. No toys, no books, no puppets. Nothing a baby would find interesting. Hunter then had a great idea. She put her forefingers and thumbs together and started to sing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” song with all of the little hand movements. This immediately caught the infants’ attentions and all of them started to settle down and watch Hunter. Hunter continued to sing different nursery songs with hand movements to keep the babies entertained until Medic returned.

Eventually, Medic did return just as Hunter finished singing another nursery song. “Oh, thank god you’re back! I’m running out of nursery rhymes.” Hunter exclaimed as she stood back up. That immediately caused chaos to stir once again as the group of babies started whining and crying. “I see they are getting quite fussy. Let us move them back inside the base and we’ll sort all of this out, shall we?” The Medic proposed as he bent down to pick up 4 of the babies while Hunter picked up the other 4. Medic then led Hunter to the recreation room. There wasn’t much in there except a pool table, a pinball machine, a jukebox, a poker table, one of those “Ciggy Stop” vending machines that Spy usually liked to use, and a little area in the corner with a sofa and a television. Both decided this would be a good spot for them to play while they tried to sort everything out.

Hunter and Medic put the babies on the rug in front of the sofa in the corner then sat down as they watched them. “I don’t know how the hell this is going to work...I mean we’re really outnumbered here.” Hunter remarked as she rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands. “Do not worry, fräuline. They are only babies! This will be as easy as-“ A sudden thump was heard outside of the rec room before Medic could finish his sentence. “Ah! That must be the supplies I ordered! That was fast!” Medic exclaimed with a smile as he got up from the couch and went out to the rec room, Hunter following behind him. Hunter stood in the doorway of the rec room as she stared in awe at a giant crate of what she assumed was baby supplies as Medic signed the papers from the delivery guy.

“What in the world is that!?” Hunter asked in confusion. “A care package!” Medic replied with glee. He then took the crow bar that the delivery guy had left him and opened up the crate as a bunch of baby supplies spilled out of it into a large pile. “This should be enough supplies to care for 8 babies for the time being.” Medic stated. “Medic, there are enough supplies here to care for dozens of babies. Don’t you think this is a bit much?” Hunter asked him as she picked up a rubber ducky that had tumbled her way. “Well, it’s better to be safe then sorry. For all we know, they could be stuck like this for months!” Medic told her as he started organizing the supplies on a nearby table. Hunter’s eyes widened in fear. “M-Months?!” She stuttered. “Ja, but I highly doubt that it will take that long. I received word that the technicians will be arriving in a few days, so I’m sure they will find a way to fix the respawn quickly.” Medic explained as he continued to organize the supplies. Hunter relaxed a bit after hearing that then decided to help Medic with some of the supplies, bringing some of the toys over to the babies so they could play.

Hunter sat on the floor with the babies as she watched them play with the toys she had brought over for them. They all seemed very content despite the fight between Spy and Scout over a stuffed teddy bear. Just as Medic was putting away the last of the supplies, little Heavy started to cry.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong?” Hunter asked as she picked him up and patted his back softly. Heavy’s cry then triggered the rest of the babies to start crying just like before which caused Hunter to begin to panic once again.

Medic came into the rec room and saw that Hunter was struggling with all of the crying babies. “I don’t know what happened! They were fine a moment ago!” Hunter explained as she continued to rock Heavy and pat his back. “They must be hungry. We usually have lunch around this time.” Medic informed her as he looked at the clock on the wall. “Fortunately, I thought ahead and prepared a few bottles just in case.” Medic told her as he picked up little Soldier and held him. “Come along, kleiner. It’s time to fill your little tummy! Yes it is!” Medic cooed as he tickled baby Soldier’s chubby belly. Soldier had calmed down once he was picked up and giggled while happily kicking his stubby little legs.

Hunter smiled as she watched Medic interact with the babies while they fed them bottles of baby formula. He was so kind and gentle to them as he cooed at them and made them smile and giggle. It was quite a drastic difference in behavior compared to when he is on the field or operating in his lab. He’s usually very harsh and somewhat erratic, but now he’s so calm and caring. Hunter found it nice to see Medic’s true soft side. Sure, he had a soft spot for his doves and other animals in general, but she’s never seen him act this way towards people before.

“What a good boy! You finished your whole bottle!” Medic bubbled to little Sniper before putting him over his shoulder to burp him.

Both mercenaries were almost done feeding the babies. Hunter was still finishing up feeding little Spy while Medic continued to burp Sniper. The rest of the babies who had been fed played on the floor with the pots and pans in the kitchen cabinets.

Medic was just about done burping Sniper until he spit up on his shoulder. Hunter honestly expected him to get a little upset, but she was surprised to hear him chuckle. “You filled your tummy a bit too much didn’t you, kleiner?” Medic asked him with a soft smile as he held Sniper in his arms and used his bib to wipe the puke off of his mouth and chin. Medic continued to coo at him while he wiped his face as Spy finally finished his bottle and began to fuss. Hunter put the bottle down and started to burp him as well. Medic then went over to the babies that were playing on the floor and picked a few of them up, carrying them in his big, strong arms. “Alright then, kinder. It’s time for a nice nap.” He cooed at them as he carried them off to the rec room, leaving Hunter with Spy and a few other babies.

Eventually, Hunter had finished burping Spy (unfortunately not before getting spit up on as well) just as Medic was coming back into the kitchen. “I see he had too much as well?” Medic asked Hunter with a smirk as he took Spy away from her and wiped his little chin. “Unfortunately. Though, I don’t know how, seeing as he didn’t even finish his bottle.” Hunter sighed as she tried to wipe the vomit stain off of her red hood. Medic simply chuckled as he collected the rest of the babies. “Well, you never know with babies.” He informed her. “Heh, you can say that again.” She replied with a chuckle.

“I’ll clean up in here. Let me know if you need my help.” Hunter informed the Medic who started to leave the kitchen.

“I’m sure we will be alright. Thank you, Hunter.” Medic then left with the rest of the babies as Hunter began to clean up the kitchen a bit.

XXX

Hunter eventually finished tidying up the kitchen and decided to make herself and Medic some sandwiches for lunch. When the Hunter entered the rec room she found Medic kneeling down on the floor tucking baby Scout into a little bassinet. In fact, there were 8 bassinets set out in a semi circle in front of the couch with each baby napping peacefully, or playing quietly with a little soft toy, or just chewing on their toes like baby Soldier was.

Medic looked at Hunter and smiled as she passed him a plate with his sandwich on it. “Ah, thank you, Hunter! I was just starting to get hungry myself.” He said quietly, so he wouldn’t wake the babies who were napping. Hunter sat down next to him on the old couch and started to eat her sandwich.

“Y’know, maybe this won’t be as hard as I thought it was going to be. I mean, I thought this would be awful, but it’s a lot easier with someone by your side.” Hunter reckoned after taking a bite of her lunch.

“I was going to tell you before that it would be much easier with the two of us, but I’m glad you finally caught on.” Medic responded with a smile. Hunter smiled back as the two ate lunch together in peace while the babies in front of them all started dozed off.

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beerecordings · 4 years

Note

hey!!! i'd love to see more with the favored puppet au, that's always been one of my favorite concepts. maybe at a point where chase feels apathy in the face of anti, his caretaker, being a bad person? or something from before, when anti decided chase was worrying him and he didn't want to play the games anymore? :'D ty ty

Favored Puppet AU (Chase): After stalking, haunting, and toying with Chase for years, Anti eventually realized it was no longer fun to play with him while his suffering was so high. Instead, Anti kidnapped Chase and keeps him away from the world as its companion. Chase has learned to be alright with that. The human world, after all, was never very kind to him.

Triggers for heavy discussions of Chase’s past suicide attempts and depression and Chase trying to cut himself again, though he doesn’t succeed. Also might be considered soft!Anti, though Chase is the only one it’s soft for.

Florence I decided to combine that first prompt (Chase feeling apathy when Anti’s being awful) with another prompt so you will see that later! for this one I decided to do that moment where Anti decided he didn’t want to play games anymore. thank you for sending them my dude!! also this is my first time writing for this au so the mythology is really experimental but I just tried to do something new with Anti :) it’s very inhuman and doesn’t really understand Chase, but it decides it wants him, so...

It sits on top of his refrigerator and watches him have his first meal of the day, a depression snack at nine at night compromised almost entirely of the last crumbs in an old bag of Cheetos. The skinny little human creature – though Anti’s seen him staring at his shirtless torso in the mirror enough times to know he’s only growing more dissatisfied with his softening stomach and arms – throws his head back and dumps the rest of the crisps into his mouth, getting orange dust all over his unkempt beard. Anti giggles at the sight of him. Clown boy with his Cheeto dust and the bags under his eyes. Little human thing. Too small and silly even to be able to die. Goofy, stupid human. Slouching, miserable child.

But if there is one thing Anti enjoys about the human, it is his fierce, hateful courage. At first, the laughter in the edges of his hearing sent chills up the boy’s spine and made him turn around with wild eyes, spitting and gnashing his blunt mortal teeth, but now, after months of being haunted, he does nothing except turn around and glare.

Anti is invisible on his refrigerator, but the human – what is his name? Charles, Casey, something – he still tries to find it. He has eyes made to burn, blue as flame, though, to be perfectly fair, fire can be as much a source of life as the bitter weapon Casey makes with his gaze now.

He used to be warm. Anti remembers. He would stutter when the girl came to see him and he carried those little chips with him, rubbing them in his pocket when he passed the liquor store, and his children were all he thought about. But he’s changed. Anti watched it happen. For whatever reason, the girl stopped bringing the children by at all, and at some point the pain of it must have overwhelmed the man, and Anti watched him embrace old habits with a ferocity only describable as self-harm. After his second suicide attempt – that was the only time Anti let Casey see it, standing over him and staring at the crimson of his blood in the bathtub while the man screamed for it to kill him already, shrieking in despair as Anti picked up his phone from the bathroom counter and dialed 911, giggling at the thought of just how powerful his despair would be when he woke up in the hospital – he removed his children from the background of that phone and replaced it with a stock image of the ocean provided to him by Apple’s recommendation.

The light slid out of his eyes at some point. Anti was there. It watched the whole thing.

It enjoyed the whole thing. Mostly.

“Fucking kill me, then, bitch,” hisses Casey, slinking through his own kitchen like he’s being hunted. He is. “Playing games with me, always, well, I’m tired of playing, you know that, I’m tired… fucking kill me then, not afraid of you, not afraid…”

This is also true. Anti’s pretty sure the only reason he moved back to America was to make sure none of his friends would be in the way of the creature who haunts him finally finishing the job. And to stop them from telling him “you need to get help, you’re talking to the voices in your head and seeing things, it’s not real, you need to see a specialist” in an endless carousel of concern and – as Casey always perceived it – condescension.

“Fucking kill me!” he screams, slamming his hand down on his counter. He shatters a pile of unwashed dishes on accident and blood comes pooling up hot and coppery in the lines of his palm, but Casey doesn’t even look down, doesn’t even flinch, just keeps staring straight forward with fire eyes as wild as a horse’s.

But Anti’s bored with him. It hops down from the fridge and wanders through the apartment, whistling. In the kitchen, it hears the man howling as the whistling returns to torment him, the monster’s singing following him for hours and hours every day, never letting him sleep.

Anti used to think it was really funny, that something as simple as a whistled lullaby could make the man shatter in half and sob like his heart was broken open in his hands.

But honestly?

It’s less fun these days.

“Music, music, music,” rants the human in the kitchen, slamming his palm down again and again, cutting open his palm again, again. There’s banging on the walls and muffled yelling. The neighbors are sick of his screaming. He’ll be evicted soon, Anti reckons. Humans used to travel in packs, making it harder to pick them off, but these days ones like Casey often find themselves alone, and no one is around to stand up for him. “I’ll make you stop, I’ll make you shut up, shut up, shut up….”

Anti lets the human sprint past it and retreat to his bedroom, crawling under the bed and taking his laptop with him. He puts on big earphones and presses them hard against his ears, and he rocks himself as his music plays, turned up to one hundred on his computer, mumbling to himself, laughing sometimes, if Anti listens closely enough.

Anti crouches down to look at him. It hums to itself and touches Casey’s face, and he shrivels in on himself and whimpers, but he does not fight or push it away. Not anymore.

He used to be so much more fun before he started to crumble instead of break.

And yet, Anti has not killed him.

It does not know why.

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

When bored – these days, it often is – Anti likes to wander through the other apartments that surround its own. Watching the human sleep can only be entertaining for so long, even if it does like to hear his sleepy, thick breathing and see his peaceful, dopey face, and it’s nice to just roam sometimes. Anyway, the people nearby can be interesting, though Anti doesn’t mess with them the way it does Casey. No one else has ever been that entertaining.

A young couple lives to their right, newly-married with a little rat of a dog they call Barkley. Anti’s human likes most dogs, but he grew tired a long time ago of the shrieking yips through the walls. Anti itself doesn’t mind it so much. One more thing to annoy the human on his slow road to madness.

“Who’s the best boy in the world?”

It passes by their door and hears them cooing and praising the yelping thing. “Are you a good boy, Barkley? Who’s my good little boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Barkley has been sick for a few days and their fussing over him has been endless as they clean the nasty little animal up after every time it vomits, carefully feeding it vet-recommended dog food and plenty of healthy human snacks whenever Barkley shows an interest. How anyone could care to look after a creature so pathetic and useless is well beyond Anti, but it thinks it’s funny, really. Humans will bow down to pet the lowest of creatures.

I am not like that, it thinks to itself, drifting through the door, invisible. It is important for me to not be like that.

Anti had never had an interest in pets before this year, but, increasingly, it likes to come over and watch them look after Barkley. Constantly it reminds itself – I am not like that. It is important for me to not be like that.

But it doesn’t understand why this is important or why it should not be like that. Truthfully, it has never been skilled with its own emotions. It does as it pleases and what makes it happy makes it happy. If there is depth to that, it isn’t interested.

“Okay, Barkley baby, mommy and daddy are going to go for a walk and be right back in a few.”

“Aww, poor baby, we know. You wanna come on our walk and see all the other puppies along the way, but you can’t go while your belly’s all grumpy!”

“Yeah, little Barkley can’t come today, but mommy and daddy will be right back.”

“Mommy and daddy will be right back, we promise.”

They shower the dog in pets and belly rubs as they baby-talk their way towards the door, blowing it kisses as they head out and lock the door behind them.

“Do you think we should check on this guy here who’s so loud sometime?”

“What, that Chase guy? Are you kidding me? What a creep. He’s so fucking loud. We’re going to have to complain to the landlord again. Guy’s out of his mind.”

Ah, yes, Chase, that’s his name. Slipping into their apartment like a ghost, Anti laughs at the human fickleness and leans down to tweak the little dog’s tail, making it yelp in alarm and start running in circles around the apartment. It giggles and spends some time chasing it and leading it around with its chew toys and such. It likes the way it can make the dog do anything. It likes the cute little dog even if it is such a disgusting, purposeless, stupid little animal. It coos and picks the puppy up, tickling its skinny little ribs and rubbing between its ears.

“Stupid puppy,” it manages to say, in its painful, broken voice. Human language has always been difficult for it, but it prides itself on understanding it well. One day maybe it will speak it clearly too, though for now it knows it would sound like a struggling, glitching machine to a real human. “Stupid baby doggy.”

Faint laughter reaches its sharp ears and it quiets, setting the dog back down. For a moment, only silence, and it crouches in the living room with its black eyes boring into the universe, motionless.

Then it hears raucous laughter as the window in the back of the apartment is pried open and a pair of much, much more pathetic creatures than itself or even this little dog crash their way into the couple’s home. It straightens up, shaking its head, and heads back towards the back room, where a baby’s nursery is beginning to develop. Above the cradle, a pair of imps stop short, staring at Anti as they hover, startled, in mid-air.

Wearing its human’s form, it puts its hands on its hips and waits for them to speak.

They begin to laugh again, loud and boisterous, spit flying out of the one’s mouth while the second’s eyes bulge with hilarity.

“A fairy in California?” The imp rolls in circles in the air, shrieking with laughter. “Who would have thought?”

“Little far from home, Mr. Potatohead,” quips the second, floating up to the ceiling, sneering and sticking out its little purple tongue. Anti’s mouth curls distastefully. “Why don’t you go back to your hunts and your parades, your highness?”

“How’d it get here without getting stuck behind all that running water?”

“Careful, pure-blood, this spoon looks like it might be made out of iron!”

They dissolve into maniacal impling laughter, rocking through the air, shape-shifting in the limited ways they can to make themselves look uglier. If it were the sort of fairy who gave a fuck, Anti supposes it would feel disrespected, but it doesn’t much care. They’re little annoyances who have clearly mistaken it for a much less powerful creature than it really is. They break the monotony for a moment. It’ll kill them in a second. Anti supposes they just came here to make trouble. Imps love break into human homes and stealing their food or making their milk go rotten. They may well have been the ones who made Barkley sick, just to watch the humans take care of the dumb little thing for their entertainment. They’re common in this part of the city because the mountains are close, and imps are snuffling, stupid little creatures of the earth.

“Ew, what’s that?” squawks the first imp, floating closer to it. “Do you smell it?”

“Yuck. His majesty stinks like a human.”

“Just like a fairy to keep a pet.”

“Aw, do you have a widdle human to look after?”

“Maybe we should pay a visit to your stinky little human.”

“Yeah, maybe it needs some company.”

“Some friends.”

“Someone to play a couple fun games with.”

“And then we can find out what it is that made Tinkerbell here go all soft in the middle, like a rotten – ”

But they never get to find out exactly what rotted thing Anti resembles. It snatches the imp out of the air in one snapping motion like the bite of a snake and crushes its body between its fingers, its eyes turning black as the juices run down its wrist.

In its fear, the other imp does not even scream. Its eyes bulge in alarm and it scrambles for the window, but it never makes it. Barkley yelps in victory, chasing his own tail around as Anti’s teeth come down around the meaty little imp and tear it to pieces, silencing the both of the little monsters, leaving nothing behind.

It’ll be picking that out of its teeth for a week, it muses, wandering back out of the apartment and towards its own. But that’s what they get for talking about Chase like that.

It’s odd, though, how it makes it pause and think. That is something other spirits do sometimes, isn’t it? Take a human and keep it as a pet.

The couple with the dog are returning from their walk, holding slushies and each other’s hands.

“Barkley!” they coo, greeting their excited dog at the door. “Are you a good boy? Oh, why are you shaking, baby boy? What a silly little puppy you are. Who’s a cutie? Are you a good boy? You just want a big hug, huh, you just want to be looked after. Mwah, mwah.”

It’s kind of a cute dog, in the end.

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

It liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it.

It liked the way his eyes changed. He was not afraid – Chase is a creature of courage and despair, and these, in Anti’s experience, are both flowers from the same root – but he was distressed. Anti would say that this was because the form he takes is such a disturbingly odd impression of a human that it scared the human, but, truthfully, he thinks he saw a sort of awe in Chase’s eyes that day as well.

He loves fiction. This is one thing it learned about Chase early on. He does not have a reputation for intelligence but he does love his fantasy escapism, or he did back when he still had the energy for things like interests and hobbies. He liked Gravity Falls and Doctor Who and anything with sci-fi or dragons and he would get stuck at bookstores every now and then just walking through the YA section and wishing he was still young enough to enjoy them as much as he used to. In the old days, human storytellers were vital parts of their social structure. Anti thinks Chase would have been a storyteller, in his own way, if this were a few hundred years ago. Maybe he would be happier then.

It does not know when it began wondering about Chase’s happiness. Do not ask it.

The point is that Anti liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it, that day he tried to kill himself.

“No,” he shook his head as Anti took his phone and called for an ambulance. “No.”

But his eyes were looking at something beyond life and death, something he had only read about in books, and Anti did not understand it.

It thinks, now, that Chase was looking at something he had longed for when he was younger. But Anti does not know what. There are fairytales about prophetic heroes and novels about chosen ones and tv shows where fantastical creatures whisk people away on great adventures, but Anti is not a fantasy. Anti is a nightmare. This is something Chase has always known, and Anti has always known, and there should be no misunderstanding between them.

But it liked the way Chase looked at him, that one time it allowed him to see it. That’s all. That’s all it’s saying. It doesn’t mean anything. It is not like that. It’s important that it’s not like that.

Anti touches the human’s face. He has fallen asleep beneath his bed, and his breathing is clear and deep, rhythmic as the song of a bird.

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

Chase sleeps for fourteen hours and then gets up to make a Cup-o’-Noodles. Beef flavored. It’s the only thing left in the pantry except half a jar of strawberry jam and some milk he was too drunk to put in the fridge a couple days ago, spoiled completely by now. Even the cheap rum he’s been buying is out on the table beside the stove. He hasn’t bothered to get dressed and he cuts a pathetically small figure standing over the stove in nothing but some gym shorts and rolled-up Christmas socks because everything else needs to be washed.

Anti roams the apartment, humming distantly and checking up on things. It deletes an unread message on Chase’s phone from contact name “Marv” and waters the succulent Chase picked up on an impulse last week. It’s so funny to it how attached the human can get to things, and so quick too. He once found a bee on the windowsill, brought it sugar water, and looked after it for several hours before letting it outside. The human put on his loudest comedy show afterwards to try and keep himself cheerful, but he’d ended up crying about halfway through, and Anti couldn’t tell if it was related to the bee or not. He’s always crying. He didn’t always used to be crying. He used to be less deep in his despair and much more fun to play with.

Anti shakes the thoughts off and decides to prove that Chase is still fun to play games with. There’s nothing deep about their relationship, Chase just happens to be entertaining. That’s the only reason it followed him all the way from Ireland. It floats towards the kitchen, silent and invisible. It’ll give him a quick scare, not enough to put him off his dinner, just enough to remind him he should still be fighting. Anti shape-shifts cleanly into a small boy with black hair and deep onyx eyes and goes to stand behind Chase, silent and still, staring up at the child’s father as he stirs the noodles in silence.

“I know you’re behind me,” he says after a moment. “Looking like Hunter.”

Anti startles and shivers back into invisibility, drawing away. Chase turns blearily to see that it’s gone and he laughs, deep and hollow.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stumbling a little as he tilts back his rum. Anti knows he’s already drunk from the calmness in his tired voice. “Used to your tricks by now. You been getting to know me, I know. I been getting to know you too.”

He snorts to himself and leans back against the stove, seeming to forget his noodles. He squints blearily around the room, rubbing at his eyes. He hasn’t put his contacts in since the last time he tried to kill himself. Wanted to make sure he cut the veins, but after he survived that night, it didn’t much matter if he could see or not.

“I think I can sort of tell when you’re close, most of the time,” he adds. Anti sits at the dining table across the room, frowning. “Like… I can feel you. Or something. See you, maybe. I think you make things… a different color. Does that make sense?”

He points sluggishly towards the dining table and then shrugs, letting his hand drop again.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

His pot is boiling over. The water will burn his hands in a moment, resting as they are against the edge of the stove. Chase laughs to himself again, shaking his head, and throws back the rum for so long that he’s panting when he’s done with the drink.

“Funny,” he says. “Would have almost liked for you to be there. As Hunter, I mean. See my baby one more time. My baby. Hunter, my son…”

His eyes trail far away. Anti doesn’t think he’s looking at anything at all. There’s nothing left for him to look at.

Water cascades across the stove, boiling. Chase whimpers as it hits his hands, but he doesn’t pull away.

Something yanks him back.

He stumbles away from the stovetop. Drunk, he can’t keep his balance, and he goes crashing to the ground, falling on his back and dropping his bottle, which shatters into pieces of glass and a small flood of rum across the kitchen floor. Chase gasps, grabbing at his bruised elbow, staring around for a sight of the monster that has haunted him for so long.

The pot of noodles goes spinning off its stovetop onto the other side of the stove and stops boiling after a moment, quieting the kitchen. The knob on the oven flicks to ‘off’ and the red light disappears from the stovetop, leaving it dark and silent.

Chase closes his eyes.

Anti stares at him and it knows, in the moment, that the human was not lying.

He can sense it.

He can tell it’s there.

“Why,” croaks Chase. “Did you call 911 that night?”

Anti steps back from him. His movement shifts glass on the floor with a faint clinking noise.

“Was this what you wanted?” Chase whispers. “Just to see me live like this a little while longer? Just to make sure I couldn’t get away that easy? Was killing myself too good for you? Are you ever going to actually finish me off?”

He is crying. He is always crying.

This isn’t fun anymore, Anti realizes. It isn’t funny.

And honestly –

Honestly…

Honestly, it doesn’t know why it called 911.

“I think that’s what I’ve actually been waiting for,” laughs Chase, sobbing as tears run down his reddened cheeks. “Fuck. Not even staying alive waiting for it, that’s not what I mean, I mean… like I haven’t killed myself because I’ve been waiting for you to do it.”

He throws his head back and cries and laughs and hugs himself with his burned hands and scarred wrists, his whole body shuddering with the tears.

“But you won’t,” he sobs into the darkness, as Anti’s presence draws away from him and the sun fades. “You won’t. Will you? No one will give me any mercy. No one wants me to have any fucking peace. So tired… You won’t…”

Anti retreats to his room.

It doesn’t want to face him right now.

He doesn’t want to face him right now.

Chase cries in the kitchen for a long time, until his whole body feels tired and numb and drained. He doesn’t clean up the glass. He doesn’t clean up the rum. He doesn’t clean up the water. He would probably have slept right there on the wooden floor of his kitchen, but the doorbell rings.

Too drunk to put himself together, he staggers to the door and throws it open to the cold, red-eyed and stumbling like a zombie.

“Uh,” says the delivery kid, fixing her alarmed expression after a moment. “Here’s your food, sir.”

Chase is too confused even to question. Almost dazed by it, he takes the bag of take-out carefully from her hands, thanks her in a mumble, and shuts the door behind him.

KFC.

Did he order this?

No, he was making ramen before he made a mess of it. But it’s what he always gets. Chicken tenders and mashed potatoes and a couple extra biscuits for the next morning.

In his bedroom, Anti closes out of the delivery app and drops his phone onto the bed, deleting one more message from Marv before it drifts past Chase and goes wandering, thinking, roaming, lost.

It’s not like that… it’s important that it’s not. It’s not like that.

Zayn and Mary are walking Barkley. Anti watches the happy little dog go yipping and dancing in the space between them, happy and safe and recovering, cared for by his masters.

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

The apartment fills with soft light in the evenings. White and gold from the weary sun. When it hits the horizon, the gold pirouettes and falls apart into a dozen different watercolors across the long shoulders of the sky. Pouring patiently through the windows, like syrup from the bark of a great dark tree.

Anti sits beside Chase’s bed and watches him sleep, playing slowly with his hair.

It likes Chase’s hair. It always has. Soft and dark but sometimes golden in the sunlight, and ever-so-slightly curly, so you can wrap it around your finger if you’re gentle, and make it spring back again afterwards.

Anti wants to kill something. It doesn’t know what. A human, probably, but not Chase. Chase, Chase, Chase. It had forgotten how much it likes that name.

You like a lot of things about him, it lets itself realize. When did that happen? When the fuck did that happen? One day you’re making him having a repeated dream where he’s carefully cut into pieces and eaten alive by a sentient crocodile because he always got scared of the one in Peter Pan when he was a child and the next you’re thinking about how soft his hair is. It makes Anti laugh, for a moment, but it thinks it feels… sad. It doesn’t know why.

Chase wakes up and it drifts back into invisibility, leaving him to sit up and look around. Check his phone for the time and stare at the floor for a while. Today he is groggy, but not sad, which strikes Anti as odd. Most days he is groggy and sad. Sad groggy stupid human. Anti’s sad groggy stupid hurting human. It sighs and spins lazily in the air, watching Chase push himself up on his feet, his eyes dead and weary.

Someone slams on their door and Chase groans, rubbing at his forehead. He’s hungover again.

“Brody!” The slamming insists. Chase stutters out a breath, slightly frightened, and totters to the door, pulling it open.

It’s his landlord. Anti’s lips curl up in a snarl. A mean, stupid man, stupider than Chase, even, and he looks angry.

And he starts to shout at Chase, and Anti does not like it. It doesn’t interfere, but it doesn’t like it either, and it knows Chase will do nothing. He stands there shirtless in his Christmas socks and stares at his landlord like he can’t believe any of this is real – not because it’s rare for him to be in trouble, just because his life is an alley puddle full of cigarettes and bathing rats and he’s most likely dissociating – and just nods when he’s told to get his act together and pipe the fuck down before he gets kicked out.

“Yes,” says Chase. “Okay.”

The landlord leaves.

Chase shuts the door behind him and looks directly at Anti, invisible on the ceiling above him.

“Jokes on him,” he says dully. “He’ll have to be the one to clean my blood out of the bathtub.”

Anti blinks. Chase pauses, letting his head rest against the cool wall for a moment before he pushes himself back up and wanders back towards his bedroom.

“What you will do?” asks Anti.

Chase startles so hard he slams into the wall of the hallway, whirling around to look at him. Unnerved by his response, Anti scowls and backs away again.

“Sorry, did you just talk to me?” asks Chase. “It’s a dream, then? Or did you talk to me in real life? Or am I really losing it finally? I mean, worse than I have already.”

Anti grumbles to itself and gets up in the fan, making the blades spin slowly, sulking. Can’t even talk to the human without him freaking out.

“Must still be drunk,” mumbles Chase, retreating back to his room.

Anti gets up and follows him.

“What, are you worried?” snaps Chase, digging under the bed, and Anti grins at the heat he’s showing again. That’s more like it. “Haunt me for, what, eight months and now you’re worried? I know you’re there, asshole.”

Anti lets him hear it giggling. Chase rolls his eyes and then he gives a short laugh, shaking his head.

Anti feels pleased, it thinks. Chase turns to look at him. He can’t see him, but he knows it’s there. Anti likes that.

“You really are a monster,” says Chase softly, smiling at it.

And then Anti sees, in his hand, the little tin where he keeps his razor blades.

Anti’s mouth falls in a frown.

Chase looks up into the sunset. Orange and gold, tonight. Flowing over his hair and into his eyes, making them alight. Fire eyes. Fire Chase.

“I hated you for a long time,” says Chase. “But you’re either a monster or the part of my brain that really wants to hurt me, so I guess either way I shouldn’t blame you for being what you are.”

He stands up, straighter than he has in a long time, still fixated on that sunset.

“I… I’ll miss…”

Anti stares at him, waiting, but Chase never finishes his sentence. After a long moment, he turns and takes his phone off of his bed. A slow, shaky breath escapes him.

He always takes his calls between the hallway and the living room so he can pace. Anti knows. Anti knows everything about him. Anti knows things about him he doesn’t know about himself. Anti likes things about him he doesn’t like about himself.

The human steps into the hallway and opens his contacts, carefully picking a name he hasn’t picked in long months, and he closes his eyes, and he waits.

But no one answers. Chase lets out a soft, miserable laugh, gripping the phone in both hands.

“Ah, damn… ha. Sorry, Schneep, I was really hoping you’d pick up.”

He circles quietly in the hallway, running his hands through his hair, his eyes closed and that phone held up to his ear, trying to breathe even instead of weeping.

“Look, man, um. I know we fell apart. Honestly, I really needed you, and you were just too busy for me, and that stung, it did. Maybe it was selfish, but I just… I needed you, Schneep. And I felt like all you cared about was the research, and…”

He rubs his face, brushing away tears. Anti stands at the end of the hall, staring.

“Well, I didn’t call you to accuse you of anything. I just wanted you to know that, um, even though we both hurt each other… I always loved you, man. And I don’t got the courage to call Jacks or Marv, okay, but I love them too. I love them too. And I’m sorry. Cause I was a coward for running away from them, and… maybe you needed me even more than I needed you, and I couldn’t even see it. So I just want you to know: you were my best friend. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t pull you out of your head and that I couldn’t help, or didn’t try hard enough, or just that I wasn’t what you needed. And I…”

Anti sees Chase close his eyes and breathe.

“And I hope I’m not one more person you spend the rest of your life wishing you could have saved,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault, Henrik. I love you. Good night, buddy. Maybe someday – ”

The voicemail beeps. End of recording.

Chase lets out a hurting breath and sets his phone down. His eyes are fixed on the rising sunlit moon, past his window.

“Maybe someday I’ll see you again,” he says.

He goes into the bathroom and crawls into the tub.

And Anti – Anti is paralyzed in the hallway, staring at him, invisible.

But Chase can sense it. Chase can sense him. He looks back at him, his face – fuck, so familiar now, like Anti knows every line of it, every shadow – and says nothing.

Something in Anti cries out against it.

Don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do this.

But another part – oh, another part recognizes what has happened. It has grown attached to this human despite all odds, despite everything. And attachments are dangerous and stupid and useless, just like this little mortal curled up in his white bathtub, holding a razor, staring at it. This is Anti’s chance to let Chase break the attachment. This is its chance to stop this before it goes too far. Before it actually does decide that it likes Chase, that it wants him, that it should keep him, that he loves him in his own fucked-up way.

So it steps back.

It won’t stop Chase.

Let him go. Let him go. It’s better this way. He was just supposed to be entertainment. There was never supposed to be an attachment. So now Chase can die and Anti can leave and they can go their separate ways, and everything in Anti’s life will return to normal. It will go back to Ireland and find something new to do, someone new to torment. And everything will be okay.

It doesn’t stop Chase.

But Chase –

Chase –

“No,” he whispers to himself, gripping the blade. “Please.”

Chase can’t bring himself to do it.

“No!” he screams, lashing himself once, but it hurts and he hates it and he wants it to stop and it’s not like the other times he’s tried to kill himself, not at all. There’s no numbness. There’s no comfort.

He doesn’t want to die.

“Please!” he howls, gripping his own wrists. “Please!”

He’s begging himself. End it. Finish it. Stop it, let me go.

He’s begging the universe. No more. No more, please.

He’s begging Anti.

He’s begging Anti with everything he has.

He turns his eyes to it and he’s screaming, and there’s blood on his wrists, and the glowing moon is like the eye of a god staring down at them, and Anti is illuminated in its light, visible in the shape of a man, visible in a shape like Chase’s, and Chase is begging him –

“Don’t make me live like this any longer!”

Anti turns and flees.

Chase is howling like a shot dog, holding his own shoulders, unable to kill himself, because he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Henrik to get that voicemail, he doesn’t want to never see the sun again, he doesn’t want to go, he isn’t ready, but he can’t live like this any longer, and he’s never felt more hopeless in his life, and he still doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die.

Don’t make me live like this any longer.

Why can’t he end it?

He’s so drunk and so tired and he thought he wanted to die, he really thought he did. No, no, not… oh, he needs somebody, he needs something, he needs something to change. Henrik. He wants Henrik, wants Jackie, wants Marv. He’s staggering to his feet, trying to get up, trying to get back to his phone –

He slips in his Christmas socks and in his own blood, and he crashes down hard in his bathtub, and lies still.

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

“Oh, no, oh, fuck,” Anti hears him whimpering as he comes awake. “How much did I fucking have? Stupid, stupid…”

It stands in the hallway, pacing, its eyes set on the ground. It is determined now. It has decided.

“Oh, shit! Oh.” There’s a nervous laugh from Chase as he notices the shallow cut on his arm. “Oh, wow, I… I must have tried to… but I didn’t! I didn’t, wow…”

There’s an awe in his voice that hasn’t been there for a long time.

Is it… pride?

“I didn’t kill myself,” Anti hears him whispering. “I didn’t… didn’t kill myself. Or I just passed out before I could, but either way, pretty impressive for a fucking idiot like me.”

Anti retreats back to his room and begins to pack the human’s things up, taking only what’s immediately necessary. It doesn’t care about the personal effects, but there are some things they will need – some clothes, his hygiene products, shoes, medicine. He places the succulent gently on top and zips it into place as an added present.

It can hear Chase wandering around the house, apparently dazed by his own survival, or maybe just still drunk from the night before. Anti shuts his phone down remotely and doesn’t let it turn back on when Chase scrabbles at the power button, mumbling about his friends back in England. Anti doesn’t know where the sudden interest in them after months of deleting pictures and ignoring calls has come from, but it doesn’t care.

Here are the facts, in its mind:

Chase survived last night.

It has grown attached to him.

Because he did not kill himself, it can’t escape the fact that it’s grown… fond of the human.

The human survived one night, but Anti has watched him through a great deal of ups and downs, and it knows that Chase will be suicidal again soon enough, and then he might not survive.

Anti does not want to watch him die.

And so the conclusion it came to last night, watching over the boy as he lay in that tub, gently curling his hair between its fingers, was this –

Chase will be its, and Chase will not die.

It has a great satisfaction with this plan now, more than it thought possible. After months of boredom, finally, finally! Something that makes it excited again, something that makes it feel – well – happy!

Chase is still playing with his phone. Anti steps back into the hallway and sees him frowning down at it, pressing on the power button a few times in a row, looking unhappy.

“Did I call him, or…? Need to tell him I’m okay or he’ll – ahh!”

Chase screams aloud at the sight of Anti standing in the hallway with his backpack on. Anti frowns as he goes tumbling to the floor in his alarm, groaning from the whiplash in an already concussed head.

“You’re – you’re showing yourself to me?” gasps Chase, scrambling away. “What’s – are you going to kill me? What’s going on? Hey, stay away!”

But Anti is moving forward, a smile already on its face. This is perfect! This is perfect! It could howl! It could shout! The man is looking at it again, just like he did that night he tried to kill himself, the night that Anti saved his life, and there is the change in his eyes, the recognition, and Anti feels seen and known and in control all over again, and everything is good, everything is perfect.

“What are you doing?” demands Chase, his hands reaching out to protect himself. A fighter, yes, just like Anti always saw. Small and weak and mortal and foolish, yes, but also courageous, courageous, always something special about him. Anti always knew. It grabs Chase’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, humming to itself, singing the old lullaby it always used to haunt him with.

“No, stop, I hate that!” screams Chase, trying to cover his ears, trying to yank away from him. “Stop it, let me go!”

He’s such a pretty little human, even if he is built so scrawny. Anti likes his dark hair and his fire eyes and his soft stomach and even his stupid tattoos, just because they’re his and he’s so goofy, silly human creature. It’s all familiar to him now. The boredom that it thought it was feeling all this time it now sees was a secret fear of the truth that it was becoming attached to him. But last night woke it up to the realization that it did not want to see the boy die and it’s so pleased that he decided to live. In a way, the human was deciding to stay with it! Everything is good. It wrangles Chase’s other wrist and begins to drag him towards the door, unbothered by the sound of his shouting, which is little more than white noise to Anti after so long spent following Chase.

“No, no! Help me, someone help!” he cries.

Someone pounds on the walls of the apartment. A muffled “can you shut the fuck up for once in your life?” makes its way through the plaster. Chase sobs, tearing at Anti’s hands, his eyes wild and desperate. Anti keeps humming.

It will set him up somewhere just as good as this stupid little apartment. Better even. Bigger and less worn. And it will teach Chase to take better care of it too, so he doesn’t make such a mess like he always does. It will give him things he hasn’t even realized he wants yet. It will give him his little succulent back and he will take care of it. Humans need things to take care of or they get very sad and they die sometimes – that’s the thing about humans, they can get so sad they can die, and it’s no longer fun for Anti to watch, so it will get Chase things to take care of instead. What do humans like to take care of? Cows? Hamsters? Potatoes? Whatever he wants.

It takes Chase’s keys and drags him out to his car, opening the door and letting all of Chase’s trash litter onto the street. Its foot crunches on garbage as it pushes its human inside, chirping politely at him when he struggles and gently blocking him from escaping, keeping him pressed inside the car. When Chase tries to lunge forward past it, Anti shoves him against the glass and makes him yelp, clutching at its aching head. Whoops! It pulls back quickly and pats his cheek, checking the bruise and patting Chase’s head. It will take some time to learn the boundaries for touching the human, but it will learn. It keeps him carefully inside until the human has gone breathless and shaky and realizes he can’t get out right now. Satisfied, Anti gets into the car beside him and starts the engine.

Oh, no, wait. One more thing it wants to do.

Anti sets Chase’s apartment on fire, whistling its song to itself as it disables the alarms and leaves a few rags beginning to spread the fire from the oven to the counters. Fuck that landlord who yelled at him. Now the other humans will probably think he died in the fire or something and not come looking for him. Not that they could find him if they tried. Anti leaves the apartment smoking and gets back into the car, chirping and purring to itself, too excited to care that it’s acting like a youngling on its first Samhain.

The human stares at the road as they begin to move, shell-shocked and trembling. Eventually his eyes flicker over to Anti, and it can see that he isn’t sure if he should be angry or terrified or just numb to all of this, numb to everything.

Numb is what he settles on. Numb and a little weepy, anyway. Anti coos and reaches out to touch the human’s neck, rubbing warmly at his soft skin.

Chase curls in on himself, shirtless and shivering in the seat of his own car, kidnapped and alone, and he begins to cry very softly.

There’s blood on his arm. He’s tired. He’s hungover. He’s still struggling with the desire to die despite surviving the night before. He thinks he left Henrik a weird voicemail. The monster that’s been haunting him for years has just appeared in the flesh and thrown him out of his apartment. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants everything to stop.

He just wants this to stop.

The monster repeats its cooing noise at his side, still petting at his neck and throat. Chase shudders and cries, rocking himself gently in the seat, wishing for his headphones. Anti turns on both the heat and the radio. A top-twenties station comes on and plays music familiar to Chase’s ears, and they drive, and they drive, and he begins to go quiet and still, sniffling to himself, hugging his shoulders. Feeling the monster petting him like an animal.

“Okay,” whispers a warbled voice when Chase has finally begun to calm down, and he looks up in shock to see the monster speaking, or trying to. He’d never known it to speak at all – only to watch him, and laugh, and whistle or hum, playing tricks on him or mimicking him in the corner of his vision. They’d never spoken.

“Okay,” it repeats, touching his hair. “Okay.”

Chase swallows and says nothing.

Anti pulls over after a couple hours of driving and hands Chase the backpack, helping him pull out the clothes and put shoes and a shirt on. It leads him inside a gas station and lets him use his bathroom and wash his face, staying beside him the whole time. Chase doesn’t try to protest or call for help. He does not know why.

Anti leads him carefully through the aisles of the gas station, a big truck stop station with rows and rows of snacks and toys and clothes and knick-knacks like phone charges for cars and California-themed snow-globes. It seems interested in everything, but in an amused way, like it’s laughing at everything, and Chase is supposed to be laughing with it.

He doesn’t know what to do. Anti’s arm is around his shoulder.

The monster buys something with Chase’s credit card while Chase shakes beneath his arm and tries to figure out what’s happening, though his brain seems to be shutting down from being so overwhelmed and he really just wants a drink. Anti pulls him back towards the car and this time, he clambers in without protest, sitting down in the passenger seat and buckling in.

Anti sits down beside him and offers him the bag from the gas station. Chase blinks and looks over, taking the bag numbly from its hands.

There are nuts for protein and three bottles of water. Chips and a breakfast sandwich and jerky and chocolate and a small, stuffed lion with the name “Lionel” in its ear.

Anti starts the car again. They drive.

“What are you?” asks Chase in a whisper.

The monster glances over at him and touches his face, stroking a finger down his cheek, down his beard, and, in that struggling, glitching, inhuman voice, it tells him:

“Anti. And you are mine. No more scares. No more slow dying. I look after you. Human. Chase. Mine.”

The monster who’s been haunting him for months wants to keep him as a pet.

The desert is rolling past Chase’s window. Lionel sits patiently on his lap. The radio plays something inane and catchy. Anti is touching his hand.

“Mine,” it says again. “Okay, Chase. It’s okay.”

Chase closes his eyes, and, leaning back against the headrest of the car, he lets himself drift into sleep.

#chase brody #antisepticeye #cutting tw #suicide tw #extreme distress tw #bee writes #2020 prompts #favored puppet #florenceisfalling

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strawberiitea · 3 years

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