`` S A P N A P ``

# THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN (TO KILL YOU)
          [ ooh yea babe it's the parasite au!! ]
          
           A small town hemmed in by a forest. The whole place was crackpot. The whole place seemed to leak with tar. Sun beat down as though the universe was exploding. And when it did, would anyone say anything? They'd watch the end of everything from deck chairs in the backyard. The survivors would crawl from the wreckage just to head to the waffle house. That's what had happened that night, anyway. A shockwave that echoed from the forest, smashed in windows and set off alarms - and everyone had just complained about the inconvenience of having to sweep. Nobody quite mentioned the red glow the forest had sometimes. Nobody spoke about the deer that stumbled into their streets some days dragging their own heads behind them. A quick bullet to put it out of its misery. Ignore its twitches. 
          
          He'd never intended to go poke that bear, either. He had been raised here, after all. But he had just snapped. It had been an accident, god, it had all been an accident. A stupid argument that spiralled out of control, and all of a sudden he'd packed a bag and ran for the hills. He just ran, tears in his eyes. The forest was a way out. He knew it well enough, even if he wasnt meant to. Follow the tracks. Just follow the tracks. 
          
          The tracks were warped. The undergrowth had cracked up through them- no. Not through them. Over them. Like a lahar, it had spilled over. It had been a while, he had supposed. Did he ignore perhaps more than he should? The signs were all there. Once, he fell against a tree lahar and felt it breathe beneath him. And so he ran, he ran and he ran until the place looked recognisable, in some way. He should've known. He should've noticed. It was /daytime/ he should've known it was a trick. But he didnt. Not until what he'd thought were leaves turned from whispers to voices spilling through into his head. 
          
          "I'll make you strong. You'll never have to run again. People will /love/ you."

# SLIPPERY SLOPE
          [ eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ]
          
          The scientific community as a whole had been waiting a long time to see it to the testing phase. Some hadn't believed in it. Most hadn't, as a matter of fact. He had wished, then, that he could say the same, but that was simply not true. He had always wanted to believe it, even when it all seemed too good to be true. A genetic editing process that used simply a one time injection, that could be made to be influenced by the body's whims, which so far had showed no long term negative impacts on the preliminary test subjects. It had been rats, first. He'd gone to see them his first year of college, and marvelled at the feats. The doctors had given them obstacles, and theyd temporarily grown longer legs and arms to reach them, stronger teeth for breaking open shells to eat- it was like magic. But he had been waiting for the fall. The day when it all fell apart. When it was all smoke and mirrors, when someone died or became the man-made horror that had been envisioned all those years ago. 
          
          People had been tested on before, with weaker versions and simpler tasks, temporary injections and the like. But that was temp work. Would the real thing hurt? Would it be the one to bring the whole thing down. He had expected to be the one holding bated breaths on the sidelines, to mention it in passing to clients who came to him for gender therapy or issues with their body integrity. He wondered what effects it would have on them. He had not expected to be thrust into the thick of it. But then again, he had volunteered. It was by his own volition now, that he sat in his chair, and waited in between passing doctors, his heart hammering to a lightly delayed beat on the monitor beside him. Was he making a mistake? Would it all go wrong? He was having second thoughts already. And though he believed in it all, and hell, he wanted to, he just couldnt shake that feeling that it was all about to go horribly wrong.

# LAY YOUR SOLEMN HEAD DOWN ON MY SHOULDER
          [ you know the drill ]
          
          It was with a heavy heart full of overcast knowing grey as the day outside that he drew through the packing tape seal on the last moving box. It should've been a new beginning. It was always meant to be a new beginning. Every single time. Every time he got somewhere new, he picked out a calendar. And he crossed the days off in big red marker. Cross one day off. Live another day without a bullet meddling his brain. Did they never learn? Did they know something he didnt? Sometimes he googled it, just in case, as if anything useful would come up under "why didnt I die when I got shot at point blank range?" There were demon forums, he knew. He didn't want to know. He did try to forget about them. It wasnt as if he could just call up his parents... not after what he'd done. He was just a tired demon waiting for a human. A human whose tenacity was apparently matched only by his complete and utter stupidity. Incompetence. He knew he'd set out to kill him. How could he forget?
          
          It was a stupid game he had played. In the dark, he would stand at the end of people's beds, and make just enough noise to wake them up. Then he would stand. Stand there. Slowly, their eyes would adjust. And so would his. Out from the darkness would pick one iris, pure white, the other deep carmine. Theyd scream and hide and yell and he'd cackle away to himself, the power their fear gave him curdling up his veins. The rush of power was like a weekly paycheck. Ever spent. That night, it had been stolen from him. He'd picked a bed, cycling through shadows in bedroom corners like tinder profiles, stepping down in front. It had struck his teenage mind at that moment that the boy laying in the bed in that old style stately country farmhouse was rather pretty. He had stood there. He had waited. He'd come out of that experience with one extra bullet to the head. 
          
          All was quiet for a few years. Then he had found him.

# WHEN YOU DIE, THE FLIES WILL BE FIRST TO KNOW
          [ hey bestie ]
          
          He was yelling, from down the corridor. Shredding his vocal cords trying to be heard above the silence of fluorescent lights and quiet crying, comfort mutterings and an infestation of flies. Nobody was listening. They never were. He didn't care. He did it anyway. Through the open little window in the door, he screamed at them, hammering with the flat of his palm on that ugly plastic as many times as it took to snap him out of it, and he finally slid down with his back to the door. It was still daytime out. He had been confined to his room. Something about not using the cutlery in the kitchen to threaten the boy who'd brushed off his leg. It was funny to him. Grounded at the psych ward. Who knew. 
          
          He heard the lock click, and hopped up to gaze at the window in the door. 
          
          "Are you finally gonna fuckin let me out now that you've realised that fucking bastard was the - oh." his face fell.

# Разбери меня 
          [angels and demons au, karlnap, nsfw and fluff]
          
          At the end of the day, there was nothing much he could say about it. 
          
          His fingers hovered over the keys, seeming to shake over letters in time with his stuttering heart. "Are you sure it's safe?" came the message in his head, "are you sure we're meant to be doing this?" 
          
          Decidedly not, though he still kept typing, powering through with tight red in his porcelain cheeks, his wings grating against his headboard in time with the slight movements he made while he typed those final couple of words, the screaming and begging and whining and the inevitable finish all described in such gratuitous detail, detail extending out to the ropes binding wrists and the hours of turmoil, the boards of the bed against ruffling wings. 
          
          He pressed post. They descended on it like vultures. Within twenty minutes he had his comments. He read them with wide eyes, his cherub lips pouting at the screen. And there it was. Always following him. That praise they foisted upon him. They always so praised the stunning clarity of that insane sense of angelic longing.

hello there