Narcoleptic Nihilism

by Flashing The Floods

A collection of multi-reality/AU ficlets. Skewed, off base, darker sequel of a sort to Frontier Psychiatrist. Gen, slash, femslash, het. A big wad of worthless, disjointed, mediocre crap.

1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Alternatively titled "Why Flash/Flood is Going to Hell." My brain got food poisoning and proceeded to start throwing up on itself again. Which is actually kind of irritating because I was working on something else, that I'd originally wanted to post all the way back on Halloween...Ah well though. Can't stop the ideas when they start going nuts and slamming each other into the walls of my cerebrum. And now I'm just blathering again and going off topic...

Crap. Okay, getting to the point now. This here is somewhat of a skewed sequel to Frontier Psychiatrist, as in there are 50 nonsensical, crappy rejects all lined up one after the other, with various characters including the ones from the manga, special episodes, and my OC. Only this time, all the crappy drabble-ish things are AUs! And separated into two chapters. Some longer than others, with your usual splash of gore, slash, and femslash. The rating is once again, for the usual: drugs, pervy things, violence, and content that may possibly disturb some people...Y'know...I need to stop playing this game. Or at the very least, stop writing obtuse crap about it DX

And on that note, most of these are cryptic, confusing snippets that don't make much sense at all. They're scarcely indicative of what they're even supposed to be and your guess is probably as good as mine.

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1. Betrayal

Castiel darted protectively in front of Debrah, shielding her from Lynn with a defensive stance and the threatening raise of a dagger. "Stay away from her! You don't have any proof she's done any of the horrible things you've accused her of, and this has gone way too far! I don't want to hurt you, Lynn, but I will if I have to!"

But he wouldn't, of course. Debrah knew this. Castiel was a dog— her dog. And his bark may be loud, but he was too cowardly to bite. Pity. She would have genuinely liked to keep him around longer.

Debrah hugged Castiel from behind with one arm, her fingers curling over her loyal (but oh so pathetic) excuse of a guard dog's shoulder and holding him in place. She buried her face in his back and whispered words in a tongue secretly hidden from most ears. Lynn was correct in her accusation that Debrah was a sorceress (she was correct about everything, really). A sword with a sparkling midnight handle and a deep, unbreakable onyx blade materialized in her grasp.

With a fluid movement and just a mere twinge of (significant) regret, she plunged it into the small of Castiel's back, just to the right of his delicate little spine. She impaled him right up to the hilt and he uttered some sound in between a ragged gasp of disbelief and a stupefied noise of pain. His legs went slack and gave way, body slumping. He would have fallen off the blade, but Debrah hugged him tighter still, slowly easing him down to the dirt with a wicked tenderness.

She jerked the sword out as Castiel's forehead kissed the earth and Lynn's delayed scream pierced the atmosphere. The sorceress whisked his blood from her blade with a quick flick of the wrist and daintily stepped around his fallen form. Her sights were set on Lynn now, that troublesome slip of a girl who caused this whole mess to begin with.

"Debrah...Why...?" A weight at the end of her dress pulled Debrah back. She turned, eyes falling to the ruby-stained, pale fingers that curved in and clutched the hem of her velvet gown. Castiel's charcoal pools fixed upon her own. No hate in them, no horror. Sheer astonishment. He braced the hand that wasn't holding onto her so desperately against the ground and attempted to push himself up.

Tremors racked his frame and he immediately dropped back to the slippery bed of his own blood.

But he did not let her go.

"Oh, my precious Castiel," she tutted and kneeled down beside him. Her pretty fuchsia lips curved into an indulgent smile of faux apology. "I had to betray you. If I didn't, you would've betrayed me." And then she dipped a fingertip in the thick crimson that spilled plentifully from his wound and painted a small heart on his cheek.

2. Huntress

Kim crouched in the maple tree, the earthy and somehow sweet scent of sap taunting her nose, but concealing her own scent. The canopy of leaves above cloaked her in shadows and hid her away from the world below. She held her spear poised to strike the next animal that ambled below. Hopefully it would be something big, like an elk or a bear. She needed something at least the size of a deer to take back home. Her family was big and there were a lot of mouths that depended on her to provide food.

She knew something would come. She'd placed poison apples at the base of the tree to entice any large vegetarian or omnivorous beasts. If the something that came was big enough to feed her household, well, she could only hope. Her muscles grew rigid as the minutes ticked into hours and the sun lowered in the sky. Still nothing came. Impatience thrummed beneath Kim's skin and wrinkled her mouth at the corners. She considered leaving and hunting elsewhere, but the prickly hope that an animal would wander toward the apples kept her stationary.

It was a good thing she decided not to abandon her post, because just a few short minutes after she considered doing so, an animal big enough to keep her family fed for a week trotted into view. It was an animal Kim had only heard legends of and only seen drawn in the storybooks she read to her younger siblings. An animal more elusive than any other with blood that could bless you with longevity, meat so sweet that seasoning would only taint it, and magic that could do gods knew what beyond the estimation of humans. If she severed its horn, she would be wealthier than the king.

A unicorn. Its fur was as sparkly white as winter's first snowflake. Its silver spiral horn was flecked with stardust. Its mane and tail flowed down in silky waves of shimmering amethyst.

Kim held her breath and tightened her grip on her spear, lime eyes intently zeroing in on the mystical equine's graceful neck. She pulled her arm back, ready to throw and...And...She lowered the weapon. Try as she might, the huntress just couldn't bring herself to slay something so beautiful. She watched instead, as it lowered its regal head and snuffled at a poisoned apple.

"Don't eat it!" Kim shouted, unsure if the unicorn could understand her or not. "It isn't safe!"

The unicorn's head right snapped up. It stared at her, ash-gray eyes peering intently. Kim shuddered, certain that the creature was staring right into her soul.

"Thank you," it spoke with no vocal chords. The shy female voice was in Kim's head and her head alone.

"You're welcome," Kim sputtered aloud and blinked several times in incredulity. She almost expected the unicorn to vanish before her eyes.

Its beautiful face inclined slightly to the side and Kim felt an incredible surge of anger at herself. How had she even considered killing it?

"Why did you put them here?" Kim must've been right in her assumption that the magnificent animal stared into her soul. There wasn't any other way it would've known she was the own who laid out the venomous fruit.

"Bait. The poison in them isn't strong enough to kill something as large as you, but it'll slow it down in case I miss." She tapped the arrowhead of her spear against the trunk of the tree. Its jagged edge scraped the bark and sticky sap upwelled in the scratches.

"You have a family to feed." It was a statement.

"Yes. We can't afford to buy food, so I have to catch it myself."

"Come down here," it told her gently. "I have a favor to ask of you. If you do it, I'll bestow your family with enough riches to feast like royalty."

Kim hesitated for a moment. What if this wasn't really a unicorn? What if this was a demon taking the guise of a four-legged angel to trick her into doing something she would regret? But no, Kim didn't believe that. The animal had the kindest voice she had ever known and its beauty was too pure and elegant to be an imitation. She limberly climbed down the tree and stood before the unicorn, breath hitching as she took in its appearance up close. "What do you want me to do for you?"

"I want to see the world you live in. I want to explore human towns and human places. But I'm too timid to explore them alone." The unicorn batted its long white lashes and bumped Kim gently in the shoulder with its muzzle. "I also need someone to protect me."

"I wouldn't mind doing that," she murmured. Tingles of pure rapture spread from where the equine's velvety muzzle rested against her shoulder. "But I can't just lead a unicorn around in the middle of the city. People would be overwhelmed. They'd crowd us, and try to steal you from me."

"But of course. Which is why I'll be taking on a human form." The unicorn stepped back and a brilliant light of the starkest white radiated from its physique. It was so bright Kim had to shut her eyes. When she opened them again, the unicorn no longer stood before her. Instead was a human girl, with a pale diamond-shaped birthmark in the middle of her forehead and wavy shoulder-lenth amethyst tresses. Her silvery dress must've been threaded from the stars themselves. Her appearance was even more breathtaking in this state and Kim couldn't speak nor take her eyes off her.

"I'll be needing a human name of course. The name I have doesn't translate into your tongue." She looked sheepish for a moment and then crouched down, fingering a lone violet that grew near a blackberry thicket. "I think I'll call myself Violette?" Her eyes raised to Kim's tentatively, as though she were asking for permission.

"It's nice to meet you, Violette." Kim smiled and held out a hand to help her up.

3. Possibly Eventually

Viktor dragged himself from the mineshaft with heavy steps, burying a dry hack of a cough into his sooty shirt sleeve. His muscles ached dully and yesterday's throbbing in the chest had reawakened with a force.

The walk home was tiring, but nowhere near as strenuously draining as the day of labor itself had been. Nonetheless, it took quite the effort to push his exhausted legs all the steps it took to get home. And had Alexy not been in the crooked little kitchen that lay beyond the back door, he might've allowed himself to collapse over the threshold.

"Hey," the smaller man greeted Viktor with a little smile and a peck on his smudged cheek.

"Hey," he rasped, gently kissing the top of Alexy's head.

"I made dinner." He tipped his head toward the stove and the simple gesture was so cute, so endearing, so plain Alexy that Viktor swelled with a rush of illogical tenderness and had to take him in his arms.

Alexy gave a little noise that suggested the embrace caught him off guard. A light, merry laugh bubbled out of his throat and he playfully batted Viktor in the head. "Hey, hey," he scolded gently. "You're getting that mine-grime all over me!"

"Forgive me," chimed Viktor. "I'll go change." His blackened lips pushed another kiss to Alexy's forehead and then he padded off to the bedroom. He tugged off his once-thick-now-frayng pants and pulled his work shirt over his head. His shirt used to be white. White of all colors, the absence of color rather, and now it was just a few shades of gray away from being black. He smirked and used it as a rag to mop off the rest of sweaty, grubby skin.

The fit hit him without warning.

Ragged coughs erupted from his throat in a persistent paroxysm, so sudden and cutthroat he dropped his shirt. His shoulders shook as he tried to smother the rough, glasslike noises into a balled up fist. His efforts were in vain and the long bout of it left a familiar ache rooted in his struggling lungs. He gulped in serrated, fragile breaths, concentrating only on the immediate need to breathe and not the slip of dread that surfaced in his gut.

"You're coughing again."

He lifted his head and saw Alexy hesitating in the doorway. Cerise pools met his and then lowered to the warped floorboards, burdened with worry.

"No." Viktor nearly winced at how brittle he sounded. "My throat's just dry. The dust agitated it when I took off my shirt."

Alexy looked up to him again, face stony and unconvinced. "You need a new job."

"Eventually," Viktor promised as he crossed the stretch of floor that separated them. He patted Alexy affectionately on the head. "When there's another job to take."

"I could start working again."

"You do work," he replied with a crinkle of the brow. Alexy cleaned the homes of the wealthy for a living.

"No, I mean...I could go back to the job that pays more." He peeked up at Viktor, expression willing with every fiber of life, but simultaneously so broken that it hit him in the heart even harder than the mining had hit him in the lungs.

"No! No, don't even say something like that." Viktor gripped his shoulders firmly and then let go and just hugged him again. "All the money in the world isn't worth you going back to that."

Alexy wobbled in his grasp. It might've been relief, it might've been agreement, it might've been disagreement. Or none of the above. His arms wound around Viktor, face burrowing into his chest.

Viktor held him for a good, long moment and let himself be held until a steadied Alexy released him. "I'll let you get dressed and go take dinner off the stove." A thin smile tweaked at his lips and he capered from the room. Viktor threw on a cleaner set of clothes and joined him at the table. A steaming bowl of potato soup looked up at him in all its homemade glory. He closed his eyes and inhaled its steam through his nose, the scent so thick he could already taste it.

"You should've seen this house I cleaned today," Alexy chirped, spoon in hand. "The lady had two hot tubs! One in her room and one in her basement. And there was a bowling alley in her attic! It was a really nice house, Viktor. Six floors including the basement and the attic, walls made of polished marble, and carpet that felt like it was made out of floccus and marshmallows. Do you think we could have a house like that someday?"

Another cough upsurged in Viktor's throat, stifling his reply. He muffled its jagged decibels into his hands the best he could. Thankfully it passed rather quickly, not an agonizing fit this time. But as he lowered his hands, an unfamiliar sight made him freeze.

Flecks of blood in the center of his palm grimly simpered up at him.

"Um...Viktor?"

Viktor shifted his gaze to Alexy and smiled the warmest smile, as though no deluge of trepidation were drowning his heart. "Possibly," he answered. "You never know what the future holds." He casually brushed the blood onto his pants and pretended to forget about its emergence.

4. Fish Outta Water

Amber strolled down the beach, basking in the sun and curling her toes in the baking sand. Humid breezes puffed through her wavy blonde tresses, carrying the stark, fresh scent of saltwater.

Amber didn't usually skip school, but it was worth it. Today was perfect beach weather, and Amber had been waiting for such a day to show off her new bathing suit. Only there didn't seem to be anyone around to show it off to. Amber sighed, finding this rather frustrating. Her awesome new, glittery gold and white bikini had yet to be shown off to anyone other than her friends, and she'd expected to find a beach full of attracted boys and jealous girls to fix that.

But there wasn't another soul in sight. Just an old net full of fish further down the beach that somebody had forgotten.

Wait...Was that net moving?

Amber lifted off her sunglasses and squinted across the expanse of sand. The rope bobbed up and down, the bulky mass inside seemingly trying to escape. It definitely wasn't fish like Amber had first assumed, but at this distance she couldn't see what it was either.

Amber flicked her sunglasses back down and began jogging toward it, concerned that a seal or another animal just as cute needed rescuing.

But as she got closer, her brow furrowed and her steps slowed. She blinked and rubbed her eyes to make sure what it looked like she was seeing was what she was really seeing. There was just no way!

About a yard away from the net and the creature that couldn't possibly exist writhing inside, Amber's jaw dropped to the sand and her eyeballs popped right out of their sockets.

She screamed.

The thing in the net screamed back.

Amber screamed again and stared at it with round, startled eyes. It— No, he was human from the waist up! Rope burns marred his crisp tan flesh and messy cocoa and sun-bleached blonde hair fell over his shoulders in damp, ratty tangles. His sea-green were wild with fear and his chest heaved up and down with effort as he struggled against the confines of the net.

But from the waist down, he wasn't human. He had a long thick fishtail in place of the legs that ended in a split, fanning fin. His teal scales glittered in the sun like gemstones. A merman. Just like in a child's fantastical picture book.

Amber just couldn't believe it. Yet there he was, fighting to get out of the net and uttering painful, frightened noises that made her heart throb with sympathy.

"C-Calm down," she claimed uncertainly. "I'll get you out of there, okay?" Amber took a step closer and tentatively put a hand on the merman's shoulder. He flinched back, eyes darting to her and on the defensive.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she explained quickly, pulling her hand back. It didn't seem to register. He was still regarding her warily, brows furrowed and mouth twisted in a nervous line.

"Do you understand?" she tried. "Do you talk?"

He responded with a low noise of caution in his throat.

"Okay, that's a no." Amber sighed and slipped her hand into the pocket of her light terrycloth coverup. Good thing she always kept nail clippers on her person. They had a keen, metal nail file built in, sharp enough to cut if she was trying to. She rubbed the file vigorously against the rope. It severed. She started working on another one. It served. The merman had stopped struggling to escape, either too exhausted to continue or finally realizing that she was going to help.

With five webs of rope severed, Amber gripped the net and pulled them apart, widening the hole. "There," she murmured and stepped back. "You should be able to get out now." She continued talking to him, even if he couldn't understand.

The merman blinked and let out an inquisitive chirp. He slowly poked his head out of the hole, experimenting. When it worked, he whooped loudly and thrusted his arms out. His tail writhed and pumped him up from the sand like a spring, pushing him out the rest of the way. He rolled onto his back and lifted his fin, shaking it from side to side until the clinging net went flying off. He whooped again in victory and his eyes glowed happily with relief.

It was undeniably cute despite being so bizarre, and Amber's heart swelled for him. "You're free," she laughed.

"Freeeee," he mimicked in a chortle so off that she almost couldn't distinguish it. He rolled over onto his belly and 'walked' over to her with the palms of his hands, shiny fin dragging in the sand. He reached up and poked at her thigh, jerking his head back. He seemed to be asking Amber to get down on his level. She blinked in bemusement and kneeled down, so entranced by this situation that she didn't even have the capacity to regret that she didn't have her phone to record this incredible moment.

The merman grinned at her cheerfully and squeezed her breast with one dry, tan hand.

Amber shouted in surprise and jumped up, stumbling back. "W-Wh-What the...!?"

The merman trilled something else in his unusual tongue and turned away, rapidly crawling toward the ocean. As he went along, he looked back over his shoulder and waved his fin at her. Stunned, Amber waved back. "Goodbye, you fishtailed pervert!"

His grin was the last thing she saw before he dipped into the water and vanished from sight.

5. Cisswapped

Nathalia wandered aimlessly around the yard of Chinomi's Juvenile Correctional Facility. She followed the barbwire fence and traced its gaps with tired golden eyes, thinking that maybe she should just ram herself into it, slice herself to bloody ribbons, and end it all. She dismissed the idea with a mental sigh and instead meandered back to the building. She almost returned to her cell, when a smoker propped against the wall caught her eye. Cassidy. Nathalia recognized her from group.

"Can I get a cigarette?" Nathalia asked. She hadn't smoked before coming here, as cigarettes were just terrible for your health and shortened your lifespan, but Nathalia didn't really have a life anymore. So why not?

The redhead looked her over and cracked a smirk. "Ah, I remember you. You're the bitch from group who killed her mom." She took a drag on her cigarette and flicked some ash at Nathalia's feet.

"Is that a yes or no?" If Cassidy was aiming to hit a nerve, it didn't work. Nathalia was more or less desensitized to everything that she'd done.

"This is my only cigarette and it wasn't cheap to sneak in here." She blew a thick cloud of smoke right in Nathalia's face as though purposely taunting her. "But I'll give you a hit if you tell me how you did it."

"Fair enough. Step by step, or the killing blow?"

"I've got nothing but time. Walk me through the steps, Miss Murderer."

The blonde shrugged and leaned against the brick next to Cassidy. "I waited until my dad and my brother were out," she started monotonously. "My mother was sitting on the couch, just watching tv. I got a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and dumped it all over her. Then I struck a match and tossed it on her. She burned up, just like that." She snapped her fingers.

The memory was still ripe and vivid in Nathalia's mind. The way the neck of the vodka bottle felt in her sweaty palms. The surprised squawk her mother made when the alcohol soaked her spiffy satin tunic. The way she sprung up with fury in her eyes and a snarl on her mouth as she balled a fist and aimed for her daughter's already-broken nose. The way it never hit because then Nathalia tossed the match and fwoosh, her mother was aflame like saganaki at a Greek restaurant.

Cassidy arched a scarlet brow. "You burned her to death? That's pretty raw. Not sure I believe you." But even if she didn't believe Nathalia, she still passed her the cigarette.

Nathalia took it and greedily inhaled in a lungful of smoldering ash. She held it in for a moment, let its caustic thickness settle inside. Then she exhaled and passed it back to Cassidy. "It's true. I might've even done in my father and my brother too, if I hadn't gotten caught."

"Shit." Cassidy gave her a mildly incredulous look as she took back the cigarette. For the fist time, Nathalia actually paid attention to her eyes. Charcoal gray, just like the cigarette smoke. Strangely pretty. "What's with that?"

"If I tell you, can I get another hit?"

"Alright, that's fair."

"She used to beat me," Nathalia deadpanned. It was funny, really. And it felt odd. Back when it was happening, Nathalia would've sooner died (almost did) before divulging the truth of her home situation to anyone. But now that it was over, now that her mother couldn't hurt her anymore, she could casually converse about the whole thing. Maybe it was because she didn't have anything else left to lose. "My father served as a buffer sometimes, but he never really did anything. He'd shout at her on occasion if he was around, but he never stopped her. He left me alone with her. And Andre? Half the time, he made it worse. He was her favorite. And he really knew it, too."

"That sucks." She held the nub of what remained of the cigarette back to Nathalia.

Nathalia accepted and finished it off, dropping it to the dirt and crushing it out with a toe. "What about you? What are you in here for?"

"I stole an airplane," Cassidy told her smugly, chin raising. She was just about bursting with pride.

"That's even harder to believe than me burning my mother," the blonde stated flatly. Really, how could someone steal something that big?

"It's true. My parents both worked for the airline, I just barred them in a carriage compartment before takeoff." A coarse, crooked laugh bubbled past her lips. "I wasn't half-bad at flying it, for my first try. I didn't even crash."

"Why the hell did you do that?" Nathalia scoffed in bemusement. Of all the things to get arrested for, Cassidy stole a plane. What a crazy crime.

She held a finger over her lips. "Its a secret," she whispered.

"I told you why I did what I did."

"Ah, but you got something in return. You don't have anything to give me…Or maybe you do." Charcoal orbs traveled down to Nathalia's breasts. The prison uniform wasn't exactly flattering, but the blonde was still visibly busty.

"I don't swing that way," she said quickly, arms crossing over her chest as though that would ward off Cassidy's lewd gaze.

"Might wanna start," Cassidy scoffed. "You're not going to have access to guys for a very long time, princess." And then she smacked the blonde on the shoulder in mock sympathy and sauntered away.

6. Addict

The invisible beast that Armin feared more than any other was gently scraping its claws down his insides and baring its fangs tauntingly in his face. Withdrawal. It didn't quite have its hold over him yet, but it was only a matter of time. He needed smack. He needed it as soon as possible. Luckily for him, Charli was a considerate dealer. The closest thing he had to a real friend.

"Get the rest of the cash by midnight," he'd said with a pat on the bag of ugly pastel brown powder that Armin coveted so strongly. "I'll hold onto it for you."

So now here Armin was, standing on the corner of the block and compulsively scratching at the track marks that littered his arms. Finances would come soon enough, he'd just have to stand and wait. It didn't matter in the least who picked him. Woman, man, or modern monkey. His was an unhappy junkie, and unhappy junkies were not particular about how they got their money, just as long as they got their money.

Sexual preferences were null and void in the face of need. He made sure to clean himself up the best he could. He'd combed his hair out and put on cleaner clothes that were suggestive, but not revealing enough to uncover just how scrawny and unattractive he'd become.

A car slowed as it made the turn. The driver was checking out Armin and all the other nighttime workers scattered about, contemplating stopping and which one they might pick up. Armin took his chance and swaggered to the passenger's side with a fluid grace he'd had to learn and put a lot of effort into maintaining. He rapped on the window with his knuckles, sultry smile unfolding on his lips.

The window rolled down and the driver leaned over the center console to peer at him. "Hi," she greeted uncertainly.

She was probably twice his age and pretty, really. Her wary eyes were the same shade of magenta as her long, shiny hair and her lavish breasts filled the tight periwinkle sweater she donned. Though of course, her appearance wasn't really a factor in the whole thing. Her budget was.

"Are you alone?" he asked her, brow crooking.

"Yes."

He shook his head and tsked in teasing disapproval. "That's not right. A lovely lady like you shouldn't be alone on a nice night like this. What's your name, baby?"

"Agatha," she breathed, her expression thawing.

"Can I keep you company, Agatha?"

She looked him over and gently chewed her lip in consideration. "How much?"

Armin grinned and opened the car door. He shimmied onto the seat and scooted next to her, murmuring the price in her ear with a sultry voice and sensually caressing her earlobe with his tongue to stress the deal.

A pleased shiver ran up her spine and she bobbed her head in agreement. "Shut the door."

He shut the door like she asked him to and then they crawled into the backseat. Armin straddled her and teased her lower regions with experienced fingers as she snaked her hands under his shirt. The clothes came off and their bodies merged, beaded with sweat and trembling with need of two very different kinds. When they were done, she paid him the exact amount he needed to purchase the heroin and he blew he a kiss as he scrambled from the car.

Charli was where he was earlier, back against the brick and briefcase in his hand. Only this time his brothers were with him, his brother Wenka lighting a crack pipe and his brother Willi gnawing on a carrot. Armin briefly thought about his own brother for one fleeting second, a cheerful person with blue hair who was well off somewhere else and far away. But he only thought about him for a second. Smack was more important and took precedence over thoughts of Alexy one million times over.

"I've got the cash." He tossed the wad of bills to Charli.

"I knew you'd be on time." The dealer laughed and tossed Armin the bag of dope he'd reserved.

7. Rootless

The sopping warmth of Lysander's inexhaustible tears and dripping snot stained the collar of Castiel's shirt and wetted the exposed skin of his scarred neck. He hiccuped in between heartbreaking sounds and clung tightly to Castiel with all his strength, his grip so forceful it was like there was nothing else in the world to hold onto.

Which was true for Lysander, Castiel supposed with something a little like bitterness, a little more like empathy, and a lot like guilt. He clutched the silver-haired male close, cradling him like a child and vainly wishing it wasn't the only comfort he could offer. But it was. He couldn't make everything alright with a few suave schemes and a wave of the hand. Not this time.

"Leigh," Lysander choked out in a broken whimper. "He was all I had. I…I can't believe they just…" He gagged and groaned at the same time, a mangled noise of utter loss and cavernous horror that had no name.

Lysander was too gentle for gang life, Castiel knew. He didn't belong here. Neither had Leigh.

Poor, pitiable, doomed Leigh, who'd fallen for the wrong woman. Misplaced loved, a crime punishable by mutilation and dismemberment as far as the East were concerned. Castiel damned himself for the inability to protect him.

"I'll kill them," Lysander gasped shakily. "I'll kill them all." His fingers flexed in the fabric of Castiel's shirt and reasserted their desperate grip.

"No," Castiel murmured. If it were possible, he would've secured Lysander even tighter in his arms. "I'll kill them for you."

And he will, because Lysander is so, so gentle. Too gentle for killing, too gentle for every aspect of this wretched reality. But Castiel isn't. And since he couldn't protect Leigh, by gods, he will protect Lysander. That's a promise.

But promises somehow always end up broken, don't they? Especially the ones that are so measurelessly important.

8. Undead

Dakota tore across the landscape like a streak of lighting, racing as fast as his legs could carry him with an adrenaline rush that had every single nerve on high alert. A small band of zombies chased after him. Tattered flesh hung from their decaying bones, open wounds that would never heal yawned on the expanse of their reeking bodies, they groaned and chittered with vacant minds.

Well, not completely vacant. They wanted brains. They chased after Dakota on their putrid, oozing legs because they were somehow intelligent enough to recognize that he had a brain. He was faster than they were for the moment, but that moment wouldn't last. They clawed and snapped at the air just behind him and they seriously outnumbered him.

More zombies milled about and scattered across in the very direction he was running in, and he had to keep zigzagging around. This was a lose-lose situation. His gun was useless without ammunition and there was no escape in sight. He couldn't just keep running forever. And as with all things, anything that could go wrong was about to go wrong. A dead end in the form of a literal, fucking brick wall of all things was growing nearer with every stride.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Dakota gasped, sea-green pools darting from side to side, searching desperately for another medium of escape. Houses lined either side of the broken street. Tall, sturdy houses. All too likely occupied by more zombies. And besides, they were too far to make a break for. He was only just keeping ahead of the merry band of brain-eaters.

This was the end. There wasn't anyway out of this one.

As soon as Dakota realized this, it was like his body resigned himself to fate. He stumbled and hit the pavement. Heaving a gasp, he rolled onto his back and scuttled backwards, kicking out at the swam of decomposing fiends that swarmed upon him.

The crack of gunfire sounded over their groans. Rancid black blood and splattered Dakota as the head of the undead just a hairsbreadth from him exploded. Another crack and another dead head exploded, more blood splashing onto him. And then another, and another, and another, one right after the next in one fell swoop. The corpses pitched over and went slack, inanimate for good.

Dakota skittered backwards and pushed the two that'd fallen on him off, heart beating a hummingbird's wings. There were no coherent thoughts in his head, but subconscious survival knowhow must've kicked in. He ripped off his tainted shirt and tugged off his jeans, quickly swiping off the infectious flecks of blood from his face.

"Are you okay down there?"

Dakota looked in the direction of the voice and saw a brunette guy who couldn't be much older than him, wearing military pants and a torn black t-shirt. He was perched on the roof of a crooked stone house, gun in hand. Dakota fainted before he could reply.

9. Craft

"Are you really a witch?" Amber asked, able to feel her heart all the way up in her throat.

Charlotte shot a glare so petrifying, it could've turned her to stone right on the spot. Her caramel orbs were as slitted and cold as a snake's, threatening Amber with an intensity words could never capture. "Do you think I'm a witch?" The question was a chilling hiss, just as serpentine as her eyes.

Amber nodded. "Y-Yes," she croaked with watery octaves, shocked to discover she could find her voice at all. "That's what everyone says, anyway. And you certainly look the part, except for your age. I was expecting an old hag, but you must not be any older than me!" Charlotte was dressed in a long velvet gown that clung to her frame, deep black and splattered with flecks of silvery white, just like the night sky. But she was indeed younger than Amber anticipated. She didn't even look to be in her twenties yet.

"Stupid girl. Doesn't it register that what you just said could be very offensive?" Charlotte closed the stretch of distance between them with a graceful, sweeping stride. She tilted Amber's chin up with a fingernail so sharp, that the blonde teen felt sure it could slit her throat. She gulped in fear.

"N-No, that didn't occur to me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." She wasn't sorry in the least, but she knew better than to be haughty in the presence of someone with an aura so dangerous. As much as it stung Amber to bite down her pride and be humble, doing so was preferable to getting her throat slit by that scary green fingernail.

"What is it that you want from me?" She stared at Amber levelly. Amber was surprised to find that her pupils weren't slitted like a snake's as well. She felt like Charlotte had bitten her. Neutralized, paralyzed. Frigid venom was coursing through her. She was left staring dumbly into those powerful eyes, the answer to the question expiring on her tongue.

"You test my patience," the witch hissed sharply.

"My brother," Amber spit out somehow, even though her throat felt numb. "He's sick."

"So you come here? To a witch and not a healer?" Her tone had dropped from hostile to evasive, but that did little to warm Amber's gooseflesh.

"My father won't pay for one. But I can pay you." She held up her wallet with fingers that trembled and betrayed her resolve to appear strong.

"Money holds no value to me." Charlotte dropped Amber's chin and whipped around, the ends of her caramel tresses smacking Amber across the face. They smelled like daisies, ironically enough. She retrieved a vile of tangerine colored liquid from her shelf of obscure this-and-thats and held it up between her thumb and forefinger.

"This is a cure-all. It will remedy whatever ails your brother in one dose. As you can imagine, something like this is rare and expensive. How much are you willing to pay for it?"

"But you just said money isn't valuable to you," Amber muttered in confusion. Damn it! She wanted that vile! No, Nathaniel needed that vile.

"Money is hardly the only form of payment in the world." Charlotte flicked her wrist and the vile vanished from sight. Her heels scuffed against the lacquered wood as she shortened the gap between them once more. "You aren't very bright, but you're sturdy. I have use for you."

Use for her? What did that mean? Amber's stomach clenched as horrible images of being turned into a frog, or lizard, or spider flashed through her mind.

"If you agree to be my personal slave, I'll give you the vile." The hints of a devilish smirk pulled at the corners of her lips.

Amber was agape. No! Absolutely no way would she ever be someone's slave! Not in a million years! Who did this witch think she was? Insulting her and then making some kind of demented bargain like that? But Nathaniel was getting sicker. And damn it, even if he was annoying, he was still her brother. He always watched out for her and protected her. Oh! That was the solution, right there! She would just give him the vile and then refuse to go back to be the witch's slave. If the witch got angry, well, then Nathaniel would be well again so he could protect her like he always did.

"Okay," Amber agreed. "It's a deal."

Amusement danced in Charlotte's eyes, the only emotion Amber could detect aside from the coldness. "A deal it is." With a wave of the hand, Charlotte slipped the vile from her sleeve and enclosed it into Amber's grasp.

"I expect to see you back here in one week, Amber. If you're not, I'm going to end you and everyone else in your household. Of that, you can be certain."

10. Traditional as a Chocolate

Peggy flung herself to the ground, just barely evading the spout of flames that belched fourth from the dragon's massive jaws. The flames were so powerful that even without hitting their mark, she could feel the immense heat of them pulsing against her back. Sweat broke out on her flesh and as the whoosh of them faded behind her, she scrambled to a stand.

Peggy whirled back and snatched up her shield from the charred grass. The scaly beast threw back its head and roared above her, its leathery wings stretching wide. Peggy, mentally scolding herself for dropping the sword in the first place, raced toward where it had been knocked out of her grasp by the sweep of fire.

She didn't make it.

The dragon whipped its tail and struck her in the back, sending her sailing through the air. She hit the earth, bounced, hit again and rolled, bumping to a stop at the foot of the stone tower. Her vision swirled and the air was crushed out of her lungs, the ringing in her ears so reedy and shrill that it almost silenced the guttural bellows that shook the landscape.

Hazily surprised her neck wasn't broken, Peggy shifted her head and focused her bleary eyes on the dragon. It had lost interest in her, it seemed. It stomped around on his hinds, breathing jets of orange and red flames across the land. Trees caught fire and blazed in the dying sun. Smoke plumed up and screened the sky in black.

Peggy struggled to her feet and staggered over to the sword, a rill of blood streaming down the middle of her forehead and parting into twin rivulets down her nose. Her hand closed around the steel handle of the weapon and she lifted it from the grass. For a moment, the weight of it combined with her exhaustion and her battered body gave way. She fell to her knees, plunging the blade into the ground.

She used it as a crutch to keep from pitching forward, teeth gritting. Get up, she willed herself. Get up now, while you still can. She rose to her feet and ripped the blade out of the earth, spinning on her heel and sprinting back to retrieve the shield again. Armed with the defense and the weapon, she then raced for monster.

It rounded on her, a growl as loud as thunder rumbling in its throat. Its milky-white eyes were the size of her head and narrowed to livid slits as they fixed upon her. She returned its gaze for a spilt-second and then fwoosh, the flames were spewing right for her. She threw herself back and raised the shield, holding her breath until they died. Lunging forward in the next instant, she thrusted her sword into its delicate underbelly; the only part of it that wasn't protected by scales.

A fountain of blood sprayed out in tune with its stentorian cry of pain, drenching Peggy in hot crimson. She slashed the sword upward with a sound like ripping leather and then a crunch as the blade shaved into its ribcage. Roar after pained roar echoed in the air and the dragon staggered away from her. It half-fell back to all fours, swaying. Peggy retreated and readied the weapon for another swing.

It wasn't necessary. The dragon collapsed, the hellfire in its white eyes put out. Peggy dropped her sword and shield and took off for the tower without a second to spare. She was enervated, shaking with pure fatigue. But with the obstacle finally, finally defeated, she needed to do what she had really come to do.

She flew up the tower steps two by two, and burst into the lone room at the top. The only inhabitant sat on a bed of periwinkle silk, cloaked in an exquisite dress of the same material. Her cerulean pools widened, jaw falling open.

"Melody," Peggy breathed, eyes softening fondly.

"Peggy!" She ran over and caught Peggy as the exhausted girl fell, her lovely dress getting coated in the dragon's blood. "Peggy!"

"Relax, fair maiden," Peggy murmured with a teasing grin on her lips. She leaned into Melody's arms and returned the embrace, burying her nose in the waves of brunette tresses and inhaling their natural perfume. "Your knight's here."

11. Luck

There was the muzzle of a handgun in his face and people screaming behind him, and yet all Dajan could think about were the pepperoni pizzas. The pizzas were still in the car, growing colder with every second that passed. The customer must be getting antsy. And hungrier.

"Are you deaf!? I said get down on the ground!" There was a click as the ski-masked wielder cocked the gun. Dajan instantly dropped to the dirty linoleum tiles. The Pizza Castle hat fell from his head and flopped down beside him.

Its funny, really. He almost drove the extra kilometer to go to the next gas station on the route. The prices were usually better there, but he was running low on gas so he stopped at this one to be safe. Ha. To be safe. He found himself in the middle of a something that looked too intense to be a holdup. A something-too-intense-to-be-a-holdup with hostages. He was a hostage now.

In a gas station. This was just his luck. He almost laughed as he was instructed to scoot back and group with the other small band of people who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He found himself squeezed in between a rack of magazines and a weary corp goth guy who didn't look much older than himself. When the masked offender resumed his vigil over the cash register, the corp goth guy turned to Dajan and offered a small smile.

"Hi."

Well...That was weird. Someone smiling and starting conversation in a predicament like this. Even so, Dajan returned the greeting. "Hi."

"This whole mess is certainly nerve-racking. All I can think about is how glad I am my girlfriend stayed in the car."

"All I can think about is pizza," Dajan chuckled nervously.

The stranger laughed softly, pushing back a lock of his noticeably long sienna tresses. "Pizza, hm? That's the last thing I would assume someone to be thinking about in a situation like this. What's your name?"

"I know, it's weird, right? And get this, it's not even my pizza." He shook his head at his own expense. "Name's Dajan. You are?"

"Dimitry. It's nice to meet you, Dajan, save for the circumstances."

"Yeah." Dajan tipped his head back and heaved a sigh. He was surprised how outwardly calm he was managing to appear, when on the inside his blood was on fire and his heart was threatening to burst from his chest. "Do you think we'll get out of this alive?"

"Oh yes, I think there's a much higher chance of that than us getting killed. The police will show up and they'll make negotiations, and we'll be well on our way out of here by the end of the night. Now that you've put the idea in my head, I think I'll order pizza when I get home." He gave Dajan a warm, encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"I'll deliver it to you," Dajan told him with a faint grin. Dimitry actually managed to reassure him somewhat, and cooled the fierce boiling in his veins to a tepid simmer.

They talked through the hour, wherein the cops indeed came and negotiations were in the process. But apparently the negotiations weren't going in Mr. Ski-Mask's favor. He had to show the police he was serious before he really got the kind of deal he was aiming for.

Dimitry was the hostage he hauled up to prove just how serious he was. Dajan was left helpless to watch as his optimistic new friend was held to the window and shot in the temple, thick blood, shattered skull fragments, and lumps of massacred brain splattering the wall.

12. Grown N' Classy

Li found herself drawn to the man on stage. She clung onto every lyric he sang into the microphone, the decibels of his voice resonating in her head. The attraction did not pass when the applause ended and he sociably immersed himself with the rest of the crowd, hanging on the arm of a neatly-cut redhead as though they were lovers.

"That singer has quite the talent. Who is he?" Li asked Capucine, lifting the glass of merlot to her lips and raising her brow just a fraction.

"His name is Lysander. I've met him at several other events like this, though it seems he hasn't made it beyond local affairs." Capucine absently fingered her change purse.

"And the man with him? They seem close."

"Hm...I don't remember his name, but they are close. They've known each other since high school." Amusement quirked Capucine's lips. "You're more curious than usual. Does Lysander catch your eye?"

"He does. It's a shame he's taken." Li wistfully swirled the wine in her glass.

Capucine blinked dubiously. "Taken? Oh, I'm fairly sure he isn't. His friend merely helps him navigate in these sort of large crowds."

"Helps him navigate?" Li glanced curiously to the duo and then back to Capucine.

"My apologies, I should've mentioned this before; Lysander is blind."

Blind? Li's lips parted softly in disbelief and she cast another glance back to him. He was chatting happily with another guest, hands still curled around his friend's arm and an easy smile on his lips. Li wouldn't have guessed he was blind, had Capucine not said anything. Ironically enough, she felt more inclined than ever to touch up her appearance.

She took her tube of lipstick out of her handbag and applied another luscious garnet coat. She touched up her eyes with another layer of mascara and retied her raven bun with a few tugs of the golden satin bow. "How do I look?"

"Positively stunning," warbled Capucine. "I'm sure he would be amazed if he could see you."

"That's a very rude thing to say," Li rebuked her. "He'll be amazed anyway." And with that, she tossed her shimmery gold scarf around her neck, got up from the table and strode over to introduce herself.

13. Eyeballing

Alexy was so sick of being stared at. He was in the bus crash just like everyone else. Hell, he was still on crutches for Pete's sake! And he limped on to every single one of these group meetings with the other survivors because hey, talking about it was supposed to help. But they all stared at him! They gave him weirded out, side-eyed glances or flat out gaped at him.

It wasn't fair! He was in the crash like everyone else here! Nothing was different!

"I went through the same thing," Alexy muttered to Violette with his head lowered. "I almost died just like everyone else." Violette was in the crash too, but she was an exception to the other survivors. She didn't stare at him. She sat next to him and always stared at the floor, scarcely ever speaking to the group and always stroking her necklace. Her girlfriend, Kim, had given it to her for her birthday. Kim was apparently in a coma.

"That's not exactly true," Violette murmured in a voice so low Alexy almost didn't hear her.

"What?" He frowned at her in her confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you didn't almost die. You did die." Violette's eyes briefly darted to his before returning to the floor. "You were dead for nearly an hour before you were resuscitated."

Alexy felt like he'd just been dunked under ice water. "W-What?"

"You didn't know?" Violette shot him another fleeting, nervous glance, fingers rubbing at her necklace even faster. "I'm sorry! I thought you knew. I should've never said anything."

He died? He died!? He was dead for nearly an hour and no one told him!? "How do you know that!? Why does everyone here know that!?"

I died, he thought numbly in shock. I died. I died. I died. I died. I died. I DIED.

"Please calm down, Alexy," Violette urged him softly.

"I didn't know I died! Why does everyone else know I died!?" he shrieked in a shrill yelp. Everyone turned to stare at him again, their counselor included.

"Armin inadvertently mentioned it at the first meeting," Violette told him levelly, even though bringing up Alexy's split-personality made her feel uncomfortable. The poor guy thought 'Armin' was his twin brother.

"While I was still in the hospital?" His cerise eyes were round with fright, hands trembling. "How could he do that without telling me!? I had a right to know!"

"It's okay, Alexy," she cooed gently and tentatively covered his shaking hand with her own, hoping to steady it. "You're alive now, that's all that matters. We can talk to Armin about this later."

14. Love

It was simple. Nathaniel was an assassin and he did not fall in love. It was against protocol to have a significant other and Nathaniel was completely fine with that. He did not care, as he had no significant other, nor did he desire to have one. Though the concept of love was something he easily grasped, love itself was not an emotion he was capable of.

Feelings like contentment, satisfaction, pleasure, irritation, obligation, those feelings came naturally to him. They were moderate feelings, and didn't take too much effort on his part to occur. But feelings like love and hatred were both too powerful, too extreme for him to feel. He simply did not have the emotional capacity for either.

Or so he thought.

"Here are your next targets," his supervisor, Marcese, told him and handed him the folder.

Nathaniel opened it and surveyed the couple inside, a decent looking middle-aged man and woman. Apparently guilty of embezzlement.

"Boss says you have some leeway with these two," she said, idly straightening her tie and shaking out her short azure locks. "Three days of leeway to be exact."

Nathaniel nodded, still skimming through the folder and familiarizing himself with his targets. One picture of them made him pause. In between the couple was a young man about his age, with nearly shoulder-length sable hair and a half-grin on his mouth. A bubble of warmth swelled inside and expanded into a balloon that popped and sent waves of heat to the ends of Nathaniel's fingertips.

"Who is that?" he asked, tapping the picture. For some inexplicable reason, he simply had to know.

"Their son," chirped Marcese. "You don't have to kill him."

"What's his name?" An unknowable desire twanged Nathaniel's heart. All he wanted to do was hold this guy and press kisses to his collarbone and rake his hands through his hair. He was already picturing himself doing so, and he'd never even met him. Nathaniel was, he was both startled and pleasantly surprised to realize, in love.

"Castiel. Is something wrong?" She lifted a brow.

Nathaniel didn't answer for a moment. He tenderly caressed the photo with his fingertips. "What a beautiful name. Could I kill him if I wanted to?"

"I suppose, but you're not going to get paid for that." She shrugged and departed to her office.

Nathaniel snipped the parents out of the picture and tucked Castiel into his breast pocket, keeping him close to his heart as the new and rapturous feeling of love overflowed within. Since he had time to kill with this mission, he didn't carry it out immediately. He watched the house. He observed his unbeknownst lover in his bungalow for three days.

Castiel's casual mannerisms and way of carrying himself were strangely majestic and held Nathaniel in subdued awe. His captivating eyes were the color of briquettes and Nathaniel desperately itched to get close enough to gaze into them. He played the guitar and Nathaniel would lose himself in each note and spend hours trying to figure out what it meant. Every single thing Castiel did was a beautiful thing, and Nathaniel committed it all to memory because he loved him very, very much and he would hate himself if he forgot.

On the third night he slaughtered his targets in their bed with practiced effortlessness and then silently crept to Castiel's room. He watched him sleep for nearly a minute, positively tingling now that he was actually this close. He climbed on top of him like he'd fantasized doing so, so many times, and ran his fingers through his hair. Soft, lovely hair. Like strands of black gold.

"I love you," he murmured fondly.

Castiel stirred beneath him, blinking sleepily. "What the fu—"

Nathaniel silenced him by smashing their lips together and twisting the knife into his liver in the same blink-and-miss-it movement. Castiel's cry was muffled by his kiss and his struggles were faint as the blood gushed and his ruptured organ expired. Nathaniel could taste the metallic tang as he swirled his tongue around Castiel's and blissfully ripped his fingernails down his scalp.

He sank his teeth into Castiel's tongue and tore it out of his mouth in one violent jerk. He wasn't allowed to have a significant other, but that didn't mean he couldn't keep a souvenir.

15. Clairvoyance

Rosalya wished it would stop. The visions, the hoax, the gift, the lies, the future, the coincidences. Whatever name you had for it and whatever end of the scale you held about whether or not her ability was honest, Rosalya just wanted it to stop!

Visions hit her at random, day and night and half the time she never found out what they meant. They were inconsistently vague and cloudy or so sharp it was startling, and it was driving her insane! They didn't even always apply to her! She could see a man she'd never met getting the promotion he wanted or the body of a missing stranger being shoved under a stairwell, or herself doing any number of things she'd yet to do.

The places varied, the people varied, the clarity varied, the situation varied. Varied, varied, varied. She couldn't depend on anything about her visions except that they would come!

Half of her family thought she was a nutcase and needed to be locked away. The other half would always nag her to predict the winning lottery numbers, even though she explained countless times that she couldn't control when the visions came or what they were about. Today's vision hit her in the middle of breakfast. A depressing, keen image of a handsome, elegantly dressed young man with a full bag of groceries. He trips down the stairs that lead to the subway train and sails down the entire flight. He lands facedown, sternum shattering, skull breaking inward and piercing his frontal lope.

He dies exactly seven minutes before the ambulance arrives. It gets called late anyway, as people riding the subway are generally in a hurry and the sheer number of bustling people puts the bystander effect into action. Rosalya shivered and got up from the table, losing her appetite as soon as the vivid prediction finished reeling.

Visions like that made her sad, they honestly did, but Rosalya was jaded to the fact that she couldn't really do anything about them. She couldn't help people when she didn't know how or where to find them, or even exactly when. When she saw crimes being committed, she used to tell the police, but they either thought she was crazy or lying and threatened her with arrest. To get her mind off of what she just saw, she decided to distract herself with grocery shopping.

When she was in the dairy section, she dropped a tub of frozen yogurt. She bent down to pick it up, but another hand got to it first. She straightened herself and the friendly stranger handed her the tub.

"Thank yo—" Rosalya's jaw hung and the yogurt tub fell from her grasp again. The friendly stranger was the very man who was fated to die on the subway steps.

Blinking rapidly, he picked it up again and held it out. "Are you alright, Miss?"

"Yeah..." She took the tub of yogurt and put it in the cart, fingers numb with stupefaction. "You're not planning on taking the subway home after shopping, are you?"

"Actually, I am." His cocoa eyes glinted with surprised uncertainty. "Why? Has it broken down?"

"No, it's just..." Rosalya studied every handsome feature of his face, the image of it smacking into the pavement flashing through her mind. "You're cute. You're cute and you've done something nice for me, so I'd like to ask you out on a date." She gave him a bright smile.

A blush sprung to his cheeks and his eyes widened. "I, um...Well...You're lovely, Miss, but I don't..."

She silenced his shy stuttering by pushing a finger to his lips. "Just one date. In the park. Right after we checkout. Say yes." Rosalya had never been the subtle type and she wasn't going to start now.

"Yes..."

"Good." She lowered her finger from his mouth and held her hand out instead. "I'm Rosalya."

"You're a very persuasive girl, Rosalya." He briefly clasped her hand, smiling pleasantly although the red in his cheeks lingered. "I'm Leigh."

16. U is for Umbrellabird

"Marce."

"Huh?" Marcese shifted her gaze to Castiel.

"Your friend has huge tits." He indicated Laeti with a quick nod of the head. Laeti was on the other side of the classroom, wearing a sleeveless body-hugging white dress that was dotted with candy shapes.

"Don't you even think about it," she scoffed. "Those tits belong to me."

"Bullshit. She doesn't even like girls."

"Says you. I've known her for nine years." Marcese stuck her tongue out at him. "Besides, Laeti is a magical girl, remember? She's required to have really intense les-yay with any other magical girls and I'm about to become one, as soon as I activate my mystical jewel thing." She opened her pencil case and lifted out a shimmery, hammer-shaped onyx stone on a necklace chain.

"Magical girl...? Mystical jewel thing...?" Castiel stared at her with a screwed up face. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know. Like a Sailor Moon, or Tokyo Mew Mew type thing."

Castiel scowled. "Do I look like Armin to you?"

Marcese sighed and smacked a palm to her forehead. "The concept here is very self-explanatory anyway. Do you remember the time in gym class when that creepy ass monster looking thing randomly burst out of the floor? And it wrapped a tentacle around Iris's leg and shook her around upside down, and we all saw her striped underwear? Then remember how Laeti sprouted rainbow wings and beat the monster away with a glowing umbrella?"

Castiel blinked, surprise crossing his face. "That actually happened? I just thought I took some really good acid."

"It really happened. Laeti sprouted wings and had a glowing umbrella because she's a magical girl. Magical girls do stuff like that."

"Huh." Castiel propped his chin in his hands. "We go to a really weird school."

"Yup," she agreed. And then they both broke eye contact to resume ogling Laeti's magical melon tits.

17. Expert from that Ao Oni Crossover Bullshit I'm probably not going to finish and am putting here because my Idea Train just crashed

"Castiel, I'm—"

"Bleeding!?" he guessed shrilly. "Yeah, I can see that! I'm trying to fix that!" His hands were pressed so, so desperately to the gaping cavity in his best friend's torso that they couldn't have possibly been pressing harder, but he tried to anyway. Because the blood would. Just. Not. Stop. Gushing.

"Well that isn't what I was going to say, but that is as it stands…Please, tell Leigh I love him. Tell my parents, for all their oddities, I love them too. And tell Rosalya that I've always thought of her as a sister, loved her as dearly as a brother, and I'm sorry I won't be there when she and Leigh get marri—"

"Shut the hell up, Lysander! You're not fucking dying!" But it was a desperate plea more than a reprimand, secret code for please, please, please, please, PLEASE don't be dying!

The paling silver-haired teen smiled up at him sheepishly, jonquil and shamrock iris's gleaming gently in apology. "You're my best and truest friend."

"Goddamn it, shut up! Stop with all the sappy ass sentiments! You're not dying! You're going to be fine!" But Castiel realized his words were a lie even as they left his lips. Lysander's life was draining away under his useless palms. Ruby continued welling up in the cracks between his fingers and overflowing down his hands, thick and hot and flooding his nostrils with a coppery reek so dense he could taste metal.

"Sappy? I take offense to that," Lysander scolded weakly in jest. "It's not as if…I had a lot of time to work on it…" His eyelids fluttered closed and he exhaled his last shallow breath, going still on the mansion's expensive, bloodied carpeting.

18. Idea Train Got back on Track

Capucine sat with her back stiff and straight, apple-green eyes traveling across the courtroom. They flitted to her lawyer, a stony man provided by the state. They flitted to the jury box, where she could already see the guilty verdict in the jurors' eyes. They flitted to Iris, who sat in the audience and offered her a tiny, sad smile.

Iris herself was charged with harboring a criminal— Capucine, but her trial wasn't set for another month or so. Capucine hoped Iris would be found innocent. After all, it's not as though Iris were intentionally hiding her. Iris didn't ask Capucine questions when Capucine begged her to let her inside. Iris didn't ask questions when Capucine did not leave that night, or the next, or the next.

Capucine ended up staying with Iris for six months before the police found her, and not once did she threaten to kick Capucine out or ask what she was hiding from in the first place. She was kind to Capucine, gave her food, gave her a bed, became her friend.

Maybe, just maybe, if Capucine hadn't been found out she they could've become more than friends. Pleasant memories of baking sugar cookies with Iris and watching movies on Iris's fluffy couch flashed through her mind. They were sweet, cherished memories that Capucine would hold dear until the day she died. She hoped Iris felt the same way. She prayed Iris didn't hate her.

Iris had every right to hate her, really. Not telling her anything had been just like lying to her. She was a murderer, and Iris never had the slightest clue. Murderer. Murderess. Killer.

An icy shiver ran up her spine, but she could not deny the accusation to herself no more than her lawyer could defend her to this jury. She shot that man. Capucine was a pretty, pampered little mafia princess. Her mommy and daddy did the dirty work and she looked the other way, living a lavish lifestyle at the price of blood money. She never really thought about those dark things, until she committed a crime with her own hands.

Mommy and Daddy got arrested and suddenly her life wasn't so sheltered anymore. She wasn't untouchable. So someone tried to touch her.

She'd always kept the small white pistol in her purse for show. Never once had she thought she was going to use it, until that night. She pulled out the gun just to scare him away, after he had tugged on her skirt. And then the next thing she knew, it went off in her hands and he fell to the concrete. She genuinely didn't mean it. She'd been absolutely terrified.

But she was the mafia princess with parents infamous for heinous crimes that made your skin crawl. That's all she was here in this courtroom, the daughter of cold blooded killers; not herself, not Capucine. Just the daughter of killers. She was guilty to everyone here, except for Iris.

Iris was still smiling at her, however sad, however small.

Despite the certainty she was going to go to prison, Capucine smiled back with every fiber of kindness she possessed.

19. Hunger Games

As Kentin sat on the train and stared at the scrumptious buffet laid out before him, all he could think about was the reaping. The surreal echo of his name into the microphone as Agatha read the slip of paper brought his entire reality to a standstill. Everything that happened between that moment and now was a series of blurs, like it all occurred in a nightmare he'd yet to wake up from.

He is a tribute. He is going to be thrown into a false, foreign world and pit up against twenty-three other tributes. He is either going to kill or be killed, or even more likely, kill and be killed. It makes him so sick to his stomach that he can't even fill his plate.

"What do you think Louis will be like?"

Kentin barely heard the question. "What?"

"Louis, our mentor. He still isn't here yet." Nina's voice was small and nervous. Hesitant. The kind of voice someone uses when they feel like they're asleep and they're scared of waking themselves up.

Nina herself was small and nervous too. She's going to die, Kentin couldn't help thinking as he looked her over. This was her first reaping. Out of all the hundred or so names in the bowl, the solo slip with Nina's printed on it got picked. The pity Kentin felt for her was overwhelming. She was thin and young, and had said herself that the only survival skill in her possession was forging knowhow.

He, he supposed with resignation to death anyway, at least had somewhat of a chance. He was physically strong. He knew hand to hand combat. He didn't know how to use weapons, but he was sure he could learn in the upcoming week of training. Being able to use weapons on another human being though, able to kill...Well...He supposed he'd just have to learn that too.

"I hope he's nice," Nina continued just to fill the silence, her silver depths wavering.

Kentin breathed a soft sigh and reached over the table, taking her small hand in his. "Look, I know we're supposed to be enemies in there, but I'll protect for you as long as I can. Okay?"

Her eyes widened, startled and dubious. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I don't want to be alone in there." Kentin shook his head. "And I think it will be a little easier to kill people if I know it's not just to save myself. I think I'll feel a little less guilty if I have someone to fight for."

Nina's lips parted. She bit down on the lower one and nodded her head.

"That's the first way to get yourself killed," Louis grunted as he entered the car. He plopped down at the table and flashed them a crooked, humorless grin. Quite akin to a wolf baring its teeth. "Congratulations, kids. I'm your mentor."

20. Utena Style

Kim strode up the long fight of stairs, fist clenched around her wooden practice sword. She didn't know why they couldn't just duel in the kendo room like everyone else, but Dakota insisted they had to fight in the arena in the forest, so that's where they were going to fight. And oh man, she was going to wipe the floor with him!

That little punk had no right pinning that love letter Violette wrote him up on the bulletin board, right there for everyone to see. Asshole! Those were Violette's heartfelt words, not some kind of disposable joke. He made her feel like trash! He made her cry! It was unforgivable! Kim couldn't reverse what happened, but she could was humiliate Dakota the way he humiliated Violette.

Upon climbing the last step and reaching the arena, Kim froze.

"Finally you showed up, I almost thought you'd given up."

Dakota's voice barely reached her. She was too busy staring at the impossible structure above her, glowing, suspended from nowhere. A castle in the sky. A castle in the sky!

"What!? How is...!? What the hell!?" Her lime orbs flickered between Dakota and and the castle, practice sword pointing up at it. "There is a castle in the sky!"

Dakota tilted his head. "You've never seen the castle before? Are you even a duelist?"

Kim had no idea what he was talking about, but how could he be so nonchalant!? There was a giant castle floating above them! "This is impossible! How can there be a castle in the sky!?"

Dakota rolled his eyes, growing impatient. "Just think of it as a trick of the light. Are we going to duel, or not?"

A trick of the light!? Kim could hardly pull her stare away. If it was a trick of the light, then it was a pretty damn convincing trick! She forced herself to turn away and look to Dakota, giving him a ferocious glare. "I'm gonna make you sorry for what you did to Violette!"

"We'll see about that. Jade, prepare us." He snickered and shifted his gaze to a third party Kim hadn't noticed was here. Jade, the boy who was always hanging out in the garden. He was out of his normal clothes and dressed in a blood-red, rather elegant ensemble, with a glittery gold tiara to match.

Jade wordlessly approached Kim and pinned a white rose to her chest.

"Why are you here? And what's with the rose?" Her brow furrowed. This was just supposed to be a simple, competitive duel on Violette's behalf. Now it was getting way too strange!

"He's the rose groom," Dakota explained in Jade's stead. "He has to be here. If I cut the rose off your chest, I win the duel and vice-versa."

"Good luck, Kim," Jade said softly and offered her a small smile. Before Kim could respond, Dakota stepped forward and punched him square in the face, sending him falling to the polished stone floor. Startled, Kim dropped down and gently helped him sit up.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she spat, glowering at Dakota in bewilderment.

He ignored her entirely and scowled at Jade. "How dare you wish her luck! You belong to me!"

"I'm sorry," Jade apologized quietly.

"Why are you apologizing to him!?" Kim practically shouted. "He just knocked you to the ground!"

"He's my master," Jade said simply and brushed away the trickle of blood leaking from his nostril. "He's the current champion of the duels, so I have to do whatever he tells me to."

"That's crazy," Kim declared. She stood up and ran a hand back through her short, ebony locks. "That castle is crazy, and you two are crazy. Let's just get this fight over with!" She readied herself into an offensive stance, wooden blade raised.

"Jade," Dakota beckoned.

The sage-haired male stood and Dakota abruptly seized him around the waist. Jade bent backward as smooth as a dancer, and a blinding orb of light bloomed over his chest. The carved hilt of a sword appeared inside the orb and Dakota's fingers curled around it. He jerked it out in one graceful movement, a long gleaming sword in his grasp.

"What the hell was that? Another trick of the light?" Kim gawked, scarcely able to process. Dakota did not answer her, and instead charged right for her. The sword must not have been a trick of the light because it ripped her sleeve with a single swipe. Not only was it not a mirage, but it was a real sword with a real blade. Sharp. Lethal. All Kim had to defend against it was her wooden practice sword.

She defended against slash after slash, irreparable cuts scarring the wood. She whirled and ducked to avoid the keen blade as it sliced toward the rose pinned to her chest. Kim wouldn't even let it nick a petal.

"You're holding up nicely," Dakota commented in between pants, eyes narrowed.

"I would've beaten you by now, if you weren't cheating with that real sword!" She defended another stroke toward her chest with a knock of her practice sword.

"I guess it shouldn't surprise me that you don't know anything about the Sword of Dios. How did you even get your duelist's ring?" With a particularly brutal slash, he shaved the wooden blade in half and sent Kim reeling. She caught herself before she could fall, sneakers scuffling on the stone floor. She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but she did know one thing; she was going to win this for Violette.

She sprang at Dakota and hiked the serrated half of wood upward, shearing his rose right off his chest. The petals scattered and blew away, lost on a breeze.

"There," Kim gasped, dropping the handle of her broken faux weapon. It clattered on the ground as Dakota staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief. "I beat you. I'm out." She turned around and started down the stairs, feeling very mystified despite her satisfaction. She avenged Violette and taught that jerk a lesson, but everything else had been really bizarre. What was with that castle? And Jade? And that sword?

The questions were answerless. Kim chalked it up to student council weirdness that went over her head and returned to her dorm.

She was in for a shock when she opened the door. Jade stood just beyond the doorway, back in his gardening outfit with a polite smile on his lips. "Welcome back, Miss Kim."

"What are you doing in my room!?" This extra bizarreness tipped the scale. How did Jade even manage to get here before her? Kim was the first one to leave the arena!

"I'm the rose groom," he stated simply. "You're the current champion of the duels, so we're engaged. I belong to you now."

Just what the hell did she get herself into?

21. Cirque

Marcese juggled the ten cleavers and butcher knives with steady fingers, flaxen orbs narrowed in concentration. For the longest time seven knives had been her limit, but with the ringmaster hiring new people she figured she needed to step up her game.

"Careful," Debrah chirped gleefully.

Distracted, she almost dropped the handles in mid-toss. "Are you trying to get me killed?" she hissed at Debrah, glaring at her with all her heart since her eyes were currently occupied.

"Maybe," the contortionist purred. She was lazily resting on a stack of practice mats with her knees bent over her shoulders, as cool as a cucumber as she watched Marcese sweat.

Marcese was multi-talented in the blade department. She juggled and threw knives, and at that last crack from Debrah, she promptly quit the first act and flung a blade toward her. Debrah giggled with mirth as the blade sailed past so close it blew her hair back and sliced through the tarp tent behind her.

"Lysander's going to make you pay for that." She twisted her wrist backwards in an unnatural fashion that she knew creeped Marcese out, no matter how manny times she'd seen it before, and swiped her hair back into place.

"He should pay for it himself! If he didn't make me deal with you all the time, I wouldn't have done that!" Marcese folded her arms over her chest and shot Debrah an agitated glower. "Why do you always have to provoke me?"

"It's fun and you know it," laughed the contortionist. "Don't act like you don't like it."

"I don't," Marcese growled.

"You've torn the tent again," sighed the ringmaster in disappointment as he emerged from under the flap. Some redheaded dude Marcese hadn't seen before followed after him, blinking curiously.

"Sorry, Lysander," she muttered sheepishly. She didn't mention being provoked. This was already routine and she should have been over Debrah's taunting by now.

"You can make it up to me by showing Castiel around." Lysander smiled and patted the redhead on the shoulder. "He's our new seal trainer."

"Ooh, seals?" Debrah perked her head up and untangled her strangely alluring body. "That's different. You two have fun, I'm going to work on my routine." She hopped down from the stack of practice mats, tossed her chestnut mane over her shoulder, and ducked back under the tent flap.

"I actually needed her for something else..." Lysander watched her go with a small shake of the head and then gently nudged the redhead towards the juggler. "Castiel, this is Marcese. Marcese, show him where everything goes and tell him how the schedule works. I'd do it myself, but I've got another few people to interview." His eyes flashed between them in apology and then he left, swallowed by the tent flap.

"Well, hi." Marcese gave the seal trainer a friendly smile. "Do you have any questions before we get started?"

"Actually, yeah." A devious smirk played at the corners of Castiel's lips. "Who was that bendy girl and what's her number?"

Marcese paused. She then picked up one of her cleavers and very purposefully thrust it to his throat. The blade threateningly scraped his neck and drew a single thread of crimson.

"Her name is Debrah," she declared brightly, a sparkling grin stretching from ear to ear. "And if you ever even think of hitting on her, I will cut you."

22. Gremlins

"A mogwai, huh? I've never seen one before, but he sure is cute." Laeti giggled and stoked the mogwai's cheek. It let out a happy trilling noise and switched its wide, leathery ears. "What's his— or her name?"

"Gizmo," Lynn replied. Upon hearing its title, the mogwai repeated it and let out another happy purr like sound. "I think he's a boy...I just kind of assumed he was anyway. Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure." She flashed her new pet a questioning glance.

Gizmo didn't answer one way or the other, just chirruped another pleasant 'Gizmo.' Laeti gently scratched his head and then reached for her glass of water.

Watching her, Lynn was instantly hit with the memory of the three rules he aunt had given her concerning her new pet.

1. Never expose it to bright light, especially sunlight because it will kill him.

2. Never ever get it wet.

3. This, the most important rule; never feed it after midnight.

Never get it wet. Never get it wet. Laeti was drinking way to close to Gizmo!

"Laeti, put that glass down!" Lynn shrieked. Alarmed, Laeti jerked it from her lips and the liquid splashed up over the sides of the cup. Before Lynn could do anything, a single, fat droplet splattered onto Gizmo's fur. He started wailing with the highest, most painful screech Lynn had ever heard. Laeti gasped and clamped her hands over her ears.

All of a sudden, balls of fur the size of brussel sprouts started popping out of Gizmo like popcorn. They sailed through the air and landed in various places. To the girls' shock and awed astonishment, they started growing bigger and bigger, inflating like little furry balloons. Gizmo's wails died away as the last furry ball bounced on the dresser.

Lynn gasped and picked him up, tucking her pet close to her chest as she nervously pressed to Laeti. The furry balls chittered and grunted as they unfolded themselves. Just like that, there were six new mogwai in the room.

"Aww, cute!" Laeti picked up the one with a bushy white stripe on its head. Its teeth snapped down on her finger like a metal trap on a doe's leg. She cried out in pain as her digit broke with a meaty snap. She dropped the mogwai and it trotted away with a sneer twisting its lips.

Lynn looked down to her friend's hand in horror, pine green eyes widening. The adorable little creature had bitten so hard that Laeti's finger was now only attached by a few red tendrils of muscle, blood surging from the wound in impressive torrents and stark white bone visible. Thinking quickly, Lynn snatched a spare shirt from her cluttered bedroom floor and wrapped the damaged finger.

Laeti let out little, high mewls of pain and tears pricked her baby-blue orbs. "What just...It just...My finger?!"

Lynn bit her lip and glanced around at all the mogwai, chittering to each other and batting their ears. They were ignoring them for now, so she ushered Laeti out of the room with the first instinct to take her to the hospital. She wasn't sure what was going on, but she had the innate, nagging sensation that it was going to get worse.

Gizmo's sad warbles did nothing to ease her mind.

23. Foes

Charli was a chocolate salesman. Dajan was a fruit vendor. They were enemies by nature.

The fact that their stands were right next to each other only further fueled their competition. Every morning they greeted each other with cold glares and the tart exchange of names in place of hellos.

"Charli," Dajan muttered cooly.

"Dajan," Charli responded with narrowed eyes. They brushed past each other and assumed their posts at their respective stands, throwing their aprons on and secretly eyeing each other to be sure they were faster than the other. This was a daily occurrence, as were their other subtle face-offs.

Such as constantly rearranging their displays to outdo that of the other's.

Such as printing flyer after flyer and racing to see who could pin up more.

Such as seeing who could reel in more customers with offers of free samples.

They measured each other constantly and took their battles in stride, never slowing down. Never stopping. Eventually, their fight wasn't even subtle anymore.

"You don't want to shop there," Charli told a few customers that plodded along toward's Dajan's stand. "He doesn't wash his fruit. Ever."

"Hey," Dajan protested and shot Charli a livid glare. "That isn't true!"

The would-be customers exchanged looks of mingled mistrust and disgust and briskly continued on their way. Apparently they weren't in the mood to take chances.

"You do not want to by from him," Dajan bellowed the next day, pointing an accusatory finger at Charli. "He is a bona fide racist!"

"I am not," Charli gasped and reeled on him with wide eyes.

"Are too! You compared my skin to your chocolate!"

"No I didn't," he protested. But passersby and would-be customers were already giving him dirty looks and walking away.

"He grows that fruit in human manure and dead fish," Charli shouted not long after. "And it tastes just the same!"

"No I didn't! I don't even grow it, I just sell it," Dajan defended hastily. The customers he'd been serving shook their heads and demanded a refund.

"Don't buy that chocolate," declared Dajan the next week. "All that sugar is going to give your kids cavities!"

"Well so is your fruit!" Charli countered hotly. "Half of it has citric acid!"

Dajan grabbed a lemon off his stand and tossed it at Charli in retaliation. It wasn't supposed to hit. It was just a rash act of anger. But it did hit, striking the brunette man right in the middle of the forehead. And then it was on. The real battle began. Charli hurled a kingsize bar of fudge that smacked Dajan right in the eye. Dajan threw clementines like snowballs, barraging Charli in orange.

Charli attacked right back, pelting Dajan with peppermint patties and creme eggs. Neither of them would back down and soon the pavement between their stands was littered with peels, wrappers, citrus and chocolate. Their aprons got splattered and stained beyond repair with their sworn enemy's merchandise. Baskets of fruit and chocolate turned into baskets of ammunition.

Tangelos ripped Charli's banner. Coconut Clusters knocked over Dajan's sign. They shouted curses with each product they launched at each other, panting with effort. Then the cantaloupe knocked Charli's register right off the stand, and money joined the gooey mess on the ground.

"Damn you," Charli rolled up his sleeves and started marching over. "Now I have to pi—" He tripped over a banana (yes, a whole banana, not just the peel) in mid-sentence and went sprawling. He huffed and started to stand, winced heavily when he put weight on his left leg and let out a surprised yelp of pain before hitting the concrete again. He tried to stand a second time, features twisted as he let out a soft his of pain. He gave up and simply sat on the ground between the spilled chocolates and the fruit, hands cupping his ankle.

After a moment of deliberation, Dajan dropped the pomegranate he was going to chuck at Charli's ear. He walked over and squatted down across from him, eyes solemn.

"You need a hand?"

"No," Charli was quick to protest. He shifted a little in an attempt to back up, pain once again flickering over his face. "Or maybe, yeah..."

Dajan wordlessly helped him up and took his weight, slowly shepherding him back behind his stand and onto a seat of empty crates. Charli nodded politely in gratitude. Dajan crouched and gently rolled up the leg of Charli's jeans, mouth squiggling as he breathed a soft hiss.

"That's swelling up pretty bad, man. You want me to get some ice from Viktor's?" He cocked a thumb back toward the ice cream stand across the street.

"Alright," Charli sighed wearily. Dajan stood up and jogged across the street, returning a couple minutes later with a small bag of ice in hand. He tenderly lowered it onto Charli's injured ankle and then sat on a crate next to him.

"Y'know, it's pretty busy at Viktor's," he commented, putting his chin in his hands. "Ice cream is really popular."

"More popular than chocolate," Charli lamented with a grimace.

"More popular than fruit too," Dajan muttered. "But I bet fondue would be more popular than ice cream. What do you say we merge our businesses?" He gave Charli a sidelong glance.

"I say that sounds like a good idea." Charli offered him a smile and they shook on it.

24. Necromantic

"Do you remember how you died?" Iris asked softly. Talking to the dead didn't really bother her as much as it used to. She'd grown accustomed to her abilities in time and now pretty much just tried to help troubled spirits as best as she could. It didn't always work, but hey, that wouldn't keep her from trying.

"Yes," Melody answered in a low whisper, one insubstantial hand raising to tuck back a wavy lock of translucent hair.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"No...It was painful...If I talk about it, I'll feel it happen again." She hugged her arms around her phantom body as though she were feeling it anyway, and went completely invisible for a moment as a shiver raced up the spine she didn't have.

"That's okay," Iris assured her. "We can totally talk about something else. Anything else, whatever you want to talk about." She gave her a small, encouraging smile.

"I used to play the triangle when I was alive," she murmured, arms uncurling from the shimmery body that wasn't. "Do you know how?"

"Nope." Iris giggled sheepishly and shook her head. "It sounds fun though."

"I could teach you how to play," offered Melody.

"Really? I'd like that, but I'll have to go buy a triangle first."

"I have time," Melody told her politely. But of course she did, all the dead had was time.

"Great," Iris replied cheerfully. She started walking to the music shop down and Melody followed behind.

Iris could almost feel the frigid touch of her intangible hand.

25. Highlander Style

"There can be only one," Debrah singsonged teasingly, brandishing her glittery black sword with a vicious grin that promised death. "I've waited a long time for this, Lynn."

"So have I," Lynn countered in a strong voice that thankfully didn't betray her fear. Her sweaty hands reasserted their grip on the handle of her scythe, muscles tensed and knuckles white.

"Riiiight," drawled Debrah. Quick as a flash, she was upon Lynn and slashing the air just a hairsbreadth from her nose. Lynn reeled back and hastily blocked with her scythe, metal clanging so loud it hurt her ears. She caught Debrah's eye in the reflection on her curved blade and never had she ever feared more for her immortality.

Her strength faltered and she leapt back as Debrah sprung forward, arms flying up so fast she almost dropped her weapon. Debrah's sword bit into her shoulder and dragged along her collarbone, missing its mark in the heat of the moment. She tore it out with a violent stroke and Lynn's blood sprayed out like a crimson geyser. Without even thinking about it, Lynn jerked her functioning elbow back and pivoted to the left.

Her scythe was pulled back in stride and severed Debrah's head from her neck just like that. Lynn gasped as it toppled from her shoulders and bounced in the stained grass. Her body thunked down beside it, blood then spraying and now pooling in a matter of seconds.

Lynn was mystified. She hadn't even meant to do that, she was just trying to get away. Huh. One fluke, and she'd ended Debrah's forever. The fight hadn't even lasted over five minutes. As relieved as she was to be alive, it seemed...Dissatisfying. Did killing other immortals always feel so empty? Or was that just because this was a lucky accident, a serendipity and not her own skill?

Weird, either way. Boring, almost. She felt like laughing at herself. This was supposed to be some epic battle, and she'd triumphed against a stronger opponent with mere reflex.

Allowing a giggle to bubble up her (safe) throat, Lynn wiped the blood from her brow with her sleeve and threw her scythe over her shoulder as she walked away.

---

What da fuck am I doing with my life? DX

Bleh. I don't really even...Y'know, I'm actually gonna go watch Highlander. Cause I've temporarily plugged my brain vomit and I feel like some Highlander will help me keep it plugged. But bah. There are probably so many typos in this...And I should fix those at least, but...Eh. Later o_e'